#mom this might not be a phase after all

[gyunikum]

Fledgling Sailor of the Channel        |       Pirate of the Great Sand Sea

Tom Glynn-Carney in Dunkirk (2017) & SAS Rogue Heroes (2022)

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Shameless

Tags: dad!Toji x fem!reader, modern!au, nsfw, mdni, breeding kink, he calls himself daddy

Synopsis: You’re Toji’s live-in nanny. He wants to breed you, and he successfully does so.

An: This is my story on ao3!! You can read it here. If you’re feeling extra nice, a kudos would be cool too.

Being a single dad was hard. Toji learned quickly after his wife's death that he in fact couldn't do this alone. The way little Megumi's big eyes looked up to him for direction... him of all people. He was not cut out for this. Megumi's mom was a wonderful mother: sweet, nurturing, and patient. Toji really didn't know if he was any of those things.

Luckily, her life insurance provided Toji with a relatively comfortable life combined with his job in construction of course. Construction might be his vice. He got away from home for 12 hours a day, and he worked so hard that his brain was mush by the time he was home. Not that he didn't love his son, he did, but every time he looked at Megumi he saw his sweet late wife. He also saw his short comings as a father.

Babysitters quit on him regularly. It was always the same excuse. "Megumi's an angel, but I can't be here 7 days a week. I have a life too." It was incredibly annoying. They'd stay for Megumi but left due to another one of his shortcomings.

Another one quit. That would be the third one this month. "Listen Mr. Fushiguro, I know a friend. She does this sort of thing on a different level. Have you ever considered having a live-in nanny?"

That stupid girl's question enlightened Toji. He had completely forgotten that live-in nannies still existed. After getting her friend's number and paying her what he owed her for her time, Toji relaxed on the couch with little Megumi tucked into his side. The three-year-old was happily babbling next to him, enamored by Toji's phone that was in his hand.

Toji looked at the number dialed into his phone, and he sighed. He was tired of making cold calls to potential babysitters like he was some desperate whore, but maybe, maybe this would be different. He wouldn't mind having a live-in nanny. His house wouldn't mind it either. Toji would be able to finally breathe. No more coming home from 12 hour shifts to pop something to eat in the microwave and wash the dishes. He wouldn't even have to see this so-called nanny often. He could pick up more hours at work with all of his new freedom of not having to worry about pissing off the babysitter.

*** *** ***

Either way, that's how you ended up in Toji's house. For the past three months you had taken care of Megumi, cleaned and deep cleaned his entire house, cooked him plenty of dinners from scratch, and even did his laundry the exact way he preferred. His house has never looked better, and Megumi had never looked so happy.

Despite being here for three months, you barely saw Toji. He seemed to avoid you like the plague and only answer with one-worded answers, which was fine. This was your job, not your actual family. There was no need for extensive communications. Though, you had gushed to your friend plenty over text about how hot "Mr. Fushiguro" was. He was conventionally attractive, yes. But you also always had a thing for the brooding types, and dammit, Toji was brooding. There was also something to be said about how he came home in the evenings. A black wifebeater clinging to his skin from a long day of working out in the sun. His jeans would be dirty from the work he was doing. His skin glistening from a thin sheen of sweat. His hair was always a mess. Goddammit. It was enough to make you feel fertile.

It was early in the morning, Toji was getting ready to go to work. Megumi had woken up, crying for his papa not to leave him. He's going through an extra clingy phase. He's usually okay once Toji's gone.

"Papa!" Megumi cried as Toji entered the living room. You had Megumi in your lap, rocking him with a sleepy look on your face. His tears were wetting your shirt, but you didn't seem to mind.

"He'll be back tonight, Gumi." You shooshed him and continued to try to rock him and pat his back.

Toji's face was unreadable. He was never one to get all upset over Megumi's crying, but hearing his son cry out for him tugged on his heartstrings extra this morning. Then, there was you. You were a godsend to Toji's life. Getting a live-in nanny was one of the best decisions he had ever made. Above that, you were excellent with Megumi. You were sweet... nurturing... patient. He hated how seeing you with his son made him feel. It almost felt like maybe 2 kids wouldn't be that big of a deal. Maybe 3. One on each of your legs and another one swelling in your belly. God. He was disgusted in himself for thinking like that.

"I love you, kiddo." Toji said quickly as he leaned down, giving Megumi's forehead a quick peck. The toddler made grabby hands for him. It was almost enough to make him stay home. Almost. Toji's eyes met yours as he was still leaned over. His face was close to yours. The tension between them were palpable. The moment felt like eternity between them.

Then, a black credit card was in view. "I need new work gloves. Get the extra thick rubber ones, will ya? Also, get whatever you and the kid want. I'll be back late tonight." He handed you the card and sauntered out of the house despite Megumi's pleas for him to stay. You looked at the Amex black card and blinked a couple of times. Only the top earners in the world had cards like this. Toji was just an average blue collar dad... It made you wonder how he got a card like this.

You still spent that shit though.

*** *** ***

Toji looked at his phone on the jobsite. No one dared to tell him to put it away. Toji was the best most competent worker out on the field. He could work circles around supervisors and project managers alike, and he was damn smart. He didn't need a pencil and paper or a calculator to make quick conversions in his head. So, most people stayed out of his way.

He smirked and chuckled at the notifications rolling in from his bank. 78.97 at Target. 21.25 at McDonald's. 43.52 at Barnes and Noble. 9.24 at Starbucks. He was happy you and Megumi were getting to have a little shopping spree.

You were also great at keeping him updated. You sent him lots of pictures and videos of Megumi. He cherished each one of them, immediately getting some of them printed and hung up in his house. There was even a picture of you and Megumi proudly displayed in the living room. In his mind, you were an integral part of the family. The "family" simply would not function if it weren't for you.

A fond smile spread across his face as he opened his messages. A picture of Megumi's little hands trying to fit into his new gloves that she had bought him. Great. She got the right ones. "I think he wants to be just like daddy :)", the message read.

Oh.

Oh.

The twitch that just occurred in his pants should be punishable in a court of law. In no way should he have gotten turned on by that. You were just being nice. It was a normal thing for people to refer to him as "daddy" in that context. It never affected him in the way it was right now.

So anyways, that's how he ended up in the port-a-potty busting a load all over a picture of you that he had on his phone. After the shock of his orgasm that came quicker than ever, he looked down, disappointed in himself. He wasn't some horny teenage boy anymore. This was just downright deplorable. Begrudgingly, he wiped his phone clean from his sins. Post-nut clarity swirled his brain. He couldn't believe he just did that.

He called your number. He had to make things right.

"Hello? Is everything okay?" You immediately asked. After living with Toji for some time now, you learned that he doesn't just call people. He will absolutely decline a call to just text and ask what's up.

"Everything is fine." He replied, trying to hide his amusement. It was cute that you seemed so worried for him. "Are you still in town?"

"Yeah, Megumi and I are about to leave Starbucks and head home. Why? What's up?" You responded back to him. He could hear Megumi happily singing a song in the background.

"You know you spent 152 dollars today?" Toji asked as he popped his back up against the port-a-potty door. He had a lazy smirk on his face.

"Oh- crap. I'm sorry. You can take whatever you see fit out of my pay-" He interrupted your nonsense quickly.

"Do you think I'm poor?" His voice was amused, not angry like you expected it to be.

"What-? No.. no, sir. I was just-"

"I told you to get whatever you and the kid want. Don't come back home until your certain that you can't carry the amount of stuff you bought in one trip." He said quickly. His stomach was already coiling from how you called him sir. He grimaced as he felt another twitch. I just took care of you dammit.

"Oh... oh, okay? Are you su-" Click. He hung up on you. One too many dumb questions. You looked at Megumi as he strapped into the backseat of your car. He looked intrigued by the conversation even though you knew he realistically had no idea what was just said. "Daddy said we have to go to the toy store." You grinned at him. He was smiling and clapping over the word "toy".

234.22 at Toys-R-Us. 122.56 at Lego. 208.38 at Aerie. 88.21 at Ulta Beauty. Another 94.48 at Barnes and Noble.

The way Toji grinned each time he felt that familiar vibration of his phone go off, meaning another notification from his bank was off-putting. Workers on the jobsite never seen him so happy. It was his penance for being such a horny freaky fuck.

*** *** ***

It was later that same evening. Megumi was in the living room surrounded by toys and crafting materials. He was currently drawing all sorts of "shadow animals" as he called them. You would of course look and nod your head, congratulating him on each terribly drawn animal. You acted like that was the best damn wolf-bear-owl hybrid you ever saw.

You were in the kitchen cooking chicken and dumplings. The clock on the stove read seven p.m. You didn't expect to see Toji at all this evening. He said he was working late this morning. Usually, that meant he was dragging his feet in through the door until well past ten p.m.

Still, you made him a serving of chicken and dumpling soup. You always did. Even when he worked late, you would put him a helping of dinner in the microwave to keep warm. You never knew, but he was always delighted by that. He ate the dinners each time.

A key jingling in the door handle caught your attention while you were getting Megumi settled at the dining room table. Three-year-olds were so hard to manage: too small to eat by themselves but too big to be locked in a high chair.

Toji stepped into the living room with a small grunt. He smirked as he looked around at his destroyed living room. Toys, crayons, and pieces of "artwork" were strewn all about the place. He glanced up towards you and Megumi in the kitchen. He took note of how your face was flushed and surprised.

"Papa!" Megumi happily shouted before the little bastard ran from your grasp to go hug on Toji's legs. His dad smiled as he looked down at Megumi, and he used his hand to mess up Megumi's hair affectionately.

"Go eat your food, kiddo." Toji said warmly to his son. Megumi happily obliged and ran right back to his seat right next to you, and you fed him a spoonful of the soup.

"You're home early." You stated the obvious.

Toji would never tell you, but he left early because he missed you two.

"Don't sound too happy to see me." He remarked in a sarcastic tone.

"What-? No, I just.. would've cleaned up more had I known you would be home so soon..." You responded. Megumi was sitting beside you whining for another bite of food. You snapped out of your surprise, and you fed him another bite of chicken and dumplings.

"Why? I don't give a damn what this place looks like." Toji said with a small nonchalant shrug. He walked through the living room, carefully stepping over the toys. Before you had become his nanny, this was how his house normally looked: messy, lived in. "I've got a bowl of dinner in the microwave. My kid's happy and fed. I couldn't care less what that living room looks like."

Your heart fluttered at the sentiment. Toji was easy to please. He really just wanted what was best for his kid, and that was you. "I like making sure you have nothing to worry about." You replied. He looked at you with an unreadable expression. It looked like he might've wanted to say something, but he had backed out last minute. He hummed and walked towards his bedroom to shower the dirt, sweat, and grime from the day.

While Toji showered, you had finished feeding Megumi and yourself. You allowed Megumi to have about an hour of TV time before bed. He really enjoyed old X-Men cartoons. You turned them on for him and parked him on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket.

You hummed softly as you worked in the kitchen. You packed meal prep containers of soup for Toji to take for lunch for the next couple of days. Then, you were washing dishes in front of the sink.

*** *** ***

"I like making sure you have nothing to worry about." Your words repeated in Toji's head over and over like a mantra. He hadn't felt so... cared for in a long, long time. It made his heart feel full, which was an unfamiliar feeling for him. A less unfamiliar feeling was his dick standing fully erect and at attention. He groaned quietly as he leaned his head back in the shower.

Something had to be in the air recently. He was a grown man with desires, sure. But this was a new record for him. Ever since you started being a live-in nanny for him, the boners were a daily thing. Hell, twice or three times a day sometimes. He's tried everything... Well, okay, maybe not everything, but he's tried cold showers and staying away from you. Neither of those things work to soothe him.

His hand was gliding up and down his length for the second time today. He was facing the shower wall with his arm propped up on it, supporting his head. Damn you for making him feel like a slave to his desires. You wanted to make sure he had nothing to worry about? Then, you should be the one in here fixing this damn mess, not him. He pitifully rutted into his hand, imaging he's plunging deep into you. Imagining the multiple ways he'd fuck the hell out of you is the only thing that soothes the ache, but this time he didn't see an end in sight.

He gritted his teeth together, and he balled up his fist, rearing back before stopping himself. He's not a teenager anymore. He can't punch walls. He took a deep breath and turned the shower off. No, this won't do. He needs to fix this at the source.

After quickly drying off and getting dressed, he walked back into the kitchen. His eyes scanned over the house. Megumi was enthralled by the TV, and you were washing dishes. Perfect.

He slowly approached you from behind. He could tell you didn't hear him as you were still softly humming. Usually, you would stop humming if he entered the kitchen. He never understood why. The sounds of your melancholic hums were beautiful and soothing to him.

He was directly behind you, and his hands gently cupped your hips. You immediately flinched and made a soft scream that was quickly silenced by one of his hands. "Shh, we don't want to disturb the little brat, do we?" Toji said into your ear. His warm breath ghosted over the shell of your ear, making you shiver.

Toji's eyes flicked over towards the living room. Megumi hadn't moved an inch. Perfect.

Toji slowly released your mouth. To his delight, you didn't make a sound. He could hear how your breath was slightly labored from him scaring you. A small chuckle rose from his throat. His hands went back to your hips, and he pressed himself against your voluptuous ass. A hum of approval escaped him. He could see your hands gripping the countertops.

"Nod your head. You like this? Want me to keep pressing myself against you?" Toji whispered into your ear. You took your bottom lip between your teeth, and you nodded your head eagerly, giving him consent.

"Dirty fucking girl." His voice was like a growl in your ear as he started to move his hips, dragging his length up and down along you. You could feel each inch of his length beckoning for you. "I knew you'd take whatever I gave you, but this? Letting me grind against you like a pathetic teenager while my son is in the living room? You're such a fucking slut." His hands were digging into your hips as he continued his controlled motions.

"Mnn.. fuck.." You softly whimpered out. Thank god the X-Men were currently in a loud fight scene.

You slightly frowned as you suddenly didn't feel Toji behind you anymore. You were about to turn around and ask what he was doing, but his fingers curling into the waistband of your leggings told you everything you needed to know. "Toji-" You managed to whisper out. No way could you two do this while Megumi was in the next room over.

"Shut up." Toji interrupted you. He had taken his throbbing length out of his sleeping pants, and he had a look of concentration on his face as he angled himself right at your entrance. "You have no fucking idea how long I've needed this. So just be a good girl, shut up, and take what I give you."

Direct orders from your boss. Who were you to deny the man who just spoiled you all day today?

It was a tight fit. Toji wasn't a gentleman. He didn't prep you with his fingers or mouth. This wasn't love making. It was hardly fucking. This was fulfilling a need.

"God... fuck. I didn't expect you to be that tight." He growled into your neck as he held your hips still against him. It felt like he was splitting you apart. You couldn't even respond to him.

He noticed how tightly you were gripping the counter and how you weren't responding to him. Your knuckles were turning white. He almost felt guilty. His hand came around the front of you, and he gently rubbed the swollen bundle of nerves. "Shhh... You can take it. I know you can." He whispered into your ear as it was taking every last shred of self-restraint not to fuck you into oblivion right on this counter. He slowly pulled back until just his tip was inside, and he pushed all the way back in. "That's it. There's my good girl." He praised in your ear. It was not lost on him that he felt you get wetter with each praise.

He hesitated, but he said it anyway, "You wanna be a good girl for daddy, don't you?" He whispered into your ear. That phrase made you tremble in his arms and nod your head. He slowly pulled back out and pushed right back in, taking you slowly. "That's right... hngh, fuck." He moaned into your ear. "You want to be fucked by daddy. You want to take his cock like a good girl. Take it." His hips started to move with more conviction.

You were already so out of it. This was like a dirty fantasy come true. You couldn't help but check the TV a few times to make sure X-Men was still playing. You were still worried that Megumi might run in here for whatever reason and see you bent over in front of his dad. You knew it was unlikely. Megumi could watch that TV like a zombie all day if you let him. Besides, you would be able to hear the small pitter-patter of his footsteps.

"Stop looking at the fucking TV. Trust me." Toji growled into your ear as he forced your hips down onto him roughly. A noiseless gasp escaped you. He wasn't small, and he knew that. He was using it to his advantage.

"Fuck." He groaned quietly as he rubbed you with a bit more fervor. You could already feel that familiar warm feeling coiling in your stomach. "I'm going to fuck a baby into you. You were fucking made for this. Made for raising my kids and taking my fucking load." He was spewing nonsense into your ear, but in the moment, you couldn't help but nod and moan. "You were made for me." He proclaimed as his hips continued harshly snapping into your backside. Somehow the sounds were masked.

"You want that, don't you?" He asked as he bit down on your neck then lapped at the bite mark with his tongue.

"Yes, daddy!" You quietly exclaimed. His thrusts only increased in power. Your eyes started to cross, getting lost in pleasure.

"Fuck. You're gonna look so perfect pregnant with my baby. I won't let you have a break. As soon as one comes out; I'm puttin' another one in you." He continued on yapping about how many kids he was going to pump into you. "I'll breed you again and again." His thrusts were heavy and brutal. You couldn't take it anymore.

He moaned as he felt you clenching around him, finishing all over his cock. It was enough to drive him overboard. He pumped you full of cum until you were sure some of it was seeping out.

There was a peaceful moment of dizzy highness for you two. Toji panted against your back. For the first time in while, he's felt satisfied. A soft amused laugh escaped him as he heard the iconic X-Men episode coming to an end. He swiftly pulled out of you, and he tried to ignore that little whimper of protest you let out. He tucked himself back into his pants, and he pulled your leggings and panties back up for you since you were still a trembling mess over the counter.

"Alright Kiddo, c'mon. Time for bed." Toji said as he sauntered off into the living room as if he didn't just rearrange your guts. He put Megumi to bed that night, and he cleaned up the living room for you, allowing for you to recover in his bed for round two. He was much more of a gentleman for round two.

*** *** ***

"Hey... I know I ain't been to see you in a while. I'm sorry." Toji said as he sat down on the grassy ground. "I was letting life pass me by for too damn long." He said as he took a wet washcloth and began to wash up his late wife's gravestone. "I'm doing better now, so don't worry about me."

"Megumi's growing like a weed. I'm sorry I didn't bring him to see you... I just don't know how to explain it to him." Toji's voice was full of guilt as he dragged the wet washcloth against the stone. "He's a good kid though. He looks just like you, damn bastard." He softly laughed, knowing his wife would've struck him over the side of the head for calling Megumi a damn bastard.

"Listen... I met a girl." He leaned his head over the gravestone. It had been close to three months since you and Toji started sleeping together. There wasn't a formal label to your relationship, but it didn't feel necessary. You two both knew you were sleeping exclusively with each other. "I think you'd like her, or maybe you wouldn't since she's fucking your husband. But either way... I-" He choked up a bit as he held onto the cold stone. "I feel so fucking guilty... I know you're not coming home anytime soon, but I just... I need your blessing. If you can somehow hear me, please... I never asked you for anything until I asked you to marry me. Now, I'm asking... please somehow show me you approve of this."

"She's good for me... She takes good care of Megumi. He's so damn attached to her somedays." Toji softly laughed as he remembered how a few nights ago Megumi crawled into bed with you and him because he had a nightmare. Instead of taking to Toji like he normally does, he crawled into your arms. Toji had never felt so damn proud and slighted at the same time.

"I should get going. Give me a sign though.. Something that tells me you approve." He finished his visit with his wife, and he went home.

*** *** ***

That night at dinner, Megumi sped into the kitchen with an action figure in his hand. He was pretending to be Batman. "Gumi, I've told you three times. Stop running." You said as you gave the small child a look. Toji smirked as he knew that look good and well. It was the look a mom gave as a warning. Megumi was on his last warning.

"I'm sorry, mama." Megumi apologized, causing for both you and Toji to freeze right in your tracks. Megumi had never called you mama before. He always said your name.

Your heart swelled in your chest. It was a feeling of affection and guilt. "Oh no... baby.." You said softly as you took his hand. You lead him into the living room, and you crouched down, showing him a picture of his mom to him. "That's mama." You gently corrected him.

Toji watched the scene like a hawk from the dinner table. His heart was pounding in his chest. He had never been shy about telling Megumi who his mom was, but he hadn't exactly been forthcoming about how his mom passed away when he was a small baby.

