#maybe i should take my uncle up on his officer and get back to playing golf 😂

[yibo-wang]

Yibo taking golf as serious as motorcycling and skateboarding 😄 he's become more active on IG and followed about 10 new golf accounts.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

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“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

[normal-internet-user]

shaking at a frequency that could shatter glass I know I've been here not too long ago, but. please.

h—headcanons..,, maybe...?? f-for.

Peepaw/Dad!Leo with an adopted child!reader...,, please...,... i-i need some Dad fluff with this tortuga. this overgrown hard-shell melon. this- this. (gestures vaguely) y'get me?

he's so Dad shaped. he's so fond and just radiates safety and warmth and affection and ugghhhghhh i just KNOW he'd be the best dad EVER. nay, he IS the best dad. (pseudo) sibling Casey attests to it.

(⁠ ⁠ꈨຶ⁠ ⁠˙̫̮⁠ ⁠ꈨຶ⁠ ⁠) i think i'm actually going to lose my mind . the Clan as uncles/godparents/aunties. grandpa splinter. sweet brother Casey. it takes a village to raise a kid, they say.

do you see my vision here mate? as always, only if you want to ☜⁠ ⁠(⁠↼⁠_⁠↼⁠) & if you do? just .. go ham. if anything strikes you, PUT IT IN THERE. I NEED TO HEAR IT FROM OTHER PEOPLE TOO . (/lh)

This seems appropriate to celebrate me finishing the Rise movie (I am still emotionally unwell this is me coping) I shall grant you headcanons my dearest darling /p

PEEPAW LEO AS AN ADOPTIVE FATHER

....................................

Let me start this off by saying that this man-

This man is best dad.

He finds a lost child?

'Tis his child now.

You are his child now.

Casey?

He's ecstatic.

NEW SIBLING LES GO

Especially since you're younger than him,

(Not by much, maybe afew months)

Casey makes it his life mission to protect you at all costs.

His favorite thing to do is hold your hand and lead you around.

Leo is so so good at being a dad.

I mean look as CJ,

He's got this ok?

Feeling clingy?

He'll hold you until you want him to put you down.

Nightmares?

That's ok kiddo, come curl up next to Papa, he'll keep all those monsters away.

When you get older, you are not going anywhere without him, Casey, or anyone else.

It's not safe, and the same rule applies to CJ.

So you guys go on lots of scouting missions together.

You two may as well be twins, you never go anywhere without the other.

Sometimes, you and Casey will be sent to scout really last minute,

And Leo won't be notified until you two are gone.

Whenever this happens he gets super pissed off and worried because those are his kids,

He should be the one to give them clearence to leave,

Not some random officer who decided to send you two out.

If one of you ever comes back hurt,

God speed to whomever sent the two of you out.

Leo is mad.

Like, mad-mad.

So are April, Mikey, and Donnie.

Leo would literally fall apart if he lost you or Casey.

He swore to Cass that he'd protect Casey, and he promised himself he would keep you safe.

If he lost either of you he just might completely fall apart.

Leo's busy, he's running a resistance afterall,

So he can't keep eyes on you all the time.

That's why the Hamato's take turns.

Leo's in a meeting?

Let's meditate with Master Michelangelo.

Oh he's busy too?

Time to visit Uncle Tello's lab.

Can't find him?

Well where's Commander O'neil?

Can't find her either?

Welp, enjoy the meeting, cause you're stuck there now.

Play rock paper scissors or somethin idk.

If you're around before Splinter passes, he spends alot of time around you.

He's always wanted grandchildren, and he's going to cherish you,

Especially with the world in anarchy.

When you start losing people, it get's hard.

First it was Grandpa Splints,

Then it was Uncle Tello,

Then Auntie April...

Through it all Leo made sure you were ok.

You're just a kid, and you have to grow up in this hellscape?

You've never seen the blue sky, or normal rain,

And everyone you hold close is being ripped away.

That's not fair.

So he does everything he can to make sure you grow up safe and happy.

One of his favorite things to do was tell you and Casey stories of what the world used to be like.

Your favorite is when he describes the stars.

It sounds so amazingly beautiful, shimming lights like glitter sitting up in a blackish blue abyss.

Wow...

After the events of the movie, (you knew it was coming goddammit)

Your first request is to see the stars.

Which is pretty hard since New York is really bright like all the time.

So they took you and Casey to the docks where you would be able to see them best.

You looked up at the sky in absolute awe,

Papa's words would never do the stars justice.

After a minute, you broke down in tears.

It hurt, he promised to be the one to point out the constellations and his younger self doing it just wasn't the same.

Griefing is going to be a really big thing post movie.

In the future, you never really had the chance.

Everything happened so quickly and anytime wasted on griefing could have been a death sentence.

But now, you don't have to watch every corner, you don't have to wake up in fear you'll be alone.

So you grief.

You grief your family, and Casey does too.

Sure, technically they're right outside your room.

But it's not them.

They didn't raise you.

When Leo sends you and Casey back in time,

You took it much worse than Casey, who was focused on completeing the mission.

Sure, you wanted to stop the Kraang too,

But you missed your dad...

So when you find your family's past selves,

And Leo is being so...

Reckless,

You're angry.

Really angry.

Never in your life had your father acted this way, and Casey needlessly boosting his ego 30 seconds into knowing him wasn't helping.

Through out the movie, Casey needs to remind himself that this Leo isn't your Leo.

You have absolutely no trouble with that.

You come across as cold and angry, which worries your brother since you've never been like this before.

The others just assume you're always that way.

But you're not,

And acting like this makes you hate yourself.

You're grappling with the loss of your dad, and the fact that you might fail to do what you were sent here to in the first place.

Casey pulls you aside and gives you a talk.

He understands that your hurting,

He is too,

But this isn't about the two of you.

This is about saving the world and stopping the Kraang.

After that, you can hurt all you want.

That talk ended with you sobbing into Casey's shoulder, practically collapsing to the ground while you clinged to him and begged him not to leave you too.

Aight imma hit ya with the sandwich technique.

Fluff, angst, fluff.

Boom.

When you were a kid,

You had a habit of collecting anything shiny.

Old coins, jewelry, even just shiny rocks.

If it glimmered, you wanted it.

So whenever Leo had to leave the base, he always came back with something shiny for you to add to your hoarde.

He liked to compare you to a crow, and you asked what a crow was.

Right, raised in the apocolypse.

Sure there were plenty of birds around,

But they weren't.... normal.

So Leo explained what a crow was, and that they liked to collect shiny things.

You understood, but you wanted to know what one looked like,

So you went to Uncle Tello and asked if he could show you what a crow looks like.

He showed you, and immediatly you took to the comparison proudly.

You were like a crow!

Mikey liked to put on little shows for you and all the other children that lived in the base.

Making animals and such out of his ninpo.

Your favorite were the birds, the rabbits too.

But the best was the butterflies, which he also used to help you and Casey fall asleep.

They'd flutter around you room kinda like a nightlight.

I also like to imagine that when you and Casey start scouting, you get in trouble for fucking around.

Mostly making stupid bets for your shiny things.

Casey would collect shiny things just to make these bets.

Usually it was simple stuff, like who can throw a rock the farthest,

But even stuff like that could get both of you killed.

Neither of you really listened until one day,

You're making your bet like usual,

And the building you were scouting out wasn't as empty as you thought.

The two of you nearly fell to your deaths, luckily Casey managed to grapple the two of you to safety.

But after that, you had a major fear of heights, and Leo didn't let the two of you out of his sight for a while.

He made sure to scold the two of you when you returned that day,

Before hugging you and telling you how scared he was for a second.

Leo has no problem with you and Casey being included in meetings,

Honestly he prefers it.

If you two are gonna go running around scouting, you should know what's going on.

You'll have the occasional adult who thinks you and Casey are incompitent because of your age,

And that you shouldn't participate in meetings.

But Leo puts that to rest pretty quickly.

"If they can go out, and risk their lives on missions, they can attend the meetings." He'd say.

Leo loves you with his heart and soul.

If anything happened to you, he'd fall apart.

Sometimes he just needs you to have little sleepovers with him, that way he knows you're safe and sound.

He just wants to protect you.

You're his kid,

And he loves you

....................................

I wrote this while listening to anarchy by egg, and damn that song fits.

This one is LONG that's my bad, I got alittle carried away :^

[8-rae-rae-8]

Feral anon back with brain worms 😔

What if 09! Ghost and 22! Ghost, who both regress temporarily swapped universes?

(For simplicity, 22!Ghost will be Simon and 09! Ghost will be Riley)

Simon at first does his best to remain professional and respectful. He just wants to get home and is willing to cooperate the best he can with the version of 141. He’s stressed and worried about his 141 and he feels his regression coming along. He misses Baba, he misses Soap, he misses Gaz he just wants to be held. He doesn’t realise he’s pulled out his comfort blanket until he sees Captain Mactavish’s soft, concerned eyes.

“Ah, so you’re a wee one like my ghostie?”

Ghost is reluctant to answer, he freezes and holds his breath. But Mactavish has played this game before. Very carefully, he steps into Simon’s space, slowly cupping Simon’s masked cheek in a delicate hold.

“It’s alright if you need a break. Little one. You must be so stressed and scared, aye?”

Simon nods, his shoulders shaking a little as he starts to weep “w-wan’ baba..” he hiccups.

“I know, wee one..it’s okay, I’ll get ye back to baba.” Mactavish promises “but until then, would you let me take care of you?” Simon hesitates but nods, with shaky hands he pulls off his mask. A sign of ultimate trust. Mactavish’s heart aches at seeing that Simon’s face is littered with scars- even more than his Ghost’s. Glasgow smile, a tear in his upper lip that exposes a little bit of his gum. Tiny, scarred cuts…but he looks past all those and sees the scared, vulnerable tiny boy instead, waiting for the captain to step back in horror. Mactavish doubles down and cups his cheek again.

“There’s the sweet, adorable wee bub. Goodness yer’s just as cute as me own wee one!” His heart warms when he sees the 6’2 giant melt and squirm at the praise. His already flushed cheeks getting hotter under his touch. He smiles when he hears Simon coo and babble a little.

“Oh? We got a really tiny Bub? Well, we should probably get you out of these yucky big boy clothes, aye?”

Simon nods and begins to suckle on the corner of his blanket. He’s about to try walk when he feels the captain pick him up. He squeaks and clings to Mactavish, wiggling and trying to get down. He’s too heavy! He’ll hurt Mactavis-

His thoughts and squirming are halted by a soft chuckle and a gentle pat on the bum.

“I know ye wan’ to walk Bub, but yer just too small! Can’t risk ye going home to baba hurt, no?”

Simon whines and blushes more. Mactavish’s words make him fully regress and the last bit of fight leaves his body. He opts to cling to his temporary caregiver and the stress immediately leaving his body. His eyes gloss over and his eyelids get heavy. A soft coo can be heard and he melts further as the captain begins to draw random shapes into his back.

“There’s a good Bub, just relax an let uncle Mactavish take good care of ye until baba can come pick ye up.”

Simon has to borrow Mactavish’s softer clothes. Riley’s frame is a bit too small for Simon’s. But he’s still able to be padded up before a nap and is content with suckling on his blanket as he cuddles in Mactavish’s lap.

Price and Roach enter the office and see the soft scene. Mactavish looks up and chuckles

“Looks like both the ghosts have more in common than we thought…” Mactavish grins fondly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from the sleeping baby’s face “hell, I think they maybe the same age..”

He misses Riley and is worried about his little Ghostie. But being able to take care of another Ghost is helping ease his anxieties and fears. He’ll get his Riley back and he’ll make sure Simon is reunited with his Baba.

UNCLE MACTAVISH

SOBBING SOBBING SOBBING

THATS SO FUCKING CUTE

Stabbing you stabbing you /pos /aff

I MUST REITERATE

"UNCLE MACTAVISH"

UGH /pos

The Ghosties 😭😭

IMAGINE THEY MEET

MACTAVISH AND SOAP

(then the lingering question 'why isn't Roach with you too? Where's your Roach?')

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 36: Take Charge

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

“Thank God, you’re staying!”

If I hear those words any longer they will become my motto. The day after Thomas visited me I got calls from everyone asking if I was still in England. Before I know it things are going smoothly as if nothing’s changed. The only reminder of Grace’s absence is when I’ll spot Thomas alone in his office, staring outside the window. I’ll prepare a small tea tray and quietly slip it on his desk before he notices. A small gesture but he’s always quick to thank me when he sees me next.

Today’s bustle seems like any other except there’s a caravan of wagons approaching. I look out the front window to see the Shelby men hopping out and gathering near the barn. Is there something I should be concerned about?

I walk up to the men as one approaches a wild horse. Cautious and quiet. They appear to be in good spirits so that takes away some worry. Thomas isn’t out yet. Finn’s busy talking with Uncle Charlie. Maybe Arthur can tell me what’s going on.

“... Need to lay low once the baby comes.”

His conversation with John makes me gasp. “Linda’s pregnant?”

Arthur turns around with a big grin on his face. “Yes!”

I’m shocked, but in a good way. “Jesus. Between you and John we’ll have kids running everywhere. Congratulations!”

“Thank you. We’re expecting around September. ‘M gonna be a dad! Me, a fucking dad!”

I clap my hands together and praise the sky. “A thousand blessings on you both!”

We all share the same thought. A new baby is what we need now to help chase away the sadness that’s plagued us. And I know Arthur is going to be a wonderful father. 

Footsteps approach and Thomas joins the party. This is strange. He’s carrying a satchel. As if he’s going camping.

“Where are you lot going?” I ask him.

“To the woods, for some hunting.”

I stifle a laugh. “Hunting? You’re joking.”

“I’m not joking,” Thomas replies and I follow him inside the barn.

“I didn’t think you’d be willing to get your hands dirty with something like that.”

Thomas leads his black steed out of the stall. “Kill a deer, kill a man. Same thing.” He pauses for a minute. “Ever heard of the Mickey Free? ‘S a bar in Boston.”

This question is out of the blue. “No. Why?”

Thomas looks to see we’re alone and leans in. “Don’t tell the others yet, but our dad just died there.”

Arthur Shelby Senior. Dead. In whatever manner of way he died I can’t gather too much sympathy for this news. He, like many others must, assumed I was playing into the Shelby charm of lust. How am I supposed to feel sorry for that? Thank God Thomas cast him out and defended my integrity.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I finally respond.

“No need, I know you didn’t like him,” Thomas waves it off. “This hunt is to remember him, and forget him. Now you, Verena, are going back to Watery Lane before Ada accuses me of keeping you captive.”

Now it’s my turn to wave off his concern. “Oh it’s no trouble. It’s been a tad isolating but the country is a nice change from the city.”

From looking at the side of his face I see that Thomas agrees; but there’s something else he’s thinking of when I say that. Maybe he thinks he’ll never be able to truly relax while he's away from Birmingham. He mounts the steed and joins the parade of horses trotting into the woods. I give them all a wave goodbye just as they disappear behind the trees. A small men’s holiday might be just what they need.

Same filthy streets, same stuffy air. The car sent to pick me up drops me off outside the Shelby household. The driver says nothing, only helping to carry my suitcase to the door. Without the Shelbys here it feels less exciting. More empty. Once inside an unnatural silence drapes the atmosphere, that is until I hear heels clicking down the hall.

“Verena?” Polly sticks her head around the corner. “Tommy finally let you out of that place.”

I start to tell her I was there on my own free will but something about her seems off. She looks nervous. And tired. As if she’s been thinking too much. I’ve been so busy keeping watch over Thomas’ mourning that I didn’t think about reaching out to others. 

“What can I help with, Polly?” It’s a loaded question.

The older woman looks away shaking her head and walks towards the door. Is there something I should know about?

“Polly, where are you going?”

“Confession. At the church.”

“Should I come-?”

“No,” she sharply cuts me off. “I need to do this alone. Go help in the office.”

I try to follow her. “Polly, please. You don’t look well-”

Polly holds up a hand to stop me just as she shuts the door. “Do as you’re told.”

If she- But I- Oh. Okay. I can help with some paperwork. But honestly the thought of being stuck at a desk all day doesn’t seem as fetching. 

“‘S not fair,” Esme whines for the fifth time.

I was right. This is awful. I’ve been here an hour and both Lizzy and Esme are in no mood for pleasant discussion. Now I see why John was so eager to go on the trip. Esme’s current pregnancy is making her grouchy and sensitive. The only thing keeping her settled are her frequent whiffs of cocaine. And to top it off,  Lizzy’s still cross from my interactions with Thomas.

“They’re off drinking and shooting rifles as we sit here,” Esme complains. “Listening to the mugs swearing, spitting on the bloody floor for us to fucking wipe up! Without men here they’d be like dogs pissing up the wall.”

Just then the door opens and Polly walks in. I can’t tell if her stress has depleted or not. The good news is that she doesn’t want any of Esme’s attitude either.

“Esme, just… Get on with it.”

Esme groans and sniffs up more cocaine. “I’m bloody five months gone!”

I follow Polly to the safe and try to ask gently. “Polly? Do you feel better?”

She ignores me and leans her head against the safe. “Forgot the combination.”

“24-8-22,” Lizzie calls.

Polly’s just as puzzled as I am. “How’d you know?”

“Tommy talks in his sleep,” Esme pokes at her.

“Shut up, Esme,” Lizzy mutters.

Wait. Does that mean-?

Polly groans again. “He’s changed it.”

Lizzie gets up and starts fiddling with the dial. “You’ve put it in wrong.”

“No I haven’t,” Polly argues.

I step out of their way and go back to the table. This is it? Listening to them squabble while all the men are away? I actually was happier at Arrow House.

“I have been sleeping with Tommy,” Lizzie mentions. “Every now and then, when the mood takes him. Happy?”

No. I most certainly am not. I was right. While Thomas comes to me for empathetic consultations, he still doesn’t initiate physical emotions. Is May right? Does he think I’m too fragile?

“None of it’s fucking fair.” We know, Esme!

Knock knock.

Wonderful. Now who’s adding to the meeting of misery?

Linda opens the door with a bright smile on her face. “It’s me! Arthur said you’d be short-staffed today.”

She is so out of her normal standards. Linda walks around and practically scoffs at the illegal business. Her comments of purity against the company go ignored by the others. That’s it, I’m out. I’m already dealing with Lizzie’s comment. I don’t need this either.

I take an Irish goodbye and excuse myself back to the house. It may be lonely in the kitchen but at least the chicken I cook doesn’t squawk like those women do. I don’t know when the Shelbys will be back but that doesn’t mean I can’t fix a nice dinner for myself. Maybe I’ll call Ada and see if she wants company-

“There you are!” Linda walks in. “You’re coming too.”

I go back to washing dishes, uninterested. “Where?”

She comes up and slings an arm around mine, leading me away. “To the Bull Ring.”

I gawk at her bluntness. “Why?”

“To strike.”

I’m still confused. “For…?”

“Female workers’ rights. Come on, you of all people should appreciate this! You Americans had to go through tons to get the right to vote.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that-”

“Let’s go!”

She drags me out into the street to join the line of women workers marching towards the strike.

Something tells me I should go. Not for the extreme feminist cause but to be sure that no one gets hurt. Polly’s wild look in her eyes tells me her stress has melted into ambition. 

“Revolution! Now!”

I attempt to quiet her. “Polly, please! Calm down-”

“No I will not fucking calm down! We’ve been through this shit for too long!”

“Hallelujah!” Esme yells.

I knew coming back wasn’t such a grand idea.

The following morning Polly leans back in a kitchen chair with a cloth over her eyes. Clearly in a hangover. For three hours yesterday they shouted and raged against the male patriarchy. It didn’t help when people started passing around spirits.

Thud.

The front door closes and I hurry over to see if my suspicions are correct. Sure enough, Thomas is back. Maybe the fresh air did him some good.

“Morning, Thomas. About Polly- I tried to keep her safe.”

He takes a puff on his cigarette. “The strike?”

“Yes. It reminded me of women’s marches back home, but ours were a tad more civilized if you can believe it.”

He walks straight past towards where Polly and Lizzie are sitting.

“I heard you were giving speeches off the back of a wagon, Pol.”

She doesn’t move. “I can’t remember a fucking thing.”

“Well, Moss tells me you were threatening to burn down the town hall.” Thomas looks back at me. “Verena, will you please give us a moment alone?”

I have to keep my smile from falling. What? Is he upset with me? Does he think I’ll start ranting about freedom like a typical American?

“Of course, sir.”

