#see their dad crumple to the ground

[salparadiselost]

I feel like the “protective dad Bruce” industrial complex is too strong. Y’all really need to discover the whump potential of “protective batkids” and let his babies throw themselves in front of a bullet for him.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Teach Me a Lesson, Mr. Miller✨

Bfd/Brat Tamer! Joel Miller x fem! reader

A/N: This has been in the docs for a while, and it’s all just filth. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for helping me get that one sentence just right! This one is dedicated to all the bratty girls who love to be punished, especially @littlevenicebitch69 😈

Summary: Tonight, you planned for beer, loud music, and sloppy sex with one of your hot college classmates. Instead, you get your best friend’s dad putting you in your place.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 6.7k

Tags: Porn with plot, large age gap (reader is 23, Joel is 46), best friend’s dad! Joel, unprotected piv, brat tamer! Joel, fingering, oral (f/m receiving), no use y/n, pre outbreak! au, switching POVs, dirty talk, edging

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The lights flash like disco balls across the silhouette of the glass windows as Joel enters the front door of his house. His eyes blow wide, eyebrows furrowing when he sees the absolute mess in his large two-story house. 

   The wooden floors are caked in spilled beer, bottles litter the vicinity of his college infested living room. The loud music blares through the speakers, bodies cramming the now made dance floor with the leather couches pushed back out of place. Antique lamps get knocked over, footballs get thrown around by some jocks in the kitchen, chips get crunched and crumpled by careless feet over by the rustic coffee table. 

   He can’t see an end to the madness of this unwelcome house party that was obviously thrown without his knowledge, and he’s fucking pissed.

   He scoffs as a tall blonde football player rams into his shoulder, not even muttering an apology, only yelling “Watch out, old man” as be barrels through with an open beer bottle clutched in his firm hand. That makes Joel burn with hot rage, his jaw ticking as he goes searching for Sarah in a sea of college party goers. 

   He was supposed to be away on a contracting gig all weekend, but he unexpectedly got to come home early after the clients changed the dates yet again. He was going to surprise Sarah by taking her out to dinner, but not anymore. Not after he walked into his house that’s now completely trashed by fucked up college kids. 

   He clamps down on his seething tongue and tastes blood run down the back of his throat, pushing himself through a couple making out by the kitchen entrance, cursing under his breath when almost no one even realizes he’s right there in the midst of it all. A rowdy boy shotguns a beer in the hall, all his friends hollering for him to chug. Joel grabs the aluminum can out of his hand and throws it on the ground, crushing it under his leather work boots while he scowls at the piece of shit.

   “Get out of my fuckin’ way,” he growls, pushing the college kid out of the way and into the wall, stomping down the hall back into the living room when he doesn’t see Sarah anywhere around him. 

   He barrels past a sleazy couple making out by the stairwell, hearing them yell back while he huffs and pushes past them. Fucking college kids.

   Turning and looking up the stairs is where he finds you standing there, nursing an alcoholic beverage from a red solo cup. He clenches his jaw, narrows his eyes as he stares at you, Sarah’s best friend, not even comprehending he’s right there basically at your heels. 

   He growls under his breath, hands balled in tight fists as the loud music booms through his eardrums, cursing when he sees another red solo cup fall to the floor, spilling liquid all over his newly polished floors. 

   Goddamn it.

   He assesses you carefully, flicking his eyes over your too tight little black dress, barely covering the globes of your ass. Your low cut neckline basically reveals it all, cleavage spilling from where your perky breasts tease the boys. He takes in your tanned, toned legs, your slutty outfit making all the guys drool over you. And he knows that’s what you fucking want because you love attention.

   If attention is what you’re seeking, then he’s about to smother it.

   He scoffs under his breath; a jealous anger rises deep in his chest. He equally loves and hates how attractive he finds you. Your long legs could make any grown man weak in the knees, and your pouty red lips are so plump that they drive him absolutely wild. He so badly wants to suck that pretty little bottom lip between his teeth so he can finally hear what your pleasurable cries sound like while they ring melodically through his ears.

   He should be mad, furious that you were a part of putting this party together. He knows you were; Sarah wouldn’t do this by herself. Not his little girl. No. She obviously had some convincing from you. He always knew you were a little troublemaker. 

   And you know what happens to little troublemakers? They get taught a lesson. And that’s exactly what he plans to do.

   “Isn’t this party great? You and Sarah really pulled it off. Didn’t think you could. Bravo,” Kylie congratulates you, tipping her half empty beer bottle to your red solo cup, spilling a little of the mixed alcohol over the side of your cup.

   “Yeah, well this wouldn’t have even happened if we thought her dad would show up. Kinda was hesitant to even help throw it, but guess it worked out,” you sigh with relief, a smile painting over your tinted red lips.

   You relax against the wall, taking a deep breath while the drifting music fills your ears, lulling in the alcohol that calms your racing mind. “Good thing he’s not here, right? That’d be a shit show,” you laugh. 

   After a couple of minutes, Kylie hits your arm and almost screams into your ear. “Wait. Oh no. Isn’t that… is that Sarah’s dad?”

   You stand up straight, pushing yourself off the wall frantically. As you look down the narrow staircase and gaze through the parted crowd, that’s when you see him staring up at you with a clenched jaw and fire lighted in narrowed eyes. 

   Oh shit.

   You swallow a generous gulp of the bitter alcohol, biting the tip of your tongue hard as Kylie disappears and leaves you alone with the hungry panther that’ll surely show his claws to you any moment now. He stalks towards you, climbing the stairs and pushing past party goers, his big lips twitching and glowing eyes glaring your way. 

   Fuck. He’s so angry. You’re in big trouble. 

   He points a thick finger accusingly at you, mouthing your name angrily through his gritted teeth. When he reaches you your eyes blow wide, mouth dropping open, standing speechless in your black high heels. Your red solo cup slips out of your hand, and you gulp when the cup lands on Joel’s tan work boots, spilling alcohol all over the worn leather. Shit. 

   He rakes a hand roughly down his salt-and-pepper trimmed beard, muttering curse words under his breath. “Jesus Christ,” he huffs. 

   “Sorry…” you stutter, almost falling backwards before he places a strong hand around your wrist, holding your gaze with his narrowed eyes.

   “So, you and Sarah decided it was alright to throw a fuckin’ party over the weekend I was supposed to be out of town, huh? Thought it was fine to trash my goddamn house?!” His voice is sharp, stern, filled with a deep gravelly tone that almost scares the daylights out of you. You’ve never seen Joel mad before, not like this. You’re in so much trouble.

   “No… I mean, we didn’t mean to…” you mutter quietly.

   “Didn’t mean to my ass. This was planned. Parties don’t jus’ happen. But let me ask you one thing, where is my daughter?” His amber eyes dig into you, a deep scowl forming over his lips while you try to hold your shaky breath. 

   You wouldn’t rat Sarah out, not to her dad. She was busy hooking up with Ryan by the pool, and you did not want her dad knowing that. He would probably take his meaty hands and physically kill the poor guy.

   “I don’t know. Haven’t seen her in a while,” you shrug, pretending like you don’t know a thing.

   He slides his tongue along his bottom teeth, his cold eyes slitting into narrow slots. Oh god, you’re done for. “Upstairs, now!” he yells. He grabs your wrist and drags you upstairs, down the narrow hall, past the occupied bathroom and down to the last room on the right. 

   His bedroom. 

   He throws you inside the room and flips on the lights, slamming the door shut with a bang and clicking the lock into place. No place to escape now. Your wide eyes scan the room, glancing past the corner with his acoustic guitar, taking in the navy blue walls, the collection of stacked albums in the little glass case, eyes flicking over the king-sized bed with clean white sheets and a dark blue blanket thrown neatly on top. 

   You don’t have time to really take in your surroundings because he’s suddenly screaming at you through clenched teeth. “Where is Sarah?” he growls, pacing in front of you with blown out angry eyes, tanned arms crossed over his broad chest.

   You push all your fears aside and decide to turn on the charm, hoping you can flirt your way out of this one. “I dunno, Joel. Where do you think she is?” you giggle, twirling a lock of hair between your fingers, giving him your best innocent look as you bat your eyelashes up at him, trying your hardest to not turn your best friend in. 

   Something snaps hard in him then. He crowds your space, pinning you against the navy colored wall, his meaty hands grazing against your hips roughly. “It’s Mr. Miller to you. Now look, I ain’t repeatin’ myself again. Now where is she?” He snarls, showing his incisors as his nostrils flare, making his chocolate eyes grow into big black holes. Oh god, he’s furious. 

   “Like I said, I don’t know.” You smile, shrugging your shoulders like you don’t have a clue in the world. He obviously knows you’re lying, and he won’t stand for that.

   “I’m not fuckin’ playin’ around, little girl. Tell me where my daughter is or so help me.” He clenches his jaw, a repressed growl held in the back of his throat. 

   “Little girl, huh? You think a twenty-three-year-old is a little girl?” You scoff, pursing your lips annoyed. 

   “Shut up, will ya? Christ. Jus’ tell me where the fuck my daughter is,” he growls, pinning his broad chest against yours.

   You smirk his way, challenging him with an ounce of liquid courage in your system. “Make me.”

   He digs into the sides of your hips with his thick fingers, making you gasp at the nervous butterflies that flit through your stomach. He gnashes his teeth together, dark eyes blowing wide as he ghosts dangerously close to your lips. “Better be careful there, sweetheart. You’re walkin’ on mighty thin ice,” he warns with the flash of black eyes. 

   “Am I?” you challenge, giggling with a gleam in your eye. He curses under his breath, ready to give you just what you deserve. “I see the way you look at me when Sarah’s not around. The way your eyes peel over me, especially when I was wearing my little pink bikini by the pool. Couldn’t stop staring, could you?” you smirk.

   He clenches his teeth together, groaning curse words as he scowls your way, fighting every ounce of control he has left in him, but he has none. “You’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that?” he spits your way, eyes lit like smoldering flames. 

   “Only a brat for you,” you wink.

   “Jesus Christ,” he huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thick fingers until he’s looking back up at you with danger written all over his handsome face. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

   “Mhm,” you nod, grabbing onto the front of his green flannel, your fingers curling ever so slowly over the soft material. “So, what are you gonna do about it, Mr. Miller?” you ask all flirtatiously, pulling him up against your chest while his big hands hover over the soft fabric of your tight dress.

   He carves his hand over the middle of your cleavage, running a calloused finger dangerously close to your breasts, anger still coursing through those dark eyes of his. “How much have you had to drink tonight? You’re actin’ rather bold, little girl.” His index finger grazes the underside of your breasts, and you hold in a surprised gasp.

   “I’ve had a couple sips, but I’m not drunk,” you promise, watching his eyes flick back and forth from your vision to your spilling breasts that scream to be freed from the suffocating dress.

   He assesses your face, scanning your flustered features while he ticks his jaw, analyzing if you’re really drunk or not. Once he’s satisfied with your answer, he lets out a gruff sound from the back of his throat. “Okay then. You’re not drunk, but you’re jus’ choosin’ not to tell me where Sarah is, and you’re givin’ me a damn headache with the way you’re actin’ like a little brat,” he snarls with gritted teeth. “What’s it gonna take to get you to answer me, brat?” 

   The nickname brat makes a wave of slick form in the gusset of your pretty lace and your insides quiver with need. You know exactly what you have to do now. 

   You take your nails and run them slowly through his greying scruff, watching him clench his jaw and growl through his teeth. He grabs your wrist and peels it off his face, pinning it high above your head while he takes a step forward and leans all his weight into you.

   “Don’t think for one fuckin’ moment you have control, sweetheart. I’m in control here. Now, are you gonna tell me where my daughter is or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you?” His eyes blow wide, black pupils taking over your vision as his hardening cock digs into the middle of your thigh. Oh fuck. He’s big.

   You smirk up at him and raise your eyebrows. “Think I can tell you where she is. After you fuck me first, Mr. Miller.”

   He snarls your way and grabs your wrists, pulling you from the wall and throwing you in the direction of his king-sized bed. Before you can even make a move, he's right behind you, spreading your legs and pushing your chest against the soft mattress, slowly hiking your dress above your hips.

   “If you’re gonna act like a brat then I’m gonna fuck you like a brat, fuckin’ tease,” he growls.

   You feel the cool air against your center before you can even comprehend what’s happening. He rips your lace panties in half, shredding the material and spreading you wider while he spits on his large hand and starts dividing your folds, calloused fingers gliding through the slick of your wet pussy. He pushes on your buzzing clit, already overstimulated by his meaty fingers pressing against you, and you can’t help but pull a low groan from your glossy lips.

   “You like that, huh? Dirty little thing, jus’ wait till I get my mouth on you,” he smirks devilish. 

   “Oh, god,” you groan loudly as he curls one thick finger inside your dripping hole, quickly slipping another in to make a delicious burning sensation light your core on fire.

   The room starts spinning as he languidly fucks his fingers in and out, making sharp, deep movements as they scissor inside you over and over again. It’s like he’s kissing the back of your cervix, reaching impossibly deep inside your soul, and his deft fingers are so fucking experienced that you think you see god himself when he curls at just the right spot and presses into the spongy spot that has you seeing twinkling stars before your wide eyes.

   The heel of his palm presses firmly against your clit, and you can’t help the obscene noises that squeak out of you, just like the wet, squelching noises your pussy is making every single time he fucks into you nice and deep. The way he’s finger fucking you is unforgiving and relentless, and you can tell he’s thoroughly pissed that you kept taunting him. He’s trying to teach you a lesson, but it feels so fucking good that maybe you should tease him more often. Maybe he’ll keep being rough with you because you like this more than you should. 

   You buck your hips up, pressing your clit against his rough palm as you reach for that friction you so desperately crave. You’re right on the verge of coming, and you need to feed that burning sensation that almost snaps like a twig inside your core.

   “Greedy fuckin’ brat, ain’t ya? Who said you could come already, huh?” he growls with bared teeth. He releases his drenched fingers from your core, and you feel complete loss when those damn thick fingers stop you from getting your sweet release.

   You whine as he throws you on the silky sheets flat on your back, his large body climbing over yours while he pins his muscular legs against your thighs, spreading you wide to be on full display for him. You gasp and try to break free of his strong hold, but he’s much larger than you are, and his body is as taut as a brick wall. No way you can knock him off.

   You lick your bottom lip in frustration and pout because your clit burns, and you need to get relief before you combust into uncontrollable flames. “Please, Mr. Miller,” you beg, tears pooling in the backs of your glossy eyes.

   “You gonna tell me where Sarah is?” he asks, his large stature toppling over your body as his smoldering eyes incinerate the flames a thousand degrees hotter. 

   “Maybe after you make me come.” You puff your bottom lip out and smile through the burn of your core. He’s not going to budge, so you might as well push him to the edge. 

   “You think a little brat like you deserves to come?” he snarls, his eyes blowing wide as they trail like fire down your writhing body.

   He spots your wet center and smirks, ghosting his fingers right over your bundle of nerves, exactly where you need him most. Your voice box dies as you watch his thick fingers skate across your middle region, and you grow mute as a blinding pleasure of need crashes through your bloodstream.

   “I asked you a question, little brat. I expect an answer,” he growls with clenched teeth.

   “Please,” is all you seem to be able to whisper out as the heel of his palm brushes against your over sensitive clit. “I… I need it,” you whine, feeling the bottomless pit your stomach seems to plummet into.

   “You need it?” he chuckles darkly, dipping his head down between your legs slowly. “This pretty pink pussy wants to come?” he smirks as his lips brush dangerously close to your throbbing mound.

   “Mhm,” you whine, panting excessively when his hot breath fans over your clit, sending your carnal need spiraling while his large hands push your thighs further into the slick white sheets. 

   He lets a string of saliva pool inside his mouth, and then he slowly lets it drip down like a waterfall onto your already drenched pussy. “Can never be too wet, little brat,” he grins wickedly. “But look at you, already soppin’ for me,” he chuckles darkly.

   The tip of his thumb slides against your slit, covering drool and slick up to your puffy mound as he meticulously circles over that sweet spot that makes you pant his name uncontrollably. You buck your hips up, begging for more, but he just settles nicely between your legs and lets his eyes lust over with black pits that threaten to eat you alive.

   “Mr. Miller,” you beg like a desperate bitch in heat. You need him, want him, and it’s so fucked up that you want your best friend’s dad. But he’s just so enticing that you can’t resist, like a prized possession you just can’t lose.

   “Now, let me taste jus’ how wet you are, little brat. Maybe you’ll stop runnin’ that smart alec mouth of yours for a minute,” he smirks cruelly. 

   You take a breath, about to spout off a flirty response to mock him, but then his mouth fuses to your pussy, and there’s suddenly no air left in your lungs. He languidly licks a long stripe up your glistening folds, making a shocked gasp escape your mouth while he peels his carnal eyes up at you and fucking smirks while his tongue slowly envelops your buzzing mound.

   Fuck. He’s even better with his tongue than you imagined. 

   “Ohhh,” you moan breathily, mouth agape with drool nearly sliding down your chin. His tongue makes your pussy clench up over nothing, but then he slips two experienced fingers inside your dripping hole and curls up up up until he hits that spot that makes you lose your fucking mind. 

   Another flick of his long tongue and you’re nearly choking on dry air. You try to speak, but his skillful fingers and lapping tongue make you forget every single thought that’s ever plagued your mind.

   “Look at you, all choked up like you don’t know any words. What’s the matter, little brat? Cat got your tongue?” His menacing words cut through the thick air, and his piercing black eyes flash with mischief when his tongue slides along your puffy clit.

   “Y—yes,” you choke, words getting jumbled on the tip of your tongue the minute he plunges his thick fingers deeper inside you. “Oh my god,” you moan, feeling his thick beard brush against your inner thigh, his tongue dancing impossibly fast around your bundle of nerves. “More,” you beg, “please.”

   Joel’s tongue snaps back in his mouth, and one of his large hands tugs you closer, possessively pressing into your thigh like he fucking owns you. “Beggin’ for me now, s’that right?”

   All you can do is nod in response. “Mhm.”

   He chuckles and shakes his head, still skillfully curling his magical fingers up inside you, almost making your vision turn to black. “You gonna behave if I make you come, pretty little slut?” he asks with a snide smirk, fanning his hot breath along your sticky center, right where he’s ruined you most. 

   “Mhm. I’ll be good, promise,” you squeak out, bucking your hips to try to get his warm mouth back on you, but he only digs deeper into your thigh, right to the point of both pleasure and pain mixed together. 

   “Attagirl,” he smiles wickedly, his dark eyes turning back into big black pits.

   In the next second his mouth is back on you, biting and sucking and teasing his tongue along your wet folds, his curved nose inhaling deeply in your curls above your mound, and then his mouth takes your needy clit and sucks. Hard. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, reveling in the feel of his smooth tongue, moaning with every curl of his thick digits that he gives you, relishing the sick, pleasurable feeling of knowing that you finally teased him enough that he gave in. And it’s honestly better than any fake fantasy that you conjured up in your twisted brain. This right here is something you’d be on your knees for every second you could get Joel fucking Miller alone with you.

   Another lick to your center and your fingers fall and twist around his dark greying tousled locks. That elicits a groan deep from within his throat, and he has you panting even heavier the more he ravishes your sticky center. 