Megumi pointed at the picture. "Mama." He said quietly. You nodded and patted his head.

"That's right." You praised affectionately. He then turned his attention to you. and he poked your chest with his tiny finger.

"Mama." He said, pointing at you.

"No-"

"It's alright." Toji spoke up from his seat at the dinner table.

"I don't want him to be confused..." You replied as you slowly stood back up, looking at Toji.

"He doesn't sound confused to me." He retorted with a small grin. You turned your attention back to Megumi, and Toji looked up towards the ceiling. "Thank you." He muttered so quietly before kissing the necklace that hung around his neck. He had his wife's blessing. This proved it.

After finishing his dinner, Toji joined you two in the living room. You and Megumi were curled up on each side of his while watching that old X-Men cartoon. Suddenly, Megumi rose from the couch. You and Toji watched him with a hint of confusion.

"What is he doing?" You softly asked Toji as Megumi bent over, and he looked between his legs at both you and Toji.

"I have no fucking id-" He was about to respond, but then, it hit him. "Get up." He said as he stood up from the couch. He quickly grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet like a madman.

"What? What? Is something wrong?" You asked as you had never seen Toji move this fast. You quickly got up too.

"Nothing's wrong. Come on. We're going to the store." He grunted as he swooped Megumi into his arms.

You were confused and in denial when Toji bought a pregnancy test and made you take it. Now, both of you were waiting outside of the bathroom for the five minutes to be over. "This is crazy, Toji. I'm not pregnant."

"It's an old wives' tale. When babies do that, it's supposed to mean their looking for their sibling." Toji said with a nonchalant shrug as if what he said was matter-of-fact. "My mother told me that's how she knew she was pregnant with me."

The timer went off on his phone, and both of you fought to get into the bathroom first. He eventually overpowered you and snatched the pregnancy test off the counter quickly. "Oh." He said quietly. The room went still.

Suddenly, your heart was racing. "What is it? Is it negative?" You asked a hint of disappointment hit you. You didn't know why, but a small part of you hoped for it to be positive.

"Oh, you're fucking getting it tonight." Toji smirked as he turned the pregnancy test over. Two pink lines were clear as day on the test. You're pregnant.

Tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog @theuniversesnepobaby

[starkwlkr]

teenagers | hugh jackman

an: i love y’all thanks for supporting my delusions about a 55 year old man (are y’all tired of me posting hugh/logan fics yet?? lol)

Your seventeen year old daughter, Olivia, leaned her phone against the paper tower holder. You and Hugh were getting breakfast ready while Olivia did god knows what. You would see her film tiktoks and take selfies for her instagram often so you assumed she was doing that. You were proven right when music started playing from her phone.

“I think the apple’s rotten right to the core. . . “

You watched as Olivia danced to the song. You weren’t even sure what the dance was, but you found it fun. Hugh just stood there completely confused.

Olivia finished the dance the turned her phone to record yours and Hugh’s reaction. She obviously posted it to tiktok where marvel fans found it funny that you and Hugh didn’t know what was going on.

oliviaaajckmn: 1 million dollars and I’ll make mum and dad do the apple dance in their costumes

wandasmagic wolverine is so brat coded

peter3stan PLS MAKE THEM DO THE DANCE

gwenpool “thank you olivia jackman” we all say in unison

buckysarm MAKE THEM DO THE DANCE AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

Hugh was a family man, it was no secret. Something he always loved doing was bringing his kids to work. Your two boys practically grew up on the x-men and avengers set. When Olivia was on set, Hugh was basically her assistant.

“Dad, I want a smoothie!”

“Dad! You’re not holding the umbrella right!”

But that was baby Olivia. Teenage Olivia spent most of her time in Hugh’s trailer or annoying her father while he rested in his trailer.

“Liv, go annoy Ryan or Shawn. Let me take a quick nap.” Hugh mumbled. He was still in his wolverine costume using a jacket as a blanket.

“I just want to know why Thor was crying? And don’t say who’s Thor! I saw the footage old man!”

“Oh my god! Is that Loki?”

No, the god of mischief wasn’t on set of the new avengers movie. Olivia had named her puppy after her favorite marvel character. The internet found it funny that wolverine or your character wasn’t the favorite.

Olivia was currently paying you a visit on the new avengers movie. To her, it did feel weird seeing you behind the camera instead of in front, but at least you were still part of the new marvel phase.

Pedro Pascal, the new Mr. Fantastic, asked for permission to pet the miniature dachshund. Olivia nodded and smiled when Loki the dog immediately took a liking to the older man.

“This is so beautiful I think I might cry.” Olivia fake sobbed as Loki started exploring the avengers set, he almost tripped over several wires, but Olivia saved the pup from getting tangled. It reminded her of all the times she almost tripped on the camera wires when she was younger.

“Hey, mother,” Olivia greeted you with a kiss on the cheek. She wasn’t the only one giving you a kiss, Loki had jumped into yours arms ready to give you kisses. “Loki missed you too.”

“Only Loki?” You teased. “Or are you just here to get a picture with Pedro?”

“You know me so well, mom.”

[sweetteainthesummerx]

⋆·˚ ༘ * oh, my, my, my ⋆·˚ ༘ *

nhl masterlist !

pairings: quinn hughes x childhood friend!reader, jack hughes x platonic best friend!reader, quinn x artist!reader

warnings: angst and comfort, fluff

summary: you and quinn throughout the years, and how you fall in love <3

song: mary's song (oh my my my) by taylor swift

word count: 4.4 k

notes: I love lake quinn sm :)

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

our daddies used to joke about the two of us, growing up and falling in love, our mamas smiled, and rolled their eyes

"oh, she's so tiny!" ellen cooes, cradling the little bundle of pink, "and she has your eyes, birdie."

your mother smiles at the nickname her college friend had given her freshman year, when a bird had pooped on her head during a girl's night out.

it stuck (literally), and almost 10 years later, as her best friend holds her babygirl, she's reminded of everything they'd been through together.

"congrats, man. the first girl in the family!" jim slaps your dad on the shoulder, the two men smiling at their wives.

"oh, she's just precious." you yawn, and all of the adults are reduced to an awwing mess.

quinn toddles over, chubby toddler legs still unsure. he lands on his butt half a foot away from ellen, who lifts him up with the hand that wasn't holding you.

"look, quinny."

quinn reaches out a finger towards you, and jim is about to chide him when your tiny little fist locks around it. his wide eyes widen even more. you gurgle happily at him, and for the first time in a while, he goes completely still, enraptured by the baby in front of him.

"oh." your father whispers.

"well, that's your son-in-law now," jim laughs.

"hey, don't count out jack! they're closer in age, after all."

your mom rolls her eyes, as ellen snorts, "let's not pre-write our kid's futures before they're five, please."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

i was seven and you were nine, i looked at you like the stars that shine

"y'know, birdie," ellen starts, "the boys might be right."

"no, they cannot eat four pb and j's and then go to the carnival-"

"no, not the little ones!", ellen laughs, "our husbands. they might be right."

"oh, that? the whole son-in-law thing?" your mom grins, as she watches luke chase after you with a worm.

the two women are silent and thoughtful as you - screaming at the top of your lungs - duck behind quinn, who sternly tells off his little brother. your sticky hands lace with his, naturally, albeit a bit awkward the way only kids can be.

you absolutely adore quinn. he's your protector, the one you turn to more often than not. jack is your best friend, and you remind her of that often. luke is your baby brother, the one you coddle and fuss over.

and the boys adore you just as much; jack plays pirates with you all day, Luke follows you like a puppy, and quinn...

he's staked a claim on you that makes your mom laugh, but worry a little when your older and you inevitably find someone who isn't him.

it never occurred to her that he might be the one.

"oh my god." your mom says as your dad walks in with jim.

"ha! see? I know I put money on my son for good reason." jim says gleefully, and quickly pipes down at ellen's dirty look.

"jack is also your son, man." your dad shakes his head.

"seriously? you guys made bets on the future love lives of your prepubescent kids?"

"birdie, it's just a joke!"

he eats his words as quinn leads you through the door. you're in tears, a nasty scrape on your knee. he's got your hand cradled in his.

ellen and your mom fawn over it, how brave you were, but all you could remember is how quinn held your hand the whole time.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back when our world was one block wide, i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried

when you're ten, you almost have your first kiss.

you're going through a phase, really, when all you would wear were your overall jean shorts, a big t-shirt and your red converses. you have little pen drawings all over your shoes and shorts.

now, when you look at the photos from back then, you cringe a little at how lanky and young you look.

you're with the boys at one of the neighbouring lake houses, a couple of other girls and a few guys too.

everyone there lived on the same block, so it was odd that you hadn't all hung out together before.

quinn can tell you're uncomfortable around the other guys, who are loud and frankly very obnoxious. even his 12-year-old self can tell.

he tells you that you can all leave and go get ice cream near the boardwalk, but you refuse. you're 10 already, you can handle a few new strangers.

somehow, spin the bottle is brought up and you find yourself sitting cross-legged as one of the older girls - who's kind and much more grown than you - tellsdyou how to spin the bottle.

your hands shake and the backs of your knees are slick with sweat, but you spin anyways. you want to seem cool and older too.

you watch the root beer bottled patter as it turns, the ting, ting sound dissonant with your thumping heart.

it lands on quinn.

your quinn who knows all of the words to the spider man movies, who gives the last popsicle to you and lets you tuck your feet under his thighs when you get cold.

this is a disaster, you think, because you don't know how to kiss! are you supposed to use your tongue? you almost gag at the thought.

quinn can see your very apparent panic, and the only thing on his mind was to make it of away.

he wants to hold your hand, but when you turned nine you had decided that boys had cooties, so you refused to touch him or his brothers.

"...we don't have to," he offers, scratching his neck. one of the boys boo, and you flush.

you shook your head, "i want to."

he smiles, shy and boyish and your heart goes into overdrive.

his face matches yours in colour as he scoots forward awkwardly, cupping your face the way he'd seen his dad do to his mom.

as he leans forward, you burst into tears. if you kiss him, and he's disgusted by your kissing skills - or lack thereof - he wouldn't be your quinn anymore.

you run out embarrassed, leaving quinn's hand outstretched and the older girl from earlier confused and worried.

you think that you had ruined it all, but later that night when quinn offers to take you to get ice cream and lets you get two scoops, you know nothing can tear the two of you apart.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back to the creek beds we turned up, two A.M. riding in your truck and all I need is you next to me

the year quinn turned 16, he gets his boating and drivers license.

when the first real day of summer - he doesn't count the days until he sees you and the lake house again - starts and he finds you making eggs and bacon in the kitchen, he gives you an offer.

"hey, chickie." he tugs playfully at the string of your apron. jim had given you that nickname because of your mom's. chickie, like a baby bird. jack liked to call you chicklet, and Luke followed suit.

the adults think you've outgrown that name, and only call you chickie sporadically.

it's become special for you and quinn, sacred even,

"hi, quinny." you answer in the same tone, swatting him with the spatula in your hand.

"give me a piece of bacon and i'll take you out onto the water. i'll even let you drive a bit when we're far out." he murmurs as you turn the stove off.

"really?" you squeal, and he winces jokingly.

"yes, yes! finally!" you throw yourself at him, letting the older boy catch you around the waist. he grins into your hair, his cheek muscles unused by the seasons without you.

"okay, kid. pipe down. where's my bacon?" he grumbles, but he smiles when you turn around to fix him a whole plate.

you forget in all of your excitement that he doesn't even like bacon.

it's pathetic, really, but he missed you. he still does even though you're less than a foot away from him, salting your scrambled eggs.

he finishes his food faster than you do, and leaves to set up the boat with your promises that you would hurry.

he's excited; he hasn't seen you since christmas, and then, he had to share you with jack and luke and his parents too.

that year, you and jack had become decidedly closer, and quinn knows he has to establish that boat time was for you and him only.

so when jack and luke both follow you onto the boat, whooping and screaming, he's pissed.

and on top of that, he has to drive the boat while you and jack banter and threaten to shove each other off of the moving vessel.

it wasn't fair: you're his person. you guys did gas station runs together, you always looked at him with sad puppy eyes when you were cold.

he'd always grumbled and give you his sweatshirt when you refused to bring a jacket and ended up shivering. you always begged to braid his hair when the sun was at it's highest and there was nothing to do.

so yeah, excuse him if he was mad that your time together was interrupted by jack and luke of all people.

so when you walk up to him, hair messy and wearing nothing but your bathing suit and one of his old hockey jerseys, he tries his best to ignore you.

"quinny!" you exclaim, nudging his shoulder, and once more when he doesn't answer.

he glances quickly at you, but one look is enough to make his chest squeeze in that way that it started to do since last summer.

you had always been beautiful, but you were starting to be seriously gorgeous.

your hair is windblown, skin tanned and freckled with eyes bright from the sheer novelty of it being summer again.

you'd started to fill out more; the tiny bikinis you - and he - loved made something hot tug in his lower stomach.

tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow in the way that always makes him soften like butter, "I thought you were gonna let me drive!"

"ask jack to teach you," he snarks, and regrets it immediately at the hurt on your face.

his chest tightens, like someone has taken the hurt on your features and shoved it between his rib cage so he couldn't breathe.

the two of you don't talk for the rest of the day.

quinn feels like an asshole, and he really doesn't like how you refuse to sit in your normal spot next to him during movie night, instead opting to tuck yourself between the edge of the couch and luke.

and the salt on the wound was when you don't laugh at the stupid jokes he makes for you, especially.

his mom asks him what he had done when he goes to get more popcorn in the kitchen.

"what? why did you automatically assume I didn't something?" he asked, offended.

"because, that girl sticks to you like a magnet," ellen smooths his temple, "and because no one makes you smile and talk like she does. you've been silent all day."

the next night, he shows up at the door of your room in the lake house your two families shared.

he knocks, and pokes his head in, "chickie?

you're at your table, drawing again like you always were.

he keeps the little sketch of him you made last summer in his wallet, tucked under the picture of all of the hughes boys and you.

you ignore him, and he flops on your bed. the floral sheets your mom bought when you were 11 smells like you. he tries not to be creepy and inhale - at least too noticeably.

"gas station run?" he asks.

you finally spare him a glance, "quinny, it's past one o'clock, and it'll take at least 20 minuted to get there."

"please? I really want chips."

you sigh, ever the martyr, and agree. neither of you mention how the hughes stock up enough snacks to last at least 2 months the beginning of every summer.

the battle of who cracks first kept on, until finally, on the way back from the gas station, quinn sighs, "I'm sorry.

you frown, clearly not impressed, "I don't even know why you're sorry."

"god, this is embarrassing-"

"quintin, i swear-"

"i wanted the boat ride to be just us two!" he exclaims loudly.

there was a beat of silence, only the chirp of crickets that crept in the tall grass you could hear through the open windows of jim's truck.

the light on the radio shined, 1:59 AM.

"what?" you ask, a little confused and very much flustered.

"i missed you, chickie, and jack is always monopolizing your time! you're my person and-"

"are you jealous?"

"what?"

"oh my god, you are! you're jealous!"

"no!" he splutters, grateful that it's pitch black outside, because he can feel his ears heating up.

you laugh, tugging at one of his curls, as he grumbles something about not letting you eat any of his salt and vinegar chips.

"quinny?" you ask a little while later, when he's pulling back into the drive way, "y'know that you're my person too, right?"

you look soft and sleepy, under the light of the car, in one of his hoodies and sleep shorts.

he swears he turns into liquid in the drivers seat.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

well, i was sixteen when suddenly, i wasn't that little girl you used to see

"I wouldn't worry about that, chicklet." jack throws his arm around you, and you roll your eyes at the many girls starting to glare at you.

"I don't know what you're talking about." except you do.

there's a girl flirting with quinn, and she's pretty. she's got tattoos on her arms, and she's tall, almost tall at him.

you take a break from the self-deprecating comparison between yourself and her to admire quinn for one second.

he's gotten so tall and broad, all the signs of boyhood gone, except when he smiles that special smile for you. the one when his eyes get all squinty and he bares all of his pretty teeth.

your heart twists, because he hasn't smiled at you like that all summer.

you don't know what you did wrong. maybe he's outgrowing you. he'll be a college man next fall, and you're still in high school.

he's got the whole world in front of him, and well, you couldn't blame him if he didn't want to settle for you.

you realize your feelings for him the beginning of the summer.

or you uncover them, because if you're honest, they've always been there.

and right now, you're wearing your heart on your sleeve, because he looks so handsome in a tight black t-shirt and shorts, a backwards cap on his curls.

his biceps look huge, and between the teenage hormones and the two shots in your system, you want to climb him like a tree.

the more romantic side of you wished you had your charcoal and parchment, so you can copy down his likeness for when your old and greying and you can't remember how he looks illuminated by the moon and bonfire.

"yeah, sure. you're clueless." jack snorts, and he makes his way to the drink table at the party you're at.

you pass by Luke, who's preoccupied by a girl way too old for him, and go sit closer to the fire.

you're mad.

you're mad because you've dressed up real cute, in a tiny black tube top and denim shorts.

you're mad because your hair is curled the way quinn likes it.

you know that for a fact because every time it looks like that, he comes up behind you to wind his fingers through a strand. it was a hassle, and he won't even look at you.

"what's a pretty girl like you doing alone?"

it's a boy with mussed, brown hair and a nice smile.

he's cute. peter, or pierre, he introduces himself. he reminds you a bit of the boyfriend you had first semester of sophomore year.

you've had boyfriends, and quinn has had his relationships, but summer was sacred.

that's why you felt ill when you flirted with him, not because quinn was a mere 20 feet away, starting to glance over and frown.

quinn has always been a jealous motherfucker; you'd give it 5 minutes before he comes over.

you try not to gloat when he comes over in 2.

"hey, chickie. time to go." he tells you, taking you cup and winding an arm around your waist.

you roll your eyes, pushing him off, "no, I'm good here,"

quinn crosses his arms and puffs out his chest, biceps flexing in front of you.

the boy smiles - you've already forgotten his name, something p - and shrugs at quinn.

he's mad now, you can tell, but you wrap you're fingers around the other boy's elbow to egg him on.

"oh, for- that's it. c'mon."

suddenly, your feet are swept out from under you, and you're thrown over his shoulder.

you frown, realizing that you're in the air.

"hey!" you protest weakly as people turn to look at you. quinn continues his trudge all the way to where he's parked his dad's truck and dumps you on the hood like you weigh nothing.

"what are you doing?" he asks, eyes dark, "that guy is no good-"

"no! what are you doing?" all of your frustration pools in your throat, and embarrassing tears are starting to prick at your eyes.

"you won't even look at me all summer, you're flirting with some girl and you get mad at me? you're being such-"

he shakes his head, looking as exasperated as you feel.

"do you know how hard it is-" he breathes out shakily, "how difficult it is to control myself around you?"

"what?" you ask, heart beating in your ears, "what?"

"i have been in love with you since i was 12, chickie." his tone is begging, and so are his eyes.

he looks pained, and you want to relieve it so, so badly. but he still won't touch you. he's hovering away from you, like he has for the past month.

"i love you, and you see me nothing more than a brother, like how you see jack. and it hurts, here," he rubs the heel of his palm between his ribs, "to know that you'll never want me the same way."

"quinn-"

"no, let me talk. I've spent the past 6 years pining after you. I've tried to move on, but all...nothing compares to you. I want you so bad, chickie, but..." he turns from you, head in his hands.

now, if you weren't like 3 beers and 2 shots deep, you would realize that he can't really go anywhere because you're quite literally on the top of his car.

but drunk you is clearly a dumbass, because you think he's trying to leave. so you tell him what's actually on your mind.

"i love you!" you blurt out.

he turns slowly, "what?"

"i love you too. i thought you didn't want me because you're leaving for college, but i want you so bad, please-"

the next thing you know, he's between your legs, so warm and solid, pulling you in by your cheek like during that spin the bottle game 6 years ago.

you let him kiss you for real this time, you let him push up your shorts to feel more of your skin, you let him lick into your mouth.

he pulls away, and you whine, tugging him in again.

he laughs, which makes you laugh in turn, and you slide down the hood as you giggle. he catches you, because he always does.