Don’t show them disappointment. It’ll only give Linda and Lizzie more teasing ammunition against me. I retreat back to the parlor and set to dusting shelves. If I could slip out I’d properly dispose of my anger by swatting a broom against the alley wall. What am I supposed to do if you never let me in, Thomas?

“What are you doing?” 

Must have been a quick ‘moment.’ I thought for sure he’d call for Lizzie to- No. Stop right there, Steenstra. Jealousy never gets someone anywhere.

“Cleaning,” I say, keeping my face directed away from Thomas. 

“You know we can hire people to do that, right?”

I hum softly and continue wiping off the dirt. “I am hired help.”

“No. You’re not a maid, Verena. You keep us sane.” Thomas slumps into the lounge chair and runs a hand through his hair. “Fucking Russians. You will not believe the shit I went through last night.”

Again with the Russians. I warned him.

“Did the duchess try to kill you?”

Thomas rolls his eyes and glares at the wall. “Walked around practically naked in the dead of night, pointing a gun everywhere and demanding that poor Mary watches us fuck.”

My hand freezes and I slowly turn to look at him. “Y-You didn’t-?”

“No!” He quickly answers. “She- Please, please recite something clever.”

Clever? Is he using me just for my wit now? “Um- Alright. Sometimes life is like carving an apple.” Thomas’ stressed face changes to one of surprisement but I keep going. “When you find an apple with a brown spot you cut it out, right? It’s the same situation with people. We cut out the worst parts of ourselves to get along with one another.”

He thinks for a minute. “So you’re saying I should cut myself out? Just how much, eh?”

“What? No! Why would-?”

“Not everyone sees the good in people like you do, Verena.” Thomas pulls out a cigarette and stands up. “Never stop, love. Thanks by the way for keeping a watch on Polly.”

I offer a smile. “No problem. I might stop by later to see Charlie.”

The mention of his son immediately makes Thomas relax. “Right, Charlie. It’ll be nice to get some time with him. Do you need me to drive you?”

“No, no. I’ll manage. I’ve got some letters to mail first. My moeder goes crazy if I stay out of contact for more than a week.”

Thomas nods and walks out towards the door. We both know family comes first. As for his predicament with Duchess Tatiana Petrovna… It’s not my business but isn’t it a bit early to be courting after Grace’s funeral? Is this situation even a courtship at all? It doesn’t sound like Thomas initiated it. Curious, considering it’s usually the woman falling into his bed rather than her roping him in. Perhaps it’s a taste of his own medicine.

From the outside Arrow House looks as empty as before. What’s different this time is the friendly sight of Charlie and his nanny waving at me through the top window. Thomas’ car is here but there’s no sign of him at the door. Maybe he’s with the horses. I let myself in and the housekeeper immediately appears.

“Hello again, Mary. I’m here to check on Charlie.”

“Of course, Ms. Steenstra.” She leaves me to it and mutters something along the lines of “…More behaved than that other woman…”

Other woman? Who else has Thomas brought over? Does she mean the duchess? 

Instead of marching up the stairs I take a detour into the dining room, taking a seat at the head chair. The glorious portrait still hangs but instead of portraying confident power the painting resembles a man who has nothing but his horses. A lonely man.

Click click click.

“Bold of you to sit on a king’s throne.”

There she is. Duchess Tatiana Petrovna herself. That’s who poor Mary was talking about. There’s no question about her obvious beauty and she knows it. She looks down at my two hair braids with amusement. What is she here for? And is she talking about my seating choice? I meant no disrespect when I chose it.

I look down at where I’m sitting and back to her. “…It’s a chair.”

Thomas walks up behind her and sees where she’s looking. “That’s my chair. ‘S alright, you can-”

“It’s his chair,” the duchess states. “Move.”

Is she serious? Stay calm, Steenstra. You’ll only provoke her.

“It’s still just a chair, miss. He says I can sit in it.”

Her narrowed gaze doesn’t falter. “Move.”

I keep the same cool tone. “No.”

“Or else you will be moved.”

A hint of American attitude makes my face twitch into a look that dares her to continue. “Try me, duchess.”

Her jaw drops and Thomas steps forward trying to calm the storm. “Ladies, please. Mary, could we please get some tea?”

The duchess ignores his attempt and keeps looking at me. “He is your boss. You need to respect-”

“I respect Mr. Shelby just fine,” I respond evenly. “It’s you who’s out of place. You are a guest at Arrow House. I suggest you treat your host with respect. Good day.”

She resumes her stunned silence as I stand up and strut past them. Behind me I can already hear the complaining.

“…Let her speak to a Duchess like that?” she asks.

“You have your ways, the Americans have theirs. I don’t interfere.”

Just because she’s a rich duchess sleeping with him doesn’t mean she can order us around with an iron fist. I climb the stairs to Charlie’s room trying to clear the grudge from my thoughts. The bedroom door opens and the nanny steps out.

“He’s asking for his father. Shall I go fetch him?”

“Oh, no. I just saw Mr. Shelby downstairs. I’ll go get him.”

I pivot back to the stairs despite the internal urge to be as far away from the Russian royal as possible. Stay strong. It’s for Charlie. And if she wants to get on my nerves then she’ll face the bull head-on.

I see the couple walking down the hall. “Thomas! Charlie wants you.”

The gangster leader excuses himself and jogs past me, giving me a grateful nod. I take a deep breath and finish descending the stairs to where the duchess is. Time to set things straight.

“What are you doing?” 

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask in a low but demanding voice. “The poor man just lost his wife and you’re playing him like a bitch in heat!”

She doesn’t flinch. “Grief can take many forms.”

Not Thomas. This isn’t how he grieves. He likes to be alone. 

I signal for the housekeeper. “Mary, may I please have some whiskey?”

She notices my situation and nods. “Of course, Ms. Steenstra.”

But the duchess isn’t satisfied with my request. “Why ask? Demand it! She will have-”

My face flinches to look at her with murderous eyes. “Get out. Go.”

Her jaw drops. “This is not your house-”

“Then get the fuck away from me before I do something regretful.”

Now she smirks at my temper. “Are Americans this rude?”

My fists clench. “Americans do not look down to people who are not wealthy or of royal blood.”

“There’s fire in your eyes but you tame it. Could you kill me? Would you kill for love?”

“Murder for selfish intentions is not something I will stain myself with,” I state harshly and notice Thomas returning from Charlie’s room. “Excuse me, Thomas.”

Before he can respond I rush back to the door. I don’t wait to hear any more. How can he stand this woman? Lizzie is one thing but at least she gives me a fraction of respect. Petrovna only sees me as nothing but a tourist servant. As much as I was looking forward to seeing Charlie I will not be stable as long as that woman is around. 

Foreign relations consultant, indeed. I will stand my ground. No more waiting. It’s time to take charge for a change and bring my own tricks of the trade to the table.

@meadows5

[anopenbookunderlockandkey]

The 118 Turtles Chat

Buck: EDS! HEY HEY EDS!

Bobby: Buck, this is the group chat

Buck: I know but he’s not answering me in our chat or my phone calls and Chris’ phone is off

Hen: maybe because it’s 8:45am after 3 nights of 7-7 shifts

Buck: but the turtles!

Bobby: turtles?

Buck: yes, the turtles! 🐢

Hen: Bobby, why’re you humoring him?

Buck: because Bobby knows how excited Christopher is to see the baby turtles at the aquarium! We have to get there at 10am when tickets go on sale

Hen: ever hear of buying things online?

Buck: you can’t! And they need to come with me cause the turtle exhibit opens at 10:15

Buck: will you guys please call and text Eddie too???

Chim: No

Buck: if you’re nice I’ll bring my niece too 😇

Chim: Eddie, wake up so Uncle Buck can bring your son and my daughter to see the turtles

Hen: what if my kids or Bobby’s kids wanted to go???

Buck: it’s family day

Chim: yeah Hen duh it’s family day 🤪

Hen: if Eddie is family we’re all family

Bobby: I tried calling Eddie, he didn’t answer me either

Buck: see! I told you, he sleeps like the dead, like me if you will 💀

Bobby: stop joking about being dead Buck

Buck: what’s the point of living if I can’t joke about dying

Chim: maybe Denny should call Chris on the Xbox, he’ll answer for his video game friends

Hen: don’t bring my child into this

Buck: yes! Please Hen! Have Denny go and see if Chris is on, it’s Saturday morning and his dad is asleep, he’s definitely taking advantage of that

Chim: I texted Denny, said he’s playing games with Chris

Buck: Hen! Hen! Henrietta my favorite, please go talk to Chris and have him wake up his dad, promise him pancakes

Chim: Denny says he won’t tell Chris unless he also gets to see the turtles

Bobby: but it’s family day for Eddie, Buck, and Chris

Chim: Denny says he also wants pancakes and for his mom to be Buck’s slave for a day

Buck: HEN HEN I NEED YOU, PLEASE HEN, THE BABY TURTLES 🐢

Hen: Calm down Turtle boy, Chim didn’t text Denny, Denny is asleep in his bed like I’d like to be

Buck: … this is about THE TURTLES. we need to actually talk to one of them

Bobby: why don’t you just go over there?

Buck: if I drive there and back it will take too long, they need to meet me at the aquarium

Buck: I’ve checked Instagram, there’s already a line for tickets, the turtles are a BIG DEAL

Hen: fine, I’ll call Eddie

Buck: HENRIETTA WILSON YOU ARE THE BEST

Hen: dammit he’s not answering his home phone either, has anyone ever heard his answering machine

Chim: hahahaha yes, last time I left a message on that thing I had to click five different buttons, it’s set up like an office phone, different extensions for him, Chris, and Buck

Buck: home phone?

Hen: you didn’t know Eddie has a landline?

Chim: yes Buck, back in the Stone Age we had wired phones

Bobby: but you’re an option on the answering machine?

Chim: CODEPENDENT

Hen: I need the telephone gods to smile down on me as I make this next phone call and let Eddie wake up, I need to sleep

Bobby: if he hasn’t woken up by now I don’t think there’s a chance

Buck: Bobby! don’t say that, we need to see the turtles!!!

Ravi: why don’t you check location sharing? Maybe he’s not home and his phone is still on silent from being on shift

Buck: great idea! See guys, this is being helpful

Hen: you think mr hates technology has location sharing on?

Ravi: you think he’d know how to turn that default setting off?

Chim: we’ve all been calling him and being helpful, I take offense turtle boy

Buck: Ravi, you’re the best!

Hen: oh thank god, you found Eddie?

*15 minutes pass*

Hen: Buck did you reach Eddie?

*10 minutes pass*

Hen: Buck, it’s almost 10am, and you are the reason I could not sleep, did you guys get in line for the damn turtle tickets?

*20 minutes pass*

Hen: after all that I didn’t even get to know if you saw the turtles?!

Eddie: (image of Buck, Chris and Jee with baby turtles)

Buck: 🐢🐢🐢

Bobby: have a fun family day!

Hen: Eddie, why the fuck didn’t you answer your phone???

Eddie: I left it in Buck’s jeep when he dropped me off after our shift

Hen: I have no words

Buck: 😇 🐢

For @professionalprocrastinator22 and the fun real life phone tag her family played about turtles that inspired this. And for @gravelyhalversobbing and her love of turtles.

[sariel626]

A Raccoon and a Child

Just binged the S5 BSD episodes and noticed that Karl wasn’t with Poe while Ranpo gathered of the agency members (for obvious reasons) so what if he entrusted him to watch over little (Reader) in the office?

—————————————————————————

(Reader) was practicing her English, courtesy of her teacher, with the help of Karl flipping back to the page on how to pronounce the particular letter every now and then while Poe talked on the phone. He hung up suddenly and started to put his coat on, “Karl, (Reader), I’m going out for a bit. Please stay here and don’t leave until I get back.” The raccoon understood immediately, but the girl did not. “Why isn’t Karl going with you?” “I just can’t have Karl come with for it to work. If the anyone comes, press the button to call for Mr.Fitzgerald under my desk. Even though he can be scary, he’ll take care of them for you. I have to go now.” The worried child ran over and gave her father a hug goodbye before he left.

And so this left her and a raccoon to finish her homework. However, as many of us know, once the parents/teachers are gone, it’s very easy to get distracted. As the two watched Poe walk out of the building through the office’s glass exterior, (Reader) glanced at Karl and offered, “Tell dad I did my science homework and I’ll ‘accidentally’ add the good food to his cart”

Karl checked off ‘study unit 4 of science’

This is where the chaos began to unfold…as we all know, kids are curious beings and (Reader) is no exception to that. She immediately went over to her dad’s desk and started opening drawers, “He has to have a drawer with candy if he’s friends with Uncle Ranpo! There’s gotta be one!” She peeked up onto his desk, “Dad’s new mystery? I should ask if I can proofread it later.” Karl started tugging on the end of her shirt. The nosy girl sighed, “You’re right…it’s probably in his coat.” She made sure to cover her tracks and go back to where she originally sat.

There was a slight pause of silence before the girl let out a sigh, “it’s boring without dad here.” Karl tried thinking of ways to entertain the girl other than hopping on her shoulders, but as far as a raccoon’s knowledge about human activities goes, it’s not all too far. He sat down and stuck out his paws so it was as if he had be knocked onto his butt. (Reader) perked up, “Do you wanna play Avocado? Miss Louisa taught me it the other day!” She walked Karl through each hand movement carefully and did the pattern in the song slowly with him before starting, it went for a about a minute cuz he’s a smart raccoon before young (Reader) messed up! “Nooo!!! Now you get to change my name for the day! Wait, you’re a raccoon, you can’t change my name cuz you don’t know a-“ Karl took one of her markers and wrote A-I from her vowels page, also a name that appeared in one of her father’s books as one of the killers. (Reader), now named Ai for the day, looked at the paper surprised, “I’m asking dad for help from now on.” Then the girl opened up her iPad and started working her own mystery novel.

About an hour later, loud noises were heard from outside the office. This caught the girl’s attention, should she call for Mr.Fitzgerald? Karl sensed her unease and hopped onto her shoulder. After approaching the door, everything went silent and (Reader) recalled her father’s words, ‘if anyone comes, press the button to call for Mr.Fitzgerald under my desk.’ She backed up towards her father’s desk right before everything went silent. ‘Maybe she and Karl were safe…’ the hopeful girl thought, but she couldn’t be more wrong as the door was kicked open.

The second the door slammed into the wall, the small child spammed the button. A voice called out, “Come out Edgar Allen Poe! You have been suspected of aiding in the recent terrorist activities! Check everywhere men! Behind the desks, behind the curtains, leave no nook unturned!” Meanwhile Reader clung to Karl with tears in her eyes underneath the desk, ‘Why now? If they find us, it’ll be harder on dad.’

As she finished her thought, one of the officers looked under the desk and found them. “Hey Captain! I found a kid and this raccoon, I bet we could use them as hostages if he tries to run.” Upon hearing that, something sparked in (Reader), “You’ll never catch dad cuz he’s way smarter than you! He knows the detective agency is innocent, Uncle Ranpo would never…Auntie Yosano wouldn’t…”

The Captain of the squadron scoffed at this, “A kid like you doesn’t even understand how serious this is; what would YOU know about what they would and wouldn’t do?” He laughed after finishing his question. (Reader)’s stare sharpened, though remnants of fear were still blatantly visible, “More than you officers who arrest according to your robotic like judgement. I’m seven years old, I was studying before you came in and now you’re gonna take dad away and probably Karl. I wish you all would just disappear somewhere!”

Ting!

With the utter of those words, our little (Reader)’s special ability reveals itself and sends them to the sweet shop she really wanted to go to since playing Avocado with Karl. Finally, Francis arrives and finds the office ransacked, “I’m not here to clean up after your mess.” “No! The police were here! They wanna arrest my dad! You just got here a little bit late” The blonde sighed, “I’ll send someone to fix this and have a conversation with their commander. Send my apologies to your father when you get the chance.” The girl agreed and apologized for wasting his time before Francis left.

(Reader) picked up Karl to look him into the eye and spun him around. “I have an ability! And it’s a cool one that could help people AND let me spend more time with Uncle Ranpo!” She stopped spinning and set the poor raccoon down, “I wonder where they went though? Did I kill them? Why did it only just now work? I wish for snacks!” The snacks did not appear. After a few tries, the girl gave up and moved onto math homework since her dad would probably be getting back soon and about 3 problems in, she turned to Karl and asked, “Hey Karl, why do I have to solve these? Why can’t my homework just solve itself?” Once the thought was finished, her pencil began glowing a light purple and solving the problems on its own. Karl whacked the awestruck girl for cheating and the pencil dropped halfway through the fifth problem, so she rubbed the spot and turned to him asking, “What? I was just using my resources! Dad always tells me to do that.”

Speak of the devil, the confused soul opened his broken door to his mostly fixed office, who knows what happened to the papers on the desk after the attack… “I heard from Mr.Fitzgerald about what happened, are you two al- oof!” Poe was immediately hugged by his daughter and Karl jumped off her shoulder onto his making him smile and hug back. The small girl spoke up, “hey dad?” The poet hummed, “promise me you’ll never leave me here for too long again?” The novelist didn’t want to make any promises he couldn’t keep because Ranpo can make some rather time extensive and dangerous requests at times, but he also doesn’t want his daughter to worry. “Once the agency is proven innocent, I can make that promise to you.” “…Ok, I trust you and Uncle Ranpo.”

Poe went over to his desk to try and get things back in order. “Oh, How are your studies coming along?” (Reader) froze up at this question and dismissed it before Karl could out her earlier antics, but he did anyway. Her father looked surprised at the very idea that his daughter would consider cheating, “How? Did you use a website? Do I need to take away your iPad? Wait, no, I have to take away your iPad as punishment.” Karl went over and grabbed it for him since he was already sitting down, but the only thing on Reader’s mind was sharing her ability with her dad. “I have a special ability!” This was the last thing he expected to hear from his formerly ability-less daughter. “T-that’s great news! But what is it? Is it like mine or the Boss’s?” “Kinda? I think I have to know stuff for it to work. When the police were here for you, I said I wish they would disappear somewhere and they did, then I asked Karl why my math homework couldn’t solve itself and it did until he made me stop it.” Poe paused to think for a moment, ‘A spatial ability that alters the state of reality according to the user’s knowledge of what they’re altering. That’s a dangerous ability to entrust to someone so young. It may be good to let Ranpo know about it, but there’s no guarantee she’d be able to use it when Ranpo wants her to or at the capacity he would need.’ He was snapped out of his thoughts by light taps on his desk. It was his daughter wondering if she was supposed to have a better ability. He reassured her, hers was more than a great ability, but (Reader) should keep quiet about its existence for now

—————————————————————————

(Reader) officially has an ability that could probably stop the war and like, half the trauma from traumatizing us if used correctly, but oh no! She’s seven! That’s no place for a girl her age.

[anto-pops]

hey, i don't want to overwhelm you, but do you think there would be another part for the end of the line series in the future that deals with the course of the first pregnancy?

everything is fluffy and smutty.

sebastian is the very best husband ever and wants to take care of everything while his wife just sits there making her baby and just looking irresistibly sexy doing it.

he is so incredibly sweet and holds her hair when she throws up. the weeks of nausea are terrible and it hurts his body and soul to see her like this, but of course, as always, he manages to make everything better and more bearable.

he always pays a lot of attention to her belly and kisses every inch of it. he keeps stroking it, snuggles up to it and tells his unborn child everything and nothing. he teams up with it against his wife, who just has to giggle about it.

and don't forget bedtime. he turns his dramatic and super hot love story with his wife into a child-friendly fairy tale.

when she gets into her insatiable phase, seb is right there and satisfies her in every imaginable way, just as she needs it. be it his hands, his tongue or his big cock. she is so much more sensitive than usual and already falls apart at his appearance and the look he gives her. god she needs him. it's best if he never stops pounding into her.

and if she feels like a fat and ugly whale for even a second, he's there to wipe that bold statement out of her mouth. just the fact that she's carrying HIS child turns him on. damn it. if you think all the boners before their relationship were a torture you cut yourself. the sight of her and her growing belly makes him so hard that not even several cold showers would help. luckily he doesn't have to hold back anything anymore.

he takes care of it and in her future pregnancies so she doesn't give it a second thought about how she looks.