   The coil sharply snaps in your belly, and you feel molten lava run down your spine, slipping down your center, your walls clenching tightly around his calloused fingers. “Fuck,” he groans, his tongue lapping up the spilling slick that runs down your thighs messily. 

   Even coming down from your orgasm, the man still sets your core on fire. “You taste so fuckin’ good, little brat. Like fuckin’ cake on my lips,” he hums, licking off your glistening slick that sticks to his plush lips.

   Once you’re coherent enough to form a full sentence, you breathe out raggedly. “Need you, Joel,” you whine, reaching for his flannel collar until he pushes your hand away.

   “Mr. Miller,” he snaps. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mocks, his tongue darting across his bottom lip while he takes his time pulling the top of your dress down. “You want this cock?” he asks smirking, his big hands toying with your now revealed breasts, pinching the pebbled nipples between his fingers, humming happily when a moan slips off your tongue. 

   “Yes, please,” you beg, hoping he’ll give in to your sweet voice that nearly sings each time his warm body brushes against yours. You’re desperate because now you really want him. You want to know what it’s like to be fucked by Joel Miller in the flesh.

   “You gonna tell me where Sarah is?” He leans in and brushes his soft lips against the shell of your ear, gently biting until pain turns into raw pleasure.

   “Yes,” you say shakily. “After you fuck me.”

   His chocolate brown eyes turn carnal, black pits taking over once again as a deep smirk flicks across that warm mouth of his. “If you wanna be fucked like a slut then so fuckin’ be it,” he growls viciously. “Needy fuckin’ girl.”

   He yanks the leather belt from the loops of his denim jeans, throwing it quickly over the side of the bed as it falls with a clatter onto the floor. He wastes no time and unzips his metal zipper, ripping his jeans down his legs, his black boxer briefs following quickly after. Your eyes widen when you see just how massive he is, his thick cock hard and pressing firmly against his soft tummy, precum spilling messily over his red, swollen tip that’s begging to be stuffed inside you.

   Your jaw drops, and searing pleasure tears through your core the way his cock twitches when he looks down at just how soaked you are again. You’re like a fucking water fountain with no end of flow in sight. You’ve got it so bad for him, but now all you want is to be fucked by this beast of a man.

   “Jesus Christ. Already wet for me again? Little slut wants to be stuffed full of my cock, s’that right? Well, congratulations because I’m about to fuck you until you can’t think about anything else but me splitting you in two,” he growls cunningly.

   His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, and then he’s driving his cock straight through your damp folds. The breath gets knocked from your body the moment he plunges inside you, his large width literally splitting you in two until all you can feel is him penetrating your tight walls. 

   “Fuck,” you moan as his arms come down around your shoulders, caging you in as he drives in harder, bottoming out each time his hips snap up against yours, making you feel so satiated but also starving for more. You love his cock, and you don’t think you’ll ever have anyone else that can measure up to the god of a man he truly is.

   “Yeah, takin’ my cock like such a good girl,” he purrs, slapping his hips over and over as your mind starts to become numb from the thrusts of his massive cock. 

   “M–Mr. M… Miller,” you garble out, eyes rolling into the backs of your lids, reveling in the pleasure of the way he slides in and out of you, hitting that spongy spot that makes your fingers curl into the now dampened sheets. 

   “‘S’right, sweetheart. Say my name. Look at you all cock drunk. Givin’ you jus’ what you deserve, like the little slut you are,” he chuckles darkly as his tongue darts out and licks ravenously at the nape of your neck. “Lettin’ your best friend’s daddy fuck this tight pussy? You’re such a fuckin’ slut,” he chuckles.

   You don’t know why, but the nickname slut makes your insides tremble and has more slick running down his cock with each brush he gives your center. You’re such a bad friend, but you don’t care. You’ve wanted him for so long, and now you have him. You don’t intend to stop now.

   He bends your knees toward you, folding them until you’re in the shape of a pancake, his cock spearing into you at just the right angle that makes your moans louder and desperate as he drives you to your quickening second orgasm of the night. 

   The head of his cock kisses your cervix, drawing shallow breaths from your lungs until the room is enveloped in amber flames. You’re burning for him, and he fucking knows it, too. “Come on, pretty girl. You know you wanna come on my cock,” he taunts, eyes lit with pure mischief that threatens to swallow your cries whole.

   “Yes, fuck. I’m right there… I’m right–” Your voice is cut off by the deep growl that comes from his throat the moment your walls clench tightly around his cock, and you feel those walls inside you starting to crumble like every single thing around you does. 

   “That’s it, little brat. Take it. Spill for me,” he commands with a deep, intoxicating tone that has you coming just seconds after he speaks. You arch your back and moan his name, your ragged breaths scratchy and dry as you come hard on his cock.

   “Oh, yeah. Fuckin’ messy girl, goddamn,” he growls as he fucks you relentlessly through the high. 

   Just when you think he might come too, he pulls out and leaves you crying from the emptiness that makes you hollow from the inside out. You lay there panting, your center ruined from your dripping cum. He doesn’t even give you a chance to breathe; he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you off the bed, pushing you down until you’re settled between his thighs.

   When you look up from under your long lashes, you see his hard cock shiny with your slick, and his eyes are lustful black pits. “Why don’t you be a good girl and open that pretty mouth, sweetheart. Wanna fuck it. Knock some sense into ya,” he growls.

   Your eyes widen and you try to turn, but he grabs the crown of your head and forces your mouth open with the tip of his thumb. “Open. Your. Fucking. Mouth.” It’s not a question but a demand. And god, you willingly do as he says without a fuss.

   Your hands wrap around the base of him obediently, and then your tongue laps at the underside of his cock, tracing the bulging veins that spread like vines down his shaft. Licking across the swollen tip of him, your tongue whisps against his slit, feeling the hot, salty precum envelop your throat as you hum around him. 

   “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, your tongue is so… fuck,” he moans once your lips are fully wrapped around him, taking him deep inside your throat until he’s bottoming out, making you gag. 

   You pull your lips from his cock, catching your breath as a bead of drool connects from your bottom lip to the tip of him, like a spider web spinning its web slowly and maliciously. He looks down at you with a glint in his mischievous eyes, and it’s so smoldering that it catches you on fire. 

   The pad of his thumb traces gently on your bottom lip, and for a moment you see a glimmer of softness in those dark irises. It’s quickly masked the second he grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs hard, pulling you to the edge of his messy cock. “You wanted to be fucked so badly, so let me teach you another lesson, little brat. Wanna shut you up with something else other than my hand.”

   He tugs you forward, and his cock plunges deep into your throat, languidly sliding it in and out, harder and faster with each stroke of his cock. Your eyes water as tears stream down your face, mascara trailing down your lash line with every thrust of his cock. Your cheeks hollow out, but nothing could’ve prepared you for how he humiliates you and ruins you by fucking your mouth repeatedly.

   The chilly air hits the back of your bare ass, and the room fills with obscene gagging and choking noises the more your mouth drowns in him. Drool coats your chin and runs down his thick length, but he doesn’t stop, he just keeps plunging deep into the back of your throat like it’s life or death. 

   “Finally learned how to shut you up,” he teases, ragged breaths growling from his throat the closer he gets to his climax. 

   You can’t talk, only the washed out sounds of drowning on his all-consuming length fill the void. He practically rips your hair out of the base of your skull, tugging forcefully, snapping his hips aggressively until you feel his tip swell and almost combust. A guttural groan leaves his mouth, and with one more snap of his hips he’s finished.

   “Swallow,” he commands. And then he’s spilling his hot seed down your throat. The salty taste makes you moan around him, and a unique taste that can only trademark as his own serenades you, claiming you as his own prized possession.

   He ruts once more inside you and then slowly slides out, collapsing on his back while you fall to the floor with a thud, gasping for breath as you choke on thick air. Your nails dig into the soft carpet, piercing through the thick material as you get a hold of yourself. Carefully tugging your dress up and down over your ass, you push yourself up after a few minutes of trying to decipher all that just went down.

   Joel lays with a large hand shielding his eyes, groaning to himself and mumbling nonsense under his breath. He’s probably regretting this entire night now, but you know you’re not. And you’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

   After a moment of standing there staring, Joel lifts himself up and leans his elbows against his knees, his eyes flicking over your panting form carefully. His stare isn’t kind but condescending, until it melts into something a little softer that you just can’t place your finger on.

   Is he… growing soft on you?

   His eyes flick to yours, his jaw slack and irises golden brown, no more lusting black pits. Something snaps in you, tugging at the pit of your gut that feels a lot like longing, yearning. And you shouldn’t feel this way about your best friend’s forty-six-year-old father, but you do. And nothing could convince you to stay away from him anymore. One taste and you were hooked. 

   You rock on the back of your heels, almost speechless by the aching feeling in your gut that screams from the loss of his hands on your body, his cock twitching inside you, and for a moment you feel sadness that completely shatters your fragile heart. Finding an ounce of courage buried deep in your throat, you fight to find your now meek voice again. “Are we going to make this a habit, Mr. Miller?”

   “Don’t count on it,” he mutters under his breath. “‘S’not a good idea,” he sighs.

   A wave of disappointment comes out of nowhere and just about knocks you on your ass, but you stand tall, your chin high in the air. “Fine. I learned my lesson, Mr. Miller. Guess I’ll go find another man to teach me another,” you mewl, letting the cold chill in your spine settle your agitation long enough to turn away from his clenched jaw and deep eyes that try to glue you to the dark carpet of his room.

   You give him a mocking smile and flip your hair across your shoulder while you sway your hips toward the closed door. Fine, if he doesn’t want you then you’ll just have to find someone else who can fill you as good as Joel did.

   A deep groan falls from his lips, and then you hear him pushing himself off the bed like his life depends on catching you. Joel snatches your waist and spins you around, pinning your back to the wall, just like the position you were in when you first got dragged to this room tonight.

   “I don’t fuckin’ think so,” he spits out, onyx eyes flaring with a hint of jealousy and possession, and then his lips fuse to yours, consuming every fiber of your body as his own.

   His plush mouth molds to yours like clay, his warm breath fanning across your swollen lips, and you swear you’ve never craved a man like this, not when his mouth is feasting on you. Parting your lips pliantly, you allow him access inside, his tongue slotting between your teeth and then dancing against your tongue. He tastes like whiskey and smells like sandpaper. He’s intoxicating.  

   Heat bursts through the room as his tongue invades your mouth, making you dizzy and incredibly needy the moment his hands cup the sides of your face, your fingers scraping gently against the back of his neck. He groans in response, deeping the kiss as he swallows you whole. You don’t hear the blaring music down the hall, you only hear his breath mixing with your own, your moans colliding in sync as a symphony fills the room. 

   The kiss ends moments later, and you’re standing there panting raggedly, trying to cool off from that heated moment. Joel steps back and rakes a hand heavily down his greying beard, his eyes in a far off place as he thinks and thinks about the actions he made in this musky, dark bedroom of his. Licking his bottom lip slowly, his chocolate eyes finally flick up to meet yours again. “Think you should go on now, sweetheart. We had our fun.” His eyes are heavy, his lids closing momentarily as another long sigh fills the void.

   “Can I… can I see you again?” you ask nervously, your heels digging deep into the carpet while you wait with bated breath.

   “‘S’not a good idea,” he warns, his nostrils flaring just the tiniest bit until he relaxes his tight shoulders. 

   “I don’t care,” you whisper.

   He looks at you a beat, his gaze trailing over your body, slowly nodding to the door, your cue to leave. You give him a small smile and make your way out, only stopping in the doorway when the door is inched open and loud music fills the room. You turn and give him some words for him to mewl over. “Ummm… thank you, Mr. Miller. For making me feel alive,” you blush. 

   “Jus’ Joel, sweetheart. Jus’ Joel.”

   “Right…” you smile, knowing you won him over. “Oh, and Sarah’s out back by the pool. See you around, I guess. Joel…” Without giving him a chance to say anything else, you turn down the hall, your chin held high knowing you just charmed Joel fucking Miller.

   He’s everything you ever wanted and everything you couldn’t have. But this wouldn’t be the only time you saw Joel Miller. No, you’d see him again.

   Joel topples onto the bed, letting the scent of your vanilla perfume permeate his ruined sheets. He fucking smells you everywhere, and now he can’t get the sight of your pretty, glistening eyes out of his smothered head. He groans, letting the heel of his palms dig deep into the sockets of his eyes. Maybe if he couldn’t see your shredded panties on the floor he wouldn’t be so wound up about you, but he still is, even with his eyes locked shut

   This is so fucked. You’re his daughter’s best friend, and he’s way too fucking old to be playing games with a twenty-three-year-old. But yet he wants to play, wants to teether you to his body until you can’t move, can’t escape from his strong hold on you. He’s got it so bad that he can’t even think straight. All he sees is you. And he doesn’t think he can stay away for long, so he won't. No. He’ll have you again and when he does, he won’t let you leave so quickly.

   He clenches the sheets in his fists and sighs, letting his eyes close as his body relaxes, tuning out the booming music that floats through his door. He lets your sweet scent carry him off into a light sleep, and the last thing he hears is your beautiful voice float through his ears as you call him Mr. Miller before sleep takes him down.

   And when he dreams, all he sees is how fucking wrecked you looked in between his ruined sheets.

   He’s not done with you. No. Not even close.

[thesuperiorrobin]

New Year’s resolution~

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem! Reader

Summary: Damian’s stuck with a plan for the next year.

Word count: 1.0k

Warning: none.

He’s got everything set in his head. After your first day a few years back, Damian knew you were the one he wanted to spend his life with, the one to grow old and be buried side by side for all entirety with. The word love was such a foolish thing to hike growing up, it was something he was taught by his mother and grandfather: “Love is a blinding thing and is nothing more than a weakness to all,” and it stuck with him until he met you, both 16 on New Year’s Eve just a few minutes before the time struck midnight—out and about far away from his family.

No lie, Damian Wayne was an angsty teen. At the time, he wanted nothing to do with his rowdy and chaotic family, along with the drunken strangers that seemed to be coming and going through the minor, seeing as his father was throwing yet another charity event. He managed to escape them that night, slipping away through the window and past the gates. Damian takes a stroll around the Gotham streets. The streets are never this quiet, but everybody’s with family, even the night's villains. He can hear the yells and laughter through the thin walls of the building as he passes by, and all he does is roll his eyes and kick a rock down his path.

A figure runs by, and it catches his eye, and as curious as ever, he follows, all that training comes in handy. He makes no sound, footsteps as quiet as ever, and his breathing barely makes a peep. He follows them up the Stoop of a building that leads to the top, hiding himself as he goes unnoticed by the person. That person pulls their hood down, revealing a you, a young woman around his age, their bag is thrown onto the ground as they kneel, unzipping it open to reveal food. Food that was meant for cats.

He watches for a minute, and not long after he hears the faint meows of multiple cats coming out of the shadows, some older and some much younger. They all gathered around the you, happily enjoying the food while some rubbed their heads against your leg.

"You can come out now. I know you're there," you call out, but it doesn't startle Damian. Although he is a bit shocked that you knew he was there, he clears his throat, revealing himself to you as you keep your back turned for a minute before glancing over your shoulder. Your eyes locked in with his green ones briefly before humming and looking away. "What’s the Damian Wayne doing out and about at this time just a few minutes before the new year starts? Shouldn't you be at the charity event?"

"I'm not suited for those things" his voice is quiet, but not quite enough for you to not hear "And you? Shouldn't you be with family at this time, it's almost midnight"

"Nosey are we?" You tease slighting leaving Damian to roll his eyes at you "My parents work with you Dad, so they're at the charity event too"

"They left you behind?"

"No, it was more of I didn't wanna go, big crowds with people I don't even know and pretending to be nice to me aren't my thing" You shrug slightly, and it goes quiet for a second before you look over your shoulder once more "wanna help me feed them? They won't bite"

Damian stays silent, as he moves forward and finds himself kneeling beside the you, the sound of crumpling paper could be heard from underneath. They find warmth, as they cuddle up closer to him, some finding their way in his coat and he lets them. Damian had always had a soft spot for animals. He takes a glance that you, soft smile painted on your lips as you hand feed a baby cat that’s cuddled up in your coat for warmth.

“My name’s y/n by the way” You take a glance at him, catching his staring and he turns his head to the side embarrassingly.

“Y/n….” He repeats, your name rolling off his tongue well, “Well you already know my name” his tone wasn’t cocky, no, it was more of an annoyed one. You hum, glancing down at the newspaper Damian seemed to be kneeling on, and as ironic as ever, his face was plastered on the front with a headline.

“Don’t think I can miss it when your face and name are practically everywhere” you chuckle softly pointing at the paper below him, and as he looks down Damian frowns slightly before glaring back at you.

“How hilarious” rolling his and a comfortable silence falls between the two of them, and it isn’t long before it is disturbed by loud ‘booms’.

Damian’s startled, taking action and going into a fight stance positioned. There wasn’t a single sign of threat anywhere near, just the sudden boom noises repeating over and over.

“Oh look!” You shout, catching his attention as he follows your gaze up in the sky “The fireworks!” The sky’s filled with color—and not the type that turns them red, orange, and yellow but the type that turns them purple, pink, blue, and green. You glance down at your phone, time reading 12:01. “Can’t believe I started the new year with Damian Wayne…” you chuckle, glancing back at him but frowning “Why are you standing like that? You look like you're ready to fight someone”

Damian clears his throat, awkwardly fixing his position as he glances at you with a scowl “This will be the first and last New years we’ll spend together”

“I wasn’t expecting another New Year with you” you shrug “wanna feed the dogs next?”

You two, did in fact, spend the next seven New Years together.

Two as friends and the rest as lovers.

And as the ball drops to the countdown from ten to one, you two share a sweet kiss when everybody wishes one a happy New Year and as you two pull apart, Damian stares at you lovingly as you smile back. The only thought in his head was thinking of ways he was going to propose to you the following year, or maybe he’d do it sooner.

Well…… I'm so late but HAPPY NEW YEARS. This was actually supposed to be posted on the 1st of January but I lost track of time I'm sorry 😭

[allthingssteddie]

Steve Harrington ruined his life. according to Eddie If he wasn't so kind to him, he wouldn't be in this mess. If he wasn't so sweet, listening to him ramble on about his problems, he wouldn't have let his guard down. If he wasn't so gentle, letting him stay over at his house after he had nightmares, he wouldn't have felt so safe. And if he wasn't so warm, holding him as he slept, he wouldn't be pregnant with his child now.

Eddie sat down in the back of the stadium in the high school gym, his usual spot, far away from prying eyes. At first, he was okay with keeping his relationship with Steve, the team captain, a secret. Steve wanted to maintain his "king" status, after all.

But now, Eddie felt like Steve's dirty little secret

As the game ended, the guys lingered, patting Steve on the back and congratulating him on a good game. Eddie couldn't wait any longer. "Steve, can I talk to you?" he asked.

Tommy sneered. "What does the freak want with you?" he said, blocking Steve like a guard dog.

Steve pushed Tommy aside. "Shut up Tommy , or I'll kick your ass."

Tommy looked betrayed. "What the hell, Steve?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Let's go," he said to Eddie, pulling him into a empty hallway.

"What's up, baby?"

"I'm pregnant," Eddie said, his voice flat.

"What?" Steve laughed nervously, as if hoping it was some kind of joke.

