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fivelakesinwriting · 1 year ago

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Six Little Harringtons (S. Harrington)

Author's Notes: This turned into more than what I had intended - Steve and his wife take the kids on their annual road trip all while taking a (somewhat painful) trip down memory lane.

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references - innuendos, mentions of grief/ death, *contains brief (personal) theories about what might happen in the final season of Stranger Things, parenting/children, pregnancy, fluff!

Requested: Nope!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. And you do not have permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

The first Summer was easy. It was just him, the wife and Junior in the station wagon heading down to the coast. A little trailer hitched to the back of the car and away they went. Sunshine, sand, more cassette tapes than anyone knew what to do with and a surfboard no one knew how to use.

Then the twins were born. Three little Harrington's smiled back at him in the rearview mirror that Summer. He was vacuuming Cheerios and Lego pieces out of the backseat until almost Christmas.

Baby number four, the Hellraiser, was a total surprise. They felt like they had finally gotten into a routine with the other three kids and then after a particularly rowdy night out, she came to him one morning and told him she was pregnant again.

Well, fuck.

They swore they were done after number four, because she had been such a handful.

"She's Hell incarnate." Steve muttered late one night after a long battle of trying to get their restless toddler to sleep.

But even as a husband and father, Steve was insatiable with the sex drive of a teenager. Which was why when she told him she was pregnant for a fifth time all he could do was laugh and pull her in for a kiss, while giving himself a silent pat on the back.

That Spring he invested in a Winnebago, cleaned it up and got it ready for the Summer. Then one blazing hot Saturday morning in July he helped load all five kids into the RV. Three boys, two girls and all the comforts of home they required to make it a smooth ride.

"Alright, Harrington's. Are we ready?" Steve smiled as he buckled the last seatbelt on the last baby seat, then ran a hand through his hair.

"Steve! Can you help me, please?" His wife called for him at the bottom of the RV steps.

"Yeah! I'm coming, honey. Stay where you are." Steve replied with a tickle to the bottom of his youngest daughter's foot before he stood up and hurried out of the RV.

"Honey, I would have brought this out. You know you're not supposed to lift anything heavy right now." He uttered as he took the cooler filled with snacks for their brood. He lifted it up into the RV, checked on the kids once more pleased to see them all snoozing peacefully in their seats and gently closed the door.

"Are we stupid for doing this?" His wife asked with her hands on her hips, looking up at him.

"Road trip with five kids? Yeah. But it's tradition." Steve smiled as he placed a soft kiss to her forehead and smoothed a hand on her growing stomach.

"Wait until the RV is full of angry teenagers, then we'll see how much you like this tradition." She laughed with a kiss to his chin.

"What are you talking about? I was a dream as a teenager." Steve scoffed before he pat her hips and made his way to the drivers side.

"I know you're lying, Harrington."

They only drove for about four hours that first day. Two hours, a break for a picnic and a run around in the park, and then two more hours. They ended up at a beach near their motel, but nowhere near their destination. If having five kids taught Steve anything, he knew to let them run out their energy before bed time. Especially on a road trip.

"When we started dating, did you think we'd end up here?" His wife asked as they sat on the sand and watched the kids laugh and play along the shoreline. Cartwheels, kicking a ball and playing tag. Five little best friends.

"Are you asking if when I found you abandoned on the streets of Hawkins ten years ago if I thought that we'd be married with a bunch of kids? Definitely not. I didn't think we'd make it through the night." Steve laughed softly, the grief and trauma still tangible.

They had met days after Steve returned from the Upside Down, after the loss of Eddie Munson. Hawkins was in flames, the city quickly burning to the ground. Residents were evacuating as quickly as they could, leaving all belongings behind.

Steve was swerving and speeding through the wreckage of the streets when he drove passed her home. Covered in dirt and soot, she sat on the front lawn of what was once her home. He couldn't explain his actions, but he couldn't just drive by her. He slammed on his brakes and yelled for her to get in.

She had been by his side throughout the fall of Hawkins. At first he thought they had been paired by tragedy, but as time went on he realized that life was easier when she was around.

The smell of smoke was overwhelming. Burning buildings, torched cars and inflamed foliage surrounded the once quaint town of Hawkins.

His stomach was in knots and his body was sore, but he had to keep going. He got in his car and drove as fast as the old Volvo would go, the engine rattling under the hood as he pressed the accelerator. He rounded the corner of a familiar street, ignoring a stop sign. The city was in ruins, traffic signs no longer mattered to him.

It was her (once) white denim jacket that caught his eye. A jacket covered in dirt and soot from the fires. She was sat on the front lawn of what he presumed was her home, crying. A girl no older than himself, all alone in a crumbling world.

"Get in! It's not safe here!" Steve yelled through his open window.

She asked no questions. She got up from the front lawn and ran towards the car, climbing into the passenger side.

"I'm Steve." He breathed out as he pressed the accelerator once more.

"Callie."

She had stayed at his side through the remainder of the fall of Hawkins. Held his hand as he watched his friends perish, helped him rebuild his life while they rebuilt the town.

The first boy, while nicknamed Junior due to his uncanny resemblance to Steve, was legally named Edward - Eddie - after the boy who gave his life for Hawkins. He had been born with a full head of dark hair, like Steve, and eyes like his mother. Steve didn't think he could love anyone more than Callie, until he met his son.

They had not planned on naming the rest of the kids after anyone else from the Hawkins Tragedy, but the more they thought about it, the more they wanted their friends to live on in more than just local folklore.

The twins were Ellie, affectionately called El after her namesake, and Will. Both named after the two teens that had sacrificed their lives for their friends and for Hawkins. Callie hadn't know them for as long as Steve had, but her life was equally as enriched for having known them.

The fifth was a boy, Harry, named after Steve's grandfather. Steve admittedly didn't have much of a relationship with his actual parents, but his grandfather had been a major influence in his life and when he saw his fourth child, it was like looking into his grandfather's eyes.

The fourth baby, the Hellraiser, was named Maxine, after the girl who had given Steve the most grief during those early days in Hawkins. The original hellion in his life, and the girl he would have died to protect if he could have. While the girl was still alive, she wasn't able to live her life the way she had before. He had told her he named their child after her, and Max gripped his hand and gave him a smile from her hospital bed.

"Alright, Team Harrington! Time to go to the motel and get some sleep! We've got some driving to do tomorrow." Steve called out to his children as he stood up from his spot on the sand then extended his hands to help up his pregnant wife.

They got all the kids back in their respective car seats and made their way to their motel for the night. After three bedtime stories, one about a girl named El, the kids fell asleep. Little Maxine asleep in the bed with them, her foot in Steve's back.

There once was a girl named El, who was the most powerful girl in the world..

Steve and Callie laid in the bed together facing one another while the kids snored softly in the bed and cribs surrounding the room.

"What are you thinking about?" Callie asked softly as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"You, and all of this." Steve whispered back as he gestured around the room.

"Can you believe that we're going to have our sixth baby?" She laughed.

"Oh, yeah. My plan to have a family band is pretty well complete. Just one more kid to go. She's going to be the tambourine player." Steve smirked as he placed a hand on her belly between them.

"And have you decided on a name for our tambourine player, finally?" Callie asked as she ran her thumb over his hairline.

"I've been thinking about the name Malia." Steve replied as his eyes fluttered shut, feeling her soft fingers on his face.

"I love it. Malia it will be. The last piece of our puzzle." Callie smiled before she placed a soft kiss to his scruffy chin.

"Now if Max would get her foot out of my back, everything would be perfect."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington fan fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x original character

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skye707 · 2 years ago

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Dunno if this has been asked, riddlers fav cereals? (Including twojar tyty)

Ya know it might be time I start including Twojar in these shenanigans. We’ll see.

Unburied - Cinnamon Toast Crunch or anything with cinnamon. He loves that sugary sweetness that’s just slight enough that he can let it pass as breakfast.

ZY - Lucky Charms (if you say anything, I swear to shit, your city will flood). He eats complete and balanced meals at every other part of the day. And he’s an adult, he can have marshmallows in his cereal if he pleases.

Dano - Anything bland and plain. Plain Cheerios, plain corn flakes, plain oatmeal. Too much sweet in the morning upsets his tummy.

YJ - Cap’n Crunch. Yes, it destroys his teeth every time. Yes, it always gets stuck in his tooth gap. Does he care? No, of course not.

Gotham - Wheat Squares! He’ll take them plain, but if he’s feeling adventurous, he’ll pour just a teaspoon of sugar on top. But that’s only if he wants to get wild.

Twojar - Honey Nut Cheerios. Only that brand, only that flavor. Anything else is either too bland, too sugary, etc. He likes to keep things simple, classy, and cool. And Honey Nut Cheerios are the perfect cereal in his perfect opinion.

BTAA - Granola. He pours milk over granola and that is one of his favorite delicacies in the entire world. It’s got it all, dry fruit, oats, extra mysterious bits he eats regardless.

Arkham - Chocolate cereals. He doesn’t give a shit if it’s healthy or not, but chocolate is good for you! And he needs the extra calories from the sugar!! His brain is so powerful he’ll burn them off in a second!!!

BTAS - Cheerios. Any flavor or variety. He’s a simple man with simple pleasures and 1 AM cereal snacks alone in a dark kitchen are one of them.

Telltale - Corn Flakes. He doesn’t want or need any added sugar to his daily routine.

#riddler #the riddler #edward nashton #edward nygma #unburied!riddler #capullo riddler #zero year riddler #dano riddler #paul dano riddler #young justice riddler #gotham riddler #btaa riddler #arkham riddler #btas riddler #telltale riddler #riddlerverse hcs #Skye

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trivialbob · 2 years ago

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Weird weather day

In the wee hours of the night, thunder and lightning woke me. Any chance of falling back to sleep was smothered by two shaking dogs who smothered me. The older dogs hate thunder. The puppies sleep through it.

This morning saw rain with more thunder and lightning. Tonight’s forecast calls for the rain eventually turning into 4 to 8 inches of heavy snow and a blizzard warning. Sunday may as well have Minnesota experience its first ever hurricane.

In the afternoon Sheila made barbacoa beef in the Instant Pot. We used it for burrito bowls. It was the first time she tried making it, and it turned out well. The meat came from a large roast my sister gave us. I never know what to do with roasts, but Sheila has good ideas.

After she cooks, I clean. It gives me much satisfaction getting everything wiped down and the cookware and dishes put into the dishwasher. No one loads a dishwasher as well as I do. The sound of a humming dishwasher is also my signal that it’s now time to settle into a couch and open a sudsy treat.

Sheila grocery shopped today, to get everything for the burrito bowls. I asked her to bring home a box of the generic/store brand Cheerios. Real Cheerios cost more than twice as much! That hefty eliminates any taste advantage the General Mills brand has over the plainly marked box of “toasty oats.”

I forgave her though when she handed me a four-pack of Indeed Brewing’s Lavender Sunflower-Honey Dates honey ale. This Minneapolis beer might not be appropriate for drinking after mowing the yard on a hot summer day, but it feels right as I wait for tonight’s snow to arrive.

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nikethestatue · 3 years ago

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The Kings’ Wife

Chapter 6

Clean Up on Aisle Seven

warnings: mostly language, sexual situations

I want to ruin you beautifully

“Where is Fenrys?” Azriel came downstairs, dressed for the day, in his suit.

Only Ruhn was in the kitchen, his sword strapped to his back, his long hair braided–the man was ready for his day, and whoever was about to cross his path would probably not live to tell the tale.

“I heard him in the morning, very briefly, and after that,” Ruhn shrugged his big shoulders and sipped his coffee.

“Any idea where my wife is?” Azriel rummaged in the cupboard and got a cereal box out.

Ruhn hid a smirk.

The great and fearsome Azriel King, the man who frightened and threatened, sitting at the counter, eating Honey Nut Cheerios with entirely too much milk, in Ruhn’s opinion.

“I am going to hazard a guess that she is with Fenrys,” he said at last, biting into his croissant.

“It’s not even eight in the morning!” Azriel grunted. It was obvious that he didn’t like not seeing Elain at the table, in the kitchen, for breakfast.

“My brother,” Ruhn said pacifically, “once Fenrys is in the game, I think you need to accept that you and I are playing second and third banana respectively,”

“She is my wife,”

“Hmmm,” Ruhn sighed, “but can any wife really be faulted for succumbing to Fenrys’s unrelenting charms? Come on now. Even if you were a wife, you’d be in the same position. He is blond, he is ripped, he is tall, he is hung like a stallion. What do you expect a girl to do?”

“This is not helping,”

“Gonna be honest with you, Az,” Ruhn continued. “That virginity thing that you are gearing to take–it might not be there by the end of the day.”

“Still not helping,” Azriel groaned into his cereal.

“Hey, it’s a Fenrys Moonbeam world and we are all just living in it,”

Having finished his croissant, Ruhn lit a cigarette and added,

“Oh, and,”

“No, I think it’s enough,” Azriel stopped him.

“I am just saying–the English accent,”

“Oh, fuck me,” Azriel moaned dramatically, burying his face in his hands. “Oh god. I forgot. I forgot about the English accent,”

“Honestly, he’s been pretty good at keeping it on the DL,” Ruhn laughed softly. “But I am guessing today is the day he will unleash it on the unsuspecting Elain,”

“Not the English accent!”

“It’s a real panty dropper,” Ruhn kept laughing. “Knickers just melt when the 6”5 English god of sex unveils his London accent. You and I stand literally no chance,”

“Why are you doing this?” Azriel demanded.

“Just preparing you for the inevitable!”

“I know, I know, she is already besotted with him. Who isn’t?”

“All the ladies, many men. He is jolly,”

“He is jolly.”

Azriel nodded and sighed.

“But you know he is going to offer her ‘a cuppa’ and she is going to go all googly eyes over it,”

“Fucking tea,” Azriel thew his bowl into the sink, probably with some unnecessary aggression. “She is Italian, why is she drinking tea?”

“The power of a hot English guy with an English accent. And a cuppa.”

Azriel got up, pulling his tie in a knot with enough strength to strangle an ordinary mortal and then barked,

“Alright, you got work to do. See ya.”

Ruhn grinned and saluted him, saying, “yes boss’.

As Azriel half-stormed out of the house, extremely unusually agitated, Ruhn couldn't help but laugh to himself. His brother definitely didn’t like his wife spending time with Fen.

Cassian Anteroga-Rossi was driving a van. A van . Through New York City, feeling and looking like an idiot. Because who actually possessed and drove a van in this city?

But, of course, Fenrys, who always tittered on the edge of reality on a good day, decided to kill someone. Before noon. On a Tuesday. In public.

When Cassian got the call, announcing that clean up was needed on ‘aisle seven’ he knew that’s what it was–a murder, in public. At least no witnesses, as far as he could tell. ‘Clean up on aisle three’ for example, meant that someone was tortured, but still alive, and needed to be dumped somewhere. ‘Aisle five’ meant tortured and killed. ‘Aisle ten’ was a FUBAR type of a situation–murder, in public, with witnesses, perhaps with face recognition. Basically the one situation no one ever wanted to be in. Thankfully, they haven’t gotten to ‘aisle ten’ ever. Or, maybe, yet.

Fenrys texted him the coordinates, and Cassian drove as fast as he could, swearing under his breath, because every minute was a minute too late. Every minute was a minute when Fenrys could be pinched. The problem with Fenrys was that he was wild and difficult to control and whenever he was the one who summoned Cassian to do a clean up job, Cassian’s heart dropped. Because Fenrys was the guy who killed someone with an orange once. As in fruit. He jammed it so hard in the guy’s mouth, he dislocated a jaw and basically suffocated him with citrus. He also killed a fella with an ice cream cone–the sugar kid, with the pointy end–by slamming it into the man’s eye until it lodged into his brain. Really, when it came to fighting and murder, Fenrys was known to utilize everything–food, household items, kitchen utensils, umbrellas, shoes, you name it, he probably used it. Unlike Ruhn, who liked to fight with his fists, those knuckles thick with scars, and trained to break jaws and withstand impacts that would otherwise shatter the hand and break the wrist, Fenrys always found more inventive ways of killing someone. Once he force-fed someone shrimp, knowing that they were allergic to shellfish and watched them die of anaphylactic shock. Azriel was the only ‘normal’ one–he detested touch, especially body fluids from random males who were bleeding or drooling or sweating. So he used knives and machetes and guns. Guns. Like a proper villain.

Yes, Fenrys was an interesting kind of a guy. As Cassian drove through Harlem, he figured that it wasn’t terribly surprising, considering that you couldn’t be normal when you watched your whole family gunned down in front of your eyes, including your little brother and your mom, when you were not yet ten years old. And then ripped away from your country and sent to your dick of an uncle.

Cassian didn’t know what to expect as he pulled up to a small ugly Chinese restaurant that’s seen better days, at least on the outside. Frankly, his favorite Chinese place had no name; they just called it Soho Chinese, you had to enter it from the alley, there were always lines half a mile long and the place had a Michelin star. So who was he to judge? He wouldn’t have even known about the Michelin star, if it hadn’t been for the owner, Harri Feng, dropping a random tidbit of information that the Vanserras were hassling him for payoffs. Well, after that, Cassian set up a little personal recon mission, eventually broke the Vanserra thug’s wrists and sent a warning to leave the restaurant alone. Harri somehow figured it out, but Cass didn’t want any payments or thanks, other than a free order of sticky spicy spareribs with every order.

So, as he stood in front of the interestingly named The Chow of Fun restaurant, he didn’t know what to expect. A restaurant full of bleeding bodies Kill Bill -style? One guy dead, with his face buried in a bowl of noodles? (Remember, Fenrys likes murdering with food) Someone with a meat cleaver protruding from their chest? Ugh, he hoped not a wok or a vat of boiling oil, and someone in it. Cassian had a delicate stomach when it came to burns.

He’d scanned the street around him, but did not notice Fen’s usual rides–fancy or overly Anglicized cars, whether a Mini with a Union Jack or a Bentley.

He entered the restaurant, which was bustling at this time–it was lunch–and looked around for Fenrys, failing to locate him. An old Asian woman came over to him and glancing conspiratorially, asked, “You for Mista Fen?”

“Yeah, I am here for Mister Fen,” he nodded.

She pointed to a side door and whispered, “Mista Fen upstairs”.

Well, there was no Kill Bill massacre that he’d have to clean up, which was a relief. But watching people slurp piping hot noodles in 90-degree heat was another kind of torture. Why people did this to themselves, he couldn’t fathom.

At least Mista Fen seemed to be a regular here. Cass was absolutely certain that Fenrys had made friends with the owners, like he made friends with everyone, and now, he could probably hide out here whenever he wanted.

Slouching, so not to hit his head, he made it up the narrow staircase and opened the door.

Stepping onto a rooftop, which had seating consisting of plastic tables and chairs and some string lights, it was currently completely empty.

Well, not empty.

It had two occupants. Mista Fen and Mrs. Azriel King.

Making out.

No.

This was way, way beyond making out. Cassian stopped in his tracks. He was rarely shocked, having served in the army, having seen people blown up and tortured and raped. This though, he wasn’t prepared for at all.

Elain sat on one of those plastic tables, with Fenrys standing between her legs. Her blue jersey dress was hiked up to her thighs, almost to her stomach, and all Cassian saw was lots of exposed skin. The stretchy dress was pulled down over her tits as well, and they were pale and creamy and pink and absolutely bare, squished within Fenrys’s massive hands. He was kissing her filthily, with tongue and smacking and complete ravenous determination. Like she was the last woman on earth. Like she was his last woman. And she was purring against him, her hand lost in his blond curls, tugging him closer, her long legs wrapped around his thighs.

“We are going to make such damn hot kids, baby pie!” Cassian overheard Fenrys exclaim excitedly.

