#so my fresh baby brain hands have grabbed this and are clutching it like the last line of a good book you'll never find again

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

All The Fear and The Fire of The End of The World [Joel Miller x artist!reader]

Read on Ao3

Sequel to The Artist and the Builder

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies (although that's not really addressed in this one)

Tags/warnings: ANGST, bit of h/c, Panic attacks, reader is sick, Joel has anxiety. That's about it, but please stay safe is panic attacks is something that triggers you <3

Summary: Joel has told Ellie about what happened in Salt Lake City, and she is livid with him. Seeking comfort with you, Joel however finds you in the grips of a nasty flu, and has to put his own needs aside to nurse you.

Words: 3,799

A/N: Title is from Hozier's Wasteland, Baby! Couldn't resist: All the fear and the fire of the end of the world, happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl...

Thank you to @pazizz for having a read before it was finished!

Joel hasn't had an attack like this in a long time - not since he and Ellie settled in Jackson - but now, it's bad.

His heart is being squeezed like a stress ball, his lungs are not taking in fresh air, his throat is constricted. Panic floods his brain as he clutches at his collar. He can't breathe, can't think, can't -

Ellie's screamed words echo in the fiber of his being.

How could you? I hate you! Don't talk to me ever again!

He had finally told her the truth about what had happened at the hospital, why she didn't get to save the world. And Ellie shut him out.

You took my decision away from me!

How could she even consider dying for a cure that wasn't guaranteed? How could she not see that she was the light of his entire life?

How could he not tell her the truth from the start?

Joel stumbles onto one knee, the guilt taking his legs from under him. He fights to breathe, his right fist closes, and he bangs it into the floor. Again. Again. Pain reverberates through his hand and arm, and that jerks him out of his mental anguish.

He punches the floor until the skin of his knuckles break, and he can breathe normally again. Greedily gulping down air in a way that sounds like sobbing - but he is not fucking crying - Joel slowly gets back onto his feet. His knuckles are aching, his arm feels battered, but he grabs his coat, and heads out. Hurrying through the snowy streets of Jackson, he barely notices anyone passing by. He's in a hurry, hurting hand hidden in his jacket pocket, internal compass pointing to your house.

He needs comfort, your soothing hands. He needs to know that he did what he could.

Even if it was you who pushed him into telling Ellie, he knows you were right to encourage him to do it. And he needs you now that Ellie has denounced him. You won't judge him for waiting so long.

He walks into your house without knocking. His throat feels almost constricted when he enters the living-room, expecting to find you in front of the fireplace, immersed in one of your projects. But you're not there, and the fire is nothing but a heap of embers. Frowning, Joel calls your name again. It's not like you to leave the fire unattended or leave on the lights. He walks over to the bedroom door and pushes it open.

There's a pile of blankets on the bed. When his eyes get used to the twilight in the room, he sees that there's a body underneath the layers of covers.

He speaks your name, and the pile of blankets moves. For a second his heart seizes, and panic rises within him. Not you too, he can't stand it!

Then you croak his name, and he knows what's up.

You're so cold. You've never been this cold in your life, and no amount of blankets is helping. Good God, how is it even possible to be so cold, to shake so hard? Your muscles are aching with how much you're shaking, and you can't do anything about it.

You hear Joel's voice close to you, and you will your eyes open, even if using your vision is making your headache worse.

Joel's face swims somewhere above you. Through the brain fog, you hear him ask you how you are.

"Just a slight temperature," you mumble, then feel Joel's callused hand on your forehead.

"You're burning up."

He takes off his jacket, and gets in bed with you, digging himself underneath the blankets until he's right next to you. Fitting his form to yours, he wraps his arm around you to bring you in even closer.

"You're shaking!"

"Jus' need a nap..."

"You need a lot more than that, darlin'."

You mumble something as your eyes fall shut. His body heat has already started to spill onto you, and slowly, you stop shaking, and start relaxing.

"How long have you been like this?" His voice is soft, his breath so warm against your skin. You want to crawl into his voice, melt into the rich, deep syllables, dissolve from this aching body.

"Had to leave the clinic around midday," you slur. Speaking seems difficult. Your throat is sore, your head feels like it's about to explode.

"Are there any meds?"

"No."

"Then it's rest and liquids for you."

You're already drifting off, secure in his arms. Joel feels you relax and become heavy, your audible breathing slowing down. Gently, he strokes a couple of stray hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear, and notes that your hairline is damp with sweat. When he's certain that you're not waking up, he carefully disentangles himself from you, and gets up from the bed.

His own heartache is forgotten when he rummages through the cupboards of your kitchen, finding your teas made from dried herbs and flowers. He gathers towels, finds a bucket for water, gathers whatever he can find that will help him take care of you. He returns to the bedroom to check on you before leaving your house to get something to eat from the dining-hall, and see Jackson's doctor.

The doc has, naturally, nothing to prescribe except bedrest and liquid, which Joel had already figured out. What little drugs there are, must be saved for the truly sick. He's luckier at the dining-hall: he gets a big portion of chicken broth from one of the women working there.

"This will cure anything," she promises, and Joel thanks her gruffly. He hurries home to you, finding you exactly where he left you.

You sleep for hours. Focusing his attention on you, wiping your forehead whenever it gets too shiny, listening to your wheezing breaths, Joel forgets about the pressure over his own chest. He can't forget about Ellie, her anger, her words, but he doesn't succumb to anxiety over what happened.

When you wake up, the things Ellie said are pushed to the back of his brain.

You're like a cat waking up from anesthesia: unable to walk but hell-bent on doing it.

"Need the toilet," you mumble, and Joel supports you to the bathroom. You're freezing once you slump down on the toilet seat, and he turns around to give you some privacy.

"Go away," you moan, bent over with you aching head in your hands.

"I've seen women piss before, so do what you have to so that I can help you back to bed," he retorts, and you scoff weakly before releasing a stream of urine that seems searing hot. You manage to wipe yourself and wash your hands before you have to lean on Joel again.

"We need to get you out of these sweaty clothes," he tells you, but you're loath to get undressed.

"It's so cold," you whine, but you're in no position to fight him on it.

He puts his own flannel on you before taking you back to bed, where he coaxes two spoonfuls of broth into you, and almost half a cup of tea, until you shake your head. He gives up, and lets you curl up to sleep. The winter darkness is falling but he turns on the bedside lamp so that he can see your face, its lines stressed by the lamplight and sickness, your forehead shiny with fever, your lips separated as you snore. For a long time, he just watches you, like he's looking for an answer in your features.

Eventually, he turns off the light, rises from his chair, and leaves the bedroom to start a fire in the living-room fireplace.

Your temperature is up the next day so Joel brings the doc, who can't do anything except encourage him to continue doing what he's been doing so far. You're mostly asleep, delirious when you're not, and still so, so cold. Joel does his best to get fluids in you, and a couple of spoonfuls of chicken soup, but it's hard when you're either limp in his arms or shaking.

By afternoon, he's exhausted. Tommy comes by to check on both him and you, and he brings food. Joel never even thought about eating himself.

Sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen table, Joel opens the lunch box and devours its contents.

"I saw Ellie earlier today. She seemed upset, what's up with her?" Tommy wants to know. Joel winces from the painful stab in his heart.

"Nothing's up with Ellie."

"Liar."

Joel looks up from the food at his brother. Tommy knows him too well.

"I told her. About what happened in Salt Lake City."

"That didn't go well."

"It didn't."

Joel looks down again and stuffs his mouth with the rest of the food. The conversation is over for his part, and Tommy knows better than to push it.

"She'll come round."

Joel grunts, and they both sit in silence for a while before Tommy rises.

"I gotta get back to work. Lemme know if you need anything."

Joel clears his throat. "If you see Ellie... tell her I'm not coming back to the house for a while. I don't want her to have to move out."

"Sure, bro."

Tommy pats Joel on the back as he passes him by, and when the front door closes, Joel follows to lock it. He then comes to the bedroom, kicks off his boots, and crawls into bed next to you. His fingers tremble slightly when he touches your forehead, still finding you burning hot. Carefully, not wanting to wake you, he fits himself to your body, puts his head down, and watches you through the grey winter light.

Caring for you has kept him busy enough to not dwell too much on what happened with Ellie, but now his brain is buzzing with her last words to him, her rage and disappointment, his failure. He owes Ellie so much, and he failed her.

His unavailable heart has been locked inside his closed chest for so long, until Ellie cracked it open. Ellie, with her courage, innocence, those stupid puns that she loves so much, and that Joel can’t help smiling at. How could he have surrendered her to the Fireflies? His relationship with Ellie had developed from duty to decency before finally unfolding into love. He has already known the worst pain in his life, and he wasn’t going to live through that again. He simply could not give Ellie up.

And now he has lost her anyway, and he might lose you too.

"You get well," he whispers, assured that you can't hear his dramatic, pathetic plea, even when it's directed at you. "My heart can't take it if you don't make it, you hear me? Don't you dare die on me."

You offer him no sign of having heard him. He swallows, his throat tight, and presses his eyes shut, praying that sleep will take his worries away.

Your violent coughing wakes him up. He blinks blearily in the dark room before he gets his bearings, his arm going around the body that is convulsing next to him. It's a wet cough, rattling in your lungs, and it's new. He sits up in bed, hands on you, like that's going to help. As if anything he does helps. He hates the feeling on not being able to help.

When your coughing subsides, you groan and mumble something.

"What's that, darlin'?"

"My head," you repeat, voice raspy and thin.

"Just lay still."

"Thirsty."

Joel promptly rolls out of bed and goes to get a fresh glass of water from the kitchen. When he sits by your side to help you drink it, he realizes that you're no longer shaking. You take little sips before slumping back against the pillow, your face ashen and your eyes matted, but when he feels your forehead, he can tell you no longer have a fever. That has to be a good sign, right?

“How are you feelin’?” he asks, knowing immediately that it is a stupid question. You open your mouth, but instead of words coming out, there is a bout of coughing. Joel grimaces sympathetically as he takes the glass from your hand to avoid you spilling on yourself.

“Been better,” you finally wheeze, reaching for the glass again as soon as the coughing subsides. He gets up to go refill it, and you drowsily look around the room.

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday,” he calls back from the kitchen.

You let that sink in. When Joel comes back in, he clearly sees your confusion.

“You’ve been out of it for a few days, yeah.”

“And you’ve been here the whole time?”

He hands you the refilled glass but averts his eyes when he replies.

“Someone had to look out for you.”

You drink more greedily now, the cold water lashing its way down your scratchy throat in a way that makes you feel more alert despite the discomfort. Joel takes your glass when you’re finished, puts it on the nightstand, and pulls the covers more snugly around you.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, somewhat amused at his fussing. “You should go home. Has Ellie even seen you since I got sick?”

He freezes, pain flashing across his face before his features turn to cold, hard stone. But you saw it, plain as day.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t answer, and your fear rises.

“Joel, is Ellie alright?”

“Yes.” The answer comes promptly, but the three letters contain a world of events and emotions that you, despite your current state, need to know more of.

“What happened?”

“We’ll talk about it later, darlin’. You need to rest.”

“We’ll talk about it now.” You stress the last word with a rise in volume and pitch, which brings about another bout of coughing. When you’re done, Joel gives you a disapproving glare.

“You’re not well.”

“Duh. Now tell me, or do I have to get out of this bed and go find Ellie myself?”

He sighs deeply, jaw squared as he stares out of the open bedroom door. You wait as he gathers himself.

“I told her. About Salt Lake City.”

“And she didn’t take it well?”

“No. She never wants to see me again. She hates me.”

“Joel…”

Joel can’t look at you. Not even his brother knows the whole story, but he has told you, one late night after the two of you had fucked and were sharing whispered secrets in each other’s arms. He couldn’t keep you in the dark, you’re too important. With all that he has lost in life, with all of his scars and traumas, he got to know Ellie, and he got to know you. When he least expected it, you came along, with your way of seeing the world, its light and its shadows, your body as aching as his but your mind nowhere near as broken. Your ribs bend open so easily for your heart to do what hearts do best. And that kept his chest from closing again now that Ellie hates him.