(maybe that could be used for another fic if it doesn't fit here) but seb will definitely not stop talking about the pregnancy at work and subliminally bragging about it. he's so damn proud and soo in love with his family.

and yes, leander (or whoever he hates working at the auror office right now), he and his wife are fucking each other and now the loveliest baby is on the way! remember it!

and seb often goes for walks with her as long as she feels good enough for it. everyone should know that HIS wife carries HIS child. she's HIS and he's HERS!!!!!

and when his wife wants to take revenge for everything he does for her and fails to surprise him, seb is also there to make everything better. he is everything to her and she can't stop crying. those stupid hormones. she finally wanted to do something for him and then he does something for her again. but she doesn't need to worry. a shared bath makes everything good again. seb is happy when you are happy.

and when it's time and the baby comes, seb will go a bit crazy and maybe or maybe not he'll smack his buddy garreth. all the orgasms must have helped, right? or? everything will be fine. she will be fine and his baby is healthy and beautiful. omg it's coming he has to keep his nerve. luckily uncle ominis aka the mother of the group is there. he always struggled with those two idiots when they just danced for their feelings. then childbirth will also be easy peasy!

(that was a very long text and i hope it wasn't too much for you. these are all just ideas. if you're considering writing something like this, you can just use it and tinker with how the muse is kissing you in this moments.

i just wanted to get my thoughts out there and you always write everything so damn beautifully. i love you and your writing. and please take your time to think about it if you would like to write about it.)

♥︎♥︎♥︎

I’ve been sitting on this for a few days because I wanted to comb through it and absolutely try to incorporate some of this into End of the Line !! I’m still playing around with how I’ll start it but you actually gave me a couple ideas with this so HELL YEAH, THANK YOU MY DEAR !! 💞

I’m half considering writing it in a timeline sequence but we’ll see 🤷🏻‍♀️

[thatmexisaurusrex]

"confession in the rain" for the ficlet prompt thingy? :)

Quick Ficlet List

Oooh 👀 nice choice in prompt, @nine-blogs-in-a-trenchcoat! I actually figured this little ficlet on the MYSU discord, so thank you @runzu and @omegasamwilson for some of the inspiration for this ❤️ I hope you enjoy the ficlet! 🥰

Confession in the Rain

Bucky was at his wits end.

Truly.

It was as if everything and everyone was against him these past several weeks.

Bucky had finally decided to do it. Take the plunge. Say the words. Tell Samuel Thomas Wilson that he loved him. Or maybe liked him.

Would "like" be less scary to hear?

Would Sam freak out if Bucky (crying because Bucky had no idea how he wouldn't get emotional when saying the words) professed his undying love for Sam? That might be a little much, right? Probably too much. Bucky really had to make sure he said "like" instead of "love" when he said the words.

Bucky would need the opportunity to say the words, though. Because, again, the world was against him at the moment.

For weeks - months, really - Bucky had tried. He had tried to get Sam in his office alone, in a hallway, in Sam's bedroom, but every time, Bucky was thwarted.

Mission sirens would blaze at the Avengers' Campus. Joaquín would walk in grinning like he knew what he was doing as he asked Sam to help him train. Yelena would smile faux innocently as she asked Sam to spot her at the Avengers' gym. Monica would smile amused as she asked Sam to look over paperwork with her.

AJ and Cass would knock on the door, asking if Sam would help one of them with science homework, with play lines, with a book report. Sarah would ask Sam to help fix a faucet, would ask him to check on the shed in the back, would ask him to look over some of the bills.

All of them knew.

Bucky wasn't the best at hiding his feelings.

They all had to know.

Even Figaro played innocent as she meowed for Sam to continuously let her in and out of Sam's bedroom during one particular conversation.

They all knew.

Even the goddamn cat.

And they were all having fun watching Bucky squirm and not quite get his words out in time.

Tonight was no better. He had finally got Sam alone. He really had. Sam was in the kitchen grabbing some water and Bucky had him alone.

Until he didn't.

Because they were never alone for long.

Not that Bucky didn't like that about the Wilson household. He usually enjoyed it. He liked seeing AJ and Cass and Sarah. He liked Tommy and Carlos popping in whenever they wanted to chat and check up on everyone. He loved all of that usually.

And he could just see the glances of recognition in AJ and Cass' eyes, in Sarah's glee as they all tumbled out requests.

"Uncle Sam, could you help me with my homework?" asked AJ, holding up his notebook, "I'm having problem with this one geometry question."

"Uncle Sam, could you check on the code for this robot?" asked Cass holding up the wheeling leggo creation, "I'm still having problems with the tape maze and I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"Sam, I need to fix that leak. The one in the hallway," said Sarah as thunder boomed outside (was Thor in on this too?), "Could you start preparing dinner for me?"

Bucky should probably call it quits for today. Maybe try again later.

Bucky stood there as he watched Sam look over the math problem and Sarah left to fix the leak.

And maybe it was because Bucky was running on barely any sleep. Maybe it was because he'd been at this for months. But something in him placed his hand on Sam's arm halfway through chopping a carrot and said, "I need to talk with you."

"Now??" asked Sam, sounding frayed.

Sam looked frayed too.

But Bucky really wasn't thinking clearly and he found himself dragging Sam into the hallway.

Bucky stopped in the middle of the hall, his mind whirling as he found himself suddenly in the position to actually say the words. He had to, right? He needed to.

Was something dripping on his head?

Bucky tried to ignore it, the pitter patter of it, the way it was running down his forehead and into his eye.

"Bucky," said Sam, like he was about to stop whatever was about to happen.

"No. I'm saying this," Bucky said a little deliriously, but then he heard the telltale signs of Sarah opening up a ladder.

"You're under the leak," said Sarah casually.

Bucky made sounds.

So many nonsensical sounds as he found himself gently pulling Sam by the arm through the hallway, the foyer, out the door, off the porch, in the rain. In the heavy rain, laughing, possibly a little unhinged because no one was going to stop Bucky now, right? No one was rushing into the rain to interrupt.

Maybe now he could say the words.

Bucky felt his mouth immediately fill with water the moment he opened it. Droplets blurring his vision as they caught in his eyelashes. Bucky tried to speak, he really did, but the rain was too loud. Bucky couldn't see well, but he could see that Sam wasn't hearing his half-sputtered words.

And he could hear Sam laughing - laughing - at him. Bucky was laughing too. Giggling and shaking along with Sam as they stood bewilderingly in the rain.

Bucky felt Sam grab him by the hand, guiding them over to Sam's truck.

"I'll pay for the detailing. I still owe you for that steering wheel," said Bucky helplessly, not sure why he felt so much shier all of the sudden.

Maybe because sitting in the backseat of Sam's truck made Bucky feel like a teenager. All cozy with a crush.

Sam laughed.

And Bucky lost the thread of what he was doing, turning to see that gap-toothed smile. Sam arching his eyebrow as if to ask what Bucky needed to tell him right that second. What Bucky had been trying to tell Sam for months.

And they were both soaked. In the back of Sam's truck. Staring at each other.

Bucky wasn't sure if there was anyone else other than the two of them in the world now. Not when he got lost in Sam's eyes like this. Smiling at each other.

Bucky wondered if Sam felt that way too.

Sam reached out to Bucky. Bucky leaned into the wet, chilly fingertips. Felt them on his cheek.

Felt Sam poke him, amused. Eyes soft. Eyebrow still arched.

"Bucky," whispered Sam.

Something in Bucky panicked. Because Sam had to know too. Everyone knew.

This was his chance. His moment. To say the words. Love. Like. Something.

"Wanna kiss you real bad!" blurted Bucky.

Sam cackled.

Bucky could die. Right then. Right now. Just kill him. Let him suffer no longer.

But Sam, surprisingly inexplicably, took Bucky's face in his hands.

"Okay," giggled Sam, leaning closer to Bucky, "Let's do that."

And then it was happening. Sam was kissing Bucky. Lips on lips.

Was this always an option? Bucky should have asked Sam months ago. Years, if Bucky was being honest. He found himself taking lead, Sam moaning in his arms.

"I. Um. I also. Like you?" said Bucky abruptly mid-kiss, and why had that come out as a question?

A dazed Sam blinked away his kiss high, snickering.

"Are you asking me if you like me?" asked Sam in a fit of giggles.

"I like you!" blurted Bucky, feeling his face heat up, "Fuck. Finally. I needed to say that for months."

Sam looked absolutely frazzled.

"R-Really?" asked Sam, some mix of confusion and - was that joy?

Was Sam happy about this?

Bucky pulled Sam closer again, peppering him with kisses.

"I do," said Bucky between kisses, "I love you, I love you, I love you, Sam Wilson."

Sam seemed overwhelmed. A little stunned. But he giggled and held onto Bucky close, hiding his face in Bucky's shoulder as he said, "I love you too, you weirdo. You didn't have to drag me out in the rain to say that."

Bucky kept laughing.

And kissing Sam.

Maybe because he was a man finally released from his curse. Maybe because he hadn't had a good night's sleep in months. Maybe because Samuel Thomas Wilson loved him back.

It was probably the third thing.

Bucky was just happy Sam liked him back.

Loved him back.

And dinner needed Sam. And the world needed Sam. And they'd leave the car soon. But Sam seemed to be okay with Bucky holding him right now. So, Bucky kept holding him. Kept holding the man he loved. Who loved him back.

*****

Want me to write a ficlet for you? Check out the prompts and send me an ask!

[epistaxia]

Working hard

♡  mechanic!Eddie Munson x f!reader  ♡

Summary: It’s time to see what Eddie has been up to almost all summer, so you surprise him at work. Except when you get there a little surprise is waiting for you.

Contents/warnings (18+ MINORS DNI!): smut, f!reader (no use of y/n, semi-public (no one sees them and they don’t go all the way yk?), nudity

Word count: 642

A/N: I’ve read this headcanon around and loved it, then i saw this picture on pinterest and immediately wrote this instead of studying for my latin exam :). Also the hair bun makes an appearance!

♡

Summer is almost over. The temperatures in Indiana are starting to lower, so today’s your last chance to wear the short denim skirt Eddie paid for on your last shopping spree. Since the end of the school year Eddie has been working in the garage of one of his uncle’s acquaintances. 

Sure, he got paid and the dates you had were proper dates, in restaurants, with flowers, gifts. But this also meant Eddie was busier and you could see him less, which is why you’re on your way to surprise him at work.  

When you walk in the garage what you presume is the man in charge of the place is sleeping in what should be an office, despite Dio blasting from a beat-up stereo on a tool cart. You follow the music looking around. 

Naked calendars and nude magazine spreads are hung up on the walls, nothing unusual for a place like this. Except for the polaroid stuck in a corner.

Your cheeks grow warmer, and your heart beats faster for a moment, when you recognize the image. It’s a picture of you, from the lips down, specifically of your boobs, with Eddie’s ring clad fingers acting as a bra.  

Your demeanor changes as you walk towards the car Eddie was working on. You’re carried by a mix of embarrassment, for having your chest on display for everyone that walked in, and pride, because instead of a random half naked model he chose a picture of you.

Eddie’s laying under a car on one of those rollers, tinkering with tools and performing a falsetto version of Holy diver. The singing stops when he feels you standing above him, feet planted on either side of his legs.

He slowly rolls out from under the car, until his face is aligned with your feet.

“Hi Eddie.”  

From this perspective he can see everything. You feel the tickling sensation of his gaze, travelling up, up, up from your ankles to the apex of your thighs, where the warmth from your chest has moved.

“Hi sweetheart,”. He’s smiling from ear to ear and doesn't look away to grab the rag to clean his hands. “Nice skirt.”

“Working hard?” His hair is tied away from his face in a low loose bun. Of his usual outfit, only the collar of a band shirt peeks out from the mechanic suit. It's dark blue and dirty, with “Eddie” written in sharpie on a patch he probably sewed on. 

He would actually loose his mind if you told actually told him what you were thinking of him right now: he lookes straight out of a mechanic roleplay porn tape.

“Very hard,” and talks like he’s in one too apparently. He places a hand on your ankle, rubbing circles on the soft skin with his thumb.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask smugly. The hand moves to squeeze your calf. Maybe today you could play the part of the naïve girl in desperate need of expert hands. For your car obviously.

“Yeah. I really need a break”. He’s tickling the delicate skin at the back of your knee. He doesn’t miss the way you try to hide a shiver, that’s definitely caused by the cold.

“Do your breaks usually involve polaroids?” Now he’s reached your upper thigh. His eyes flicking between yours and the destination of his hands.

“Oh, you saw it.” His hand slips under the hem of you skirt. “Sometimes they do, yes”

“Mhm?” Without breaking eye contact, he runs the pad of his thumb along the seam of your pussy through the material of your underwear. You've been trying to act unfazed until now, but you can’t help but whimper when he hooks a finger on the fabric and exposes you.

“Yes. Maybe we could take new ones.”

Or maybe, you think, it’s time for an upgrade to tapes.

[erwinsvow]

𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: uncle eren comes to visit.

warnings: step-cest, jealousy, manipulation, hints of verbal/emotional abuse + touch of dubcon to con, reader feels guilty, grinding/dry-humping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

author's note: part two of sole salvation. i really hope everyone enjoys this! the warnings are just to be on the safe side as i do not want to accidentally trigger anyone, please feel free to message me if you want to ask about something before reading.

tagging @sangwoos-mom & @divine-delight :)

If Zeke didn’t want my interest to get piqued, Eren thinks to himself as he watches you stroll away, off to get him to a fresh cup of lemonade, he should have kept his mouth shut.

When his brother had mentioned his new fiancee had a daughter, Eren had supposed it would be some spoiled, bratty kid. After all, he had met your mother once before, and he didn’t think that kind of a woman could raise someone even remotely well-behaved.

So given that, he was more than pleasantly surprised the first time he met you. It was all a shock, from the almost angelic way you float down the stairs to greet him, your soft skin and sweet smile, to the genuine look in your eyes when you tell him that you’re glad to finally meet him.

He still doesn’t know what Zeke did to deserve you in his life, the taste in his mouth a touch too bitter when he watches the way you look at his brother, even when your mom is in the same room. It’s dreamy, as though there’s no better way to spend your time and nothing better to think about than your step-father.

It’s a little unfair, Eren thinks, that Zeke has a sweet, doting little thing head over heels for him. It’s a little unfair that Zeke waited so long to invite him over, to introduce him to you. Maybe it was brotherly instinct, maybe he knew that once Eren met you, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, just like it had been for Zeke.

Regardless of what it was, Eren knew one thing for certain. Sibling should always share.

It finally takes an unbearable conversation on the phone with your mother for an excuse, an opportunity to arise. The lie is taking hold in his head and spilling out of his mouth before he can even control it—“Yeah, the pipes burst and it’s just a mess, I called Zeke but his phone’s off- no, really? Just for the weekend, I promise- thank you, I’ll be over soon.”

His bag is packed and cock is twitching at the idea of getting you alone in that house, maybe when Zeke’s locked away in his office and your mother’s out shopping. It’s going to be a hot week, with almost intolerable heat, and he’s positive it’ll have you in revealing clothes (no doubt ones that his brother bought for you) and teensy swimsuits when you go for an afternoon swim.

That’s what he’s thinking of—the image of you soaked to the bone, wet hair and the thin, dripping material of your suit sticking to your skin—when he pulls into your driveway later that day.

It’s almost easy enough to miss the slight wobble in your steps, the way your clothes are just a little too wrinkled for someone that’s been sitting around the house all day.

But Eren notices it, of course, and doesn’t miss the way Zeke practically keeps one eye on you the entire day, no matter who he’s talking to, either.

Maybe if Eren was just a drop stupider, a bit less cunning, you and Zeke could get away with all of it, but he’s not. He thinks it’s his turn to have his fun with you.

Your mother’s even more intolerable than he remembers. He wonders how bad a family dinner could be, but this is much worse than he could have fathomed. It’s a whole host of things, like how she’s oblivious to the affair happening right under her nose and her small comments that have your lips trembling and eyes blinking away tears before they can fall.

Jeez. Eren had initially felt bad for himself, but he’s starting to wonder how you put up with it. Maybe fucking around with Zeke is your own way of getting revenge, payback for every ‘Why do you look so tired, it’s not like you’re the one working all day’ and ‘Don’t you have plans with friends, or are you just gonna bother your parents all day?’

By the time dinner ends, you’ve made your way to the kitchen almost automatically, putting away dishes and wiping counters without even being told, as Zeke gives your mother a cold, hard stare.

“Was all that really necessary?” his brother questions quietly, eyes fuming with anger yet still disguising his true reason for being upset.

“What?” your mother responds innocently, pretending as though she hadn’t said anything wrong. Eren watches the interaction carefully. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t interject on a married couple’s little spat, but here he goes again, words out before he can control them. They’re spoken a bit louder than they needed to be, but he wants to make sure you hear them over the running water.

“I don’t know, she seems like a good girl to me, no? Maybe you should be easier on her.”

And a few feet away, in the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. Uncle Eren—who you’d only met once and heard about a handful of times, someone who doesn’t owe you anything, someone not even really related to you—defending you?

It was enough to make tears rush to your eyes again, a smile on your face as you rinse off the dishes.

Good girl. The words run through your head again, seemingly on repeat. They’re your two favorite words, enough to pick you up from the dark, sullen headspace you’re in as a result of your mother’s cruel phrases and Zeke’s stinging silence.

Zeke claims it’ll become too obvious, even to your clueless mother, if he always takes your side and speaks up for you, despite how much he wants to, he says. You’re so hopelessly gone, so devoted to him that you don’t think you have it in you to fight for it. The words he says when the two of you are alone, how he makes you feel and spoils you rotten makes up for it, right?

That’s what you’d been telling yourself all this time, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the act going. Does he think it’s easy to watch him walk into the bedroom he shares with your mother every night? To watch her kiss him goodbye, hold onto his arm in public, while you trail behind like a lost puppy?

It’s not actually revenge you’re aiming for, when you start greeting Eren in the morning brightly, walking straight on over to him in the living room rather than the kitchen where your step-father is. It’s closer to a plea for attention, like you’re waiting for Zeke to realize you can play at this game too.

Eren’s more than happy to indulge you, spending hours of the day beside you on the couch watching movies, or watering the lawn while you work on your garden, claiming that he just wants to help out around the house as much as he can. His weekend-long visit turns into a week, as the ‘good for nothing contractors are taking their sweet time.’

It’s terribly easy to make you believe every word he’s saying, with you even defending him when Zeke asks how much longer he’s planning on sticking around.

“He’s family,” you had argued valiantly, leaving your step-father with narrowed eyes and a tense jaw as he noticed Eren smiling behind you. For once, your mother had agreed with you, and Zeke was left with no choice.

It’s sunny and warm when Eren’s opportunity, the one he’s been waiting for patiently, appears. Your mother’s gone out again, this time to the salon, there’s that hour of time right after she’s left that you usually treasure, because you know there’s no chance she’ll be on her way back or call home.

It’s usually your favorite time of the day, when you know you can have Zeke all to yourself, and that’s what you’re thinking, when you hesitantly make your way to the door of his office.

Truly, you hadn’t meant to make Zeke angry, you just wanted to be there for Uncle Eren how he was there for you. You were ready to make up and forget about it now, dolled up in a new sundress that you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet. Zeke had bought it only weeks ago, before Uncle Eren’s sudden visit, and you thought he might like it if you wore it now.

Your hand has just reached the cool metal of the doorknob, just about to twist when you hear a ringing from inside the room, of Zeke’s phone going off.

You step back, knowing better than to interrupt one of his calls. You’re disheartened a little, mind wondering why he would schedule something when you and he both know this is your hour, your chance to be alone.

You make your way back downstairs, lingering on the last step and thinking about going back up in a few minutes, when Uncle Eren’s voice calls to you from the living room, making you jump a little.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice calm and quiet, a contrast to your thudding heart.

“That’s okay, Uncle Eren,” you say, and your head turns back to look in the direction of Zeke’s office inadvertently. “I was just-”

“Waiting for Daddy, huh?” Your lips part a little in surprise, confused by his implication. Though surely, Zeke wouldn’t have told Uncle Eren anything. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“I-I just needed to ask him something, but I think he’s on the phone with someone,” you say quietly, confused at Eren’s tone, the confidence with which he spoke those words, almost mockingly.

“Oh, yeah. He told me he’s busy all afternoon, something or other about work and a report-” Eren stops himself right when he notices your expression change, looking thoroughly upset that Zeke was busy when you were ripe for the taking. “He didn’t tell you about that?”

Fuel to the fire, maybe a bit too much, but Eren doesn’t care. Not as long as you keep it up, looking like a maimed little prey upon realizing that Daddy was too busy for you.

Yes, Eren was getting much better with the lying. It doesn’t even register to you to question his words, to go back up and double check, that Zeke might, in fact, be waiting for you to knock on his door at this very second.