"You heard me," Eddie said, his expression stiff.

Steve's laughter died on his lips as he sat down on the ground, a look of utter disbelief etched on his face.

"Are you keeping it?" Steve asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's eyes flashed with outrage. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

Steve's face fell, and he looked up at Eddie. "I thought you were on the pill, Ed. What happened?"

"I am, I mean I was... I must have missed a day or two. It was an honest mistake, Steve," Eddie said, his voice shaking with emotion.

Steve's face crumpled as he looked away, tears streaming down his cheeks. "This can't be happening," he whispered. "We're not ready for this. We're still in high school."

Eddie felt a pang of sadness as he looked at Steve, seeing the fear and uncertainty etched on his face. He knelt down beside Steve, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure this out, Together."

Steve's eyes widened in panic. "I can't, Eddie. My dad will kill me. He'll send me away somewhere... and God, what will people think?"

Eddie's face darkened with anger as he stood up, his voice rising . "That's what you really care about, huh? Your reputation? Perfect alpha king Steve?"

Steve's eyes widened in alarm as he jumped up, trying to shush Eddie. "Eddie, please,” he whispered, attempting to hold his hand.

But Eddie was having none of it. He pushed Steve against the wall, his eyes blazing with anger and hurt. Then, he turned and ran away, leaving Steve stunned and alone.

Eddie burst through the front door his trailer, tears streaming down his face. He collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in a pillow.

Wayne, who was sitting in his favorite armchair, immediately got up and rushed to Eddie's side. "Hey, son, what's wrong?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

Eddie sniffled and sat up, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Wayne's expression softened, and he wrapped Eddie in a warm hug.

After a few moments, Wayne pulled back, his eyes flashing with anger. "I'll kill him," he seethed, his fists clenched.

Ready to run out the door, Eddie quickly grabbed Wayne's arm, holding him back. "No, uncle wayne, don't. Just leave it alone, okay?"

Months went by, and Steve's attempts to reach out to Eddie were met with silence. One day, he saw his chance, but just as he approached, Gareth appeared out of nowhere, blocking Steve's path.

"Hey, Eddie ," Jeff said, appearing at Eddie's side. "Let's get out of here."

As Jeff led Eddie away, Steve caught a whiff of something that made his heart sink the scent of a distressed omega. It was Eddie's scent, and it broke Steve's heart.

"You can't take a hint, Harrington," Gareth sneered, his small omega frame trying to appear intimidating. "Eddie wants nothing to do with you."

Steve held back, not wanting to appear threatening. "Gareth, please...just tell him I'm sorry. Ask him to talk to me."

Gareth's expression was adamant . "It's not happening."

Steve pleaded with Gareth. "Come on, please...just ask him."

Gareth's expression didn't waver, but Steve detected a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Please, Gareth," Steve whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "I need to talk to him. I need to make things right."

Steve's desperation was evident. In his shaking voice.

Gareth sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I'll talk to him, Steve. But I'm not promising anything."

Steve's heart leapt with hope. "Thank you, Gareth. Thank you."

As Gareth turned to leave, Steve called out again. "Gareth?"

He turned back, his eyes questioning.

"Tell him...tell him I love him," Steve said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I'm sorry. So sorry."

Gareth's expression softened, and he nodded before disappearing into the crowd.

A week went by before Eddie finally called Steve, his voice tight with anger. "Leave my friends out of this, Steve. They don't need to be involved in our mess.

Steve was desperate. "Please, Eddie, just meet me somewhere. We need to talk."

Eddie hesitated, then agreed to meet Steve at the old farmhouse on the outskirts of town. It was a place they used to break into, smoking and laughing together.

As Eddie pulled up to the farmhouse, he felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. "Why are we here?" he asked Steve, who was waiting for him on the porch.

Steve's face lit up with excitement. "I bought this place," he said, leading Eddie inside.

Eddie's eyes widened in surprise. "How can you even afford it?"

Steve's smile faltered for a moment. "I used my college fund."

Eddie's expression turned disapproving. "Steve, you shouldn't have—"

But Steve interrupted him. "Eddie, please, just look around with me. I promise you'll like it."

Eddie sighed, then nodded. "Well go ahead."

Steve's face lit up again, and he led Eddie deeper into the farmhouse.

The interior was a mess, but Eddie could see that Steve had been trying to fix it up there was a fresh coat of paint on the walls and could see that he cleaned up that trash that piled up everywhere.

As they walked through the rooms, Steve pointed out different features, that he added. Then, they entered a small room that was half painted looking like he ran out. An old crib sat in the center, surrounded by stuffed animals.

Steve's eyes sparkled. "I found this in my attic," he said, running his hand over the crib. "It was mine when I was a baby."

Eddie's heart skipped a beat as Steve showed him the stuffed animals, each one carefully preserved. It warmed his heart

The anger was still there but , but for the first time in weeks, Eddie felt a glimmer of hope.

"It needs a lot more work, I know," Steve said, his eyes scanning the room as if envisioning the possibilities. "But I see something here, Eddie. Something special. A place where we can start over, build something new together."

Steve's words hung in the air, filled with a sense of longing and possibility. Eddie felt his heart stir, his mind racing with the implications of what Steve was proposing.

Eddie wasn't sure what to say. He was still hurt by Steve, and the wounds of their breakup felt raw and tender. He didn't know if he was ready to forgive Steve, or if he even wanted to.

"I don't know, Steve," Eddie said finally, his voice cautious. "I need time to think."

Steve nodded, his eyes filled with a deep sadness. "I understand, Eddie. But please, think about it. I love you, and I'm so sorry for what I did. I'll give you all the time you need."

Steve's voice cracked with emotion, and he took a step back, giving Eddie space. Eddie could see the sincerity in Steve's eyes, and it made his heart ache.

Eddie looked away, trying to process his emotions. He could feel Steve's gaze on him, but he didn't know what to say. He needed time to think, to figure out if he could ever trust Steve again.

"I'll call you," Eddie said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve nodded, his face etched with disappointment. "Okay," he said. "I'll be waiting."

Eddie turned and walked away, leaving Steve standing alone in the old farmhouse. He could feel Steve's eyes on him, watching him go, but he didn't look back.

After a months of silence , Eddie finally called Steve. "Hey," he said, his voice soft.

"Hey," Steve replied, his tone cautious.

They talked for hours, catching up on everything they'd missed. Steve told Eddie about his progress on the farmhouse, and Eddie shared what was going on with him

As they talked, Eddie realized that he still had feelings for Steve. He'd been hurt, but Steve's apology and efforts to make amends had touched his heart.

"I want to see you," Eddie said finally.

Steve's voice lit up. "I'll meet you."

They met at the farmhouse, and Steve took Eddie on a tour of the renovations. Eddie was amazed at the progress Steve had made, and he couldn't help but feel really proud of him.

As they stood in the kitchen, Steve turned to Eddie and took his hand. "I'm so sorry again for what I did," he said, his eyes shining with tears.

Eddie's heart melted at that. "I forgive you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve's face lit up, and he pulled Eddie into a tight hug. They stood there for a long time, holding each other, the tension and hurt of the past few months melting away.

As they pulled back, Steve smiled. "I love you," he said.

Eddie's heart skipped a beat. "I love you too," he replied.

And with that, they would raised their little girl and live a long happy life together.

[muxshwriting]

like father, like son

Bradley Bradshaw x sister!reader

summary: when you crash land, it's not bradley you see coming to save you, it's nick || warnings: plane crashes, head trauma, hallucinating, reader has the callsign hummingbird, broken bones || word count: 1202 || masterlist

"MAYDAY MAYDAY. I'm going down."

Bradley's heart dropped as he watched his sister's plane begin a death spin through the air. Your engine had been washed out sending your plane flying through the air, gradually spinning faster and faster until you couldn't hope to pull it out of the turns.

"Hummingbird, eject." The calm voice of control filtered through your helmet as you reached for the lever between your legs.

Except it didn't move. Your lever was jammed, your canopy wouldn't open. You couldn't eject.

"Negative. My lever is jammed. Repeat, my lever is jammed."

"Try it again. Then go manual."

The worry sets into your bones as you remember your brother is flying with you. "Brad- Roo. I love you-"

Your radio cuts out before Bradley can reply as you start to disconnect everything your connected to, pulling out your comms and removing your oxygen. The plane is still falling to the ground, closer and closer. "Talk to me dad."

Over the radio, Rooster is screaming at you. He's watching your plane get closer and closer to the ground, counting the seconds and waiting to see the parachute release from your plane. But the chute is never released.

"I'm going after her."

"Rooster- No." Maverick began. "They're sending the rescue team out."

"That's my sister Maverick. I'm not gonna leave her to- I'm not leaving her alone."

It doesn't take anymore time for Bradley's brain to decide what he's doing. The moment Bradley's straps were undone, he was jumping from his plane and running to yours. His legs couldn't carry him fast enough as he got closer to the wreckage. There was smoke lazily pouring from the back of the ruined plane that Bradley ignored. He couldn't think about that right now. He clamboured over the wreck, pushing stray pieces of metal out of his way. The cockpit came into view. Except it was empty, you weren't there.

For a split second, the chaos in Bradley's mind calmed as he let himself believe that you had got out in time. But then it returned tenfold. he hadn't seen a parachute deploy and you'd been so close to the ground when he'd looked away. Even if you got out, there's no telling how much damage you'd sustained from hitting the ground.

He screamed your name with a desperation nothing could match. The guttural and heartbreaking sound of a brother who wouldn't survive loosing you. His eyes scanned the landscape until he spotted a bundle of a parachute not too far from the crash. The rope is all tangled and wrapped around the chute as Bradley tear through the fabric and pulls it to let him through.

You're lying in the cradle the chute created. Small cuts and scrapes cover your arms and some of your face from the cords cutting into you as you fell. But what worried Bradley the most was the dripping cut near you temple and the way your leg was crumpled beneath you, bending a way it probably shouldn't. But you're breathing. Your heart is beating and your breathing which means your alive. Bradley hasn't lost you.

Not yet.

He's shaking you awake before his brain catches up and realises that he maybe shouldn't shake someone with a head injury. But you groaned as you came back to consciousness and blearily opened your eyes.

But to you, it wasn't Bradley crouched in front of you, it was your father.

"Dad?"

Your dad frowned, reaching forward and brushed a stray hair behind your ear. "Hummingbird, it's me. It's Roo."

"No. It's Goose. It's Dad, not Roo." Your voice is slurred but you're smiling as you talk to your dad. Or rather who you think is your dad.

Bradley decides it better to let you believe he's his dad than to fight you on this. "Yeah. It's Goose, okay? Are you okay?"

"It kinda hurts."

"What hurts?"

Instead of answering, you sink deeper into delirium. Your smile widens as you push against Bradley's hand that's fussing over you.

"Y/N? Hummingbird, you gotta talk to me. What hurts?"

"Everything." It's a whisper that breaks Bradley's heart. Your smile has dropped, the sheen over your eyes dulled by pain as you seem to come to your senses. "Brad- It hurts."

Bradley's pulling the parachute away from you, unwrapping the cords from your limbs and getting ready to pull you out of the wreck. "I know. But you're gonna be okay. We're gonna get out of here."

"Yeah?"

He can hear the hum of a rescue helicopter growing closer. "Yeah. You're gonna be okay."

"Okay... I love you Roo."

"I know." Brad whispers back. "I love you too Birdy."

Bradley held you close even as the rescue team found you two. He held you even as they checked you for injuries. It wasn't until they had to move you onto a stretcher that he let go but he couldn't leave you alone. He looped his pinky with yours just like you did when you were kids, keeping his hold until he absolutely couldn't. The whole journey back, he held your hand while kneeling at your head whispering anything and everything to you, just so you knew he was there.

He's pulled aside by Maverick as your wheeled down a corridor of the medical centre, finally having to let go. Maverick doesn't let him be deserted for long, pulling him into an embrace that neither wants to end. "She's okay?" He asks just as concerned for your wellbeing.

"She saw Dad."

It's all Bradley says but the mention of Goose sends Mav's head spinning. "She- what?"

"When I found her. It was like she wasn't seeing me there, she was seeing Dad. Mav..." His voice broke as he spoke, the emotions of the last hour pouring out in waves. "I think she'll be okay? Her leg is probably broken, she hit her head but she wasn't majorly hurt any other way."

"Then she'll be okay." Maverick wasn't sure if he was convincing Bradley or himself.

It's hours later that they let Bradley and Mav in to see you, sharing the extent of the damage: a leg broken in two places, a severe concussion, countless scratches and scrapes from the parachute cords and the general rough landing and some bruising all over. But you would be fine. Most importantly, you would be able to fly again.

You stir in the bed, hand twitching as you try and move. Bradley surges forward, holding your hand in his like he had done before. "We're here." He whispered to you. "Me and Mav are here."

"Dad?" It's one word that sends Maverick's heart breaking all over again.

Maverick takes your other hand and presses a kiss to your knuckle. "Uncle Mav's here."

You just smile, squeezing their hands and ignoring the pain. You were back. And maybe your Dad wasn't here but for a split second you could feel him arms around you and you could see him. Maybe he had gone but you still had Bradley and Mav to hold you on the difficult nights and whisper stories into your hair when you couldn't sleep. They would protect you from the storm and never let you go.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO x FEM READER

When Megumi gets injured on a mission, you realize you’re not capable of taking care of a child.

wc — 1.8k

tags — misunderstandings; self doubt; the pitfalls of teenage parenting when you’re all child soldiers; mild angst with a happy ending; happens post sometimes a family is you, teen dad Gojo, and the six year old child he accidentally orphaned, part I of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together. 

You shove Megumi into his arms, a bundle of bloody black fabric and dead weight. Gojo doesn’t stumble - he never does - but it’s a close call as he instinctively wraps his arms around whatever you’ve pushed onto him. 

“Teleport! Teleport!” You’re so frantic you’re incoherent. It takes a full minute, a minute you don’t have, before you realize that you can’t just say things. Gojo, as invincible as he is, can’t read your mind. You have to explain what’s going on, but how can you focus when Megumi is bleeding out? His little face is growing paler and paler by the second. 

His hands are so tiny. Why is that the only thing you can focus on? They’re grasping the front of Gojo’s jacket for dear life as he coughs weakly. 

“Teleport him back to HQ! Get Shoko!” 

You resist the urge to shake Gojo by his lapels, slap some sense into him. It would only hurt Megumi. Why won’t he move?

“I can’t!”

“What do you mean you can’t? Go! He’s losing so much blood, you have to go now!” 

You know you’re getting hysterical, but Megumi is dying right in front of you. 

“I can’t teleport! There are conditions-“ 

“He’s going to die!” 

“Stop- I need to think!” 

In the back of your head, you can hear Shoko telling you in that cool and detached tone of hers that you’re hyperventilating. 

Look, she says, you see that? You’re breathing too quickly. You feel lightheaded, right? 

Gojo spreads his jacket out on the ground of the forest. “Help me get him ready. I’m going to sew up the cut.” 

“Let me-“ 

“I’ll do it. I’ve done Getou’s before. You just focus on keeping him breathing.” 

You can do that. 

Hunched over Megumi’s body, Gojo gets to work. He looks so frail, spread on the grass with only Gojo’s jacket beneath him. His eyes are normally dark, but they’re blacker with pain, his pupils swallowing up his irises. 

The first puncture of the needle makes him wail before he slaps his hand over his mouth. You peel it back and make vaguely soothing noises, trying to be comforting. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you murmur, letting him rest his head in your lap.

“You can scream, Megumi. I know it hurts. Oh, honey, I know. I know.” He’s making this face that agonizes you. His nose is all scrunched up as he clenches his jaw. He’s the type of kid that would rather chew up his suffering and swallow it back down then let anyone see it. 

This happened on your watch. 

Sick self hatred rises in your throat. 

Gojo would’ve never let anything happen to Megumi. 

He whimpers quietly and you flinch. Without even thinking of it, you reach for his hand. You force yourself not to tremble. You’re an adult. It’s your responsibility not to scare him like that. 

His eyes are closed as Gojo grimly works the needle through, but there’s a jump in his frantic heartbeat, as tiny as a rabbit’s. You can detect it through the pulsing vein in his wrist, funneling blood to the injury only to waste it on air. 

He’s such a brave kid - your brave little boy. You smooth his sticky wet hair back from his face, damp with sweat. He moans in pain and twists away. Your heart crumples. 

It takes so much for him to be vocal about anything that hurts him. How much pain must he be in?

“Gojo,” you say. 

“I’m trying!” 

You know. Going any faster is likely to have dangerous consequences. This is the only way. How cruel. You have to hurt him to help him, and isn’t that just the story of your parenthood? 

You curl around him, protective as if your body can shield him from his own body working against itself. The more blood he loses, the harder his body fights to keep him alive. 

It’s an infinitely long minute before Gojo proclaims the grim deed finished. Megumi had passed out long beforehand, his death grip on your fingers slackening as the pain pushed him into nothingness. 

He wakes up on the long drive back to campus. Ijichi has never bent so many speeding limits in his life. Normally a careful driver, he shoots furtive looks at the kid staining his back seats red. You can feel his judgment of what kind of parent you are settling over you. 

Shoko must be thinking the same thing as she patches Megumi up in your kitchen. Her reverse cursed technique seals the cut up in seconds flat, though a scar remains, puckering the flesh of his forearm. 

“Just like Utahime,” Gojo tells him, pinching his cheek. “You didn’t cry either, so you’re better than her.” 

“Don’t talk about your seniors like that,” you say absentmindedly, though your mind could not be further from disciplining Gojo for his poor behavior. 

You can’t send Megumi to the Zenins. You know what they’d do to a sweet kid like him. They’d turn him into a monster like his father. You shudder, thinking of the creature from your nightmares who had stolen the life of a sixteen year old girl, and nearly taken Gojo with him. You could never let them do that to Megumi. They probably wouldn’t take care of Tsumiki either, unless to hold her over his head. But just because they aren’t fit caretakers doesn’t mean you are. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

Gojo’s been trying to get your attention for who knows how long. When he sees that he finally has it, he sends Megumi off to bed and jerks his thumb at the door. Wordlessly, you follow him to the porch. It’s dimly lit from a singular overhead bulb without a covering. The two of you stand in a circle of light, the night outside pressing in against the walls of your home. 

“What is it?” He says impatiently. “I fixed everything, didn’t I? Why are you still upset?” 

“It’s not you,” you say. It’s so cliche, but what else is there to say? “It’s my fault.” 

“Don’t,” he says softly. 

You pull your hand back when he tries to take it. There’s a perverse sense of satisfaction in denying both of you what you want. You don’t deserve this. 

He’s silent for a long time. You let the silence stew, determined to outlast him. Quickly, it becomes clear who has the upper hand. You shift from side to side, nervous and tense, while he just waits with his hands shoved in his pockets. When you finally look over, he’s wearing his sunglasses again. His hair glows under the porch light, attracting moths. “Finally felt like playing nice?” 

He’s attractive when he’s mean. You hate that about him, the way the cruel twist of his mouth ties knots into your stomach. It would all be easier if you could hate him, but everything he does only makes you love him more. 

What a twisted little family you’ve built for yourself. 

He sighs. “Stop that. Don’t-“ he waves his hand in your general direction in frustration. “You always do that. It’s not your fault.” 