"i love you." you tell him, and he flushes, nuzzling into your neck.

"say it again," he demands, just because he can.

"i love you, my quinny." you coo, and he wants to crawl into your skin and settle there forever.

"i love you too, chickie."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

oh, my, my, my

"told you so." Jim tells the rest of the parents.

the four of them - the weirdos - are on the second floor, leaning on the bannister as you make breakfast with quinn.

well, you make breakfast and he's distracting you.

he's got his arms wrapped around your shoulders from the back, and the two of you waddle like a pair of penguins around the kitchen gathering ingredients for pancakes.

you're giggling, and he's got a half-smile on his face.

you look so happy together than ellen and your mom are ignoring jim's gloating.

they are even kind enough to ignore the exchange of money between the two men, after all, your dad had bet on jack and lost.

"i can't wait for their wedding."

"hold on, now!"

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

a few years had gone and come around, we were sitting at our favorite spot in town and you looked at me, got down on one knee

you're on Quinn's lap, content and warm. the two of you had gotten up to watch the sunrise, first day of the summer at the lake house.

it's nice to have everyone in one place again, the two of you coming from vancouver, the boys from new jersey.

the past couple of years had been hard; a year or two long distance, until you went to study architecture at UBC after quinn had been drafted.

this year, 24 and 22, you finally get some rest and the promise of settling down more.

quinn's captain, and you have a good job that lets you work remote and do what you love.

and more importantly, the two of you are always together.

"babe?" quinn asks, running a hand down your arms, "c'mon, let's go to the dock?"

you don't protest, just happy to be at your childhood lake house.

he leads you there, like he always does.

"pretty." you stare out at the water, orange and pink sky meeting in the still horizon.

"yeah." quinn gives you a smile, rare for anyone else.

but he has always smiled for you, and you greedily hoard them in your memories.

"got something to show you," he pulls his wallet out, the two pictures in the clear flaps catch your eye.

one is a polaroid of you and your boys. quinn is 15, jack is 14, you're 13 and luke is 11. all of you are lanky and awkward, wrapped around each other and grinning ear to ear.

the other is also a polaroid, taken by ellen a year or two ago, when all of your parents came to visit your Vancouver apartment.

quinn's arm is around your shoulders and you're clinging to his side, one hand curled around his waist and the other on his chest. you're smiling at the camera, and quinn is smiling at you.

"cute," you tell him, but he digs a finger into the little pocket.

"fuck," he swears when whatever he's looking for doesn't come out.

"here, let me," you offer. you retrieve a piece of thick parchment with your smaller hands.

it's a sketch of quinn you did when you were in your early teens.

it's not great, you have to admit. the lines aren't smooth like how you sketch now, but the ink and paper is in pristine condition.

"quinn...you kept this?" you ask softly, oddly emotional.

when you look at him, he has a weird look on his face. he scratches his neck.

you stare at each other for a moment, the familiarity of your love almost stifling in the cool morning air.

and then he drops down on one knee.

you start crying, immediately.

that sets him off, and the two of you are blubbering as he tries to get through the speech he wrote in his notes 7 months ago after he got the ring and you were in the shower.

he tells you he loves you, how he's never going to leave you, that you're going to build a life together, just like how you've done everything together since you were kids.

you believe him, because your quinn is nothing if not earnest and steady.

you let him slip the simple ring onto your finger, and he lifts you up into strong arms to kiss you.

you're so deliriously happy that your teeth clash with his in a smiling kiss.

your families cheers from the porch, and you laugh, watery and heart full.

jack runs up first, swinging you around and clapping his hand down on quinn's shoulder.

Luke kisses your cheek and hugs his older brother, as ellen and your mom hug you together.

jim wraps his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead, "thanks for helping me win the bet, chickie." you chuckle, reaching for your dad next.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle, our whole town came and our mamas cried, you said I do and I did too

the wedding takes place a year later, in a small winery near the house, because ellen and your mom refused to let you have the wedding on the dock.

this was your compromise, because it's a small affair.

your dad walks you down the aisle to quinn. you're smiling, like there's a hanger in your mouth because you're just so happy.

he cries when he sees you, and so do the other hughes boys.

you hear your mom and ellen, tears meeting shaky smiles on their faces.

your own college friend, your birdie, fixes your veil and holds your bouquet.

sweet promises are exchanged in your vows, and when you have your first kiss as mr. and mrs. hughes, all of your loved ones cheer.

quinn sweeps you off your feet and bridal carries you to a change room so you can switch into your reception dress.

he sees you later as jack, who volunteered to be the mc, announces you guys as mr. and mrs. hughes.

quinn's eyes are hot and dark as he sees your smooth skin under white lace, and whispers something into the shell of your ear that makes you pink.

you dance together, with his brothers and his dad, with your own too.

but the last dance is saved for the two of you.

"i can't wait to grow old with you, chickie." he whispers romantically.

"you'd make such a cute old man," you tell him, and he rolls his eyes.

you laugh, and so does he.

forever sounds real good to you.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Little Sister Version)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @redbird-tf

Synopsis: you have nightmares of dying like Mary, and you start to get really clingy with Dean.

It started out in a subtle way. Your first nightmare had been vague, and though it had jarred you, it wasn’t enough to curb your day-to-day activities…much.

“I’m going for a supply run.” Dean’s words had you looking up from the homework you’d been working on. “We’re out of beer…and food.”

“I’ll come.” You were on your feet before the words even left your mouth.

“It’s just a quick run,” Dean argued. “Don’t you have homework?”

“It can wait,” you insisted, already on your way to the Impala. “Let’s go!”

Of course it would be Dean—it had always been Dean. Sure, he had his anger issues and his bad moments. He drank too much and he isolated himself when he was upset. But he always came back; when Sam was at Stanford, when dad disappeared, it was always you and Dean.

So when you started having nightmares about burning on the ceiling, Dean was who you turned to.

Scary things shouldn’t phase you anymore, not after all you’d seen. But this was different. Your whole life you’d heard “what happened to mom.” Never any specifics—it was always, “the demon killed mom,” or “what the demon did to Mary.” Nobody ever gave you any details; they always said you didn’t need to know.

So when you snuck into Dean’s room in the bunker and stole dad’s journal, you were in for a surprise.

The pages you’d read had been stuck together—it didn’t look like anyone had read them—and it took you a moment to peel them apart.

I went to visit a shrink today—I thought he might be a vampire. I went in undercover, booked myself an appointment. I figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t a monster, but I didn’t leave. It sounds stupid, but I actually talked to him. Told him about Mary. Well, as much as I could tell, which is more than I’ve told anyone. Point is, he told me to write down what happened to her. Every detail I could remember. I don’t like thinking about her…but maybe he was right. Little Sammy asked about Mary just the other day, and I yelled at him. I still feel bad…it’s not his fault, he’s just a kid. Maybe this is the only way I’ll be able to talk about her, but maybe that’ll be enough to keep me from going off on the kids. So here goes…

And John had laid out every gory detail of that night, and you’d read the whole thing. You’d always thought it would be better knowing; that it would somehow bring you some extra closure to know how your mother’s final moments went. You were wrong.

And so came the nightmares. The first one was fuzzy and indistinct; a fire, the sound of screaming. But it was enough to have you going with Dean whenever he left the bunker.

The second one was more vivid. It was also when you realized that it wasn’t your mother you were dreaming about—it was you.

It was so real—you felt the demon’s powers slashing open your stomach, you felt your body lifting off the floor…

But the worst part was the heat. It stung your eyes and sizzled against your blood and seared your skin. You tried to scream, but the smoke choked you and stopped your voice. You struggled to inhale, coughing on the smoke and crying at the pain that lit up every nerve ending.

The bright light of the fire left first, then slowly afterwards the pain. But you were still choking and gasping for breath when you sat up in your bed.

“Dean,” you whimpered, the lone word echoing through your empty room. You weren’t quite used to the bunker yet—you were so used to the motels, where your brothers were right next to you at all times. Most of the time it was annoying, but right now…

You threw your covers off you, finally getting a hold of your runaway breathing as you padded barefoot towards your door. You couldn’t stay in this room—it was this room that you’d dreamt of, this ceiling that you’d burned on.

You flung your door open and started down the hall, but you only got halfway to Dean’s room before you stopped. You couldn’t go to him like this, a tear-streaked mess in the middle of the night; he would know something was wrong, and then you’d have to talk about it.

You couldn’t talk about it.

A bang from the kitchen stole your attention and your breath, your mind wandering towards images of a yellow-eyed intruder. You tip-toed to the kitchen, peaking around the corner and breathing easily when you saw Dean rummaging in the fridge for a beer.

You slipped into the kitchen, heading straight for Dean.

“You’re up early,” he greeted, stiffening in surprise when you wrapped your arms around him. “Hey, something wrong?”

“No,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Good morning,” you added lamely as you pulled away, as if the greeting would explain away the hug.

“Yeah, mornin.” Dean shrugged, choosing to ignore your strange behavior. “Couldn’t sleep? It’s only 5.”

It was later than you’d thought.

“Not really,” you said. “Can we make breakfast?” You weren’t hungry, but you’d take any excuse to keep Dean close.

“Only if you get the bacon,” Dean said with a grin.

“I think we’re out,” you answered.

“Unacceptable,” Dean decided. “You start on the pancakes, I’ll make a run.”

“Wait! Um…” you wracked your brain for an excuse. “Um, the pancakes can wait, I’ll go with you.”

Dean squinted ever so slightly as he stared you down—that was twice in a week that you wanted to go with him to the store without a good reason.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked.

“Yeah, just…I want some fresh air.”

“Alright.” You both knew he didn’t believe you, but neither of you brought it up again.

You felt pathetic as you trailed behind Dean, but the idea of sitting around the empty bunker alone until he got back or Sam woke up…

You just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own home, without Dean around.

You sat just a little closer to Dean than you normally would once you got into the Impala, sitting towards the middle of the seat even though the right side was empty. You felt Dean watching you from the corner of his eye, but to your relief he didn’t say anything.

…

“Ok, so how many pounds do we want?” You held a brand of bacon in each hand, eyeing them both. When Dean didn’t respond to your question, you turned around to find the cart there, but no Dean. “Dean?” You glanced up and down the aisle, but he wasn’t in sight. You threw both bacon packages into the cart and ran down the aisle, going down the row and looking frantically down every aisle you passed. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

You rubbed a hand against your chest when your next breath wouldn’t go through your tightened wind pipe. You tried to take deep breaths, but each one was less satisfying than the last. Once you reached the last aisle with still no Dean, you turned around and started back the way you came, hoping that he was down an aisle on the other side of the store.

“Dean? Dean!” You were calling his name, but you could barely even hear your winded and squeaky voice in the vast emptiness of the store, so you knew there was no way Dean could.

You passed the aisle with your cart and kept going, looking down the first, then the second…

“Dean!” You rushed forward, flinging yourself into Dean’s surprised embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Dean was stiff and alert, whipping his head around to see what had spooked you.

“I couldn’t find you,” you whimpered, tightening your arms around Dean’s midsection. “I-I didn’t know where you went. Don’t do that to me!”

“Ok, ok hey I’m sorry,” Dean soothed, pulling away and kneeling down, brushing your hair out of your face so he could see you. “C’mon, what’s going on with you? What’s got you so spooked?”

You didn’t answer—you just launched yourself forwards and wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, burrowing your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held you closely, rubbing your back. “Ok I’m right here kiddo. Let’s get out of here, ok? Let’s go home.”

…

You held Dean’s hand in vice grip on the way out to the car, but he didn’t comment on it. He waited until you were safely bundled into the Impala to speak again.

“Kid, you need to tell me what’s going on here.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean glanced at you, but he didn’t speak again.

…

You were feeling lucky for most of the day—Sam and Dean spent the morning going through books in the library, so you were able to do your homework right next to Dean without warranting worry or attention.

“Check this out.” Sam’s words to Dean had you looking up curiously while Sam turned his computer around. “Looks like a case in town.”

Your heart dropped to your toes—you were too young to hunt, so a hunt in town meant that you sat in the bunker while the boys were out.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking about the case before they got ready to head out. Dean was throwing guns in a bag in his room when you went to find him.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Dean promised. “But if we find the thing that’s killing these people, it might not be until late, so don’t wait up ok?”

“Can’t I come?” Your tug on Dean’s sleeve stopped his movements.

“You know you can’t,” he said. “What’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing, because I know something’s wrong.”

“I just don’t want you to go,” you said. “Please De? Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked.

You shook your head.

“Then I have no choice.” Dean sighed. “People are dying, and you can’t come. I have to go.” Dean zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Dean—“ you reached out for your big brother, but in one stride he was out of your reach, then to the door, then he was gone.

…

You were trying to read the same page over and over, but the words were swimming around the page, blurred by the tears in your eyes and the shaking in your hands that had the pages fluttering. You looked up for the millionth time, a deep pit in your stomach convincing you each time that the yellow eyes demon would be standing in your doorway, waiting to kill you.

You dropped the book on your desk with a thud, finally giving up on homework—you wouldn’t get anything done until Dean was home, you just couldn’t focus.

You picked up your headphones and slipped them over your head, but you found that not being able to hear your surroundings made your anxiety even worse, and the soothing notes of your favorite song did nothing to help for once. You tried turning on the tv, but you found that you couldn’t look away from the door for more than a few seconds before you started to get scared again.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore—you closed your room door, your bathroom, and even your closet; open doors just had your imagination running away with images of yellow eyes coming to kill you.

You burrowed yourself under the covers and tried to force yourself to sleep. Hour after hour you convinced yourself that you’d just never be able to sleep, but you didn’t have anything else to do but keep trying, so you didn’t move.

You were still laying there when the door opened.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean greeted. You smiled at him, and he smiled back for a second before the smile faded. “Me and Sammy have another case—we’re gonna be gone a while, ok?”

“No, wait!” You tried to get up to stop Dean, but you couldn’t move. “Dean, don’t go! Dean don’t leave!”

He was already out the door, and in his place stood Azazel, pale yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Dean!” You screamed, but it was too late; your pajamas were already soaked in blood coming from a painful gash across your stomach. You whimpered, finally able to move as you wrapped your arms around the wound as if you could protect yourself. You couldn’t.

You were sobbing as your body lifted off the ground, your stomach lurching as you went from wall to ceiling. There was no warning spark, or small flame—you were just suddenly and completely engulfed in flames, your hair burning and your skin scorched. You were still screaming when Dean came running back into the room.

“Dean,” you whimpered. “Dean no!”

Yellow eyes had a knife in his hand, and he turned it on your big brother in an instant. As the fire burned around you, you watched as Dean got stabbed again and again and again…

You woke up screaming. The fire was gone, and so was the pain, but you couldn’t even tell. Your eyes couldn’t take in a single detail of the room—they were blurry and unfocused from sleep. Your brain couldn’t decipher what parts of your dream were real and what weren’t. You sobbed out short and shaky breaths, and your cries were just starting to fade into whimpers when you heard it; the loud thunk of the bunker door closing.

Your fears and your crying returned full force, and you were gasping for breath as you felt around for any kind of weapon.

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming he’s coming…

It was like all you could see was Azazel as you heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. You wanted to do what Dean always did—push his fear down, throw away his emotions, and just fight—but you couldn’t. You couldn’t catch your breath, you couldn’t stop sobbing, and you couldn’t find your gun.

When your door handle started to turn, you thought you were going to pass out. Your already-unsatisfying breath caught in your throat, and with the lack of breath came black spots at the edges of your vision.

You forced a single deep breath in and out—you couldn’t be unconscious when the demon came to kill you, you couldn’t be that helpless. You had to fight, even though you would lose.

The door swung open, and you were still gasping for breath and grappling for any kind of weapon when—

When Dean walked in.

“Dean!” You were off the bed and in your brother’s arms before he had a chance to speak.

“Hey, hey what’s going on?” Dean’s arms tightened around you when he heard you sobbing and felt you shaking. “Baby what happened?”

“Don’t leave me,” you begged between sobs. “Don’t leave me De, don’t leave me.”

“Ok, ok I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promised. “N/N I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?” Sam walked into the room, staring at his siblings with concern.

“I…I think we’re ok here,” Dean decided, carrying you to your bed. “You should go bandage that cut, I’ve got her.” When Sam hesitated, Dean assured him, “I’ve got her Sam.”

Sam finally left, and Dean climbed up on your bed, settling you into his lap when you wouldn’t let your vice grip around his neck go.

“I need you to talk to me,” Dean pleaded. “I need to know what’s going on, what this is.”

“There was fire,” you whimpered, your tears soaking Dean’s shirt. “There was fire, and it burned everywhere, and I was bleeding and I was on the ceiling, and-and yellow eyes stabbed you, and—“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Dean started to rock you back and forth subconsciously. “Hey, how do you know about all that stuff.”

“I’m sorry.” You were sobbing again. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I read his journal and he wrote down everything and I thought it would help but…but now I can’t stop dreaming about it. I’m so—I’m so scared, De. All the time.”

“Shh, shh you’re ok,” Dean soothed, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’m right here. Listen,” Dean tried to pull away so he could look at you, but you just tightened your grip. “Ok. I used to have nightmares about mom, too. All the time. I still get them sometimes.”

“You do?” You sniffled. “What do you do about them?”

“Well now it’s easier, because we killed yellow eyes. He’s gone, N/N. Nobody’s ever gonna die like mom did again, especially not you. You know that, right?”

“The dreams feel so real,” you answered.

“I know, I know they do. But they’re not. And I’m gonna help you through this, but kiddo, I can’t be around all the time, you know that. I’ve got a job to do.”

“O—ok,” you sniffled. “I can do better.”

“But I’m still gonna be here when you need me. I promise.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you right now.”

Dean’s arms squeezed impossibly tighter around you.

“Then I’m here for you.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[amorisxx]

Snickerdoodle pt. iv

pairing: Art Donaldson x reader, Patrick Zweig x reader, Tashi Duncan x reader summary: Art comes out of retirement to test out his coaching skills. Your relationship with him continues to spiral. warnings: smut 18+, cheating, divorce, rough sex, piv, marijuana use, slight angst, hastily proofread word count: 7.7K divider by @cafekitsune <3 prev part | next part

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Kaleb decides he wants to play tennis. Or that he wants to “get serious” about it. He’d done tennis camp every summer along with soccer camp, and he’d enjoyed it enough. But for some reason, he’s determined to be a tennis player now. You blame it on how much time he’s been spending around the Donaldson’s. Between the various play dates and carpooling, he and Lily have been attached at the hip.

The two of you are enjoying a quiet evening  on a weeknight when he brings it up. 

“Lily doesn’t really like tennis,” he tells you in between bites of mashed potatoes. 

“Well that’s okay. Sometimes our friends end up having different hobbies,” you say.

“Hm,” he puts his finger to his chin, “kinda like you and Mr. Art?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well he’s like the greatest tennis player ever,” he says, spreading his arms out wide. “But you’re terrible at tennis. And you guys are friends right?”

His assertion has you placing your fork down. “Okay, first of all, I’m not terrible at tennis. Secondly, it’s really not fair to compare me to a professional tennis player, K, he’s had years of practice.” Then, you reluctantly think of the last thing he said. About the two of you being friends. 

Images of Art kneeling above you in bed dance through your mind. You think of the last time you were with him. How he’d laid his cheek on your thigh while you threaded your fingers through his tufts of blonde hair. His gaze searing as he watched you in all your post-orgasmic bliss. Your chest was still heaving as you tried to recover.  

You clear your throat. 

“Yeah, um, I guess we are friends.” You avoid eye contact with Kaleb and pray he changes the subject. You don’t want to think about Art. 

Unfortunately, your son is too young to properly read the room. If he was, he’d see the way you’re clenching your fork in your fist. Or he would’ve realized by now that his mom is a harlot. Instead of calling you out on your immorality, he turns to you with express earnestness. “I wanna play tennis like Mr. Art,” he says definitively.

He then furrows his little eyebrows and asks you, “you think I can be as good as him one day?”

You smile, reach over to smooth your palm over his curls, and tug his ear. You say what every parent would. “I think you can do whatever you put your mind to, my little monkey.” 