Your feet find their way to the sofa, slumping down dejectedly, as Eren sits right next to you. It’s the way you two have been sitting for the past week, except he’s ready to take the risk. His hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing the soft skin as you let out a shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear.

“All afternoon?” comes your quiet voice, trembling at the mere notion that Zeke was upset with you. You hadn’t meant to take it this far, hadn’t thought he would be ignoring you just because you disagreed with something he said for the first time.

But your sadness is turning into something different when you look at the hungry, almost predatory way Uncle Eren is looking at you now.

“That’s what he said, sweetheart. Did you two have plans, or something?” It’s coming off nonchalant, or so he hopes, because every bone in his body is excited at the prospect before him, blood rushing to his hardening cock as he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

“N-no, I just… He always spends time with me when mom leaves. I just thought he would be free.”

It’s the sweet, lonely way you’re looking into his eyes, your own doe-like and watery, that tips him over the edge.

“Well, I can keep you company.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, baby. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone… it’s not right, well, at least to me.”

“Yeah?” Eren nods his head, line between his lies and the truth blurring suddenly as you inch closer and closer to him.

“I wouldn’t treat you like that, if you were mine, you know-” and he can’t finish his sentence, because your hands are on the collar of his shirt and you’re shifting onto his lap, and your lips are on each other.

It’s stupid, you know, to be so easily guided by a few choice words, putty in virtually anyone’s hands if they say the right things and make you feel seen and heard, but you can’t stop now.

Eren’s tongue is in your mouth, your lips practically glued together as you feel his hands go under the soft cotton of your dress, exploring the supple skin of your thighs. It’s not long before his hands find your ass, squeezing and groping as moan into his mouth.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you yelp, pulling away for just a second before Eren’s hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss again. You moan again, louder, when his teeth bite down on your lip just a little bit, when Eren finally pulls away.

“Can’t be too loud, remember, sweetheart? Daddy’s busy upstairs,” he says, somehow knowing exactly what would rile you up. The words act like a little shock running through your system, making you even more eager for Eren’s touch.

“Don’t care-!” you mewl, head going fuzzy when you feel Eren’s hard cock grind against your core, waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You’re still, Eren’s hand coming up to cover your mouth as he continues his rocking movement, making you moan against his hand.

Your eyes roll back when Eren increases his speed, and it’s silly, how the barely-there contact is making you shake, the coil in your stomach tense and unwinding, when Eren stops completely.

You whine loudly, muffled some by his hand, but not entirely, causing Eren to spank you again.

“I thought you were a good girl, hm? Don’t get bratty on me now,” he says, though he thinks it went in one ear and out the other as you come down from your incomplete high.

“I want-I want you, Uncle Eren, now-!” Another whine, another spank. You cry out again, until the fourth slap—which leaves your ass sore already from Eren’s heavy-handedness—silences you.

“Sweetheart, stop misbehaving or you’re not gonna get anything, okay?” he coos, fingers finding your chin and directing your face to look him in the eyes. They’re lust-blown too, and his hardness is still evident underneath your body, but your body’s inclined to follow his rules, despite how badly you want to cum.

“Yes, Uncle Eren,” you say softly, your squirming body finally stopping. Eren’s fingers find their way to the thin straps of your sundress, pulling them until they rest on your shoulder and expose your neck and collar to him.

“Tell me something, baby, did you wear this for me? Or for him?” The very mention of Zeke makes your body stiffen, but you’re still desperate for more and eager to please Uncle Eren.

“For you,” you mumble, wanting to just bury your head in the crook of Eren’s neck and feel him inside you, though you know you won’t get what you want that easily.

“Me? I’m so honored,” he says, letting out a laugh at how your body shakes in anticipation but you stay completely still. He wonders if Zeke had to teach you to be this obedient, or if it just comes to you naturally.

He thinks it’s the latter when he rolls his hips quickly, watching you squirm and bite your lip hard to keep quiet, another rush of pleasure coursing through you, though it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay, baby, you’ve been good enough to me, haven’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head quickly. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you?” You nod again and let out a shaky breath when Eren moves your hips with his hands, finally giving you the much-needed pressure on your clit.

“Why don’t you cum for me, baby, just like this? Mmh?” You’re letting out little squeals at each contact, hips moving faster and faster as Eren lays back and lets you use his cock as a toy to grind against. His head falls back at how good it feels, though he won’t let himself cum until he’s inside you.

You’re close again, stomach tensing again and that familiar feeling gathering inside your chest, making you feel warm all over as you speed up.

The breaking point is when Eren’s hands come to your chest, pulling down your dress and exposing your tits to the cool air. His fingers pinch one while his mouth finds the other, and suddenly you can’t keep quiet no matter how hard you try, moans spilling out your mouth as well as repeated cries of Uncle Eren, that sound sweet as sugar to Eren.

It’s when Eren starts bucking his hips up too, that you finally cum, a bolt of pleasure running through your entire body as he keeps going. You’re not entirely sure what kind of noises you’re making—everything seems to be muted and fuzzy as repeated shocks make you shake, Eren’s firm grip on your tits being the only thing that’s grounding you.

When you finally come down, forcing yourself away from Eren’s lap and legs pressed tightly together to calm your oversensitive cunt, there’s a lecherous look in Eren’s eyes. It’s screaming to you, silently, how he’s not done with you yet.

“Aw, baby, look how fast you came just from a little bit of humping. Are you that desperate, bunny? Is Daddy not taking care of you?”

Your face feels like it might be on fire, blood and heat rushing at the same time and burning quickly with shame at the realization that Eren knew all along, that he’s been playing this little game with you since his arrival and you never, not once, had the upper hand.

He feels more predatory than ever before, spreading your legs despite how your legs ache and your core is burning—even if you wanted more, you don’t think you could take it—but it doesn’t seem like Eren cares.

“U-uncle Eren, we shouldn’t- h-he might-” you start, but are cut off as Eren presses a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart, isn’t that a little unfair? If you get to cum, and I don’t? Be a good girl and spread for me,” he says, and you feel your body comply automatically.

Your back’s on the couch now, Eren hovering over you. All it would take is a few steps in this direction after coming down the stairs for someone to find you, but you can hardly care when Eren’s shoving your dress up, exposing your panties and shoving them to the side, your wetness on display for him.

“One day, baby, when Daddy’s not here, I’m gonna fuck you stupid with my tongue—just not today,” and the words go straight to your head. Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest every time he mentions Zeke, a sense of guilt washing over you and replacing the pleasure you feel, but you forget all about it when you see Eren undos his pants and take out his hardened cock.

It’s plainly wrong to compare it to Zeke’s, and though it might not be longer, it’s definitely thicker, not as pretty but covered in throbbing veins that you can’t even imagine feeling inside you.

Eren’s about to grant your wish, running his cockhead over your sensitive clit once, twice, and just as you're expecting a third, he pushes inside of you.

A strangled, loud moan escapes your lips before he can cover your mouth again. It’s agonizing, not being able to make a sound as your step-uncle fucks you into the couch, movements picking up and a steady pace filling the room with obscene noises. You can’t see where the two of you are connected, since your eyes are locked with Eren’s pretty green ones, but you know you’re making a mess.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, every thrust stretching you out, you think he’s ruined your cunt for anyone else—but that’s exactly what he wants.

It’s silent, save for the heavy patter of Eren’s balls against your ass with each thrust, the sound of his hips knocking with yours. He’s trying to keep his grunts silent, but it’s getting harder and harder with the way you’re clenching around him, so tight and wet and soft, he wonders what his brother did to deserve someone like you—he wonders why he doesn’t spend every minute inside you.

Your sensitive cunt tightens around him, knowing only another few strokes and grazes on your clit will be enough to tip you into your second orgasm. Your shaky hand finds Eren’s, pulling his wrist away from your face and meeting his lips again, releasing muffled moans into his mouth.

You know he’s close too, from the way his pace picks up, and you pull away just for a second, just to say three words.

“Please, Uncle Eren.”

And it’s enough to make his hips stutter, enough to uncoil the knot in your tense stomach and have your orgasm washing over you, as you feel Eren fill your cunt with his hot cum. Your lips are on each other, the lewd squelching of his slowing thrusts matching the small squeaks you release, until he finally pulls out and your panties snap back over your leaking cunt.

It’s hard to catch your breath, from your position laying down, feeling your tight hole throb and Eren’s cum spill out, probably onto the sofa seat. You adjust the top of your dress, covering your tits and pulling one strap up. When you’re fixing the skirt, you feel Eren’s hands pull the other strap onto your shoulder, hands lingering on your exposed skin.

You shy away from looking at him, despite how his cum is still inside you. It feels too intimate, almost, because a part of you thinks you were taken advantage of, and another part of you doesn’t ever want Eren to leave you.

Eren’s fingers find your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. You blink quickly, licking your swollen lips and biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

Neither of you speak, though you know what’s lingering in the air. You can tell he’s gotten what he wanted, and he’s going to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from speaking first, throat scratchy and dry and your words nothing more than a whisper.

“C-can I… did you- did you mean all those things you said? Before?”

And suddenly Eren understands everything, why you’re this way, why you need to be validated so badly, why his brother’s such a good match for you. He thinks he’d sacrifice anything too, like his marriage and a new life, just to make you happy.

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I meant every word of it.”

“Really?” There’s a soft smile on your lips, your eyes watery and he thinks it doesn’t have anything to do with how hard he fucked you.

“Yeah, I-”

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeke’s voice comes from behind you.

[beckwritesfiction]

Slow Ride - Chapter 1 

CHAPTER INDEX: X

Notes: This is the first time I've shared any of my fan fiction in around ten years. I've grown as a writer, but I wanted to do something just for fun. This follows Bob falling in love with a fellow Top Gun graduate, and Hangman getting a reality check and falling a woman unlike anyone he's ever been with before. I've taken some liberties with their back stories, but overall I think it's fairly accurate. There are some cliches in here for the fun of it. Why would Maverick have an assistant? Because it's convenient for my plot. But trust me, you'll love it. With this series, I promise a lot. Sometimes soft hangman. A well-written Bob. Anxiety representation.

Summary: Henrietta follows Maverick to his new assignment and meets an unsuspecting Hangman her first night in town.

Word Count: 2.8k

ARRIVAL: HENRIETTA

Henrietta had never considered herself adventurous.  Maybe that was why she was so on edge every time Maverick did something she knew wasn’t allowed.  If he was fired, she would be, too.  At least that was what she thought every time, but the worst that happened was a transfer.  The day Cain was ready to shut their operation down, she thought that was the day she would actually get fired.  

While they waited for Mav’s arrival, they knew he would find a way to not listen.  And they agreed they’d play dumb, otherwise they’d be in just as deep as him.  She, however, could not be dishonorably or honorably discharged.  She was just the person that fetched the papers and made the coffee.  But she didn’t like tension.  She wasn’t even sure she liked it when more than a few people were in a room at a time, let alone high-ranking officials and seasoned veterans.

Hen had been housebound for six months after what happened.  She had no confidence in being about to go into society again, and taking a walk with the man she called her uncle as a child seemed to be the only thing she looked forward to.  Online classes were hard, but they were better than none at all.  The idea that she could find a way to make money without needing to deal with everyday people was appealing.

“I’ve called you like ten times,” she said tensely when Mav dismounted his bike.  

“That’s the beauty of these things.  You can’t even feel the vibration of your telephone,” he said.

“No one calls it a telephone anymore.”  He began to walk, and she followed.  “If you want to run the test, you’ll have to do it fast.  Cain’s on his way.  He’s shutting it down.  Hondo’s about to brief you on it.”

“Shutting it down?” he echoed, perplexed.

Hen shrugged.  “I’m assuming we have the heads up so you can run it and say ‘oops’ when you come back down.  Because you will come back down, because you’re hitting mach ten and then, you know…coming back down.”

Mav looked over at her, giving her a firm nod.  “Just like all the other tests.”  When he assured her in times like this, there was this nagging feeling in the back of her mind.  He was confident, and confident people scared her because there was such a large margin for things to go terribly wrong.  How he knew every time he’d come back down, she had no idea.  Flying was something you could control until you couldn’t.  She of all people should know that. 

“I know you wanna be the guy that goes the fastest, but mach ten is fast.  It’s so fast.  Mach ten point one isn’t that much faster, and neither is ten point two.  So hit it, then come back down.  Please.  Don’t try to be Icarus.”  The team was heading toward them in the hangar, and this was her final plea. “Right now, you’re all I have left.”

“You won’t lose me over something like this,” he said, as though she should know it already.

“Anything can happen to an aircraft—”

Hondo and the team’s presence made her stop.  She wasn’t about to air out her trauma in front of a bunch of men.

Hen waited outside of Cain’s office for what felt like hours.  When Mav left, she gathered her things, closing her laptop and shoving it into her bag as she tried to keep up with him. “Good news, bad news?” she asked.  Her glasses were sliding down the bridge of her nose, so she pushed them up.

“Have you ever been a teacher’s assistant?” he inquired.

“I never got to that point before I dropped out.”

“Did you really drop out if you’re back in school?  Doing it on your laptop is just as good as doing it in a classroom.”

“I didn’t leave my house for six months,” she reminded him.

“Well, San Diego should be a nice change of scenery.  I’m going back to Top Gun.  We’ll leave in an hour.”

She let him go ahead of her, unsure if she’d be able to do it with him.  Top Gun was where it all started.  She wasn’t even sure if she would exist without it.  It was the best and worst thing that had ever happened to her.

After riding for hours, they were finally in San Diego.  He wanted to get some things settled and gave her the night off.  Knowing this was a joke, mostly because he didn’t pay her by the hour, and because he knew that he was the only person she knew in San Diego, he offered to let her make his lesson plans between studying.

What she didn’t expect was for him to take her to The Hard Deck, a bar that was crowded and loud.  Deciding it was best to give him a little privacy given his reunion with an old flame, she exiled herself to the corner.  The booth was comfortable enough, and she was able to spread out and study there.  She was there for nearly half an hour before she was snapped out of her intense focus.  The man that leaned on the corner of the table was looking at her like he expected something.  Then she realized he said something that she’d missed.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, ‘I didn’t realize this was a college hangout.’”

He was tall, even leaning over, and his eyes were intense.  Confident.  Confidence wasn’t welcome in her world anymore.  Maverick was just about all she could take.

“Oh, yeah. I…don’t really have anywhere else to do this right now.  My uncle’s my ride, and he’s not ready to leave yet.”

There was a moment where she felt like she couldn’t breathe.  He was looking at her like he was searching for something, and she wasn’t sure there was anything for him to find.  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, his eyes leaving hers only to look at her dwindling glass of water.

Hen wanted to say that she was doing homework and that and drinking didn’t usually go together, but words weren’t coming to her that easily.  All she could do was nod.  Watching him, uniform and all, from her booth made her wonder why he came over to her.  She was not the only woman in the bar, but she was the only one in the corner looking like she had something to do.  Because she did.  When he sat down in front of her, he offered her a glass filled with something she couldn’t identify if she tried.  She never had the party phase of college. “Thanks,” she willed herself to say.  Now that she said one thing, she felt like she could say another.  Only she went to say it right when he spoke.  She laughed, looking at his tight lipped smile.  “Sorry, go ahead.”

“I’ve seen a lot, but I’ve never seen someone studying in a bar before.”

Her attention went back to her laptop, which she closed.  “What else is there to do?” she asked, and he laughed.  She hadn’t meant it as a joke, but she went with it as she stacked the folder and textbook against the wall.  

“What are you studying?” he asked.

“Journalism.”  She took a drink, and she resisted the urge to cringe.  It was strong, and she wasn’t used to it.

“I’m Hangman,” he said.  “Jake, but most people call me Hangman.”

Her heart sank.  If he had a call sign, he was probably Top Gun.  “Oh, it’s your call sign?”  Feeling like she couldn’t ignore him after he bought her a drink, she added, “What made you pick a name like Strawman?  Do you get tangled in a lot of debates?”  She laughed, then, genuinely, and he smiled only because she laughed.

“No, it’s hangman.”

“Oh, sorry.  It’s kind of loud in here.”

“What’s this about debating?” he asked.

“It’s the strawman argument.  When you’re debating with someone and you argue another point on purpose to throw off the original debate.”

“Why is it that I can't imagine you debating with anyone?”

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hen asked. She didn't want to be offended, but she wondered why he assumed that about her. 

He shrugged.  “I'm just saying, you're a pretty girl studying in a bar.  It’s not what I expect from you.”

She couldn't focus, then. He had called her pretty, and she wasn't sure when she had been out long enough to get anyone's attention, let alone someone who looked like him. If he was in Top Gun, he was probably cocky, and he was also probably way too confident for her liking. “Well, I'm not combative. I was just the president of the debate team in high school.”

“Oh, that’s adorable.” he grinned.  She went to speak, then didn’t.  She scanned the bar for Maverick, hoping he would interrupt so she didn't have to figure out how to tell him she wasn’t from there and not the kind of girl he was looking for.  “What’s your name?”

“Henrietta.  People never call me that, though.  Henri, Hen.”  He smiled into his drink before downing the rest of it.  She didn’t like that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.  His smile, ever-present and now seeming a bit smug to her, threw her off.  Suddenly, she wasn’t so nervous just because he looked like a walking Barbie promo.  “What, are you used to hooking up with girls named Jenny?  You think I’m unique because I”m sitting in a corner studying at a bar, I have a unique name.  Which, yes, it sounds like it belongs to an old lady, and it did.  It’s my grandmother’s name.  You can say it all, I’ve probably heard it before.”

“When did this turn into us hooking up?” he challenged.

“Why else did you come over here?  I’m clearly not from here, and neither are you.”

“Relax, I never said it was a bad idea.  I just wondered where you made that connection.  And I’ve yet to check Jenny off my list.  I’ve been with two Nicole’s, though.  Henrietta definitely wasn’t on the list, but now it is.”

Hen began to scoot out of the booth, taking her laptop and mess of papers and documents with her.  “You’re disgusting, just like that drink.”

“It’s a Jack and Coke,” he said, much calmer than her.

“I don’t like Jack, and I don’t like Coke.  And that’s a strawman argument.  Have a great night.”  Her tone implied that she didn’t want him to have a great night, but he took it.  When she hurried her way through the packed bar, even more packed than when they arrived, she found that Maverick was not there.  The man playing the piano loudly set off the alarm bells in her head.  She didn’t want to be in the crowd and she didn’t want to be there anymore.  She wanted to go to her room and watch Gilmore Girls on her laptop under a blanket.

As she burst out the bar’s front door, she found Maverick in the parking lot.  “I was just about to call you,” he said.

“Well, no need.  I’m here. And all I want to do is go home.”

He pressed his lips together, shaking his head gently. “You can’t hang out with me forever.  You didn’t talk to one person tonight?”

“No, I actually did talk to one person, and I didn’t like it.”

As he mounted his bike, she adjusted her backpack and got on behind him. “The longer you hide yourself away from the rest of the world, the harder it’ll be to come back.  There should be more to your life besides this.”

She said nothing, mostly because she knew he was right.  But she also knew she didn’t have to sit around and have hot Top Gun graduates laugh at her name.  She liked her old lady name.  

[skyfallslayer]

The Daughter of The (Dare)Devil - Story 2

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: A Series of stories revolving around the MCU timeline of Matt Murdock and his Daughter, Kaila. Being the child of a vigilante can be hard and scary at times, but it doesn’t mean she ain’t going to enjoy the most of it.

(Can be read as Y/N if you’d like)

Story Summary: The new addition to Nelson & Murdock is great, they surely enjoyed the company and help. Although, Matt would have to admit, Miss Page was a curious thing. Maybe TOO curious when it comes to personal questions (Set shortly after S1E1, “Into The Ring.”).

Read story 1 to get a better understanding.

Date: 5/13/22

Rating: Teen/Borderline of Mature

Word Count: 5,289

Warning: Hints of Karedevil (my OTP); Changing POVs (?); Possible OOC; Angst/Lots of angst; Talks of possible adoption; Abandonment; Talks of disability; References to panic attacks; READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

(Let me know if I missed anything)

A/N: Finally back! I'm sorry this took forever, I had a lot of personal drama come up. But I'm back! So sorry about that! And I hope you enjoy the story!

Also, this is not my best work, but hopefully ya'll like it :)

Karen Page.