“He needs a real parent, Gojo. I couldn’t protect him.” 

“I was there too,” he says. “You don’t see me agonizing over my mistakes. It happens.” 

What mistake, you think bitterly. Gojo’s only fault is trusting you with Megumi. He’s the strongest. If it was him, nothing would’ve happened. 

“It wasn’t your mistake. It was mine. If I hadn’t been there, everything would have been fine.” 

“Again?” Gojo says quietly. 

It’s a forceful reminder of how much you sound like Getou right now. He never recovered from what that monster - Megumi’s father - did to him. Even now, your class lives with the scars of that day. Gojo’s face is wistful for a brief moment, deluged by memories. Then it’s gone, wiped from his expression like it had never been there. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, wondering if it’s too late to take it back.  

Gojo never falters. He’s unreasonable and childish, but he’s as solid as stone. You’ve watched him shoulder every single burden he’s ever been asked to carry since he was a child, and now he’s taken on one more. You promised Gojo that you would watch his back, regardless of whether he needed you or not. The words you spoke in a fit of anger and self pity bring you regret now. Weakness isn’t just failing to shield Megumi from all the dangers of sorcery that you wish you and Gojo had been protected from. Weakness is running away when it gets hard. 

Megumi’s your baby. 

You’re not going to give him up. 

A step forward has you pressing into Gojo’s space. He doesn’t yield, watching you with those ancient eyes. 

“I know it’ll only get harder, but it has to be us, right? Who else will keep him safe from the Zenins? I won’t leave, Gojo. I promise.” 

His relieved expression contrasts with his smug words. There’s a crooked smile on his face when he says, “I knew you wouldn’t just abandon us. You think Megumi wants to stay with me? You’re the one keeping him here.” 

“I get it,” you smack his arm. “No need for flattery. I’m with you until the end.” 

“I’m not kidding,” he protests. “There’s no universe in which Megumi likes me more than you.” 

How can you stay upset when he looks so proud of himself for finally figuring out the right thing to say to get you to stay? 

“He doesn’t,” you insist. 

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. Here, I’ll prove it.” 

It’s not uncommon for Gojo to put Megumi to bed. In fact, it’s a chore he fights you for. It’s probably one of his favorite parts of having Megumi around. He likes telling stories, and surprisingly enough, he’s good at it. He gives each character its own voice. More often than not, he ends up as invested in the bedtime story as Megumi is. Tonight, when he closes the book, he doesn’t leave. The soft light of the lamp on the bedside table shines through a crack in the door as Gojo and Megumi talk in hushed whispers. 

“I want my mom,” he says quietly. 

You lean against the door, pressing your head to the wood to try to keep yourself from falling to the ground. You want to try. You want to be there for him. But Megumi needs his mother, not some teenager who can’t even take control of her own life, much less a child’s. You’re all he has, though, and you have to make it work. You wish Mrs. Fushiguro was still alive, even if that means you would’ve never gotten to meet him. 

“Then ask her to come in,” Gojo says. 

Megumi makes a startled noise. You can almost see him burrowing into his blankets. 

“Go on,” Gojo coaxes. “Oh, come on. Don’t be shy now. You really won’t? Fine.” 

He calls to you. “Come in, sweetheart. Don’t keep us waiting.” 

The first thing you see when you open the door is Megumi’s head buried beneath the covers. Gojo’s trying to peel the sheets back. 

“What are you hiding for? I brought you your mom! You should be thanking me!”

“I hate you!” 

“I told you,” Gojo says. “He loves you more than me.”

[onlyangel4]

life of pain. LL30. part one. smau + written.

liam lawson x chronically ill reader

reader has dealt with pain for as long as she can remember but what she did not respect was for her pain to be the reason she met her soulmate.

author's note: i shall be writing this from experience so reader suffers from elher's danlos syndrome, chronic pain syndrome and chronic fatigue syndrome. but if you have a different chronic illness please do imagine it as that

faceclaim: kristine froseth

part two

y/ninsta posted a story

written: think i just won daughter of the year

y/ninsta posted a story

written: pj day

y/bff replied to this story: are you alright y/n you only wear pjs all day when it is a tough day

y/ninsta: i'm okay just been suffering the past week

y/bff: aren't you going to vegas soon

y/ninsta: fly out tomorrow

y/bff: just be safe okay love don't push yourself too far

y/ninsta posted a story

written: can't wait to celebrate you this weekend, love you dad

y/ninsta posted a story

written: fit check

y/ninsta posted a story

written: finally here

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"great more walking", you whispered under your breath as you tucked your phone back into your handbag. this was not your dad's fault, he had no idea that you had hardly gotten out of bed all week and now you were in las vegas pushing your body to do things that it really did not want to do. your lids were already heavy, ready for bed and it was barely 9pm, a feeling that you were used to but would never feel normal.

you had decided that you wanted to get good pictures from this trip, so you had only packed heels, a cruel way of forcing your pained body to wear the fashionable shoe rather than slipping into your good old faithful worn out sneakers.

slowly weaving through the crowd you made sure to keep your head up and not slump shoulders, a way of making sure the shooting pain in your shoulder didn't get worse. but as you walked your eyes looked up to see a large group of people walking towards you, they already looked drunk. fucking brilliant.

you just continued to walk forward feigning importance with each step but even then you got shoved by one of the men. your brow furrowed, no one got to disrespect you like that. you turned to get a look at the man who had shoved you and give him a piece of your mind but you quickly regretted that choice.

you twisted badly on your right near and as you were in heels there was no stopping your right knee from dislocating. something that happens all the time but does not get any less painful. your joint quickly popped out of place and then back in but the damage was done as a yelp left your lips and you crumbled down to the floor.

the people in the paddock were too preoccupied with the excitement that comes with attending a formula one race that they just did not notice you on a crumpled heap on the ground hand grasping your knee just to make sure that it was properly back in place.

you were getting yourself ready to stand back up all by yourself when you noticed a blonde man with his eyes looked on you making a beeline towards you. "shit are you alright, you took quite a spill there", he spoke and your brain registered the accent instantly. "i'm okay i do stupid stuff like this all the time", you spoke and the man gave you a gentle smile, "what exactly happened that looked a little more than a small fall?"

"my dislocated", you spoke seeing the usual horror spread on his face.

"shit do i need to call an ambulance"

"no, like i said this happens all the time"

the man looked at you with pure concern on his face, you could practically see the cogs turning in his head as he tried to work you out.

"i have elhers danlos, you probably have never heard of it but it just means my joints like to dislocate all the time"

prince charming slowly nodded, "okay lets get you up and then i can help you find your friends"

"i'm here with my dad, he text me saying he was in the williams garage. i was trying to find him"

"okay i'll help you find him", he spoke before wrapping his arm around your waist.

"if you are going to touch me like that i better know your name mister", you teased as you heaved yourself up into a standing position.

the man looked a little taken back by your question almost like you should have known who he was, "i'm liam", he smiled

"nice to to meet you liam, i'm y/n", you spoke before beginning the walk with him, his arm still around your waist, just helping you keep your balance as you hobbled over towards the williams garage.

the walk to the garage was really nice, liam was asking you all sorts of questions like where you were from and what your medical condition really meant for you. you yapped on about your life, enjoying the man's company as you got to the williams garage.

your father was stood outside eyes searching for you but when he spotted you and your company his mouth opened wider, "Oh y/n", he called out as you and liam approached him.

"you worried me girl, did something happen", he spoke still side eyeing liam making you quirk an eyebrow.

"i'm okay, my knee dislocated, i'm fine though", you spoke knowing how worried your father got sometimes.

but your father was a little more focused on the man next to you, "liam", he spoke, "it is lovely to meet you", he smiled and you frowned a little, how did your father know liam?

"i am very happy to see you back in f1, you drive brilliantly"< your father spoke and you gasped.

"shit, you are liam lawson, the new rb driver", you spoke turning to him, "i am so sorry i didn't recognise you, i am a casual f1 fan, my dad here is the real superfan", you explained to the man rambling on a little bit.

"that is okay y/n it was kind of refreshing to meet someone that doesn't know who i am", he spoke kindly, "i'm going to have to head back over to the garage for some media bits but i was wondering if i could have your number. i could hustle you two seats in the rb garage for the race", he spoke, "it will a lot safer there for you", he smiled.

your father was looking at you two starstruck and you just nodded, "of course", you spoke before he gave you his phone and you plugged your number in, "thank you for helping me liam", you spoke before waving him goodbye.

he left you stood there stunned as your father asked you ever question under the sun about your interaction with the driver.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

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[miguelhugger2099]

I'm wondering what Gabriella's reaction was when she saw her dad's new tattoo, which was made according to her drawing

Punk Dad!Miguel who waits outside Gabriella’s school to pick her up. He keeps the air conditioner on to make sure it’s nice and cool when she hops inside the car.

Punk Dad!Miguel who smiles and kneels on the ground with his arms out when he sees her tiny self running towards him—backpack flopping around and a large piece of paper in her hand.

Punk Dad!Miguel who squeezes her close to his chest, kissing her tuff of hair. “Cómo te fue?” He asks her, picking her up and placing her in the back seat.

“Bien!” She beams. Gabriella sticks out the piece of paper to him before he closes the door. “We made this in class today! For Fah-ders day!”

Punk Dad!Miguel that takes the paper from her chubby hands, taking a shot straight through the heart when he sees the terribly drawn set of flowers. But to him, she’s an artist! It runs in the family it seems!

‘Happy Father’s day!’ written on the bottom, letters varying from big to small, a little shaky because she’s still practicing. ‘From: Gabriella’ on the bottom with a smiley face.

Punk Dad!Miguel who struggles to not accidentally crumple the paper, his grip tight to keep himself from squeezing her until she pops.

“Gracias, mijita. It’s beautiful, just like you.”

Punk Dad!Miguel who barges in his brothers tattoo shop, Gabriel already rolling his head back and groaning.

“Gabi?” He asks. Miguel gives a silent nod and places Gabriella’s drawing down on the counter. Gabriel takes it and smiles.

“That’s adorable. Anything for my favorite niece. I have space for an hour.”

Punk Dad!Miguel that stayed home that day, allowing you to pick up your daughter from school: a plan to surprise her with the newly done tattoo.

Gabriella bursts through the door and makes a beeline to her father. “Papi! Mami said you have a surprise for me!” She jumps up and down, radiating excitement.

Punk Dad!Miguel who’s nervous. His daughter’s approval was one of the few things he cherished. “I loved your drawing so much, mami, that I wanted to keep it forever.” He slides down his hoodie to reveal a perfect replica of her drawing of a bouquet around his bicep. Gabriella gasps and holds onto his hand, his large one engulfing her two little ones.

“Oh my gosh!” She gushes. “That’s so cool! What!” She turns to face you. “Mami, mira!”

You giggle and sit beside Miguel. “I know, mama. Isn’t it pretty?”

She jumps up and down. “I want one! Can I get one? Can we match, papi? Please?!”

Punk Dad!Miguel that pinches her round cheek with a soft chuckle. “When you’re older, mija.”

[lets-get-kraken-boys]

For the yandere class 1a I would not last a bit. Like I would just start bawling my eyes out. How do you think the class would react?

(I love your writing please take care of yourself)

Oh no because SAME. I am the biggest crybaby. I feel you, boo.

However, considering the class, there's lots of ways they'd react!

Also, I wrote an imagine for Class 3-A's Big Three because I'm extra like that and HO MAH GOD, they really stole the show on this one. I AM SO SORRY I DIDN'T FOLLOW YOUR ORIGINAL IDEA! But I still hope you all like it~

(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Characters Featured → Izuku (Deku), Shoto, Bakugo, The Big Three {Mirio, Tamaki, and Nejire}, and some of the members of Class 1-A

Length -> 3.1K Words

(Plz forgive me. I splurged and gave all my love to the three main boys. I left the other class members in the dust. I just have a lot of creativity coming out for them right now! If there is a specific character you'd like, please send me another request!)

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Deku is THE crybaby of the My Hero Academia universe, so I feel like you two would just cry a puddle together. In all honesty, while it hurts to see you filled with sorrow, he's thrilled that you feel close enough to them that you'd show enough vulnerability to cry! Even if your tears aren't about whether or not you trust the class or feel it is "safe" to cry, it doesn't matter to him. He'll cradle your head into the crook of his neck, rub your back, and hush your sobs with soft sighs. Deku loves having you close, he views it as a "bonding experience", so feel free to cry all you want! He's not leaving your side any time soon, so the two of you can cry together for as long as you'd like!

This is going to sound a little strange, but this vibe fits my image of SPECIFICALLY Yandere Izuku (or, at least, in my image of him)! You know Gyutaro from Demon Slayer? And you know how he acts when he is comforting Daki? That is kind of how I am envisioning him coddling you. Slightly teasing, but it comes mostly from a place of love and concern. The sadness in his voice (whether it is faked to amp up his teasing or not, in Gyutaro's case) adds to the image I have of Deku crying alongside you. Izuku is totally one of those people who is like, "Don't cry, because if you cry, then I'LL cry *proceeds to cry*."

"Aww, no, it's okay!" Izuku sits down next to you as you are crumpled on the ground, exhausted and upset. He loops his strong arms around your shoulders and holds on tight. He feels tears well up in his own eyes, but he can't seem to shake the giddy joy bubbling in his stomach from being close to his one and only. He sniffles, but a wide smile stretches up his cheeks, "It's alright, dear. Let it out. I'll sit with you as long as you need~!"

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Shoto has always been stoic because of the harsh environment he grew up in where any emotion shown is an exploitative weakness (thanks, Endeavor), so he's going to freeze up when he sees tears bubbling down your cheeks. Even as a Yandere, emotions are hard for him to wrap his head around. He can barely understand the soul-crushing feelings he has for you! So, even though you are his everything in this world, he will be rather reserved on the comforting aspect of things. Shoto is thankful in these moments that he has the rest of his class, specifically those who are more in-tune with emotional responses like Izuku, Uraraka, and Mina, to rely on.

Though, he will try to help in his own Shoto-way! Would another inconceivably expensive gift help dry your crocodile tears? Don't worry, it's his dad's card that's paying for it all! What would you like? A couple new games for your video game console so you can play together? The finest, richest, and sweetest chocolates in all of Japan? How about an all expense paid trip on the family yacht for the weekend with the whole class included? Anything you want is yours, all you have to do is name it! Though, these gifts do not come freely—he will tax you AT LEAST a two hour cuddle session in your room per each gift. IDK, seems pretty fair to me!

"Here," Shoto clears his throat, a pristine, mint green box with a perfectly constructed golden bow resting on the lid sits in his outstretched hand. You rub your eye with the heel of your palm, sniffling to clear your nose as your eyes bounce back-and-forth between Shoto's unnerving, stoic expression and the small box. On the outside, his face shows indifference, but on the inside, his poor heart is doing a dozen cartwheels after running a ten mile race. The look you're giving him (mind you, is simply a look of pure confusion) is just too cute! Don't you know what you do to him?!?!

"It's your favorite sweets. For you. Don't worry about the money, it isn't a concern." Shoto looks away, a soft dusting of blush coating his cheeks. You almost want to accept it just to get him out of your personal bubble, but you think back on the pile of all his previous expensive gifts that are stacked high in the corner of your dorm, and decide to try to deny it. Before you can utter a shaky rejection, he snatches your wrist and begins dragging you off in the direction of your dorm room, no doubt getting you ready for your practically daily cuddle session.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Bakugo is a tricky one because it depends on the situation he catches you crying in. On one hand, he doesn't like to see you sad. There's some primal anger (it's different from his typical Bakugo-rage) that gets spun up to 100% in him whenever he sees you racked with sobs and curling in on yourself. The statements sprinting laps in his mind revolve solely around "tell me who hurt you so I know who to murder". Don't think he'll go soft on you because you're the extra who has his heart doing flips. Even if you are hesitant to reveal who mistreated you in fear of their, or your own, safety, Bakugo won't let up. He will poke, prod, threaten, and glare the answer right out of you. Once he has a name, you'd better get out of this rabid dog's way, because he will mow down any obstacle in his path on his way to the enemy. If you enjoyed the company of the person who made your sensitive self sad, you're going to have to find a lovely bouquet for their funeral.

HOWEVER! If HE was the one who made you cry...he is going to tease you about it. FRIENDS, LET ME EXPLAIN let me cook! Since becoming infatuated with you, he has learned to lighten up the bullying nature of his words. He isn't perfect, but he has certainly gotten better with his communication, BUT ONLY FOR YOU r.i.p to Deku's sanity bc he tried for YEARS to get this Pomeranian to change with no success, and you stroll along and make Bakugo clean up his act in SECONDS. That being said, he is, and will probs forever be, a sadist at heart—and he flourishes off of that devilish, delicious satisfaction over being the one responsible for making you have so much of an emotional response to his words that you actually CRY.

You'd be standing there, face tilted towards the ground. You’re attempting to shield the tears leaking down your pudgy cheeks from his judgmental view, but he’d know. It’s like a sixth sense he has—being able to just know when someone is showing their weaknesses to him. Being a brat is in his nature, and he’s the type of person who if you give him an inch, he’ll take the mile. Bakugo would feel an unconscious teasing sneer creep up onto his face at this pleasant view in front of him.

"Haaa???," he'd shove his hands into his pants pockets, lean down to catch your eye sight with his, forcing you to witness the glee he feels at your expense, "You're crying? Already? Ha! What a weakling. It's a wonder you made it this far without us to carry you through your mistakes. You should just give up on the whole independence thing, stop making a fool of yourself." He then confidently struts over to your side, nudging you forward with a gentle shove of his shoulder against yours as a warning to start walking back to the classroom. Katsuki watches with a side eye as even bigger tears gloop down your face, but only now he says nothing. He wishes you could understand where his mean words were coming from.

Trust me, Bakugo does say all of these things with twisted love in hopes that you'll stop being so determined to get away from him them. Bakugo's abrasive and brash, but he's no idiot. He sees how badly you want to get away from them, but he just can't find it inside himself to do the heroic thing and let you go. If this is how you react to the teasing of someone who loves you, then how can you survive in the real world against not-so-caring strangers?! The conclusion he comes to is that you can't. Don’t worry—he doesn’t mind becoming the one to take care of you, even if he is forced to be the big, bad wolf in your eyes.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

YOU DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS, BUT I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT THE OTHER BIG THREE TOO BECAUSE I LOVE THEM AND I HAVE A SPARK OF CREATIVITY FOR THIS SCENARIO. PLEASE ACCEPT THIS AS MY SUBMISSION FOR CLASS 1-A AND PARDON MY LAZINESS FOR NOT WRITING THE REST OF THE STUDENTS IN THIS IMAGINE!

Our beloved Class 3-A Big Three also happen to have their eyes on you! Trust me when I say if you thought your classmates were overbearing, you're going to face a whole different overprotective beast with these three.