The announcement did not surprise Elain apparently. She only laughed and started kissing him again.

What the hell was baby pie? A small pie? A pie for babies? Did babies eat pies?

Cassian’s mind ran wild and yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Couldn’t walk away from watching this–this sexy train wreck of a disaster. He thought that Fenrys was crazy before, but truly the man’s lost his mind!

Because Fenrys cupped those lovely full tits and clamped his teeth over the nipples, both at once, and pulled on them, tugging and nipping, and surely hurting her, if it weren't for her wild, desperate moan of pleasure. He sucked and sucked, and licked and chewed, his hand disappearing between her thighs and though Cassian couldn’t see it from this angle, but the explicit slurping sound that her pussy made when Fenrys sunk his finger into her told him enough.

In the middle of NYC, at lunch, on the roof of some decrepit building that now housed a Chinese restaurant, Fenrys Moonbeam was fingering his sister-in-law.

Jesus fucking Christ!

Cassian forgot all about the dead body that he was supposed to have been finding and transporting.

Because this seemed like a massive disaster in the making. Was he terribly surprised that Elain succumbed to the charms of the blond unruly Englishman? No, no he wasn’t. But that Fenrys would do this, right after the wedding? Did he really have a death wish? Because Azriel was not someone who could be toyed and played with like this.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” Fenrys grunted, pressing his forehead to hers, his hand going from exploring and cautious to to full on ramming–thrusting hard and deep, the sounds juicy and obscene. Her moans turned into gasping, pathetic whimpers as she swayed against him, her tongue darting out to lick on his.

She looked a wanton, sexy mess and Cassian couldn’t help himself and licked his lips. Elain wasn’t his type, but a naked beauty in the throes of sexual pleasure was a naked beauty. He didn’t know her well–Feyre was a friend, a bohemian oddball, who somehow managed to completely bewitch his wealthy cousin Rhysand. Through her, Cassian had met the other two sisters–Nesta and Elain. Through the grapevine, he’d heard that Elain has been bounced around as a marriageable option for a number of families–the Nolans, the Vanserras, even, rumour had it, the Salvaterre don himself, Lorcan. But she ended up with Azriel. A surprising choice for all parties, though Cassian figured that it was an amicable union. Probably not a love match, but Azriel looked absolutely besotted at the wedding–happier than Cassian’s ever seen him before. And now…this. He couldn’t believe it.

He finally cleared his throat, seeing how Elain finally came. He wasn’t a monster and wasn’t going to leave the woman hanging without reaching her orgasm.

“Cass, you are here!” Fenrys turned his head and smiled. He slowly pulled his hand out of Elain and licked his fingers, giving absolutely no fucks that Cassian was watching them.

“Sorry honey,” he said to Elain, who was putting her tits back into her bra and her dress, still panting, “I was going to have you for lunch, but now, we’ll have to postpone it.” She laughed softly and kissed him on the lips, before waving to Cassian and saying, “Hi Cass!”

Cassian didn’t think that Elain was a psycho, but maybe she was.

She jumped off the table and then came over to him and gave him a hug.

“Thanks for coming!” she said excitedly. ��Fen killed Vinny today. Because Vinny was very rude to me. So, where are we disposing of the body?” the big brown eyes glinted with unholy light.

Fenrys wrapped his arm around Elain and pulled her to him.

“Who the hell is Vinny?” Cassian demanded, staring dagger at both of them.

“Doesn’t matter who Vinny is,” Fenrys waved his hand, “we need to,”

At that, Cassian exploded, “What the fuck is going on Fen? Are you out of your mind?!”

Elain grimaced at the display of anger and folded her arms on her chest,

“Cassian,”

“No Elain!” he bellowed. “Are you fucking nuts? What the fuck are you doing? You literally just got married!!” He yelled, waving his arms.

“Do you know what Azriel will do when he finds out?!” he shook his finger at her, “and he will find out. Mark my words!”

“And you! You stupid idiot,” he turned to Fenrys, “you can never keep it zipped up in your pants, can you?”

“It’s trousers to you,” Fenrys corrected him dryly.

“Cassian, it’s okay,” Elain attempted to soothe him, as she lay her hand on his.

“Okay?” he threw his hands up in the air, “okay? What is okay about it, Elain? You are getting fingered in the middle of Manhattan, by your fucking bro-in-law!”

She frowned and muttered, “okay, rude,”

“Rude? I am rude? You haven’t seen Azriel ‘rude’, you stupid girl,”

“Hey, hey, that’s enough,” Fenrys stepped between the two of them, while Elain turned red and snarled angrily, “fuck you, Cassian! Who the hell do you think you are?!”

“I am not going to allow you to cuckold my cousin!”

“Not allow me?” she yelled, and then in one swift move, snatched Fenrys’s knife that was sheathed at his hip.

“Whoa, whoa!” Fen waved his arms, attempting to calm her down. “He doesn’t meant it, baby,”

“I do fucking mean it!” Cassian grunted savagely. “You have one task and one task only to accomplish, stupid little girl,” he lunged at her, trying to snatch the knife, but he was unsuccessful. In a surprisingly agile move, Elain moved and pulled the knife away from him, almost slicing his hand.

“Elain!” Fenrys barked. “We don’t need any extra DNA out there! You wanna cut him, you do that later on, love,”

“I will cut this misogynistic prick!” she vowed, scowling.

“You listen to me, you little twerp,” Cassian lunged at her again, with renewed vigour, only to be caught on the shoulder by Fen’s iron grip.

“Easy there, big fella,” Fen gritted out. “And quit calling her names!”

“She said I am misogynistic, where I fucking am not !”

Elain’s chin jutted out, but she did not release her knife.

“I am not lying to Az,” Cassian finally stopped trying to reach her and crossed his arms on his chest. “You are to give him a kid. That’s the deal. You are to fulfill the bargain and the family agreement and deliver a King heir,” he jabbed his finger into Fen’s chest. “He is not a King! He is,”

“I am too!” Fenrys laughed. “I’ve been demoted from my throne,”

“Listen you demented Englishman with a perpetual hard-on,”

“Ouch,” but Fenrys was laughing, “that’s quite the pet name, Cass! You know, you are my cousin too,”

“Shut up,”

“Baby, can I please have my knife back,” Fenrys asked, smiling at her. “You’ve got some moves, girl. We’ll have to discuss this later,”

“Are we going to get Vinny?” she finally asked, still glaring at Cassian, though she handed the knife back to Fenrys.

“Yeah, we probably should get Vinny,” Fen agreed, “or he’ll be baked into a pie soon. Also, Cass,” he clapped him on the shoulder, “Az knows. Do you think I’d be the kind of cunt who’d be diddling my sister-in-law behind my brother’s back?”

Cassian stared at them suspiciously.

“It’s an arrangement we have, Cassian ,” Elain spat at last, still seething. “And while the state of my vagina is none of your damn business, I know full well whose child I am supposed to have first. But, we’ve made a decision between the four of us,”

“What decision,”

“We all married babygirl,” Fenrys shrugged and then kissed the top of Elain’s head.

Perplexed, Cassian just stared at them.

“Gotta go, buddy,” Fen snapped his fingers. “Like now, let’s go!”

He headed toward the door, with Elain on his heels, but before she reached it, Cassian caught her by the arm. She whirled at him, ready to strike, but he said,

“Sorry, Elain. And you are in agreement? With this arrangement?”

“Of course!”

Cassian placed his hands on her shoulders and said, “Elain, I apologise for my words. But…they aren’t forcing you, are they?” his brow furrowed and she realised that he was genuinely concerned for her.

Patting his hand, Elain assured him, “No, Cass. It was my decision. No one forced me into anything. I just felt…” she sighed, “a special sort of closeness with them…like, I wanted to be with them. I, I know it’s unorthodox,”

“Quite,” he grunted.

“But I want it,” she insisted stubbornly. “It’s my life, and I want it to be what I want it to be!”

“I mean, I get it, I guess,”

“You don’t have to get it. You just have to accept it.”

She turned and eased from under his hold and went downstairs, with him following her.

They found Vinny’s body by the dumpster, covered with boxes and bags. Cassian backed the van up into the alley, and Elain watched how he opened a secret compartment in the back of the van, and he and Fenrys ably stuffed the body in there. It was obvious that it wasn't their first time doing this.

“Climb in,” Cassian instructed and Elain listened, wordlessly climbing into the front seat, only to be joined by Fenrys on the passenger side. Meanwhile, Cass poured a gallon of bleach all over the spot where Vinny was hidden on the ground, tossed the plastic jug and plastic gloves into the secret compartment and then jumped into the driver seat.

They drove onto the street and smoothly weaved into the traffic.

“Why is there a baby seat in the back?” Elain asked at last, after a good ten minutes of silence. During the time, Cass comfortably navigated the streets, knowing where he was going, and glancing in the mirror once in a while, to make sure they were not being followed.

“If it’s a normal family van with a baby seat in the back, the cops are much less likely to stop it,” he explained, glaring straight ahead, “than if it’s a white rapey murder van,”

“Makes sense,” Elain nodded thoughtfully. She was sucking on an orange lollipop which was making her tongue bright orange.

Then,

“So, where are we going?”

Then,

“What are we gonna do with Vinny?”

“Stop calling him by his name,” Cassian snapped. “It’s weird. It’s just a body. And stop asking so many questions Miss Mafia Princess,”

Elain pouted, while muttering under her breath, “I am a Queen.”

Fenrys barked a laugh and pulled her to kiss her temple. Elain licked on her lolly and then offered it to Fenrys, who latched on it like it was a tit.

Cassian gave them a side glance and then rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

She pulled the lollipop from Fenrys’s lips and swallowed it back.

“Gross,” Cass grumbled.

“You are gross,” she muttered. “Have you even been in a relationship before?”

“Have you?”

“I am in a relationship now. And in relationships, you share, Cassian .”

Fenrys was smiling at the bickering.

“God you are annoying,” she sighed. “I am not putting one good word for you to Nesta,”

At that, Cassian looked quickly at her and asked,

“What about Nesta? What did she say?”

“She didn’t say anything,” Elain continued licking on her pop and Fenrys moaned, “babygirl, quit that. Or I’ll have those lips wrapped around my dick pretty soon,”

“Oh my god, fuck off,” Cassian cried. “Get the hell out of my van. Or stop with your gross sex talk!”

“Cass, are you a virgin?” Elain asked sweetly.

“Are you?”

Then, roughly, he asked, “What did Nes say about me?”

“Nes? Nes ?” Elain almost choked on her lolly.

Fenrys cocked his brow and also wondered, “Nes is it?”

“I just didn't finish pronouncing her name,” Cassian grumbled defensively, flushing.

Elain shrugged and said, cruelly, “you aren’t her type.”

“Excuse me? And what’s wrong with me?”

“You come at Nes with ‘ I’ve travelled 500 miles to give you my seed! I am to breed my sons upon your womb, woman’ ,” Elain said in a deep voice, imitating him, while Fenrys was hollering with laughter next to her, “she’ll probably rip your nuts off.”

“Oh baby, what a visual,” Fenrys shuddered.

“You understand I'd never say that to her, right?” Cassian protested. “I don't have to travel more than like six miles tops to give her my seed,”

“Oh, good to know. So you��ll only say it me?”

“Mother’s tits you got a mouth on you,”

“She does,” Fenrys nodded, smirking meaningfully.

“Don’t need to know the details of your sexual shenanigans,” Cassian waved him off.

They drove all the way to Jersey, where Vinny was unceremoniously dumped into an incinerator at some steel plant.

“Should we say something?” Elain proposed.

“Elain, made men don’t always get pretty funerals,” Cassian told her.

“Well, I think we should,”

Cassian sighed and then began, “Our Father who art in Heaven,”

Fenrys interrupted him and quoted,

“ Here's to the bee who stung the bull that got the bull to buckin,

Here's to God for creating Adam and Eve that got the world a fuckin’! ”

Elain elbowed him and sneered, “what the hell kind of a prayer is this?”

“An English one,” he laughed and wrapping her arm around her shoulders said, “let’s go. Az is probably going to send a rescue party!”

“Where the hell have you been?”

It was around four in the afternoon by the time they actually made it back.

“Why haven’t you been picking up your phone?” Azriel ranted at them, the moment they stepped into the house. He turned to Elain, looking at her, with both fury and disappointment, “and you? Why aren’t you answering any texts?”

She stared at him, somewhat fed up with men yelling at her today and threw her bag on the floor.

“You took my phone away, Azriel–before the wedding,” she reminded him icily, while behind her, Fenrys was making big wild eyes at Az, trying to bring him down from his irritation, but Azriel didn’t look at him.

Elain added, “I am still waiting to get it back,”

“Oh, well, I,” he began explaining.

“Yeah,” she strolled to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, chugging it. “Well.”

“Where were you?” Azriel repeated his question.

He was dressed informally for once–but in all black. Black jeans, black t-shirt that stretched over his muscular torso, hugging every dent and bulge of his body, and boots.

“Fen killed Vinny and we had to dispose of the body,” Elain said like she was discussing her garden or cucumber sandwiches.

“I am sorry, what?” Azriel turned to her and stared, confusion and shock written on his handsome face.

Elain toed off her booties and then plopped on the sofa, showing him her left hand and wiggling her fingers, “And I got a ring from Fen,”

“What do you mean Fen killed someone?” Azriel’s voice sounded like death.”Were you attacked?”

“No,” Elain shrugged, “but we met with Vinny–well, Fen did, and,”

She wasn’t able to finish her tale, before Azriel flew at Fenrys and his fist connected with the blond man’s jaw. Fenrys, surprisingly, withstood the initial attack, and did not retaliate, allowing Azriel the first, brutal punch. Azriel slammed into Fen like a giant black bat, his massive shoulder pushing into the man’s gut and Fenrys skidded back, though managed the remain on his feet, grabbing Azriel’s waist and shoving him back. But a vicious punch in the kidney had Fenrys wheezing and despite Elain’s frantic shouts, and futile attempts to pull them apart, they went at each other like savages, pounding each other’s faces and bodies, blows landing all over their torsos. They were huge men and in the melee, Elain was knocked down on her ass, whipped across the floor, and slid all the way to the kitchen island, the marble finally breaking her spinning.

“Elain!” both men yelled in unison, while she looked around dazed, rubbing her head.

They crawled towards her, blood trailing them on the floor, trying to get to her first, while pushing and shoving each other.

“Elain are you okay?” Azriel cried out, horrified, “I am sorry, Elain,”

“Auuu,” she moaned, “stop fighting, you idiots!”

That, however, did not have the desired effect and only enraged Azriel further, and he flipped and pounced on Fenrys, renewing his assault.

“You stupid fuck!” he yelled, “you took her on a job?! Are you fucking nuts?”

“He did what? ”

Behind them, Ruhn’s voice boomed, angry and icy. No one even noticed him coming in.

“Noo,” Elain leapt between the charging Ruhn, who was running at them like a linebacker and for a moment, she thought ‘this is how I die’. But he vaulted over the sofa and then pulled the men apart, only to land a blow on Fenrys’s face.

“So what!?” Elain screamed, “we went on a job and it was awesome!”

Bloodied and bruised, Fenrys smiled a happy smile, his teeth red, his dark eyes glaring at her with excitement, despite Ruhn punching him in the gut.

“Awesome? Fucking awesome?” raged Azriel, this time at her. “Do you understand how stupid and dangerous this is? You have no,”

“I was with Fen!”

“I don't care who you were with. You are my fucking wife and you’ll do as I say!” he roared. “Go to your room. NOW!”

“What?” she scrambled to her feet, tears bursting out of her eyes.

“Go to your goddamn room!” he ordered. “Or I’ll drag you there myself!”

“Whoa, Az,” was the last thing Elain heard, Ruhn’s voice sharp and accusatory. “What the hell, man?”

She stormed up the stairs and went to her bedroom, slamming the door.

Downstairs, the ruckus continued, yelling and things crashing.

Elain’s heart pounded in her chest, as she tore off her dress, angrily ripping the straps and stomping on it, as she headed to the bathroom.

Fuck Azriel. Fuck him 10,000 and 3 ways to Sunday. She was enraged, her hands shaking, her breath coming in panicked gasps. The very thing that she feared the most was happening right now, all of three days after the wedding. Her husband was going to imprison her in his house, where she’d stay and do nothing. He’d sell her flower shop, or even worse, would just board it up. She didn’t have a car, didn’t have a phone, she had nowhere to go. She couldn’t even get in touch with Nesta. Feyre was already in this blasted family, so she’d be no use.

He was a damn snake, who slithered into her life with tender promises and compliments, but he was just like all of them.

Imagine! Sending her upstairs, to her room, like she was some insolent child, or an ill-behaved poodle!

As she stepped into the shower, washing off the roller-coaster of a day that she had, she kept muttering to herself in anger. She was his damn wife, just like he said, and yet he treated her like she was a four year-old who ate the birthday cake before candles. And he beat up Fenrys! And Fenrys allowed him to hit him, like he felt guilty.

They didn’t do anything wrong! Not her, and not Fen.

The door to the bathroom opened and just like he did in the morning, Fenrys strolled in. Rather, limped in.

“El, you okay?” he rasped, hobbling to the shower enclosure.

“My god, Fen!” Elain gasped, seeing him all bloodied and bruised, his lip split, his cheek swollen, half of his face covered in a blossoming bruise. She leapt out of the shower and wrapped her arms around him, fussing and not knowing where to touch him, since he kept wincing and grunting.

“That’s all, I am calling the police!” she raged, as she helped him take off his shirt. His torso was aso bruised and an angry red welt crossed his back. “I want him arrested,”

Fenrys laughed, and then moaned, “oww, oww, this is,”

“Assault!” she unbuckled his belt and he smirked, as she pulled the belt and then unzipped his jeans and had him sit down on the edge of the tub, as she squatted and began to pull his boots off. “He should be arrested!”

“El, you are naked,” he noted, rather unoriginally.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” she mumbled, “I am cold, wet and naked. And my head smacked on the island and it’s swollen,” she grabbed his hand and pressed it to her sodden head, “feel it! Feel the bump?”

“I feel the bump,” he nodded. “I am sorry,”

“You? Why are you sorry?” she exploded, “he a dickweed and an asshole and a cuntbucket!”

“Cuntbucket, huh?”

“Yes!”

“Is it like a bucket full of cunts? Or a cunt with a buck-,”

“That's not the point!” she snapped. “The point is, he is acting like he is deranged,”

“I think he is very worried about you,” Fen said softly, as she got rid of the boots, tossed them aside and began to drag his jeans down. “I think he,”

“I am sorry, I am sorry–you are defending him?” she demanded, eyes blazing with rage, looking both supremely sexy, with her soft body glistening with water and droplets running down her breasts and hips, and also frighteningly angry.

Fenrys didn’t know where to look. Also, his head swam, because he collided with the wall, when he threw Az off him, and that knocked him out a bit. But he couldn’t help but look because her nipples were delightful, and when a little droplet rolled down her breast and dangled off the plump peak, he lunged unwards, lapping on it like a dog.

“I hate him,” Elain muttered sullenly, as slipped his Calvins down his thighs and then he was naked.

Fenrys cringed, as he got up and then stumbled into the shower. Elain followed him, and he waved his hand, smirking, “You don’t hate him, babygirl,”

“I do too!”

“No you don’t,”

“You have some kind of Stockholm Syndrome,” she argued, taking a loofah and gently sponging him, trying to avoid all his cuts and bumps.