She was an interesting one, Matt would have to admit. But that didn’t stop him and Foggy from offering her a job at their newly appointed firm. Which honestly, they most definitely needed the help. It was better than letting a fourteen year old girl be their secretary when she should be doing schoolwork during their office hours. Speaking of-

“So, remind me again what exactly happened? Since… you know, I was away on a field trip.” Kaila asked, giving her father an earful. She was helping him cross the street as they made their trek to his new business building. “You take a case with Foggy a few hours after opening, somehow win, but not before you save this woman from being killed and allow her to stay in our apartment for safety?” 

He smirks, only imagining the expression she had on. “Yeah, something like that.”

“And Uncle Foggy doesn’t know that last part?”

“Nope.”

“But the two of you gave her a job out of the goodness of your hearts?”

“Uh, Huh.”

“Huh.” She whispers to him that a biker was coming (even though he probably could hear it coming from behind), and moves them both. “So… how long has it been since then?”

“About… four days, give or take.” Matt says, thinking. “Maybe shorter?”

“Okay. Well, is she nice at least?” She asked, protectively, which her father picked up quickly.

He chuckles, patting the arm that's helping him. “Relax, Kai. She’s a good person. You’ll like her.”

“Alrighty. Just checking.”

They soon arrived at the building, Matt already sensing that everyone was already inside. He opens the door with his usual smile, the ruffling of papers and books stopped as he felt two sets of eyes on him.

“Hi, Matthew.” Karen said, chirpy.

“Hi. Sorry to be late, I had a little delay.” He replies, truthfully (he had a stitch that came loose).

“Matt! Perfect timing!” Foggy calls out, stumbling from his office. He kicks an empty container out of his way, greeting him with open arms. “We need help organizing if you can. We found more boxes that need to be unpacked.”

“Surely I can.” He said, before gesturing to his child looking around the room with curious eyes. “If you don’t mind, I brought Kaila over today.”

Foggy’s face lights up more. “K-Pop! You’re here!”

The brunette snorts, offering him a hug. “Hi, Foggy.” Kaila says, feeling the love.

“Oh, this is perfect!” He says pulling away, hands resting on her shoulders. “Do you have homework?”

“Uh… no. Not this week.”

“Awesome! That means you can help with filing.” He holds up one finger as her face morphed into disappointment. “Yes, you are. You’re not going to sit here and play on your phone all day kiddo, alright?”

“You sound more of a dad than he is.” Kaila jokes, gesturing to her father. 

“I guess I got the day off.” Matt said and shrugged. He suddenly picked up the slight uncomfortable tension in the air from someone. “Oh, uh, Karen-” He turns to the blonde woman. “This is my daughter, Kaila. Kaila, this is the person I was telling you about, Karen Page.”

The young Murdock uses her manners, and extends her hand out. “Hi, Miss Page.”

Karen smiles softly. “Hi.” She says, shaking it. “I… didn’t know you had a daughter, Matt.”

“Well, I haven’t had a chance to bring it up, or place any photos on my fold out table yet.” Matt reponses, a bit tongue and cheek. 

Kaila lightly hits him in the arm. “Really? You get this semi new office and don’t have pictures of precious little me?” She says in the same tone as him.

“Don’t worry.” Foggy smirks, reaching inside his office to snag a picture frame to show off. “I got ya cover, K-Pop.”

A little girl with tiny pigtails and a missing front tooth was being squished between two men. The two of them still had a very ‘college’ look about them while they stood in front of a carousel for the photo.

Kaila scrunched her nose. “That’s like the worst photo of me.”

“What?” He turns it towards himself to look at it. “I don’t think so.”

“I puked after we took that.”

“Because your father gave you a butt load of candy.”

“Hey-” Matt begins, holding his hand up in defense. “Don’t shoot shots at me. I’ve got the day off, remember?” 

“Exactly!” Foggy points to his friend. “Which reminds me-” He takes her by the shoulders again, steering her away. “It’s time to do some filing, young lady.”

She threw her head back with a sigh. “Noooooo.” She whined with a pouting face.

“Tough. The faster we get this done in an organized manner, we can go get lunch. I was thinking… that shawarma’s place a few blocks away? How’s that sound?”

Her brown eyes lit up at the sound of that. “Oh! Yes, please!”

“Perfect! Matt, Karen, chop chop! Food’s on the line.”

Karen and Matt chuckled at his childish antics, but did what they were told in their own ways (Which was just Matt unpacking boxes whole Karen put the necessary items away in their proper places). While doing so there was an interesting silence between them, one that wasn’t uncomfortable, but was also along the border of being uncomfortable. I mean… 

Could you blame them though? The teenager’s laughter in the background wasn’t helping either, nor was Foggy’s encouragement/hangry-emotional filled comments (Do you see why Matt doesn’t want to leave the two of them alone?). 

After a long time of nothing, The blonde begins with:

“So…” She shuffled papers together nervously. “No offense, but um… when I… uh stayed in your home I never would have guessed a child was living with you.”

Matt’s lip curled up a little, finding her statement a little humorous actually. “None taken.” He chuckles, shifting his stance against the tower of boxes. “Well… since I can’t see, there’s kind of no need to decorate the place. The only place that I've been told that’s decorated is Kai’s room. The uh… door was closed when you stayed.”

“Ah.” Karen says, nodding a little. “I see.”

A pregnant pause again, as her shy blue eyes quickly flickered to his left hand, a million thoughts and questions ran through her mind. Matt “felt” her movement, and heard the way her heart nervously paced. He could tell she was trying not to cross a line she wasn’t supposed to yet; Which he’ll admit that it was sweet of her being so considerate, despite barely knowing each other.

“Hey, Karen?” He said, earning a hum from her. “It’s okay if you want to ask questions. I’m sure you have many.”

“Uh…” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as she fiddled with her hands. “Well… I-I do, I just don’t-”

“It’s okay.” He gives her a reassuring smile. “If we’re going to be working together from now on, I guess I should tell you a little about my life.”

“You… you’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Oh… okay. Um.” She runs a hand through her locks, thinking. “Were… were you… married at all? “

He shakes his head. “No, no. No marriage for me. No uh… she was born out of wedlock.”

“Oh. So… a girlfriend?”

“Uh…” He sighs quietly. “Sort of. I… I met this girl towards the end of law school, broke it off shortly after graduation because it wasn’t going to work out. Although-” He uses his hands to emphasize his words. “If I’m being honest it was more of a fling than a relationship, so I don’t really know if I can call her my ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh.” She frowns sadly, worriedly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s fine.” Matt says, truthfully (well… maybe there was a bit of a white lie there).

“So, you found out she was pregnant after you broke up?”

“Well…” He clenches his jaw a little. He didn’t exactly like this part of the story. “Not exactly. I didn’t know Kaila existed. Um…” His throat started to go dry. “I’ll just tell you the story, it’ll make it easier. So… It was a couple months after I moved into my apartment…”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

-Fourteen Years Ago-

You could say Matt was living the high life at this moment. Sure, money was a little tight, and his damn kitchen sink wouldn’t stop dripping after a few uses, and the neighbour’s dog wouldn’t shut up at an ungodly hour in the night, but he was in a good place. A decent size apartment he got for a bit of a discount since it faced the neon sign that Foggy claimed shines the uglies of colors; But that didn’t bother him for obvious reasons, and even if he could see the stupid thing, it wouldn’t pop his bubble of happiness.

He’s finally graduated from school, passed the bar on his second try, and has a pending interview with one of the best law firms in Hell’s Kitchen; All while he has his best friend was right beside him doing the same. What more could he ask for?

“-and you just keep ignoring her calls?” Foggy asks, sliding his Fall jacket on, while staying near the worn down couch his friend had.

Matt scoffs a little. “Well, what am I supposed to do, Foggy? I haven’t talked to her in months, and she decides to call out of the blue?” He holds his finger up, pausing the other man. “And before you say anything, I did try to call her back once, and she didn’t pick up.”

“Okay, jeez. I won’t.” Foggy says, holding his hands up in defense before fishing around for his thin gloves. “I’m just saying, what if it’s important?”

“Then she would have picked up when I called her.”

“Alright, that’s true too.” He quirks a little smile after getting himself situated, clasping his hands together. “Alright. I’m going to get us some pizza.”

Matt raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to just order for delivery?”

“This place doesn’t deliver, remember? And it’s the best pizza I’ve ever had, so I’m willing to walk a few blocks to go get it.” Foggy replies, sounding like a man on a mission.

Matt chuckles, truly never understanding his logic. “Alright, Fog. I won’t argue.”

“Good. Cause you won’t regret it when you taste the delicious seasonings and spices inside the rich tasting sauce. It’s-” He makes a chef’s kiss sound and movement. “Delicioso.” He hums at the sound of it. “I’ll be back.”

“Alright.”

Foggy takes a couple of steps before stopping and looks around. “Man, we gotta get you some art or something in here. It’s sad.” He says, before continuing his journey.

“Uh, Fog? I don’t know if you remember? I’m your blind friend?”

“A blind man who always manages to bring the hot chicks home.” He mutters, getting Matt to laugh. “You gotta think of them, Murdock.”

His voice and footsteps trailed off as he was out the door, leaving the other man alone. Matt sighs blissfully, stretching his arms out before leaning back against his couch. His eyes closed while he tried to find something peaceful to tune in on. The sirens were the worst. He could always hear them because they were always here and there (I guess that’s what he gets for living in a dangerous part of New York).

He tunes in on what sounds like someone running a bath a few blocks away. Whoever it was must have great plumbing because the water wasn’t coming out choppy like his apartment’s bath does.

Must be nice. He thought, drifting away after a few minutes when the faucet was shut off and someone was about to get in (Yeah, he’s not a pervert, okay?)

He listened to many things that didn’t ache his senses. Like kids laughing in the park, the sounds of the weekly ice cream truck, the lovely piano played by a professional, the running at his door, the—

Hang on.

Matt cocked his head at that, tuning in on his very own hallway. The footsteps were loud and quick, but quick like someone was in a hurry and didn’t care that they were making so much noise. He could hear the slight squeak of the rubber bottom of worn down sneakers, and the tiniest of panting coming from the person’s mouth. Tiny bits of breath. Matt could guess this person hasn’t been running the whole time from their point A to their point B. No, it sounded like they just started running the moment they entered this building.

Strange. And the whiff of this person’s scent was a bit familiar. Where has it smelled that before? But before he could conclude an answer, the running stopped right at his door. He blinked curiously, listening keenly. He could hear one of their hands moving up and down, fingers twitching as they hovering over his door, uncertain. Their heart was fluttering fast as they gulped down nervously. Strange again. Who was this—

They sent something down carefully, something that made a little rocking motion before settling. There was something strong coming from whatever that was and it smelled so familiar too that he practically dying to see what it even—

Three loud knocks. That was it. Three loud knocks before the person sprinted away, leaving whatever they set down behind. Matt followed the person’s trail as they practically flew themselves down the six flights of stairs and out into the city streets where they got lost in a sea of people. Now Matt wanted to tune in, wanted to hear and know who this person was, but his mind kept screaming for him to get to the door. 

He pushed himself up, using muscle memory to get to his destination, his trembling hands opening the door (Trembling? Why was his hands trembling?). The smell hit his nose which wasn’t unpleasant, but it caught him off guard because it reminded him of someone. But what was it? Carefully he reached out to grab it, thinking maybe it was just a package of some kind, but surely he didn’t expect to grab a thick plastic handle.

He blinked again, confused, obviously. He tries recalling if he orders anything that involves a handle (And he’s pretty sure the tableware Foggy helped him ordered didn’t have handles on it). He felt around a little more, fingertips ghosting down the handle, reaching something that was like felt, which drew a small sound from. 

He drew his hand away and froze.

That sounded like… No. It couldn’t be… He told himself, because that couldn’t be it. There’s no way that—

Well…

There’s no way someone left a baby at his door.

…Right?

He listened, and sure enough he heard the small beats of a heart that he didn’t notice before. He also heard the small sleeping sounds the child was making. But still, this wasn’t the point.

Why is there a baby at my door? He asked to nothing but air. 

Uncertain, but still looking for an answer, he carefully felt around for any more clues. He tried not to disturb the baby as he felt around its blanket till he got something. He felt the smoothness and ruffle of a single piece of paper, smelling like ink and something else.

Puffy markers. It wasn’t in braille but the letters stuck out on the page for him to read.

For him. So someone really wanted him to read this. This letter was for him. He was nervous. A little scared because he had a gut wrenching thought crossing the back of his mind. 

He let his fingers trace each letter slowly, processing them one at a time. Some of the letters were a bit hard to make out since the handwriting was so sloppy, so the rest was like filling in the blanks which he didn’t mind doing until he got the end. 

Oh no. 

He felt the wind get knocked out of him.

This is not right.

Matt felt himself sink to the ground, knees hitting hard, his body finding support on the door frame.

Oh no. This isn’t real— He told himself, but his mind, heart, and gut was telling him otherwise.

Oh no. This isn’t…

He swallows, brain spinning around before settling on what he’s going to do. Matt knows he’s coming back soon, but he can’t wait any longer as he scrambles for his phone in his pocket. He listens for the automated voice, asking what he needs. He swallows again, mouth going so dry.

“C-Call…” He stutters, feeling like his vocal cords just evaporated. “Call…” His heart skips a beat, his gut telling him to react faster. “Call… Call Foggy.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Foggy felt the phone vibrating in his pocket as he was leaving the restaurant. Balancing the pizza box in one hand while he walked towards the curb, eyes scanning for those yellow cars as his free hand fished the device out; Face a little confused upon seeing the caller ID, but still answered no less.

“Hey, Matty. Did you need some-” 

“H-How f-far are you from my home?” His friend asked in a rush. Furrowing his brows, Foggy heard the stuttering in his voice. He knows Matt never stutters unless something’s spooked him. 

“I just left the shop. I’m trying to hail a cab right now.” He replies, holding the phone with his shoulder as he waved at one. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I-I…” Foggy could hear him shuffling around, like his pacing or something of that form. “I think…. I think I know why Mary was trying to call me.”

He perked up at the new emotion. “Matt?” Foggy said, worriedly.

“Just… I-I know you’re getting a ride but… just… tr-try to get back as quickly as you can.” A pause. Like he was listening. “Pl-Please.”

Foggy nods even though he knows he can’t see it. “Yeah. Yeah of course, Buddy. I’ll let the driver know.” 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up the phone, chest tightening that something bad was afoot. He starts waving his open arm again, screaming, “TAXI!!”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Matt opened the door on the eighth frantic knock and Foggy’s heavy breathing. Foggy almost stumbled forward when the door was taken away, cussing under his breath, before notice the distant look on his friend’s face.

“What happened?” Foggy asked worriedly, as the other man walked away.

He followed anxiously, watching closely as he placed the box down on the kitchen counter, eyes trailing to where Matt gestured at the dining table. Foggy felt himself freeze on the spot (Oh, now he understands the frantic call). There was the cheapy gray color on the carrier, the hood was up to block any light from coming onto the tiny, tiny human wrapped up in a light purple blanket. He felt himself blink more times than he can count.

“W-Wha…” Foggy stuttered, taking a small and cautious step forward. “W-Where did you get the baby?”

Matt licked his chapped lips, swallowing too. “I-It uh, w-was at my door. Uh…” He crossed his arms, almost like he was trying to ground himself. “I-I think Mary left it.”

Foggy snapped his head towards his friend with surprise. “M-Mary left this?” He watched him nod and looked at the carrier again. “Did… did she steal a baby or something? Why is there a baby here?”

Matt shifted nervously before unfolding the letter from his hand, handing it over. “Here. Tell me if I read that right.”

Foggy took it, flattening it a little bit more before actually reading. He felt his blue orbs widened with each word. “You’re…” He begins, trying to comprehend it all. “You’re the father?”

“So I did read that right.” He said, finding the back of his couch with his hands to lean against it. 

"Well… Maybe it's not. She could be mistaken, uh…" He looks around, finding something else sticking out from the blanket. "Here. There's a birth certificate. Perfect! Let's see." He reads over it quickly. "See? This is all incomplete. There’s no name for the father, no.. uh, she didn’t name the baby. That’s… odd. D-Doesn’t matter! Uh, it looks like it’s only her name here, so Mary is the mother.”

“Foggy.” Matt croaks.

“Relax, Murdock. Maybe it’s not yours. Maybe this is–” Foggy waves his hands around. “A-A prank.” He kind of cringes at what he said though, feeling small. “Did Mary do those…?”

Matt twitched, thinking. “What color were Mary’s eyes?” He asked, quietly.

“Blue.”

“And the baby’s?”

Foggy glanced at the carrier to notice that the child was still sleeping, then decided to look over the certificate again. “Uh… Brown.”

The blind man swallows again, his throat running dryer. "A-Are they my brown?"

"Matt-"

"Are they mine, Foggy?"

Foggy’s heart clenched when he heard the hurt in his friend’s voice. “I don’t know, she’s still asleep. Maybe she could've gotten it from-"

"S-She?" He muttered, stunned. “It’s a girl?”

Foggy nods, but clarifies. “Yeah. That’s what it says.”

“Oh jeez, Foggy.” Matt said, hands gripping the sides of his head. “I don’t know how to raise a kid. I don’t—”

“Hey, hey, hey. Easy now.” He sets the paper aside and rushes to grab his friend’s shoulders, grounding him. “Look. There’s a hospital down the street, we can go there and get a DNA test. Huh? And then… we’ll figure out what to do next, regardless of the results. Okay?” 

It takes a minute or two, but Matt nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah that’s okay.”

“Okay.” Foggy gives him a light squeeze. “Alright, I’ll go get your cane.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“So how long will this take?” Foggy asked the very nice Phlebotomist. He unfortunately had to do most of the explaining since his friend kept spacing out, but hey, could you blame him though? The woman was kind and understanding, and did everything professionally quickly.

“Not too long since it’s not busy. We’ll let you know right away.” She said, smiling after applying the bandage to Matt’s arm.

She disappeared with another woman, a nurse, who was now feeding the now awake child while muttering how tiny she was. It made his heart flutter for various reasons.

“Hey?” Foggy said, giving him a little push in the arm. “You okay?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Matt answered truthfully. “I just… I mean… me? A dad? How’s that going to work?”

“You can make anything work as long as you put your mind to it, but-” He gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze like earlier. “If you can’t, then there’s no shame in putting her up for adoption. It happens all the time.”

“I know, it’s just…” He lets out a sigh, dropping his head. “I don’t know.”

Silence enveloped the room, nothing but a ticking clock could be heard as they waited and waited and waited till they felt like they were going to roll off into the darkness called sleep. Sleep sounded good. Maybe he could sleep. Maybe this was just a dream. Maybe this was something his mind just conjured up to–

“Okay.”  Phlebotomist said, coming back into the room with the nurse. She still had that gentle smile on her face. “So, it does look like the baby is yours Mr. Murdock.” Foggy squeezed his shoulder. “And it does look like she’s about a month old, born prematurely; However, we did some testing and she’s fine. Everything’s pretty much growing at the rate they should be. Okay?”

Matt was speechless, pale and holding in air. He also didn’t look like he wasn’t going to answer her, so Foggy became a knight in shining armor again and stood up from his seat.

“Uh, actually… um…” He begins, fiddling with his hands. “Do you think we could discuss some options out in the hall? If that’s okay?”

She nods. “Yes. Of course.” She gestures to the door, and calls for the nurse. “Becca?”

The nurse perks up at her name. “Oh, yes! I’m coming.” She said as they were leaving. She hums and takes a step towards Matt, still holding the baby close to her arms. “You mind holding her for a sec, Mr. Murdock?”

That did the trick, and Matt stiffened in his spot.

“What? No. I-I.. I don’t—” He’s jumbling his words because he’s been blindsided, but that didn’t give her a hint (or maybe she didn’t care) ‘cause she handed over the kids to him.

“Relax. I’ll rearrange your hands.” She said, doing what she said she would. “Now make sure you keep her upright for a bit since I just fed her again. Your baby likes to eat.”

Matt felt like ice, afraid to even breathe if it meant jostling the child. The tiny creature’s head rested against his shoulder, eyes half lid with a tiny yawn. 

So this is…

The nurse smiled brighter. “There you go. We’ll be right back.”

She left too. Which I guess gave his senses to go haywire on cue. His nose catches that familiar scent he smelled earlier. It soothes him in a way he can’t explain.

That smell. It’s— It finally hits him. Nostalgic enough to make him chuckle. 

“You smell like my dad… In a way.” He whispers, a frown playing on his lips.

Dad.