Mirio and Nejire basically share the same brain cell when they are together, so they just pass it on to whoever needs it most in the moment. However, when it comes to a mopey you, it is all hands on deck. They split the brain cell so they can effectively help you! They are all questions all the time, so you will be bombarded with them yelling all of these sentences in a matter of a few seconds:

"Oh no! Oh, my baby! What's wrong, sweetheart gumdrop darling???" - Nejire

"Who do I have to teach a lesson to? Don't give me that, sunshine! You're too nice for your own good! It is our job as heroes to enforce good citizenship, after all." - Mirio

"What can I get you? A warm tea? A blanket? You want a hug? I can do that easy! Hehe!" - Nejire

"Wait, I wanted to hug them first!" - Mirio

"Give it a rest, Mirio! They need comfort right now, not a fight!" - Nejire

Yeah, they're just two kids bickering over their favorite toy. They genuinely want to help you! Honest! It's just hard to not fight over you when you are simply the cutest thing they've ever seen. Nejire is also going to squeal from the cuteness you're exuding. She thinks your puffy, sad eyes and cheeks warm from an embarrassed flush is the most adorable look on you, so she isn't going to be that upset with you being down.

Tamaki is similar to Todoroki in the sense that he has no idea how to comfort emotional people, but instead of finding the courage to say or do something to help you, he is going to be HIGHLY on edge. He'll inch close when you first run up to the three of them in the hall to see what is wrong, as he is concerned why you are crying so much, but if you spare him even ONE glance, he will scamper away and face the wall in apprehension. Idiot! How could he look at you so brazenly?! Is he shameless?!?! He is such a terrible lover friend. Oh, you must hate him now for seeing you in such a vulnerable state. No! He doesn't want that! He...he l-l-loves you! He doesn't want you to go away! Oh no, what if yOU NEVER SPEAK TO HIM AGAIN OH GOD—he basically flies off the handle with worry. He's staring at the wall, shaking, afraid to do anything that may upset his flower any further.

Mirio actually has to be the one to come over and check on the poor shaking leaf of a boy for Tamaki to find the courage to say anything to you. Granted, Tamaki doesn't actually tell you the words he wishes to share with you himself.

Nejire is in the process of chatting your ears off to kingdom come and swinging you around in a tight hug when Mirio jogs back from his brief chat with the statue-esque Amajiki. Mirio shines a gorgeous smile at you as he relays Tamaki's message, "Hi, again, love! Tamaki wants to tell you that he is upset that you are crying, and to please use his handkerchief to clean your face! He insists." Mirio pries off Nejire's vice grip from you, and gently places the neat handkerchief in your palm. It is simple, white cotton with an intricate lace design stitched on the edges. You do notice that there is a dainty lilac flower embroidered with thin string on each of the four corners of the cloth.

You quietly thank Mirio, and send another thank you over Mirio's shoulder to the still shaking Tamaki. Tamaki does acknowledge your thanks with a violently tremoring thumbs up. You wipe the long tear streaks off your face, blow your nose, and take a couple of deep breaths to calm your fragile heart.

"So, what's going on, lovebug? Why all the tears?" Nejire has finally chilled out enough to ask serious questions instead of just fawning over your cuteness.

"It...it's—I don't—ugh...I-I'm s-sorry...," you're hiccupping for air, tripping all over your sentence as you feel the hot tears of embarrassment come back. You grit your teeth as another shuddering sob comes out. You can't believe you're crumbling like this in front of your superiors. Your upper classmates. You should know better than this! You're not a baby anymore! They are practically your teachers! How stupid you must look wailing and moaning like a newborn. You turn to run away, but two pairs of callused, powerful hands grab your shoulders and arms.

"No, baby, it's okay! You don't have to be sorry. Please tell us what's going on." Nejire pulls you close to her again, cupping your head into her shoulder and rubbing your back as encouragement.

"You're okay, (Y/N), no one is going to hurt you. Not while we're here. What's up?" Mirio stood beside you as a comforting hulk of a man that made you feel warm and safe. The fluttery feeling of seeing you with glassy eyes and running to him for safety like he was your hero and true love began wearing off, and the new feeling of wanting to bring immense harm to whoever had the nerve to mess with his sunshine took over. This situation wasn't just you tripping over your own two feet in the hallway in front of your teachers or something simple like that. This must be serious. He needs you to tell him what happened now before he does something irresponsible and with little thought behind his actions.

Even Tamaki perked up to hear what you were going to say. Again, he truly does want to help! He's trying to be brave for you. He didn't peel entirely away from the wall, but he did tilt his head to the side to better hear your tale.

Inhaling a few more deep breaths, you opened up, "It's...my class. They just—they won't leave me alone! Mina and Hagakure always want to play games with me, hug me, poke me, ANYTHING! They never give me space! Momo and Iida won't stop asking me if I want a private study session even though my grades are beyond fine. They even tried to force their way into my room last night to "check up" on me after I didn't want to have dinner with all of them!"

You continued after gently blowing your nose again into Tamaki's handkerchief, "I feel like I'm being watched all the time, even when I'm not around any of them! Last night, I woke up at like 3 AM and I SWEAR I saw Tokoyami's Dark Shadow in the corner of my room just...watching me. I tried asking him about it today, but he kept brushing me off. But he didn't deny any of what I said! I'm...scared. Not to mention Sero, Denki, and Kirishima won't stop messing with me! They keep tugging on my vest, breaking off buttons on my shirt, pulling at my bottoms, touching my hair—I keep asking them to back off, but they just won't stop." You hiccupped through your tears again, but it looked like you had more to say, so the three of them stayed quiet.

You started again, now with a much quieter voice, "But the worst is those three. Midoriya, Todoroki, and Bakugo. I'm always bothered by at least one of them all the time. Izuku hangs all over me and it's like he doesn't listen to a thing I say! I ask him to leave me alone, he says I don't know what I want and continues to push me. Todoroki won't stop giving me things I don't need or want that I can't repay back. Shoto says I only need to pay him back in "quality time"—which is basically him holding me prisoner in my own bed every other night. And Bakugo...I swear, I don't know if he sees me as an enemy or a doll to be tossed around. He's always talking down to me, insulting my fighting style or pointing out if I'm distracted. He goes out of his way to make fun of my appearance or if I say the wrong thing. He's...actually the reason I came looking for you three. I just don't know what to do anymore."

It was safe to say the three of them were livid to hear about all the torture you were being unwillingly dragged through. Mirio and Tamaki most of all. Mirio was infuriated to hear how Izuku had been treating you. Him, who Mirio had full trust in and respect—both of those qualities had tanked in a matter of a few minutes of hearing your recollection. Tamaki couldn't believe how Kirishima was behaving when he'd sworn to be the "manliest man to ever step foot in the Hero Alliance". Nejire was more upset to hear how her girls were having so much fun playing with little cute you without inviting her, but she was beyond fuming when she discovered how the disgusting boys were getting close to you. She felt like her words could melt metal with how fiery they felt building up in her throat.

"Hmm, how awful," Mirio had a terrifyingly dark look in his eye, one that made a shiver scamper up your spine. You'd never seen him so upset. All your tears dried as you heard him utter to his two friends that were now standing at his sides, "I think it's time we paid another educational visit to our promising young heroes, hmm~?"

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

You know, I do this every time. I start writing, I don't stop writing, and when I'm done, it's hardly an imagine anymore. This is practically a whole bloody fic at this point! And I get so mad at myself for doing it too because this took me all day to write LMAOOOO. BUT! I hope you all like it! I adore The Big Three, so I hope to write for them again. They are cool hehe :3

With Love,

Kraken 🐙

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! -17

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

Warning: Tragedy, Angst, Manipulation, Intimidation

A/N: I know we hate Victoria, but this is the saddest chapter I have ever written. I can't stop typing the angst. 😭

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Everything changed so quickly. One moment, Jonathan, Genevieve, and Victoria were standing on a cloud, looking down at the people beneath them. Now, they were falling from the sky, landing in the quicksand, ready to trap their feet.

The bankruptcy of Celestial Enterprises happened too fast. Investors and shareholders pulled their money from the company, causing a rapid downfall.

To save the company, many assets were sold, including the house they used as their primary residence. The house built by Ophelia—the one thing you thought would be impossible to get—was now yours. Bucky delivered the great news and handed you the house key.

Without hesitation, you drove to your childhood home. Though you only lived there for a while, it held precious memories of you and your mother.

Standing at the white door, you inserted the key and turned it. The moment you walked in, the emptiness hit you. Looking around the house, you realize there was no trace of your life with Ophelia back then.

Genevieve had obviously changed the house's decoration. You walked around the first and second floors and then to your room. It was apparent your step-mom hated you. The bedroom, once your sanctuary where you could be alone without seeing Genevieve and Victoria’s faces, was now a storage place.

“I hope you're happy now. You have ruined our lives,” Victoria suddenly made her entrance.

You smirked. “Fucking deserved it. You people did it first to me.”

Victoria was taken aback. “You don't even care about your own dad?”

“Care? That man didn't deserve pity from me the moment he married his mistress. He fucking killed my mother,” you retorted.

That was the last straw. Victoria hated it when you called Genevieve a mistress. “I will not let you do this to me!” she yelled, pointing her finger at you.

You saw her frantic, paranoid, and utterly different from the elegant persona she usually maintained. You chuckled, “It must be difficult for you seeing me win.”

“Fuck you,” Victoria spat as she slapped you hard across the face.

You responded by grabbing her hair, yanking it fiercely. “You bitch.”

The two of you erupted into a full-blown fight. Nails scratched at each other's skin, wishing they were sharp like knives. Hair was pulled, kicks were exchanged, and all the pent-up resentment and hatred came pouring out in a chaotic clash.

It was clear from the beginning who would win. You quickly overpowered her. Without any desire to prolong the fight, you landed a solid punch to her stomach, causing her to crumple to the ground.

“Urgh. Fuck you,” Victoria growled, clutching her stomach in pain.

You huffed, sitting down on the floor. Victoria refused to look at you, unable to accept that she had lost.

Both of you sat there, catching your breath. A moment of silence between siblings who had nearly torn each other apart.

“I always hated you,” Victoria said suddenly, covering her eyes with her arm.

“The feeling’s mutual,” you replied, hissing as you touched the fresh scratches on your skin.

“I hate that I always did my best but was still compared to you,” she admitted. “The sin of the daughter from the mistress.”

You stood still, your expression unreadable, but a storm of emotions brewed inside. You crossed your arms, a subconscious gesture to shield yourself from the raw pain in her words.

“Even though I was the smartest at school, it was never enough to satisfy my mother,” Victoria continued, her voice trembling.

Growing up, she always knew she had to be better than you. That's what Genevieve has told her. She wants to make her mother proud of her. And the recognition from Jonathan.

“What made it worse was that you didn’t even try to compete, but all eyes were always on you. They always saw me as the mole in your life,” Victoria said, her voice breaking.

When she left her old school and entered the new one where you studied, she was greeted by judging eyes. The status of being a ‘mistress’s daughter’ haunted her. Everyone saw her as the villain compared to you, the victim.

In truth, you and Victoria were both victims of the adultery. Both of you were innocent.

“As a child, you listened to your mom. But growing up, you could’ve made your own choices,” you said quietly.

“You could’ve realized what you did to me was wrong. But you didn’t stop,” you added.

“And then we’d become good step-siblings?” Victoria scoffed.

You sighed, a hint of sadness in your eyes. “As a teacher, I’ve met stepmothers and stepfathers who worried about a kid not related by blood but saw them as their own. And step-siblings who worked multiple jobs because they wanted their younger siblings to get the best education.”

Victoria stayed quiet, her face a mix of anger and regret.

“Yes. We could’ve,” you said softly.

Another silence fell, but it was broken as Victoria slowly stood up without saying anything. Before she left, you told her, “You could’ve made your own choice. Remember that.”

She didn't reply or look at you. She kept walking until she arrived at the entrance door. Her hand hung in the air before she pulled the handle.

Victoria turned and looked around the grand entrance. She remembered the first time she set foot in this house, feeling like a beggar turned into a princess.

It wasn't a prince who found her glass slipper, but her dad, picking her up in his expensive car and making her a princess.

She thought her life would have a happy ending. But no. It turned out she was the evil step-sister, and her mother was the evil step-mom. Just like the characters in Cinderella.

If only she had never hated you, if only she had never listened to Genevieve’s words. Could you and she have become real sisters who talked to each other, laughed, cried, and went shopping together?

Tears welled up in her eyes. Victoria scoffed, “Idiot,” she whispered to herself.

She looked at the family portrait of Jonathan, Genevieve, and herself. The three of them looked like a perfect family, but it was just an empty smile. Her own father was pushing her into a marriage with a man known for his violence.

Her mother, who she always counted on, couldn't object. She would rather send her daughter to marry a psycho to save face.

Her parents didn't fight for her at all, unlike you, who objected to Jonathan and Genevieve’s wedding. You caused chaos that made Jonathan send you away so you wouldn't ruin his second wedding. But then Cassandra appeared and humiliated the couple.

She had always been jealous of you for not giving up. Everyone, including herself, laughed when you vowed to take down the company.

But who had the last laugh now? It was you. You won. You got what was supposed to be yours.

Looking back, her life was much simpler and happier when they still lived in an apartment.

She removed her heels, climbed on the antique table, raised her hand, and tore down the family portrait. With her heels, she ripped the picture apart.

The perfect family was gone. No more.

After being satisfied with her work, she felt the chains were broken.

Victoria put on her shoes and left the house. After that day, nobody knew where she went. Even Genevieve couldn't contact her.

Without the bride, the wedding wouldn't happen. That meant the only lifeline to save Celestial Enterprises was gone.

It was official. The white flag was raised, and the company was finally sold. The buyer was Patrick.

All of this could have happened because Victoria left. Sometimes, you wondered where she could have gone. Each time you looked out the window or at the sky, you whispered, “Good luck...sister.”

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[secretlifeoflyss]

Head cannon taking place after Curtis parents death but before book events where Darry can feel the rift between him and Ponyboy start to widen and he reflects on how different their relationship was years ago:

It was a particularly bad day at school and Ponyboy, overwhelmed with schoolwork and exhaustion, finally breaks down. His backpack is splayed out on the floor and his legs fold beneath him, the cold tile on their kitchen floor the only thing still grounding him. His body is wracked with sobs, sobs that Darry only faintly hears through walls at night sometimes, before they’re soothed by their mama rushing in. But now they were loud and piercing and made Darry look up from his own schoolwork, concern etching its way into his heart.

As he opened the door, he could hear their mother trying to calm down Ponyboy but Pony’s sobs are so loud it seems like he can’t hear her. He’s crumpled up, hugging his knees to his chest, tears like a never-ending waterfall down his cheeks. Ever the expert in handling Ponyboy’s emotions, Sodapop is next on the scene, arms outstretched. Darry approaches his mother’s side cautiously, hoping she knew somewhat what was going on. He places his hand on her shoulder, a silent ask, but with the way her brow is creased Darry knows she is just as clueless as him.

Soda being so in tune with Pony’s emotions was something he secretly envied. Even at their young ages of 11 and 13, they were so in sync. Darry swears he can see them having silent conversations at the dinner table. It was something Darry longed to be a part of too, but tried to not let himself think about it for very long. Besides, he’s a senior now, he doesn’t need to hang out with smelly little brothers.

Darry watched with bated breath as Soda put on his most comforting smile and began talking in that soft voice he does only around Ponyboy. But as Sodapop tried to bring Pony into his arms, you would think that Ponyboy had been burnt by Soda’s touch with the way he flinched away from him. Ponyboy’s cries grew even louder, seeming to shake the whole house. Darry was sure their neighbors could hear the racket. Sodapop turned to Darry, hurt visible in his eyes.

Darry loves his littlest brother, of course he does. But it’s hard to bond with an eleven year old when you’re trying to get a full ride scholarship for football. Practice and honors classes take up time, time Darry doesn’t have as much of to spend with his little brothers. But that doesn’t mean he won’t fulfill his big brother duties when he needs to. He’ll happily look over Pony’s homework if he asks. Will walk his brothers home from school if their dad can’t pick them up after work. Those moments where he gets to be Soda and Pony’s big brother, Darry can’t help but feel his ego start to fluff up each time. He was their big brother, Superman, and there was a part of him that loved being needed like that.

After a third and failed attempt by Sodapop, Ponyboy’s tear-filled eyes began darting around the room. He pushed Soda away, prompting a light scolding from their mother before his cries drowned her out again.

“No! Darry! I just want Darry!” Ponyboy screamed at the top of his lungs.

For just a moment, Darry felt frozen in place. Ponyboy had long grown out of the phase where he followed his big brothers around. He still did it sometimes, Darry noticed, but Pony would swear up and down that he didn’t do that anymore and that he ain’t no kid. But now, with Ponyboy calling for him, all Darry can see his kid brother as that toddler again, crying out for Darry after Soda and Steve accidentally got too rough with him.

He wraps Ponyboy in his arms, crouching with him on the floor of their kitchen, hugging him from behind. Gently, Darry cards his fingers through his brother’s auburn hair, and whispers reassurances in his ear, just like his momma’s done all their lives.

“It’s okay, Pone. I gotcha little buddy, I’m right here,” he presses his chest up against Pony’s back to try to get his brother to match his breathing. He could feel his family’s surprised gaze falling down on them. He knows what they’re thinking. Usually it’s their mom or Sodapop who Ponyboy wants for comfort. Darry hasn’t had to calm his brother down like this since he was a toddler. He’s just as surprised as they are, if he’s being honest. But there’s a small part of him that couldn’t be happier his brother wanted him again. And perhaps that was a selfish thought, but as Ponyboy’s cries began to dwindle, Darry couldn’t stop that proud feeling that bloomed in his chest again at the thought that his kid brother still needed him.

But now, as Ponyboy made a b-line from the front door to his room everyday after school, barely speaking two words to Darry since their parents passed, Darry yearned for that feeling again. And sure, while he was needed so their family could stay together and have a roof over their heads, it was a different kind of need. One that turned Ponyboy against him every time Darry tried had to remind him about curfew, his grades, or to keep his feet planted on the ground. He could feel the distance between them growing everyday, and every day it left a sinking feeling in his chest. So many days Darry felt like they were standing on two sides of a canyon, the distance between them far too great to ever reach the other.

Ponyboy was fourteen now, and hell-bent on being independent. Thinking that he knows the world well enough to be independent. He could do his own homework now. Doesn’t need Darry to look over it anymore, hell, with the way Pony writes, Darry’s sure he won’t even be able to keep up in a year or two. Most days, Darry’s reminders are met with rolled eyes and attitude Darry is sure their dad would never have let slide. Truth was, his kid brother was growing up and in just four short years wasn’t gonna need Darry at all anymore. And that thought squeezed Darry’s heart a bit tighter as he tried to focus on the dinner he was making.

Darry silently looked down the hallway and stared at the closed door at the end of the hall. As he stared at the door, whose white paint had definitely seen better days, he wondered if Ponyboy remembered that day he called out just for Darry. If it meant as much to Pony as it did Darry. But the longer he stared, the longer he couldn’t fight the nagging, pulling, selfish feeling in his heart that wished Ponyboy would call out for him again. For his littlest brother to need him like that again.

sorry for the angst, may write this out more but the sun is coming up and i need to sleep :)

[ragingbookdragon]

Can't Make Somebody Be Made For You

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I made a sad

**********************************************************************

When she cracked the door to her quarters open and saw Rooster standing there, all traces of sleep and irritation faded from her as she asked, “Bradley?” her gaze flickered over her shoulder to the clock on her nightstand. “It’s 0200. Why are you awake?” she rubbed her eyes. “We’ve got training at 0500.”