“Haha, well, he didn’t kidnap me,” Fenrys laughed, his injuries and the violent fight apparently having no real effect on his mood or his usual jovial disposition. “And I haven’t fallen in love with him either,”

“Well, neither have I!” she grumbled. “He is a nut,”

“But I do love him,” Fen assured her. “Even if he beat my face in. Maybe I deserved it,”

“No!” she yelled. “You didn’t,”

He put his hands on her hips, pulling her to him and then gently brushing his lips over hers.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken you with me…I,”

“Fenrys,” Elain grabbed his chin, squeezing it mercilessly and making him wince. “I felt…alive. Alive. For the first time in a long time! The few other times when I felt the same was when I opened my shop, and when I met,” she swallowed, “you. The three of you.”

“And I don’t want to be a housewife, who sits home and isn’t allowed to think for herself. I’ve agreed–reluctantly, mind you–to Azriel’s and Ruhn’s demands for security. But honestly, he isn’t allowed to react this way every time something is amiss,”

“It was a pretty big deal today, baby,” he argued. “We killed someone,”

Suddenly, a dark figure appeared in the doorway and Elain flinched, while Fen wrapped his arms around her and soothed her softly, just with his presence alone.

Through the drenched, fogged glass, Elain beheld her husband. His sharp handsome face was dark, no longer angry, but calm and placid. The black hair was slicked back, and he’d changed his shirt. Like Fen, he sported various injuries on his face, a cut on his forearm, a deep gash on his forehead.

He grabbed a towel from the rack and said,

“Fen, wrap your cock and give me a minute of privacy with my wife,”

Elain swallowed, nervous, already exhausted from all the fighting and feeling like she had no fight left in her. Fenrys did not argue, but wrapped a towel around his waist and padded out of the bathroom. Elain sighed and stepped out, wrapping herself in a robe. Azriel folded his arms on his chest and cocked his head, his gaze heavy and unwavering. She’d experienced that gaze before, having seen it at the wedding, when he was not entirely pleased with someone. He didn’t act, but it was unnerving, his stillness and his silence, as if he was wrapped in shadows and darkness.

“I am tired, Azriel,” Elain said honestly, “and I don’t want to argue with you.”

“I want to apologise, Elain,” he said solemnly. “What you saw today–it was not me. I am sorry, but,”

“Oh, and here is the ‘but’,” she sneered.

“Yes, there is a ‘but’,” he said coldly. “I don’t want this happening again,”

“What exactly?” she raised her brow at him, squeezing the water out of her hair.

“You gallivanting with Fenrys and going on jobs,”

“Why?”

The question seemed to take him aback for a moment, and he took a minute to respond.

“It’s…inappropriate,”

“That’s what you came up with?”

“Elain,”

“No, Azriel! You listen to me! I’ve been stifled all my life– by my father, my sister, the circumstances of my birth and my family. I was shopped around like a prized cow for someone to marry. I had no say in who I’d end up with. And as it happens, I am glad that I ended up with you!”

At that, his eyes flashed, a pleased smirk on his beautiful mouth.

“But that happiness won’t last long, if I’d just go from one jail to another. And I don’t want to hate you,”

“I think hate is a strong word,” he countered.

“I think it’s the correct word,” she insisted, sitting on the bed. “I am your wife, not some member of your organization, and not even one of your brothers. I don’t work for you. I don’t serve you,” she reminded him.

“This is not about that,” he was frustrated, threading his fingers through his hair. “It’s dangerous,”

“I know the life we live, I know what’s dangerous,”

“Elain, I said no,” his tone was firm, uncompromising. “You cannot go on jobs. Even,”

“It was the one thing that made me breathe and laugh,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “To experience that freedom…the exhilaration,”

“Fenrys killed someone, Elain!” Azriel snapped. “In front of you! And what would happen if you got caught? Fenrys is a madman–he does parkour! He can jump from a 4th story building and land on his feet, and propel himself over walls and from balcony to balcony. He runs like a fucking antelope! He also fights with fists, and knives, and daggers, and pots and pans and banana peels! There is no stopping him,”

“So,”

“So,” he snapped, “if shit hits the fan, Fen can get away!! You can’t! So, what’s he gonna do?!?! Stay with you obviously. And then I lose a brother and a wife?!?”

“You are exaggerating,” she argued feebly.

“Am I? Jobs go bad! All the time,” he said roughly, “and while I trust my brothers, I am sorry, but I don’t trust you,”

“So, that’s the end of it? You just decided for me,”

He shrugged, “it is what it is. I am the boss and the husband–that’s my decision.”

Elain bit her lip until it hurt, until it was almost blood, but she did not allow herself tears.

Azriel watched her in silence, and there was a tick in his jaw, like he was fighting with himself, but she didn’t help him in any manner. She looked up and pursed her lips and asked coldly,

“Am I still allowed to work in my shop, husband?”

His tongue ran over his teeth, as he attempted to hide his annoyance, but at last, he answered,

“I promised that you would, Elain. And I am a man of my word. You are free to work at your shop.”

“Wow, how generous of you.”

“Elain,” he grunted.

She shrugged and said,

“I thought that I married a knight in shining armour…but I married,”

“Me,” he snarled. “You married me! I never promised to be a knight! You are stuck with what you got. Your life isn’t exactly very difficult there,”

“No,” her tone was icy, “it’s delightful. Now, do take care about destroying furniture in my house. If it is, of course, my house. Or maybe I am just a roommate here, who needs to ask for permission to leave her room…or, order to go to her room,”

“Oh my god!” he threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. “I am done with this conversation!”

“Well, you are the boss and the husband, so I suppose it’s your decision.”

He turned on his heel and stormed to the door. As he ripped it open, he turned around and threw,

“Suppose there is no chance of consummation tonight, is there?”

In response, Elain rolled an invisible lever, and slowly raised her middle finger to him.

“I thought so.”

When Azriel came downstairs, it was quiet and music was playing.

“Did you know that dolphins sleep with one eye open?”

He heard Fenrys ask excitedly.

To which Ruhn responded,

“So do I. Maybe I am a dolphin,”

“I went swimming with the dolphins once,” Elain interfered, “and it bit me!”

“A dolphin bit you?” Fenrys gasped.

“Sounds fake, but okay,”

“No, no really, here!”

Azriel supposed she was showing them some kind of evidence on her body–probably a scar.

“Octopuses have one arm that’s a penis!” she announced excitedly.

“Well, I have two arms and a penis,” Fenrys argued reasonably.

“Yeah, but one of your arms isn't a penis, Fen!” Elain argued.

“I can make anything into a penis,” he insisted. “Any appendage I possess can be used for pleasure,”

“Please be quiet,” Ruhn moaned.

Azriel wanted to moan with him.

When he finally made himself known, his brothers looked at him, but Elain pointedly ignored his arrival.

He was surprised to be sure, to see her here, figuring that she’d be pouting and ignoring him and his presence for at least a couple of days. But here she was. Tucked between the two towering men, leaning on Fen’s shoulder. They were looking at someone’s phone–apparently finding useful information like where squid penises were located.

Elain was dressed in her leggings and a tanktop, and a tiara on her head. Where the hell she got a tiara, he wasn’t sure, and why she decided to wear it, but here they were. He didn’t comment, more concerned about the fact that Elain had seen, and probably touched, both of his brothers’ penises by now. He was irritated by the thought. Considering how comfortable she was with Fen in the shower and his monster cock, he figured that she’d acquainted herself with it prior.

The table was set for dinner.

As they made a beeline to it, Ruhn offered, “you can sit on my lap, pretty girl”.

“She is not sitting on your lap,” Azriel gritted through his teeth.

“What did you cook, what did you cook?!” Fenrys asked excitedly. “Also, you totally don't have to cook for us, but if you wanna, do it! Your cooks are delicious!”

“My cooks?” she laughed, doing something at the stove.

“Your cooks and your bakes!”

“Cacio e pepe,” she explained. “With a fried egg!”

“Ohhh, carbtacular dinner!” Fenrys rubbed his hands.

Elain swirled the pasta into a perfect little mound on the plates, topped it with a fried egg and more black pepper and then brought it to the table on a tray. They were already helping themselves to some prosciutto and cheese and sweet baby tomatoes, while Ruhn was pouring everyone wine.

She sat a plate in front of each man and herself, before taking her place at the head of the table.

“What is this?” Fenrys asked curiously, looking at Azriel’s plate.

Everyone’s pasta glistened with a rich cheesy sauce and a luscious fried egg, where as Azriel’s pasta was decidedly more…orange.

Elain glanced at the plate innocently and shrugged,

“Oh, I ran out of cacio. And pepe. And pasta. And eggs,” she popped a piece of cheese in her mouth, while Ruhn was shaking with laughter across from her. “I found this in the cupboard. I believe it’s Kraft mac n’ cheese.”

Azriel remained completely calm and smacked his lips, squaring his shoulders in front of the orange mess on his plate, while Fenrys cut into the egg yolk and it flowed sensually over the spaghetti.

“Well, buon appetito, family!” Azriel raised his glass to them and then tucked his spoon in the quickly congealing slop. “Oh and Elain, thank you for cooking. It looks very appetising.”

He tasted the sweet-bitter-sour creature on his spoon, shuddering a bit, yet smiling gleefully.

“And this is for you,” he passed a phone across the table to her.

Elain knew what he was doing–guilting her for giving him Kraft macaroni, while feeding the rest of them a nice meal. Here was her phone, as promised.

Yet, she only shrugged and took it from him.

“Did you put a tracker in it?” she asked.

“I certainly did,” he smiled savagely.

Yes, Azriel felt that he was persona non grata for the rest of the evening, even as they wound down, went outside to sit by the pool with various libations.

Naturally, Fenrys challenged Elain to a swim-off and after a bit of whining on her part, she raised her arms, and he stepped entirely too close to her, and removed her top, tossing it on the ground. There was something hypnotically sensual about watching him work on a woman’s body, and undress her so languidly, yet so ably. Not a move out of place. A kiss on the shoulder. A peck on the lips. A swipe of his hand down her back. A cup of her bum. All harmonious and perfected, like a sexual symphony. Her bra was next. Then her leggings, along with the undies. Within a few minutes, she was completely naked.

Ruhn’s brilliantly blue eyes hooded as he watched her slender, tempting curves, as she slid into the pool.

“She is fucking sexy,” he groaned under his breath, swirling his drink in his glass.

“That she is,” Azriel agreed. They were lounging side by side, sprawled in their chaises.

He rubbed his chin, watching Elain wrapped around Fenrys’s absurdly muscular form, his arms caging her softness next to him, each bicep almost as big as her head. The two of them paid no heed to the other two men, Elain lost in Fen’s kisses, as the two of them floated on the surface, tangled together.

“Ruhn,” Azriel said thoughtfully, “I want you to teach her how to fight.”

Ruhn wasn’t outwardly surprised by the request, but he looked at his brother, clarifying,

“You run hot and cold with her, Az. What do you want to do?”

After a long pause, the answer was,

“I want to make her happy,” Azriel sighed.

Ruhn nodded.

“I know I can’t control her,” Azriel extended his hand and Ruhn knew what he was asking, and offered him a cigarette. Azriel popped it in his mouth and inhaled deeply.

He’d quit a few years back, but…not entirely.

“And if push comes to shove, I’d rather she be prepared and have some skills.”

“I get you,” Ruhn agreed. “I was going to suggest it myself…once you simmered down,”

“Oh fuck off. Like you approve of him taking her on a job.”

“It’s not about that. It’s about knowing that we can only offer her the skills to take care of herself. Some of our women were too reliant on others and their protection, and we all paid the price.”

Azriel knew that Ruhn was referring to Mor. But that was a conversation for another time.

When Elain finally climbed out of the pool, her teeth were chattering and she squealed, wrapping herself in a towel.

Ruhn had gone inside, but Azriel still remained, and as she sprinted towards the house, he caught her hand and stopped her.

“Sleep with me tonight?” he asked quietly, near begging.

“No,” she shook her head and left him.

Special thanks to @sakurakittypeach for coming up with Cassian’s last name and to @123moiaussi for the fun fact of octopus penis

It takes a village to write this!

#the kings wife #chapter 6 #Clean Up On Aisle Seven #Elriel #elriel fanfic #dark mafia romance #reverse harem #tog and acotar and hosab #acotar #my fanfiction #my writing #elriel fanfiction #elain and azriel #elain and ruhn #elain and fenrys #fenrys moonbeam #ruhn danaan

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masterofmunson · 4 years ago

Text

look after you (2)

TFATWS Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sam asks you to join him and Bucky on a mission in Madripoor. When you get injured, Bucky feels the need to remind you more than once that he’s supposed to look after you now that Steve’s gone.

Warnings: tfatws spoilers, language, violence, blood, vomiting, explosions, needles, pining galore

Word Count: 4.7k+

Author’s Note: Here she is! I was originally going to post this tomorrow, but to celebrate the season finale of tfatws as well as me getting fully vaccinated, I decided to post it a day earlier! As always, comments, reblogs, and asks are highly encouraged and greatly appreciated. Enjoy and tell me what you think!

You take a day to rest and recoup before diving head first into the mission again. You slept decently and you hadn’t really thought about how exhausted you really were until you went to bed after your heart to heart with Bucky. It was a conversation that the two of you needed to have, and you wished it didn’t have to happen after you had gotten shot. You’re just glad that you’re on the same page now.

Getting out of bed, you’re careful to move around with your shoulder in mind as you wash your face and brush your teeth. You make your way to the kitchen and everyone, including Zemo, sits around the granite countertop.

“Good morning, Y/n. How’s your shoulder?” Zemo asked with a smug smirk and a cup of tea in his hands.

You glare at him and take three long strides to get to him. You slap him across the face and the smack echoes against the walls. “If you touch Bucky and I like you did last night again, I’ll kill you. Understand?” you snapped, spitting at him.

He grins and caresses the side where you hit him, messaging his fingers into the tender and red skin. “Completely.”

You walk away from him to the far side of the counter where Bucky and Sam are just staring at you with wide eyes. They hide their growing smiles behind their coffee mugs. You reach for the coffee pot and Sharon grabs a mug from the cabinet for you. You fill it with coffee and pour some creamer inside.

Bucky leans over your shoulder and mumbles in your ear, “Are you feeling okay?”

You smile softly at him and take a sip of your coffee. You nod slowly and lean against the kitchen counter. You don’t need to exchange words for Bucky to know that you’re doing okay. He knows with the small curve of your mouth.

“What’s the move now that all of Madripoor is trying to kill us? How are we going to find this Nagel guy?” you asked, looking between Sam and Sharon.

Sharon sighs, running a hand through her hair. “You should really steer clear of all of this for your own safety,” she sighed. “Especially you, now that you’re injured,” nodding over to your shoulder.

“We know it’s a risk, but we’re not going to leave until we find Nagel,” Sam interjected.

Sam and Sharon negotiate with each other as you walk towards the window. Now that the sun is up, you can see the entire skyline of High Town. It’s beautiful, all things considered since the entirety of Low Town is trying to kill you.

“You help us out, I’ll get your name cleared. Deal?”

Sharon sighs and shakes Sam’s hand. “I have a showing tonight, I’ll see what I can find. Just lay low and blend in. Stay out of trouble.”

She leaves the kitchen and disappears down the hall. You move back into the kitchen and poke around the pantry to see what kind of breakfast food she had for you to eat. To your own surprise and excitement, you see a box of Cheerios on the top shelf. You grab it and open a number of cabinets and drawers for a bowl and spoon.

“Want some, Buck? Sam?” you asked.

The two men shake their heads and Sam pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I need to make a call, I’ll be right back.”

You hum and grab the milk from the fridge. You sit at the kitchen table away from Zemo. Bucky sits in the empty chair next to you and you playfully shove a hand in his face as he watches you eat.

“Stop brooding, Buck. It’s not a good look for you, gives you wrinkles,” you teased with a grin.

“I think I’m okay with a few wrinkles, honey. I look pretty damn good for a 106 year old, don’t you think?” Bucky teased in return.

You hum with approval and a mouthful of cereal. “Mhmm. You look great, Buck.”

You finish your breakfast and put everything away. Bucky reaches for your arm and squeezes your hand. “Can I look at your shoulder? I want to make sure everything’s okay.”

You nod and Bucky grabs the abandoned first aid kit before following you into the nearest bathroom. You climb on to the bathroom counter and Bucky ruffles through the kit for the right supplies. He gathers more thread, bandages, and anticeptant and places them beside you.

“Do you need me to help you take off your sweatshirt?”

Your laughter fills the bathroom walls and you raise your brows at the ex assassin. A flirtatious smile finds its way onto your face. “Are you asking me for a strip tease, Barnes?”

His face flushes an embarrassing shade of pink and it makes you giggle even more. It makes your heart melt at his awkwardness. He stutters over his words. “N-No! I can step out if you don’t need help. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

He turns to leave and you gently grasp his arm, stopping him from leaving you. Your gentle smile and touch makes him relax. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Buck. You don’t have to leave. You might have to ask me out on a date after this, though. I don’t do this for just anyone.”

He just stares at you with a blank expression.

You laugh again, biting the inside of your cheek. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed that he didn’t understand your teasing. “I’m joking.”

“Oh.”

You slowly pull your hoodie over your head and wince at the burning sensation. You move your bra strap to the side and Bucky carefully inspects the bandages. Blood seeps through them and he’s careful to pull the soiled bandages off your skin and into the trash. He leans forwards to get a better look at the stitching to make sure they’re still intact.

Bucky takes a clean antibacterial wipe and swipes it around the wound, picking up the dry blood and cleaning the area. You wince at the sudden stinging sensation around the sensitive area of your wound. Bucky apologizes under his breath. It sends a chill down your spine.

His fingers are soft and gentle against your skin. His touch is feather light. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s trying his best, all things considered.

He bandages both sides of the wound with incredible care. He’s silent as he works. His eyes are focused and his hands move with incredible ease.

When he’s finished bandaging you up, he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder and it makes you freeze. Your throat tightens and your heart begins to race. Bucky pulls away and your eyes meet. He scratches at the back of your neck.

“Sorry. I used to do that when my sisters got hurt when they were younger. It made them feel better,” he explained with rosy cheeks. He turns to flee the bathroom and you pull him back again.

“You don’t need to apologize. It’s sweet. Thank you,” you said, fixing your hoodie.

He smiles awkwardly at you before finally leaving the bathroom. You follow behind him and ignore the weird feeling inside your chest.

….

You didn’t know what to expect when you went downstairs to the gallery. When you arrived last night, you didn’t have the time to look at the artwork in the building. You were in too much pain to notice what kind of art Sharon dealt with. What you didn’t expect was the number of people that showed up and how it seemed like a dance club rather than an art gallery.

You’re dressed in a nice pair of black pants and matching blouse. Music thunders in your ears and the bass of the music vibrates through your chest. You push through the crowd to get to the bar. You order three tequila shots and pass two of them to Bucky and Sam. You clink the glasses together before downing the liquor. It burns your throat and sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod along to the music and make your way towards the gallery portion of the building. You walk past a number of Monet paintings, and you’re stunned that Sharon was able to get her hands on such priceless pieces. You’ve never been one to analyze paintings and artwork.

You walk around the entire gallery before returning to the bar. Sam and Bucky scowl as they watch Zemo try and dance to the music. You hide your growing smile behind your beer and reach for Sam’s hand, dragging him to the dance floor. He groans loudly but doesn’t pull away.

“C’mon Grumpy Gills, Sharon said to have fun. You don’t look like you’re having fun,” you noted with a teasing smile and a glint in your eyes as you take a sip of your drink. You move your hips along to the beat of the music and Sam rolls his eyes, taking a drink from his beer.

“Shouldn’t you be asking the same thing to Barnes? Why drag me out here instead of him?” Sam asked over the loud music. He slowly starts to nod his head to the music.

You laughed loudly and grinned at him. “I have to split my time evenly between my two children!” you joked. “I can’t make it look like I have a favorite.”