He’s so grateful for you. And so ashamed.

Tears burn in his eyes and when you sit up and put your hand on his shoulder, he draws a sobbing breath. Goddammit.

“It’s okay, Joel,” you rasp. “We’ll figure it out.”

He passes his hands over his face, wills his tears away, but the more he fights it, the more constricted his chest feels.

No, not now, not when he needs to stay strong for you!

“Joel?”

“Be right back,” he presses, standing up so quickly that the world spins for a second, and his first two steps are wobbly. He hears you speak his name again, but he hurries out to the kitchen, finding support from the sink, his head swimming, his heart beating so fast he thinks it’s going to explode but at the same time he can’t breathe, his throat is closed, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, Jesus fucking Christ he’s having a heart attack –

“Joel!”

Your hands are on him, turning him around. At the end of his tunnel vision is your haggard face, and through the roar in his ears – where did that come from and what is it? – he can hear your voice.

“Joel? Listen to my voice. Feel my touch. You’re okay, baby, you’re okay. I promise. You can breathe. Just take a deep breath, that’s it, just like that, and exhale. Good, go ahead, take another one. That’s great, Joel, just like that.”

Without even noticing, your hoarse voice has pushed through the panic and the pain and the noises, and he finds himself breathing deeply, consciously, his heart slowing down. He blinks a couple of times, and his eyesight is back to normal. You’re in front of him, nodding your encouragement. He wets his lips, wants to say something, but then his knees buckle under him, and before he knows it, both of you are on the floor, you from trying to help him, your still weak body no match for his weight.

You’re coughing, and he collects you in his arms, ignoring the smarting in his elbow. It keeps him sharp.

“You okay?” he asks you as soon as you’re done coughing. You nod against his chest, wheezing breath keeping you from speaking. He holds you closer when you shiver slightly, and when you embrace him back, he feels a lot better.

“What about you?”

“I’m good, darlin’, don’t worry about me.”

“That was a panic attack, Joel, and not a small one.”

He frowns, looks down at you.

“I have a heart problem.”

“Maybe so, but that wasn’t a heart attack. It was a panic attack.”

“How would you know?”

You roll your eyes at him, even though it hurts your head.

“I’m a nurse, Joel.”

He has to chuckle at your tone, but you’re not amused.

“I also had a sister who suffered panic attacks from a young age. It differs from person to person, but what I did to you worked on her. Seemed to work on you as well.”

“It… did. Thank you.”

“How long have you – “ you start, but he interrupts you, though not unkindly.

“Can we… not talk about it right now? I’m exhausted, and you need to rest.”

You agree, and with combined forces, the two of you manage to get off the floor and drag yourselves back to the bedroom. You collapse on the bed together and just barely find the energy to arrange yourselves comfortably before both of you are out.

You sleep uneasily, your cough waking you up constantly. Your head is still aching, and your throat is lined with needles when you swallow, not to mention how much your lungs hurt when you cough, but you’re hungry for the first time since you got sick.

You hear a light snore next to you, so you turn your head. Joel is deep asleep, turned away from you, sleeping on his good ear. Your hacking must have disturbed him because you’re quite sure that he was holding you when you went to sleep.

Slowly, gently, you place your hand between his shoulder blades. He’s warm, sweaty even, in his flannel and no doubt from his attack earlier. But he seems at ease now: his broad back is relaxed, his breaths are deep and even, and he doesn’t move when touched. Carefully, you scoot closer, a tickle in your throat threatening to grow into a cough, but you manage to keep it down. Your arm goes around his waist, and you mold yourself to his form, spooning him tightly, your hand finding a soft spot on his belly to rest against. His breath stutters and changes, but other than his hand clumsily finding yours, he doesn’t move.

He smells of old sweat, and you don’t feel too fresh yourself. The thought of taking a shower with him once he wakes up sets off a pull deep within your lower belly, and you smile as you feel your cheeks heat up. Even when struggling through the worst flu you’ve ever experienced, you can’t keep from fantasizing about the things this man can do with his hands, his mouth, his cock…

You take it he’s to stay with you now, which means that you have to tidy up the living-room, make room for him, but you find yourself not minding. You want him there, you want to go to sleep and wake up with him next to you, and once you get well you want to wake up with your hands all over each other, his mouth on your skin, his rare smiles over breakfast.

The thought of breakfast makes your stomach growl, and you feel a little faint. It’s definitely time to eat something. Gently, you move away from Joel, rousing him when your arm leaves his waist. He rolls over onto his back and rubs his eyes before looking at you.

“Hi,” you smile, patting his arm. “You sleep if you need to. I gotta eat.”

“What time is it?”

“No idea, but it’s still light outside.”

“I’ll fix us something.”

“It’s fine, I’m on it.”

You get out of bed, your legs a little weak but still carrying you, and go to the bathroom first. Joel’s heavy steps are heard making their way to the kitchen, and when you appear in the doorway, he’s already making tea and heating up broth.

“I’ll get something from the kitchens,” he tells you without looking up. “Better see my brother too, let him know we’re alive.”

You walk up to him, feeling a little bit like Bambi on the ice, but you make it, and you wrap your arms around him from behind, and rest your cheek to his back. Joel stops what he’s doing, muscles flexing before relaxing, and his hands come to rest on top of yours.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh.”

He turns around until he’s facing you, and there is something soft in his eyes when he cups your cheeks with his big, warm hands and leans his forehead to yours. Both of you exhale audibly, then smile together. You lick your lips, clear your throat.

“Joel…”

“I love you.” His fingers make small, soothing circles behind your ears.

He beat you to it, the rascal.

“I love you, Joel. We’ll fix this. You’ll stay with me, and we’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you.”

He tilts his head a little, lips ghosting over yours. You draw back.

“I don’t want you to catch what I have.”

“I don’t care.”

He kisses you, and you let yourself melt into it, into the assurance that Joel Miller is yours, body and soul.

[littlehypnone]

pet regressing and shape-shifting ghouls had taken over my brain and i had to scribble something little. have some otter rainy!

(tag for @sphylor as promised :3)

Dewdrop haven't seen Rain much that day, busy with chores that piled had up. He promised him earlier that they’d spend a nice, peaceful evening together, relaxing after the long day.

When Dewdrop is finishing up his work he sends a few texts to Rain, informing him of the fact and asking where they should meet and if there was anything specific he’d like to do.

No answer comes, though. Dewdrop shrugs, it means nothing. Rain probably busied himself with something or his phone simply died. It happens quite often.

Soon enough his chores are finished and he makes his way back to the den. He checks Rain’s room first, but it’s empty and there’s no fresh scent that would indicate he was in there recently. Dewdrop leaves and goes to his own room, hoping to find his mate there.

He opens the door and it does smell like Rain is in there—fresh smell of petrichor hanging in the air—but he can’t see him anywhere. The fire ghoul looks around and notices a pile of clothes (definitely not his own) at the top of his bed, by his pillows. Dewdrop furrows his brows.

“Rainy?” he calls out.

A little squeak reaches his ears and the pile of clothes moves slightly. Dewdrop sighs—realizing—but not in disappointment. He only hopes nothing bad had happened that would make Rain regress.

The fire ghoul closes the door and walks to the bed, crawling up onto it. Rain must feel him, because as soon as Dewdrop settles against the headboard, the pile moves again and the head of a little otter pokes out, squeaking. “Well, hello, little thing.”

Rain squeaks again, but doesn’t move to crawl into Dewdrop’s lap. That’s unusual, so the fire ghoul reaches for the hoodie and peaks inside.

“Awww,” he coos quietly, smiling. Rain must’ve grabbed his axolotl plushie when he was still in his big ghoul body and put it under his hoodie, because now the little otter is cuddled around the small, pink stuffie, refusing to let it go. “Come here, baby.”

Rain squeaks some more—happily—as Dewdrop picks him up. The fire ghoul scoots down to lay, more than sit, and puts the little otter on his chest. Rain wiggles until he ends up on his back, sprawled out with the axolotl plushie still clutched tightly in his little paws.

Dewdrop giggles, never able to help himself when Rain is like this. He is happy and content so the fire ghoul doesn’t worry. If something bad caused him to drop they’d talk about it later. For now the little otter needs entertainment, and Dewdrop is happy to provide.

He puts a hand under Rain’s chin and starts scratching. The little otter immediately starts squeaking louder, making all kinds of happy noises and pushing further into Dewdrop’s touch. “I’ve got you, little thing.”

For a while it’s just like that—the fire ghoul petting Rain and him enjoying it, glued to Dewdrop’s plushie. He doesn’t know what changes but at some point Rain wiggles again and turns to his front. He stares at the other intently, squeaking some more.

“Whaddya need?” Dewdrop asks, but he—of course—doesn’t get a proper answer. Only some more squeaks. “Hm, what about your marbles? Do you want to play? Maybe a snack?”

Rain’s next squeak sounds more like a grumble, so Dewdrop supposes he doesn’t want any of those options. He thinks for a moment, but the otter seems to get impatient. He squirms and wiggles up until he’s nestled just under Dewdrop’s chin, basically on his neck, and reaches out with his little paw. He puts it on the fire ghoul’s lips and the other one ends up in his own mouth.

Dewdrop is confused for a moment, but then he remembers otter customs.

“Oh, you want us to take a nap!” he laughs and Rain squeaks approvingly. “Alright, alright, little thing, we can take a nap.”

The fire ghoul pulls up a blanket and gets himself settled, holding onto a wiggling Rain. Even once Dewdrop stops moving, Rain doesn’t—obviously displeased with his current position. Thankfully Dewdrop has had enough practice with the water ghoul regressed like this to know what it is that the little otter, most likely, wants.

He pulls the axolotl plushie from his paws and Rain does not like it, at first, but the fire ghoul shoves it under his shirt and Rain immediately follows, squirming his way into it through Dewdrop’s collar. The sleek fur scratches his skin as Rain curls around the stuffie again and settles properly on Dewdrop’s chest.

“Comfy?” he asks and Rain’s little face peeks out from the collar of his shirt. He squeaks happily, voicing his contentment. Dewdrop scratches at the top of his head and the little otter’s eyes close. His whiskers tickle Dewdrop a bit, but he’d never complain. He adores Rain more than anything; big or small, otter or ghoul. He sighs, smiling, “You are the cutest little thing, you know that?”

Rain squeaks again. He does know it.

[cevansbrat0007]

Andy’s POV: Regarding Late Night Revelations

Summary: Andy panics when his wife doesn’t come home from running evening errands. Could she be with someone else?  Andy Barber x Black Reader 

Original version of the story can be found HERE. 

*Warnings: Frantic Andy, Angry/Emotional Andy, Pregnancy Reveal, Emotional Reader, Slight Daddy Kink, Cursing, Light Smut (implied), Minors DNI

A/N: For my friend @birdie-girl who requested another version of Late Night Revelations, but written from Andy's point of view. Let me know what you think! Part of my Growing Pains Series. Semi-proofread. Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

___

Andy had been home pacing the living room for hours with no sign of his wife. 

 At first, he hadn’t thought much of her absence. His lovely Y/N had left a pot of homemade chili on the stove and some fresh cornbread, along with a little note telling him that he could find shredded cheddar cheese, sour cream, and hot sauce in the fridge.

So, he’d laddled some thick, hearty goodness into a bowl, loaded it up and had gone to town. And he’d savored every single delicious bite. The chili had just the right amount of spice to it, so there was no need for the hot sauce. But he did help himself to a second sweet slice of cornbread.

After an hour, he’d shot her a text. 

Him: The chili was delicious, baby girl. But where are you? 

And he’d never heard back. He found that to be incredibly strange. Andy lets another thirty minutes go by before attempting to call her cell. It rings twice before going to voicemail. 

Did she just…ignore me? He thinks to himself. She wouldn’t do that.

So he tries again, only to receive the same result. 

What the fuck? What could she be doing? Where had she gone? 