He grins at you, dimple poking out.

After all, you’re almost certain this is just an eager phase prompted by Lily bringing Tashi to school for career day. Tashi mentioned to you that Kaleb was very eager to ask questions about her job. Apparently, he thought it was super cool that she “got to coach the best tennis players in the world.” You’re worried that before dinner is over he might ask you to put in a word with her about coaching him. 

Once you’ve finished eating, tucked Kaleb in, and tidied up the kitchen, you finally get to relax with a cup of lavender chamomile tea.

Before you settle into the refuge of your bed, you make a note to sign Kaleb up for club tennis. 

ᯓ

You’re at a gas station near Kaleb’s school when you realize your dumb credit card has a faulty chip. You grab your purse and lock the doors to your car, having been forced to go inside the store and pay for your gas the old fashioned way. 

The door shuts behind you with a ring of a bell. The unmistakable smell of fuel fills your nostrils as it mixes with stale coffee and the emblematic stench of small convenience stores. You grumble when you see there’s a short line. 

With a sigh, you take a detour down one of the narrow aisles to grab a pack of gum. You pick out a random pack of spearmint, but your inner child lingers on the yellow packaging of juicy fruit bubble gum sitting beside it. When you were little, your mom would’ve made you pick one or the other. Without a second thought, you pluck the yellow pack out from the shelf and head back towards the front. 

On your walk back, you glance out the windows, checking to make sure the pump you’re parked at is still number 5. 

The line is shorter now. There’s only two people. You think you recognize the dark head of the person standing at the counter. They’re digging through the back pocket of their jeans and pulling out a leather wallet when your cellphone dings. It’s an email notification from your boss. You read the subject header before dropping the phone back into your purse, hoping to avoid whatever stressor awaits you there for a couple more hours or so. When you look back up, you’re met with the face of the dark haired stranger. 

His eyes meet yours. Patrick Zweig sends you a mischievous smile of recognition as he saunters toward you. He snaps his fingers. “I know you.”

“Hi, Patrick,” you say through your tight smile. The last time you’d seen him, he tried to blackmail you into going out with him. If he wasn’t so attractive, you’d probably be repulsed by him. 

“Long time no see.” He pockets his package of Marlboros. “How you been?”

“Um just busy you know,” you hum. “You?” 

He nods. “Same, same.” He looks you over, smile growing wider when he meets your eyes after lingering on your cleavage. He doesn’t even attempt to be discreet. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes to the side.

Thankfully, the bald guy in front of you finishes up his transaction so you have an excuse to say “excuse me” to Patrick as you approach the register. You glance back when you hand your money to the bored cashier, catching one last glimpse of Patrick as he exits through the door. You nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling the tiniest hint of disappointment. 

You accept your change and two packs of gum and make your way back to your car. Not wanting to waste any more time at this point, you toss the plastic bag into the passenger seat and hurry to pump your gas.  

You’re leaning against the trunk while the fuel fills your tank when you hear a small “hey.” 

You’re startled as Patrick approaches you again. You look around suspiciously. “Um are you stalking me?” 

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “I was standing over there taking a smoke.” He points towards his beat up suv. You wonder why he doesn’t have a better car. You thought tennis players made money. “And I saw you. Didn’t get to say goodbye earlier.” 

You click your tongue. “Well, bye.” 

“Wait—I hope I didn’t rub you the wrong way last time.” He rubs his palm over the back of his neck. “I kind of have a fucked up sense of humor.” 

“It wasn’t the joke,” you supply. “It was more so you trying to blackmail me into going on a date with you.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I don’t know why that didn’t work.” The grin he gives you sends a shiver down your spine. 

This time, you smirk, your gaze tracing the length of his body, from his Nikes to the curly wisps of hair flying in the wind. The gas pump clicks, signifying that your tank is full. You don’t remove it right away because you’re busy letting Patrick type his number into your phone. You wish you could say you played hard to get, but that would be a lie of monumental magnitude. 

You don’t actually intend to call him, content to let his number go forgotten in your phone. After all, what type of woman would get involved with the best friend of the man she’s having an affair with? 

Later on, when you’re having a glass of wine, mommy duties complete for the night, you pause on his number as you tap through your phone. You inhale, take a sip from your glass, and quickly save his contact before swiping out of the app. You can blame it on your being slightly tipsy when you notice that he’s saved as “for a rainy day.” 

ᯓ

It turns out that the tennis thing isn’t just a phase. You don’t mind of course. You’d always support your kid in whatever he pursued. The only issue is that Art fucking Donaldson thought it would be a good idea to train little Kaleb. As if you needed more reasons to be around the man. 

You’d told him that you didn’t think it was necessary because your son was only eight years old. Surely, he wouldn’t need a retired professional tennis player to train him. His tennis lessons at the local club would certainly suffice. Plus, you imagined he had more important things to attend to than give private lessons to a third grader. 

On a random weeknight, you’d gone to pick Kaleb up from a play date with Lily, hoping to grab him and get back home before the rain got any worse. Art had greeted you at the door, placing a hand on the small of your back. 

He decided to bring up the topic again. Even Tashi, who was usually busy with training of her own, chimed in, claiming it would be a good opportunity for Art to find real meaning in tennis again. Whatever that meant. Patrick, who you had been avoiding thinking about, once again inserted himself into a conversation, pointing out how young he and Art were when they first started playing tennis. According to him, it was never too early to learn how to properly hit a ball with a racket. 

ᯓ

The thought of Art spending time with Kaleb through tennis is an endearing one if you’re being honest with yourself. But you know you would have an intense fight on your hands should Chris find out. 

Ever since Art had stepped in with your ex at the fall festival, he’d harbored an attitude toward him. He’d gone as far as complaining about all the time Kaleb spent at his house, accusing you of trying to turn your son against him. If it weren’t for the court mandated visits, you’d have simply told Chris to go to hell. But in an attempt to maintain peace for your son’s sake, you reassured him that Kaleb only spent so much time around Art because Lily was his best friend. 

You asked him if it was worth destroying his son’s friendship. He conceded for the time being, but you’re sure if he found out about any extra tennis lessons, he’d blow a gasket. 

Ironically, you had never been offered the freedom to express such possessiveness. You had to be content each and every time your son stayed at his father’s new house with his new fiancée that you barely knew anything about. You handle some occasions better than others. 

This time, though, when you watch Kaleb go through the front door of their luxurious home, Spider-Man backpack affixed on his back, your stomach churns. Chris’ fiancée smiles and waves to you with her left hand. Bitterly, you think it’s a miracle she can even lift it with the large diamond wrapped around her finger. She places her hand on your son’s shoulder, pulling him into their home, as if she wasn’t the one that helped wreck yours. 

Maybe it’s the fact that this past week would’ve been your anniversary, but your shoulders shake with sobs throughout the entire drive home. You sniffle as you think about Kaleb building a life with his soon to be step-mom. You hope she treats him right, but, ultimately, you wish he didn’t have to know her at all. 

It doesn’t help that you aren’t able to bury your sorrows in Art’s chest or on his dick. He’d already told you about the gala he’d be attending that weekend for the Donaldson Foundation. You haven’t seen him since last weekend, and you ache to call him, but the thought makes you feel nauseous when you think about the wretched irony of seeking comfort in a married man. In a decision that’s almost homogeneously pathetic, you sit in your lonely driveway and send a “hey” to ‘for a rainy day.’

ᯓ

It doesn’t take long for Patrick to offer to come over. You send him your location as you pop open a bottle of wine. 

You reach for a glass, your eagerness causing you to apply too much force as you slam the glass down. It breaks under the pressure of your haste, immediately cracking at the stem. The inconvenience is too much for you. You curse before bringing the entire bottle up to your mouth. You take a swig, red liquid spilling out of the corner of your mouth. With a gasp, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Pitifully, your vision starts to blur again as your eyes swell up with hot tears. You resort to sitting on the kitchen floor, taking the occasional drink, and wallowing in your despair. 

You’re propped against the cabinet, knees to your chest as you cradle the green tinted bottle of red wine like a toddler holding a stuffed animal, when you hear your doorbell ring. You stumble to your feet, dragging them as you move toward the door. When you swing the door open, Patrick is standing there with his hands in his pockets. He looks you over once, mumbling that you “look like shit” before stepping into your home as if he’d been there a thousand times. 

He lifts his eyebrows when he sees the neglected pieces of glass on your counter. He looks back at the bottle in your fist before groaning. “Please don’t tell me you’re an alcoholic.” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m just having a pretty shitty day.” 

“No shit,” he snorts. 

You send him a glare. “I don’t even know why I called you,” you say and rub your temples. 

“Because I’m obviously easy and you know it.” He smirks. 

It makes you laugh, your red, puffy eyes squinting back at him. 

Patrick eventually convinces you to smoke the joint he’d brought with him. You haven’t gotten high in years, and you find yourself mindlessly rambling about your life as you pass the joint back and forth to him. You’d stopped crying a while ago, your eyes now red because of the weed. 

You and Patrick are lounging on the floor of your living room. You’re dragging your fingers through the shag rug underneath you and leaning your head back on the sofa when you hear him laugh. He sounds like he’s far away, down through a tunnel, but when you turn your head, his face is right beside you. 

“What’s funny?” You grunt. 

He shakes his head. “S’nothing.” 

You frown and shove his bicep. “Tell me,” you say, scooting closer to him. “I hate feeling left out.” 

His smile falters for a second like he’s remembering something, but when you blink he’s sporting a melancholic grin. “It’s just—you kind of remind me a lot of Art.” His head falls to the side to really look at you. “I mean not like completely, and not really how he is now, but when you’re upset—it reminds me of when we were teenagers.” 

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not,” you say. It comes out as a whisper. Your faces are so close that you don’t want to startle him. 

“Hm.” His eyes flicker to your lips. “Not a good or bad thing. Just a thing.” 

“That’s why you like me?” You mumble teasingly. “Because I remind you of your boyfriend?” 

He smirks, lips so close to yours you feel his breath fan them. “Who said I liked you?” 

“You don’t have to.” You’re just the slightest movement away from kissing him. If you tilt your head just the tiniest bit—

He lets out an almost imperceptible moan when he finally presses his lips to yours. It’s so quiet, you think you might’ve imagined it. It all happens incredibly fast, but feels like slow motion. Your head is fuzzy and your body is tingling as Patrick grabs your waist, hoisting you onto his lap. It takes you a moment to build momentum, your sensory overload working against you.

When you’re finally able to match his energy, the kiss is searing. He’s sucking your lip into his mouth like you’re already his, hands roaming everywhere he can get them. When he bites your bottom lip, you suck in a breath, giving him room to thrust his tongue into your mouth. You mewl at the way your mouths seem to fit together like velcro. Your toes curl and you tighten your fists into his dark locks when you feel his hot tongue traveling down your throat, leaving white hot bites that feel like being branded. His teeth sting and your cunt throbs as you impulsively rut against his length. 

Patrick rubs his large palm over your ass before abruptly smacking it, making you release an embarrassingly airy moan. His teeth tug on your earlobe. “You like that?” 

You only nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Hmm?” He mumbles, continuing to lave over the skin behind your ear. His hand comes down on your ass again, harder this time. 

You let out a pathetic squeal and slam your hips down against him in search of some kind of friction to relieve the ache between your legs. “Oh god—please fuck me—“

His mouth meets yours again. You can barely kiss him properly, panting about needing him to fuck you right now. 

He really is easy, you think, but it’s not like you have room to talk.

ᯓ

The first time Patrick Zweig sinks his cock into you, you’re on your knees, face pressed against your rug. The slam of his hips threaten to take your breath away as tears cling to your eyelashes. He’s rough, possessively grabbing your flesh with no regard for potential damage. When he experimentally grips your hair in his hand, tugging your head back gently, you see stars behind your clamped eyelids.

Patrick nearly whimpers at the way it makes you arch your back into his thrusts with increasing intensity. He groans something about you being a slut and fists your hair with less restraint. Your walls clench around him when he wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you to his chest. 

He grunts into your ear. “I knew you liked it rough, could tell from the first time I saw you.” 

The tears have started to spill now. Whether it’s from the humiliation or the utter ecstasy, you aren’t sure. All you know is that you almost sob when Patrick drags his tongue alongside your face, collecting the salty tears.

ᯓ

He buries himself inside you for a second time no more than twenty minutes after you’ve both cum. You gasp and claw at his back as his body presses you into your couch cushions.

You have to admit that Patrick knows how to fuck. Knows how to read your body, tapping into just the right frequency to get you off. 

It’s obvious that you’ve been craving this type of treatment from the way you’re responding to him. But you’re sure that he must have a sexual sixth sense because in the midst of fucking you wildly, he grabs your ankle that’s dangling by his ear, turns his head, and plants a sweet kiss to the bone. It makes you melt into the sofa. 

He leans down to shove his tongue into your open mouth. Softly pats your cheek, relishing in your cock drunk state. 

“Does he fuck you like this?” He murmurs into your neck.

You don’t have to ask who he’s talking about. 

“Huh?” He prods. 

You choke down a moan. “Better. He—“ You cry out when you feel him start rubbing harsh circles into your clit. “He fucks me better.” 

He huffs out a laugh through his smile, but his hips slam down harder as if he’s determined to change your answer. In less than a minute, you’re biting down on his shoulder when you feel another orgasm rack through your body. 

ᯓ

You take a longer break this time. Stopping to pour yourself a real glass of wine. One with its stem intact. Patrick lazily inhales from a cigarette as he watches you, with hooded eyes, attempt to hold a throw blanket over your bare torso. In contrast, he nonchalantly spreads his thighs over your couch, body on full display. 

His eyes leisurely meet yours. They shine prettily in the dim lighting of your home. His dark lashes flutter on each drag of his cig and it makes the corner of your mouth curve up when you take a sip. The lamps have cast a cozy shade of amber over the room. It blankets Patrick’s skin in a golden aura reminiscent of something being baked in an oven. 

Patrick reminds you of the gingerbread man, you think. It makes you press the tips of your fingers to your lips to stifle a giggle. 

He tilts his head at your odd behavior, but he assumes the weed must still be affecting you. 

Once you’ve placed your glass on the coffee table, and he’s put out his cigarette, Patrick is pulling you by the ankle, tossing your blanket to the side and kissing his way down your abdomen. 

You yelp when he captures one of your hard nipples in his mouth but let him press his hot kisses into your skin nonetheless. 

You end up cumming for the third time that night with his head buried between your legs. 

ᯓ

Patrick leaves while you’re asleep. 

When you wake up around 3am to an empty house, you think it’s for the best. You check your phone. You have a missed call from “a.d.” and a text from Patrick that says “had fun” with a winking emoji. You don’t respond to either, instead, opting to pad your bare feet to the bathroom. You desperately need a shower.

In the morning, you tidy up your home from the events of the night before, cringing at what took place on the terracotta colored sofa.

When the buzzing in your head doesn’t stop after cleaning your entire living room from top to bottom, you find yourself in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies. 

You’re frantically kneading dough when the doorbell rings. You frown, not expecting company, but clean your hands as best you can as you make your way to open the door. Sometimes, your talkative neighbor, Mrs. Taylor, likes to come knocking on your door early in the mornings. 

You’re surprised to find that Art is standing on the other side with a latte and a bag containing a chocolate croissant. You assume it’s for you. He places his things down on the table by the door, the one that holds your catch all tray, and scoops you up into a hug. 

He groans into it, making you smile. “Hi,” you mumble into his chest. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” his voice comes out equally mumbled. “Missed you.” You can hear the grin in his tone. It makes your heart clench. 

You allow yourself to hold onto him, despite the ever present worry that you should be reining yourself in when it comes to him. He moves to let you go, grabbing your face in his palm and kissing the side of your head. You whine and lock your arms around his waist in protest. You inhale his scent, all warm and familiar. You’ve missed him. 

“Baby,” he laughs into your hair. You grunt, squeezing him tighter. “Okay, c’mere.” He pulls you into him, securely engulfing you in his arms. “I got you, I got you.” 

You eventually release him long enough to walk into your home. 

You’re relieved that you’d been overtaken by a cleaning spell this morning because you fear that Art might take one glance at your couch and figure out who had been here. That he’d smell him in the air. 

You’re afraid he might’ve detected it anyway when he freezes in the walkway separating your kitchen from the living room. You nibble on your lip as you try to search his body for any signs that he’s onto you. 

To your relief, Art is actually focused on the copious amounts of cookie dough you have on the counter of your kitchen island. He turns to you with the all knowing look of a father, his eyes creased with concern. “Oh no, what happened?” 

ᯓ

After a therapy session in which you decide to stop letting your ex influence your decisions from afar, you finally relent, allowing Art to begin practicing with Kaleb on their private tennis court. It seems like since you got involved with their family, that’s all you ever do, give in to everyone’s requests. In any other context, it would be disturbing, but the sight of Kaleb racing to the court with an oversized tennis bag fills you with joy. The bag threatens to pull him down, but his excitement keeps him upright as he makes a beeline for Art. 

You don’t know who’s more excited to see Art between the two of you. Your son’s tennis instructor waves at you from across the court. And you have to fight the rush that flows through you, threatening to cut off your oxygen, and give a simple wave in return. It makes you feel like a kid with a fervent crush. You could gag.

You remind yourself that you’re here for Kaleb. Not you.

You think that as long as you get to see him happy like that, you’d agree to anything. It’s a scary notion, but becoming a mom has made you aware of a lot of terrifying realities. 

ᯓ

It’s this maternal need to preserve your son’s happiness that leads you to another prolonged encounter with Tashi Duncan. She’d caught you when you were dropping him off for tennis lessons one day. Apparently, she had a free day. Lily was spending the day with her grandparents, and Patrick is, thankfully, nowhere to be found. You try to hide your relief when she tells you that. You don’t think you can face him right now. 

She insists you join her in their sunroom while the boys practice. You try to think of an excuse to turn her down, but you decide your karma from sleeping with her husband has built up too much to take the chance of tacking on more. So, when she offers to make you a cup of tea, you oblige and sink down into the fabric of a warm sofa.

When Tashi reappears, she sits down with a cup of steaming hot tea for the both of you. You thank her with a smile, letting your eyes trail over her figure. She looks ethereal. The sunlight pouring through the glass forms a halo of light around her, illuminating her like a Madonna painting. She has her hair pulled back into a low ponytail that causes her to have to tuck the loose strands behind her ear every now and then. The motion makes you take notice of her slim neck and the way her collarbones dip into her loose-fitted button down. Even dressed casually, she looks like a goddess. 

You feel your heart start to beat a little faster and reach to take a sip of your tea. You wonder how she knew that lavender chamomile was one of your favorites.

It’s only awkward for a moment because the two of you quickly fall into a conversation about what she’s missed now that Art has taken over attending the PTA meetings. That’s how you’d initially met her. She had actually been the one who you exchanged communication with about carpool and play dates. Art’s retirement allowed her to focus on tennis and other aspects of raising Lily that she preferred. You giggle when she admits that she never really liked those meetings anyway. You don’t tell her that you always had that inkling. 

When you mention that Cynthia is still advertising her knitting business at every single meeting, she sucks in a laugh before leaning toward you. She presses her lips together, holding in her giggle. “Guess what?”

You squint at her, your expression already anticipating a joke. “What?” You all but sputter out. 

“I’m probably responsible for like half the sales on her Etsy shop.” She says like she’s admitting to something top secret. It’s a lot like the expression Lily takes on when her and Kaleb are playing “secret agent.”

“Girl, what?” You didn’t think she’d be a fan of crocheted animal figures. 

“I ordered one for my mom for Mother’s Day,” she explains. “She fell in love with the thing I swear, thought it looked just like her little Yorkie, next thing you know she’s asking for the link to share with all her friends.” 

You’re snickering into your mug imagining Tashi unintentionally being Cynthia’s best saleswoman.

She smiles at you. “I’m serious. Apparently, amigurumi is the new thing. It’s gonna be flying off the shelves. That’s why I had to go ahead and put in my order.”

“Of course you know the official term.” You toss your head back. “What’s yours look like?” 

“It’s a little tabby cat,” she smiles wistfully. “Like the one I had growing up. Her name was Aphrodite.” 