Sam laughs and shakes his head at you. A growing smirk fills his features and he spins you around on the dance floor. “You’re not fooling anyone, sweetheart, least of all me. The two of you are like two lost puppies when you’re around each other. Put the old man out of his misery and tell him how you feel!”

Embarrassment washes over you and you try to hide your face with your arm. Was it really that obvious that you had feelings for Bucky? God, did Zemo notice too? For your sake and sanity, you hope not, and you know you’re not lucky enough to get away with it. He’s a perceptive asshole. The last thing you need is Zemo of all people to mention your behavior that seems more than friendly to Bucky.

It’s the last thing Bucky needs. He’s still healing and dumping your heart out to him is not a good idea. He’s figuring out how to deal with all his trauma and to adjust to life as a Bucky Barnes he’s proud to be. You don’t need to add to it. It’s not the right time and things are too complicated.

You shake your head. You can’t. You won’t. “It’s complicated, Sam. I can’t just dump it on him. He has too much to deal with and I don’t want to add to it.”

Sam shakes his head at you. You’re not surprised that he disagrees with you. He wants to knock some sense into you, but he won’t push it. “That’s not your decision to make though. You’re taking that choice away from him, and he’s had a lifetime of choices taken away from him.”

You take a step away from Sam at his insinuation. Your brows pinch together and you glare at him. “Stop psychoanalyzing me, Sam. You’re not my therapist.”

He scratches the back of his head and you look away from him. He sighs. “Listen, I just want the two of you to be happy, but I won’t push it. I won’t say anything.”

You scoff at him and roll your eyes at him. This is what you get when you try to make Sam relax and have fun. He can’t just turn it off. You push past him and make a beeline towards the elevator. You had lost interest in the party and just wanted to be left alone. Sam ruined your mood and pissed you off.

When the elevator arrives to the top floor, you raid Sharon’s liquor cabinet and open the door to the balcony. You take a seat on the floor and your legs hang from the railing as you drink in silence. You stare out into the skyline and listen to the sounds of the city mix together. It makes you miss New York City.

Car horns blare in the distance as do the sound of the rap of bullets on the other side of town. The light in the city distorts the night sky and the neon lights mix together in perfect harmony.

You’d never admit it out loud or tell Sam, but you know that he’s right. You should give Bucky the choice, but it was so much easier to just ignore your feelings for Bucky rather than just telling him outright. If you told him and he rejected you, it would make things more complicated than they already were, and it was the last thing you wanted.

You don’t think you could handle losing Bucky, especially after Steve. Just like Bucky thought you were his last connection to Steve, you felt the same way towards him, but you’d never tell him. You don’t want him to live up to Steve’s expectations. It doesn’t matter what Steve thought and he was gone. The two of you just needed to move past it.

The balcony door slides open behind you and you don’t bother turning to see who it is that’s joining you. You know that Bucky was the one behind you. He doesn’t say anything as he sits down next to you. You wordlessly pass the bottle of tequila over to him and he takes a drink without a second thought. He passes it back to you.

“What did Sam say to you?” Bucky asked, staring at your side profile. He runs his metal hand through his hair.

You busy yourself by taking another swig of tequila. You tear your gaze from the skyline and look over at Bucky. You sigh, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Something I’m not ready to hear,” you answered vaguely. It’s a partial truth and you know that Bucky didn’t expect such a vague answer from you. You don’t want to talk about it, and he respects you enough to not push you to tell him when it’s obviously a sensitive subject for you. You’re not ready. “I guess it’s what I get for trying to get Sam to try and relax and have fun.”

Silence falls between the two of you and you take the time in between to drink. Bucky grabs the bottle from you and sets it beside him. You huff at him and watch him stand up. You look up at him and he holds his hand out for you.

“I’ll have fun with you. Don’t let him ruin the night for you,” he said as he helps you to your feet.

You smile and shake your head at him. You know he’s trying his best and it makes you adore him even more. “There’s no music, Buck.”

He shrugs and pulls you towards him. Your uninjured arm wraps around his neck and his own hands settle on your waist. You let him lead as you sway to the sounds of the city below you. He hums quietly and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I haven’t danced since 1943,” he hummed matter of factly against the shell of your ear.

“It doesn’t seem like it,” you whispered. “You’re a good dancer.”

He gently twirls you around the balcony and a soft gasp leaves your lips as you cling to him as you’re dipped to the floor. He grins flirtatiously and pulls you back to your feet. For a split second, you see the man he was before the war, the man that Steve spoke so fondly of before he found him in Vienna all those years ago. This is the man that was notorious with the ladies and always took women dancing and stole their hearts. It makes you dizzy just thinking about it.

You hold your breath as his eyes find yours. “It’s all about finding the right partner,” he said, holding you close. “I have one hell of a dance partner, don’t you think, doll?”

Your heart beats erratically against your chest. You feel dizzy and it’s not from the tequila or the dancing. God, does he make you feel weak in the knees. You feel like you can’t breathe with him so close to you. He’s warm and intoxicating and it makes you feel like you’re about to do something stupid.

Your eyes find his cerulean blues and you feel like you’re drowning in him. They’re soft and gentle with a hint of something more hidden behind them. The haunted look in his eyes is gone as he stares at you like you’re the only woman in the world. Is this how women felt back in the 40s when they danced with him?

You stop moving, but you don’t pull apart. You don’t think you have the will power to. You like the way his hands hold your waist and how his touch lingers, making you want more. You’re a puddle in his arms. You only whisper his name as it hangs in the air.

“Yeah, honey?”

He leans forward and rests his forehead against yours. His eyes never leave yours and your fingers grip the back of his black blazer like your life depends on it. His smile is soft and gentle. He doesn’t push or ask questions. He’s the perfect gentleman, but he wants you to make the first move. That much is obvious and you know when to take the hint.

You’re going to do it. You’re going to ask Bucky to kiss you.

He must feel the same, he has to. He wouldn’t say that to just anyone. It makes your heart race at what he’s insinuating. He wants you just as much as you want him. You tug him closer and open your mouth to respond.

You’re immediately cut off and interrupted by a hard knock against the glass door. It makes your heart leap inside your throat and you pull away from Bucky’s arms. Embarrassment washes over you when you realize that it’s Zemo of all people is the one that caught the two of you dancing together on the balcony. He won’t let you live it down now.

He slowly opens the sliding door and looks between the two of you. He smirks and clasps his hands together. “Terribly sorry to interrupt what you’re doing, but Sharon found the doctor. It’s time to go,” he said.

You don’t say anything. You’re too embarrassed and you just wanted Zemo to leave you alone. You don’t have a snarky retort that you’re sure that he’s anticipating. Instead, you nod without uttering a single word and push past him to reenter the building, ignoring the flush you feel.

Zemo and Bucky follow close behind you and the journey to the ground floor is silent as you stand in the elevator. The silence between you and Bucky is suffocating, but you keep your eyes forward and ignore the stares Zemo sent between the two of you.

When the elevator doors open, you race outside and join Sharon and Sam at the front of the building. You ignore the weird look Sam sends you and climb into the front seat without a word as the others trail behind you.

You’re silent the whole way to the docks. You listen to Sharon quietly and keep your gaze out the window. She parks in front of the loading zone and you step out of the car, waiting for Sharon to walk you in the right direction.

Bucky grabs your hand and pulls you behind the rest of the group. It makes your heart race and jump inside your throat. He squeezes it gently.

“You should stay behind. I don’t want you to get hurt again,” Bucky murmured.

Your brows pinch together and you drop his hand. He has another thing coming if he thinks you’re just going to stand around and do nothing. It’s not in your nature. It never has been.

You won’t let whatever’s lingering between the two of you get in the way of doing your job. You don’t care that he wants to keep you safe and look after you. You’ll be fine.

“Is this your way of telling me that I’ll just slow you down?” you snapped, walking past him with a huff, rejoining the group.

Bucky runs after you and shakes his head. “No. You’re injured. I don’t want you to get hurt again. I just want you to be safe.”

“I’ll be fine. Let it go.”

You walk away from him and enter the metal container after Sam. Sharon’s voice echoes through your ear and your hands trail against the back of the container and gently push against it. It opens under the pressure on your hand and you turn your head to look at Sam.

You pull your gun out of its holster and hold it out in front of you. You let Sam lead the way and you follow close behind. You're soft on your feet as you walk further into the building. You can hear music ahead and it grows louder as you walk through the lab and see the back of Dr. Nagel.

Sam pulls the needle of the record player off, stopping the music and the doctor spins on his heels. You aim your gun at him as he looks between the two of you. His eyes widen as he looks behind you. You know that without looking that Bucky stands just behind you like a lingering shadow. You don’t know if he’s doing it to intimidate the doctor or to protect you.

Bucky moves from behind you and stalks over to Nagel. He presses his gun against the doctor’s temple, shooting a warning shot just beside him in an effort to get him to talk. Dread washes over you when you realize that the man standing in front of you is responsible for the serum that Karli and some of her followers had taken and that there were 20 or so of them running around the world causing chaos.

“Is there more serum in this lab?” Bucky asked, pressing the gun further against his temple.

“No,” Nagel answered. “Karli took them all. She wanted me to give the serum to some woman named Donya Madani and I refused.”

You roll your eyes and glance around the lab. Sharon shouts in your ear, telling the four of you that it was time to go now that bounty hunters were here looking to kill you. You look at a number of vials that were a variety of different colors and keep a close eye on Zemo as he wanders around the lab.

You should’ve seen it coming. You should’ve kept a closer eye on Zemo as he walked around when he shot the doctor in the chest, killing him instantly. Sam knocks the gun out of his hand and pins him against the wall. You aim your gun at Zemo’s head when Sam lets him go.

“Give me one good reason not to kill him right now, Sam,” you snapped. “He killed our one and only lead!”

Bucky rests a hand on your shoulder and you brush him off, glaring at him. “We need him, Y/n.”

“The hell we do! He killed our lead!”

“We need to leave, now!” Sharon shouted, running into the lab, completely ignoring the dead doctor on the floor.

Suddenly, you’re flown from your feet as the lab bursts into flames. Your body slams against the container and it knocks the wind out of you. Your shoulder burns with pain and there’s ringing in your ears. Pain erupts against your spine and you’re in a daze. You can barely breathe. You groan and gasp loudly. You roll on your side and can barely pull yourself up. You can’t see straight and you feel like you’re about to puke.

The sounds of Bucky and Sam yelling your name feels so far away. You can barely make out Bucky’s blurry figure above you as he hauls you to your feet. You sway on your feet and Bucky’s hands grasp at your face, gently shaking you out of your daze.

You stumble out of the container and the sound of bullets fill your ears. You still can’t see straight and can barely hear Sam and Bucky yell at one another over the bullets and ringing in your ears. You duck under some shrapnel and squeeze your eyes shut.

Bucky drags you from the shrapnel you’re hiding under and you run down a number of corridors until you hide into an empty container. Your breathing is short and shallow and your head spins. Bucky holds your face in his hands and you see his mouth move, but you can’t hear anything he’s saying to you.

You pull your body away from his and stumble to the back of the shipping container. You keel over and everything you’ve eaten and drank over the last day and a half leaves your system. Your body burns with pain and you drag yourself back towards Sam and Bucky.

You stumble into Sam’s chest and he holds you up by the waist. He helps you out of the container as Zemo approaches in a sleek convertible. You blink rapidly to focus your gaze and weakly attempt to step away from the car and out of Sam’s hold.

“No. I’m not spending another second with Zemo,” you said.

“We need him,” Bucky attempted to reason with you.

You glare at him and Sam wordlessly climbs into the back with you beside him. You’re silent the whole way to the plane as you try and gain your bearings again. You know without looking that the stitches in your shoulder were torn open due to the explosion. You feel the blood soak through your shirt as the pain slowly increases.

Sam helps you up the steps to the plane and guides you to the back of the aircraft. You sit down and Bucky hurries over to your side with a first aid kit in his hands. You huff childishly and attempt to push him away.

“I’m pissed at you,” you stated matter of factly under your breath. You look out the window to keep from looking at him.

“I know,” Bucky replied, gently tearing your shirt from your body, leaving you in just your bra as he moves to inspect your wound.

Sam hands you a bottle of water and you drink it slowly. “I’m pissed at you, too.”

Sam laughs, nodding at you. “I know.”

“I should be relaxing in the mountains of Montana, but noooo, you insisted that you needed my help. Here I am with a bullet wound because you assholes can’t do anything without me. I expect full compensation when this shit is over.”

Bucky and Sam both laugh quietly at you. Bucky’s fingers are soft and nimble as he cleans the area around your wound. Sam leaves the two of you alone and sits at the front of the plane to keep an eye on Zemo.

You wince as the needle pierces your skin. Bucky apologizes under his breath as he stitches your wound closed again. You watch him carefully as he fixes you up. His eyes are razor focused and his brows are pinched together as he takes care of you.

“We really need to stop ending up like this,” you hummed teasingly at him. “You’ve seen me in just a bra far too much in the last couple of days and I haven’t even seen you without a shirt.”

Bucky grunts in response. “Maybe if you stopped hurting yourself, I wouldn’t have to see you without a shirt on,” he said. “Someone has to look after you and take care of you. You and I both know you much rather it be me instead of Bird Brain.”

You laugh softly and grin at him. “Hmm…. maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am, honey.”

You shove him gently and the smile he gives you makes your heart stop. You shake your head and bite the inside of your cheek. He leans back on his thighs and reaches for your abandoned duffle bag and carefully zips it open. He grabs a clean shirt from your bag and helps you into it.

You thank him quietly and he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. You lean into his touch and he takes the seat beside you.

You fall asleep to the feeling of Bucky’s hand in yours, his fingers brushing against the back of your palm.

#tumblr PLEASE put this in the tags.... pls pls pls #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines

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babbushka · 4 years ago

Note

Good morning from rainy old England again! 💙 First of all, I’m so excited for all the up coming pieces of work that are going to come from your sweet Husbands birthday session! Thank you so much for doing this for us 💙🥰 You’ve given us work like this before; but what would happen if one day Flip came home after a bad day of work and just needed some love from his wife? Nothing crazy, maybe just her asking if he needs and hug and him swan diving into her arms or something? Doesn’t have to be heavy or angsty, just our sweet old Mr and Mrs Zimmerman showing each other some love 🥺

Hello my dear friend! Thank you so much for sending this is! I hope you enjoy the fluff :)

1k, cw: mention of baby zimmerman, mostly just flip being a grouch lol

You smell him, before you see him. The moment he opens the door, an unfamiliar waft of tobacco hits your nose, and for a split second, you panic that it might not be your husband at all, until you hear the familiar curse under his breath as he drops his keys, and you smile.

“Honey? I’m home.” Flip calls from the foyer in the way that he does every day when he arrives at a decent hour, but even still, right away you can sense something’s off.

And you’re right, because as you round the corner to greet your lumberjack, he looks more surly than usual. He’s got a scowl set deep into his forehead, his lips tugged down into a firm frown. With a soft smile, you extend a hand for him and he takes it happily, lets himself be tugged into the kitchen where something hot and fresh is waiting for him.

“Rough day?” You ask even though you know the answer is yes, “You look like you’re going to kill something.”

“I fuckin’ feel like I want to.” Flip groans a little, sees his son sitting happily in his high chair playing with cheerios on the little tray in front of him, and gets over himself. “Just a lot of bullshit, one stupid fuckin’ thing after another.”

Picking the baby up, the boy’s bright eyes crinkle at the corners when he bursts into happy giggles, the kind that Flip’s never sure whether or not the baby is making fun of him, or just glad to see him. You always tease that it’s both, but either way, he smooches the boy right on his dimples in greeting, and sets him back down on his chair.

“Want to tell me about it?” You watch the interaction fondly from the fridge where you hand him a beer, one that he takes gratefully.

Flip wasn’t much of a talker around other people, he was observant more than anything, preferred to sit and watch from the sidelines, absorbing information like a sponge. It’s what made him such a great detective – he was stoic, and composed, and more or less a fly on the wall.

Except for when he’s just around you, in which case you’d be hard pressed to get him to shut up.

“Well first of fuckin’ all, someone parked in my goddamn spot. I’ve had the same parking spot for seven years at this fuckin’ station and someone decided to park there. New kid, Jones? Rookie didn’t know any better so I let it go. But then, the guy used my mug – you know the one I keep in the rec room? So now the kid’s officially on my shit list.”

Flip rambles on and on, listing off the things that he can remember in the moment.

“I had a meeting with Trapp where he basically told me and Ron we’ve got to push harder with the case because the FBI is going to get involved which is always such a fucking pain in the ass and we need to finish our work before they take over and have jurisdiction. And on top of all of that, I’m out of fuckin’ cigarettes at the office.”

“Oh shit, why didn’t you call me I would’ve brought you some.” Eyes widening, you feel for him. You knew Flip has been a smoker since he was thirteen and had no plans to start quitting anytime soon, and you also knew how big of a bitch he could be when he has to go without them.

Flip scrubs a hand over his face and shrugs, “I didn’t want to bother you, I bummed a couple off of Jimmy but he smokes Marlboro and you know how much I fuckin’ hate Marlboro.”

“I did think you smelled off.” You tease then, wanting to try and get him in a lighter mood. “I got worried for a sec, thought you might be sneakin’ off to another woman.”

“As if you’re not too much to handle as it is!” Flip scoffs, before rounding the kitchen table and pulling you into a tight hug, attacking your throat with bites that have you squirming out of his grip with a grin.

“Bullshit, you like that I’m high maintenance.” You wink at him, dancing just out of his reach, making him hunt after you, long legs making that job easier.

“Yeah I do.” He catches you, eyes flicking down to your lips.

You get the hint, and loop your arms over his strong shoulders, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting and twirling it between your fingers as he calms down, asking, “Kiss me a little?”

Flip hopes that his son is still working on those cheerios as he tips your chin up and captures your mouth with his. Almost at once you can feel the tension slip out of his body, he sighs out a long held breath of relief, finally back in your arms. It really was the best place for him to be, for everyone’s sake.

As your tongues slide against one another, eyes closed, lashes brushing against your cheek as your noses bump together, somewhere in the back of your mind you feel bad for Flip’s coworkers – you can only imagine the state he had been in all day.

“Next time call me, I’ll bring you smokes.” You pat at his chest when the kiss ends, and Flip nods appreciatively.

“God what the fuck would I do without you?” Flip asks dreamily, pinching at your ass as you step away from him.

Flip follows you, because Flip doesn’t really do much else when he’s home other than follow you around and bug you all day long.

“Die probably.” You throw over your shoulder as you check to make sure the baby is okay.

“Yeah, probably.” He agrees with a knowing nod, which makes you laugh, which in turn makes the baby laughs, and Flip can’t help but think how fuckin’ glad he is to be home.

-----------------

I am once again taggin' some flip lovin' friends lol @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #adam driver fanfic #adcu #flip zimmerman/you #flip zimmerman imagine #blackkklansman #flip zimmerman birthday bonanza

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dewykth · 4 years ago

Text

SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle and @dewykth collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj word count. 7.5k+ warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳 i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter.

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head.

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry.

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel.

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation.

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go? Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

#bangtanhq #btsbookclub #ficswithluv #btsguild #btsgoldnet #cypherwritersnet #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic

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avengerscompound · 4 years ago

Text

Running to a Standstill - 14

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 3331

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut (MM, frottage, oral sex, anal fingering)

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers. While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 14

Steve woke before both you and Bucky. He would normally get up and go for a run, but there was something too inviting about staying curled up in bed with both of you to resist.

Bucky had ended up in the middle, cuddled around you while Steve spooned him. Seeing him now, wrapped around you, reminded Steve of when they were still boys and hadn’t acknowledged how they felt. Steve would often wake up with Bucky draped over him. Steve had never liked feeling that small. He wondered if Bucky had liked being able to hold someone like that.