This was so unlike her! Not to mention the fact that it was nearly 9:30pm. Andy fires off another message:

Him: Are you okay? Why are you ignoring my calls? 

Slowly but surely, every single kind of worst case scenario begins running through his overactive brain. What if she had been mugged? Or in a car accident. Could she have been carjacked?

He does his best to put those thoughts out of his mind, but it’s not easy. Maybe she was with a friend. Yep, that had it be it. His Y/N had stopped by to see a friend and had lost track of time. 

Okay, okay. He could work with that. 

But then why did his thumb, seemingly of its own volition, begin scrolling through his contacts looking for her friend’s names? He starts with Jenna and then goes from there. 

Fifteen minutes later, he’s still at a loss. She wasn’t with Jenna, or Rachel, or Sarah. His wife wasn’t with any of her fucking friends. 

Andy calls his girl again. Pissed, hurt, and confused, he sends off another text.

Him: Y/N, this isn’t funny. Where the fuck are you?

Him: Why aren’t you answering?

And then he tries her line one more time. 

Wifey: I’ll be home soon. I promise.

Him: I need you to answer your damn phone and tell me where you are. Now. 

Andy goes to call his wife again, only to realize that she’d done the one thing she knew he hated. 

She’d turned off her phone. 

His girl was out with someone else. His wife was with another man. 

Enraged, he yanks off his tie and slams his fist into the wall. Once. Twice. Three times. 

The pain felt good. 

—

The moment Andy hears the garage open, he’s at the door. He knows he looks like a mess, but he doesn’t really give a flying fuck. His hair is sticking up every which way, his shirt is untucked…

But at least his wife is in one piece.

He watches as his wife calmly gets out of the car clutching her purse and a random paper bag from CVS. Is that how she was going to play it then? She was at a goddamned drugstore for four, almost five fucking hours? Okay, baby.

“It is 11:15pm.” He growls. “Where the hell have you been? And why the fuck did you turn off your phone?”

“Driving around.” Is all she says before attempting to move past him. Without thinking, his hand instinctively goes to grab her arm, accidentally jerking her backwards. 

Oh no, sweetheart. You don’t get to go live it up with some other fucking guy and then try to blow me off like it’s no big deal. 

“Who the fuck were you with?”

“No one, Andrew. Now please let me go.” He’s convinced that she’s lying, but he releases her arm anyway. 

“I’m going to ask you again.” Andy snarls as he follows his woman into the kitchen, his pulse erratic. “Who the fuck were you with? I know it wasn’t Sarah, or Rachel, or Nicole, or Michelle. Because I called them. And you weren’t at Jenna and Marshall’s place, because I called them too. So I’m going to need you to start fucking talking before I lose my mind even more than I already have!”

“I was alone, honey.” 

Bullshit, Y/N. Complete and utter bullshit. 

“You were alone this whole time? Right.” He’s tempted to slam his fist into the fucking wall again. “What’s his name?” 

His wife winces, albeit briefly, before schooling her features once again. 

“Will you tell me his name if I promise not to kill him?” Instead of the wall, he makes the kitchen table his new target. “Fuck, I can’t keep that promise.” Andy couldn’t fucking breathe. 

“Andy, sweetheart, if you just give me a moment to compose myself I will explain. Alright?” He crosses his arms and stares her down. His sweet little wife was the only person on this planet who could make him actively entertain thoughts of murder. 

And if she thought that she could just spin on her heel and leave him, leave behind everything they had, everything that they had built…

Then she was sorely mistaken.

“Divorce isn’t an option, Y/N. Whatever’s wrong, we can work it out.” He hisses, which only serves to make her roll her eyes. Didn’t she realize that he was teetering on the edge of sanity right now? 

“Roll your fucking eyes again and see what happens. As soon as I calm down, I’m going to fire that ass up. Do you hear me?”

“I would never cheat on you.” She tells him. “I get that you’re worried. And angry.” Andy feels his right palm twitch. 

His Y/N notices it too. “Okay, very angry.”

His hands go to grip her much smaller biceps, before giving her a light shake. “Do you know how worried I’ve been? How scared I was? You ignored my texts, my calls. You shoot me a vague message saying “be home soon” and then turn off your phone. You do not fucking do that, baby. I am fucking pissed right now.”

“Andy, I understand. And I’m sorry. But I just needed to think. And I needed to do it alone.”

“You needed to think?” He growls and shakes her again. “Do you know how many rooms we have in this house? You mean to tell me that you couldn’t have done all of your so-called thinking here? At home. Where I know you’re safe?”

“No, honey, I couldn’t. Because I had some very important decisions to make.” What kind of fucking decisions? His wife was not the type to speak in riddles. But he would also tie her to the bed before he’d ever let her leave him. 

“Divorce isn’t -”

“Hopefully it’s not.” She cuts him off. Andy knows that he is seconds away from losing his collective shit. He knew that he had to look every bit the mad man. Only his wife could turn him into this - into this beast. 

“But hold that thought for a moment, okay?” She presses the bag against his chest. “Look inside.”

Confused, Andy gingerl opens the bag and pulls out the first test. 

“Two lines.” He murmurs as he pulls out another one. “Two lines.” He says again. “Two lines.”

“Yes, Andy. Two lines. I’m sorry this isn’t more romantic but -”

“You’re pregnant.” He mutters as his mind struggles to make sense of it all. “Where’d you take these?”

“In a dimly lit CVS bathroom.” She whispers. 

Andy feels his legs go weak. His knees begin to shake. Which prompts him to back away from his wife and slowly slink to the floor. He couldn’t fucking breathe.

“You’re pregnant. With my baby.” Is all he can say. 

“Yes, your baby. You even attempt to question that and I will slug you in the damned jaw.”

His baby was having his baby. 

He buries his face in his hands as a series of emotions take hold. 

Joy. Relief. Fear. Gratitude. 

It was overwhelming. It threatened to suffocate him. After he feels the first hot tear spill its way down his cheek, it’s over. It was all too much.

“Andy…I know…with what happened…ahh shit. If you can’t do this, or if you don’t want to…if it’s too much, part of me understands. I won’t force you. But I want this baby, okay?”

What did she mean she wouldn’t force him? Did his Y/N honestly believe that he would leave her to do this alone? Was she out of her mind? 

Another sob, muffled by the hands that covered his mouth, escapes his lips. 

He would be damned before he ever let her do this without him. The love of his life was right here, within arms reach, offering him another chance. Offering him the fucking redemption that he knew he did not deserve. 

And looks up at his beautiful lady, tears shimmering in his eyes. “Tonight I thought you were with someone else. I thought you wanted to leave me. And then you give me this?” He waves a test in the air. “You come to me with a fucking gift? Giving me another goddamned chance to do this, and do it right?”

“Oh, baby…oh honey.” His woman drops to her knees in front of him and wraps her small, warm arms around his neck.

”You didn’t do anything wrong the first go-round.” She tells him. He doesn’t believe her, but there is a part of him, somewhere deep down that is begging him to listen. To hear her. 

“Sometimes life is just a bitch, baby. And unfortunately, you got the shitty end of the stick. But you didn’t deserve that. And neither did Jacob.” He allows himself a moment to quietly sob into his wife’s shoulder. 

Andy never liked crying in front of anyone. But with Y/N, with his wife, he knew he was safe. He was always safe in her arms. 

“You and I are about to start a brand new adventure together.” She whispers against his temple while rubbing his back. One of her small hands buries itself in his hair, affectionately scratching his scalp the way she knew he liked. “Do you want that?”

“More than anything.” His powerful arms wrap themselves around her tiny frame. “More than words can say. You’re really gonna make me a Daddy again?” 

“I’m going to do my best.” She pulls away before using her sleeve to lovingly wipe at his tears. “But Andy, you never stopped being a Daddy. You’ll always be Jacob’s father. And maybe we should talk about him more. And on top of that, you’re my Daddy. Two different things, I know. But I need you. And this little jellybean that is apparently growing in my belly needs you too.”

She needed him. He had to focus on that.  

“I’m gonna be here, baby. For everything. Every moment, every ultrasound, every fucking craving. Whatever you want, you get.” It was a vow. One he intended to keep until the day he died. And then he kisses her, moaning at her sweet taste, at the feel of her soft, full lips against his own. 

“God, I fucking love the shit out of you. I’m sorry I accused you of cheating. I was scared, baby. And, on some level, I get why you were scared too.” His lovely wife sniffles and then dives in for another kiss. 

“But young lady, I really wish you would have brought those tests home and taken them here. I would have waited with you. I hate that you thought you had to do it alone.” And that was the truth. He should have been there to hold her hand. And he would always despise a tiny part of himself for letting her down. 

Suddenly unable to control himself, he reverses their positions and pins his baby girl to the floor, careful not to crush her.

“You’re not alone with me, baby. Ever. What did I tell you that one time you faced down that racist asshole, Jeffries, without me?” He buries his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent.

He feels her hands go to his ass, giving it a playful squeeze. “That we are forever partners. And we are. But Andy, I’m scared.”

Guess you were both being honest tonight. 

“I’m scared too, Y/N. But we’ve got this, I know we do. We’re going to have a baby, a fucking baby who is fierce and smart and strong…just like his or her Mama.” Unable to help himself, he kisses her little nose. 

His girl sniffles again, which makes him sniffle. “I hope he or she is like you, Andy. Strong and calculating and dynamic…just like their Daddy.”

His girl made him crazy. She made him strong. She made him weak. She made him a better man every fucking day. 

“They’re going to be a combination of both of us, sweetheart.” He breathes out a heavy sigh. “God help the world.”

“They’re doomed.” She whispers before capturing his mouth again. “Our baby is going to set this world on fire.” Her hands find their way back into his hair. “I need you, Andy. I need you to take me. Make love to me. Please.” He nibbles at her neck as his erection presses against her thigh. 

“I need you to fuck me before I get fat and start to waddle.” Now that makes him laugh. 

“I cannot fucking wait until you start to waddle. Oh my god, we need to schedule a doctor’s appointment for you. We need to make sure everything’s okay with you and the baby. You need vitamins. And no more coffee, or sushi, or -” Oh Jesus, his overly anxious mind was running rampant once again. 

His wifey covers his mouth with her hand. “Andy. Slow down, Big Guy. We’ll get to all that, okay? What matters right now is that I love you. Desperately.”

“I love you two, my sweet, sweet baby girl.” He whispers against her lips. 

“Good.” She tickles his ears. “But right now, I’m desperate for you to fuck me. Right here. Right now.”

“Like I said. What my girl wants, she gets.” He murmurs as he begins tearing at her clothes.

“I’m going to give you and our baby the world.” Another vow. “You have my word. Now lay back and enjoy how I fuck my sweet little pussy.”

“Yes, Daddy.” She purrs. 

“That’s my good girl.” Andy growls as he frees himself from the confines of his pants and slides home. His fingers intertwine with hers as they make slow, sweet love right there on the kitchen floor. 

He savors every breathy moan, every sweet sigh, every little cry of pleasure.

His wife was his world. And soon, they’d be adding another little one to the mix. 

And although he didn’t pray often these days…

He hoped to God that he would be gifted with a little girl who sported her Mama’s crazy wild curls, her boisterous laugh, and her same infectious smile. 

END

[ppersonna]

out of my league - knj | 01

you were out of my league. got my heartbeat racing. if i die, don't wake me, cause you are more than just a dream - out of my league, fitz and the tantrums

✹ summary- Kim Namjoon was never supposed to find out about your years-long hopeless crush on him. And he most definitely was not supposed to find out about it in front of all your coworkers in a company-wide meeting.

✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

✹ pairing- kim namjoon x reader

✹ word count- 6.6k

✹ genre- angst, smut, comedy

✹ chapter warnings- swearing, descriptions of sex, sexual content, namjoon being a sexy flirt, jungkook being a himbo, awkward conversations, jimin being a protective bff

✹ a/n- hello and welcome to this fic thats lived in my google docs for almost a year now. without @ladyartemesia @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen and @chimoona, i would never have posted it. i truly owe so much of my brainstorming and creativity to their incredible brains and thoughts and ideas. i love them very much! i hope you enjoy this first chapter! please feel free to message me, talk to me abt anything!! im always here to chat. ILY!