Matt will admit that he loved his dad, but was he the best at ‘parenting’? That… that was questionable. And don’t even get him started on his absent mother. So you see, he didn’t have the role models to idol after, so what exactly was he supposed to do with the examples he was given? What and how was he supposed to do this? And don’t get him started on his disability. How the hell was he supposed to take care of–

The small cooing and tiny fingers trying to grip his shirt broke his thoughts. It was enough to tighten his heart strings and move his emotions in ways he can’t explain. She was just so… 

Tiny. A tiny defenseless creature. Matt didn’t even need eyes to tell that she was making an adorable face right now. He swallowed hard for the millionth time today.

Damn it… He cursed, eyes prickling. He chuckles nervously.

“Damn it.” He repeated out loud just above a whisper. “I’m n-not going to let you go. I can’t. I can’t be like them.”

Them.

His mother.

His father.

Her mother too.

He can’t be like them, he can’t let her go alone in the world like he was.

“I can’t be like them. I can’t let you go. But I am sorry.” He chokes, closing his eyes and taking his baby all in. “I’m sorry but you’re not going to have a mother, or grandparents or… or really any relatives for that matter. It’s just me. I’m sorry for that.”

He felt his baby, yes, his baby, snuggle her head closer to the warmth of neck, making a little noise that brought joy to his ears.

He chuckles again. “Glad you’re listening.” He sneered, lips curling upwards. “But um… I’m going to take care of you. Protect you. Make sure you grow up nicely. I’m going to try to be a better person than they were. I cross my heart.”

The door opened but he paid no heed to it.

The Phlebotomist wandered over as chirpy as she ever was. “Alright, so Mr. Murdock, your friend was telling you were considering ado–”

“I changed my mind.” He said quickly, no doubt crossing his mind at this point. He could sense the confused stares he was getting and clears up with, “I change my mind. I want to keep her.”

“Really?” She asked, genuinely surprised.

“Whoa, hang on, Matt–” Foggy begins, stepping into his space, voice covering with concern. “Are you sure? Have you thought this through because this is a huge step.”

“I have.” He answers. “I’ve thought about it, and even though I know it’s going to be a challenge, that’s something I want to take.”

He sensed Foggy smiling with a bit pride from his words while the woman clapped her hands together, like a woman on a mission.

“Excellent. Now, Mr. Murdock, since it looked like her Mother decided to take an incomplete birth certificate, you get to do the honors of naming your daughter.” She explains. “Have you thought of any names?”

Matt pondered for a moment. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I guess you could say this was challenge number one for him. He suddenly recalls hearing a name when he was a child staying at the orphanage, something he remembered liking from the language of Hebrew.

“Kaila.” He said, smiling.

He heard her cooing again.

“Kaila… Jackie Murdock.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

-Present Day-

“-So yeah, that’s what happened.” Matt finishes, picking up Karen’s saddened heart beat.

“Oh, god.” She says, hand hovering over her mouth in shock. “That’s… awful. N-Not with your daughter! Just… her mother and all that.”

“Yeah, yeah. It is.” He said, head lowering.

“Did… did you ever contact this Mary woman?”

“I tried. Foggy tried. Even the police tried but it’s like she just vanished off the face of the Earth. It was definitely strange.”

“I’m sorry, that must have been hard raising her on your own.”

“No…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “It honestly wasn’t that bad, sure there were times that it was really, really tough, but we made it through it.” He smiles. “Besides, Foggy helped me out when I needed it. I owe him that.”

She copied his expression. “Well that’s good.” She replies, playing with her hands again. “Sorry for being nosy. I didn’t know that it was so heavy.”

He waves her off politely. “Nah. I don’t mind that.” He says, genuinely. “I’m glad you asked. Because even though it was a sad day, it is also actually my happiest one too.”

When his expression grew louder, it was contagious because hers did too. Their hearts fluttered with a lovely gaze that would soon be “ruined” by the two children in the office.

“Hey, are you guys done?” Foggy asked, while carrying around a giggling Kaila on his back. 

Karen held back a laugh at his appearance, his hair all messy while he had boxes for shoes (all while the girl was lightly slapping him in the shoulder like he was a race horse). 

Matt almost shook his head at the mental picture and replied, “Yeah, we’re done. This was the last one anyway.”

“Awesome!” He howled, and Kaila pumped her fist into the air.

“Shawarma!!” The brunette yelled.

“Yes! The magical tasting shawarma! Here we come!” He continues, carefully kicking the boxes off as he makes their way towards the door. “Come on! Let’s go! K-Pop and I are hungry!”

“Yeah, come on Dad! Karen! I’m hungry!” Kaila boasted.

“Alright, we’re coming.” Matt said, grabbing his cane. He holds out a hand towards the door. “After you, Miss Page.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Murdock.” Karen said, passing by.

“Dad! Can I get a soda?” Kaila asked, once they found themselves together on the sidewalk. She slid off Foggy’s back to take her father’s arm ready to guide him.

“Sure. But just one, and that’s it.” He says, earning a squeeze.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Have you ever had shawarma, Karen?” Foggy asked, as they begin their journey.

“No, I haven't. What is it exactly?” She says, curiously. 

“Well it’s–”

Matt’s expression never changed because it was nice. His gig as a vigilante was going smoothly, his job was finally picking up steam, he’s made acquaintances he didn’t know he needed. 

It was perfect. 

His life was going perfect.

.

.

.

.

.

If only he knew the struggles that were about to come…

Taglist:

@stinkywhore @invinciblerikkai @glass-ghost

@your-not-invisible-to-me @ohtacosindrome

@mirkwoodshewolf @dreamscandys

@omniromanticbitch

[mjolnir-steve]

Foolish

Frank Adler x fem!Reader

Word count: 5027 (oop)

Warnings: light drinking, very brief mention of suicide, some cursing, smut (18+ ONLY!!!), unprotected sex (m/f) ... Please let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Hi, y’all! Here’s my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817’s Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge!!!! I haven’t written smut in a LONG time, so please be gentle with me LOL. Here’s what I got:

Frank Adler

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Breeding / mutual pining 🥴

I’d like to dedicate this to @rodrikstark for always sharing the Frank Adler feels and @sparkledfirecracker for bullying me (with love) into finishing this. ❤️

If you like this fic, please comment and reblog!!! I hope you enjoy. :)

Fridays never seemed to come soon enough. You looked forward to the beginning of the weekend as much as the next person, but over the last few months, Friday nights took on new meaning for you. You moved to the trailer park a little less than a year ago, wanting to buy a small place of your own and start making a home for yourself. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t expensive, and it was only a ten-minute drive from your office where you’d just secured a promotion. Roberta, the manager, helped you make it feel like home right away, insisting on going with you to pick out paint samples and providing copies of menus for the best take-out in the area.

Before long, Roberta introduced you to the trailer park’s resident certified genius, Mary Adler. Mary and Roberta spent Saturday mornings with you when you were free, which unfortunately, was pretty much all the time. You played games, sang karaoke, and even let Mary’s one-eyed cat Fred come over. He took a liking to your swinging chair in the living room, and if Mary couldn’t find him at home, odds were he somehow squeezed through your window and ended up in that chair. 

Another two months had passed, though, before you met Mary’s uncle and guardian, Frank. You came to learn that Mary stayed with Roberta every Friday night because “Frank needs time to be an adult” and she was not allowed to come back to the house until noon on Saturdays. This information made you feel like Frank must be some kind of sad, perpetual fuckboy. You were right about the sad part, not so much about the latter. One morning while Mary played with your watercolors, Roberta let slip - ironically over a cup of tea - that Frank did have the occasional hookup, but usually, he drank himself sleepy on Friday nights and just needed the time to himself. He worked himself to the bone as a boat mechanic, often late into the night because it was too hot to do some jobs during the day. Frank took Mary in when she was just a baby after his sister, her mother, tragically committed suicide. He spent the majority of his scarce free time with Mary, so when Mary was still a toddler, Roberta offered the Friday night deal. Frank countered that he would do any repairs in the trailer park for free, but she refused to let him do that work without pay, saying he deserved to have a life, too. 

She also informed you that Frank was a former philosophy professor, single, and very attractive, especially if you were into the rugged thing. You rolled your eyes with an amused exhale and took another sip of your tea. You’d be lying if you said your interest wasn’t piqued. Mary then shouted over her shoulder, confirming that she’d been listening to your entire conversation, “Frank is great, but he’s a grump. Good luck cracking that egg.” You snorted, nearly spitting out your tea, and she went back to reading your color theory book to Fred.

With that, you heard a sharp rap at the door. You set your tea down on the kitchen table, curious who your visitor might be. You didn’t know anyone else in the trailer park, or in town, really. You opened the door, taking in the sight of possibly - no, definitely - the most handsome man you’d ever seen. You quickly guessed it was Frank, judging by the grease smeared on his quite large hands. His eyes, though tired, had the same bright look as Mary’s, and he had the most perfectly imperfect fluffy hair and overgrown stubble.

“Good morning,” he said with a sweet, closed-mouthed smile. “Is Mary here?”

You had to remind yourself to breathe. Stammering, you opened the door wider, gesturing inside. “Hi, y-yes. She is!” Why am I like this? “She’s just painting with Fred. Please, come in.” You moved aside so he could fit his broad shoulders through the doorframe and then held out your hand. “You must be Frank. I’m Y/N. Mary is just wonderful.” You smiled at him, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

He took your hand in both of his, gentler than you’d expected. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m Frank. It’s great to meet you, finally.” He smiled wide for the first time and you were certain you’d pass out. Who LOOKS like this? “And thank you, she really is wonderful. I couldn’t do it without Roberta. She’s family.” He smiled and waved at Roberta, who was looking at you over the lip of her mug.

Mary didn’t even bother to turn around and face Frank. “What are you doing here, Frank? It’s only 11. I have a whole ‘nother hour with my friends.” You tried to keep your laugh quiet, covering your mouth with your hand and shaking your head.

“Well, excuse me for thinking you might like to go out on the boat with me this morning. I guess I’ll go by myself.”

Mary jumped up from the floor, scrambling to clean up your paints and books. “Can Y/N and Roberta come?”

Frank crouched down to meet Mary’s eyes. “Of course they can, if they’d like.” He looked back at you over his shoulder, trying to gauge your interest, then turning back to his niece. “But do you remember what I told you?”

You could see that Mary was making a conscious effort not to roll her eyes. “You told me that my adult friends have adult lives that include adult responsibilities, and they might not always be available to spend time with me.”

“And?” he looked at her expectantly.

“And I need to invite them to do things without assuming they will do them.” She couldn’t hold back her eye roll any longer, but she made sure not to let Frank see. “Roberta, Y/N, would you both like to join us on the boat today?”

You were amazed by the exchange taking place in front of you, able to see where some of Mary’s brains and tenacity came from. The conversation between the two flowed so easily, playful yet intelligent. It was clear that Frank treated Mary not as a child, but as a person, and you chided yourself internally for thinking that was kinda hot. 

Shaking yourself out of your mildly inappropriate thoughts, you responded. “I’d love to come, Mary.” You smiled at her, bending over to help her pick up the last of the paints from the floor. “Roberta?”

Roberta gave you a look and you just knew she planned this somehow. “I actually do have some of those adult responsibilities to handle today, but thank you for inviting me.” You sent a glare in her direction, quick but no less scathing. “Maybe next time.” She winked at you before washing out her mug and saying her goodbyes.

You spent the whole rest of the day and night with Frank and Mary, doing everything from building sandcastles to cooking dinner together. Mary eventually fell asleep in your lap as you were watching Oliver & Company, Frank’s favorite Disney film that had become Mary’s, too. “An underrated classic,” they told you in unison.

You helped Frank put Mary to bed, a task made easier after such a tiring day. “I guess I should get going.” You stood awkwardly in the small kitchen, unsure of yourself and painfully aware of how close your hand was to Frank’s resting on the counter.

“Yeah, I have a job early in the morning.” He looked down at his shoes, unable to look you in the eye, and you wondered if he hadn’t found your company as enjoyable as you’d found his.

“Listen, I don’t know if you’ve been to Ferg’s? The little bar down the road? I go every Friday night just to relax and have a few beers. Maybe you’d like to come with me next weekend?”

Is he asking me on a date? You could feel your heartbeat racing. The look on your face must not have matched the excitement you felt at the prospect of spending time alone with the dreamy, kind, sarcastic man in front of you. 

He felt like an idiot when you hesitated to answer. He clearly read everything wrong. He had to fix this. “It’s a good place to meet people, you know? I know you’re fairly new to the area, so if you’re looking for more local friends, it’s a good place to start.” He winced, hoping you couldn’t sense his embarrassment at thinking that you would want to go on a date with him.

You swallowed, trying not to let your disappointment show outwardly. Of course he’s not interested in me. Stupid. “Oh, yeah! That would be great, Frank. What time?”

Frank let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, relieved that you didn’t seem offended by his offer. “How’s 7? I’ll pick you up? We can walk over together.”

And that’s how Fridays came to mean so much to you. Almost every Friday for the last six months, Frank met you at your door and you walked to Ferg’s together. Frank told you it would be a good place to make new friends, but you paid no mind to the other patrons. You only had eyes for each other, yet neither of you could see it, even though Roberta pointed out (repeatedly) that neither of you had taken anyone else home in all that time.

The more time you spent with Frank, the more certain you were that God was real and your life was His favorite trainwreck reality TV series. Even if you could have customized a dream man Build-A-Bear style, Frank still would blow your creation out of the water. He was smart and funny, not to mention an adoring parent to Mary, to whom you grew more attached each day. He was kind and thoughtful, talented and hard-working. Although he was a grouch, as Mary would say, he always was sweet to you. He took a genuine interest in anything you had to say, whether you were venting about work or filling him on the latest episode of whatever show you were binging. He was ridiculously sexy without even trying. All those hours he spent doing manual labor in the sun did wonders for his physique. You’d only seen him completely shirtless on one occasion, and the image of him with sweat dripping down his chest was burned into your memory, fueling your late-night thots and causing you to break out your vibrator on what was now a regular basis.

Six months had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and you’d begun to accept that Frank didn’t want to be anything more than friends with you. You decided tonight was as good a night as any to talk to someone new, to start letting go of your unrequited feelings. 

You swapped out your usual jeans for a sundress, t-shirt bra for a push-up, and lip balm for lipstick. Putting your phone and some cash in a wristlet, you considered wearing your new strappy sandals. The walk to Ferg’s was about five minutes each way down a sandy road, though, and memories of the sticky floor inside aided your preferred pair of Converse in their victory for the night. 

Just as you finished tying your shoes, you heard a knock at the door. You adjusted your cleavage and fluffed your hair a final time with one last look in the mirror. Here goes.

Frank felt like he had the wind knocked out of him in the best possible way. He suddenly felt entirely underdressed in his aloha shirt, even though it was his go-to for nights out of the house. He’d never seen you dressed so nicely when you weren’t going to work. 

You were the kind of beautiful that didn’t require makeup. Your natural hair always framed your face perfectly, even if you didn’t think so. He thought you were adorable when you were concentrating on something, blowing your hair out of your face with a huff. Visions of your soft curves made their way into Frank’s dreams on more than one occasion. He had seen you in your swimsuit several times, sunbathing with Roberta and swimming with Mary at the beach. It wasn’t even all that revealing, but it accentuated your figure in ways that forced Frank into needing a cold shower or two. Above all, though, he admired your heart. You’d allowed Mary into your life without hesitation, spending time with her because you wanted to and allowing her to ask all those questions that Frank just wouldn’t be able to answer. It killed him that you didn’t see him the way he saw you, a perfect partner for him and a worthy maternal figure for Mary.

“Frank? You okay?” Your concerned voice shook him out of his thoughts, prompting him to close his mouth which apparently had opened wide in astonishment when you stood in the doorway.

“Yeah, um... You look…” He looked a little confused, his brow furrowed and lips pursed. “Why are you all dolled up? It’s only Ferg’s.” He wished he could’ve kicked himself in the teeth when your face fell at his question. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit. Let me try that again,” he nearly begged, running up to you to stop you from going back inside. “You look really nice, honey.” He ran his calloused hand up your forearm, but quickly returned it to his side when he realized what he’d done. “Is it a special occasion, though? Should I change?”

You gave him a watery smile, given that you were three seconds from slamming the door in his face and crying. “That’s better. Thank you.” You lightly pushed at his shoulder, trying and failing to ignore the electricity you felt at the contact. “No occasion, though. Just thought maybe it was about time I actually introduced myself to someone new.” 

You couldn’t quite read his reaction. Little did you know he was certain he just felt his heart physically crack in his chest. “What do you mean?”

The two of you started walking, the tension between you thickening the very air you breathed. “Well, when you first invited me to Ferg’s, you said maybe I’d get to know some other people in the area, right? But we’re always with each other. I’m sure you’re itching to talk to someone other than me. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Frank abruptly reverted to the quiet, distant state he usually occupied before he met you. He sped up a bit, walking ahead of you and desperately attempting to school his features before you caught up with him.

Frank practically ran to the restroom, not slowing down even to hold the door open for you. You took a deep breath and rolled your shoulders, relaxing before entering the bar. Normally, whoever made it first would order drinks for you both, but Frank made it painfully clear that he had no desire to be in your company tonight. You ordered your usual, an Angry Orchard with a shot of Fireball in a tall glass. The combination tasted like apple cider, but the burn in your throat was caused by liquor rather than heat. It was strong enough to get you buzzed, but not so strong that you’d be stumbling home. You swallowed half the glass in one gulp, wanting to feel the warmth in your veins boosting your confidence as quickly as possible.

“Y/N? How are you?” You turned around, eyes meeting those of Jamie, your coworker. He leaned in for a hug and you accepted somewhat reluctantly, having interacted with him only in passing.

“Hey! I’m all right. What’s up?” You smiled at him, taking another sip of your drink. Jamie was not very subtly staring at your chest. You weren’t crazy about him, but the attention felt nice, so you allowed it.

“Not much. Just happy it’s Friday, ya know?” He looked around for a moment before returning his attention to you. “You’re usually here with that mechanic dude, right?”

You stifled a laugh thinking about how Frank would react if he heard himself referred to as “dude” by this prick. “Yeah, he’s around somewhere. We’re just-“

“-Just friends?” he finished for you with a hopeful look.

You nodded in response, looking him up and down. He was no Frank, but you couldn’t deny he was handsome. It had been so long since you’d even been kissed, and though you hated to admit it, you were touch-starved. One night couldn’t hurt, could it?

Meanwhile, Frank was splashing his face with cool water. He couldn’t believe he’d fucked up so royally. He was sure you didn’t want him how he wanted you, and now he was sure it was too late to tell you how he really felt.

He knew from the moment he saw you that he’d never get you out of his head. Roberta had been talking you up to Frank for weeks, but he wanted no part of it, mumbling something about there being “a reason why no one used matchmakers anymore.” He had no choice but to make your acquaintance when he was looking for Mary, and he’d never been so happy that Roberta could say she told him so.

Later that day at the beach, Mary approached him while you were dozing on a towel in the sand. She sat on his lap and reached for his face, using her pointer fingers to turn the straight line of his mouth up into a smile. “Roberta says you have a ‘charming’ smile, Frank. We think you should use it more.” He chuckled quietly, careful not to disturb you, and pulled Mary in close, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. She grimaced at the feeling, dramatically wiping at her face until he let her go back to reading with Fred.

The sound of the jukebox starting up cut short his reverie. He had to get out there and explain himself. Frank dried his face and hands with a paper towel before smacking his cheeks and stretching his neck back and forth to each shoulder. 

Frank exited the restroom only to find some douchebag staring at your ass as you leaned over toward the bar. He saw red when the piece of shit held out his hand behind his back while his friend slipped a twenty-dollar bill into it, seemingly winning some sort of bet.

Jamie didn’t stand a chance when Frank stormed in between the two of you. “That’s IT,” he yelled, so intense he borderline bellowed. He threw whatever cash he had in his pocket on the bar to pay for your drinks before he pulled you outside, almost getting to your door while you fought against his grip. He only stopped when you spun your body around like something out of Dancing with the Stars and jumped in front of him, forcing him to catch you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, what are y-”

“-What are YOU doing, Frank? What the fuck was that?” You put your feet back down on the ground but remained facing him, arms crossed over your chest.

He groaned in frustration, suddenly realizing he actually had no clue how to respond. “Fuck.”

You looked at him, tapping your foot in anticipation.

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” He rubbed at his temples in the way he did when he felt a headache coming on.

“And how was he looking at me, Frank? What does it matter to you?”

“He was looking at you like you were a piece of meat and I… FUCK!”

You both turned when your neighbor opened his window. “Can you kids keep it down out here?”