The bedroom door opened and a bleary-eyed looking Geo cuddling his tablet. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and just stared at the bed.

“Hey, G,” Steve said, softly. “You wanna climb in here with us?”

Geo shook his head and point at the door before shoving his thumb back in his mouth.

Steve smiled and untangled himself from Bucky. It wasn’t as easy as he thought, and Bucky grumbled and shifted closer to you. It was interesting. He’d walked in on Bucky sleeping a few times since getting him back and Bucky had always jolted awake and gone into a defensive position, prepared to be attacked. Yet here he was, deep asleep and not waking for either someone entering the room or being shuffled around. Steve wondered if Bucky was just more attuned to what was happening and who was with him, or he was just so relaxed that his usual expectations of being attacked had just failed to be set off.

Steve followed Geo out into the living room and the little boy went straight to the kitchen and pointed up at the cupboard where Steve kept his cereal. “You want some breakfast, buddy?”

Geo nodded and pointed again and Steve opened the cupboard. The array of cereal had definitely expanded since you moved in. He used to have granola, corn flakes, and cheerios. Now there were Honey Bunches of Oats, Rice Krispies, and Lucky Charms in there too. “Which one do you want, G?”

Geo still wasn’t talking. He just pointed again and Steve started to touch the boxes in the hope that Geo might nod when he touched the one he wanted.

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY announced. “Geo wanted me to tell you he wants Lucky Charms.”

Steve chuckled and got the box from the cupboards. “Thanks, FRIDAY,” he said. “You not ready to talk yet, Gee?”

Geo shook his head, his thumb firmly planted in his mouth.

Steve grabbed a plastic bowl and poured the cereal into it. “That’s okay. You don’t have to talk to anyone.”

He added milk to the cereal, grabbed a spoon, and set Geo up at the coffee table with a box of apple juice. He turned on some cartoons and Geo just sat quietly watching Scooby-Doo as he ate. Steve went back into the kitchen to try and figure out what he’d make for everyone else. He wasn’t really much of a cook. Or a cook at all. He liked to joke he could make a peanut butter sandwich and it would end up burned. While he considered what he could handle that was more than just toast and cereal, he put on the coffee.

You and Bucky emerged from the bedroom still looking like you were both not quite awake. Bucky came straight to the kitchen while you went and kissed Geo good morning.

“Were you trying to make breakfast?” Bucky asked.

“I was thinking about it,” Steve said. “It’s the thought that counts right?”

“You tell that to my stomach, pal,” Bucky teased and started pulling things out of the fridge.

“Thanks for getting Geo his breakfast,” you said, coming into the kitchen. “What are we making?”

“I was thinking omelets,” Bucky said. “We can put what we like in them.”

“Sounds perfect,” you agreed and grabbed a bowl and started cracking eggs into it. “So I was thinking…”

Steve looked over at you. There was an edge to your voice that told him you were overthinking things again.

“I’m really worried about Geo starting to see you as … well dads I guess,” you said. You spoke quietly, clearly not wanting Geo to overhear. “At least not until we’re all absolutely sure this is it for all of us. And it’s far too early for that. I was already concerned about him forming too strong bonds with everyone here. I don’t want him to start getting separation anxiety on top of everything else.”

“So what were you thinkin’, hon?” Bucky asked, looking up from the cutting he was doing.

“Well, I’m staying here because it’s not safe too. But ideally, I wouldn’t be living with Steve,” you explained. “I’m wondering if I should start sleeping in Geo’s room again. Not always. Just… so he doesn’t get the image of us in bed together connected with the way parents sleep in the same bed in TV shows. You know?”

Steve nodded, though he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“I think maybe you shouldn’t sleep over all the time either, Buck. Just … you know?” You said.

Bucky nodded too and rubbed your back. “I get it.”

“But I think this could be good for us too, because… I think we should also spend time together as couples. Particularly you two. I think you have to … explore some things together without me,” you explained. “You know what I mean?”

Steve couldn’t fault your logic. There had been so much he and Bucky had missed out on and even though he’d enjoyed the sex he’d had with you both, there were probably things they needed to try one-on-one too. It was good to make sure the bonds with each other were as strong as the bonds as a trio were too. “It makes sense,” he agreed.

“Good,” you said, sounding relieved. “So I don’t know, maybe some nights we all sleep here, some nights it’s just me and Bucky, and some night you guys sleepover in Bucky’s apartment. And we just… take turns with this being Geo’s home. Does that … is that okay?”

“It’s a really good idea,” Bucky agreed. “And trust me, the last thing we want to do is hurt Geo. So we’ll be careful.”

“Thanks, Bucky,” you said. “I mean, I want this to work…”

“Of course you do,” Steve said. “We all do, but you’re right to protect him.”

“So, uh…” Bucky said, getting a pan out. “How do we decide?”

“Yeah, that’s tricky,” you said. “Don’t want people to feel left out, so how about tonight, that is if you’re both available, you guys go on a first date. You have a lot of time to make up.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?” Steve asked.

You shook your head. “Geo and I can watch a movie and have an early night.”

“Alright, Buck? What do you think? Want to go out for dinner with me?” Steve asked.

Bucky smiled. It was genuine and Steve could see the love he felt reflected back at him. “I’d love to, Stevie.”

Steve took Bucky to a jazz club in the end. It was dark and loud and very difficult to talk, but Steve didn’t feel like he needed to talk to Bucky. He and Bucky had talked and talked and talked and talked. It was time for all the other things they’d missed out on. The holding hands on the table. The sharing bites of each other’s food. The cuddling. The stolen kisses. He needed to have the dance. He wanted the dance he had failed to get in all his years on earth.

The jazz club was perfect because of how dark and loud it was. He didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or having people’s eyes on him. The food was good but not outside his comfort zone, so he didn’t have to worry about the wrong choice. Most importantly, he could dance to music that was familiar to him with the man he had been in love with since 1935.

Steve had chosen familiar foods. It was food he’d imagined would have seemed so fancy to him back when he was a kid. A shrimp cocktail for starters and rib-eye steak for his entree. He even ordered a martini, like he was playing at being a spy and this was the persona he needed to fit.

Bucky was a little more daring, ordering grilled asparagus with goat’s cheese to start and mussels served in a garlic and white wine broth for his entree.

It almost didn’t matter in the end though. They sat close to each other on their tiny table and they switched plates back and forth as they ate. Steve got all the things he’d imagined when he was young when he thought about going out on a date with Bucky. Only no one cared that it was two men sitting there, holding hands and stealing kisses. The floor was always packed with people swing dancing.

They were finishing up their meals when Bucky leaned into him. “Are you actually going to ask me to dance, pal?”

Steve smiled and his face flushed. “Will you lead? I still don’t know how.”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky said, standing and offering Steve his hand. “I’ll lead.”

Bucky led Steve around the dance floor, spinning him and dipping him. The more they danced the more comfortable Steve felt and the better he got. Until they were both laughing and jiving together in the crowd of people.

The music changed from something up-tempo to something slow and sexy. For a moment Steve considered sitting down. It was one thing to jitterbug with Bucky, it was another completely to slow dance with him in front of all these people. Bucky didn’t seem to question it for a second, he just pulled Steve close and put his hands on Steve’s hips. They slowly swayed together on the dance floor, cheek-to-cheek. The smell of Bucky’s cologne, warm and woody, mixed with the salt on his skin, seemed to cut through the smell of sweat and alcohol and cooking that otherwise dominated the room. It was just him and Bucky, and while part of him wished you were here too to be part of this, he appreciated that it was just Bucky. It felt right.

“I want you to take me home,” Bucky whispered against Steve’s ear. Normally Bucky saying something like that would make Steve worry he was in the midst of a panic attack. There was something completely different about it this time. Something dark and sexy.

Steve took his hand and led him off the dance floor. He settled the check as quickly as he could and the two made their way back out and flagged down a cab.

Bucky kept nosing at Steve’s cheek and trying to initiate a kiss. Steve wasn’t ready for that yet. Not so publicly. It wasn’t Bucky. He’d be the same with you too. Public displays of affection made him feel awkward.

“Stevie,” Bucky teased, nipping at Steve’s earlobe.

“Just be patient,” Steve said, nudging Bucky.

The car pulled up at the front of the Avengers Tower and Steve paid while Bucky tried to drag him out of the back seat.

When they got into the elevator Bucky pushed him up against the wall and kissed him hungrily. Steve couldn’t stop smiling into Bucky’s lips even as the other man fumbled at his belt and dragged him close so their hips touched.

The elevator opened and Bucky practically dragged Steve down to his apartment. “So eager, Buck,” Steve teased as he let Bucky pull him through the door into his apartment.

Bucky’s apartment was always impossibly clean, but pretty homey. The couch was a soft black leather but most everything else was timber. A mixture of stained ash, cedar, and white paint. He had art on the walls. Mostly photography or vector art of cars or motorcycles, but there was a sketch Steve had done of the view down the street from Bucky’s fire escape. It was a recent one and done by memory. Something Steve had drawn in the hopes of prodding Bucky’s memory. There was also a calendar on the wall set on the wrong month with a print of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers.

“I just -“ he looked over to the bedroom. “-you know?”

Steve laughed and began to unbutton Bucky’s shirt. “It’s not like we did that very long ago.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, grabbing the waistband of Steve’s pants and dragging him toward the bedroom. “And it was good. And now I want to do it again.”

Bucky started to kiss Steve’s neck as he unfastened his pants and Steve pushed Bucky’s shirt off. Steve trailed his fingers along the scarring that connected Bucky’s arm to his shoulder. Bucky flinched and took Steve’s hand and moved it down to his side.

“Sorry,” Steve whispered, kissing Bucky’s neck. “Does it hurt?”

Bucky shook his head. “No… well yeah, always. But not more when you touch it. I just hate it. Don’t want to be reminded of it now.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. He got it. It was a constant brutal reminder of what had happened to him. What he’d lost and how he’d been changed. Steve got sensitive about people pointing out his looks after he had the serum when they ignored him so much before it. The arm and the scarring would be much worse than that.

“Don’t worry,” Bucky said and brought his lips to Steve’s. They kissed passionately. Their lips moved against each other’s, as Bucky pulled Steve back towards the bed. Steve unfastened Bucky’s fly and pushed his pants down. When Bucky was down to just his boxer briefs, he pushed Steve back onto the bed and straddled his lap, kissing him hungrily as he ground his hips against Steve’s.

Steve was still fully dressed and his cock began to strain against his pants. He could feel Bucky’s erection with each roll of the other man’s hips. It rubbed against Steve’s and a little wet patch began to form on Bucky’s underwear.

Steve ran his hands down Bucky’s back and gripped his ass, pulling him firmer against him. “Fuck, Steve… I want you…” Bucky groaned.

“I’m yours, Buck,” Steve whispered.

Bucky began to frantically undress Steve, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and the buckle on his belt. Steve lay back and tangled his hands in Bucky’s hair, letting him take the lead. When Bucky had finally stripped Steve of his clothes, he looked down into his eyes and ran his metal hand over Steve’s chest.

Steve was achingly hard but a little unsure what to do next and it looked like Bucky might be feeling a little lost too. Steve pushed Bucky’s boxers down and wrapped his hand around both their cocks and began to pump them in his hand as they were pressed together.

“Fuck, Stevie,” Bucky groaned. “That feels so good.”

Steve rolled them both over so he was on top. “I want you to feel good,” he whispered and began to kiss Bucky’s neck. Bucky reached over to his bedside table and fumbled around as Steve began to kiss his way down Bucky’s chest. There was a crash as the drawer fell to the ground and Steve looked up startled to see Bucky holding a tube of lubricant up almost triumphantly.

“What do you want?” Steve asked, taking it from Bucky.

“Stretch me,” Bucky said, the hint of pleading in his voice.

Steve nodded and slicked his fingers with the thick gel. Bucky wrapped his arms around his knees, lifting them so Steve had better access to his ass. Steve teased his fingers over Bucky’s tight hole and very slowly began to ease one inside. Bucky closed his eyes and his head fell back with his lips slightly parted. A soft low moan escaped his lips and Steve couldn’t help but admire how beautiful Bucky looked when he let himself enjoy something.

Steve dropped his head down, pulling Bucky’s cock into his mouth. He licked a salty bead of pre-come off the head of Bucky’s cock, savoring the taste of the man he’d been in love with for so long and appreciating the fact he was finally getting to have this. He eased his finger in deeper, moving it in and out as he slowly bobbed his head up and down on Bucky’s cock, testing his own limits as he tested Bucky’s.

Bucky gave himself to his pleasure. Relaxing into it. He squirmed under Steve and moaned loudly. It was happening very quickly. Steve had only gotten his finger into one knuckle when Bucky’s cock began to throb in Steve’s mouth. Steve kept the same steady pace. He wanted Bucky to enjoy this. No pain. No shame. Just pleasure. He moved his finger in and out, pushing it in a little more each time but never forcing it. If Bucky clenched, he’d pull back, when he relaxed, Steve would push in deeper.

He took Bucky’s cock deeper into his throat, gagging a little as he did. His mouth stretched around his thick shaft but he enjoyed it. His own cock was hard and leaking as he pleasured Bucky. Bucky’s moans became panting and his hips started to buck up into Steve’s mouth.

“Steve,” he moaned. “Stevie, I’m gonna come.”

Steve moved a little faster and sucked a little harder and with a loud moan, Bucky arched his back and came, his cock releasing straight down Steve’s throat. There was so much, and Steve swallowed it all, saving the thick and salty mess. He moaned as he pulled off and slid his fingers from Bucky’s ass.

Bucky almost jumped up pulling Steve into a passionate and frantic kiss. “Fuck, Stevie,” he mumbled between kisses. “I wanna do you. Can I?”

“Yeah,” Steve laughed, Bucky’s lips still firmly on his. “Yeah, Buck. I’d like that.”

Bucky guided Steve onto his back and scrambled down Steve’s body. He quickly slicked the fingers with the lube and dropped down, sucking Steve’s cock. Steve groaned at the warm, wet pressure of Bucky’s mouth. He kept his eyes locked on him, enjoying the view as Bucky sucked up and down his cock. Bucky massaged Steve’s asshole as he bobbed his head up and down on his cock. It sent a warm tingled running through Steve, and his head felt pleasantly fuzzy with it. There was a slight burn as Bucky’s finger eased in. Steve hadn’t been expecting how completely good that would feel, even the slight pain that happened the deeper Bucky pushed his finger was the good kind, like after a good workout. He groaned and began to roll his hips up into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky let him push in deeper and started adding a second finger. The burn was more but Steve enjoyed that too. He moaned loudly, letting himself really experience it.

As Bucky’s fingers moved deeper and faster in and out of Steve’s ass, Steve began to pant and his cock twitched and throbbed. Bucky moaned as it began to leak precum down his throat. Bucky’s fingers touched on this sweet spot inside Steve and Steve gasped and jerked his hips. “Fuck!” I cursed, and he came hard and without warning. His orgasm seemed to start in his gut, something he’d never experienced before. The intensity of it shocked him. Bucky choked and pulled back, spilling Steve’s come on his stomach.

Bucky pulled his finger out and collapsed down on the bed beside Steve.

“That was…” Steve hummed.

“Mmm,” Bucky agreed.

Steve sat up and kissed Bucky’s stomach. “Let’s take a shower.”

Bucky smiled and got up with him. As they went into the bathroom Steve felt warm and grateful that you’d given this time alone. You were right, you all needed that. But still, he was looking forward to tomorrow when it would be all three of you again.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #stucky #stucky x reader #captain america #the winter soldier #captain america fanfic #the winter soldier fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #running to a standstill

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fishmongeringstudies · 3 years ago

Text

thirty eight: laffy taffy existentialism

i wanted to get a pack of m&ms from the vending machine on the first floor this evening but when i tried to swipe my student card they rejected it, at which point i was reminded that in the afternoon the new guy at the bougie supermarket had accidentally overcharged me and though they had promised to fix the problem, five hours later, no such thing had happened. so i didn't get any m&ms today even though i really wanted them. and thus concludes my last weekend in america, at least for this part of the story. on thursday i fly. by next sunday i will be stuck in a hotel room, hopefully with a view of the singapore river, tapping away at my nintendo switch while hanging upside-down off the side of the bed like a deerskin hung to dry from the branch of a tree.

this week one of my flatmates drove to get groceries as she has done so for the last two weeks but i asked her not to buy my share, which is a roundabout way to say i don't want to pay this week so leave me out of your complex mathematical equation. that being said i spirited away the dredges of the honey oat cheerios this morning. they were added to the pantry last week and are therefore fair game. i am entitled to some things in this apartment, even if i feel like the amount often comes up to none.

anyway, said flatmate went to the supermarket and returned with an abundance of fruit, but apparently two boxes of strawberries is too many to fit in a fridge which is, at best, one-third full, because she left the second box on the kitchen counter and three days ago i grabbed a handful because i have paid too much for too few groceries this summer (another talking point for the angst, but don't worry about it) but when i looked at the container this morning the strawberries were covered in mold. the mold had consumed the strawberries. the color had been sucked out of their cheeks. they were no longer a luscious shade of red; they were gray.

ah, i thought. so this is the college experience.

communal living is one of those things that you can't discuss without anecdotal evidence. the generic catch-all phrase 'life has its ups and its downs' conveys the idea with sufficient nuance and brevity, but it's only when the kitchen has smelled like trash for a week straight and you're on awkward hi-bye terms with two out of three of your flatmates so you're not sure how to bring up the horror story stuck under the sink that it occurs to you that this is not how you want to live when you grow up. and then you remember that you are grown up. that time has dragged its heels in the dust for so long, the bone has been cut right out of the flesh. those were nice heels, too. you're sorry, you think.

a tweet i came across recently in a post shared to my friend's private instagram story told the story of a man who insisted that he was not alone but simply by himself. semantics is a branch of philosophy wherein one observes the chicken in various environments and makes conjectures that don't really change the fundamental nature of human society. by which i mean i think i am all right with being alone. after all, my candle has been burning for a different stupid argument for a long time now. i don't intend on changing its course. at least if i lived alone i wouldn't leave the strawberries on the kitchen counter at the height of summer. i would put them in the fridge. with the other strawberries. actually, i wouldn't buy two pounds of strawberries. strawberries are expensive.

there's a lot to be done in the week leading up to a flight home, even more so in the middle of a pandemic which, despite this country's best efforts, has not ended. i've got a covid test scheduled on tuesday and i need to hound the housing committee until they give me summer storage or else everything that i own right now will be going into a garbage bin and that garbage bin will be going to hell. it's stressful, but nothing compared to what it took me to get here. tomorrow i think i'll bring a dollar bill downstairs to get my m&ms. they might not ever solve the problem of my overcharged student card at the grocery store so i'll have to find some other way to get my daily sugar fix before i pass out facedown on the floor again. the guy who messed up was new. i'd never seen him before. he probably hates the fact that this is a college town and college students swarm the place three times a week. i'd apologize to him if i went back but i don't know if i will. after all, i've only got three days left before i go, which is just enough time for a box of strawberries to go bad, but not quite enough to change the world.

06.27.21

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adiwriting · 4 years ago

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Sunday Mornings 3/?

Notes: Thank you all for your continued love and support with this! As promised, here’s another Sunday update of our soft boys <3

Week 3:

“Are you telling me that you really aren’t going to cook me breakfast?” Alex pouts.

“No, I simply suggested that if we ordered Doordash and had them leave it on the porch, then I could use my telekinesis to bring the food to us and neither of us would have to leave the bed,” he explains, earning him a loud laugh from Alex.

“You’re ridiculous,” Alex says to him.

“I’m a genius,” Michael argues.

“Or just really lazy,” he teases.