MASTERLIST

Kim Namjoon was never supposed to find out this way.

You planned to confess your undying, unerring love for your coworker at a better time, a classier place. You would wear a dress that highlighted your features, hair cascading down your back, makeup done to perfection and spritzed with expensive perfume. You’d confess, he’d confess right back, and you’d live happily ever after.

You’d also dreamt that Kim Namjoon would have the slightest inkling of who you are before he finds out about your year long crush. He might know you as the mousy girl in the office who doesn’t talk and doesn’t contribute much other than some crunched numbers and apparently the best coffee brewer in the office. But you’d prefer he knows you well—your favorite colors and movies and foods, what makes you happy and sad; things future husbands should know.

You very much did not think it would happen in a company wide conference, full of over five hundred suit-wearing executives. You did not think it would be done by the office bully, Chungha, who carefully takes over the mic and speaks the words clearly as she presents awards of recognition.

“Congratulations to Kim Namjoon for 5 years with the company, over $4 million in revenue, and the object of ____’s lust and affection. I’m sure you two will have the happy life she’s written in her journal about. Make sure you celebrate with her today!”

The room is silent, so silent you could have heard a pin drop from a mile away. Your face is cherry red and you wish the earth would open up and swallow you whole. Your heart feels like someone has ripped it in half and you stare in horror at the girl smirking at the front. Is this what it feels like to be backstabbed? Namjoon looks perplexed—confusion written on his face as he gestures around to no one in particular like he’s saying ‘what the fuck was that?’

Awkward coughing and clapping begins and Namjoon stands to receive his award, a fine wooden fountain pen, and chances a glance around the room. He easily spots you, with your wide, frightened face. His look remains passive, not hinting what he’s thinking behind those stormy eyes, before he turns and sits back down at the table with his buddies from his department.

You seriously contemplate quitting your job. You could find a new one easily, right? Just stand up and tell your boss you quit and you’re out of there before Namjoon ever sees you again and you’ll never have to face the mean girl who’s ratting you out.

As much as the idea rolls through your head, you know you won’t do it. You love your job, love the security and finances it provides you, and you love to look at Kim Namjoon, all day every day.

You don’t understand where things went wrong.

( one month ago )

It’s 9:03 am. You finish brewing the coffee in the small staff kitchen and sigh at the aroma of the freshly ground beans. Coffee is your favorite meal, favorite time of day, favorite snack, and preferred beverage. You drink it constantly. You’re known as “coffee girl” at work, mostly because no one really bothers to get to know you beyond that. You drink coffee like it’s a devoted religion. You could drink a cup right before bed and still sleep like a baby. It was, put simply, your drink.

The office workers deem you to be the one to make the pots of coffee every morning, claiming you were the ‘best’. You didn’t mind—you preferred to make your own coffee regardless—but you believe your coworkers are trying to pass off the twenty-minute job to someone lower in the office hierarchy. And you were one step above the interns.

The coffee machine chimes to let you know it’s hot, and it’s ready for you. You eagerly pour a mug, a large one, and smile as the waft of freshly ground beans (by you, of course) fills your senses.

You nearly knock the cup out of your hand as Kim Namjoon strolls into the office, eyes set on the coffee.

You feel your throat swell up, like he’s an allergen and you’re caught without an epi-pen. Butterflies swirl in your stomach and you can’t stop staring at him. He pays you no mind, tired yet determined to pour a cup of coffee and get back to his office.

You stand in the small kitchen, clutching your coffee like a lifeline, and pray to god you don’t do something stupid.

Namjoon pours his mug, and you watch his muscular hands grip the coffee pot. He pours a hefty amount of cream and sugar into his cup—it appears even perfect male specimens have their faults. 

Your eyes dance on his face before they tango down his body. You wonder what he looks like in the morning, crawling out of bed with mussed hair and a sleepy smile painted on his face. He’d look at you and tell you you’re the most beautiful girl and kiss you deeply despite morning breath. Maybe he’d take you to the shower to press you against the tile as he fuc-

“Oh!” it startles Namjoon to see you, and the coffee in his hand swishes violently. “Didn’t see you there. Sorry!”

Your heart melts. He’s the picture of kindness and politeness. You recognize it’s been a few seconds and you still haven’t replied.

“It’s fine!”

“Great coffee, by the way,” he smiles. His teeth nearly knock you out cold with their brilliance. “Have a good day.”

He turns and exits the room without so much as a glance back at you. Your knees feel weak.

Kim Namjoon talked to you. He complimented you. He told you to have a good day. It’s the best and most significant conversation you’ve had with your secret crush.

You definitely file that away for another day when you need to reminisce on his compliment, and you scurry out of the kitchen towards your desk.

Park Jimin is waiting dutifully at your desk when you arrive, a smug smile still slapped over your features as you sip at your coffee. Namjoon spoke to you today—how lovely.

Jimin quirks an eyebrow. 

“What’s got you so perky this morning?” 

You’re normally quiet and passive, avoiding eye contact or any semblance of emotion on your face.

You look up at the blonde bespectacled boy. Park Jimin is the closest thing to a best friend in the company. He’s who you spend time with at lunch, see on weekends, and text often. You suppose he’s the closest thing to a best friend you have in your entire life.

You send him a smirk and lean in close to whisper. “Namjoon said hi to me today!”

Jimin sends you a pitiful look and pats your shoulder. Your best friend is well aware of your secret crush and while he thinks Namjoon is a nice guy, he thinks your crush is a little hopeless. He’s the most popular guy in the office, often has dates lined up every weekend. Jimin hears the way he and his friends talk in the break room. The man is definitely not hurting for female attention.

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, unenthusiastically. “That’s great.” He can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness over how excited you’re getting from a simple ‘hello’ from a coworker.

“I know, right? Anyway, lunch today?” You ask as you settle down into your cubicle.

Jimin pushes his glasses up his face and nods. “Of course! That’s why I came by this morning. I wanted to let you know that Jungkook from marketing will join us.”

You make a face, disgust etched in the lines creasing your forehead. 

“Why?”

Jungkook is well known in the company. He’s a loudmouth, a player, a clown, and everyone’s favorite comedian. He’s just not your favorite.

“Don’t be rude,” Jimin admonishes at your grimace. “He asked to join and well—he’s cute. I can’t say no to him.”

“Oh Christ, Jimin,” you groan. “Not you too! Don’t tell me you have the hots for the serial fuckboy?”

He blushes lightly and shrugs. “Maybe I do! Be nice to him today or I’ll eat all your chocolate ice cream I know you have at home.”

You stick your tongue out, petulantly. “Fine, now let me get to work or else Seokjin will be up my ass.”

Jimin smiles and kisses your cheek before he scurries away, back to human resources.

It feels as if barely any time has passed. You’re working hard, running calculations and updating spreadsheets. You have an eye for numbers, and losing yourself in an equation is just another day for you. You’re shaken from your cheerful place by a vibration from your phone, and a text alert popping on the lit screen.

jimin 12:01 pm- it’s lunchtime!! you better get your butt out here!

You smile and text back an affirmative reply, then move to grab your lunch from the company fridge. Gliding down the steps leading to the fresh outdoors, you meet Jimin at the lunch tables in the grass.

Jimin is sitting with Jungkook. You can recognize your best friend by his hair and glasses, and Jungkook by his obnoxious laughter.

“Hi,” you murmur as you sit down and open up the brown bag lunch you’ve brought.

“Hi!” Jimin is excited to see you, and just a pinch over eager to be sitting next to Jungkook.

“You know Jungkook, right?” Jimin asks, a harsh look in his eyes that reminds you to be on your best behavior.

You nod as you pull out a bag of grapes. “Oh, yeah, hey,” you smile. “I’ve seen you around.”

Jungkook delivers you a signature smirk and you feel yourself roll your eyes internally. “Yeah, you’re Coffee Girl, right?”

You pout and glare down at your brown bag lunch. Will you ever become more than just Coffee Girl?

“Yeah, I suppose that’s me.”

Jimin clears his throat to dismiss any awkwardness. 

“So, Jungkook, I hear you like working out? ___ likes to work out too. She drags me to the gym sometimes. Maybe we could all meet up sometime?” You don’t miss the hopeful lilt in his voice. Jungkook does.

“Oh, yeah?” He narrows a sexy look at you, rather—a look he thinks is sexy that you find off-putting. “What do you do at the gym? Little cardio sets with 5 pound weights?”

What an asshole.

“Sometimes,” you state as you take a bite of the homemade salad you handcrafted last night. “Most of the time I’m lifting heavy. I can bench 275 and deadlift 300.”

Jungkook looks taken back. “What, really?” He sounds breathless. “You lift more than Namjoon-hyung.”

At the sound of the love of your life’s name, you pause. Your face heats quickly and Jungkook smirks. Of course, he recognizes this and not Jimin’s obvious flirting.

“Why are you blushing?” He asks. “Did I say something?”

You’re quick to dismiss things. “Um--no. I just um,” you’re grasping at straws. “I’m hot.”

Jimin is trying not to laugh, hiding his mouth behind a petite hand.

Jungkook tilts his head. “It’s not even sunny today.”

You gulp. “Yeah, I must be hot. With a fever. M-malaria… probably.”

Jungkook snorts. 

“You have malaria? Bummer.” He picks at his nails. “I thought for a moment you had a thing for Namjoon.”

“No!” The retort is quick, too quick for normal conversation, and it gives you away.

“Aha!” Jungkook points an accusing finger at you. “You have the hots for him, don’t you?”

Your features melt, and Jimin tries to assuage the situation. “Jungkook, please don’t tell anyone,” he pleads.

Jungkook smiles at you. “That’s so cute. It’s like a little nerdy freshman crushing on the senior class president.”

You bury your head in your hands, suddenly unable to stomach any food.

“Jungkook,” Jimin’s tone becomes more firm, authoritative. “I’m asking you this as a friend. Please, don’t say anything.”

Jungkook holds his hands up to prove his innocence and waves his proverbial white flag. 

“Secret is safe with me,” he promises. “But it’s cute. I know him really well, you know. I could try to hook you two up.”

You blanch, unsure if you want Jungkook saying anything about you to the man of your dreams. 

“I’m good, but thanks,” you offer meekly. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head back to work, okay?”

Jimin frowns, knowing you’re feeling like a cornered animal, and nods. “Feel better, babe,” he sighs.

Jungkook watches as you leave and turns to Jimin. “Man, he’s way out of her league.”

Jimin slaps the boy in the chest. “Be nice, asshole, that’s my best friend.”

Jungkook promises to be nice, and Jimin is blissfully unaware that others are listening and that the man beside him is easy to persuade.

( present day )

The company-wide meeting adjourns soon after what is likely to be the most embarrassing moment you’ve ever lived through.

You’re grabbing at your things and trying to run out of the room, desperate to get out before anyone sees you or talks to you or laughs at you.

A hand grabs at the coattails of your suit jacket and you’re pulled backwards with a yelp. You turn to seek your captor and find the concerned face of your best friend, Jimin.

“Are you okay? What the fuck just happened?”

Jimin’s concern makes it all real. Until now you could pretend you were in a fugue state, totally dissociated from reality. Now, you realize that everyone in the entire company is aware of your crush on Kim Namjoon.

You can feel your bottom lip wobble, tears threatening to spill. Jimin murmurs an ‘oh shit’ and drags you out of the large room and into the nearest bathroom. He pushes you to sit against the sink and passes you toilet paper to dab at your eyes.

“I don’t know how she found out!” you cry. “God, I feel so stupid and embarrassed.”

It incenses Jimin. He’s holding it back to ensure you’re okay, but in reality, it’s an HR nightmare waiting to happen. He’ll find who did it and punish them accordingly.

They will suffer. 

“It’s okay, babe,” he pulls you into a hug. “Everyone will forget about it soon. They’ll think it’s just a lame office joke, okay?”