He looked at her. “Did you know that Mav pulled my papers at the academy?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Did. You. Know.” He repeated. “Did you know he pulled my goddamn papers?”

Her gaze lowered against the fury in his, and she opened her door for him. “Not exactly a hall conversation, Bradley.”

He stepped inside and immediately turned on her, gazing into her eyes. “You knew my papers were going to get pulled, didn’t you?”

“Bradley,” she started, and he held up a hand, jaw tightening.

“You did. Christ, you knew Mav was going to pull them and you didn’t warn me.”

With a sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t know beforehand.”

“But you did after?” he shook his head, rephrasing, “You knew why, after.”

“…yeah.”

“Why?” he asked, and she looked up at him.

“Bradley…”

He knelt before her, taking her hands in his own, staring at her. “You’ve been my best friend my entire life. You’ve never lied to me. Don’t start now.”

She bit her lip. “You won’t like the answers…”

“I need to know,” he stressed. “I want to know why he pulled them. Please,” he begged. “I’ve been in the goddamn dark my entire life. You have to tell me.”

“Okay,” she sighed softly. “Okay…” inhaling and exhaling, she patted the bed, and he stood up, sitting down next to her. “When I heard you got pulled from candidacy, I went to dad. He said it wasn’t any of my business but…” she trailed off and then said, “I listened in on his and Mav’s conversation about it later that night.”

“And?” he asked.

She frowned. “Your dad…when he died…your mom…” she struggled with how to explain it. “It was like losing a part of herself. And before he died, every time he went up, I know that fear was always there that she would lose him. And when she did…” she looked at him. “Bradley, she couldn’t lose you either.”

His brows furrowed and he managed, “My mom told Mav to pull my application?”

“She was trying to keep you safe, Bradley,” she whispered. “She couldn’t lose you like she lost Nick.”

His expression crumpled, shoulders slumping as he took in the revelation; it hurt to see her best friend like that.

“Mav was only doing what he thought was best.”

“Best for who? Him? My mom?” he shot back in frustration.

“For you,” she answered. “Bradley…he promised your mom.”

He scowled but there was hurt wound up in it. “Why didn’t he just tell me that?”

“Why would he?” she asked. “Hey Rooster, I blocked your application to follow in your dad’s footsteps because your mom made me promise to so you wouldn’t die.” Her own expression pinched. “You’d have been angrier at her than you ever have been at him.”

“Being a pilot…being….my dad,” he started. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.” He looked at her. “How could she have not seen that I’d wouldn’t have wanted to be anything else?”

She was at a loss for words. “Bradley…I don’t have the answers to those questions.” Taking his hand, she squeezed it. “All I know is that your mother loved you more than life. And that Mav loved you enough to let you hate him all this time to protect her.” With her free hand, she gently cradled his cheek, “Bradley,” she whispered, and he shut his eyes against the stinging in them, leaning into her touch. “You gotta know that Mav has always protected you even if it meant you’d hate him.”

His jaw clenched so tightly she could feel the strain under her palm, and he ground out in pain, “I’ve spent so long being so angry…hating him.”

“I know,” she murmured and leaned over, knocking their temples together. “But you’ve gotta start letting that anger go.” Her voice was soft but concerned. “Bradley, it’s eating you from the inside out.”

Tears dripped from his shut eyes. “I don’t know how.” He opened his eyes and looked at her brokenly. “I don’t know how to let it go. It’s…it’s what’s driven me for so long.”

“Find something new to drive you,” she said. “Honey…you’ve got to.”

He shut his eyes once more and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her shoulder; she shifted, resting her cheek against his head as he began to shake against her.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, Bradley.”

She eventually ushered him to lay down on the bed and lay with one arm wrapped around his shoulders as he rested his head on her chest. She gently brushed her fingers through his hair, “I know you’ve hated Maverick all this time, but you know he’s always looked out for us when our own parents couldn’t.”

He didn’t respond, but the way his hand tightened in her shirt told her all she needed to know.

“And he’ll be there even when we lose everything.” She pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head. “He always has been. He always will be. And you can deny it all you want, but he’s the closest thing to Nick you’ve ever had.”

A wounded noise left him.

If different circumstances, it would have angered him beyond reason, but in this moment, he knew she was right.

He lifted his head, looking at her and she smiled sadly at him.

“Hey you,” she whispered, and he shifted, crawling up her to nuzzle his nose against hers. “Bradley?”

“You,” he started softly. “You’re the best thing I’ve got in this world.”

“Bradley…”

“Whenever things got bad. When I couldn’t handle them. You were always there. You never left me behind.” He pressed his forehead into hers, gazing into her eyes. “I love you. I always have.”

“Oh, Bradley,” she sighed gently.

He knew her tone; knew another man had her heart. “Just…give me these few hours. We’ll forget about it in the morning, but…please let me have this now.”

She nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. “Just for these hours.”

He lay beside her, arm secured around her back as she wrapped hers around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.

For a few hours, he’d let himself dream that he belonged there—that she belonged in his arms.

The world was calm.

He’d let it go eventually.

He’d settle down and have a few kids of his own later on.

It wouldn’t be with her.

But for now, he’d let himself believe it was.

[justhereforsubsevika]

tw, sorry if this is a little sensitive but can you do one where sevika deals with a suicidal reader? I've been going thru alot recently and it would be nice to have a fic abt it ^^

TW mentions of SH and suicidal thoughts/attempts

Yes ofc, sorry if this is inaccurate to anyone, I'm drawing from my own experience here

"Oh honey, I..." Sevika looks down at your wrist. You cringe and look away, look anywhere, a pit in your stomach that deepens, seems to hollow out and drain you of your insides. "It's nothing, I'm fine," you attempt, but tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. You can't retract your arm because Sevi's holding it there, her strength prevailing over yours. "It's not... baby did I do something?"

The question breaks you, has you crumpling to the ground. Of course she'd blame herself, everything's always her fault. She joins you on the floor, bundling you up in her arms. You feel tears fall onto the top of your head, her lips pressing kisses wherever she can manage. You can tell she's panicking, and it makes the hole in your stomach worsen.

"Can you tell me-"

"Can we not... can we not talk about it. Just this moment." You say weakly, your tears gathering on her shoulder. She huffs out a breath, tucking your head into her neck. "I'll make some tea. Go lay down baby."

*****

She flicks on the lights in the bedroom and sits at the foot of the bed, handing you a mug filled with your perfect brew. You smile at how well she knows you, the colour just right, the sweetness perfect.

"Tell me?" She tries, offering you a comforting smile.

"I just... I haven't been feeling right... again... and I'm... I just think, maybe.... you know... it'd be easier if I just... If I wasn't around." You say it so quietly, so slowly, you're unsure if you were even intelligible. She nods and sets your cups down onto the nightstand, gathering you up in her arms again like she has to prove to herself that you are, infact, still around. She stays like this for a while, swaying you gently, staring into space.

"Baby," she starts, her voice catching in her throat, "I can't lose you. Maybe that's the most selfish thing to say to someone who wants to... yeah, well, if my being selfish keeps you around then I'm going to be selfish. I need to hear that stupid laugh when I tell a dad joke that doesn't land with anyone but you. I need to smell burning in the morning of every valentines because you've attempted to cook. I need to feel obligated to take a picture of every cat I see on my way to and from work." She sighs and turns to look at you.

"I have lost so much fucking family," tears start to roll down her cheeks, "you and Vi are all I have. I will do anything to keep you with me. I don't care if I have to stay up 24 hours a day to ensure you're not hurting yourself. I don't care if I have to follow you around like your shadow. Baby, you can't leave me. You're the most precious thing I know."

You sob into her chest, body wracked with guilt that you've put her through this. "I'm sorry, Sevi honey I'm so sorry,"

"Don't apologise, don't you fucking dare apologise. I'm so proud of you for telling me honey, now I know, now we can get help can't we?" You nod against her and hold her closer. You know she won't make it all better, make it all go away, but you feel slightly more whole knowing she'll be there to lift you up, there to hold your hand.

If you're in the UK you can contact Switchboard to talk about these thoughts, they're an lgbtq+ charity so will suit your needs if that's what's brought on your feelings.

There are tons of places to call. And I know you feel alone, G-d do I know that feeling, but you aren't. You have people who care about you. You have one in me. G-d bless and stay safe sweetheart.

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 6 Buried Truths

Summary: When the past can only be contained for so long, Joel is there to pick up the pieces. Rating: 18+ MDNI Explicit Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, language, mentions of a hospital setting, mentions of injury, mentions of past trauma, a FUCK ton of angst, little sprinkle of smut, another cliffhanger (don't worry, i won't make you wait long) A/N: This is the part where you all collectively say OH...

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Joel’s hand remained wrapped around yours as you stared blankly out the plane window. Everything had been a blur the last twenty-four hours. After you got off the call with Beth, you ran through calling the school to find a substitute, packed what you could into a small carry-on bag, and went online to book the first ticket out to Boston. You tried to talk Joel into staying back in Austin; he had work and Sarah to care for, but he was adamant about coming. He made a quick call to Tommy to make a plan for Sarah and contacted his work to find coverage for the rest of the week. He was only apart from you when he rushed home to pack his travel bag. Then you were both off to the airport: you bleary-eyed and Joel more stoic than you could ever recall seeing. He hadn’t said much between security and the flight gate, but you were too exhausted to try and force conversation. 

“Hey,” Joel said, nudging you. “How you feelin’, baby?”

You glanced at him and shrugged, the tears from earlier still drying on your cheeks.

“I’m okay, I guess.”

His fingers squeezed around yours before he brought your hand to his mouth to kiss it softly.

“He’s gonna be alright,” he assured. “Beth said he’s recovering now, right? It’s just gonna take some time.”

While you and Joel were waiting at the gate, you called Beth again to find out what happened with your dad. She explained he had been up on the ladder fixing the roofing above the patio when his foot caught in one of the steps, ultimately forcing him to fall ten feet to the ground. He had a broken hip, a fracture in his lower spine, and a severe concussion—leaving him in a temporary medically induced coma. Beth had said he was lucky to be alive, but the anxiety still bubbled inside you in fear of what he would endure through his recovery. The thought of his injury only elevated the already strong emotions connecting you to the past, making it nearly impossible to cope with your dad’s accident while you simultaneously still struggled with your own.

The plane made a rocky touch-down in Boston well after midnight, the autumn rain causing the plane to slide against the tarmac before coming to a jarring stop. You and Joel rushed around the other passengers, filing out of the plane and sprinting through the airport to find Beth. You singled her out of the crowd, her face rosy and hair piled onto her head in a messy bun. The second she had your arms around you, you crumpled to the ground as the sobs broke out of your chest. 

“It’s okay, sis,” she said, her voice breaking. “He’s stable. It’s gonna be okay.”

“What if—what if he’s not?” You sobbed. 

You clutched onto her sweater, your head buried into her shoulders. She hushed you, her hand rubbing into your back.

“The doctors said he’ll make a full recovery. We just need to wait,” she said. 

“Is there any…” Your voice broke once more.

“No,” she whispered. “There’s no serious damage to his brain.”

You choked on your breath, relief swimming through your veins. This wouldn’t be like your accident; he would be okay. 

“C’mon,” she urged, pulling you to your feet. 

You wiped your nose across your sleeve, sheepishly turning to Joel. Gesturing from him to Beth, you gave a weak smile.

“Joel, this is Beth. Beth, this is Joel.”

Joel and Beth stood motionless, staring awkwardly at each other. You glanced between them, your eyebrows furrowing. Why weren’t they saying anything? 

Finally, Joel cleared his throat and extended his hand to Beth. 

“Nice to meet you, Beth. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Beth took his hand cautiously, giving him a friendly smile.

“Same here.”

You’d revisit this awkward interaction later, but you needed to go home. 

“Is mom home?” You asked Beth. 

You reached for your bag, but Joel gently nudged your hand away. He took it into his hand and walked to the parking garage behind you and your sister.

“Her and Stella are at the hospital,” she explained.

You stopped in your tracks, sending Joel staggering into your back with a soft oof.

“Sorry,” you muttered to Joel. You turned back to Beth. “Take me home.”

“No,” she said sternly. “They want you there. You need to be there.”

“Beth,” you started.

She lifted a hand to silence you, glancing over your shoulder at Joel.

“Can you jump in the car real quick? I need to talk to my sister alone.”

Beth tossed her keys to Joel, waiting until the back door shut before she glared at you. 

“Does he know?” She questioned.

“Of course, he doesn’t know,” you argued. 

She scoffed, folding her arms.

“Considering everything going on, you didn’t think to mention it to him?”

“Sorry, I’ve been a little busy getting my ass out here as fast as possible. It didn’t register in my mind to share the sad details of my accident with him.”

“You need to tell him, sis.”

“This isn’t the fucking time to do it!” You snapped. 

Beth rolled her eyes, her lips pursed for another attack.

“It’s going to come out sooner or later. You know that, right? He’s not going to run away if you tell him.”

“Bennett did, so why is he any different?”

“Stop comparing him to Bennett!” She yelled. “He’s nothing like him, and if you seriously think that, then you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t say that,” you mumbled.

“What? The truth? Because the truth is that you are a fucking idiot. And on top of that, you’re a coward.”

“Fuck you,” you spat. 

Beth laughed. She actually laughed. Rounding the car, she left you standing teary-eyed and frustrated. 

“Get in the fucking car,” she shouted. “We’re wasting time.”

You hauled yourself into the front seat, keeping your eyes out of the window and avoiding the heavy truth sitting between you, Beth, and Joel. If any one of them told him about your past, you’d kill them. It was yours to share whenever you were ready. 

Beth drove like a bat out of hell to Mass General. No one said anything the entire drive, and you were grateful for it. After the blowup between you and Beth, you had no more energy left to fight. You just hoped you’d be able to reel in the anger with Joel; he didn’t deserve it. 

Mass General loomed above the rain clouds settling over the city. Joel and Beth had already exited the car while you sat inside its warmth, your eyes stuck on the Emergency sign at the front of the hospital. Joel tapped on the window, stirring you from the numbing sensation rolling through your body. You didn’t even flinch at the sound of his knuckles on the glass. Joel cracked the door open, pulling it wide enough to fit his broad frame between the metal and your shaking body.

“C’mon baby,” he urged, offering his hand. “I know y’can do this. I’m right here with you, okay?”

“I can’t,” you whined. 

Joel crouched slightly, leveling you with soft brown eyes, a curl drifting over his forehead. You wished you were both in bed, curled under the covers and far away from Boston. You wanted his soft hair between your fingers and his stubble ticking your skin. But no, you were here in Boston, with a rain cloud hanging in the sky and your father unconscious in a hospital bed. 

“Look at me,” Joel breathed.

You wanted to look anywhere but at him. If he looked at you any longer, you’d shatter completely. He cautioned your name, coaxing you from your hesitation. His strong hands cupped your cheeks, holding you firm as he kept your focus on his eyes.

“I’m right here,” he repeated. “Ain’t gonna leave your side no matter what. Y’understand? Whatever happens, I’m right here.”

You chewed on your lip to keep the sobs from escaping. It was surprising you had anything left to cry; all you did was cry… and cry… and cry. 

“I can’t go in there, Joel. You don’t—you don’t understand.”

“Help me understand,” he pleaded.

“Go without me. I’ll wait outside, okay?”

“Baby,” he groaned. “Beth will have my ass if I don’t get you inside.”

You scoffed, ripping his hands from your face. 

“You speak a few words to her and suddenly know how she’s gonna react?” You glared. “You both acted so fucking weird in the airport and now you’re taking her side?”

Joel straightened to his full height, the shadow of his body blanketing you. You were pushing him away; you knew it, and so did he. You just needed to nudge him a bit more, and he’d run. You’d be alone again and spare yourself the humiliation and heartbreak.

“I ain’t takin’ sides,” he argued. “I’m bein’ realistic. I saw the way she went at you back there. I’m not ‘bout to get the same treatment for leavin’ you behind.”

“Just go!” You yelled. You shoved at his chest, forcing him back into the door. 

He didn’t respond in anger like you expected. He did the opposite, pulling you towards him and into a desperate kiss. You tried to push him off—tried to fight it— but he only held you tighter.

“Keep fightin’ me, baby,” he said against your mouth. “I’m only gonna fight back.”

“I hate you,” you cried. “I hate you.”

But you didn’t stop kissing him. You gripped the wild curls at the base of his neck, pinning him to your lips as you sobbed through every slant of his mouth. 

“Why won’t you leave?” You cried, the words muffled as his tongue searched for yours. “Why, Joel?”

“I ain’t leavin’ you again, baby,” he murmured. “I can’t.”

Joel pulled away from your swollen lips, tears pooling in his eyes. You instantly felt remorse for treating him so badly. You wouldn’t do to him what Bennett did to you. 

“Remember when I said this was real?” he asked. “Do you still believe that?”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears ran down your cheeks.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Then trust me when I say I’m never leavin’. Not now. Not ever.”

You inhaled a sharp breath and buried your head in your hands. 

“Just give me a minute, okay?” You exhaled. “Catch up with Beth, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, echoing the words you spoke only a few weeks ago. 

“You and your deals,” you grumbled, peeking out your fingers.

That garnered a slight grin from Joel, his lips curling upward.

“Take your breather, and I’ll wait by the back of the car. If y’wanna go in, we can go in together.”

You remained silent, hiccuping over another sob. Joel raised his brow, waiting for a response. Avoiding his eyes, you nodded, the Emergency sign taunting you from a distance. Joel leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead and abandoned you to retreat toward the back of the car. 

You steadied your breathing, focusing on the slow inhale and exhale of the air within your lungs. It wasn’t you in that hospital bed; it was your dad. He didn’t sustain the same damage you had, and that’s all that mattered. Whatever the outcome, he was better off than you had ever been, and you needed to be grateful for it. 

You let your legs move on their own accord as you took your spot beside Joel, his hand instantly grasping around yours. His touch grounded you in the moment, keeping you centered as your mind swam upstream through the rocky waves of the past. You had to stay strong. You had to prove you could do this.

The second your feet crossed through the sliding doors, all that strength collapsed. Joel hooked a strong arm around your back, bracing you to his side as he guided you into the waiting room. Your mom and Beth sat side by side in the worn-down seats, their faces grim and tired. 

“Hey,” you said wearily. 

Your mom's eyes snapped up, and she broke down at seeing you. She ran up to yank you from Joel’s grasp, smothering you into a tight hug. 

“Oh, honey,” she cried. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“How’s dad?” You asked, speaking into her hair that wrapped around your face.

“Doctors haven’t given much of an update, but he’s alright. They’re taking him in for surgery in a few hours to help reset his hip.”

“And his head?” You faltered.

“There’s no serious damage,” she whispered.

You peered over her shoulder to where Beth sat, eyes meeting in a quiet understanding. There was still a tension running thick between you both, but those words from your mom were enough to soothe the surmounting anxiety inside you.

“Mom,” you sighed, tearing away from her embrace. “This is Joel.”

You motioned to Joel behind you, an eerie repeat of what had happened between him and Beth. Your mom stood frozen, her eyes widening as she stared at him. Joel cracked a welcoming smile, extending his hand out to her. No one moved, and his hand remained wavering in the stagnant air. 

“Mom?” You pressed.