You waved bashfully at the old man. “Sorry, Mr. Parker,” you said in unison.

“Come inside, Frankie.” The nickname that typically made him roll his eyes at you never had sounded sweeter, now that its use confirmed you didn’t hate him for the scene he made. You both toed off your shoes at the door before you made your way into the living room, motioning for him to sit next to you on the couch when he tried to sit in the armchair across the room.

You leaned forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. “Now what’s going on in that sun-damaged brain of yours?”

He let out a laugh so soft you almost missed it, but you were glad you didn’t. Sitting back against the arm of the couch, you pulled a pillow into your lap and hugged it, giving Frank your full attention.

Frank cleared his throat, doing his best to accept that it was now or never. “That guy was leering at you, and it pissed me off. You deserve better, Y/N.” He pried your fingers from where they were locked around the pillow to hold your hands in his.

“If you want to meet new people, that’s great. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s a little less great, but I’d understand. He didn’t even pay for your drinks. And I th-”

You covered his mouth with one of your hands, and he knitted his brows in confusion. “You’re making it sound like it’s an option to be with you.” You were in disbelief, side-eyeing him, waiting for Ashton Kutcher to announce that you were, in fact, being Punk’d. 

The corners of his mouth lifted into the soft smile he reserved for you. It was the same one he gave you whether you were on a tangent about how “Obsessed” by Mariah Carey is “the single greatest diss track of all time” or you were helping Mary put a harness and leash on Fred “just to see how he’d do” on a walk.

“For a distinguished professor, you’re kind of a dummy, Frank.” You took his face in your hands, thrilled to be feeling his stubble against your palms. Before he could talk back to you, you kissed him, unsure how you denied yourselves such a simple yet extraordinary pleasure for so long. It only took a moment for him to relax into it, his hands removing the pillow between you before finding your waist and pulling you almost into his lap.

You deepened the kiss, threading your fingers through his hair. He pulled away first, pressing his forehead to yours. “Seems like we’re both dummies, huh?” 

You were going to ask why pulled away until you looked down to see a considerable tent forming in the front of his jeans. You laughed as he pulled you into a tight hug, one arm wrapped around you while the other hand held your face against his neck.

You kissed the side of his neck softly before leaning back to look at him. “All this time? I thought you didn’t see me this way.” You held his face, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “You asked me to go to Ferg’s and then said I could meet other people, so I thought that was it, you know?”

He covered your hands with his and pecked your lips softly. “Honey, I thought it was the other way around. I was trying to ask you out and you looked like you’d seen a ghost.” You giggled, spluttering a bit because tears had started falling at some point. He wiped your tears away before swiping his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down a bit. “We’re fools, aren’t we?”

You nodded slowly and Frank saw something wicked flash in your eyes before you took his thumb in your mouth, sucking lightly. “Jesus, honey.” His length hardened underneath you and you could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your panties, prompting you to grind down into his lap.

You released his thumb from your mouth, pressing your chest into his before kissing him again. “I think we’re only fools if we don’t take advantage of the rest of your adult time.” You removed your dress easily, returning your hands to Frank’s shoulders to push off his shirt.

He surged forward to kiss you again, working magic with his tongue against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he picked you up, walking you into the bedroom. Placing you on the bed carefully, he removed your bra and panties before pulling off his boxers and jeans in one go. You thought you wanted him before, but now that you could see everything he’d been hiding under his baggy clothes, you didn’t see how you could ever let him leave your bedroom.

The next few minutes were spent exploring each other’s mouths while Frank stretched you with his fingers. You didn’t think you’d ever been so wet in your life and thought you might pass out if you didn’t feel him inside you immediately. You gave his cock a few strokes before sliding his head through your folds, coating him in your slick.

“Waitwaitwait, honey. Do you have a condom?”

“You don’t need one if you don’t want one. It’s okay.”

He looked like you just gave him tomorrow’s winning lotto numbers, taking a deep breath to steady himself before he looked at you again. “Oh, God. Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I wanna feel you. Make me yours?”

“Anything you want, honey, but if you change your mind, just tell me, okay?” He lined himself up, seconds shy of entering you for the first time.

“I figured if you were gonna be possessive of me tonight, you might as well take it the whole nine, Frankie.” You laughed as he let out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, though, I’m clean, I’m on the pill, and I’ve wanted you for a long time.” You reached up to scratch lightly through his chest hair.

“The only thing I wanna hear right now is you moaning for me.” He drove into you harshly, but waited a moment for you to adjust once he was seated to the hilt. “So damn wet and tight for me, honey. You’re so perfect, so beautiful.” He kissed you again before he began to move, slowly but surely making you lose your mind.

He dipped his head down to take one nipple in his mouth, then the other, effectively shutting you up and emptying all thoughts from your head. He nipped at the swell of your breast, soothing the bite with his tongue. “Fuck, Frank, please!”

“Please what, honey?” He picked up his pace, fucking into you so vigorously you moved up the bed. “Tell me what you need.”

“Make me cum, Frank. Please, baby, I need it. Need you,” you cried, leaning up to bite into his shoulder, stifling your moans.

“I wanna hear you, Y/N. I wanna hear those pretty moans while I’m making this perfect pussy cum for me.” The combination of his filthy words and the sight of him sucking on his own fingers before rubbing at your clit sent you over the edge, making you scream his name over and over again for what felt like forever and not long enough.

You could tell he was close, his hips stuttering and losing their rhythm. He began to pull out, unsure if you were willing to let him finish inside you, but knowing he was too close to wait for an answer.

You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him close, pushing him back into you. “Fill me up, Frank. I wanna feel all of you. Please give it to me,” you whimpered. His release triggered another for you, chanting each other’s names surely loud enough for the neighbors to hear. 

He stayed inside you as you both came down from your shared high, gingerly flipping you over so he laid on his back with you on his chest. He kissed the top of your head, fingers fluttering up and down your sides. 

“What’s on your mind now, Frankie?” You looked up at him through your lashes, mildly terrified of the answer.

He looked down at you with the most adoration you’d ever seen, lifting your chin so your eyes met his in the moonlight. “That wasn’t too soon, was it? You mean so much to me and to Mary. I don’t wanna mess this up. I don’t ever wanna hurt you. You’re the best thing in my life besides Mary, you know that?”

You kissed his chest before looking back up at him, smiling. “First of all, I would argue that wasn’t soon enough.” He hissed as you clenched around his still softening cock inside you.

“You’re evil.”

Winking at him, you continued tracing patterns on his chest with your fingers. “Second, that all kinda sounds like you might be in love with me, Frank Adler.”

His hands stopped moving for a second before he responded. “Would you run away if I said I am?”

“Well, I wouldn’t run away. This is my house.” You thought your heart might explode in your chest.

“I didn’t even say it, but I take it back,” he huffed, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“What if I told you I felt the same way?”

He grinned, sitting up to kiss you feverishly on your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. You could feel him starting to harden again inside you, leading to round two of… well, you lost count.

You ate breakfast and showered together in time for Frank to return home before Mary did, agreeing to talk more later and to hold out on Roberta for a while.

Frank stood on your doorstep, leaning in to kiss you once more. All of a sudden, you heard a familiar meow and thanked God you were dressed and not in your robe.

“Frank, what are you doing here? I thought I’d come see Y/N since I’m not supposed to come home until noon.”

You bit your tongue to keep from cackling. Frank ran a hand over his face, his blissful bubble burst. He was getting you a hotel room next weekend.

[babymetaldoll]

"Victory" (Spencer Reid/ Reader)

Requested: Yes

Summary: Spencer's daughter hates her father's girlfriend. But when he is in prison, life pushes them to finally get along.

Warning: Cursing, a little angst, a mean teenager, and fluff.

Word count: 5,4K

A/N: Hello, pretty people! How are you? I've missed you! Life has been a little messy and filled with angst, so writing hasn't come easy in the lastest weeks. Hope you like this story, and I hope I can bring you a new one soon 😉

Masterlist

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Spencer's daughter hated her dad's new girlfriend. And she wasn't subtle about it. She hated that her father was now dating, 'cos she didn't want to share his love. So now she didn't even want to be around him anymore 'cos he was so happy, it was annoying.

It wasn't that she hated her father, 'cos she loved him. But she was never going to face the fact she was jealous. She didn't want to share Spencer with anyone because he was all the family she knew, and they were a team.

Victoria Reid was twelve years old. She had grown up alone with her dad 'cos her mother had ditched the two of them soon after she was born. Spencer had tried to explain to his daughter her mom had left 'cos she wasn't ready to deal with the responsibility of being a mother, which was true. He, on the other hand, was happy to know he was going to be a father, and he repeated over and over again she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

That was true.

When Spencer and his ex found out they were going to be parents, he was ecstatic. He couldn't wait to hold his baby in his arms and watch them grow. He didn't know his girlfriend had other plans, though, and soon after Victoria was born, she had left the two of them and never looked back.

Spencer wasn't going to lose the chance of being a dad. Even when he knew he was too young, Reid was ready to raise that baby on his own and give her all the love he had.

That's why he and Victoria were so close. Spencer was the only parent she had ever had. He was her world. And though Spencer was only 24 when Tori was born, he had given her his best.

Tori was the BAU's baby girl. Everybody in the team was a part of her life because she had grown up with them. Penelope was her best friend and godmother. Victoria would spend a lot of time with her while her dad was away on a case. Derek was her cool uncle. He helped her train to get into the basketball team and taught her how to dance. JJ was the closest to a mother figure in her life. Tori would spend time with her after school, playing with Henry. Spencer always said JJ was like a sister for him, and that's why they were all like family. Tori actually called Henry and Michel her cousins.

Emily was like her best friend. They could talk about anything, and at least twice a month, they would go out together shopping, just the two of them. Spencer always respected his daughter's relationship with his friend 'cos they were their little extended family. Tori called Rossi "Nono." He had taught her himself, and she loved going to his mansion, 'cos he always had new video games to play with her.

But then came (Y/N). She had joined the team when Victoria was only six years old, and for the first five years, they got along just fine. (Y/N) would come along shopping with her and Emily, sometimes she took Tori out for some pastries, and talked about bands, boys. Victoria loved her.

That until the incident.

She hated (Y/N) after the incident.

Victoria refused to talk to her after THE INCIDENT.

It was a warm spring afternoon, Spencer and (Y/N) had the afternoon off, and they were at his apartment... heavily making out on the couch. That's why they lost track of time.

(Y/N) and Spencer had started dating a few months before. They had been in love with each other for years. Still, neither of them had acted on it until Rossi's birthday party, when they had a little too many drinks and finally confessed their feelings. They wanted to take things slow, but when you make out in front of the whole team, it might be a little harder imagined.

But they had decided to wait for the right time to tell Victoria. But, unfortunately, the right time didn't come soon enough.

- "Dad!! I'm home!!"- Victoria opened the front door and froze in shock at the scene going on in front of her. The twelve-year-old had asked her best friend's mother to drop her home earlier when Penelope told her Spencer had already gone home. In Garcia's defense, she had no idea what was going on in Reid's residence, and if she had known, she would have never let Victoria know her dad was home.

(Y/N) widened her eyes and quickly grabbed a pillow to cover herself. She was shirtless, sitting on Spencer's lap. She still had her bra on (thank god), but anyone could tell that scene was leading to the bedroom in a few seconds.

- "Shit!"- Spencer whispered and closed his eyes as he realized what was going on. (Y/N) held her breath as she stared into the young teen's eyes. Victoria didn't know what to do or what to say, so she simply ran to her room and slammed the door.

- "Ok... so I think Tori knows about us"- (Y/N) tried to ease the mood and smiled at her boyfriend as she put on her shirt. But Spencer sighed and covered his face with both hands- "Oh, come on. It doesn't have to be a bad thing. Let me talk to her."

- "No, (Y/N), let me talk to her first."- Spencer stood up and kissed (Y/N) 's nose- "I know she is mad, and I should be the one dealing with her anger."

Reid knew his daughter well enough to anticipate her behavior. People had often told him he could be a little passive-aggressive when he was upset. And his daughter was just like him.

- "Victoria, open the door!"- he said and waited a few seconds after knocking.

- "Go away!"- the teenager yelled, laying on her bed. She felt betrayed and confused. But most of all, she felt angry that her father had decided to have a girlfriend. He had no right to do such a thing. He had to take care of her and her grandma. No one else.

- "Victoria, we need to talk about this!"

- "You seemed too busy with your girlfriend to talk to me, dad. So go away!"

- "Victoria Marie!"- Spencer knocked on the door but got no answer from his daughter. (Y/N) heard it all from the couch and tried to think of a way to fix things with the young girl.

Sadly, it wasn't going to be easy, and in the months that followed, everything was far from being normal again.

- "I hate her!"- Victoria huffed and left her book aside. Spencer was trying to explain to her why (Y/N) would stay with her and Diana while he took a short work trip for the weekend. But the girl didn't want to hear a word about it.

- "You used to get along with her just fine until we started dating."- Spencer tried to dialogue with his daughter. Still, it was honestly getting harder and harder each time they touched the subject.

- "Used to. You just said it. I have the right to change my mind about people. Why can't I stay with auntie Penelope for the weekend?"

- "Because I want you to make an effort and try to get along with (Y/N) again. Victoria, we've been through this before. I love you, and that's not going to change just because I am dating (Y/N)."

- "This is so unfair! I hate you!!"

Spence tried to stay calm, but after over four-month having the same argument almost every day, he was losing it. Victoria stormed out and slammed her bedroom door behind her back. Maybe it was better not to push it, Spencer thought, defeated, and called Penelope to ask her if his daughter could spend the weekend with her, 'cos he had to travel. Maybe Victoria and (Y/N) weren't going to get along if he forced them to spend time together.

Everyone had already tried to talk to her about what was going on: JJ, Emily, Penelope. But Victoria wasn't ready to give in. She wanted to hate (Y/N), and nothing was going to change that. Or so she thought.

The day Penelope showed up in Victoria's school and announced her something had happened to her dad was engraved in the girl's memory forever as the worst day of her life. Her father had been arrested in Mexico, but Garcia had assured her, the whole team was working to bring him home safe. Meanwhile, she would stay with her in her apartment (she was already there anyway), and Diana would stay home with her nurse.

Victoria's heart was broken. She was basically alone in the whole world. Her father was her anchor. Her protector. Her superhero. Her best friend. And now, all of a sudden, he was gone, and though everybody told her it was going to be ok, she knew it wasn't.

- "Hey,"- (Y/N) walked into Penelope's office and found Victoria doing her homework- "Pen told me you were here, and I thought maybe you'd like one of these."

The young SSA said and handed the girl a box of fresh chocolate frosted with sprinkled donuts and a strawberry milkshake. Her favorites.

But Victoria didn't reply. Instead, she looked at (Y/N) right in the eyes, not moving a muscle, and then returned to her homework.

It had been two weeks since Spencer had been accused of murder, and he had been transferred to Virginia. But the team was far from solving the case.

- "Ok, Tori, please stop this. I know you don't like me dating your dad, but this is not the right time to fight. I know..."- (Y/N) made a short pause and took a deep breath before resuming her idea- "I know how you feel."

- "No. You don't."- Victoria Reid's voice was loud and clear, like thunder, hitting earth with anger. So clear, in fact, (Y/N) widened her eyes when she heard her.

- "You have no idea how I feel. Your dad ain't in jail accused of killing some woman in Mexico. You have no right to tell me that!"

- "My boyfriend and best friend in the whole world is in jail right now, and it doesn't matter if I work myself to death 18 hours every single fucking day; I still can't find the way to help him. I feel lost and alone, and most of all, scared, 'cos I've come to realize I have no idea how to live without him anymore. I'm guessing that's very close to what you feel."

(Y/N) poured her heart with complete honesty to her boyfriend's daughter, fighting the tears back, though you could feel the desperation in her voice. She didn't know if it would be of any use, but she had to take that from her chest. She missed Spencer so much she felt she was going insane. She had no idea what to do.

Victoria stared at her, furrowing her eyes and pouting. She didn't want to cry in front of (Y/N) 'cos she didn't want her trying to console her.

- "Just because you are dating him doesn't mean you have to take care of me. I can take care of myself."- Tori said and looked at the donut. She was hungry, they looked delicious, but the teenager didn't want to accept any gift coming from (Y/N).

- "I am not here because you are my boyfriend's daughter. I thought you were a cool kid way before I fell in love with him."- (Y/N) tried to calm herself down and sat across the table from Victoria- "And I am not trying to steal him from you. I just wanna... make him happy."

- "We were happy,"- the teenager's comeback was like a slap on (Y/N) 's face, but she did her best not to take it personally. She knew it was useless fighting with a teenager.

- "I have a visit scheduled for tomorrow. If you'd like, we could go together."

Tori held her breath. She hadn't seen her father since he left for Mexico. Of course, Victoria wanted to see him and hug him. It was all she wanted in the whole world. But... she didn't want to be friendly with (Y/N).

- "If I go... it doesn't mean I like you."- the young girl whispered.

- "I know"- (Y/N) nodded, feeling already triumphant.

- "And it doesn't mean I'm ok with you dating him."

- "I understand. I just know you miss him, Tori. I really know how you feel, and I'm gonna help you whenever I get a chance."- Victoria didn't answer; she just sighed and grabbed a donut. (Y/N) tried not to smile, feeling she had a small victory.

Spencer couldn't believe it when he saw his little girl waiting for him sitting next to (Y/N) instead of his lawyer in the small grey room. Victoria stood up and ran to him the second the door opened and wrapped her arms around her father as tight as possible.

(Y/N) looked at the guards, thankful neither of them had tried to stop the teenager.

Spencer kissed his daughter's cheek a few times and whispered how sorry he was to put her under those circumstances. He didn't know what to do or what to say. He was speechless. A part of him hated the idea of his daughter visiting him in jail, but he also missed her too much to argue with (Y/N) for bringing her over.

- "I'll go fill a few forms. Be right back"- (Y/N) whispered and saw Spencer's warm smile as he mouthed "Thank you," still hugging his daughter. She whispered, "I love you," and walked outside the room. She knew Victoria would appreciate a few minutes alone with her father, and she didn't want to take that away from them. She really wanted to make Spencer and Tori happy, and spending time together was what they needed.

- "I know this is hard, peanut, but we'll get through it. I'll be out in a few weeks. I promise"- Spencer held his daughter's hands as they sat across the table.

- "I miss you"- her voice was a soft whisper, as she kept trying not to cry anymore. She didn't want to make him feel guilty, sad, or anxious.

- "Me too. How are you? How is living with aunt Penelope going?"

- "Ok... we watch a lot of movies."

- "And school?"- Tori shrugged.

- "Ok, I guess."

- "Victoria..."

- "I got a C on my history paper."

- "Baby..."

- "I know, I know, I should have tried harder, but I really didn't want to do it."

Spencer was torn between lecturing his daughter for getting a bad grade and actually telling her it was ok, 'cos they were going through a rough patch. It was obvious she might get bad grades, all things considered.

- "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you"- it was all Spencer managed to whisper.

- "Don't say that, dad. I'm sorry I slacked off."

- "You know, you could ask (Y/N) for help,"- Spencer suggested, but Tori just rolled her eyes, annoyed- "She has a master in the subject..."

- "Dad, please don't force me to talk to her."

- "I'm just saying... you don't have to be her best friend, just ask for help when needed, especially when it comes to school. Besides, it's clear she isn't a bad person if she brought you here today."

- "She just wants to win me over."- Tori mumbled and crossed her arms on her chest. But she knew her dad was right in one thing: (Y/N) had done a pretty good thing taking her to see her dad and letting them spend time together on their own.

Victoria thought she was losing her mind after three months had passed and her father was still in jail. It didn't matter that (Y/N) took her every Saturday morning to visit, played her favorite music, and bought her all the pastries she loved. She needed to live with her father again and do all the small things they loved: making breakfast together, playing scrabble, taking long walks in the park, eating ice cream. Tori even missed her father's annoying habits. She missed his rambling and how he always had an answer for everything, even for the things she didn't want to talk about with him.

Spencer was an amazing father, no questions asked, and Victoria Reid knew she couldn't ask for a better dad than him. She just wanted him back.

But things weren't going to improve soon.

When the team found out Diana Reid had been kidnapped, (Y/N) had to take a minute and lock herself in the bathroom to cry her heart out. She felt bad things were never going to cease, and she didn't want to tell Victoria. The girl had already been through so much, adding the abduction of her grandmother wasn't fair. Tori was just twelve. She shouldn't be going through all that.

- "Victoria?"