You nod, feeling the slightest bit comforted by his words. 

“How could she find out, Jiminie?” You ask with a sniffle. “You’re the only person who knows.”

Jimin sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know, but they’re dead. I haven’t told any-... oh, my god,” Jimin stops suddenly. You look up at him to catch what he’s thinking.

He growls and balls his fists. 

“Jungkook knew.”

You let out a sob and bawl your eyes out into the tissue you’re holding. Jimin holds you tighter while he conjures up a hundred different ways to hurt someone and make it look like an accident.

“Don’t worry,” Jimin sighs, trying to comfort both you and himself. “I’m HR. I have to handle this. I’ll make sure they get what they deserve.”

You feel a sting of pain for Jimin. He’s been hopelessly doting on the man who spilled the beans for a few months now, even got to take him on a few dates. It was still nothing serious, but Jimin was clearly smitten.

“I’m sorry you have to do that, Chim,” you whisper. “I know how you feel about him.”

“Yeah, well,” he swallows thickly. “You’re more important than any asshole.”

Jimin holds you tight for a few minutes longer, before you clean yourself up and steel yourself. Ignore everyone, Jimin encourages. Just get to work, he says. Then you can go home and we’ll drink wine and forget about it all, he promises.

You replay his words in his head like a prayer as you walk down the corridors and towards your office. Everyone in the hallways stops to stare at you. They lean towards their friends and whisper. You hear snippets of their gossip, like “Namjoon” and “out of her league”. It drives the sharp blade lodged in your chest even further. It threatens to collapse your lungs and break your ribs.

You make it to your desk safe and sound and bury yourself in work and forcibly ignore the gawking and the stares. 

Just make it home. Just get through the day. You’re almost there.

You could do this.

You nearly make it the entire day before running into the one person you didn’t want to see, Kim Namjoon.

At the end of the day, you’re taking the stairs down to the parking garage instead of the elevator. The elevator is too busy, too many people, and you’re trying to avoid the stares and giggles at your expense. The stairs are always deserted and you figure it’s your safest bet.

You can nearly hear the wine calling your name at home. A delicate glass of Sauvignon Blanc and some chocolate ice cream and a good cry—it sounds like the best and only way to unwind after the worst day you’ve ever had in your life.

The chanting of your name gets louder and you wonder if you’ve finally lost your mind—if you’re actually hearing your wine bottles all the way at home talking to you.

No, wait. The voice is real, and coming from behind you. You turn around to face who’s calling you and nearly faint at the sight.

Kim Namjoon stands on the landing above you, one strip of stairs between you.

“Hey!” He seems glad he’s caught you. “I’ve been calling your name for a minute.”

You swallow and search for an answer. 

“Sorry, I’m-.. I guess I’m just a little out of it today.”

Namjoon grimaces. 

“Yeah, about that…” he begins as he takes the steps down to be on equal ground as you. Your heart is spinning wildly. He’s so close to you. He’s talking to you. On any other day you’d be erupting towards the sky like a firework. But today isn’t any other day.

“I feel like I should apologize,” he states. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t plan it or anything.”

Damn him and his kindness. Damn him and his cute, awkward smile.

“No, no,” you assure. “I know you didn’t. You don’t have to apologize.”

It’s hard to make eye contact with the man. You want to, know it’s important in intense conversations like this, but the thought of him seeing you—really seeing you makes you ache inside.

“It was a really shitty prank,” he begins. “I’m sure you don’t even know who I am, let alone have a crush on me.”

For the millionth time that day, your face heats to a near boil. You stammer and you’re sure you’ve blown any chance at even thinking about a date with Namjoon.

“Oh, uh, right,” you seek an answer, beg your brain to pick something to say that doesn’t make you sound stupid. “I do.”

“You do what?” He’s confused and you widen your eyes at what just left your mouth.

“I do know you! I mean, I do have a crush on you! Oh, fuck,” you shove your face into your hands. “Please, ignore that. I need to go. Sorry!” You don’t give him a chance to reply, you book it out of the stairway as fast as your heels will take you.

Today was the worst day you’ve suffered through in your life.

The next few days aren’t much better.

Not only are you “coffee girl”, you’re now also sarcastically called “Namjoon’s girl”. As much as you hate your initial title, you’d prefer it to the new one they throw at you as you walk by.

Jimin rats out Jungkook and Chungha to the bosses. They get two weeks probation and they have to write you apology letters if they wish to keep their permanent files clean of any reprimands. It’s a slap on the wrist, and everyone involved knows it. Jimin is furious and wants the boss to reconsider. You tell him not to push it. You’d rather this be over and everyone to forget it even happened. Jimin unwillingly agrees.

You’re working at your desk, earphones shoved in your ears to diffuse the gossip in the room, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn and are greeted with the face of Judas Iscariot himself, Jeon Jungkook.

“Hi,” he sounds sheepish, cheeks reddening.

You narrow your eyes at him, sharper than steel. “What the fuck do you want?”

He winces, knowing he deserved that. “Well, I just wanted to apologize. I know they told me to write you a letter, but it seems too impersonal…”. 

You can’t believe Jungkook is sucking his ego up and actually coming to you to apologize. You thought he’d for sure be the one to cop out and send a shitty letter.

He continues. 

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry that all went down. I didn’t mean to tell her. She got me drunk and said she saw me eating lunch with you and Jimin. I think she was jealous or something and it slipped out. I know that’s not an excuse. I fucked up your trust and Jimin’s trust. But I just wanted you to know I didn’t do it to be an asshole. She sort of duped me.”

You pause as you take in the man’s apology. He didn’t have to come to you in person. He could have easily taken the shitty route and half-assed a letter to you. But he didn't, and he owned up to his mistake. God dammit.

“I appreciate your apology, Jungkook,” you sigh and you see his body visibly relax. “I’m still mad, but I guess the anger is at her for doing it in the first place. I’m sorry she tricked you.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and kneels down beside you. “I’m really happy you believe me. I was worried you were going to kick me in the nuts.

“I won’t lie, I thought about it.”

He smiles with you, and you feel like this is the restart of a friendship. “I definitely deserved it.”

You shrug and smile. “Jimin would kill me for hurting you. He might even kill me for thinking about hurting you.”

Jungkook’s smile drops at the name of your best friend. Yikes. Looks like there’s still trouble in paradise.

“I think you’d be in similar company with Jimin right now. He’s not speaking to me.”

You let out a breath through your nose. “Yeah, he’s a little protective of me.”

“For good reason,” he admits. “You’re like a cute little flower. A cute nerdy flower.”

“Jungkook,” you warn. “I just forgave you after I was humiliated in front of the entire company. I’d be careful with calling me nerdy right now.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

It’s hard to stay mad at the boy, no matter how much you dislike his reputation around the office. The fact that he humbled himself enough to seek you out and apologize is proof enough to you of his character.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. I forgive you,” you smile. “Thank you for apologizing.”

He rubs the back of his neck anxiously as his cheeks flare red.

“Yeah, it felt pretty shitty to just… do anything else. Plus, you seem really cool.”

“You seem great, too, Jungkook.”

He smiles and pulls you in for a hug, catching you off guard. For the fuckboy type, he’s surprisingly sensitive and soft. You like that about him.

“I’ll see you around, okay?” He says as he pulls away from you.

“Maybe you should apologize to Jimin, too?” 

His smile drops, but he nods anyway. “Yeah, maybe I’ll go find him now.”

“Good luck,” you offer with a pat on his shoulder.

With a sad smile, he turns and heads down the hallway towards the HR department. You pray Jimin shows mercy to the handsome boy.

A few weeks go by, and you’re sure that everyone has forgotten about you and your most embarrassing moment to date. You make the coffee, you calculate the numbers, everyone ignores you. Things return to relative normalcy.

Until it doesn't. The moment you think you're safe is the moment your guard comes down and everything falls apart around you.

It's when you're in the staff kitchen, grinding fresh beans to brew a second pot of coffee, that it happens.

The kitchen is fuller than usual. You normally try to wait until the lunchtime crowd dwindles and leaves to make your second pot, but you're so desperate for the caffeine that you can't find it in you to care.

You trudge into the kitchen with your handy coffee mug clutched in your tired hands and head towards the cupboards to grind up the beans.

There's a few groups of coworkers lingering in the room, and as your grinder whirs the beans around into a powder, you chance a look around to see who's among the crowd.

Your eyes flick immediately to where a hearty laugh erupts. It makes your heart still in your throat. Namjoon sits with his usual crowd of friends, hand gripping a homemade sandwich while the other assists him in telling his story to his friends. He pays you no mind—why would he?—and you can't help but stare at the way his dark brown hair lays perfectly against his forehead, and his eyes crinkle so cutely at the edges when he smiles.

You nearly forget about the coffee grounds—you're snapped out of your Namjoon-induced trance when suddenly a woman's laugh echoes around the room.

"Look at her," the voice states.

You peer up and see a girl you vaguely recognize. Is she from Marketing? Or perhaps Sales? You’re not sure, but she’s staring at you with a sneer.

“She’s so weirdly obsessed with Namjoon. It’s so creepy.”

Your face turns cherry red and you’re sure your lungs stop functioning. The air your body needs to breathe freezes and your chest aches. 

Namjoon turns to look at the girl before he looks and sees you grasping your coffee grounds tightly.

“Chungha was right—it’s so weird. Namjoon, you should talk to HR about this!”

Namjoon turns back to the gossiping coworker and frowns. “Can you leave it alone? She wasn’t even doing anything.”

The girl huffs and crosses her arms over her chest and looks back at Namjoon.

“How can you stand to be in the same room as her? She clearly thinks she has a chance with you.”

Her words come out like a bite. She punctuates her point with a harsh laugh and the group around her mumbles and chuckles in agreement.

You’re desperately grabbing at anything you can, wanting to leave as quickly as possible before you’re embarrassed further.

“Well, she does!” Namjoon replies loudly, annoyance written in his features. “I was actually going to ask her to dinner this weekend in private, but since everyone is so fucking interested in my love life, I have to do it publicly.”

The room falls silent, and your favorite mug falls out from your hands and shatters on the floor. All sets of eyes stare at you while yours widen with disbelief—you don't even care that you’re standing in a pool of old coffee and shattered ceramic. 

Namjoon stands and heads over to you, bending down to pick up the shards of your coffee mug. You take a few stunted breaths to kneel and help. 

His eyes peer into yours. They’re warm—a chocolate brown color that makes you feel safe.  

“What do you say?” He asks with a smile so gentle it nearly breaks your heart. “Will you let me take you out this weekend?” 

You’re gaping like a fish and the surrounding room is silent—bated breath waiting for your reply. 

“Yes, I would l-love that.” 

His smile turns even brighter, and he stands to throw the broken mug away. 

“I’ll email you the details, okay?”

Your head nods dumbly without thinking. His eyes sparkle as he smiles at you, and he extends his hand down to you to assist you off the floor. As your hand slips into his, you can’t help but feel how soft and strong he feels. You wonder what his hand would feel like caressing your face, smoothing down the expanse of your bare back, running down the length of your body.

The thoughts shake out of you as he winks and kisses your hand gently, causing the gossiping coworker to grunt her disapproval and for murmurs of shock to echo around the room.

“I’ll talk to you later, doll.” Namjoon winks at you before he grabs his sandwich and leaves the room, gesturing to his crew to follow along.

The place on your hand felt warm where his lips once lingered. You no longer cared about the angry glares from the rest of your coworkers. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, and you leave the kitchen nearly floating on cloud nine.

Email from: Kim Namjoon

Sent: 3:06 pm

Subject: Hey good lookin ;)

Hey! 

Just wanted to see how you are! I’m sorry about what happened at lunchtime. That was super petty and uncalled for. I really wanted to ask you out, and I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much by doing it in front of everyone.

I was wondering if you’d like to go out this Friday night after work? Say around 7? If you send me your address, I’ll pick you up.

Let me know!