She shook her head and opened her arms to Joel, inviting him in for a hug. It was strange but not entirely unexpected, considering the circumstances. 

“Hi, honey,” she said as she rocked Joel back and forth in the embrace. 

“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” Joel replied. You caught on to the way his biceps flexed around her, squeezing her just as tightly as he would with you. He was comforting her, and something softened inside you. 

Beth cleared her throat behind you, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your mom released Joel and turned towards Beth.

“She should go up and see him,” Beth told your mom.

“She is right here,” you snapped.

“Oh, now she wants to listen to me,” Beth snorted.

“Both of you!” Your mom shouted. “Enough!”

You shrunk away, folding yourself into Joel’s warm frame. The press of his body against yours quelled the anger rising back up, and you kept focus on his hands rubbing over your arms to keep from lashing out. Beth was pushing, and you knew exactly why.

“Listen, Beth, stay here and chill out,” your mom started. She glanced back at you and Joel before continuing. “Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll take you to see him.”

You followed your mom up to the ICU, your eyes shifting from one room to another. The repetition of machines beeping and murmurs of nurses through the hall slammed into your head like a hammer, and you found yourself clinging to Joel, twisting his cotton shirt until it stretched between your fingers. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Joel crooned. “I got you. Ain’t lettin’ you go.”

Mom guided you to the room where Stella was perched on a chair beside the bed. You averted your eyes from your dad, refusing to look. Stella turned to see you walk in and immediately sprinted into your arms, sobbing into your chest.

“I know. I know,” you cried.

“I was so scared it was going to happen again, sis,” she muttered. 

“They said he was okay, right? It’s not going to happen to him,” you assured. 

“But what if it does? What if he wakes up and doesn’t remember—.”

“Don’t,” you interjected. “Don’t say it.”

She peeled herself from you and wiped away her tears. Joel stepped forward, his hand pressed to your lower back, as he made his way to introduce himself.

“I’m Joel,” he smiled, extending his hand.

Stella flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling into his chest. Your mom watched them with a knowing look, something you couldn’t discern. 

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she sighed. 

Weird. You only really talked to Beth about Joel and didn’t expect her to share it with anyone except your mom. 

Joel rubbed her shoulders gently, then pulled away. 

“Likewise, Stell.”

Stell. You didn’t recall calling her that in front of Joel; that nickname was reserved for you and only you. Your head was pounding, and the nagging feeling that you were losing grip on reality was slowly settling in. You worked so hard to remember everything; it wouldn’t happen again. Not now. 

“You okay, sweetie?” Your mom cautioned, stepping beside you.

Her voice roused you from your confusion, and you made the mistake of looking at your dad for the first time. He looked so much smaller, lying in the hospital bed: a breathing tube situated under his nose and IVs running through the bend of his arm. Oh God, and his face. Both of his eyes were rimmed in dark bruises, and a thick layer of bandages was wrapped over his forehead. Was that how you looked all those years ago? Your stomach churned with nausea the longer you looked at him. The whirring of the machines in the room dizzied you, and you felt your body swaying in place. Joel quickly steadied you, his arms coming around your front to lock you into a tight hold. 

“You’re okay, baby,” he murmured into your ear. 

“Do you want to be alone with him, sweetie?” Your mom asked.

“Please,” you said, nodding. 

Joel kissed the crown of your head before following your mom and Stella out into the hall. You glanced over your shoulder to see them all huddled together, the cracked blinds inside the room obstructing your view of what they were saying. You’d ask Joel about it later.

Turning back to your dad, you let the real tears fall. The ugly, gut-wrenching ones you had held back for so long. Tears that weren’t just for him, but for you as well. No one in your family knew the fear and pain that came with a head injury. No one could understand you—not even Bennett, despite everything he tried to say and do. You were alone in its entirety, but you’d be damned if your dad dealt with the same. 

Cradling his hand in yours, you drew circles over his calloused skin with your thumb. You didn’t have words to express your pain, so you sat in silence. The constant repetition of machinery beeping throbbed through the recesses of your brain, a migraine looming on the horizon. You’d suffer with it later, but it would be worth it just to stay in this moment a few seconds longer.

“I love you, dad,” you whispered. 

You didn’t know if he could hear you, but you hoped he did. 

You remained silent for a few more minutes and glanced at the clock above the bed. 3: 13 AM. You hadn’t realized how much of the day had drained away, and the fatigue in your body was settling in rapidly. You wanted to lie down and wake up when everything was better, but it all came with time. And you hated that. You hated time and things it had stolen from you.

A light rap on the door startled you from your silent cocoon, and you turned to see Joel peeking in through the window. You motioned him to come in, and he bent beside the bed, his hand resting on your thigh.

“How ya’ doin’, baby?” He asked softly.

“I’m tired,” you lamented.

He smoothed his hand over your legs, the warmth of his touch radiating through your body. You leaned into his touch, letting your head rest on his.

“I’m gonna ask Beth if we can take the car and go home,” you said. “I can’t be here anymore, and I need sleep.”

“We can do that. Your mom said they’re gonna take him for surgery in a few, anyway. No point stickin’ around if we’d just be waitin’.”

“When he’s out of surgery, they can call me, and we can come back.”

“Sounds like a plan, baby. Let’s get you home.”

Joel offered to drive Beth’s car back to the house. You sat beside him, your head propped in your hand, watching as he drove through the city streets. Even cast in the late night sky, he was so handsome. The rich tan color of his skin seemed to be illuminated by the moonlight glinting through the windshield, his brown eyes softer than you’d ever seen. There wasn’t a trace of a smile on his lips, but he still looked so kind and so loving. Joel glanced over at you as the car slowed in front of the red light. 

“What’s that look for?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m just really thankful you’re here,” you exhaled. “I’m sorry you had to see me so angry earlier. It wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you.”

Joel leaned over the dash to pull you in for a soft, fleeting kiss.

“There’s a lot happenin’ right now, baby. Be angry all y’want. I can take it,” he said.

You chewed on your lip and nodded, turning your attention back to the street as the light turned green. Joel drove in silence the rest of the way to your parent's house, guiding him quietly with directions every few turns. Even though it had only been a few weeks since you were last home, the streets were scattered with yellow and orange leaves, autumn settling over the neighborhood. The car's tires flattened over them as Joel slowed to the front of the house and killed the engine. 

“This where y’grew up?” Joel asked, tilting his head toward the house.

You nodded, but your eyes were glued to the porch. The ladder was still lying on the ground; the metal pressed into the cold grass of the front lawn. Joel must’ve picked up on your fixation and sighed. 

“I’ll go pick it up, baby. Why don’t you grab your bag and head in, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” But your eyes didn’t stray from the ladder.

You watched Joel reach the ladder, his body a beacon under the moonlight. His tall figure moved against the cover of the night sky, working quickly to move it off to the side of the house. You took an extra moment to collect yourself before gathering your bags and meeting him on the porch. Joel took them immediately from your hands as you guided him into the house. You’d give him a tour of it tomorrow; you just wanted to curl under the covers of your bed and waste away. 

When you opened the door to your bedroom, Joel gave a low whistle, glancing around at the artifacts of your childhood. Miscellaneous pictures of you and your sisters hung on the walls, along with a collection of CDs stacked on the floor in one corner and a reading nook built into the windowsill. The dated white armoire was nestled against the wall beside your vanity, and the large queen bed sat untouched and nicely made with its white comforter and grey pillows. 

“Nice lil’ room y’got here, baby,” Joel chuckled.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” you shrugged.

You dumped your bag on the ground, collapsing backward until your back hit the bed with a soft thud. Joel followed your lead, and you both lay there silently, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun in circles. It was tempting just to succumb to sleep right in that moment, but you knew you needed a shower to wash off the lingering stress of the day. 

“Come shower with me?” You asked, glancing over at Joel.

“Of course.”

The heat of the shower pelted your skin as Joel rubbed a loufa into your back muscles, working out the knots that had materialized through the long day. You basked in the warmth of his body pressed into yours, your head falling back against his muscular chest and eyes drifting shut. His tender touch helped alleviate the pressure building in your head, and you prayed that the migraine would subside soon enough. 

“Doin’ okay, baby?” He asked, his mouth pressing into the side of your neck.

You hummed at his lips on your skin, bringing your arm up to wrap around the back of his neck. His fingers drifted over the curves of your body, squeezing your hips softly before trailing between your legs.

“Can I?” 

“Mhmm,” you sighed, shifting your body slightly so that he could explore further.

His hand dipped between your legs, your arousal already pooling at your entrance. He was slow with his touch, each graze of his fingers over your sensitive bud eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Joel’s mouth roamed over the expanse of your neck as he continued to draw circles over your throbbing clit. Your fingers tugged at his wet curls, urging him closer. The blood coursing through your veins thrummed with pleasure as he teased the build-up of your release. 

“You’re beautiful, baby. Y’know that?” He whispered in your ear.

Maybe it was the gentle touch of his fingers or his words swimming through your mind, but your climax shattered you into pieces in record time. Your thighs clenched tight around his hand as you let out a soft cry. 

“That’s it,” he crooned. “Let go, baby.”

You slumped against his body, your heart settling back into a normal rhythm. Joel held you close, wrapping his arms around your front and swaying you under the spray of the water. Your eyes grew heavy the longer you remained in his embrace, so you decided to cut the water and drag him out and into bed. 

Under the security of your comforter, you clung to Joel and buried your head into the crook of his arm. He traced circles over your bare arm, letting you lay quietly against him. The familiar pressure of a migraine began forming in your mind, the pounding ache settling behind your eyes. You squeezed your eyes tighter, curling yourself up into his body in hopes it would fade away as you slept. 

“What’s wrong?” Joel asked, noticing the tension paralyzing your muscles.

“Migraine,” you choked out. 

“What do y’need? I can go get it.”

“No, I’m fine,” you lied. “Just stay here. Please.”

“These happen often?”

“Not in a while.” You couldn’t find the strength to form complete sentences, so the words came out choppy and pained.

“Will sleep help?” 

“I hope,” you muttered, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Joel’s arms tightened around your body, anchoring you to his side as he hummed softly into your hair. Pain pulsated through your head as you forced yourself to fall asleep, your limbs shaking as they wrapped around his torso. 

All you wanted was for the pain to go away. 

A few hours later, the morning light dancing through the window stirred you awake. The residual aching pain in your head still lingered, but it was far more manageable than it had been before you fell asleep. Joel snored softly beside you, and you took the chance to watch him as he slept peacefully beside you. The creases in his skin were softened in his slumber, his face relaxed and calm. His lips were parted slightly, the bottom one plush and pouty and tempting to kiss. You nestled into his body, your mouth roaming over his scruffy jaw and eventually reaching his lips. The strange urge to say I love you nearly tumbled out of your mouth as you kissed him, but you swallowed it and saved it away. It was the first time you thought those three little words in the space with someone other than Bennett. Knowing Joel was digging closer to your heart, breaking down every barrier and wall, it was still frightening. But if this sudden trip had taught you anything, he was right; this was real. You weren’t ready to confess those words, but in time you would. 

Just not now. 

Joel roused himself from sleep, groaning softly as he pulled you in for a gentle kiss. 

“Mornin’, baby. How’s your head feelin’?”

“Better,” you sighed. 

“Ready to go back to the hospital?”

You groaned, shoving your head under the comforter. 

“I hate it there.”

He squeezed your side, urging you back up to the surface. Your eyes connected with his, the morning light coloring his eyes a rich shade of amber. Flecks of gold scattered through his irises, blending into the rich chocolate brown you were drawn to. 

“Why do y’hate it so much?” He wondered.

“I—I just don’t have good memories of it.”

“Y’wanna talk to me ‘bout it?”

You rolled onto your back, closing your eyes as the memories waded through the headache still swimming in your head. 

“Bennett, there’s a chance this could actually work,” you begged. 

“I’m not risking it. What if it doesn’t work and things get worse?” He argued. “Isn’t it easier to just move forward?”

You rubbed circles into your temples, trying to soften the onset migraine surging to the surface. All this arguing was making you nauseous and tired. Why wouldn’t Bennett be on your side about this? Why wasn’t he agreeing with you?

“I want to remember,” you lamented. “I want those two years back.”

“The doctors said it’ll take time. Why isn’t that enough?” Bennett sighed, crouching down to meet you at eye level. 

“You don’t understand, Bennett.”

“I’m trying,” he snapped. 

It was the first time you’d experienced his anger in such a way. He wasn’t taking your side, and he wasn’t even listening to your requests. You could only nod and cave to his arguments; he was the one holding the power now. You had to trust him. 

Situating yourself against the headboard, you inhaled sharply and glanced at Joel. 

“I might as well tell you since everyone is on my case about it,” you groaned. 

“Only if you wanna, baby. I ain’t gonna force you,” Joel sighed, looking up at you.

Giving yourself a moment to gather your thoughts, you dove into the story.

“I was in an accident when I was twenty-two, or I guess twenty-four. The last thing I remember was being twenty-two and just moving to Austin with Bennett. We had just moved into our apartment, and I was about to start substitute teaching while finishing my Master's degree. Everything was great. Then, I got in an accident on the way home from school, and the next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital. 

“I guess in the crash, my head hit the dashboard hard enough to cause serious damage to my brain. They—the doctors, told me I had sustained enough trauma to cause retrograde amnesia. I woke up thinking I was still twenty-two, Joel. I lost two years of my life. I couldn’t remember a single thing.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he whispered, propping himself on his elbows. 

“Bennett tried to fill me in on pieces of it, but trying to remember did more damage than anything,” you continued. “I had migraines all the time. I could barely function for the first couple of months, and that’s when my parents talked me into coming back here. To Mass General. They ran so many tests on me and tried to find solutions, but there was no hope. Bennett was adamant about not causing any more damage to my brain, so I just gave up,” you explained. 

“You gave up tryin’ to remember?” He asked, pulling himself up to sit beside you. There was a deep furrow between his brows and a noticeable shift in his body language. Everything was tense, from his jaw to how his fists clenched together. 

“Yeah. I trusted Bennett with the memories I no longer had and knew he would take care of me. Or at least, I hoped he would. The doctors suggested I stay in Boston to go through psychotherapy to help try and piece together those memories, but Bennett was against it. It caused a huge riff in my family since they wanted me to stay and get help.”

“He kept you from rememberin’ things,” Joel frowned.

You nodded, digging your knuckles into your eyes to try and push away the pressure building behind them again. 

“We were here for almost two months, just constantly going in and out of the hospital. I’d have these debilitating migraines that would lead to fainting spells, so I was always back at the emergency room for more testing. The outcome was always the same, though. I felt so defeated every time like it was my fault,” you confessed. 

Joel laid a hand on your thigh, smoothing over your skin as you tried to drag in a lungful of air. 

“It ain’t your fault though, baby,” he assured.

“I should have advocated for myself more. I just did whatever Bennett said because he knew things I couldn’t remember. He even proposed here. He made this big, long speech about how he never wanted to face the fear of losing me again, and I went with it because I loved him. I loved him enough to do whatever he said because I owed it to him.”

“You were tryna heal from everythin’,” he offered, trying to make sense of it all. “It’s not your fault for what happened after.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“But it is,” you argued. “It’s my fault Bennett left. If I thought our fights before the crash were bad… It only got worse. We moved out of our apartment and got this big house. We decided to speed through our engagement for the sake of my fucking memory. All the while, Bennett just started to get angrier and angrier. I was trying so hard to remember things, and he just started to remember less. He was always fighting with me over every little thing. He barely touched me or looked at me. For fuck sake, he wouldn’t even sleep in the same bed as me! It’s like he didn’t want me to have those memories back, and I just—I don’t understand why.”

Joel pulled your head into his hands, his eyes darkening as he stared at you. His thumbs rubbed over your cheekbones in an attempt to calm your rambling. You wanted to flinch away from his touch, but he only held you tighter.

“None of this is your fault,” he emphasized. 

“It is, though,” you sniffled. The tears were ready to slip at any moment. “He wanted the girl I was before the crash, and I was so hell-bent on trying to fix my memory that I stopped being that version of myself. I couldn’t be what he wanted, so he left. I wasn’t enough, Joel. I couldn’t fight for him to stay because he didn’t want me. I—I’m so fucked up, Joel.”

Joel’s nostrils flared, a wash of anger clouding his eyes. But you knew it wasn’t anger toward you. It was toward Bennett.

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” he snapped. “You’re not fucked up. Bennett was an asshole, and I swear I’d kill him if I could.”

“That’s not funny,” you deadpanned. 

“It wasn’t meant to be funny, baby. I’m serious. Ain’t no way y’went through hell and back for him to do that to you. Y’didn’t get the time to heal because you were so focused on tryin’ to make him happy, and he didn’t deserve you. You know that, right? None of this is your fault.”

You shrugged off his hands and scooted out of the warmth of the bed. Digging through your bag, you pulled out a change of clothes, carelessly throwing an outfit together while Joel sat motionless on the bed. 

“Baby,” Joel pleaded. “Stop for a minute, ‘kay? Are you listenin’ to me?”

He threw back the covers and strode to where you stood, your arms halfway into a sweater. He helped tug it the rest of the way, settling it over your body before reeling you in for a long kiss. It was his weapon for shutting you up, and he was really fucking good at using it. You dragged yourself away from his mouth, staggering back until there was enough distance between you and him. 

“I should have fucking listened to everyone,” you heaved. “I should have fucking stayed in Boston, but I wanted to prove I could do it. I wanted to prove I could continue living with this fucked up part of myself.”

Joel cautioned your name, and you took another step back.

“Look at me, Joel!” You laughed. “I’m fucked up! I still can’t remember a damn fucking thing, and being here is only a brutal reminder of that. I lost so much of myself because of that accident. And I swear to God, if I lose my dad, too. I—I can’t…”

Your knees hit the ground before it even registered in your mind. Joel was quick to drop to the floor in front of you, pulling you into his lap as the sobs wracked through your body. You rocked yourself back and forth as Joel’s arms wound into a vice around your chest. He hushed you softly as you audibly cried loud enough to echo around the room. 

“You aren’t gonna lose him,” Joel whispered in your ear. 

“What if—.” You choked on another cry.

“Breathe with me, baby. Just breathe. C’mon.”

Joel inhaled loudly, coaxing you to do the same. You followed his lead, exhaling when he instructed to. You both repeated it a few more times until you felt the surge of emotions slow. 

“That’s it, baby,” he sighed. “I’m right here with you. Everythin’ is gonna be okay.”

You burrowed your head into his chest, your tears dampening his bare chest. How was he not running away from you? You laid all your damaged pieces out, and he still had his arms around you. You didn’t deserve it. You couldn’t make sense of it.

“What do y’say we get back to the hospital?” Joel offered after a moment. “We can check in and see how the surgery went. It’ll give you some peace of mind.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced. 

Joel helped you to your feet, and you both finished changing in silence. You grabbed your purse and followed Joel to the car, and you both returned to Mass General. 

“He’s fine, honey,” your mom said, giving you a weak smile.

You were all crowded in the hospital room surrounding your dad as he lay unconscious on the bed. 

“The doctors say he’s going to make a full recovery,” she continued. “They’re going to slow the sedative down, and hopefully, he’ll be waking up in the next day or so.”

Beth and Stella stood close together, Stella’s head resting on Beth’s shoulder. Their expressions were painted with relief, and you felt your muscles loosen at the news.