“You don’t get it,” he says, trying to find some way to explain it. He reaches out to run his hands through the mess that is Alex’s hair. The man looks completely sexed out with his swollen lips and flushed skin and Michael can’t look at him and find the desire to leave anytime soon, no matter how hungry they both are. “You’re not getting the same view I’m getting.”

Alex looks him up and down with ever darkening eyes and proceeds to lick his lower lip. “Oh, I don’t know, I think my view is practically perfect.”

Michael runs his hands down Alex’s chest, careful to brush against his sensitive nipples, smiling at the way Alex’s breath hitches.

“Do we really need food?” he asks, smiling at him in that way he knows always gets Alex going.

Alex grabs onto Michael’s wrist to stop him before he can wrap his hands around the semi that Alex is sporting.

“Let’s compromise,” Alex says. “You don’t need to cook, but can you at least go grab me a bowl of cereal or something?”

As if on cue, Alex’s stomach growls loudly. Michael sighs and falls back into the pillows dramatically. He grumbles about it, but he’s not about to deny his boyfriend food when he so clearly wants it.

Michael rolls out of bed, not bothering to put any clothes on. What would be the point? He’s planning on being naked, and keeping Alex naked, the rest of the day. Sundays are their only mutual day off and thus, it’s the one day of the week they are both allowed to enjoy each other the entire day.

He reaches the kitchen and starts a pot of coffee as he moves to pull the milk out for the cereal. He pours Alex a bowl of the Honey Nut Cheerios he loves while he digs around the cabinet for the box of Pop Tarts he knows he brought over here before. It takes him a minute, but he does eventually find it hidden behind the healthy granola bars that Alex likes to eat on his way to work.

“Isobel is texting you asking if you’re going to come over today?” Alex calls from the bedroom.

Michael rolls his eyes. “Text back and remind her that it’s Sunday!”

A few minutes later, Michael walks back into the bedroom with his arms full of various food and Alex’s bowl of cereal and two mugs of coffee floating beside him.

“What’s this?” Alex asks, grabbing his cereal out of the air and setting it on the nightstand before reaching for their coffees.

“Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and whatever snacks we need,” he explains.

Alex’s eyes go wide before he starts laughing.

“Damn,” he says, as Michael drops the food on the ground and crawls back into bed. “You clearly have a lot more confidence in my recovery time than I do.”

Michael grins at him and his attempts to play coy. Michael knows better than anyone that Alex has a fairly endless libido and there’s certainly nothing wrong about his recovery time. Still, as hot as it is to think of having sex with Alex all day, he honestly hadn’t been planning that. He just wants to lay in bed with Alex today and not have to worry about leaving. And if they have some sex here and there, he’s not going to complain one bit.

Michael accepts the coffee that Alex hands him once he’s settled and downs it pretty quickly before he opens up his package of Pop Tarts and lays his head down in Alex’s lap.

“I know that I said I was craving one of your famous omelettes, but actually, this cereal is pretty good,” Alex says, leaning his head back against the headboard.

Michael smiles up at him. “It has the added benefit of being quick. Omelettes take forever to make.”

“Only because you insist on chopping your own veggies. You know they sell the pre-cut kind at the store,” he explains, drinking the last of the milk out of the bowl before setting it back on the nightstand.

“That stuff’s super expensive,” he complains.

He’ll never understand how you can take a pepper that’s worth a quarter and the simple act of chopping it and putting it in a container jacks the price up to $4. But then, Alex is the kind of guy who will pay for such a convenience while Michael doesn’t see the point.

Most people assume that Michael is cheap because he’s poor. And while he’s not exactly rolling in dough, he does better than people seem to think, especially now that Sanders has left the business to him. It’s just that Michael is very particular about how he spends his money. He doesn’t see a point in paying for his booze at the Pony when he knows that eventually something is going to break and Maria will let him work off his tab with manual labor. He’s got a similar deal worked out with the Crashdown, where he’s in there fixing something at least once a week. He doesn’t see a reason to eat at fancy restaurants when he can cook food just as good at home for a quarter the price. It seems stupid to buy nicer patio furniture when somebody is always throwing something perfectly functional away at the junkyard that he can keep for free. And he would rather spend the money he does have on parts for his ship than on new clothes.

Though, if he’s being honest with himself, his desire to work on his ship has become much more of a desire to see if it’s possible than one born out of a need to leave the planet. He hasn’t even been down to his bunker to tinker in over a week. After all, the home he’s spent his life looking for is materializing in front of him. And with each passing day where neither of them manage to screw this up, Michael is starting to believe this might actually be the forever home he’s been searching for his whole life.

Alex’s hands make their way into his hair and start massaging his scalp in the way that always makes Michael feel like he’s turning to jello.

“I don’t even need to have sex, just keep doing that and I’ll be happy,” he confesses, earning him a wide smile.

“You’re like a cat, Guerin. You arch into every touch,” Alex teases him.

“I like being touched by you,” he says with a shrug. “You’re not any better.”

To prove his point, he reaches up to cup Alex’s cheek with his hand and Alex leans into the touch before kissing his palm.

“Your sister is mad at me,” Alex explains. “After I texted her back on your phone, she texted me to complain that I was hogging all your free time.”

“Isobel is fine,” Michael says with a roll of his eyes. “She’s just not used to me being in a relationship and having plans that don’t include her.”

“But you were with Maria all last year,” he argues.

It’s not that Michael forgot he dated Maria. He certainly remembers that fact well enough. It’s just that dating Maria and dating Alex were very different experiences for him. When he dated Maria, he honestly never made her his number one priority. He saw her regularly enough and she was a priority for him, but she was never the priority. And yeah, the longer he’s with Alex, the more he understands why Maria dumped him. Because with Alex, Alex is the priority.

It’s different. He believes that he loved Maria, but it has nothing on his feelings for Alex.

“That’s different,” is all he says.

“Isobel is going to hate me if you don’t spend time with her,” Alex continues to argue.

“She isn’t going to hate you, and I spend plenty of time with her,” he explains. “I just don’t spend Sundays with her.”

“Fair enough,” Alex relents.

Michael gets a sinking feeling that maybe Alex wanted him to go over to Isobel’s today. He sits up and looks Alex in the eyes looking for his response when he says, “Sundays are ours.”

Alex smiles softly. “Of course they are.”

“Did you want me to say yes to Isobel?” he asks, still trying to get a read on Alex.

Alex reaches out, placing his arms around Michael’s shoulders and shakes his head. He then leans in to rest his forehead against Michael’s and takes a deep breath, causing Michael to chuckle. Alex is always smelling him. It’s kind of weird, but oddly sweet at the same time.

“Okay then,” Michael says.

“Okay,” Alex whispers.

“Do you want to test that recovery time of yours?” he asks, earning him a big belly laugh. However, Alex is the one to roll them over so that Michael is on his back and Alex is laying on top of him, so Michael is pretty sure it’s answer enough.

Tagged: @callieramics

As always if anyone wants to be tagged, let me know!

#roswell new mexico #roswell nm #Malex fic #malex #fic: sunday mornings #alex manes #michael guerin #fluff #domestic bliss

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ashsblurbs · 4 years ago

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You’re a good dad Steve

It was early morning and Tony was standing by the door getting ready to go on a business trip that would only be two days but for Steve would feel like he was going to be gone forever. “Dear, do you think you can handle the boys by yourself? I could always call Pepper to come and help or I could not go at all.” Steve placed Tony’s last bag in the trunk and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Tony, I will be fine. You know they are my kids too. I got this.” Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. “Babe, I know. I love you.” He gave him one more kiss and hopped into the car. “Also, please don’t give them too much sugar this weekend.” Steve gave him a smirked and just waved. “No, promises.”

Steve walked back inside and thought it would be a good time to get ready for the day before the boys woke up. Steve poured a bowl of cheerios for Harley and started a bottle for Peter but didn’t get finished before a cry came from down the hall. Steve crept in slowly into the room to see Peter standing on the edge of his crib with tears streaming down his cheeks. “Awe, baby, come to papa.” Peter stopped crying when he saw Steve’s face. He made grabby hands to be picked up. Steve picked up his son and took a big whiff of a foul smell.

“Oh, Petey no wonder you were crying.”

Once Steve, got Peter changed and all cleaned up he moved on to his toddler. “Good morning, Harley.” Harley was already wide-awake playing with his trains, smashing them along his road map.

“Smash, smash. Look, papa, smash.” Steve giggled, which reminded him of a friend of his. Harley jumped up from his spot on the carpet and shoved one of the trains in Steve’s face.

“Here, papa, play. Play with me.” Steve took the train and placed it on his bed. “What about we go have breakfast first and then play. How does that sound Har? Or we could go to the park.”

“PARK! PARK!” Harley shouted and ran straight to the kitchen. Steve smiled. He loved his boys and didn’t know what he would do if they weren’t in his life. He never knew he would have ever had the chance to have the life he had. Steve was a reckless kid. Picking fights with anyone that wanted to fight. He was angry at the world and more importantly himself. Then he found Tony on one of his most broken nights. Steve would never tell Tony this, but Tony saved his life that night.

His life was more then he could ever want now. He only regretted that his job didn’t take him away from his family so much. These moments he got with kids were what he lived for. The only thing that would make this better would be if Tony was here with them.

“Okay, Harley. You can only play on the slides. If you want the swings, come and get me. Okay, buddy.”

“Okay, papa.” Harley ran off and started playing with another little boy that was there too. Steve parked the stroller and pulled out a book to read when he was interrupted by someone talking to him.

“Ha got roped into babysitting too.” Steve looked up to see a guy was trying to spark conversation, but Steve really didn’t feel like talking to this douche bag.

“What?”

“Looks like you got stuck babysitting. What your wife had other things to do?” the guy smirked at him. Steve balled his fist in his hands. Usually, he would let this stuff go but not today. This man needed to learn somethings.

“NO, I’m not babysitting. I’m being a father. These are my kids.” Stood up in front of him. Steve was breathing a little harder not to lose his temper altogether.

“Woah, I’m sorry it’s just that moms do this kind of thing right.” The man nervously laughed and threw his hands up in the air to defend.

“Well, actually I and my husband enjoy spending time with both of our children equally. Yes, my husband does end up taking care of them more then I do because of my job but when I do get to be a father to my kids, I don’t take these moments for granted.” Steve gritted his teeth so as not to yell. “Maybe you should learn that too. You are a parent and your kid looks up to you so, maybe set a good example.” Steve pulled the stroller over to Harley knowing it was time to leave.

Steve bent down to get to Harley’s level, and he could see his son’s smile disappear. He felt bad taking him away from the park so early, but the environment was not something he wanted his kids to be around. “Harley it’s time to go.” Tears were starting to well into his eyes. “But do you want to go get ice cream instead.”

Harley jumped into his arms wrapping himself around his neck like a little monkey. “I want white with m&ms.” “Okay, bud.”

That night after he tucked Harley in and finally got Peter down, Steve called Tony to see how his day was. He held the phone waiting for it to stop to load he missed Tony so much even if it was just for a few days.

“Hey, honey, how was your day with the kids?” Tony popped up with a wide grin on his face. He had his glasses on and his hair was a little wet. Steve knew he was about to go to bed which meant this conversation had to be quick even if Tony insisted, he could stay up all night for Steve.

“They were good. Harley had a bit of a sugar rush all night,”

“I told you not to give them so much sugar.” Steve just laughed.

“Yeah, I know. Peter took a while to go to sleep. He missed his daddy’s bedtime song.”

“Awe, I miss my babies so much. I miss you more. I love you.” Tony pulled the phone closer so he could kiss it which just made Steve laugh harder.

“I miss you too, dear.” Right, when he was going to say something else, he heard Peter cry and little footsteps walk into the living room. “Harley, what are you doing up?” The boy rubbed at his eyes and gave a little yawn.

“I heard daddy.” Steve got up still on the phone with Tony and walked over to Harley.

“Say goodnight to daddy.”

“Goodnight Harley. I love you.”

“Good night, daddy.” Steve tucked Harley back in and went across the hall to Peter. Steve picked up Peter and tried to show him who was on the phone.

“Peter, look. It’s daddy.”

“Goodnight, Peter.” Peter froze and looked at the screen and smacked it with his tiny hand.

“Hey, I got to go and get him back to sleep. Goodnight, love you.” "You're a good dad Steve, "Tony replied backed and hung up where it just left Steve and Peter. He might be up all night, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#stony #superfamily #superhusbands #stevetony #ash's blurbs

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baby-grayson · 4 years ago

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okay so what happens next with grayson and hailee? does grayson like take a step back bc of his feelings?? or he stays by her side to help her find what she wants to do with her life??

Ethan and Hailee’s engagement party ends with someone’s tooth in a punchbowl, many tears, and Grayson’s heart tied into a tight, tangled knot.

The morning after Grayson and Hailee’s conversation on the porch was the morning before the engagement party. The house was a whirlwind of nervous energy and polite smiles. Grayson rubbed the sleep out of his eyes while he slowly came down the stairs, turning the corner to see Hailee sitting in a carved dining chair while her mother swirled her hair around the barrel of a hot curling iron. Her hair was pinned around her head in a series of perfect curls, each falling exactly into place. Grayson stood in the doorway, taking in the image while the women’s conversation faded into the background. Hailee caught him from the corner of her eye, she shot him a flat mouth and raised her eyes. Grayson sent her a nod of support and moved from the doorway, not wanting to linger. He stepped into the pantry and opened a cabinet. He was greeted by the usual array of cereal boxes, standing in an erect line of morning salute. He lazily grabbed the box of cheerios and moved into the kitchen.

He was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when Ethan came in holding two button up shirts, each a slightly different shade of pale pink. Ethan stopped in his tracks when he spotted his brother at the breakfast nook.

“Hey- which one of these,” he swung the shirts in the air, “which one is salmon? and which one is bubblegum?” Ethan’s eyes were wide as he searched Grayson’s face for a sign of an answer. “C’mon man,” Ethan groaned when Grayson didn’t answer hastily enough, “Helpme outhere.”

“Uh,” Grayson looked from one shirt to the other and back to the first. “The left.”

“The left?” Ethan urged, “The left is salmon?”

“Yeah,” Grayson nodded, “Sure.”

Ethan groaned again and looked back. He nodded his head at the doorway to the dining room, “They in there?”

“Yeah,” Grayson’s voice was garbled through his first spoon of cereal, “Doing hair.”

Ethan stared at the doorway to the dining room and back at the shirts in his hands.

“Why do you even care?” Grayson lifted another spoon to his mouth, “They’re both pink.”

Ethan rolled his eyes softly, Grayson pretended like he couldn’t see it. “Her dress has these little flowers, we got the shirt to match,” Ethan lifted both of them in the air, “but I took it out of the package and now I don’t remember which one is which.”

Grayson filled his mouth with another spoonful of cereal to avoid continuing the conversation. Carol, Hailee’s mother, stepped from the dining room as she wrapped the cord of the curling chord around itself.

“Ethan,” she started over, “did you need something, pumpkin?”

Ethan looked down at the two shirts in his hands, with his mouth hanging open. He looked back at Carol while she added:

“Oh, are you lending one to Grayson? You’re always so sweet Ethan.” Carol touched a finger to the shirt in Ethan’s left hand, “It’s a good color, but I’m afraid your brother is a little wider than you, might not fit.” She scrunched up her nose at the last few words.

Ethan nodded, feeling a wash of relief while his shoulders fell.

“Now Grayson,” Carol moved towards him as he swallowed his latest mouthful of breakfast. She thumbed the edges of his hair, which was now growing past hair ears, “What do you say we do something about this before the little get together this evening? sound good to you honey?”

Carol’s fingers gently brushed his ear in her inspection of his hair. He was immediately reminded of the gentle, whimsical touch of Hailee’s fingers the night before, when she gave him a nearly identical comment.

“I can do it myself,” Carol’s voice woke him from the soothing mental place he was traveling to, “I’ll set up a chair in your bathroom and meet you up there whenever you’re ready.” She shot him a sweet, hospitable smile and waltzed out of the room.

As if on cue, while her mother disappeared from the room Hailee stepped in, standing between the twins. Grayson thought she looked like a bobblehead, the pinned curls adding immense extra volume to her head. Her blonde locks balled up into ringlets and then immediately went back to her head, where her mother fastened them with neon colored clips. Hailee exhaled and slumped into a chair.

“What’s wrong-” “-you okay?” Grayson looked straight at Ethan, feeling his spine straighten in his chair. If Ethan was fazed, he didn’t show it.

“Yeah,” Hailee nodded, “She’s just-,” she shook her head. She placed her elbows on the table and held her head in her hands, “She’s a perfectionist.” Her tone was sharp.

“I’m sorry baby,” Ethan’s tone was nearly a coo. He kissed the top of her head, somehow navigating his lips between the neon colored clips, “You look beautiful, though.”

Grayson filled his mouth with a spoon of cereal. He wanted to speak up. He wanted to say that Hailee looked like a poodle, and that she was a woman who was perfectly capable of choosing her own hairstyle. Trying to find his place in his new family, Grayson shoved as many cheerios in his mouth as he could fit.

He escaped the situation by leaving his cereal bowl in the sink and going up to the attic. Carol was waiting with a barber’s chair in the middle of his bathroom and a set of clippers open on the counter. “Ready dear?” She stood perfectly perched over the chair: a mixture of Martha Stewart and Sweeney Todd.

Grayson made himself comfortable in the chair while Carol swooped a black cape around him and started spraying his head with water.

“Excited for today, Grayson?”

“Yeah.” he answered politely, “I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

“This must be your first party in quite awhile honey.”

“Yeah,” he answered again, curtly, “I guess it will be.”

“Well don’t worry,” she started combing out locks of his hair. “I won’t tell a soul if you get a little too far into the schnopps tonight- it’ll be our little secret.”

Grayson chuckled softly. He wondered if that’s where Hailee got her sense of humor from.

“Hold your head steady now,” Carol instructed.

Grayson tried to lock his neck into place. “The party’s here?”

“Oh no,” Carol corrected, “The wedding’s here. That’s for certain, four generations have all gotten married in that back barn. But tonight,” some of his hair fell of the floor as she snipped her scissors, “tonight’s we’re going to the old boathouse down by the lake.”

“Oh,” Grayson responded, “Must have missed that.” In truth, Grayson had managed to avoid absorbing any details of Hailee and Ethan’s nuptials. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to be involved in the stresses of everyone else.

Carol nodded, “We’ve been friends with the owner for years, his brother is the mayor. And actually, his son-” Carol snipped her scissors again as her voice heightened, “his son and Hailee Anne used to date in high school. Nice boy, nice nice boy.”

Grayson made a low sound from his throat.

“But oh of course we love Ethan, we love Ethan like one of our own. Trevor could never compare to our Ethan, I’ve never my girl so happy.”

Carol snipped a few more of Grayson’s locks. She put the scissors down to grab a comb. “It must be so odd for you, to be home but not be in your home. Isn’t it honey?”

Grayson sighed softly, “It’s new. But I’m glad to be back.”

“Well just know whatever is ours is yours, this is your home and your family now.” Carol spoke kindly but her words cut through Grayson’s heart. He wondered if she would be as hospitable if she knew the scandalous thoughts he had about her daughter, his brother’s fiance.

Grayson shuddered without thinking. She pulled away from his head, “Just a few more minutes now darlin’, almost done here.”

Grayson offered to sweep the bathroom floor but Carol shooed him away, telling him to find his brother. Grayson thanked her one last time and headed down the stairs.

Grayson left his attic bedroom and headed down the stairs, to stop on the bottom stop. He stared blankly at the front door. Ethan was standing in the doorway, the lilac bushes in the sunshine behind him, with Hailee in his arms. He kissed the top of her head while she beamed. A photographer, a petitely framed girl in a black outfit, snapped pictures of them.