Xoxo, Joon

You’re sure if you weren’t sitting in your tiny cubicle, you’d be screaming your lungs out.

The second the notification of the email came through, direct from the man of your desires himself, your body froze.

You re-read the message, over and over and over.  

The winky emoji, the xoxo, the nickname ‘joon’. It’s all so much and makes the grin on your face threaten to split your lips in half.

Your fingers press the “FWD” button and you quickly send the message to Jimin, before you stand demurely, attempting to give off an air of professional confidence. You need to talk to Jimin, now.

As soon as you’re out of the eyesight of suspicious coworkers, you bolt down the hallway towards Human Resources. Your high heels click loudly on the tiled floor, but the sound doesn’t even register in your mind. All you can think about is Namjoon, the email, the press of his lips on your hand, the way his smile made you feel as if you could fly.  

The door to HR swings open with your tight grip around the doorknob, and you open your mouth to call to Jimin, the lone employee, when you’re startled by the sight ahead of you.

Jimin sits on the edge of his expansive desk with his arms thrown around Jungkook’s neck and is clearly engaged in a deep, sensual kiss. At the sound of the door opening, they quickly break apart, with matching cherry red blushes on their cheeks and mused hair.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp. 

The men are silent and you can’t help but giggle after a moment passes. “I’ll take it you two made up?”

Jungkook flashes you a dopey grin, one that gives you an answer, while Jimin smirks haughtily.

“Jungkook and I were just discussing, umm… his 401k.”

Jungkook looks at the blonde boy for a moment, confused, before he gets it. “Yeah! Totally. Retirement. Love to t-talk about it?”

You laugh out loud and walk towards the couple.

“I’m sure it was a titillating discussion,” you tease. “I have good news though, if it’s okay to interrupt this retirement planning session.”

Jimin nods and Jungkook rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I guess I should leave?”

“It’s okay,” you smile. “I trust you.”

Jungkook smiles as if he’s just won the lottery. He looks between you and Jimin, face pure and excited like a puppy.

“What’s up?” Jimin asks as he moves to sit down at his desk.

“I forwarded you an email. Read it.”

Jimin nods and logs on to his posh computer, scrolling and clicking before narrowing his eyes and reading.

“Oh, my god.” Jimin’s face is shocked—it's written all over his features. “Namjoon asked you out?!”

Jungkook’s child-like grin turns into one of shock himself. He runs around to stand behind Jimin, eyes seeking over the words of the email.

“Well, hot damn,” Jungkook whistles. “He asked her out.”

Jimin exchanges a look with Jungkook, one that you’re not sure you can read. It quickly slips your mind, however, as you’re more focused on the task at hand.

“Can you come over tonight after work and help me pick out something to wear?” You ask excitedly.

Jimin smiles at you, a touch of sadness in his eyes, before he nods.

“Of course, babe,” he assures. “We’ll make sure you look nice and hot for the date with Mr. Kim.”

“Thank you!” You squeal as you wrap your arms around your best friend. He hugs you back before you scurry out of the office and back to your cubicle, itching to reply to the message.

Jimin sighs as the door to his office closes behind you.

“Kook, please don’t tell me he’s going to break her heart. He’s asking her out to make himself feel better about this, isn’t he?” 

Jungkook slips his hand into Jimin’s and squeezes. 

“I’ll find out, baby.”

Jimin smiles and nods appreciatively at the boy, before leaning up and kissing him.

Jungkook smiles against his lips, and is determined to ensure the young HR specialist never hates him again, even if he has to go behind his hyung’s back to ensure his new boyfriend’s happiness.

Jungkook has one mission now, and that’s ensuring Namjoon takes you on the greatest date known to man.

He grills Jimin with questions about what you like over dinner one night. Jimin finds it endearing that Jungkook is so eager to rectify his mistakes, but he still can’t help but worry that Namjoon is doing this to save face—not because he actually likes you.

“So, what does she like doing?” Jungkook asks as he spins his pasta around his chopsticks idly.

Jimin smiles as he takes a bite of the ramen Jungkook has thoughtfully prepared for their stay-at-home date.  

“I’ve told you already! She’s easy to figure out.” Jimin pats Jungkook’s hand gently. “She loves cooking and baking, working out, daydreaming about Namjoon.” 

“Cooking, hm,” Jungkook looks thoughtful as he takes a bite. “I think Namjoon can work with that. I’ll let him know!”

Jimin tries to hide the anxiety brewing in his stomach. He’s had to plaster on a fake smile for you while you tried on different outfits, wondering which will be the one to finally convince Namjoon he is the one for you. It’s hard to fake it around his boyfriend, too—but something tugs in his stomach that flares the cynical side of him.

Namjoon went from not knowing of your existence, to watching you get publicly embarrassed in a matter of minutes. While Namjoon isn’t a terrible guy, Jimin knows he doesn’t like anything to tarnish the gentleman reputation he’s built in the office. And as much as Jimin likes him, and surely likes his friend Jungkook, he can’t help but feel skeptical.

Jungkook hurriedly pulls out his phone and types away, letting his elder friend know of what he’s found out. Jimin swallows his food, and his pride, and hopes to god his growing cynicism is wrong.

Friday comes slower than you’d like. You wake up every day during the week, one day closer, and your eagerness hits peak levels. Namjoon sees you in the hallways during the week and winks at you, hands shoved in his tight slacks that make you salivate.  

He emails you again Thursday afternoon, confirming things and getting your address. You reply in nanoseconds, uncaring how overeager you come off. 

By the time your alarm clock rings on Friday morning, you’ve already been awake for 4 hours.

All you can do is daydream about the date, the way his hand fits into yours, the warmth of his eyes when he smiles at you.

It’s what fuels you through work.

You hope to god the numbers you’re attempting to work during the day come out right, because your mind is elsewhere for more than most of the day. There isn’t enough coffee in the world, but also your body feels as if you’ve overdosed on caffeine already.

The clock eeks towards 5:00 pm and you’re bolting out the door at 4:56 to head home and get ready for your date.

Jimin attempts to meet you before you leave, but your desk is cold and empty by the time he gets there.  

He sighs and heads back towards his office to gather his things, waving bye to various coworkers as they file out of the corporate building.

He turns the corner towards his office but stops in his tracks as he sees Namjoon’s back to him, phone pressed to his ear.

“Baby, I’ll come over later tonight, okay?” Namjoon speaks into the phone.

Jimin feels his heart fall into the pit of his stomach. He retreats and hides behind a wall, ear carefully peeled to listen to the tall man’s conversation.

“I’m going on this date with that chick from work,” he sighs. “It won’t last more than a few hours. Poor girl has a crush on me and you know the usual assholes won’t leave her alone.”

Jimin bites his lip and clenches his fist. Namjoon thinks he means well, but he knows his suspicions have been confirmed, and he’s torn inside. He wants to tell you, to warn you not to get too invested in the man, but he also has no interest in popping the bubble you’ve been in since the day he asked you out.

Jimin lets it simmer for now. He decides he’ll monitor Namjoon and cut things off if it appears the man strings you along for fun.

Namjoon finishes his phone call with a promise to see whoever is on the other end of the phone later that night, and Jimin quickly pulls out his phone and fakes a conversation with no one when he hears the man approach.

“Oh, Kookie,” Jimin giggles, leaning against the wall casually. “I can’t wait to see you tonight, either, babe.”

Namjoon walks towards Jimin and makes eye contact with the HR specialist.

“Bye, Kook! See you tonight, baby.” Jimin finishes up the fake phone call as Namjoon arrives next to him, and he plasters on his best fake smile.

“Congrats on you and Jungkook,” he speaks sincerely.

Jimin hates how nice he is, hates that he’s a nice guy who gets too wrapped up in his own good looks and reputation.

“Thanks, Namjoon,” Jimin smiles uneasily. “You too! Have fun on your date tonight.”

Namjoon’s face lights up and Jimin desperately wishes he could go back in time to 30 seconds ago, before he heard the conversation, and believe that Namjoon truly wanted to date you.

“Thanks, should be fun, huh?” He winks and nudges Jimin, before he waves a goodbye and continues out the door.

Jimin pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials the number of his boyfriend.

“Hey, baby. We’ve got a problem.”

tag list! - @jimidol @aretha170 @dearbambideer​ 

[ptergwen]

favorite crime

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood / death, lots n lots of angst

summary: you convince peter to go on the run after he’s framed for murdering mysterio, but he doesn’t want to drag you into his mess

a/n: this was completely based off the song by olivia lfmbsjfhs it’s so beautiful and i’ve wanted to write something for it for a while now so yee i hope y’all like ! pls lmk what you think <3

-

“we have to get you out of here, peter! come on!” you shout back to your boyfriend and tug his hand that’s laced with yours.

peter doesn’t budge. even when your grip on him tightens, when you pull him forward with all your might, he remains stoic.

there’s something he needs to do, and he’s been contemplating it since the day he met you.

it’s time to let you go.

“please, peter. i’m begging. i know you’re tired of running, but if we don’t leave now… they’ll find you,” you desperately choke out. peter squeezes his eyes shut, dreading what’s to come. “i can’t do this to you anymore, y/n. i… i’m sorry.”

emergency sirens and flashing lights approach the old apartment building serving as yours and peter’s latest hideout. the whole world is on the lookout for him, so you two stowed yourselves away in brooklyn for a bit.

you were hopeful the rumors would pass eventually — about how peter shot the beloved mysterio and left him to die in cold blood. they’re merely talk, of course. you’d personally seen the events of that day unfold on the tower bridge. hell, your class was right at the center of them.

quentin beck was pure evil, so rotten he defamed both peter and spider-man with a charge as cruel as murder. he’s wreaking havoc on him from beyond the grave, over a complete misunderstanding that peter had nothing to do with.

beck’s true source of anger is stark industries. yet, once again, peter ended up the collateral damage.

he was deemed a wanted murderer. posters revealing his name and face were plastered up around the city, a reward even being offered to whoever who turns him in.

you’d proposed the idea of skipping town until things settled. the way you saw it, it was peter’s only option other than prison for twenty-five to life. peter was panicking and couldn’t think straight, so he went along with your getaway plan.

a few weeks later, he’s regretting it.

you’ve been the one person he could trust through this madness. you’re right there to console him, to protect him just like he does you. through sickness and health, life and clearly death, you stick by peter’s side. you left everything behind without a second thought, for him.

peter loves you more than you’ll ever fully be able to comprehend, which is why he can’t ask you to do that. this is his battle to fight, not yours or anyone else’s. his.

you suddenly freeze in your tracks, turning around to look at peter. “what are you talking about? you’re fine, pete.”

his eyes roam everywhere except to yours as they water. blinking back tears, he fixes his gaze on your intertwined hands. you notice a stray tear fall down his cheek and use one of your thumbs to wipe it away, then press a reassuring kiss to his lips. peter lets himself reciprocate momentarily before jerking back.

“please just… stop being so nice to me. you’re making this way harder than i wanted to to be,” he rasps and squeezes your hand tighter. you’re still lost, absolutely clueless about what he’s referring to.

“look, pete. i wanna hear you out, baby. but… i think it should wait until we get to jersey.” you keep your voice as calm as possible, though you’re terrified for both of you. since the feds know your location, they’ll have the place surrounded any minute.

hopping cities isn’t cutting it anymore, so you’ll have to change states this time. new jersey is next on your list.

using his strength to his advantage to hold you in place, peter seizes both your shoulders. his bloodshot eyes lock with yours. a stern expression coats his features, one you’ve seen from him yet never been on the receiving end of.

“we’re not going to jersey, y/n/n,” he declares, the sirens starting to grow louder. you feel a pit forming in your stomach. “we have to!” you immediately protest. “it’s not gonna be easy finding our way, but it’s the last-“

peter cuts you off, voice softer now. “no, no. that’s not what i meant.” he waits a beat and inhales a deep breath, aiming to settle his nerves. it doesn’t.