“So, we just wait?” You asked. 

“We will wait,” your mom corrected. “You and Joel should go back to Austin. There’s no point sticking around now that we know he’s alright.”

You turned to stare at her, your lips twisting into a scowl.

“I am not leaving until he wakes up,” you argued. 

“We’ll call right when he wakes up,” she offered. “I know being here is hard for you, honey. And you’ve got a job that needs you.”

“Mom!” You shouted. It was loud enough to startle everyone. “I’m not leaving.”

“She’s right, baby,” Joel chimed in. “He’s gonna be okay.”

“I want to stay.”

“Look, let’s make a deal. We stay another day and then go home, okay?”

You glanced between everyone in the room, finally settling your eyes on your dad, still unconscious in the bed. Everyone was right, but you didn’t want to leave yet. You weren’t ready. Even if being here felt like hell. 

“One more day,” you agreed.

You remained at the hospital most of the day, shifting between the waiting room and your dad’s room. Everyone took turns visiting him and meeting with doctors, and Joel stayed at your side every minute. Stella took a liking to him most out of everyone, spending a good majority of the time talking his ear off about Sarah. Seeing Joel engage with her as he did was endearing as if they knew each other and were old friends catching up. He treated everyone in your family so kindly that it was hard to continue shoving down those three little words. You wanted to say them more than ever…but weren’t sure when you’d feel ready. 

Eventually, the day faded into night, and your mom urged everyone to go home while she insisted on staying. You didn’t know when she had slept last, but she was adamant about staying with your dad. Beth drove you all home, humming some song that floated through the radio. As the house came into view, she dialed down the volume and turned toward the backseat. 

“Joel, Stella, will you guys head in while I talk to sis?” Beth asked as she parked the car.

You gave her a confused stare as they filed out and walked up the driveway toward the house. 

“Did you tell him?” She asked, turning to look at you.

Her eyes were dark with heavy circles, and her lips stuck in a straight line.

“I did,” you nodded.

“What did he say?”

“He just sympathized with me. There’s not much else to say,” you shrugged. 

“That’s it?” She pressed, her brows scrunching together.

You scoffed, glancing out the side window. 

“What did you want him to say, Beth? There isn’t much to say when you tell someone your memory is all fucked up.”

“I just figured he’d say more,” she offered.

“Like what?” You snapped. “Nothing he says is going to magically make it better.”

“I know, I know. I just thought he’d say more.”

You stared at her, the tiredness creeping into your bones. You didn’t want to argue anymore, not about this or anything.

“Can we just go in? I’m tired,” you said.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Beth and Stella offered to make dinner that night, all four of you quietly eating in heavy silence as the evening drifted later. Once dinner was all said and done, you and Joel retired to your room, curling up under the covers once again. You tangled your legs between his and kissed up his chest and under his jaw.

“Baby,” he warned. “The girls are right down the hall. Don’t be doin’ that.”

“Why?” You questioned, continuing the path up his cheek and to his lips.

Joel captured your mouth in a hungry kiss, his hands tangling in your hair. You moaned softly as the kiss deepened, his hands roaming over your body.

“I want you, Joel,” you whispered against his mouth.

“Baby, we can’t,” he groaned. But he didn’t stop kissing you.

He rolled his body over yours, pinning you to the bed as his hand slid under your pajama bottoms. You bucked into his hand, searching for a fleeting touch to quell the ache growing between your thighs. Joel responded to your desperation, slipping a finger between your slick folds. 

“I’ll be quiet,” you promised. “Just keep kissing me.”

Joel relented to your pleas, locking his mouth with yours again. He added another finger, plunging them inside you as you cried out at the pressure. His teeth quickly bit down on your bottom lip, a silent demand to keep your voice down.

“Sorry,” you exhaled.

“Be good for me, baby,” he whispered. 

His fingers abandoned you, but it was barely a moment of loss before he sank his cock into you. You used all your strength to hold back a groan of relief as the slight sting of your body stretching to him faded into bliss. Joel kept his hands tangled in your hair as he rocked into you, your bodies moving in unison as he drove himself deeper with each thrust. 

“Joel…” You whimpered against his mouth.

“Stay quiet, baby.”

His mouth roamed down the column of your throat, sucking gently at your skin as he reached one arm down to hook around the back of your knee. The change in position only sent his cock deeper inside you, your core clenching around him with every drive of his hips. 

“It feels so good,” you panted, rolling your hips. “I’m so close, Joel. Don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” he hummed. “Cum for me, baby.”

His hips snapped harder against you, and you bit back another cry of pleasure. Your body thrummed with the need for release, the waves crashing inside you growing stronger. Just a little more… a little more. Joel’s other hand snaked between your bodies, his fingers brushing over your clit. You arched into his touch and ground your nails into the skin of his biceps. 

“Joel,” you choked.

The orgasm exploded through you, fogging your vision as your core pulsated around his cock. Joel let out a strangled groan and tumbled over the edge with you, his release filling you only seconds later. 

Joel collapsed against your body, his cock slipping out of you as it softened. You welcomed the weight of him, letting his skin meld into yours. I love you. It was just a breath from escaping your lips, but you kept it shoved down. 

Another time, you told yourself. 

“Can I sleep like this?” Joel chuckled, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Whatever you want, handsome,” you giggled. 

He peered up at you, a grin curving over his face.

“There’s that word again,” he smirked.

“Oh, shut up. You like it.”

“I really fuckin’ do.”

You bent your neck to kiss his forehead before settling back against the pillow. It was easier to sleep like this, knowing you’d have him in your arms when you woke up. It made everything inside you hurt less. 

After an extra day at the hospital, nothing new had progressed with your dad. Your mom assured you that she would call if she had any news of him waking up, so you and Joel said your goodbyes and made the trip back to Austin. 

Nothing had changed in Austin, not that you were expecting it to. Joel returned home after spending an extra few hours under your bed sheets with you, groaning about not wanting to leave. You urged him to go, knowing Sarah was probably missing him. That first night home alone was the hardest; the nightmares continued again now that you had no distractions. The migraine had returned at full throttle when you woke up the next morning, and you had to make an extra effort to pull yourself from bed and dress for work. Not a single cell in your body wanted to return to a classroom full of loud kids, but you had missed enough days and needed to make up for lost time. 

Maria was the first to drill you with questions as you arrived at the school. 

“Is everything okay? I asked around and only heard that it was a family emergency.”

You shuffled into your classroom, Maria hot on your heels. You could barely stand the stream of light coming through the windows, let alone the sound of her voice.

“My dad had an accident, that’s all,” you assured. “Everything is okay.”

“Oh, thank God he’s okay.” She flung her arms around you, giving you a suffocating hug.

You peeled away from her, steadying your body against the corner of your desk. 

“I’ll tell you more later, okay? I just need to prep for classes before the first bell.”

“I’ll check in on you later,” she announced before leaving. 

The day moved on slowly, and before you knew it, your final class was over. As the students filed out, you started gathering your things but noticed Sarah lingered behind.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” You asked as she approached your desk.

“Um, kinda?” She gave you a sheepish look. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Of course, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

She shifted her weight between her legs, her hazel eyes on the floor.

“Are you dating my dad?”

Your breath stalled, and you were unsure of what to say or do. Was it appropriate to lie? You and Joel hadn’t discussed the possibility of her finding out much and now was definitely not the time.

“Why do you ask?” You were deflecting.

“I overheard him talking to my Uncle Tommy last night,” she explained. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, and blood rushed through your ears. God, what had they said? What did she hear?

“Go on,” you insisted, your voice unsteady. 

“My dad told Uncle Tommy he loved you.”

At that moment, her hazel eyes met yours, and everything came crashing down. You tripped over your words and found yourself gripping the desk.

“Miss Smith?” Sarah cautioned. 

“I’m sure your dad was talking about someone else,” you lied. “Why don’t you head home? I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She looked at you with confusion written all over her face but eventually followed your request and left you in an empty room.

You sank into your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose. You knew Joel’s feelings were there for you, but you didn’t want to hear it from Sarah. You wanted to hear it from him. Searching for your purse, you found your phone and dialed his number with shaking hands.

He answered immediately.

“Did y’hear from your mom?” He asked in a rush.

“No, it’s not that. Can you—” You steadied your breathing. “Can you just meet me at my house?”

“Of course, is everythin’ okay? You’re worryin’ me.”

“I’m fine, Joel. I’ll see you there in a few.”

You hung up before he could say anymore and be-lined for your car. You drove home on autopilot, the words jumbling together in your head. 

I think he’s already falling in love with you. 

My dad told Uncle Tommy he loved you.

Over and over again, Beth and Sarah’s voices played on a loop. You turned onto your street and blinked back tears. You weren’t ready to face this. What were you going to say? What would Joel say? What would—

You slammed on your brakes right before you got to your house. 

Joel’s truck wasn’t there. 

But Bennett’s car was.

[m4rv3l-girl]

I'm currently stuck in hospital for kidney dialysis! And reading your stories have been my source of entertainment🫶🏻 I absolutely adore your style of writing! And hope you will be able to do my request🥹

Bucky x pregnant reader

Bucky and reader have been in a relationship for a while and reader recently finds out she's pregnant, and she comes home to tell Bucky but as she enters there shared apartment, she finds Bucky packing and shifting about the house like its on fire and once he notices reader he tells her, he needs to talk and reader says yeah we do, and bucky takes her hand and sits her on the couch and waits for reader to speak and reader says you go first, and bucky explains that Tony needs him to go undercover for a mission and they don't know how long it will be, so he says that yous both need to breakup to protect you from the mission and the reader is heartbroken and upset over losing bucky and her baby daddy, bucky then asks her what she wanted to talk about and she just says it's nothing, when do you leave and he said in a few hours. Bucky left a few hours later and that was the last you seen him, throughout your pregnancy you had natasha help, moving to your own house leaving the apartment for bucky whenever he gets back. You have a bouncing Baby boy with his daddys eyes and hair. Bucky finally finishes the mission a year and a half later. He is given a long vacation and glady accepts it, he goes back to your old apartment and when he enters he realises how much he actually missed you. Bucky lays in the bed and finds one of your hoodie in the bed and uses it to ground himself back to reality. A few days later bucky goes grocery shopping and while down one of the aisles he hears your voice saying "can you put it in the cart baby" and he feels his heart crumpled, he can't help himself but have a peek at where you are and he sees you looking as beautiful as ever and when he takes another look he sees a little boy looking at you with eyes, eyes like his and the spitting image of him. He slowly approaches you and you immediately see him and freeze up, bucky waves and points to the little boy now staring at him and the little baby saying "daddy" with a confused face. And you pick up the baby and say yeah jamie baby thats daddy. Bucky asks when and why he didn't know and you explain to him about finding out at the same time as the undercover mission and you had no way of contacting him. And bucky then wants to be apart of your little boys life and slowly becomes the dad you always wanted him to be and soon becomes the dad and husband he always wanted to be and maybe have a few more little ones down the road, so little jamie isnt alone and bucky gets to experience the full pregnancy if you will have more🥹🫶🏻

A Mission, A Baby, and Us

Warnings: Pregnancy. Angst.

The day started out with excitement thrumming through your veins. The two faint lines on the test in your hand seemed to shimmer with the morning light streaming through the bathroom window. You stared at it, heart pounding, the realization settling over you like a warm blanket.

You were pregnant.

Your hand instinctively moved to rest on your stomach, a protective gesture already forming.

Bucky was going to be thrilled, you told yourself. This was your next big adventure together, the culmination of late-night talks, shared dreams, and whispered hopes for the future. You imagined the way his blue eyes would light up, the way his strong arms would pull you into him, already promising to protect and love both you and the tiny life growing within you.

Unable to contain your excitement, you grabbed your bag and hurried home, eager to share the news. But as you entered the apartment, the sight before you made you pause. Bucky was moving frantically around the living room, stuffing items into a duffel bag. The furniture was slightly out of place, as if he'd been pacing or reorganizing, and his normally composed demeanor was replaced by an air of urgency.

"Bucky?" you called out softly, concern lacing your tone.

He spun around, his expression a mix of surprise and something unreadable. His shoulders sagged briefly when he saw you, but then he straightened, the muscles in his jaw tensing. "Y/N, you’re home," he said, his voice unusually flat.

You set your bag down slowly, your earlier excitement beginning to falter. "What’s going on?"

Bucky gestured to the couch. "We need to talk."

Your heart dropped at the words. "Yeah, we do," you replied cautiously, moving to sit down. He joined you, taking your hand in his. His grip was firm, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin.

"You first," you said, attempting a reassuring smile even as unease curled in your stomach.

He took a deep breath, his eyes darting away before meeting yours again. "Tony needs me for a mission," he began. "It’s… it’s deep cover. Dangerous. And it’s not something I can say no to." His words came out rushed, almost as if he needed to get them out before he lost his nerve.

You squeezed his hand. "Bucky…"

He shook his head, cutting you off. "It’s not safe for you, Y/N. Not while I’m gone. I don’t know how long this will take, and I can’t…" His voice cracked, and he looked away again. "I can’t put you in danger because of me. We need to… we need to break up."

The words hit you like a freight train, stealing the air from your lungs. "What?" you whispered, disbelief and hurt flooding your voice.

"It’s the only way," he insisted, his tone pained. "I’m doing this to protect you. To keep you safe."

Your mind raced, the earlier joy of the morning dissipating into a heavy fog of heartbreak. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was wrong, that you could handle anything as long as you were together. But the look in his eyes—a mix of guilt and resolve—kept you silent.

He cleared his throat, his grip on your hand tightening. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. How could you tell him now? How could you add to his burden when he was already pulling away? The joyful revelation now felt like a cruel twist of fate.

"It’s nothing," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "When do you leave?"

"In a few hours," he replied, his voice breaking slightly.

You nodded, standing abruptly. "I need some air," you murmured, moving toward the door before he could see the tears threatening to spill.

The following months were a whirlwind of change. Natasha stepped in without hesitation, offering support and companionship as you adjusted to your new reality. Together, you found a small house, a cozy space that felt safe and yours. You left the apartment behind, leaving a note for Bucky in case he ever returned.

The pregnancy progressed steadily, each milestone both a joy and a reminder of the man who wasn’t there to share it with you. When your son, Jamie, was born, the first thing you noticed were his eyes: the same piercing blue as his father’s. It was bittersweet, holding this tiny piece of Bucky in your arms, knowing he wasn’t there to witness it.

Time marched on, and you focused on building a life for you and Jamie. He grew into a lively toddler, full of curiosity and laughter, his dark hair a mop of soft curls that only made him look more like Bucky. You told him stories about his dad, keeping the memory alive even as you quietly ached for his presence.

A year and a half later, Bucky returned. The mission had been grueling, and the weight of it clung to him like a shadow. Stepping into the old apartment felt like stepping into a time capsule. Everything was just as he’d left it, yet the space felt emptier without you. He found one of your hoodies buried in the sheets and clung to it, the faint scent of you grounding him as reality settled in.

A few days later, needing to restock the kitchen, Bucky found himself wandering the aisles of the grocery store. He was idly inspecting a shelf when a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Can you put it in the cart, baby?"

He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. Slowly, he turned, scanning the aisle until his eyes landed on you. You looked as radiant as ever, holding a box of cereal and speaking to… a small boy.

The child had dark curls and striking blue eyes, the spitting image of…

Bucky’s breath hitched as realization dawned. He took a hesitant step forward, his throat dry. "Y/N?"

You turned, your face paling as your eyes met his. Jamie’s gaze followed yours, his tiny hand clutching the cart as he stared at the unfamiliar man.

"Daddy?" Jamie asked, his voice curious and unsure.

Tears pricked your eyes as you scooped him up, holding him close. "Yeah, Jamie," you said softly. "That’s Daddy."

Bucky approached slowly, his hands trembling. "Y/N… I didn’t know."

You nodded, your voice thick with emotion. "I found out the same day you told me about the mission. I didn’t want to burden you, and I had no way of contacting you."

Regret and sorrow washed over his face. "I… God…-can I be part of his life?" he said, his voice firm despite the tears brimming in his eyes. "I want to be there for both of you….If you’ll let me."

You studied him for a moment before nodding. "I think we’d like that. You think so, Sweetie?"

The little boy just stared up at Bucky with an expression of wonder. “Daddy come home.” He said softly.

Over time, Bucky became the father Jamie deserved and the partner you needed. He was there for the bedtime stories, the scraped knees, and the whispered promises of a future where you wouldn’t have to do it alone. And as he held you close one evening, Jamie asleep in the next room, he whispered about wanting to give Jamie siblings—a chance for him to experience every moment he missed the first time.

This time, you both knew he would be there for all of it.

——————————————————————————————————

Hi, Hun! Thanks for leaving a request, I hope you’re doing okay 🫶 We can all use a little bit of Bucky to keep our spirits up. Feel free to leave more if you’re feeling bored. x

[crushedsweets]

im so curious how it would play out in the hypothetical, unlikely situation that toby does read that letter/ connie catches him some how

i like that you specify hypothetical/unlikely cuz you know my annoying ass would be like "tbh im not sure it would happen cuz xyz" LMFAOOOOOOOOO.

anyhow. in the TOTALLY POSSIBLE situation that toby read the letter(smth adjacent to "i love you, i care for you, i forgive you, im sorry for everything, youre still my baby, take care of yourself") i think he might cave. wait for a day connie visits lyras grave and anxiously walk towards her. all quiet, giving himself time to change his mind. he tics and catches her attention - no choice but to say hi now.

immediately she'd start bawling, crumpling to the ground and wailing out apologies and pleas and asking him where he's been, what he's been doing, has he been safe. in every other situation, toby tries so hard to be strong and put up a facade of arrogance, sadism, carelessness. but i think if he saw connie like that (years after killing his dad, when he's developed a stronger support system and improved his mental health) he'd start crying too. kneel down in front of her and try hugging her, something about "stop that mom stop stand up please stop crying stand up please" and choke out the saddest laugh in the entire world when she cries about how he's gotten so big and his voice has gotten so deep.

i think she'd be able to convince him to come sit in the car with her and talk. she'd be impossible to console, holding his hand and crying. she'd calm down, and then look at how tired he looks, start crying again. calm down, see that he still wears lyras necklace, cry again. etc etc. eventually she'd exhaust herself and actually maintain a conversation with him, but it would mostly be toby being like "i just cant talk about it, but i promise im doing good ma. i got friends, really good friends" and skirting around a lot of her questions. he'd forget to ask her questions, because he stalked her enough to know most of the answers, but she wouldnt mind.

neither of them want to talk about frank, and if she even tried bringing him up, toby would cut her off and insist they dont need to talk about it. he'd struggle with it a lot, MAYBE coughing up an apology for widowing connie, but he's not sorry about killing frank and he's trying not to tell her that. so he rather avoid it entirely.

she'd try to ask him to stay, but he'd be like ??? r u serious. and shed be like okay. youre right. im sorry. and i think thatd kill him a little, watching her apologize to him like that.

in a nicer world, he'd give her a phone number to call and they'd keep in contact. but toby is more likely to tell her he cant keep in touch(he'd make up an excuse, refuse to tell her its cuz he's scared she'll call the cops, even if he wants to trust her).

anyhow. um. um. shakes your hand. im tired n the rogers family hurts my soul