It’s a fitting name.

You’re biting back a grin as you take a sip from your tea. You sigh at the taste. “How’d you know what type of tea I liked?” You ask absentmindedly. 

“Art mentioned it to me.” 

You freeze. “Art?” 

“Yeah he says you like to make it before bed. Now, he’s hooked on it.” 

All the blood in your body rushes to your head. You feel that unwelcome yet proverbial sinking in your gut. You think you might start projectile vomiting.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t respond. It’s hard to speak when you feel like you’re dangling upside down on a roller coaster.

“Wait… you didn’t think I knew did you?”

For some unintelligent reason, you decide to play stupid. Usually, in times of danger, humans resort to fight, flight, or freeze. You choose fucking idiot. “Knew what?”

“That you’re fucking my husband.” Tashi says quite unceremoniously.

“What—what do you mean?” You squeak out.

“Don’t.” She laughs. “I’ve known the whole time.” 

“How?” Your voice is shrinking smaller and smaller to your ears. The sound of Tashi’s voice, her pert laughter, drowning it out.

“Art tells me everything.”

“And you’re okay with it?” You attempt to ask though you can barely hear it.

You know your question reaches her ears because she shakes her head and tells you, “I suggested it.” 

Your eyes go wide. Her divulgence seems to propel you forward on your metaphorical roller coaster. In a snap, it brings you out of your stupor.

“I told Art that he should fuck you.” She says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s as simple as telling him to pick up some carry out on the way home. 

You’re confused, and your head is starting to hurt from the whiplash, and you wish this ride would end already. “I’m—I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.”

“Okay, well, Art’s been attracted to you since the day he met you,” she says plainly. “But he’d never actually do anything about it because that’s just who he is. He needed that push—“

“That push?”

She nods. “He needed to know he could do it and everything would be fine. He’s still figuring out how to be open to stuff like this.” She explains, gestures vaguely in the air. “He’d never break up what seemed like a happy marriage, but when it was clear that your marriage was far from happy…well he started to warm up to the idea.”

“What do you mean far from happy?” The shock has you feeling unreasonably defensive.

“Clearly something was off. You never seemed happy with him. You’ve said it yourself that he was a dick.”

“Um—okay, well, I’d say something has to be off if you’re coaching your husband into sleeping with unsuspecting women.” You shoot back. Your gaze is sharp and accusatory.

She lets her eyes fall down to her lap, picking at little buds of lint being exposed by the sun’s glow. “You’re right, something was off between us,” she says like it’s something in the past. Like maybe they’re good now, but at one time they weren’t. “But Art knows how I feel about him.” Then, her gaze returns to you. “Something tells me your husband either didn’t know or didn’t care.”

Her comment strikes a nerve. Chris did know something was off, and she was right, he didn’t care. He made you feel like needing more from him made you selfish. As if the reminder of the vows he made to you was an affront to him. He knew you were unhappy. That you felt ignored. But he didn’t care. When you’d served him the divorce papers, you naively thought that he’d realize what he might lose, that he might beg for your forgiveness, promise to be better. Instead, you watched him sign the document in the same way he’d signed receipts for dinner before closing the tab and tucking the pen inside. 

You think you envy her. Because she has a husband that actually doesn’t want to leave her. 

“Hey.” She grabs your attention. Her voice softens when she sees your glassy eyes peering back at her. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to offer an explanation.” 

You work to swallow down the onslaught of emotions threatening to rise up like bile. You release a fractured noise from your throat, letting the revelation fully soak in. “So you really knew this whole time then? Or rather you orchestrated it?” 

“Okay, that’s a little extreme,” she says. “When we found out you were getting divorced, I mentioned to Art that he should pursue you. That’s all.” She shrugs. “I never knew if he’d actually do it or when he’d do it. All I know is that the first night he came home smelling like you, he fucked me like he did when I first agreed to be his tennis coach.” 

“Then, he was constantly meeting up with you or staying to talk after PTA meetings,” her fingers curl to form quotations around the word, talk. “But I knew what was up.” She bites her lip. “It was honestly kind of hot.” 

You frown. The thought of him sleeping with her immediately after being with you has your stomach in knots. The worst part is that you can’t stop wondering if he’d showered first. If he’d cleaned himself up or if he’d went straight to her, buried himself inside her, cock still sticky with your fluids. In a way, it’s like you had also been inside her. If you think about it long enough, you can imagine what it must feel like. So, you don’t think about it. Instead, you fix your gaze on the golden pothos plant sitting on top a table to your right. The tapping of your nail against the ceramic mug fills the silence. 

She gives you a questioning look. 

Ignoring the implications of what she just told you, you settle for the anger you’re feeling instead of dwelling on any confusing arousal. “Do you not realize how fucked up this is, Tashi?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah! It’s fucked!” You throw your hands up. “I mean I’ve been running around feeling guilty, thinking I was a fucking homewrecker while the two of you get off on a cheating kink!”

She can tell you have more to say, so she leans back and lets you go on.

“I mean how could you do that? I was fucking depressed.”

She snorts. “Not so depressed that it ruined your libido. You two have been going at it like rabbits.” Her smirk makes your cheeks burn. 

You place your mug down onto the table. “Wow. You know what?” You’re on the edge of the couch now, body rigid. “You and Art can go fuck yourselves! This is seriously messed up.”

She raises her eyebrows. “As messed up as you fucking another woman’s husband?” 

Her words drip with mirth, and it pisses you off that the fiery look in her eyes is poking at a budding desire in your belly. “This is ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself. You’d rather focus all your energy on being outraged than interrogate why this is kind of turning you on. You’re about to stand up to leave when she places a hand on your arm.

“Are you seriously mad right now?” She asks you. 

An incredulous look takes over your face. “What do you think?” You spit out.

“Well, would you have preferred I not know?” She asks as if you’re the crazy one here.

“I—“ you squeeze your eyes shut, and try to gather your thoughts. “Obviously not, Tashi.” You glance up to the glass paned ceiling. “I just—it would’ve been nice to know what was really going on. I mean he never even told me that you knew.”

“Well, did you ask?” She asks simply. 

Did you? You think back to the past couple of months. The more you and Art hooked up, the more you avoided directly mentioning Tashi. He didn’t bring her up more than what was necessary, so you suspected he was actively trying to keep it from her. 

To be fair, he did mention a couple of times that he’d told Tashi you two were going to meet up for lunch, but you thought he must’ve been leaving out the activities that followed. And if she happened to call him while the two of you were together, he would casually tell her he was with you. You obviously assumed he was downplaying your friendship because there was no way Art would be so nonchalant about a mistress. But, apparently, the word mistress didn’t even apply to you. 

“I mean, I guess I didn’t.” You stammer. “But I feel like that was on him to bring it up to me.”

“Well that’s where you went wrong. Art can get in his own way sometimes.” A pensive expression works it’s way onto her face. “Or maybe part of him did kind of get off on feeling like he was sneaking around.” The thought seems to bring a small smile to her face. 

It still doesn’t make sense to you. You try to tamper down the sinking feeling that you’ve been nothing more than a pawn. “I just don’t understand why you two couldn’t proposition me like a normal couple looking for a third,” you say.

“Who said you were our third?” 

“Oh, so there’s other women you’ve sent Art to fuck?”

“No. I—I don’t just pimp out my husband, okay?”

You back down.

“We already have a…third I guess.”

You look at her with furrowed brows. 

“Patrick.” She answers.

“Patrick? Like Patrick Patrick?”

She nods.

You laugh cynically. You didn’t think this situation could get any worse.

“I know.” She sighs. “I know how it seems—”

“Was that part of the plan too?” You’re out of breath, chest heaving. 

She looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“Me and Patrick,” you blurt. 

“Wait a minute, you’re sleeping with Patrick?” She’s scooting closer to you. 

You shake your head. “It just happened once.” You think of how he’d shoved your face into the rug, fucking into you as he grunted out various obscenities. “I was high. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

She looks away for a moment, brows drawn together tightly. She’s piecing together what you’ve told her. 

“I—I didn’t know he was with you guys,” you try. 

She waves you off. “No, it’s not that.” She sits back. “I’m just not surprised that he wormed his way into your pants. He just couldn’t take that Art had something to himself.” She’s speaking to you, but her eyes are trained ahead. 

“So, you really didn’t set that up too?” You ask meekly. 

“God, no!” She says. “I had no idea.” 

You believe her. 

“Look I don’t care what type of weird shit you tennis players are into, if you guys have wild orgies or whatever. I just would’ve liked to have known that I wasn’t a hypocrite.”

“A hypocrite?”

You nod. “I mean I sit here and give my ex shit for cheating on me with that skinny ass whore from Modesto. Hell! That’s why I got so much fucking alimony.” You’re rambling now. “And, then, I go and let Art fucking Donaldson screw me and then send him back home to play loving father and husband like it’s nothing. God! And on top of it all, I also sleep with his best friend! I became the whore from Modesto.” 

Tashi’s watching you like you’re a kid experiencing big feelings.

“I felt like a home wrecker.” You sniff. “But apparently I’m actually not…because it was your idea, well only Art, not Patrick, and I—it’s all just fucking with my head.”

Tashi swallows. “I honestly thought you’d be relieved to find out.”

She looks at the frown on your face, takes in the way your plump bottom lip is jutting out. She reaches for your hand. “We’ve never really been the best at communicating. Me and Art. For the past year or so, we’ve gotten better at talking to each other, being honest about what we want, but we’re still working on doing that with other people I guess.” You let her thumb rub the back of your hand before you gently pull away. 

You grab your mug again. The handle is cold to the touch. 

“I promise we didn’t mean to fuck with you. Honestly, I think Art really likes you.” She offers you a small smile.

You look into your mug trying to still your reaction. You don’t care. 

Tashi’s gaze feels heavy on the side of your face as you feel her watching your expression. You start to fiddle with your watch. Checking for the time. Except your watch is too busy displaying your increased heart rate to offer the time. 

You sigh. 

She reaches out to you again, but this time she brings her hand up to your face, moving the curls falling down over your eyes. You let her nimble fingers caress your cheekbone before trailing down to your chin, guiding you to look at her. 

She gives you a steady, knowing smile. “You fell for him didn’t you?” 

Your cheeks go ablaze, and you try to look away from her. 

“Hey.” She grasps your chin in a firm, but gentle hold. “It’s okay.” She nods as if it’ll telepathically make you agree. 

You clear your throat. “I know you say that, but this is all new to me.” Your voice is slightly wobbly and you think you might cry. “I—I didn’t think it’d happen but it did. I thought I could get him out of my system but now,” you inhale and press two fingers against your neck, subconsciously trying to self-soothe. “Now, it’s like—it’s like I can’t stop.” Your voice comes out almost like a whisper. Like you’re afraid to admit the truth. 

And, really, you are afraid. You’re fucking terrified. 

You’re scared to fall in love with a man who already has one—two people in his life that he’s in love with. The last time you entrusted a man with your love, he was only meant to love you, and he couldn’t even give you that. 

What if you realize you’re absolutely enamored by Art Donaldson and he realizes the same thing Chris did? That there’s something about you that makes you unworthy of love. That the depth of you is as deep as your cunt goes and that’s it. 

What if he realizes that he already has what he needs in Tashi, even Patrick? What if they realize they actually aren’t willing to share?

You apparently voice the last bit aloud.

Tashi tilts her head, some of her strands have fallen loose again and she wears the prettiest pout on her lips. “Do you want me to prove it to you?” 

You gulp when her hand presses into your thigh, and she brings her face impossibly close to yours, forcing you to hold her gaze. “You want me to prove that I’m okay with it?” Her eyes flit between each one of yours with a level of seriousness you’d expect from someone like her. 

Her expression demands an answer, and so, you give a faint nod, transfixed on the woman in front of you. 

You gasp when you feel her mouth on yours. 

You learn that Tashi tastes sweet when she has her tongue in your mouth. You think you can taste the tartness of the lemon she’d sucked on earlier. It’s good, and you realize you’re fucked because you really like kissing her. 

Her tongue twirling around yours has you panting quietly, and you keen when you feel her manicured nails press into the nape of your neck. You haven’t kissed a woman since your last girlfriend in college, and you find you miss it. Something about it feels like drinking sweet tea on a hot summer day. Climbing into cool sheets at night when you’re bone tired. Or the feeling you get when you discover the song that you’re going to replay for the next week. 

It also makes you feel absurdly wet. 

The two of you work up a rhythm of pulling away for a breath before coming back together like magnets, letting your foreheads gently press together as you breathe deeply, thumbs caressing skin, eyelids fluttering. 

Your tongue is sweeping across Tashi’s lip, on a path to enter her mouth again, when you hear someone clear their throat. 

There’s an audible smack as you yank yourself from Tashi, eyes flying to the doorway of their sunroom. 

Art is standing there staring at you, gaze shifting from your face to the hand you still have placed on his wife’s neck. His jaw is clenched, and his bulge is painfully evident in his pants. 

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

a/n: I've been waiting for this since the first post. Let me know how you feel about the reveal <3 as always, my asks are open!

[maiamore]

TRICK OR TREAT

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak Rating: 18+ | W/C: 3.3k

Summary: Joel deals with the hard part of raising a little girl when she turns out to be a sneaky teenager. He decides to bring her back by barging into a party uninvited and learns a very sweet lesson he might just bring home with him.

Tags: orgasm denial, handjob but not really, use of degrading terms, brat taming, unspecified legal age gap, sexualisation of a halloween costume not meant to be creepy please take it with a grain of salt

A/N: heavily inspired by this tiktok that had me in a chokehold for weeks, i’m a slut for the single dad trope god help me.

MASTERLIST | EXTRA

One of the worst things in the world might just be having to deal with the fact that your little girl would grow into the dreaded phase—being a goddamned sneaky teenager. Joel didn’t think it would’ve happened to him this soon. 

It had been a definite no to going to whoever’s at wherever’s when Sarah asked him for permission last week. But now—he was standing in his empty home holding a greasy brown takeout bag—with a very missing daughter. It didn’t take a genius to know where she might’ve gone.  Joel tried his damndest not to let his anger riddled mind cloud his judgement. After all, he was once a teenager too. Even though it might’ve been a long long time ago, he understood, didn’t he? 

Sneaking out of his window to head down to his buddy Adler’s place for cheap beer and a good time. Getting to see the prettiest girls in Austin County wearing next to nothin’, so willing and impressionable.

Yeah. Maybe he didn’t want to understand. 

God knows he’d been exhausted. Ten hours working through sweat inducing, back breaking labour. Even making a stop at Starbucks for the stupid bear claw Sarah loved. He had to remind himself—although it wasn’t exactly a comfort—that parenthood was a thankless job.

His bulky, dirtied work boots crunched over artificial autumn leaves on the front lawns of a much richer neighborhood. Dark skies lit up with an amber hue with the sheer amount of halloween knick knacks—through the gated fences and all, he took in the sight of the over the top front yard. Eyeing the cheesy decorations, an ache filled his heart at the sight of the carved pumpkins. It reminded him of the pumpkins he had all loaded up in his navy Chevrolet. 

Sarah had been begging to carve pumpkins together and he’d spent nearly two hours at Home Depot picking ones she liked. “Dad! You gotta pick the good ones.” She was too much like her mother in that aspect. Persnickety. A trait he loved and hated—but his little girl had gotten all the good traits between him and his ex. Or so he thought. The ache he felt in his chest quickly manifested into indignation. He was pissed—the metaphorical dark cloud muddled his mind and vein popping out on his furrowed brows. Being a single dad was hard enough, he’d always been patient. But this counted as blatant disrespect in his mind. It was something he refused to let go without consequence.

Ironically, he’d blended in. Still in his work clothes-hardened after a long day, rugged and sweaty. Worn out dark green flannel, dirty work boots dragging across the sticky floors. A perfect contractor type 'costume'.

Before he even managed to get far in the house, his footing stutters when something hooks around the back of his tool belt that hung loosely on his hips. His line of sight followed what seemed to be a blue hook. Joel blinks, confused, now looking down at a woman who seemed older than the juvenile crowd she was in.

She was...dressed head to toe in a Bo Peep costume. It was endearing just how much effort this whole number would've probably needed. Had it down to the damn crook with an ankle length milkmaid dress.

What you didn't expect, was to be met face to face with the kind of face you'd find in your mom's nudie mags that she kept poorly hidden. Tired looking, brooding but charming in a rugged way. He was an all fuckin' Red-Blooded American man. You shook your thoughts away as quickly as it came. You had to focus on the stranger in your home.

Drawing your crook back, you adjusted the white bonnet on your head with its curved edge—knocking the crook onto the ground, in a futile effort to seem intimidating. Which was failing miserably. You were certain your expression was giving you away.

His deep brown eyes makes an exaggerated pass over your costume. You step back, giving him the same once-over with your arms crossed. The hell was some dirty looking old man doing here? You eyed the toolbelt that hung on his hips down to the dirtied outfit, it could very well be a costume but it'd looked a little too realistic. 

Joel shifted, the faintest flicker of self-awareness tugging at his posture. His hand came up, rough and calloused, the kind of hands that look like they shaped wood into frames and sanded edges smooth. He drags his thumb absently across his jeans, trying to smudge away a streak of grime that clung stubbornly to the fabric. It only half worked. Your brows quirked at his gesture as if you'd just found a crack in the drywall. 

"I don't remember ordering a plumber."

"Funny," he shot back, "was bout’ to ask where your flock was.”

You gave Joel an unimpressed look. Lips pursed with eyes a little narrowed. Willing yourself to not laugh at his wit.

“Lookin' for my daughter,” he explained gruffly, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “She snuck out. Thinkin’ she might be here.”

Your brows furrowed even further at your flimsy explanation. “Uh, not possible.” You retort simply. Blocking his way as he’d tried to pass. 

“I’d personally made sure it was known to the parents that they’d be here.” You adjust your stance. Although your size had no match for Joel’s, he could’ve probably flung you aside if he’d wanted to. 

“Gotta be more specific dude.”

He towers over you, broad shoulders blocking your view of the living room completely. You tip your head up to look at the source of the dark shadow casted over you. 

“Sarah Miller. Curly hair. Brunette. My daughter.”

You instinctively backed into the shoe racks by the hallways. Eyes widening at the sudden blatant invasion of your space. You were pretty sure he’d heard you swallow in nervousness. Your lips parted to speak but the words had died somewhere in your throat. 

You could smell him. Fuck. Musky, earthy…why the hell was that such a good smell? 

You blinked a few times before snapping back into your usual persona. Squinting, you try to recall where you’d heard that name. 

“Wait—…Sarah Miller? Yeah. I know her. Her dad said no to coming.” You said with folded arms. Sure of yourself. Though that made you pause. So this was her dad. Joel Miller. 

“She’s…she’s not here as far as I know.”

He raised a brow at your response. He’d noticed your reaction, the subtle swallow, the hitch in your breath, the way your gaze lingered on him for longer than you had to wasn’t lost on him either. 

“And I would know. I’m chaperoning this damn thing.” You said simply, properly introducing yourself and how you’d been hosting the party for your younger brother. Joel barely acknowledges the details. His eyes flicked past you to scan the room, then back again, sizing you up as if you were withholding something. It was clear he wasn’t here for small talk.

“You sayin’ I been lied to?”

“I don’t know who lied to you. But this is my house. Well—” 

Your parents. But he didn’t need to know that. “But I know what goes on around here. Alright?” You shot back. A little more defensive than you intended to be. Wetting your lips in nervousness. “She’s 19. Just call her.”

Joel watched you speak, his eyes lingering on your parted lips. The way the light played on them, the subtle shine of your tongue as you wet them. He was starting to forget why he’d come here to find Sarah.

He furrowed his brows, not really in annoyance, but in thought. “She’s not pickin’ up. That’s why I came over.”

“And what makes you think she’d be here?”

He’d run a hand down his bearded jaw, looking a little impatient. He didn’t like being questioned like this, not to mention having one of the prettiest girls he’d seen in a long time being the one to challenge him. 

“Gut feelin’. Father’s instinct. Call it what you want,” he said, meeting your gaze. “Don’t matter if you ain’t helpin’, I’ll go lookin’ for her my damn self.”