“i’m going to jersey. you’re staying.”

tears cloud your vision the second those words leave his mouth. you shake your head furiously back and forth, willing him to take them back.

part of you was always afraid peter would get second thoughts. not only about running away with you, about ever being with you. you’re both so young. your entire lives are ahead of you, and peter won’t allow you to risk your own because this isn’t worth a single bit of it.

he’d warned you how dangerous it was to be associated with spider-man. it’s why he held off on telling you about his alias for the longest he could. you naturally began asking questions whenever peter bailed on dates and showed up to school covered in bruises. he hated lying to you, using his stark internship as an excuse, so he finally came out and said it.

peter sometimes wonders if you’d be better off not knowing at all. it’s too late now, though.

“wait, what? why- why can’t i go with you?” you plead, peter’s fingers coming up to cup your cheek. his fingertips lightly caress your skin. “i’m a criminal, y/n. you’d be my accessory.”

it takes everything in him not to break down and sob along with you.

you lean into his palm, already missing his touch. “i don’t care... i don’t give a fuck. i just wanna be with you, peter.” peter literally has to bite his tongue to fight the urge to cry. hands grabbing either side of his head, your fingers twist in his hair roughly. “i’ll do anything, pete. i really will, i swear. name it.”

peter threads his own fingers through yours again, bringing your hands to his chest.

“i’m so sorry, angel. i never should’ve gotten you involved,” he murmurs out and pecks your forehead. “you have nothing to prove to me, okay? you’ve done more than enough. i’m gonna return the favor.”

you let out a strangled whine, your knees buckling as you come to terms with the gravity of your situation.

this is it. this is the end of yours and peter’s story.

“hey, none of that. it’s okay,” peter coos, neither of you convinced. the tastes of salt and metal flood both your senses. he helps you back up and hugs your waist, peppering your cheeks in more kisses. you’re bawling now, arms wound around his neck, clutching at his tattered jacket.

free tears escape peter’s eyes at last. “i love you. i love you so goddamn much, y/n. never forget it,” he nearly whispers. you sniffle and push your forehead against his. “i’m not saying it back ‘cuz that feels like a goodbye, and i- i can’t say goodbye to you yet.”

“it’s not a goodbye,” peter reassures you, rubbing circles on your lower back. “it’s, uh, it’s a see you later. i’m gonna figure something out and be back to you before you know it. can’t get rid of me that easy.”

that earns a faint giggle from you, peter managing a grin. you two attempt to ignore everything happening beyond these walls, only focusing on the other.

“then, um…” you clear your throat. “i love you.” his smile dwindling slightly, peter nods and meets your gaze. “i love you too, baby. you should probably get going soon.”

affirming his advice, a booming voice that sounds from a microphone commands peter to come out with his hands up.

your worry spikes, instinctively drawing peter in closer. he forces himself to put on a brave face for you.

“i’m scared, pete. where… where am i supposed to go?” you rush to ask him. “home, y/n/n. go home,” peter decides, pressing a final kiss to the top of your head. “just don’t get caught, and you’ll be fine.” carding your fingers in his undone curls, you sigh. “easier said than done, but i’ll try not to.”

you’d never pictured that the sweet boy with a heart too big and brain even bigger, who sings you to sleep even though his voice sucks and spends his last dollar buying you flowers, would be accused of first degree murder. it isn’t true or fucking fair.

what’s worse, he has to bare this storm alone now.

you lift your heavy backpack off the cold ground, slinging it onto your shoulders. peter stares out the window and down at the assembly of swarm troops crowded together.

“are you gonna be okay?” you catch his attention. he snaps back into reality, pulling your hood up so it covers your head. you’re wearing a sweatshirt of his, after having gone through all your own clothes. “i hope so. are you?” peter repeats your question. “i hope so,” you echo.

tying your hoodie strings tight, peter offers a smile. “say hi to may for me. ned and mj, too.” it’s going to be tough to face his family and friends after this. “i will. i’ll let them know you’re alright.” you kiss his cheek, placing a hand on his chest. peter lets your touch distract him from the mess he’s about to be hit with.

“thank you, y/n. i’ll see you soon, baby. you have my word,” he promises, stepping back so you two can go your separate ways.

you watch him with fresh tears threatening to spill.

“i’m gonna hold you to it. be safe, spidey.”

[sagendipity]

reminder i'm sage i used to be notplanningshit until i accidentally deleted my blog so now im reposting my works!

info: quackity x reader, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, no warnings

on frizzy hair and the pursuit of perfection

Intellectually, in the rational side of your brain, you know that what you’re feeling is stupid.

You see the Instagram posts talking about the importance of self-affirmation and mental health. You see the tweets saying that people are more than their family’s perception of them. You realize that having a condescending and judgmental family is almost a right of passage for your generation.

These are all things you know, intellectually. But knowing something intellectually does jack shit for actually convincing your heart of whatever you know. You can yell at yourself all you want, but it’s clearly not your rational brain making you tear up at yet another text from your dad that was along the lines of “cool, could be better, though.”

You just want someone, just once, to celebrate an achievement with you. You want to be excited to share something with someone, without fear of them scoffing in the face of your pride and excitement. In your family- hell, in the world, certainly- someone has always done better, and you’re damn sure to be reminded of such.

It’s been years of this same behavior, ever since you can remember. It’s not just your dad, either, it’s your whole family- aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins. The whole town you grew up in had this haughty, arrogant air about it, where everyone was constantly competing, even if there was no reason for it. Take the hardest classes, get the least sleep, get the biggest scholarship. Even your friends would flex their better test scores at you, and refuse to help you with the homework, in case you somehow got a better score on a test than them. You know it’s how they were raised, they’re just a product of their environment and don’t know how bad it hurts, but it still stung then, and probably always will. You’re still in contact with a few of them, and it’s just more of the same whenever you exchange a handful of quick texts every couple months.

You know you should stop giving information about your achievements to them, but when your dad texts and asks how you are, there’s not much you can reply with other than “good, got a promotion at work!” From there, it’s a slippery slope of him asking what new benefits you got, and then the judgmental few moments where the gray dots disappear and reappear while he tries to compose his thoughts about your inadequacy in the least-abrasive way a middle-aged man can. That is to say, not un-abrasively at all. In fact, his words are often delivered with the finesse of low-grit sandpaper on soft wood.

Well, could be more. Work harder and maybe you’ll get an increase next month. I got a lot of bonuses at work when I was your age. All you have to do is take the bad shifts and get some good customer reviews. You’ll get there.

You stare at the fresh new message on your phone screen before clicking it off with a bone-deep sigh, your eyes betraying your rational side by, again, tearing up. You shove the heels of your hands into your eyes and rub until the tears are forced away and you see spots.

That’s how Alex finds you, sat on the foot of your shared bed with your hands rubbing fiercely at your eyes. He’s probably just come to grab a hoodie- the setting sun brings with it a cool breeze that washes through your open windows and cools the house from the warmth it’d gathered from the day’s sun.

“You good?” He asks, opening his closet door and pulling out a hoodie. He wrestles it on over his head as he waits for your response- when he pushes his head out the other end, hair mussed and static-y, you still haven’t answered. “Baby?”

He comes and sits down next to you. Your eyes, red-rimmed but still dry, track his movements before flicking to catalog every tuft of disheveled hair protruding from his head. With a superficial smile, you reach up to smooth his long, black locks back and down into place. It doesn’t matter; he’s going to slip on a beanie sooner or later, but for now, you distract yourself by combing gentle fingers through the soft strands.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this,” Alex murmurs, brown eyes searching your face for an answer to what has you upset. “But what’s wrong?”

“Just my dad,” you whisper, not trusting your voice not to crack. You avoid his gaze, keeping your eyes fixed stubbornly on his hair as you finish your work. “There. You looked like a hedgehog.”

He huffs a little laugh, but scoots closer to you and grabs a hand out of your lap- you’d curled your hands into tight fists, your nails digging little red crescents into your palm. He uncurls the hand he’s holding and reaches for the other, but you save him the work by instead grabbing onto your own thigh tightly, redirecting the frustration. He rubs small circles into the aching skin of your other palm while he waits for you to gather yourself and explain, now that the ice has been broken on the topic.

“He always acts like whatever I do is just not quite good enough for him. They all do- him, my mom, even my fucking friends.” You rub your free hand down your face, trying to alleviate some tension. It does not work. “I don’t know why I’m still upset. They’ve been doing it forever.”

“That’s probably why you’re still upset. You hope they’d grown up enough to stop doing that.” Alex presses his thumb into the center of your palm. It grounds you, and you swallow around the lump in your throat.

“It’s not even a matter of immaturity- it’s not as simple as a pissing contest. It’s just who they are. They don’t think perfection exists, but they want me to achieve it anyways.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. That sounds exhausting.”

He sounds so sincere, so genuine, like the idea of you being treated this way is deeply upsetting to him. You’d never really… experienced that. Someone recognizing your struggle, and admitting that it must fucking suck is something you’d never been graced with.

His brow is furrowed in a display of concern, eyes gentle and searching. He’s not lying, he means what he said, and he’s not going to follow it up with a “but-,”.

Eyes beginning to sting again, you lean forward until you’re resting your forehead on his shoulder. The soft fabric of his hoodie immediately calms you, along with the warmth you can feel emanating from him. It makes sense, after all, that the personification of pure sunshine would have such warmth about them.

Alex scoots forward, gathering you more closely in his arms, his legs awkwardly folded so that you can sit right in front of him. His hands come up to hold you, one fisting in the fabric of your sweatshirt, and the other resting on the back of your neck, gentle, but firm. You let out a shuddering breath, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. Not going to cry.

“I got a promotion at work,” you mutter, taking a long, deep breath. You brace yourself, waiting for a dismissive response. “That’s what set my dad off- I got- he-.”

Your voice cracks, and you trail off with a small sigh, clutching at Alex’s hoodie even tighter. It’s thick and soft under your fingers, and you knead at it like a cat.

“A promotion?! Baby, that’s amazing!” Alex pulls back just enough to take a glance at you, his own expression steeling from excitement back to sadness as he sees that you are still fighting back tears. “Sweetheart, I think you’re the only person to ever cry after getting a promotion.”

A little laugh escapes your chest, huffy and wet, but still a laugh. Alex’s lips curl into a smile as he reaches up to smooth back some of your stray hairs, like you’d done for him a moment or two ago. You smile, reaching up to intercept his hand, and lace the two of you’s fingers together.

He squeezes your hand where it’s resting in his grip, looking at your linked fingers briefly. “Also, your family is wrong.”

“About what specifically?” You huff, wiping at your eyes for hopefully the final time.

“About perfection not existing. It does, and I know exactly what it looks like.” Despite the serious words, Alex is fighting back a smile. You narrow your eyes at him, already anticipating the next thing he’s going to say. “It looks like you, dumbass.”

You groan, feeling a hot blush rise to your cheeks immediately. You tip forward to bury yourself in Alex’s neck, this time hiding your flustered face and stupidly happy grin.

“I can feel your smile against my neck, you know.”

“Oh, fuck off-.”

With the hand that’s on the back of your neck, Alex coaxes you out of hiding just to press a kiss to your forehead. “Really. I am proud of you. I don’t want you to be afraid to tell me about your achievements because of what your family has done to you.”

“Okay,” you whisper again, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

He hums in response, tilting his head and looking at you with what can only be described as pure fondness in his eyes. Then, he leans down to meet you for a delicate kiss, and your eyes finally stop stinging.

[moonshine-dan]

Quick Bite (p.1)

Osamu x GN! Reader, 2.5 K

Warnings: Odaxelagnia (biting kink), explicit sexual situations, swearing

Kinks: Biting, dry humping/thigh riding, coming untouched, handjobs, praise

Synopsis: 100% Smut. You tell Osamu you have a certain kink. He explores it with you.

The way I'm such a whore for this man now 😔 @crocyoota i blame you for making me a full time Osamu simp. Also thanks for beta-ing exactly one line of this lmao

Osamu's mouth closed over the pulse point at the base of your neck. Softly, he mouthed the skin there, warm lips feathering over your taut muscles stretched in anticipation of his next move.