Prentiss decided she was going to be the one to tell the girl what was going on, and (Y/N) offered herself to look for her. She was in Rossi's office, reading a book curled on his comfy couch. That poor kid almost lived at the BAU by then.

- "My homework is done."- she replied, not taking her eyes from the page she was reading.

- "That's good. And what are you reading?"- Tori sighed and showed her the cover- "Something Wicked this way comes," I love that book"- (Y/N) smiled and took a look around.

- "Figured my father forced you to read it."

- "Actually, I read it when I was ten, and it's one of my favorite books."- (Y/N) looked at Victoria, but the teenager kept pretending to read, ignoring her- "Emily needs to talk to you."

- "And why are you here? Why didn't aunt Emily come? Are you her secretary?"- there was something about Victoria's attitude that reminded (Y/N) of Reid.

- "I wanted to see you, see how you were doing, and take you to the conference room"- Tori sighed and stood up. She hoped Emily had good news about her father, 'cos she was honestly going insane.

But of course, Prentiss didn't have any good news.

- "I'm sorry, Tori, but... you are going to have to stay here tonight"- the girl frowned, confused, and looked at the whole team around her. Everybody looked like they hadn't slept in days. Which, by the way, was very accurate.

- "Why?"

- "'Cos we are going to have to..."- Emily paused and held her breath, staring at her niece's eyes.- "I'm sorry, Tori, but this is the truth: the woman who framed your father has kidnapped Diana, and I'm scared she might try to get you too. So until we catch her, the safest place to be is here, at the BAU. With us."

Tori gasped and covered her mouth with both hands as tears filled her eyes in a second.

- "Nana? Is she ok?"

- "We don't know yet, but we are working to bring her home safe as soon as possible"- JJ caressed Tori's arm and tried to hold her, but she pushed her away mad frowned.

- "You keep saying that, you keep telling me you are working to bring my family home safe, but so far, you haven't done anything!! I am still alone! Dad is in jail, and everybody knows he is innocent! And now nana is gone too!!"

- "Baby, we know it is hard, but..."- Emily wanted to explain to Victoria everything was more complex than they had expected, but the girl covered her ears and shook her head, yelling as she stormed out of the room

- "I don't wanna hear you!! I want my dad!!"

It was painful to hear those things, 'cos the team was doing the best they could for Reid and his family, but they could understand the frustration and, most of all, the fear that little girl felt.

- "I'll talk to her,"- (Y/N) said and turned to Emily- "You guys continue what you were doing. I'll try to calm her down."

- "Are you sure you wanna go?"- Emily asked and cut (Y/N) a short smile.

- "Yeah, for once, she is mad at all of us, not just me."

The young SSA walked to Garcias's office, where Tori was hidden underneath a desk, crying.

- "Hey."

- "Leave me alone."

- "I know I'm the last person you wanna be with right now, and I am sorry I can't do anything to make you feel better. I can only promise you this: we are doing all we can to bring your dad and your grandmother back home safe." - (Y/N) whispered as she walked slowly towards the girl, who sobbed, whipping off the tears from her eyes.

- "Just leave me alone. I want to be alone,"- Tori mumbled and wrapped her arms around herself, sobbing.

- "I'm not gonna leave you alone, Tori. You are not alone here with us."

- "I am alone!! I want my daddy!! I need my daddy!!"- the girl continued crying her eyes out, hidden underneath the desk. (Y/N) kneeled next to her and sat on the floor.

- "Come here"- it was a bold move, 'cos (Y/N) knew the girl was going to reject her, but she didn't care. She couldn't deal with her sadness, and it scared her to think how bad the child was feeling. So, (Y/N) opened her arms and moved the teen closer to her.

Surprisingly, the girl didn't reject her. Instead, she cried against the fabric of (Y/N) 's sweater and sobbed, shaking, as (Y/N) caressed her hair carefully.

- "I swear, we are not gonna rest until he is free and until Diana is home."

- "I want my family back,"- Victoria mumbled and sighed.

- "You'll get it. I swear, I'll do everything I can to bring them back to you."

That was the first time since (Y/N) started dating Spencer that Victoria let her close. In the middle of the mess they were all lost into, it felt like a little break of peace. Another small victory for the young woman.

(Y/N) didn't mind spending the whole night awake going through an endless pile of files if it meant there was a chance to bring Spencer back home. Tori stayed in Rossi's office, where she made something that looked pretty much like a fort on the couch, with blankets and pillows, to hide from the rest of the world.

It was heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time, looking at the girl hidden there, trying to read, trying to draw, trying to do anything to take her mind from reality. Penelope brought her something to eat, but she rejected it, saying she wasn't hungry. Emily and JJ had tried to talk to her, but Tori kindly said she wanted to be alone. Even Morgan had called her and announced to her he was taking a plane from Chicago to help the team looking for Diana.

None of that cheered Victoria up.

- "I bought you this,"

Around ten, (Y/N) opened Rossi's door and walked in, holding a box of frosted chocolate donuts with sprinkles.

- "They always cheer your dad up, so I'm counting they will do the trick with you too"- the young woman tried to joke but found Victoria crying quietly insider her fort.

- "Please, just leave me alone,"- she whispered and hid her face with both her hands. (Y/N) didn't pay attention and sat with her inside the fort.

- "Not a chance."

- "I really don't wanna do this now, just leave me alone,"- the girl sighed, defeated, and continued crying.

- "Come here, I told you, you are not alone."

- "I am alone, (Y/N)! My dad is in jail, my grandma is kidnapped, and my mother left me 'cos she didn't love me!"

- "No, baby, don't say that"- (Y/N) wrapped her arms around Tori and kissed the top of her head.

- "I know my mom didn't want to have me, and maybe she was right... maybe I am cursed, and all this is my fault."

- "Victoria Marie Reid, you are talking senseless" (Y/N) held the girl's shoulder and looked into her eyes.

- "You are an adorable young girl who deserves the best in the world. Why did this happen? I don't know, bad shit happens in life, and we must try to learn something from it. That's it. There's no reason or cause. Shit happens, baby, but we must raise stronger than before. You are an incredible young girl, and I know your dad is proud of you. I am proud of you, 'cos you've been so courageous and brave."

- "You are just saying that 'cos you are with my dad."

- "No. I would say that even if I hated your dad. You know why? 'Cos I am not lying, you are awesome, and I love you, get that into your head. And you are not alone, 'cos I am here, see?"- (Y/N) ran her thumb on Tori's cheek, whipping off a few of her tears- "I'm here even when you don't want me to be, so I don't know if you can tell, but you are doomed, you can't get rid of me now. I'm like a disease, but a good one... I don' know if there's a good disease. I'm sure your dad would have the answer for my random comment right now."

Both Victoria and (Y/N) chuckled at the same time, and the girl nodded.

- "He definitely would..."

- "He would also lecture me why I shouldn't give you sugar after dinner, but he is not here, and I am not telling him, so please don't tell him 'cos he is going to be mad at me... and at you."- (Y/N) handed Tori the box of donuts, and the girl smiled.

- "I won't tell him."

- "Great, we have our own little sugary secret. Eat all the donuts you want; I'm going to be with the team in the conference room. Emily has a meeting early morning with the judge."- (Y/N) kissed the top of Vitoria's head and stood up.

- "If you need anything, I'm across the hall."- the SSA said, and the girl nodded, chewing a donut.

- "Thank you, (Y/N)"

By the next day, the miracle had happened. Victoria couldn't stop crying when (Y/N) announced she was taking Spencer back home. Tori stood in front of his father's girlfriend and felt how the tears filled her eyes in less than a minute. Happy tears, for once.

(Y/N) smiled at her, glad to know the young girl was going to have her life back. It surprised her when Tori hugged her, wrapping her arms around her tight. (Y/N) stayed still for an instant, trying to understand what was happening. She hugged Victoria and kissed the top of her head. The child was crying, and suddenly, so was she. The nightmare was over. At least a part of it. They still needed to find Diana. But the fact they were going to have Reid back was already giving everybody the peace of mind they needed to finish the task.

(Y/N) held Spencer's hand tight all the way from the prison to the BAU. He kept his eyes locked on their hands, fingers tangled together. He couldn't believe it was actually happening. He couldn't believe he was a free man.

- "How's Tori?"- he whispered and turned to his girlfriend. Penelope and Luke were in the car with them, but somehow, Spencer could only register the presence of his girlfriend. Not because he didn't care about his friends, but because he could only take just a small amount of information at the time. It was all too much for him at that moment.

- "Good. She has been incredibly strong."

- "Did you tell her about mom?"- Spencer was afraid to ask but needed to know what was going on with his daughter. (Y/N) nodded and sighed.

- "We decided it was better if she knew what was happening, we had to keep her at the BAU, and she was going to get suspicious she couldn't go to Penelope's... sorry."

- "Don't be. You did what was best for her."- Spencer turned to his girlfriend and smiled at her for a second. It was a short, sweet smile. Almost shy. But it was enough to warm her heart and wake the butterflies in her stomach. She was so in love with Spencer Reid, everything he did fluster her.

Victoria thought her heart was about to burst as he waited for her father to arrive. Spencer looked at (Y/N) one last time, and she squeezed his hand kindly, smiling when the elevator door opened, and all he heard was:

- "Daddy!!"- Tori yelled and ran to hug Spencer as soon as she saw him. He couldn't even step out of the elevator when his daughter nearly tackled him, wrapping her arms around him tight.

- "My baby!"- he whispered and spun her in the air a few times- "Are you ok?"- he held her face with both hands and took a good look at her. She was crying but smiling as she nodded.

- "I'm so happy to see you, dad."

- "I missed you so, so much"- Spencer kissed the top of her head and sighed. (Y/N) smiled, and whipped off the tears from her eyes as she stared at the scene. Garcia and Luke stood next to her, enjoying a brief moment of happiness and peace.

- "Me more,"- Victoria whispered and hugged Spencer again- "I swear I'm never going to fight with you again."

- "I'm taking a mental note of that,"- he answered and felt her body shaking as she giggled. Spencer hadn't heard his daughter laugh, giggle, or even watched her smile in the three months he had spent away from her. And that sound was sweet and warm, like a balm to his soul.

- "I'm sorry, Spencer... but, we have to..."- Emily interrupted the moment and smiled at her friend. They all knew they still had to do one more thing before celebrating. They had to take Diana Reid back home safe and sound. Victoria let her father go and smiled at him.

- "I love you, dad."

- "I love you too, princess."

And as the team walked to the conference room to brief Spencer about the case and update him with the latest information, (Y/N) felt someone hold her hand.

- "Thank you,"- Victoria whispered and cut her a smile that warmed her heart.

- "Come here,"- she answered and turned around to wrap her arms around her for a second. Spencer looked at them, and for once, he didn't know what to say. Victoria and (Y/N) just stood in the middle of the hall, hugged for a few minutes, and Reid couldn't believe it. It was so heartwarming and emotional; he really didn't know how to react.

- "Come on, dad!! You are going to miss the movie!"- Victoria yelled and set the popcorn on the coffee table.

- "You can pause it!"- Spencer yelled from his desk, where he was finishing writing a letter for his mother.

- "Or you can hurry!"- Tori answered and sat on the couch.

- "Here's your tea, your highness"- (Y/N) walked to the girl holding a tray filled with cups and more snacks- "Come on, honey! We are not waiting for you!"

Three months after prison and life had never been so good for Spencer, Victoria, and (Y/N).

- "I had never seen you so eager to watch a Marvel movie, since when are you two fans of Thor?"- Spencer walked to the living room, hearing his girlfriend and daughter laugh.

- "Always, huge fan."- (Y/N) smiled and tapped on the couch. Reid sat between his two women and sighed.

- "I can smell the sarcasm in the air."

- "No, honey. We love Thor, right Tori?"

- "Yes! Big fans, huge, the biggest fans"- Spencer looked at his daughter and raised an eyebrow.

- "Ok, I'll buy it. Let's watch the movie."

(Y/N) and Tori giggled at the very same moments like they were sharing a secret joke Spencer couldn't understand, but he didn't really matter. He was happy, his heart was content, and there was nothing more perfect that minute, 'cos his family was all on the same couch, watching a movie, enjoying an afternoon together. Like he had always dreamt of.

----

Spencer taglist

@calm-and-doctor

General Taglist

@all-tings-diego @spenxerslut @ash19871962 @babebenhardy

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 3

“Hey buddy,” Spencer sat down in the chair next to Henry who was coloring at the table after dinner.

“Hi Uncle Spencer,” Henry replied, switching his orange marker out for a green one.

“So Josephine seemed pretty cool,” Spencer started.

He wanted to know more about his possible kid before going to Y/N. If it was true and she would let him meet her, he wanted to know all about her.

“Yeah, she sits at the same table group as me in class. One time when we were playing tag at recess, I fell and hurt my knee but she kissed it three times and said that’s what her Mommy does when she has a boo boo and it didn’t hurt anymore,” Henry explained.

“Does she talk about her Mommy a lot?” Spencer asked.

“She loves her Mommy like sooooo much. She says her Mommy says she doesn’t need a Daddy because her Mommy loves her extra,” Henry smiled.

“That’s nice,” Spencer said, getting up from the table.

Spencer was glad to hear that Y/N and Josephine seemed to be having a good life. He was just saddened that it didn’t include him even if she wasn’t his kid. He didn’t blame Y/N for not telling him if it was his. He honestly would have had no idea how he would have handled that news back then.

-

“And that is the difference between a stressor and a trigger. Any questions?” Spencer slid his hands into his pockets as he looked out into the audience.

The students were silent. Most of the girls appeared to be in a daze but still looking at him. Spencer furrowed his brow.

“Okay well then, I will see you next Monday. We will be covering chapter four section three of your textbook regarding victimology so I would suggest skimming it over before class,” Spencer finished.

He grabbed satchel from the desk and quickly exited the lecture hall. He had looked up the class schedules in the administration office and Y/N was also finishing a lecture at this time. Spencer was hoping to catch her before she could run away again.

He quietly slipped into the back of the lecture hall, taking a seat in the last row.

“Okay! That is it for today. Remember, we have a lab next class so closed toe shoes only and long hair tied back please. Have a great day, everyone,” you announced.

Students began to file out of the room, some coming up to your desk with questions so Spencer hung out in his seat a little longer. Once the last student had their question answered, Spencer got up and made his way to your desk as you were packing up your things. When you heard the footsteps, you looked up with a friendly smile that was immediately replaced with a grimace.

You grabbed your bag and keys and bolted. However, Spencer was expecting this and was hot on your tail.

“Y/N, please slow down. I just want to talk,” he pleaded as he chased you across the campus, garnering funny looks from people passing by.

You sighed and halted your movement. Spencer was not expecting this so he almost crashed into you. You took a step back to regain your personal space.

You looked around, noticing some people were staring.

“Let’s go to the coffee shop on campus,” you suggested.

Spencer still remembered how you took your coffee after all these years and insisted on paying even though you told him that wasn’t necessary.

You both sat down in a quiet booth in the corner. You were nervously fiddling with the coffee cup sleeve and avoiding eye contact.

“I-Is Josephine mine?” Spencer asked.

You could feel his eyes burrowing into your skull. You couldn’t lie to him, I mean you could but you wouldn’t get away with it because he was a profiler.

You finally looked up and made eye contact, “Yes, she is,” you stated.

Spencer smiled softly with tears brimming his eyes.

“Did you know before I Ieft?” Spencer sniffled.

“No, I found out after,” you responded.

Silence fell over the both of you.

“Why did you break up with me, Spencer? It all happened so fast that I never got a reason. We could have made long-distance work if you actually cared,” you spoke softly.

“Y/N please do not doubt that I cared about you. I loved you, I think I still do after all these years. I just thought you would be better off without me holding you back and not having a lot of personal time to visit you. It doesn’t mean I ever stopped thinking about you. I just thought you deserved someone better,” Spencer explained.

“Yeah well no one wanted to date the single mom in college. Guys would run for the hills when I told them,” you chucked sardonically.

“I’m sorry” is all Spencer could manage to say.

He thought he was doing Y/N a favor by breaking up with her but instead he made everything worse. He abandoned her to figure out how to take care of their child on her own.

“Can I-um...I would love to get to know her more,” Spencer stuttered.

“Spencer, I don’t know if that’s the best-” you started to say.

“Please,” Spencer begged.

You closed your eyes and exhaled.

“You can come with me to pick her up from the school if you want. You can play with her for an hour with my supervision. Under no circumstances are you to tell her that you are her father,” you demanded.

“Understood,” Spencer nodded.

You finished the last sip of your coffee and slid out of the booth, tossing it in the trash can.

“Let’s go,” you motioned for him to follow you.

Spencer scrambled out of his seat to catch up with you.

You unlocked the car and you both hopped in. Spencer noticed the backseat of your car had random toys and articles of children’s clothing scattered around and he smiled at just the thought that they belonged to his daughter.

When you pulled into the school parking lot, you turned to speak to him for the first time since he entered the car.

“You stay here,” you said as you turned the car off.

Spencer watched as you approached the line of kids and a genuine smile grew on your face. Josephine ran over to you and was immediately scooped up and littered in kisses. Josephine was dressed in overalls with a dinosaur sweater and a mini pair of converse. Y/N whispered something in her ear and she nodded as they made their way back to the car.

“Jo, you remember Spencer, Henry’s friend?” you opened the car door.

“Hi Josephine!” Spencer greeted.

Jo snuggled herself closer into your neck.

“Why are you being shy today, Baby J? Remember you already met him? He told you all those cool dino facts. Maybe he can tell you some more on the way home,” you bounced the child in your arms a few times before gently placing her into the car seat and buckling her in.

“Josephine, I remember you said stegosauruses were your favorite. Stegosaurus actually means ‘roofed lizard’ and their brains were the size of ping pong balls,” Spencer was looking at the child through the rearview mirror.

He heard the sweetest little giggle. The sound was music to his ears.

“Mommy, did you hear that? They have ping pong balls for brains,” Jo laughed.

“Yes, baby, I heard but I think Spencer said they were the size of ping pong balls, not actual ping pong balls,” you smiled as you corrected her.

Spencer turned around to face her now that Jo was feeling more comfortable.

“They also weighed about two tons which is about the same weight as this car,” Spencer smiled.

“Woah,” Jo exclaimed in awe.

“Okay! We’re home! Jo, you can play with Spencer for a little but then we have to do your ABC’s homework,” you explained as you parked the car in your driveway.

You lived in a small grayish blue house. It had a tiny gated backyard but you usually just took Jo to the park anyways. It was enough for the two of you. You moved in last year after accepting the job at Georgetown.

You unbuckled Jo and unlocked the front door with Spencer awkwardly standing behind you until he felt a tug on his sleeve.

“I want to show you my room,” Jo said.

“Sure! I would love to see it,” Spencer replied as he was tugged by Jo up the stairs.

Spencer laughed when he saw Jo’s bedroom. It was decked out in everything dinosaur. Dinosaur wallpaper, bed sheets, toys, and a carpet.

“You really love dinos, don’t you?” Spencer smiled.

Jo nodded, beaming as she seemed to be very proud of her room.

“Jo, I’ve got a snack for you,” Y/N called out from downstairs.

The little kid lit up even more and ran down the stairs, leaving Spencer alone in the room. He saw a small little bookshelf with picture books, mostly about dinosaurs. It was nice to know his daughter shared his love of reading.

“You have a lovely home,” Spencer complimented as he entered the kitchen.

“Thank you, I don’t know if you want some apple slices and peanut butter too. I would offer you something else but I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping this week,” you explained.

“It’s all good. If you ever need help-” Spencer began.

“We’re quite alright,” you snapped.

A silence fell over the room, even Jo picked up on it and stopped the loud chewing of her apple.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, patting the top of Jo’s head to tell her she could continue eating, “We’ve been on our own for so long that I can sometimes get a little defensive when someone suggests I can’t handle it.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that at all. I think you have done a wonderful job raising Josephine. But, I also had a single mom so I know that sometimes there just aren’t enough hours in the day,” he replied.

“Thank you,” is all you said.

Spencer glanced at his watch, “I should get going. My hour is up. If it’s okay with you, I would love to come over again sometime,” Spencer said.

“Leave your number and I’ll text you,” you replied, handing him a scrap piece of paper and a pen.

“Bye Josephine!” Spencer smiled at the kid who had peanut butter smeared all over her face.

“Ew, Jo! Did you get any in your mouth?” you laughed.

“Bye Spencer!” she attempted to wave to him as you were wiping her face and hands with a damp paper towel.