Joel hadn’t given you a chance to process his words, let alone respond when he’d bulldozed his way past you. Luckily, you’d stumbled back into some kid heading out the hallways.

You straightened up, still reeling at being unceremoniously shoved aside. A laugh bubbled out, half-amused, half-exasperated, as you straightened yourself.  It wasn’t everyday that an agonizingly sexy, single dad barged through your space and swept you out of the way like you were crumbs on a table.

Joel had been scanning through the crowd for what seemed to be forever, his expression permanently etched into a scowl. Shoving past rowdy college frat kids. He shot a quick look over the inebriated partygoers. They were barely even wearing costumes—if that even constituted as clothes to begin with. When did lingerie turn into appropriate Halloween attire?

His thoughts then strayed to you. A pretty little thing. There was something deliberate about the way you carried yourself, a quiet confidence reflected in the costume you thoughtfully crafted down to the details. Ribbons n’ frills and all.

Joel cleared his throat, jaw tightening against an  intrusive thought. He didn’t even know you. But the way your wide eyes had met his earlier—and those soft, glossy lips of yours. It stirred something deep inside him, a quiet ache in a part of him he’d long ignored.

He snaps out of his daze when a younger girl rushes past him. And he catches it—curly brown locks. Joel doesn’t hesitate, closing the distance within a few long strides. “Sarah!” His hand shoots out to grab the arm of an unsuspecting party goer, she looks at him, mortified. “—Shit. Sorry. Thought you were...” He manages when he realises. Sighing as he raises both palms up, stepping away from the girl. “—...my daughter.” He says, more so to himself.

He draws his head back. A hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The feeling that he might be overreacting about the fact that his daughter had snuck out creeps in. He stops by the stairwell, his exhaustion finally catching up to him.

Looking up at a figure moving past him, he then stops a younger guy mid-step, a kid in a sad excuse for an Indiana Jones costume, clutching a red solo cup. “You,” the boy, obviously a little inebriated, blinks as he sways slightly. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. Where’d you get that?” Joel nods at the cup.

Indiana Joke squints as though processing that question took some real effort. “Oh dude, there’s a table—like, over there. Just grabbed mine. It’s free, man.”

“Great. Thanks.” Joel, again, doesn’t wait for permission, snatching the cup right out of the boy’s hand. He takes a swig grimacing at the taste of nasty room temperature beer. He crushes the cup in his fist, shoving it back toward the stunned kid. “Here. ‘preciate it.”

“Right on, dude!” the kid slurs, throwing up a lazy hang-loose sign before wandering off, blissfully unbothered.

He huffs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the kids carefree jock vibe. Though his patience—or what little he had to begin with—wears dangerously thin. As he scans the room, his gaze catches on a flimsy strip of tape that half-heartedly cordoned off the staircase. Probably meant to keep people from heading upstairs though was doing a piss-poor job of it.

Joel’s jaw tightens at the idea of Sarah being up there with some—. His heavy work boots drags across the floors. Ducking underneath the tape to head upstairs. He paces around the hallway, it was nothing like his home for sure. Looking around at a framed picture of what seemed to be a damn soup can. He cringes, noticing a room to the left. By the time he pushes his door in, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Sarah M. (10:15pm): Dad. Are you coming home soon?

Joel freezes mid-step. What? Did he make a mistake? His brow knits into a furrow, rubbing the back of his neck as he tips his head up to look into the room. Joel stares around the room for a moment, taking in the empty, though very much lived in space. The kind of room that he wasn’t about to admit just how much he liked it. 

He steps further inside, cautious, his boots presses into the creaky floorboards. His eyes trailed over the setup—a CD player sitting on top of an oak shelf, band posters and old movie memorabilia lining the dark green walls. His fingers brushes over the weathered spines of a Lord Of The Rings trilogy tucked into the shelves. “Man after my own heart,” Joel mutters, then eyeing over a Bachelor’s Degree hung on beside the shelves, reading—your name.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

A voice echoes through the dark room, the space lighting up in an amber hue with the click. Joel whips around to look at you. He moves away from your shelves, though, he doesn’t look quite as apologetic for someone who’d just been caught lurking in a place he shouldn’t have been.

“It’s bad enough you just bulldozed into a party you weren’t invited to, but now you’re lurking around in my room?” 

He doesn’t quite respond to your anger. Folding his arms to observe just how much you could mouth off at him uninterrupted.

"Careful, now."

“…Oh you sick fuck—” You mused. “Bet you aren’t even Sarah’s dad.” Stepping a little closer to him. “Getting your rocks off to your fantasies of girls who could be your daughter’s ag—”

His gaze hardens visibly, jaw ticking at your accusations.

“Darlin’”, you’d shut up right then, throat tightening as he steps closer to you. You weren’t sure why you wanted to push him like this, but you had.

Swallowing thickly at the raw desire builds in your core now that you both were now alone, isolated from the prying, juvenile crowd. The proximity wasn’t helping either. You hadn’t noticed before, but Joel had a way of monopolizing people to his liking without even trying. Dark brown eyes threatening to break past your barriers.

“I ain’t your daddy, sweetheart. S’not on me to put you in your place.” His hands planted on the edge of the dresser behind you, essentially trapping you. He leans down more so he could be level with you. 

“But girls like you need to learn, don’t they?” He whispers against the side of your head, the baritone in his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You nod dumbly. Chewing on the inside of your lips. 

“Yeah?” He hummed. A slow hum of approval at your pliance. A far cry from the intolerable shit you were earlier. “Y’wanna be good for me, huh?”

His gaze scanned through your features, detecting any signs of fear. He found nothing but your arousal in your eyes reflecting his own. “Answer me.”

“Yes—…yes. I do.” You breathed out. Finding yourself snug between the dresser and Joel’s imposing figure. 

“All dressed up proper n’ good.” He’d sighed into his words. Thumb coming up to rub over the pieces of fabric that covered your nipples. Joel wasn’t sure why, but it did more for him that you hid whatever you had to offer in your costume.

Teasing, coaxing the sensitive buds out over the lace. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

You couldn’t do anything but clench your thighs in frustration at the lack of direct contact against your tits. Couldn’t trust yourself to speak either.

What a fucking jerk. 

Joel’s other hand cupped around your other breast, kneading it into his rougher palms. It feld good, god, it felt so fucking good. You felt his thumb drag the ruched fabric that covered your chest to caress the sensitive buds. A soft gasp left your lips, saccharine sweet. 

He’d wasted no time to dip his head down to suck your neglected tit into his waiting mouth. Other hand shifting down to slip beneath your dress. Gathering the fabric by your waist. You let out a strained moan when you feel a  finger pushing the gusset of your panties aside to probe a finger into your already soaked pussy. “Lord a’mercy. Bo peep’s a fuckin’ slut now ain’t she?”

A strangled moan left your lips. Furrowing your brows to the edge in his words. “If you’ve got nothing nice to say maybe you should just shut the fuck u–ahhh–..p!” You gasped, arching your back to the intensity as he’d continued ministrations. 

He fucked your needy pussy with just his thick finger. Your cunt sucked him in desperately, convulsing around him. Joel grunted against your ears. Your sweet moans nearly enough to make him cum. He knew the second he slipped his cock into that soft pussy he’d never be able to stop. 

But he couldn’t allow you that pleasure. 

You watched in anticipation as he’d palmed his quickly hardening cock over his jeans, twisting his toolbelt around so the tools attached wouldn't hurt you.

“What a fuckin’ mess.” He mutters, ridding your pussy of his finger. With a slight tilt of his head, you’d understood enough. 

Sinking to your knees for him wordlessly. It didn’t matter that your knees were debasing yourself deliberately before him. You wanted to pleasure this man. Desperately. Your dress pooled full around you, providing Joel with a sight he didn’t quite realise he’d come to love.

Feeling his hand tangle into your hair to press your cheeks against his jeans. You’d let out a soft whine. Nuzzling your nose against the stiffening bulge.

You’d heard a dull clink of a belt. Staring up at Joel with a coquettish gaze.

You watched as he freed his thick cock from his jeans. Rough hands that engulfed the entirety of your face tilted your face up to look at him. “Don’t think you deserve this baby.”

You’d let out a huff of annoyance mixed with lust and impatience. He was intentionally fucking with you. 

His heavy cock leaks with pre-cum, moving to smear the milky liquid against your cheeks. He’d let out a groan. Opting to fuck his cock through tight ring of his thumb and index fingers. You’d tried to tilt your head, just so you could attempt to wrap your lips around the weeping tip, but you were met with a harsh tug at the back of your head. 

“Uh-uh.” He warned. Forcing you to just watch as he pumped his cock before your face. You could smell him, slightly sweaty from the day’s work, but the heady scent just made you ache all the more. 

In an effort to ease the pain of your throbbing cunt, you’d attempt to slip your fingers into your soaked folds beneath your dress, only to be met with another tug. A disappointed sigh leaving his lips. “Never gonna learn.”

He jerks his cock languidly. Dry rubbing his cock with wince. A finger comes down to slip into your pouty lips. “S’this what you want? Stuffin’ your pretty mouth full with my cock?”

Your tongue wraps around his fingers. Hollowing your cheeks, drooling over it, you take them deeper before he pulls out of your lips with a slick pop. A trail of saliva following. He smirks down at you, lightly smearing the messiness against the bottom of your lips.

With the wetness gathered, he strokes himself easily. Groaning at how you were peering up at him through your lashes. Just waiting like a good girl for a reward that would never come.

He could feel himself getting dangerously close now, his hefty sack tightening up, ready to burst. With a grunt, he lets go of your hair, grabbing around your jaw once more. He pries your lips apart with his thumb.

“Fuck. Open up f’me.”

He angles his heavy cock to rest on your tongue. Groaning as his thick, warm cum spurts into your mouth. Not even letting you enjoy the notion when pulls away before tucking himself back in. 

You’d pitifully looked up at him with your wide eyes blown out with lust. Confused at his lack of attention to you. He’d helped you up. Tapping your jaw condescendingly. 

“Oughta watch what comes out of your pretty mouth next time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes narrowed a little more as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheeks before leaving you to stew in your own blue-balls. You lifted your wrists to wipe over your lips, tasting the remnants of his salty come. A vibration in your dress pocket catches your attention. 

Shithead (11:04pm): “Dropped Sarah back home earlier. Don’t think her dad will find out. Thanks sis, owe you one.”

[brainmuncher]

Danny would like to preface that this was entirely Vlad's fault. The fruitloop had made another harebrained scheme to kill off his dad and marry his mom… nothing new. What also wasn’t new was the three vultures in fez hats that he had to chase across the Nasty Burger’s parking lot after dismantling the whole plan. Vlad was a fruitloop after all so it only made sense that he’d do the same thing over and over and actually expect a different result.

What was new was the gun that Vlad had appeared with during the chase. He looked pissed that Danny had gotten away again and wasn’t aiming well. Unfortunately, Danny had Fenton luck so he eventually got hit by whatever the gun was firing. One of the vultures also got stuck in one of the stray blasts so he didn’t feel too bad about it.

It turns out it was shooting some sticky substance that was impossible to phase through. Vlad had walked over, said some eye roll worthy monologue, and cut the stuck vulture out with a concentrated ecto blast. He’d just been about to probably kidnap Danny for the millionth time when there was a screech of a van. A dozen or so GIW agents flooded the area and Vlad with the vultures made a run for it… leaving Danny behind. Because of the mysterious goo still holding him in place, he was an easy target for the GIW to “arrest”.

That's how he found himself thrown in the back of a white van in what could only be described as a dog cage, bundled with all sorts of restraints. His arms were pulled behind his back, his legs tied together, an actual muzzle on his face, and an extremely uncomfortable collar was on his neck. To put it lightly, Danny was not amused.

Before the doors had shut he heard the agents talking about transporting him to one of their facilities. Based on how much driving they had already done, it wasn’t a local one. Thankfully, Tucker and Sam have his ecto-signature, so they should be able to find him. It was just a matter of them getting a quick enough transport. They might end up calling Jazz to help which will be a huge pain later. No, he did not feel traumatized Jazz, this was more of an unfortunate field trip with the GIW than anything. Then again she was probably going to complain that he wasn’t taking things seriously again if he said that.

While thinking of ways he was going to try and escape his sister's overprotective meddling, the van came to a screeching halt. The stop was so sudden that he hit his head on the back of the cage. Grimacing at the injury, that was honestly pretty mild but he was feeling petty, he tried to listen to why they’d stopped. He could faintly hear the sounds of fighting outside the van. At first, he thought that he’d been found quicker than he thought, but then he heard the first gunshot.

An actual gunshot.

Now Danny knew that he wasn’t in Amity anymore, that point had long since passed, but hearing that was like a bucket of ice water. He’d only heard guns on TV or from those soldier guys at the parade before everything got replaced with ecto-guns. But something about hearing one again after so many years reminded him that he wasn’t home anymore. He didn’t even know where he was.

Despite having already tried to escape when they first put the restraints on, Danny once again began struggling to get out. The best start would be freeing his hands so he could at least see if he could find a weak point. He started to try and get his hands out in front of his chest but quickly found that it was easier said than done. Because of the way his hands were encapsulated in the cuffs and only ended at the lower wrist, he was finding it very hard to stretch far enough to get his arms underneath him. His shoulders ached as he pushed them past their limit, but another set of gunshots gave him the boost he needed to ignore it. Finally, he got his arms out from underneath him.

Before he could even think to celebrate, the doors to the van opened up. He reflexively used his arms to block the light from the outside. Once he blinked away the blinding change of light, he found himself blinking at a completely baffled person in a black ski mask.

“Johnny?” The person called out, turning away from Danny to presumably talk to someone outside the door. “I thought you said this was a truck full of money. There’s just some kid back here!”

Despite the danger he was in, Danny couldn’t help the indignation rise in him at being called a kid. He was sixteen for Pete's sake! He was firmly past the ‘kid’ stage and now in the ‘little shit’ age of his life. There’s a clear difference.

“What the hell are you talking about? This thing was scheduled to be guarded and transported just like any ol’ money transport. If you’re fucking with me-” The second person, who was wearing a blue ski mask, and man Danny didn’t know that they came in different colors how neat, paused after seeing him. “What the hell is this.”

Both of the men were just staring at Danny, who was now questioning just what was happening.

“You don’t think Flash set this up do you?” The one in the black mask asked, making the other one whirl to look at him like he asked if the moon was made of cheese.

“This is Keystone, not Gotham. Flash wouldn’t even consider something like this. This is something else entirely,” The person in the blue mask sighed, giving a sidelong look at Danny. “I say we bounce before Flash gets here. This one is a bust.”

The one in the black mask stopped the other one before they could get too far. Looking over their shoulder at Danny they gestured in his direction.

“Did you see how many guys they had guarding him? I think we could still make a good penny selling him,”

An uncomfortable feeling crawled up Danny’s spine. It was one that Vlad often made him feel when he was trying to get him to ‘denounce his father’. Objectified, Sam had once complained. She described that it was something she often felt whenever her parents forced her into some pink monstrosity. This somehow felt much more dangerous than when Vlad did it. Maybe it was the fact that Danny didn’t know what would happen, unlike with Vlad. Completely separated from his usual support and without a clue of what would happen, the threat loomed more fiercely than Danny was used to.

He started to subtly check the bands restricting his hands. There wasn’t any keyhole are keypad to open them, which meant there was probably a remote that one of the agents has… or had if they had been killed.

Suddenly one of the guys let out a startled cry that cut off. The other one disappeared, only for something to hit the truck a moment later.

“You’d think after taking over a van they wouldn’t just stand around in the street. It’s like they wanted to get caught,” A completely new voice joked.

With both guys gone, Danny could now clearly see the outside world. It was late, almost sunset outside. The buildings were completely unrecognizable. There were even some really tall buildings further in. He was in an actual city… Keystone if he remembers right.

“Let’s see what you were after,” The voice continues and steps in front of the open doors.

If not for the muzzle, Danny’s jaw would’ve dropped. This GIW field trip was turning into one hell of a time.

“Whoa hey, are you alright?” The Flash asked, already climbing inside the van to help.

At this point, this mind as well happen.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Isekai Reader, currently floating in mid-air: this is fine this is normal...

Isekai Reader: FUCKIN GET ME DOWN!!!*flapping their arms and just trying to get down*

Dick: just calm down maybe you might float down

Isekai Reader: I TRIED EARLIER!

Dick: you really need to be calm

Isekai Reader: FUCK YOU GRAYSON!

......

Duke: how did that happen?

Isekai Reader, stops struggling a while ago and just float mindlessly: my best bet is that after mama wayne possessed me*shivers remembering what happened the week before* is that I gained a but of ghostly powers look I can phase through the chandelier if I want to

Duke: would kryptonite work on you?

Isekai reader: I'm not kryptonian

Isekai reader: wanna find out?

Duke: sure lemme go grab it

Isekai reader: m'kay

....

Alfred: why thank you for cleaning the ceiling and the chandelier

Isekai Reader: no problemo does that mean I get the last snack you made *hopeful*

Alfred: go right ahead

Isekai reader: YAY!!

....

Bruce sipping coffee as he looks at the picture he took with his parents, reader cropped out(you know what I mean): mom.. dad.. *ignores his eldest son running away from reader*

Dick, runs away with the said snack reader wants: ITS JUST ONE SNACK! THE HELL

Isekai Reader, zooming through the air: I DID WHAT ALFRED TOLD ME TO AND THAT SHIT IS MY REWARD GET BACK HERE GRAYSON!

Isekai! Reader/ you: *floating* coming here was already weird enough, but having ghost powers is another thing.

Dick: what’s your hero name?

Isekai! Reader/ you: *smirks* Danny Phantom *waits for applause*

Duke:…is that another one of your references or?

Isekai! Reader/ you: *pouts as you being to phase through the ceiling into Jason’s room* boo, you’re both boring I’m going to hit on your hot brother.

Dick: DO NOT HIT ON JASON!

Duke: you’re even starting to sound like Bruce.

Dick; aww man. *pouts* but seriously who’s Danny phantom?

Duke: *shrugs*

…

Jason: I can feel you staring at me babe.

Isekai! Reader/you: no you can’t.

Jason; just because you’ve got powers doesn’t mean I can feel that stare that you always give me.

Isekai! Reader/ you: …you knew?

Jason: you don’t exactly make it subtly to be honest.

Isekai! Reader/you: …*phases through the floor*

…

Isekai! Reader/ you: *to dick and duke* HE FUCKING KNOWS!

Dick: you don’t exactly make it subtle.

Duke: I mean you stare at his back, thighs, biceps, chest and his face so intently I got concerned for your health.

Isekai!reader/ you:…he’s really pretty!

Dick: am I pretty *batts his eye lashes*

Isekai! Reader/ you: …I guess…

Dick: WHY DID IT TAKE YOU SO LONG TO AWNSER!?

…

Martha: do we think we did something wrong with possessing them?

Thomas: no, what makes you think that my love?

Martha: *points at Isekai! Reader/ you -now having learnt how to fly and go invisible- go after Dick, Tim, Jason and Stephanie for reasons unknown*

Dick: WHAT THE FUCK

Jason: WERE SORRY FOR SPOILING THE SHOW!

Tim: IT WAS ALL DICK’s IDEA!

Dick: WHAT THE FUCK TIM

Tim: IT’s TRUE!

Stephanie: MY PHONE ISNT WORKING! *it’s screen glitches as the words ‘you spoiled it for me’ are scrawled across it*

[livwritesstuff]

i’ve been sick at home for two days so here have a sick-fic (steddie!dads edition, obv)

It took three weeks from the first day of school for one of Steve and Eddie’s daughters to bring home some strain of elementary school illness – the flu, Steve's pretty sure, though who really knows? Whatever it is, It’s been knocking the family out one by one over the last week. Three-year-old Hazel had been the last man standing for a while, but she woke up this morning with a pretty gnarly cough and no appetite whatsoever, which can mean only one thing:

Random elementary school sickness: 5.

Harrington Family: 0.

So today is a sick day – yet another, because Steve hasn’t been to work all week, same with the girls and school.

Growing up, Steve had liked sick days, when he’d stay home from school and watch TV and eat ice cream on the couch while his mom doted on him all day.