The second camera snap echoed in Grayson’s ears. He stalked out of the room while Hailee twisted her ring to better position it in the frame.

The boathouse was a historic piece of architecture, original to the small Southern town. For the engagement party, the chandeliers were draped with baby pink and cornflower blue swaths of fabric. Each chair was tied with bows that coordinated with its table cloth. Balloons covered each corner of the room, filled with glitter that sparkled and twinkled. The entire venue looked like a pink and blue prom.

Grayson sat at a round table with Ethan, Hailee, and her family. Despite her poodle-esque hairdo (which had the clips removed but still fell in curls that were far too fake to look easy on the eye), Grayson thought she looked like the spirit of springtime.

Her delicate frame was covered in sheets of baby pink tulle. Her dress cinched in at her waist before bouncing out like a ballgown. Her skirt was covered in dozens of tiny light blue flowers. She looked like a ballerina playing a floral princess.

Grayson felt drab compared to the well-dressed party guests. His navy polo and borrowed slacks paled in comparison to the three piece suits, hats, and pocket watches of the men around him.

Ethan wore Hailee on his arm as they greeted party guests at the door: hugging old people and kissing babies. Grayson found his place at the table, listening to Hailee’s father tell stories from his time in the service. Grayson sipped from the mouth of his beer bottle and imagined the memories of his time in the service to slip down and disappear as the liquid slid down his throat and into the abyss.

He was six beers into the night, watching the clock and wondering if he was too tipsy to shower when they got back home. He looked up to watching Hailee and Ethan at the front of the room. Ethan held the microphone in one hand while Hailee draped herself over his opposite elbow, “We just wanted to thank all of you for being here today-for being so happy for us, with us,” Grayson took another swig of beer while Ethan to continued, “We’re so happy that all of you showed up tonight-”

“SHE SHOULD BE MINE AND YOU KNOW IT ASS HAT!”

Necks craned throughout the room to follow the shout. Grayson nearly dropped his beer on the table. From the fire exit door, the drunk, red eyed and sloppy stood a young man with a trim haircut and a red face.

“FUCK YOU E-CREEP! SHE WAS MINE FIRST YOU KNOW-”

Ethan started scampering off the stage, leaving Hailee, who had gone pale, to stand there by herself. From across Grayson’s table, Carol tapped her husband’s shoulder vigorously, “Devlin,” she was frantic, “Devlin do something!” In turn, Hailee’s father shook Grayson’s arm and said, “Go Son! Go!”

Grayson shot up. The air felt thick as he rushed to the other side of the room. He pulled the guy by the arm, trying to coax him out of the room.

SMACK.

In a fraction of a second, Grayson turned his head to see where the noise was coming from. A single tooth shot out of the guy’s mouth and flew threw the air as Ethan’s fist collided with his face. Grayson’s eyes went wide as he searched his brother’s face for answers.

From across the room, Hailee started to cry. Her legs had abandoned her and she had wilted on the floor, her curls bobbing around her head as she took in hasty breaths.

Somewhere in the room, her mother whispered to her father, “And I always thought Trevor was such a nice boy.”

Her father whispered back, “And I thought Ethan was such a nice boy.”

Grayson looked at the streams of blood coming from Trevor’s mouth and felt himself go sick. His mind flashed with the images of blood and injuries from the past few years: of infirmaries with stained walls and not enough beds. He felt a second sickness hit when he realized that for a moment, he had considered saying something to Hailee about his feelings. The night before, he considered divulging all of his emotions for her: committing to honesty and telling her what he felt. Not just about his growing affection for her, but his belief that her life was holding her back, not letting her by the woman she was aiming to be and live up to her potential.

Grayson took another look at the blood streaming from Trevor’s gums, caused by Ethan’s fists, and wondered if Ethan would have hit weaker or harder if it had been Grayson who spoke up.

#part 2 #forbidding love au #i feel bad about this part #tell me what you think

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fairiesandstarlight · 4 years ago

Text

What Could Have Been

also titled: Recovering from Heartbreak (Self-diagnosed)

Sometimes you look at her, and perhaps it's how you notice that her hair glimmers in the honeyed sunlight, or it's just the way her delicate hands gently rest on the crinkled pages of her book, or maybe it's how her tinkling laugh brightens up every room, or the way her lips purse when she sighs, but somehow, in every way, she is the reason your heart feels almost overwhelmed. With her by your side, you think you may have a happy ending after all.

Sometimes you fight, and it's actually more often than you'd like to admit. It hurts. It fills you with guilt and shame when she glares at you with such unbridled rage, such hatred. So that's what pushes you to yell and jab your finger towards the street and scream at her to leave, to get out of your sight. And when she storms off, slams the door, you don't even entertain the possibility of her never returning. You wait for her. The minutes tick by. Days pass, then weeks, and as the seasons change, you can only watch as the leaves turn a sickly yellow. You miss her. You can't bear being without her. You think you're ruined. You can't believe that she's gone, that you won't ever see her again. You crave her touch, her voice, her presence. But she isn't coming back.

Sometimes you find thoughts of her hazily swirling through your mind again, dancing and singing off-key like she used to at night by the crackling radio. She was an inextinguishable flame, a mesmerising force of nature. You reminisce about the long, late-night drives that she loved, and the sleepy mornings complete with light kisses. It catches you off guard. You might simply be gardening, or talking to a neighbor, and suddenly the memories hit you like a freight train, making your heart feel ready to break and your legs collapse, like it did all those years ago. You find that you're not ready to move on from her, not yet. Your mind even plays tricks on you, and you call out to a stranger on the street, thinking that you recognized her light hair and short figure. Ghosts start forming in her image. You realize that no one ever glows like she did, a star like no other. She lingers on you like day old cologne; faintly sweet, yet slightly sour.

Sometimes, an unexplainable sorrow, a feeling of regret, comes over you, and throws you off balance; when you step into the theatre in which she spilled popcorn on your lap (both of you joked about this in conversation for the next week or two), when you take out only one bowl of her favorite Cheerios instead of two, or even when you drop your phone and hear her chiding your clumsiness in your ear. You wonder how she still has so much control over you, how a meager thought of her laugh can make your lips turn up on the subway, and yet, a quick glance at her favorite bookstore is capable of conjuring tears out of seemingly nowhere.

Sometimes it seems as if you're over her. Of course, you still think of her from time to time, those soft eyes and lovely words, but it doesn't feel like your world could crumble and end at any moment, like you've spiraled out of control. At least, not anymore. You wonder if you should have ran after her. You wish she stayed. You think she would have, if you'd just uttered those three words, if you'd just have let them go, the "I love you," that was trapped inside your throat and fighting to be freed. It's been quite some time, and now she's merely a fleeting memory, and you almost can't recall exactly the shape of her nose or the tone of her voice, but she's still there, hidden in your thoughts, just as beautiful and breathtaking as she was the first time you met her.

And sometimes, you think of what Could Have Been.

15 notes · View notes

falcqns · 4 years ago

Text

partner in crime lV

pairing: August Walker x Reader, August Walker x OFC (Maeve)

summary: August attempts a mission and looks for a nanny.

warnings: ANGST, mentions of graphic death, fluff, mentions of character death, mention of harm inflicted upon an infant. 18+ ONLY.

a/n: This one got a little dark, sorry! Hope you enjoy! also if I missed ANYTHING in the warnings, PLEASE LET ME KNOW! I have mom brain so it wouldn't surprise me if I forgot something!

August hung up the phone with a sigh.

Sloane needed him for a mission.

It wasn’t a high risk mission or anything, Sloane had taken him off of those when he’d informed her he’d be taking Maeve in, but August was still nervous. He didn’t really have friends, and the friends he did have were coming on the mission with him. He had no contact with his mother, his father was dead, and he had no siblings.

He had no one to watch Maeve. He sighed, and flopped his body down on the bed, being careful to avoid the sleeping baby just inches from him. He didn’t know what to do. Sloane said she’d watch her, but she was needed at the Capitol, so his only option was his mother.

He still had her phone number, and she still had his, but he was still nervous. He found her number in his contacts, not under any name, just a number, but he knew it was hers. He took a deep breath, and hit ‘call’.

She answered after the fourth ring. “August?” She said, in a rather monotone voice.

“Hello mom.” He said hesitantly. He heard a slight laugh on the other side of the phone.

“I’m guessing you need something. You never call me.” She said, and August swallowed the lump in his throat, sparing a glance at Maeve.

“Yeah, I do. I um-” He took a deep breath to try and stop the shakiness in his voice. “I have a daughter.” He said simply, and when there was no response, he continued. “I-I only found out about her 2 weeks ago. Her mother died, and I’m all she has left. But, I have to go on a mission, and I don’t have anyone else to watch her. I was wondering if you could.”

“Of course I can.”

August let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you. I know you and I aren’t on the best of terms, but I have to leave tomorrow night and I haven’t found a nanny yet.” He said.

His mother laughed breathily. “August, I know I wasn’t the best mother to you, and I apologize for that. It’s one of the biggest regrets of my life, pushing you away. If I can make it better, then I want to. And she’s my granddaughter. It’s my job to be there and help you.” She said, and August felt a tear drip down his face.

“Thank you, mom.” He said, a smile breaking onto his lips.

“You’re so welcome Auggie.” His mother said warmly and full of love, a tone and nickname he hadn’t heard since his father was still alive.

August took a shaky breath. He was fully packed for the mission, and his mother was almost there. He knew Maeve would be perfectly fine without him for a day or two, but he didn’t know if he would be. What if she had a trauma meltdown while he was gone, and his mom didn’t know how to handle it? What if something happened to her, and he couldn’t get there quick enough? He’d never be able to live with himself if something terrible happened to her. Despite going into this agreement of taking in Maeve with pity for her situation rather than love for her, she had a hold on his heart, and their bond was the strongest one August had ever had.

To be honest? Maeve had become his reason for getting up in the morning. It used to be his job, but when Anais walked through his door with Maeve in her arms, that little girl became his reason to live. Finding out who hurt Maeve’s mom was a top priority. He couldn’t let his little girl down.

Although he hated to think about it, or admit it, he knew that one day, Maeve would ask what happened to her mother. She’d probably ask him her first day of school.

He could just imagine her on a crisp September morning, a little dress on her body, running shoes on her feet, and her curly hair in two little braids. A backpack practically the size of her on her back, and her eyes full of excitement. He could see her bounding up to him in the school yard after her first day, and the first sentence out of her mouth.

‘Daddy, why don’t I have a mommy like everyone else in my class?’

His breath caught in his throat merely at the imagery. What would he tell her? He wasn’t religious, so telling her that her ‘mommy is up in heaven’ would mess with both of their minds, and his moral compass. How do you explain to a child, any child, that their mother is dead, and you didn’t know why?

A knock at the door pulled him from his reverie, followed by a squeal from Maeve who was playing at his feet. He stood up, and pulled her up to sit on his hip. He took a deep breath, and the father daughter duo made their way to the door to greet his mother.

He opened the door, and there stood his mom. She still looked the same, with a few more wrinkles, and a few more grey hairs. The only thing that was different was the warm smile sitting on her lips.

“Hi Auggie.” She said tentatively, and August smiled back. “Hi mom. Come on in.” He said, and she followed him inside the apartment. She looked around in an amazement at his rather large apartment.

“Your place is beautiful, honey.” She said, and August smiled again.

“Thank you. We recently moved because she needed her own room and playroom and my one bedroom bachelor pad wasn’t cutting it.” he explained, and him and his mom shared a laugh, the first one in many years.

He showed her around the living room, kitchen, his bedroom, her bedroom, the bathrooms, the office, and the both balconies. He dropped Maeve off in her playroom, and August and her mom made their way back to the kitchen.

“So, you might have noticed she doesn’t have a crib.” August said, and his mother nodded.

“Yes I did. Is there a reason she doesn’t have one?” His mother asked.

August took a deep breath and began to explain. “I mentioned that her mother had died, but I didn’t mention how. Her mothers name was Adriana. We were never in a relationship, I barely knew her. We had one night together, and I never saw her again. But, a little over 3 weeks ago, I got a call from a lady named Anais Torres from Child Protective Services and she told me about Maeve. Adriana was killed. In front of Maeve. I won’t go into detail about her death because it was awful. They also hurt Maeve. Not as bad as Adriana, but still pretty badly. She has some scarring around her wrists from it, but mainly it’s emotional trauma.” He said, and reached out to hold his mothers hand when she began to cry.

“That poor baby,” She said, a sniffle coming out as well. August nodded. “She seems so happy though.”

August nodded again before continuing. “She is. She has ups and downs. She doesn’t fully understand what happened, but I think she has PTSD. She goes to a psychiatrist next week and I’ll find out for sure, but I’m pretty much certain she does. The crib is the main trigger. They restrained her to a crib, and she was forced to watch her mom die through there. I put her in it the first night, but she was already half asleep when I laid her in it, so she didn’t notice. She had a nightmare a few hours after, and that’s when she realized she was in a crib. I thought about a playpen, but I assume she’ll have the same reaction. Her other triggers are handcuffs, guns, small spaces. She’s also having an aversion to the smell of peppermint gum, so I think whoever killed her mom was chewing peppermint gum.” He explained, and his mom nodded.

“Okay. If she does get triggered, what do I have to do to calm her down?” “Hold her.” August said simply. “Just remind her that she’s safe and loved and nothings going to hurt her anymore. It can go on for a while, but it never goes beyond crying. She’ll settle down, and fall asleep. She’ll be a little off and emotional for the next few hours, but she’ll be back to normal soon enough. Playing with her hair helps a lot, as does her pacifier.” He said, and his mom nodded.

“Okay. Does she have a daily schedule?” She asked, and August nodded again.

“I usually wake her up around 6:30 because I have to be at work for 7 and she comes with me, but I’ll let her fall asleep in the car again. If I let her sleep, she’ll wake up around 9 or 9:30, so don’t worry about waking her up. She has a floor bed, and she’s been staying in it really well. She doesn’t nap in it, she prefers to nap in my bed, which I allow. For breakfast she has formula, oatmeal, dry cheerios, and some fruit. She’ll play for a few hours, and then she’ll have a nap. She’ll sleep for an hour or an hour and a half, but don’t let her sleep longer than an hour and a half. Then she’ll have lunch. Usually she’ll have the same thing I have, so whatever you make, just give her some of it. Just make sure it’s in small enough pieces. She has a bottle after, and I let her have a little bit of screen time. Her favourite show is Mickey Mouse ClubHouse, so I let her watch a few episodes. She’ll have another bottle, and another nap, and then she’ll play again for a few hours. By the time she’s done playing she’ll be ready for dinner. After dinner, she has a bath, then a book and bed. She usually goes to bed between 6:30-7.” He said, and his mom nodded.

“I put her schedule on the fridge in case you forget anything, along with her triggers. If you need anything, call me. I managed to convince Sloane, my boss, to let me keep my phone on in case you or her need anything.” He said. She just nodded again, and then a chime from his phone was heard, signalling that Ilsa and Benji were on their way to pick him up.

He sighed. “I should go say goodbye to her. I’ve gotta go.” He said, and his mom followed him into Maeve’s playroom where she was building (or trying to) a tower with big lego blocks.

“Maeve?” He called, getting down to her level and watched as she whipped her head around and gave August a big smile. “Come to Dada,” he said, and she dropped the Lego she was holding to crawl over.

He heard his mom chuckle behind him. “She listens a lot better than you did at that age,”

August smiled as he scooped her up. “I always think the same thing. Definitely learned it from her mother.” August remarked sadly. Partly out of what he had learned about Adriana, but mainly because he was going to miss the little girl he’d come to love so easily.

“I’m gonna miss you, but you’re gonna have so much fun with your grandma. I love you.” He said, and she smiled and cuddled him back, her curly head resting on his shoulder. His phone chimed again and he let out a sad sigh.

“Dada has to go. I’ll see you in two days, okay?” He said, and tried not to cry when he handed her off to his mom.

He said goodbye to his mom, and gave her another kiss on the head, before walking out the door, and trying to ignore the sounds of his daughter's pained wails for him. He grabbed his bag, and headed out the door.

Benji and Ilsa were waiting outside in a normal, inconspicuous looking car. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and put on his tough face. He didn't want to cry in front of the team. He needed to be tough, and crying wouldn’t make him ‘The Hammer”.

“Hey Walker.” Benji said as he got in, and August gave him a smile.

“Where’s the mission?” He asked monotonously.

“Germany. We’re investigating a target who we believe is a part of The Amiens Family gang.”

At the mention of the gang, August almost choked on his own saliva. “D-did you say Amiens?”

Benji nodded, a confused look spreading on his features. “Yeah. Apparently they’re trying to find a civilian who escaped their custody once before thanks to the police, and according to the files Ethan and I recovered last week, this person has a lot of information, mainly about the financial aspect, and they are not happy in the slightest that this person escaped. One of the targets is in Germany following a lead of their own, so we’re following him.” He said.

August sighed and nodded, and was thankful that no one suspected him yet. He had to practically beg Sloane to keep Maeve off of his file, and he wasn’t ready for everyone to know about her quite yet. She was going through a lot, and the next few months were going to be tough on the both of them as they got to know each other, so the less people involved, the better.

Then, a thought popped into his head. “What’s this civilian’s name?” He asked.

Benji glanced down at the file before speaking. “Alexis Amiens. I think she was very high up in the family, but I couldn’t be sure.” August nodded, and tried to appear unbothered by this information on the outside while he had a freak out on the inside.

If he was remembering correctly, Alexis was the twin sister of Adriana. So, they were after someone who was out to get Maeve’s aunt. That scared the shit out of him. Not just the fact that they were going to be tailing someone who was either a close relation or close contact to the people who killed Adriana, and hurt his daughter, but the fact of who it was. It could have been a coincidence, just like Maeve’s screaming was, but just like the screaming, August didn’t think so.

Were they after Maeve? And if they were, what did they want from her? He desperately needed to fully read her file, but he couldn't very well pull it out in the middle of the car with Ilsa and Benji, who would question him about it, and then demand to know who Maeve and Adriana were. He agreed with himself that he’d wait until he was in Germany, and he’d find time to sit down and read it.

He’d read bits and pieces, but after what Anais had briefly told him about Adriana’s family, he never looked in the family section. Hell, he only barely glanced at it for her name and age before, so he should probably read up on it.

By the time they made it to Germany, August wanted to go home.

He missed Maeve, and his mom had called him and told him Maeve was having a meltdown because she heard police sirens, and it set her off. She calmed down, and was fine, but he wished he could be there for her.

The poor girl was probably so confused, August thought to himself. In the past month, her mom was killed in front of her, a gun was held to her head, she was saved by the police then handed over to CPS, dropped off at some random man (in her eyes) house, and just when she was feeling comfortable, that man had to leave, and she was being watched by another random person she’d never seen before.

But, as much as August wished that he could be with her 24/7, he knew that wasn’t a reality. He had to find a nanny to take care of her during the day, but how would find one that he trusted? He knew for a fact that there were probably people out there who wanted him dead. It was just a part of the job description. Before Maeve, he didn’t care too much.

He always told himself that everything happens for a reason. If he was killed on a mission, it was his time to die. Unfortunate and untimely but still, it was clearly the universe deciding his life was finished. But, now he had Maeve. He had a 7 month old to take care of. If he died, that meant leaving Maeve.

He knew it would happen one day, but he’d always hoped it would be from old age, not an enemy or stray bullet. He didn’t want that on her conscience. He didn't want the idea that ‘everyone I get close to dies’ in his daughters head because that wasn’t healthy.

No. He couldn’t die. Not until he heard her say Dada, not until she took her first steps, until she went to her first day of school (a thought that made him slightly teary eyed, despite being a good 3-4 years away). Not ever. He would not leave his daughter.