(Then Steve’s dad had an affair and ruined everything, but that’s a whole other thing).

He wants to replicate for his daughters one of very few fond memories he has of his own childhood, so, yeah, the girls have been livin’ large the last few days (as large as three sick little kids can, anyway). They’re piled onto the couch under all kinds of blankets, eating meals of popsicles and toast and crackers, and watching all kinds of junky TV while they doze in and out of sleep.

Steve can admit that having sick kids is not his favorite facet of parenting, but even though he's totally wiped and the house is a wreck, he can't help but find the silver lining anyway because the girls are extra cuddly when they're sick, even nine-year-old Moe who might be nearing the end of the phase in life where she'll allow her dads to cuddle with her, so they've been asking for snuggles and stories, and Steve's fever-brain is running a little slower than usual so he's been taking the time to appreciate how much he loves being a dad, even in the not-so-fun moments.

The older two are sacked out on the couch with Dinosaur Train playing quietly in the background when Eddie decides the brave the real world for a much-needed grocery run. Hazel is awake still, and she wanders after Steve as he attempts to work through the mountain of laundry that has been building up over the last week.

"Wanna help me make dinner?" he asks her as he shoves a final t-shirt into the washing machine.

She shrugs her little shoulders.

"Not hungry," she says.

"Not hungry?" Steve repeats, and he silently curses his childrens’ elementary school for not being as strict as they could be in handling the spread of the flu across its students.

Still, Hazel ends up standing on a chair at the kitchen counter and helping him “cook” (dump three cans of Campbell's into one pot and heat it over the stove – and he won't be taking any criticism on it either, Tracy Baker, who's claiming to still be making homemade meals even though her family's in the exact same boat).

Eddie returns from the store just as Steve is pulling the pot of chicken noodle soup off the burner.

"Bold choice to have the most freshly sick kid help with dinner," Eddie comments, his eyes on Hazel as he sets grocery bags onto the counter.

Steve looks over just in time to see Hazel’s feeble attempt at blowing on the hot, steaming soup turn into a pretty spectacular toddler-cough right into the pot.

“Christ, no wonder we can’t shake this thing,” Eddie continues, looking vaguely impressed.

“Eh, I’ll stick it on the stove for another fifteen. It’ll probably boil off.”

[azzifudd]

always on my mind

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: Azzi has just finished dinner with her grandparents when the call comes. 

Azzi is confused because it’s barely been three hours since she said goodbye to Paige at the airport as their families drove them home on their return to the states from Argentina. 

They’d spent nearly the entire plane ride talking, even when Azzi had really wanted to nap, so Azzi can’t imagine what more Paige has to say to her, but she picks up anyway.

rated: teen

2.4k words

disclaimer: fictional!

[AO3 Link]

Paige Bueckers (USA Basketball) Facetime

Azzi has just finished dinner with her grandparents when the call comes.

Azzi is confused because it’s barely been three hours since she said goodbye to Paige at the airport as their families drove them home on their return to the states from Argentina.

They’d spent nearly the entire plane ride talking, even when Azzi had really wanted to nap, so Azzi can’t imagine what more Paige has to say to her, but she picks up anyway.

“Hello?”

“Azzi!” Paige’s face is too close to the screen and all Azzi can see is the bridge of her nose and one clear blue eye.

“Hi…” There’s a moment of silence as Paige just stares at Azzi. “Did you need something?”

“Oh, um, yeah!” Paige perks up like she’s suddenly remembering that she’s the one who made the call. “I’m gonna be playing some pick up with my guy Jalen tomorrow and I was wonderin’ if you’d wanna come.”

Azzi notices then that Paige seems almost nervous. In all the weeks they’d spent together playing basketball, Azzi doesn’t think she’d seen Paige unsure of herself for even a second, but the way her eyes keep darting back and forth betrays her.

For a moment, Azzi wants to say no. She’s exhausted from the tournament and the nearly full day of travel it took to get to her grandparent’s house in Minnesota.

But then Paige pulls the camera back from her face and Azzi sees a sweet, uncertain smile on Paige’s face, and she can’t bear to disappoint her.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Paige seems surprised, but then she gives a little cheer and smiles so wide that Azzi blushes under the strength of it. “Aight! Cool!”

“Cool!” They sit in silence for an awkward moment, glancing around until they make eye contact through the cameras and begin to giggle.

“Who’s that?” Azzi asks, when they settle down. She points at the screen past Paige to the wall behind her.

“It’s Kyrie, he’s my favorite player.” Paige tilts her phone, showing a wall filled with posters of different NBA players, but mostly of this particular one.

“Oh, who does he play for?” Azzi asks, though she has to admit she doesn’t actually care. For some reason, she just doesn’t want to hang up yet.

“You don’t know Kyrie Irving?!” Paige sounds almost offended at the thought.

“Not really,” Azzi replies, with a shrug. “I don’t watch a lot of NBA.”

“Bruh, I gotta educate you.” Paige settles back on her bed, pulling out her iPad and opening Youtube. “We’ll start with the 2016 Finals.”

They stay up talking until after midnight. Azzi still doesn’t know much about Kyrie Irving, but she learns a lot about Paige Bueckers, and it changes everything.

//

“Azzi! Dinner’s ready!” Katie calls from the kitchen. Azzi has been spending almost all her time, outside of school, training and practice, holed up in the basement doing God knows what lately. It’s not quite like her daughter, who usually spends most of her time messing around with her brothers or hanging onto her parents, but Katie figures that her oldest might finally be hitting that moody teenager phase that everyone warned her about.

She scoops some stir fry into her bowl, joining her husband and sons who are already at the table. When another few minutes passes and Azzi still doesn’t show up, she goes to the door, yelling down the stairs.

“If you don’t get up here in the next thirty seconds, no phone for the rest of the night!”

Within seconds she hears feet clomping up the stairs.

“Mom! Okay! I’m coming!”

Azzi finally appears, giving her mom an annoyed look before brushing past her and serving herself a plate of dinner.

When she finally sits down at the table, she props her phone up on the table so it’s facing her. They can all hear some sounds coming from it.

“Azzi Fudd, I know you aren’t watching a video while we’re eating dinner.” It’s so unlike her to be so rude.

“Uhh, hey Mrs. Fudd. Mr. Fudd.” Paige Bueckers smiles sheepishly at her and waves through the screen.

“Oh, Paige.” Katie knows that Azzi and Paige had been keeping in touch since the summer. “You know you can call us Katie and Tim, sweetie.”

“Azzi’s going to have to put her phone away for dinner. She can call you back after dinner, alright?”

“Moooom.” Azzi whines, clearly embarrassed.

“I’ll talk to you later, Azzi.”

“Okay,” Azzi huffs. “Bye Paige.” Katie isn’t sure if she imagines it, but there’s something soft in the way her daughter says Paige’s name.

They hang up, and Azzi begins immediately shoveling food into her mouth.

“Azzi, slow down. Paige is still going to be there, but you won’t be if you choke because you aren’t chewing.”

Azzi scowls but she does slow down, chewing deliberately in her parents’ direction. When her bowl is empty, she reaches for her phone.

“May I be excused, please?”

“Not yet.”

“Ugh,” Azzi scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Enough with the attitude, or did you not want one of your birthday presents early?”

Katie smirks as Azzi’s eyes bulge with excitement.

“I’m sorry!” Azzi bounces excitedly in her seat. “I’ll stop with the attitude, I promise.”

“Alright, we believe you, “ Tim says. “Well, we were talking to Paige’s parents the other day…” He lets the sentence linger, laughing when Azzi grows visibly annoyed.

“Dad!” She growls as her brothers mock her.

“Alright, alright. We were talking to them, and they agreed to let Paige come stay for the weekend for your sweet sixteen.”

Azzi barely lets him finish his sentence before she’s out of her seat, squealing with joy and giving her dad a big hug.

“Thank you! Thank you!” She throws herself into her mom’s lap, and though Azzi has been taller than her for about a year at this point, Katie still relishes every time her daughter lets her hold her this close.

“Does she know?! Can I tell her?” Azzi reaches for her phone, opening Facetime, and Katie can see her call log. The name Paige💗 fills the entire screen, non stop calls that must span the months since they had returned home from Minnesota.

“Go ahead.” Azzi leaps up, and they can hear the sound of barely half a dial tone before the call is answered.

Almost immediately, there’s a lot of chattering, then a lot of excited screaming. Katie shares a knowing look with her husband as their daughter talks excitedly with her best friend.

Azzi has never had a shortage of friends, but it’s becoming more and more clear that her relationship with Paige is something different, something special.

//

Jazmine is not sure what to think of Paige Bueckers. She knows what everyone else says about her, that she might be the best player to ever wear a UConn jersey, and that she uses that to chat up every attractive woman on campus.

But as they work on their research project, Jazmine isn’t sure she sees this supposed player that everyone talks about.

Paige is charming, yes, and very friendly, but there’s something guarded in her demeanor, like she’s always keeping part of herself locked away.

She is cute though, Jazmine can’t deny that, and fun to flirt with as they make progress on their presentation.

They’re about to wrap up for the night when Paige’s phone vibrates from where it is face down on the table. Paige picks it up, and Jazmine watches as her entire being seems to bloom at what she sees on the screen.

“Sorry, I have to take this.” Paige pops a headphone in, stepping out of the study room they’ve been working in. Jazmine watches through the glass as she holds the phone up to her face, speaking with whoever is on the other side.

Her face is soft, and the smile that lights up her face is so different from the near smirk that Jazmine has seen directed at everyone else. She only spends a few minutes on that Facetime, but even in that short amount of time, Jazmine can see the way her entire body language has changed. She barely knows this girl, and she can see it.

Paige hangs up, coming back into the room with another apology.

“No worries.” Jazmine shrugs. “Your girlfriend?”

All the blood in her body seems to rush to Paige’s face.

“Oh, um, nah.” She stammers. “It was just Azzi.”

Everything clicks into place. Azzi Fudd, Paige’s best friend, and partner in crime. Azzi doesn’t even go to UConn, though she has visited a few times, and yet she’s probably heard just as many rumors about their relationship as she has about Paige herself, and despite Paige’s denial, Jazmine knows what she saw.

She doesn’t know if Azzi is Paige’s girlfriend, her best friend, both, or neither. But she does know that Paige loves that girl. And anyone who had seen what she had seen, how Paige’s entire being lit up at the mere thought of Azzi, would know it.

//

Paige doesn’t hear the sound of the call over the pounding of her dribble and the squeak of her shoes. In fact, she only realizes her phone is vibrating because it interrupts her music.

It’s past midnight, and Paige knows there’s only one person who could be calling her. The only person she would answer for, at any time of day or night.

💗 Facetime

She swipes to accept the Facetime, sitting on the floor against the wall. With a boop, the call opens to show her best friend, clearly dressed for bed and frowning disapprovingly at Paige through the screen.

“I knew it. Why are you still at the gym?”

Azzi disappears for a moment as she turns off her bedroom light, but soon her face is visible again by the light of the screen and as she lays down in bed with the phone propped up close to her face.

“Can’t sleep.” Paige shrugs, it’s the truth, even if it’s the simple version of it.

“You wanna talk about it?” Azzi always wants to talk, and there’s little that Paige likes to do more than listen to her, but she still has trouble doing the talking herself sometimes.

“Tomorrow, okay? You should sleep anyways, I know you had a tough game tonight.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, but Paige can see the day weighing on her, the way her eyelids look heavy and eyebags darken the skin beneath her eyes.

“Fine, but you have to promise you’ll go back to your apartment after this.” Azzi buries her face into her pillow.

“Promise. After a few more shots.”

“You need to take care of yourself.” Azzi’s voice is drowsy, and Paige watches as her eyelids flutter as she begins to struggle to stay awake. “At least until…”

Her voice faded away as her eyes slipped closed. Paige leans in close, desperate to hear the end of that sentence.”

“‘Til what, Azzi?” She whispers. On one hand, she wants to hear what the other girl was going to say. On the other hand, it’s late and she knows how important it is for Azzi to get enough rest.

Luckily, Azzi’s eyes open and meet Paige’s, soft and so deep she feels like she could drown in them.

“Until I’m there to take care of you.” She says it so casually, so matter of fact. It steals the breath from Paige’s lungs.

She’s taken care of herself for a long time, and she’s always been proud of that. It wasn’t until she met Azzi that she let herself even open up to someone else, and she never thought that she would ever want someone to take care of her.

But it hadn’t even been a choice with Azzi. Before she had realized it, the other girl had wormed her way into Paige’s mind, her heart.

She thinks about the last time she had seen Azzi in person, the morning she had left Azzi’s house to head back to her dad’s to move to UConn. She’d woken her up, way too early, and nearly cried thinking about how much she would miss seeing Azzi’s grumpy face every morning.

She’d almost said it then. Those three words. Cocooned in a pile of warm blankets before the sun had even risen, Paige could pretend that they weren’t about to be separated for who knows how many months. She could pretend that this wouldn’t be the biggest test their relationship would face yet.

She had wished that she could have just stayed there, with the girl she liked, safe from the rest of the world. But the world didn’t work that way, and she’d left Azzi behind with a promise that they would always be truthful with one another, and that they would always be best friends, no matter what else happened between them.

It’s a promise Paige knows she will be able to keep. She can’t imagine a force on this earth that could keep her from Azzi, and she knows Azzi feels the same about her.

When Paige finally focuses back on the call, she sees Azzi asleep, with the camera still on her. She packs up her stuff, and takes the short walk back to her dorm with nothing but the sound of the crickets and Azzi’s soft breaths keeping her company.

By the time she finally slips into bed, it’s past 1AM and Azzi is deeply asleep on the other line. But Paige doesn’t hang up. She plugs in her phone and leans it against a pillow.

As she looks at Azzi’s peaceful face, she feels it swelling within her. That same urge from months ago to just say it. This time, secure in the knowledge that Azzi won’t hear it, she opens her mouth to say it.

But just at that moment, the wifi lags and the call drops. She stares at her home screen, a photo of her and Azzi from the past summer, her hair a patchy purple as she pouts at the camera. Azzi is beside her, beaming at her with that squinty eyed, dimpled smile that Paige knows is her Paige smile.

She flops to lay on her back. Maybe it was destiny that she hadn’t been able to say it. Because Azzi deserves to hear it from her mouth for the first time. And Paige deserves to get to say it to her, to get to see her face light up, and then to, hopefully, hear it back.

[fancyfeathers]

Ykw I guess that make sense, i feel like its only easier since daughter!reader can push him around a little since they're the same age. It's honestly hard to say who has the best relationship since they all suck😭. If I was her I'd be able to handle him. Except DICK AND BRUCE. they are basically two sides of the same coin and it would drive me crazy. I wouldn't stay in the same room with them if I could. Nothing could convince me otherwise. Although, when mother and daughter get older does the relationship improve with any of them or does it all just spiral out of control?

I know eventually that the secret will come out that Bruce blackmailed mother!reader to get back together. I just KNOW daughter!reader will never let this go. She'd do everything she can to help her mom out. Call the Kent's? Call her crazy (ex?) court of owls boyfriend? Anything to get away from these psychos. Might as well call the whole justice league

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

Honestly I think I am gonna place this in a Yandere!Justice League AU so like say if she did get out and told someone like Clark about what has happening, he’d just take her back to Gotham, “I believe this is yours”. Or if the Justice League found her, cue the next meeting were Bruce walks in to see his daughter in one of Hal’s constructs, an oversized hamster ball and just, “Hey Spooky, I think you lost this one, she tried to bite off my finger so she’s definitely yours.” This whole idea makes the thought of her becoming an anti-Batman/Justice League vigilante later in life even more funny.

On the other end of things…

One would think it would have improved over the years and in some cases it has, like by the time Daughter!Darling is a junior or senior in high school her mother has just sort of accepted there is no way in hell out of this for her and after that point her marriage is fairly normal or as normal as it can get. Meanwhile Daughter!Darling only grows more agitated as the years go on, and at the point where she is almost an adult she is in her extreme rebellious phase as they call it, but in actuality it is just her being a normal teenager.

Like she leaves after school with her friends or boyfriend (before she found out the truth) and hangs out with them and while her mother said it was alright, her father never did. Like I am just imagining her and her friend group, which is small all ready because Damian scares away most of everyone else, along with her boyfriend going out to grab coffee after school and Tim shows up, telling her friends that he has to take her home because there was an accident-

Bullshit, they were tracking her location and he’s come to drag her back to the manor.

This sort of thing happens every time she tries to do something away from them…

Dick came to pick her up from the ice skating rink.

Jason practically dragged her away before she could even get in her boyfriend’s car when he was going to take her out to the movies.

Even Stephanie has shown up when she was shopping with her friends for a dress for a date with her boyfriend (he had given her his credit card to pay for the dress), but that date never ended up happening.

It all comes down to a boiling point one day after school, Damian was sick and she had convinced Bruce that she was tutoring a student after school but instead she was in the backseat of her boyfriend’s car (you can probably guess what they were doing) since they have not spent time with each other in forever. She is cuddled up next to him and he finally asks…

“Is everything okay at home?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

She explains everything to him, well almost everything, right as she was about to reveal that her father is the Batman, there is a very loud knocking on the window of the car, and a very angry looking Dick Grayson was there, she had forgotten that he was going to pick her up from school. She pushes her boyfriend back when he tries to stop her from leaving but she tells him not to get involved right now.

The drive back with Dick is tense to say the least, he grips the steering wheel so tightly that you can practically hear the skin squeezing the leather. The worst part of it is that he calls Bruce in front of her and tells him everything…

“She had sex with a boy-“

“We didn’t go all the way-“

“You were half naked in his care, I- you have a bite mark on your neck- oh for fuck’s sake.”

When she gets home she is in huge trouble, even Stephanie and Cassandra, who normally somewhat take her side, are mad at her, so you can only imagine how fuming Bruce is at her. It is horrible for her to be sitting in the living room with everyone around her while they all yell at her and she barely gets the chance to talk.

“You are practically a child, what would make you think-“

“I turned eighteen a month ago!”

“I think you should have let me put that boy in his place when I first found them together, father.”

“Maybe she should stay with me in Blüdhaven for awhile.”

“No, we should keep her at the manor.”

“Really Timothy, and let her continue to let her to go to school with that boy who defiled her?”

“Damian, I was the one who-“

“We could confine her to her room until we find a better way to address her behavior.”

Then that is what happens, locked in her room twenty four hours a day, the definition of a prisoner in your own home. Every screen in the room has been taken out, cameras in her room, she eats by herself unless someone comes to join her, most books are taken away because they could be considered even mildly inappropriate, so literally all she can do is sleep, eat, shower, schoolwork that Damian brings her, and she could talk when one of them comes to see her but she really does not want to.

Meanwhile at school her boyfriend is fucking pissed at Damian and her boyfriend is one of the most influential people in that building, one of those pretty boys, so having him being mad at you isn’t a good thing…

Especially when his family are rather influential members of the Court of Owls.

His family holds enough influence to get Damian expelled from the school for his aggressive tendencies. His mother drags Mother!Darling off at galas and charity balls to join her circle of friends, most of which are members of the Court of Owls as well, and while Mother!Darling is drinking a glass of champagne and chatting, the boyfriend’s mother places a hand on her shoulder and gives her a smile…

“You know I am your friend, right? You can trust me with anything.”

Sooner or later something is bound to slip in the facade of a perfect family and when that happens everything becomes a clock, ticking away.

One night after everyone has left for patrol and the two darlings are getting ready for bed a few certain shadows slip into Wayne Manor. Now it may turn a few head in the court, sending out Talons to kidnap rather than kill, but it can be overlooked when one of them is going to be the fiancé of the heir of the Court’s most influential families.

Now this could end one of two ways…

The first of which is if the Bats get back in time, the alarms going off in the manor at the intrusion. Then by the end of it all Daughter!Darling is in the corner, crying and terrified, feeling horrible that her family was right all along about the boy she was dating, he was a horrible person. After that neither of them are left alone again, she moves rooms to share with Cassandra or maybe Stephanie, and not just share a room but share a bed, if something happens then they can’t waste a moment on reacting. Then someone is always with them, Bruce’s wife is stuck to his side during the day, being dragged along wherever he goes, then the youngest of the bunch has all of her siblings looking after her, wake up next to Cass, get dragged along by Damian after breakfast, forced cuddles from Dick (and Barbara if she is there) before lunch, Jason watching her during lunch to make sure she eats enough, watching movies with Stephanie in the afternoon, Tim keeping an eye on her while he reviews footage before dinner, and then when patrol rolls around one or two of them stays back to keep an eye on them.

Then the second outcome is if they don’t get there in time. They won’t wake up with the entire court present, no that is honestly far too intimidating and they certainly enemies of the court, but they do not wake up together either. Mother!Darling wakes up in an armchair in a sitting room, it is terrifying to see all of those friends at those galas she got dragged into all sitting there, laughing and talking like nothing was wrong, and then the boyfriend’s mother just smiling at her…

“Oh wonderful, you’re awake! I was worried you got hit too hard when you got knocked out.”

“W-what’s g-going on?”

“Oh yes, I suppose you would be scared, but you need not worry, I promise you that no one will harm you or your daughter again. Now that aside, would you like some wine? We have this one red wine that just came in from Italy that is absolutely divine.”

Meanwhile her daughter wakes up in a room that is not hers with her boyfriend next to her, holding that white owl mask, and he just smiles at her while she’s terrified because she thinks she was just kidnapped by her boyfriend who always felt too innocent to even get in a verbal argument with someone.

“Shh… don’t cry sweet thing, you’re safe now, nothing will ever hurt you or your mother again.”

[kinardsevan]

the truth (about you) 

another mini that I haven't really gotten very far on, so you just get this scene that I might finish at some point:

“Well all I’m saying is it’s nice to know that phase of yours didn’t last,” Margaret mutters. 

Evan narrows his gaze at his mother, both utterly confused and completely offended. “Phase? Y-you mean Tommy? My boyfriend?” 

“Sure, sweetie, if that’s what you called him,” she answers, busying herself with food at Maddie’s counter. 

His mouth and eyes go wide, ready to launch into an entire speech, but Maddie’s hands are on his chest then, pushing him out of the room, and he’s shaking a finger towards the kitchen as he looks down at his sister. 

“Maddie, I swear to God-..” 

“I know,” she tells him. “Just give me a minute.” 

He glares at her. “Chimney and Tommy are on their way now! And she’s going to pull this? We just-..” 

“I know,” she repeats to him. “Again. Give me a minute.” 

Evan grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t fight her. Instead, he walks out of the house, busies himself with heading to his jeep and grabbing the last few things he’d brought to share with the food he’d brought for the meal. As he’s closing the door, Tommy’s truck pulls into the driveway, and he forces down another breath to calm himself before putting a smile on and turning towards the truck. 

Chimney and Tommy are both getting out as he reaches them, and Tommy grins at him, grabbing him by the elbow to lean in for a quick kiss before reaching into the truck bed and pulling out a few bags. 

“Everything going okay so far,” Tommy asks as they head toward the house a moment later. 

Evan bites his tongue, wanting to trust his sister. They’ve been through too much in the past few months, between the serial killer taking her hostage and then the helicopter crash, all in the midst of Maddie being pregnant. Maybe she can work it out. 

“Sure,” is all he offers up in response. 

They enter the house and when they make it into the kitchen, Margaret is nowhere to be found, while he spots Phillip in the living room with Jee-Yun. Maddie takes the bags from then and then she and Chimney are working to empty them. 

“Why don’t you two go set the table,” Maddie states, pushing a stack of plates and utensils into Evan’s hands. He raises an eyebrow at her and Tommy gives him a curious look, but he takes the items anyway and walks into the next room. 

Two minutes later, they have the table set, and Tommy loops around him, slipping his hand around Evan’s back and letting his fingers trail until Evan turns him, pressing him back against the table. 

“Will you behave,” he mutters softly. 

“Haven’t seen you in three days,” Tommy reminds him. “I saw you more after the crash than I do right now.” 

Evan frowns at him. They’ve both been slammed since going back to work recently, and it’s not making for finding time together very easy. 

Tommy rests his hands on Evan’s hips as the younger man presses his forehead against Tommy’s, trailing a finger down his chest. 

“Evan,” he warns. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” 

“Since when does anyone call you Ev-…” Margaret’s voice trails off as Evan and Tommy both look up at her, and Evan gulps, lets out a nervous breath. 

“Not a phase, mom,” he states succinctly. 

“I thought you two broke up,” she comments, clearly trying to keep her tone clipped. 

Tommy nods. “We did,” he answers politely. Something about the way his body becomes rigid against Evan feels like he’s putting up a wall. Evan rests his hand flat against Tommy’s chest as a silent reminder of what they fought through to take those walls down. Some of the tension eases out of Tommy, but not entirely. Still, the way his thumb moves on Evan’s hip causes him to realize…the wall isn’t up against him. It’s up for him. 

“And then we almost died in a helicopter crash,” Evan adds, reminding his mother of the events of the previous months. He turns back toward Tommy, easily recalling the way his boyfriend had repeated his own words back to him in the hospital after he’d woken up two days later. 

“Decided it was better to be scared together than miserable apart,” Tommy murmurs, looking down at him. 

“Well maybe being apart-..” 

“I’d watch whatever it is that’s about to come out of your mouth,” Chimney interjects, and both men glance up at him, surprised. For Evan, he figured if anyone would say anything, it would be Maddie; and for Tommy, he’s still learning what it’s like to have people in his corner. 

“Howard-..” 

“With all due respect, Mrs. Buckley, you’re talking about my brother-in-law and a friend of almost twenty years,” he reminds her. “So like I said, tread carefully.” 

She huffs at his statement but doesn’t respond in any form. After a moment, she turns on her heel and walks out of the room. Tommy glances back at Evan, raising an eyebrow, and Evan only shakes his head in response. There are overly hushed whispers from the next room, but Evan doesn’t let that stop him from leaning in and kissing Tommy chastely. 

[firefly--bright]

omg meeting jean’s family and spending christmas/new years w them ??

YES i went with spending christmas eve with them!! this might be a bit too specific but its something ive been thinking about for a while :D thank you for the ask!! :33 taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy , @1ovede1uxe ❅ masterlist is in pinned post ❅ enter my taglist ❅ requests for headcanons are open! ❅

❅ backstory on his family a bit first! okay so in my head it. it was was him and his mom at first. his dad wasnt in his life all that much and would only show up randomly. right. caused issues in his psyche. more about this in upcoming dusk to dawn chapters (PLEASE BE PATIENT W ME GUYS)

❅ and so when he was like. 13 or something. already hormonal teenager, his mom married this guy who already had two daughters, one of whom was older than him and one was younger.

❅ anyway. it took him a while to be okay with all of that, because he got really protective over his mom at one point and threatened his now stepdad with the whole "if u hurt my mom i will hunt u down and make u wish u never lived" mind u hes like 14

❅ ANYWAY so in my head he has an older sister who older to him by like 5 years and younger one is like 3 years younger than him. they didnt get along at first, obviously, being kids and allat. none of them were okay with this but with coaxing from their parents they found out that they werent terribly company, actually. again more on this in dusk to dawn upcoming chapters i swear

❅ ok so back to the request!! christmas in the kirstein household is beautiful ok. their house isnt super duper big but is well off enough, and jean's parents always go full out for it. lights and beautiful decorations, one of the prettiest houses on the block. youre obviously super nervous even if you had talked to his mom a couple times on the phone when she forced jean to give it to you. his sisters knew about you on social media and whatnot but thats way different than meeting in real life

❅ and jean tells you that his mom already loves you so you have nothing to worry about. "but what about your sisters and dad?" "my dad trusts my mom and will literally do anything she says so he will love you. my sisters will love you because youre you, stop worrying so much." he says even though everytime he has to talk to your family hes also scared shitless.

❅ you see their house and your jaw drops to the floor. he mumbles something about how they outdid themselves and how he's pretty sure theyre the ones trying to impress you. you only half listen to him tho

❅ anyway!! his mom opens the door and immediately hugs you. WARMEST HUG EVER BTW. cold outside be damned and she hugs you for a good two minutes before pulling away and then scolds jean for not wearing a beanie. "so i just dont get a hug?" and thats when she hugs him.

❅ the inside of their house is just as decked out as the outside. their christmas tree almost takes up the whole room. imagine those cozy romcom houses on christmas :') his dad is chilling by the record player (that jean has told you about) and gives jean the. guy hug like the two pats on the shoulder one. welcomes you in, shows you to you room, tells you to treat it as your home because it is your home. theyre all such warm people honestly

❅ his little sister isnt there to greet the two of you until after youve almost settled into jean's old room. its just big enough for the two of you and youre going through his old posters and things on the walls while jean tells you that "that was just a phase, honestly, haha, im not even that person anymore.." as if u dont kow everything about him already. and then his little sister walks in with some hot cocoa in her hand and looks at the two of you for a couple seconds and then says "how did this ugly ass bag you."

❅ anyway. turns out his older sister is going to be there by evening time so you help out in the kitchen, and jeans mom shoos him out of there coming up with some excuse of how his dad needs him or something. and then she tells you about all the times he wet his bed as a kid. this woman is dead set on embarassing her son tbh. i love her

❅ youre bonding over having a shared love for baking and shes giving you tips when his little sister walks in again. "did she tell u about how many times he used to wet the bed?"

❅ you find out shes studyinng to be a lawyer, in her first year of uni rn so shes super busy. his mom says shes very smart and shes just bashful and says "im not that good," waving a hand infront her face and you cant help but note that jean does the same fucking thing when someone gives him a genuine compliment. except that he usually follows with "i mean- unless youre into that." or something that ruins the soft moment.

❅ anyway. you meet his older sister soon, and she's almost identical to mama kirstein, mannerisms wise. the same laugh, her voice just a little bit deeper, the same sense of style, almmost everything. she embraces you in her warmth as soon as she steps in, tells you how excited she has been to meet you and that jean cannot stop telling her about you. she asks about your career and you find out shes also like jean with her passion and drive in her own career, and you get into an indepth discussion about it over a glass of wine until its time for dinner

❅ dinner is fucking beautiful. mama kirstein only let you help with the smallest things because you insisted, and she paid attention to any and all dietary restrictions you might have. sibling fights w jean and his sisters and you figure out why he hates his hair being touched (because his sisters always mess it up. thats literally all its not even that deep) jean and his dad eventually have a discussion about wines and stuff and its so obvious. right. they comb their hand through their hair in the same direction in the same way and youre like OH THAT MAKES SENSE.

❅ at one point you fix jean's collar and his sister is like "man u cant even do one thing right" to him, and his mom brings up marraige at the same time and jean chokes on his food. its not why she asked it that shocked him its just how she asked it. its so casual - "youre such a child, jean," his younger sister says, and his dad is talking over them, "alright, just because his collar is a little dishevled," and jeans glaring at his sister as you fix it and theyre all kinda talking over eachother right and you fix it and its like a little soft moment and he mumbles a "thank you" and his eyes are like shining and his hand is on your thigh and you roll your eyes in fake annoyance. and his mom is just, "so marraige."

❅ LMFAO moving on. theres dessert. you help with the clean up and jeans sister tells you that when they were small they used to make pancakes for their parents and jean got flour everywhere and she was always the one who cleaned it up. jean would worry about the presentation more than the taste and their younger sister would make the coffee, accidentally putting in too much sugar which went unnoticed until papa kirstein had to gulp down a wince at how sweet it was. speaking of, jean and him were in the living room and you could hear his voice clear as day complaining about how he just doesnt have enough vinyls and his dad telling him exact coordinates of where he'd find them <3

❅ and theyre all SO SWEET UGH like you can clearly see eahcother's influence in them. of course this cant be complete without mama kirstein showing you his old baby pics. hes so red in the face when his mom points out how chubby his cheeks were and his older sister pinches his cheek and he swats her hand away which turns into a small cat fight. dont talk about it. his dad puts some music on and claps his hands, "monopoly, anyone?" which then turns into a whole game night :')

❅ complete the night with a movie where you and jean fall asleep on eachother halfway through the movie, and his younger sister takes like 2000 pictures of the two of you with different filters on. as blackmail.

❅ bonus you wake up to pictures sent by an unknown number with different pictures of jean throughout his embarassing teenage years and his (gasp) emo bad boy phase in highschool... cringe...

god i love this man. i want him and his family so bad. anyway! thank you for the ask!! and for your patience :333

sorry for not making a moodboard, I couldn't find enough pictures with the vibe I wanted to go for (⁠･ั⁠ω⁠･ั⁠)

[heyftinally]

And let me tell you, I don’t care about Kim Kardashian and her clan but for Taylor to revive an 8 years old beef about her when that woman has already divorced Kanye and mentioning her kids (who are CHILDREN!) is so immature. And the line of “my mom is a saint but she wishes you were death” might you this is a mother that hasn’t spoken your name in YEARS. Swifties be celebrating this then at the same breath paint her as a female activist. This isn’t Taylor coming on top, she’s pathetic and the only reason she’s bringing this drama again is because she’s planning on releasing her reputation recordings next and she’s getting her fans all ready and bothered to do the bullying for her. She’s an opportunist, uses her fan base for her battles and she loves the parasocial attachment her fans have for her and her private life.

Oh you're spot on there. Taylor brings up old beef like a high school mean girl who won't let go of your elementary/middle school awkward phase or screw up. And going after CHILDREN to serve as fodder for her petty squabble is just completely out of line. Most people in entertainment at least respect that rule - no matter how much beef you have with someone, their kids are off limits. Taylor has no such class.

She's absolutely an opportunist, though. That's why she never tells her fans off, even when they're sending literal death threats and spamming random people with racist and homophobic harassment. Because so long as she condones their shifty behavior, her loyal little clone drones will bully whoever Taylor even vaguely dislikes. All she has to do is vague tweet about someone, and her minors descend on them like vultures.

And honestly? She's created such a negative name for herself that unless she's fueding with someone or breaking up with someone, she has nothing to write about. Because nobody who actually does anything with their life/fame wants to hang out with her. So she's dredging up old fights because she's out of ideas, and can't let go of a grudge. She has to be the victim all the time, and because she's always the victim, any time she claps back if "obviously" justified. In her mind, anyway.

She's out of ideas, so she's going to bully another woman (real feminist of her, huh?) over a years-old feud just to get her kicks. It's honestly just embarrassing.

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 18 - "We can't do this on our own."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: Slight mentions of DannyXBruce ship

A/N: Inspired by the comments and Reblogs of Prompt 17. I advise to read that one first before reading this, also posting this early because I won't have the time to do that tomorrow. Credits for inspiring this continuation go to @charlietheepic7 and @noxcheshire

After the babysitting disaster Dick had sworn Tim and Damian into secrecy about. The bat-sibling had quickly warmed up to the phantom children and invited them several more times to visit them at the manor. Damian had even doubled his efforts in getting along with them, still believing they were his half siblings, despite Bruce having tried to explain to them in private that this wasn't the case.

Of course that didn't mean that Damian wasn't butting heads with them at all, in fact they were only sitting together like this now because Damian and Dan had gotten into a fight about whether or not Phantom was an adequate partner for Bruce. Dan appeared to have taken offense to that in some form and declared that Bruce was the one not suited to be with his Mom.

The fight ended with Dani, five years old little girl Dani, kicking down both Damian and her own brother, before proceeding to sit on Dan while loudly yelling that he was risking their entire plan of setting up their Mom with Uncle Bruce so Auntie Valerie would stop trying to be their Step Mom. Which brought them back to their current situation of the five of them sitting together in the main hang out room.

Dan grumbled inaudible, arms crossed and glaring at the bat children assembled before him. Dani giggled, nudging her big brother's leg. "Don't go nonverbal now!"

"Nonverbal?" Dick couldn't help but question, causing Dan to snarl at him while Dani still smiled very brightly at them.

"Big Brother sometimes only talks in growls and snarls. Auntie Jazz said it's got something to do with what he's been through. Mom says big brother isn't socialized enough yet." The boy only growled, glaring at them while he pulled the little girl into a hug and made her sit between his legs, making Dani giggle once more grinning bridely. The two Phantom children were seated on a loveseat together now in the general hang out room of Wayne Manor. Dick, Tim and Damian sat across from them on the couch.

The bat kids exchanged glances. Bruce can try as he might, there was no hiding the relation he had with the Phantom kids. There were too many things that added to the fact that the kids had to be Damians half siblings.

Damian looked rather disgruntled, arms also crossed as he turned to return Dan's glare with the same intensity. "Father, may have been trying to hide you from us but his attempts at gaining Nightingale favor are just as pathetic as the excuses he has been giving us in regards to our relation."

Tim arched an eyebrow. "I was not even aware that Bruce tried to flirt with Phantom at all."

Dick patted Tims shoulder in mock condolence. "I have seen the Phantom-Batman dynamic since my days as Robin… It was horrible and painful to watch. Jason can attest to that."

"Mom is as dense as a neutron star." Dan muttered looking away from them.

As if realizing something Dani blinked a couple of times before staring wide eyed at Dick and pointing with one hand at him. "You're the menace Robin! You're the one that asked Superman to throw you high into the air so you could do flips! Mom even said that you asked him once if he could phase you halfway through a wall or turn you invisible to scare your rogues!"

Both Tim and Damian stared at their older brother unimpressed.

"I guess that did happen. Well back to topic!" Dick tried to deflect which sort of worked. But more because Tim got curious about something.

"I don't get how you guys know about us but we didn't know about you two at all. Phantom never mentioned either of you before, not even when he came to visit as Danny. Before we were told about him being Phantom." Tim muttered, completely ignoring Dick as he turned his attention to the two kids. The two children in turn exchanged knowing looks.

"Mom and Auntie Jazz were worried that big brother would get PTSD seeing the Justice League. That's why Uncle Bruce and Superman are the only ones who really knew about us." Dani explained looking up at her older brother who suddenly sported a feral grin, showing off suddenly very sharp appearing teeth. "Though Superman learning about us was more a spur of the moment than intentional telling him."

"Mom was so mad at him." Dan mentioned his sharp teeth glinting as he exchanged a feral look with his sister. It sent a shiver down the batkids' back, making them remember that the kid mentioned he had apparently murdered all of them before. The image of little ten years old Dan standing in a sea of blue fire and laughing like a maniac crossed their minds for a brief moment before they pushed the memories of the babysitting disaster into the depths of their minds again. "He would have beat him up if Uncle Bruce didn't stop him. Instead Mom put Supes through the lecture of a lifetime using us as his how-it's-supposed-to-be example."

"Oh and we met big bro J when Frostbite helped with his treatment!" Dani added clapping her hands together all cutely while her brother on the other hand ended up growling. "He still owns me a spar."

"That… explains nothing." Tim retorted, eyes narrowed at the two kids who only shrugged refusing to explain any more than they had.

Damian meanwhile ended up glaring at nothing as he crossed his arms muttering something about punishing Todd for having been in cahoots with his father and keeping his younger siblings from him. Dick smiled, their youngest apparently really like the thought of having two younger siblings of his own now.

"Can we please get back to topic? About these two trying to set up Danny and Bruce?" Dick tried once more, he really wanted to know more about this whole 'we attempted to set our mom up with Bruce' deal the two kids had going on.

"What is there to question, Richard? My half siblings appear to want for my father and their mother to be together." Damian huffed with his attention being on his eldest brother he did not notice the confused look Dani gave the older boy before looking at her own brother only for Dan to sport a mix of a feral and mischievous grin the girl soon returned when a look of understanding crossed her face briefly.

"So are you guys going to help?" Dani looked at them with big baby blue and pleading eyes. Dan gave them a red eyed glare as if daring them to disagree with his sister. "As big brother said Mom is a neutron star! We can't do this on our own. But now that you guys know you can help!"

The three bat-kids exchanged a look, though it appeared as if Damian had already made a decision on that matter the moment he learned that Phantom was the mother of his half siblings. Dick grinned, pulling out his phone. "If we are going to do this then I am calling in the cavalry."

In other words Dick was going to call in all their siblings as back up. They had been discussing making Phantom, aka Danny Nightingale, a more permanent fixture in their lives before after he had helped Jason. Now they had even more reason to do so with two baby siblings added into their lot.