He’d lucked out and got his own hotel room. He had a feeling that it was because Ethan was still a little wary of him, as he was new, but he didn’t care. As soon as he was handed the key to the overpriced hotel room where the gala that they’d be attending the next night was being held, he was off towards the elevator, his duffel bag and briefcase in hand.

The second the door shut behind him, he pulled out the file, and sat down at the table that was located beside the big windows and balcony doors. He opened the file, and read through it thoroughly, making sure to not miss anything.

Name: Maeve Luna Walker

Age: 7 months old

Birthday: March 15th, 2020

He knew that. He kept reading.

Mothers name: Adriana Cora Amiens

Fathers name: August Nathaniel Walker

Godmothers name: Alexis Luna Amiens

He swallowed roughly. Alexis was not only his daughter's aunt, she was her godmother. And, Maeve was named after her.

Reason for removal from household: Mother’s death.

Next of kin: August Nathaniel Walker (father)

He was the only one listed, and that satisfied him. At least CPS knew better than to put her with her mothers side.

Description of conditions of the environment where the child was living:

August took a deep breath, before reading the paragraph.

Maeve was found by LAPD police officer (REDACTED) doing a wellness check called in by neighbour (REDACTED).

August rolled his eyes at the word redacted. He could get the information, but that would have to wait until he was back in Washington.

She was restrained to the bed using metal, police grade handcuffs. The diaper she was wearing had been soiled in more than once, indicating she had not been changed in several days. She was extremely hungry and dehydrated. The doctors at (REDACTED) hospital observed that if she had not been rescued when she was, she would have died within 24 hours from dehydration and starvation. There was no physical evidence of abuse on her, other than some light scarring on her wrists from the metal handcuffs. However, she is exhibiting signs of emotional trauma and will likely develop Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is unclear at this time whether or not she witnessed the murder of her mother, Adriana Amiens, or not.

Addition: as of September 17th- it has been confirmed through viewing of security camera footage that Maeve was indeed present and conscious during the murder of her mother, Adriana Amiens.

He pushed the file away after reading that paragraph. His poor little girl. She almost died because of what happened, and although she wouldn’t have known what was happening, she most definitely recognized the feeling of being hungry, thirsty, and soiled beyond belief. August told himself his little girl would never experience hunger or thirst again if he had anything to do with it.

He took a deep breath to calm his anxiety that had blended into anger, before reading further, specifically on her mothers family’s history.

Adriana Cora Amiens, born August 5th, 1989, was the daughter of Amiens Family Mob leader Charles Jacob Amiens, nicknamed The Master, and his wife, Rose Alena Amiens (formerly Anderson). She was the twin of Alexis Luna Amiens.

Not much is known about her early life, or her education, other than she had a twin sister, an older brother named Andrew, and was privately schooled.

She had very few long term relationships. Her longest relationship has been noted as one of her fathers lackeys, Anton Filho. They began dating in 2000, and the relationship endured until 2005. Sources close to the family state that he was killed by Charles for ‘deflowering his daughter’.

Adriana reportedly emancipated herself due to the murder of Filho, and had zero contact with her father, and the rest of her family, including her twin sister Alexis because of it.

In 2019, she fell pregnant. Sources say that the father is unknown, while others believe it is Fritz Corleone, a former mobster she had been spotted with, however this was never confirmed or denied by either party. It is rumoured that she regained contact with Alexis, who emancipated herself from her family not long after Adriana did, although Adriana did not know this, but this has not been confirmed.

It is unknown whether she went through with the pregnancy and if she did, it is unknown of the child's whereabouts after the birth, and following Adriana’s death.

Adriana died on September 15th of this year. The cause of death has not been announced.

August rubbed his eyes roughly with his fingers. That was a lot of information to take in at once. He definitely thought she made the right choice by emancipating herself from her family after what her father did, but it didn’t go into detail about her father at all. His last hope for that lead was Wikipedia, which meant he’d have to cross reference all the information with the CIA database. He had planned to do so when he originally found out Adriana had been murdered, but he’d been so traumatized by the pictures he found of Maeve that he never looked at it again.

He pulled his laptop out of the briefcase, opened Google, and typed in Charles Amiens on one tab, before opening the CIA database on another. He typed the same thing in the database browser, before heading back to Google. He clicked on the wikipedia link and began reading.

In the files he read previously, there were no pictures of the family. In Charles page however, there was a man who looked just as you’d assume a mobster to look. The greasy slicked back hair, the scowl on his face, the curl in his eyebrow. August didn't dwell on the photo, but rather skipped down to the text on the bottom.

Charles Jacob Amiens was born on November 18th, 1967 to father Jacob Amiens and mother Elizabeth Amiens (formerly Jones), in Brooklyn, New York, New York, United States of America.

It is currently unknown where he obtained an education, both primary, secondary and post secondary.

August switched over to the database to check on the schooling. He confirmed that it is unknown where he obtained his schooling, but on the database, it says that it was a private schooling program named “The Family”. Something about that name was familiar, but he resolved to check on it later.

Amiens took over the head of the family mob the day he turned 18. Suspiciously, this was also the day that his father, Jacob Amiens, went missing and was not found until 2 months later, when his body was found in Prospect Park, although it was clear in the initial investigation that the murder did not occur there.

Now that sparked August’s interest. Did Charles really kill his father or was that just another one of the many coincidences that he’d come across in the last few weeks? Much like the other ones, he found it highly unlikely.

Charles has been associated with over 1500 murders in the upper California area, where he relocated his entire family and employees soon after his fathers body was recovered.

August checked this information as well, and it was also true. Just as he was about to go back to the wikipedia page, something caught his eye.

A notable pattern in the murders that Charles himself carries out is that he carves into his victims, specifically the initials MA, which most take to stand for Master Amiens, which is what he has his men call him.

August slammed his computer shut at that.

Adriana was murdered by her father. He thought back to the photos of the gun being pointed in Maeve’s face. Was Charles the one who inflicted all of this pain on his tiny 7 month old baby currently asleep in Washington under his mothers care?

August felt conflicted. On one hand, he wanted to murder Charles and all those who ever laid their eyes and hands on Adriana and Maeve, but on the other hand, he had a feeling that there was more to Adriana’s murder.

What kind of father would do that to their daughter? August knew he wasn’t the best person. He had a dark history, especially one with the Apostles, but ever since Lane revealed they were going to use Julia as a pawn in the game, he couldn’t do it, and he backed out. He’d changed. It doesn’t mean that he’s a perfect person, but he could never even think to do the things that Charles had done, much less to his daughter.

August glanced around the room, and his eyes landed on the warm and inviting looking bed, and decided to leave the research for tonight. Maeve was safe, and he had a mission to think about. He grabbed the file and lifted it up to put it in the briefcase, when a small envelope addressed to him fell out.

He put the file away, and bent down to grab the letter. He sat down on the bed and opened it.

‘August,

I’m writing you this letter in case anything happens to me.

After our night together, I fell pregnant, and gave birth to a little girl. Her name is Maeve Luna Walker. I made sure she got your last name, and that you were on the birth certificate. I never wanted her to grow up without a mom, but I think I’ve known since the minute I found out I was pregnant that she’d end up with you.

I’m loving being a mom. It’s the best job I could have, and I want you to know I’m not keeping her from you on purpose. We didn’t talk about our families that night, but I come from a rather dark one. I won’t go into details, but us having contact would ultimately result in your death. I don’t want that to happen. The CIA and the world needs you more than Maeve and I do right now.

If anything happens to me, please find who did it. There are people after me, but I don’t know who. I do, however, have a suspicion it has to do with my family. You’re a great man, and an excellent CIA agent. I know you’ll be able to do it.

When you find the woman of your dreams, I want her to adopt Maeve. It pains me to say that, but it’s the right thing to do. Maeve deserves to grow up in a happy and healthy household, a household that I know only you can provide. I need you to protect our daughter. She is the light of my life, and I know she’ll be the light of yours too. She’s a sweet little girl who is sweet and kind to everyone she comes across. She amazes me in the same way you did.

I’m so sorry if I’m gone when you’re reading this, but if I am, it was my time to go. I know we only had one night together, but I want you to know that I love you. I never stopped thinking about you, not for one minute. I love you so much. I will never stop loving you, especially for giving me Maeve, my light in my otherwise pitch black world.

I know you’ll be the best daddy to our little girl, and I’m sorry I won’t get to see her grow up. If she’s anything like her father, she’ll be the best.

I love you. Thank you. I’m sorry.

Adriana.

P.S. I wrote Maeve a letter as well. I was hoping you could give it to her when you feel it's the right time.’

August dropped the letter to the ground and let out a sob, his hands coming to cover his face. Adriana knew that she was going to die, and that there was nothing she could do. Even in that horrible, unthinkable and terrifying situation, she put Maeve first. She thought about Maeve’s safety and wellbeing, both physical and mental. She wanted their daughter to grow up happy and healthy, and wanted him to be happy too.

He felt awful. He’d thought about getting her number, but ultimately decided against it. His line of work didn’t exactly allow him time to have a relationship like that. Hell, it barely gave him enough time to parent, but he managed that. Maybe if he had just gotten her number, he could have saved her from all of this pain. He could have seen the moment that his child took her first breath. He could have seen her first words, the first time she crawled, all of it.

He picked up the letter and folded it up before placing it into his wallet for safe keeping. He picked up the file again. He grabbed the letter addressed to Maeve, and placed it in a different section of his briefcase. Once he was home he’d put in his safe until he was ready for her to have it. He thought about peeking at it, but ultimately decided against it. Adriana wrote that for Maeve, not him. When she read it, it would be up to her if she let him see the contents. He doubted he would let her read the one from him anyways.

Once everything was put away, August flopped on the bed, fully clothed still. It wasn’t long after his tears began to flow freely, and he thought about the mother of his child, who was never going to see her little girl again. He thought back to that night, and suddenly, he could remember every little detail. The colour of her hair, her eyes. The shape of her nose and lips. The way she embraced him with her arms, and touched him with her hands.

Just before he fell asleep, he grabbed his phone off the bedside table where he’d thrown in, and opened up Adriana’s instagram. He found a few selfies that she had posted around the time that they had met, and screenshotted them.

He found one that captured her beauty perfectly, and made that one his lock screen. His home screen was Maeve, the first night they were together, asleep on his chest. That way he had both his girls on his phone no matter where he went, even if one of them wasn’t actually his anymore.

August awoke to banging on his door the next morning.

He groaned, but stood up and answered the door. He was greeted by Ethan, with a stupid grin on his face.

“Rough night?” Hunt asked, and August nodded, stepping to the side and allowing him in.

“Need something?” He grunted out, and Ethan nodded.

“Benji asked me to check on you. He mentioned that you and him had spoken about the Amiens family when him and Ilsa picked you up, and you seemed a little on edge. I just want to make sure we’re both on the same team here.” Ethan said, a serious look on his face.

August always respected Ethan, despite them not always being friends. Ethan trusted his team, and if he had any doubts about anything, he always confronted them himself. He never let things play out. August could come up with a lie about why he was uncomfortable about it, but Ethan had a knack for smoking out liars, so he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to risk anything.

“I’ve actually been investigating them on my own, is all. I-” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I have a connection to them.” He said simply, and he almost hoped that that would be enough to make Ethan leave it alone, although he knew it wasn’t.

Ethan sat on the chair next to the table that held his briefcase. August sighed and sat on the still unmade bed. “My daughter.”

Ethan sputtered slightly before speaking. “Y-You have a daughter?” he asked, and August nodded in response.

“I do. She was born in March of this year, but I didn’t find out about her until the beginning of this month. Her mother was a part of the Amiens family. Specifically, Adriana.” He admitted, and Ethan sighed.

“Wow. That changes things. Wasn’t she murdered recently?” Ethan inquired, and August nodded once more.

“Yes. In front of Maeve.” He said, and corrected himself when he saw the confusion on Ethan’s face. “Her name is Maeve. They handcuffed my 7 month old to a crib, and forced her to watch her mother be murdered by her grandfather. That’s a speculation though, I’m not 100% certain. He also pointed a gun at her head through the crib, and I assume they were going to shoot, but the police raided where they were being held at that moment.” August said, and Ethan sighed in sadness.

“That’s rough. How is she doing now?” Ethan asked, and August smiled at the thought of his little girl. “She goes through waves. One minute she’s a happy and healthy little girl whose only concern is what toy she’s going to play with next, and the next she’s almost frozen, and seems to be reliving what happened to her and her mother all over again. She can’t sleep in a crib, or a playpen. She hates police officers, guns, handcuffs, and the smell of peppermint. In some ways she’s a normal baby, but there are so many things she’s struggling through, that I’m worried about her development.”

Ethan nodded, and was about to open his mouth to speak, when August’s phone went off. August picked it up, and answered.

His heart dropped into his stomach at his mom's words. Maeve had woken up and realized that August wasn’t there, so she called out for her Mama. When August’s mom had said that her Dada would be back in a few days, she was immediately sent into a meltdown, and his mom couldn’t calm her down, even after half an hour.

“Fuck. Okay. Let me think of something and I’ll call you back.” He said, and his mom thanked him before hanging up.

He turned to Ethan. “How badly do you need me on this mission?” he asked, and Ethan furrowed his brow.

“Is something wrong with Maeve?” He asked and August nodded.

“She’s having a meltdown because I’m not there and my mom can’t calm her down.” Ethan’s eyes widened.

“We can make do without you. You can go home, you’re needed there more than here at the moment.” He said, standing up, and helping August to get packed. August nodded, and as soon as he was packed he turned to Ethan.

“Thank you. I know this mission is important.” He said, and Ethan smiled at him.

“Being a father trumps all of that. You have a little girl, a little girl who just went through hell, so don’t even worry about it. Go make sure she’s okay.” He said, and August nodded, a smile peeking through on his lips.

August dropped his bag as soon as he made it through the door, in favour of finding Maeve. The door shutting behind him seemed to alert his mom to his presence, and a few seconds later, she appeared in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Hi, honey.” She said, opening her arms for a hug. August let himself relax in his mothers embrace for a few moments before leading him into the bedroom.

“She managed to cry herself to sleep, and hasn’t woken up yet. I thought you being here when she woke up would be better than anything else.” She said, and August nodded.

“Thank you.” He said, sincerely, and his mom smiled. “It’s no problem. Other than her huge meltdown she was a perfect angel. I’ll get going, and let you two spend some time together. If you need anything at all, just give me a call, okay?” She reassured, and August thanked her again.

“I’m really glad you’re giving me a second chance, Auggie. I hate what I put you through after your father died. I hate the person I became. I thought I couldn’t be a single parent, but after seeing you do it, I don’t know why I ever thought that.” She said, a tear slipping down her face.

“Mom, it’s okay. I never hated you. I didn’t really understand why you were so cold and distant all of a sudden, but I get it. I wasn’t an easy kid, and I’m sure Dad dying didn’t help,” He joked, pulling a laugh out of his mom. “You were too much like him for your own good.” She said, and August smiled in agreement.

He watched as his mother gave Maeve a kiss on the head, before giving him one as well. “You’re doing a terrific job. I love you, son.” She said, and now it was August’s turn for a tear to fall.

“I love you too, mom.”

He walked his mom to the front door, and closed and locked it behind her once she left. He glanced at his watch, and decided to let Maeve sleep a little longer. Her poor little body was probably exhausted, just like his was from the quick time changes. He walked back into the bedroom, kicked off his shoes, and laid beside his daughter on the bed.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, Maeve’s eyes opened, and a huge smile broke out on her face when she saw her Dada. She cooed and placed her hand on his mouth again. August pressed a kiss to her flesh, and to August’s amazement, she smiled and giggled, instead of crying and asking for Adriana.

“Hello, my love. I missed you,” He whispered, as his daughter snuggled up to him, and closed her eyes again. August followed suit, and the pair were out within seconds.

It took a few days for Maeve to be back to herself fully. Everytime August would leave a room, she’d get anxious and cry, almost as if she thought he wouldn’t come back. August knew that it was his fault. He shouldn’t have taken the mission, she wasn’t ready to be left with random people yet, at least for days on end.

As he sat on the couch working on his laptop, Maeve playing with some cars while watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse at his feet, he realized he needed a nanny. He really didn’t like the fact that he’d been bringing her to work everyday. No one else cared, but he’d rather her first words she says with him not be ‘gun’ or ‘murder’.

He had gotten a few numbers from one of the other agents who was also a parent, but had yet to call any of them, so that’s what he worked on while Maeve was distracted.

A few hours later, and he’d been having terrible luck. Everyone he called either couldn’t do it because of another job, had another family, wasn’t nannying anymore, or was 16. He was beginning to give up hope, when he looked at the last name on his list.

Y/N Y/L/N - (xxx) xxx-xxxx

He tried not to be too hopeful going into the phone call, but when you said that you were available anytime, and were willing to meet with him the next day. He was very pleased to learn that you had worked with children in the past who had PTSD, and developmental disabilities. He knew you were the one already, and knew Maeve would be in the perfect hands with you.

He had religiously cleaned his apartment last night, making sure it was up to standard for a nanny. As he vacuumed Maeve’s playroom, he realized she needed more toys. She had a few, but definitely not enough to support her development. He also needed to get her more books.

Maeve seemed to know what was happening the next morning, because when August woke her up she was all smiles, rather than her grumpy and cuddly self, who cried over August accidentally dropping her favourite pacifier on the ground.

He got her changed and dressed, and put her in her playroom while he got showered and ready. It was a Saturday, and he knew that you wouldn’t be staying for more than an hour today, but he also wanted to appear professional in the beginning. You’d get to see the mess that he was after some missions later.

He immediately liked you. The meeting time was 10:30, and you showed up at 10:25. You had told him that you once worked a job where you had to be on the floor 5 minutes before your shift actually started, so you were in the habit of showing up 5 minutes early to everything.

Maeve instantly liked you as well. She’d crawled up to you, and gave you a hug, and then refused to leave your grasp once she was in it. You had brought her a stuffed elephant, and told her and August that you loved elephants and always gave them to new children you nannied.

He showed you around the apartment, and blushed when you commended him about the floor bed rather than forcing her to sleep in a crib. You also mentioned that it made you happy when parents cared less about fixing the PTSD and cared more about supporting their child and their needs at that point in time because the majority of parents you’d worked with used exposure therapy.

By the time that you’d left August’s apartment, he knew that he’d found a lifelong female presence for Maeve. He wasn’t blind, you were insanely beautiful, but he didn’t want to imply anything because if he was wrong, the only one who’d end up hurting was Maeve, and he didn’t like that.

August watched as Maeve crawled over to the couch, and climbed up. His heart melted when she pushed the curtain aside and waved a chubby hand as best as she could at you as you left the building.

August walked over and scooped her up. “Did you like Ms Y/N?” He asked, and took her excited babbles and hand gestures as a yes. August smiled, and set her down. She took off running (crawling) towards the playroom, adn August turned to make dinner.

As he cooked for the two of them, he thought back to what you had said about exposure therapy. It made him happy to know that he was doing what was considered the right thing, and not forcing her to sleep somewhere that was the cause of so much of her trauma. While he wasn’t thrilled he assembled it for nothing, he knew it wasn’t her fault. He could have fully read the file and skipped the crib when he was shopping, but at least he saved another mother some money and assembly time.

Later that night, as he sat with Maeve in her room as she drifted off to sleep, her hand curled around his pointer finger, he really hoped that this would work out.

Taglist:

All:

@kpopgirlbtssvt @nerdypinupcrystal @sohoseb @bieberhoodforever @crazy-avengers-gal

@colicovision

Henry Cavill:

@amberangel112 @rocket44 @angelicwolf98

#august walker #august walker x you #august walker x y/n #august walker x reader #august walker x female reader #august walker x ofc #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #mission impossible fallout

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