He had you in his lap, palms smoothing circles along the outside of your hips and sweeping up to clutch your ass. Long fingers pressed softly into you, pressing tiny patterns into your flesh. He mouthed your neck tenderly, traveling languidly up your throat, dragging his soft lips along your jugular before arriving just below your jaw. Another soft kiss there, just a touch more intent than before. You shivered, hands roaming his chest and winding into his hair.

He was teasing you, intentionally or not. Your early morning makeout session before you both had to work usually involved more tongue than this, but you had recently told him about how sensitive your neck was and how you wanted him to try marking you sometime. Of course he was going to take his time and work you out, to memorize what made you moan the most so he could do it better next time. He never half-assed anything, but fuck if you didn't want him to go faster.

Osamu is oblivious to your desires. He continues to graze his lips down the opposite side of your neck, starting again as he reaches your collarbone. He was pressing just a touch harder now, contact a little rougher as he mouthed your throat. You shift slightly, your pulse jumping as he finally introduced his tongue. He lapped at your clavicle, licking his way back up yet again to meet your jaw. ah. You can't help but sigh and tug at his roots as the muscle traces a path below your ear, the spit cooling and making your skin impossibly more sensitive.

He stays there, pressing light kisses to the tender skin and tracing shapes with his tongue. You're tingling, already a little lightheaded from all the light touches. He brands another shape to your skin. A triangle? He's made that shape a few times, but now he's adding…. No. He's drawing a tiny Onigiri on you with his tongue, the pattern unmistakable. You drop your hands from his hair and start to say something, but Osamu was waiting for you to figure it out- he was ready, cutting you off by mouthing the same spot and sucking.

And oh, how you had been wanting this.

A pleasant buzz is building in the base of your skull. When Osamu sucks down, lips working into your neck, it builds a little more, fuzzes the edge of your vision and radiates down to your fingers. You flick them idly, remembering belatedly that you had a perfectly hot boyfriend to be groping. Sliding under his arms, you reach his back and massage the muscles there with your fingertips. His skin is golden under yours, hot and receptive to your touch. 'Samu grunts in appreciation at the attention, the vibrations adding to the suction he's applying to your neck. ghh.

He continues, mouth open and tongue flicking as he slides over your throat to catch up on the other side of your neck.

You push into his lap further unconsciously. Heavy hands on your hips stabilize you, one leaving to snake up your spine and grab at the hair at the back of your head. He grips sturdily and eases your head to the side for easier access to your neck. The buzzing in your skull gets louder still.

You're rocking slightly now, thighs flexing as you ache for something more. The hand on your waist grips tighter, trying to still you as Osamu worked his lips over a spot he had bullied before, suctioning up and scraping his teeth over the heated skin. "Hahh… Osamu..." You groan into your shoulder, his mouth pressing into the skin he had just abused, pulling it right back into his mouth with an obscenely wet sound.

The necking has all your blood rushing straight south, emptying your brain of any thoughts besides rutting into him. Everything he does, the way his tongue teased your sensitive skin, to the bruising pressure of his lips that brought the wet heat of his mouth to you: all of it drives you out of control.

He released his lips with a wet pop! and sighs lightly, the cool breath flowing over the heat from your overworked neck causing you to jerk into his lap further. You feel the rumble of his chest before his deep baritone reaches your ears-

“Quit squirmin’.”

He finishes his command by leaning in and biting down on the bruising skin he had just pulled away from.

The moan shocks one of you more than the other. The bite has the opposite effect Osamu wanted, sending you rocking further into his lap. Your hips cant up, mouth slack and eyes half-lidded, pulse throbbing where his teeth had made light intentions in your skin. You know what? Fuck it. You had time before work, and Osamu clearly underestimated how into this you’d be. You grind down onto him again, angling for his half-erect cock.

"Please, Osamu," you pant out, practically begging, "do that again."

You can feel his dick twitch in interest at your words. His grip on your ass becomes bruising as his fingers knead into you intently. He leads your head up to meet his, observing the way your face flushed darker, pupils blown so wide you could barely see the iris.

"You're really into this, huh."

He was nosing into your neck, breath ghosting over the fresh bite and driving you crazy. Yes. Was your request not enough? You hoped he wouldn't make you actually beg. The hand on your ass squeezes, making you squeak. It quickly changes to a moan as he bites again at the thin skin below your ear.

"I'm kinda startin' to see the appeal m'self…"

He shifts minutely. From below, you feel his erection, solid. Throbbing. Fuck, finally. You grind into his length and finally hear him groan. The sound makes you push down harder, eager to hear what other sounds you could pull from your boyfriend.

You snap your hands to his waist, bracing yourself as you fling a leg over his thigh to push your own into his cock. Osamu's grinding into you eagerly now, groaning, friction mutually given between you both. His hands find your sides and he splays his fingers, rubbing lines up the planes of your ribcage. Every tense of muscle creates a delicious pressure that's building in your core alongside the buzz in your skull.

He slides his hands over your chest, cupping you with both hands and squeezing before joining with his mouth, kissing your sternum. He brings one of your arms to his mouth, kissing the underside of your wrist tenderly. His teeth press in lightly as he swipes his tongue over the tendons. Your pulse thrums, electric.

The tension in the air changes subtly, stilling you for a moment. Osamu peers up at you with a discerning gaze. You met his eyes, mildly concerned at the sudden shift in mood. What was he looking for?

"You're so sweet, darlin'. So sweet to me. Think I'm gonna call you melonpan from now on."

His eyes are teasing. Your ears are burning. This asshole did not just call you fucking melonpan.

He catches your eyes and wrinkles his brow, cheeky grin splitting his face as he took your expression in. He just wanted to see you blush. fucker, you think, cheeks flaming. It worked.

His eyes sharpen with a predatory look.

"I wasn't a hundred percent honest, babe. I'm sorry. It's actually because I wanna sink my teeth into you."

True to his words, he bites into your neck, targeting the hickey that was developing.

Oh. Oh. Maybe the nickname was ok, actually.

Your breath and your thoughts quickly leave you. It's impossible to talk, to even think, mind too focused on the sensation of Osamu sucking the bruising bite on your neck.

This is what you had wanted, but you hadn't expected it to feel quite this… debilitating. The pleasure crossed with the pain in a way you could only describe as delicious, your nerves alright with conflicting signals. Your brain, quite literally, did not know how to process it. The result was the ever-encompassing buzz that was spreading from your skull to the rest of your body.

Ghhh, is what you manage to verbalize.

Osamu hasn't stopped, teeth finding old marks to push into, sucking and rolling the skin and muscle of your neck to the point of bruising. He brands new ones where he hasn't, leaving a patchwork pattern of hickies like a collar for anyone to see.

His tongue swipes along your heated skin, the wet heat soothing where he had previously teased. He grinds into your shaking leg, precome smoothing the friction as he ruts into your thigh. You're shaking, and he knows you're close, even without his hands or his cock. To see you coming undone with nothing but his mouth and his thigh? christ. Osamu's head isn't as big as his brother's, but it's almost enough to make him cum right there.

He's eager to see what pushes you over the edge.

"You're doing so good, baby, fuck," Osamu says into your neck, sucking loudly at the skin. "So fucking sweet, baby….. skin's so fucking sweet….." he bites down, hard, at the base of your neck and feels how your body freezes, every muscle tightening, tremulous. He chews, rolling the muscle under the skin as you cry out his name.

"hah, god, Osamu….!"

Your vision blurs, whitening around the edge. Your body is locking and you suck in a deep breath involuntarily. Is this a stroke? Are you dying? You've never felt this kind of brain failure during sex before. Oh my god, oh my god, fuck…!

Your release hits like lightning straight to your core. Your abdominals tightened, the buzzing in your skull intensifying and pulsing as it races through you. You arch backwards, tensing, eyes rolled back and grinding against his thigh. You shake as the sensation passes through you like an electric current, your body locking up in tension and pleasure simultaneously. Holy shit. Coming has never felt quite like this before, numbing you just as much as it brought you to ecstasy. You can't hear anything but the blood rushing in your ears as your muscles throb, your whole body tightening and relaxing, leaving your muscles burning deliciously as the buzzing finally begins to fade.

Your forehead thunks against his shoulder as you go boneless in his arms. Distantly, you think your legs are shaking.

Holy shit.

He didn't even touch you.

You need a minute to catch your breath.

Before you can though, Osamu is pushing you backwards. You hit the covers with a muffled thwump and he’s above you before you can blink, leaning into your space on his left arm as the other reaches down to stroke his cock.

"Y’can’t just give me a show like that, baby, what'd I do to deserve it?"

He drops his head to your chest and licks along your clavicle before drifting lower and sucking a hickey onto your chest. His right hand speeds up, pumping faster as he marks your chest again and again. His mouth finds a nipple and rolls it with his mouth, scraping it roughly with his teeth and sucking hard, making you jerk up from the bed slightly. It's almost too much, creeping up fast on overstimulation, but you focus. You still haven't gotten your mind one hundred percent back online from your previous climax, but you manage to reach down to cup his balls and tug gently.

Osamu's head lolls to the side and he groans. This close, you can see the sweat beading at his temples. Squeezing lightly and rolling your palm, you tug again, tapping your fingers lightly across the back. His hips snap forward fervently, your touch finally pushing him over the edge. "Comin'...!"

His words cut off into a low groan as he comes undone above you, hips stuttering, fucking into his fist. Osamu angles his cock down at you as he climaxes, hot ropes of his cum painting your stomach white. You dimly think that he's now marked you two entirely different ways.

A hand at your cheek makes you look back up. Osamu's looking at you with an emotion in his eyes that defies description. He leans down to catch your lips in a chaste kiss, thumb swiping up to catch the tear handing onto your cheek. Huh. You hadn't even realized you'd been crying. The hand retracts, and Osamu pulls away and drops to the bed.

He has enough of a mind not to flop down into the mess he just made, instead falling to your side with a sigh, eyes shut and thoroughly blissed out. He squirms until hes slotted next to you, one arm thrown across your chest. His breath puffs into your hair and tickles your ear. Your eyes slip shut as well.

...

You're content to lay there for hours, but the cooling jizz on your abdomen eventually incentivises you to get up. You untangle yourself from Osamu and push to the edge of the bed. Looking for all the world like a newborn deer, you wobble on unsteady legs to the bathroom in search of a warm washcloth.

Osamu's peace is short lived, eyes flying open at your shout:

"Fucks sake, Osamu! We have to open in an hour! How am I gonna work front of house looking like this?" You emerge from the bathroom, now clean of cum but covered in bruises of varying darkness from the neck down.

He blinks owlishly before shuttering his eyes and smirking.

"You literally asked me to do that, baby. Said 'please' an' everything."

You have no response. He's completely right, and that only makes you angrier. You toss the washcloth at his dick and tell him to get cleaned up.

…

You both make it to Onigiri Miya with minimal issues after that. Unfortunately for you, the summer heat prevented you from wearing anything that could come close to covering up the hickies above your collar. And when more socially oblivious customers would ask what happened to you, your response was to point a finger at an unusually smug-looking Osamu.

"Ask him."

Fortunately for everyone, none of them felt the need to actually ask him.

You were gonna get his ass back so bad.

[gaysimpsstuff]

Flightless Birds Chapter Five: First Man Falls

Chapter One Here

Chapter Two Here

Chapter Three Here

Chapter Four Here

Remember I do not condone any of Hawks' actions in this fiction, and if this triggers you please put down your device and seek comfort. You are free to vent to me if you wish.

Read through the warnings before reading this, please.

Summary: Y/n sees an opening to get out of the situation they're stuck in, and attempts an escape. Things go wonderfully until they don't.

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: Blood, injury, crying, panic attack, sexual harassment, Keigo being the absolute worst he could be, forced vomiting, glass injury, gaslighting, choking, violence, abusive relationship, manipulation, blackmail

Other: Not me watching Sanders Sides while making this-

Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @combat-wombatus @cathy8taffy @1small-frogs @catcherisvibin @waffleareniceandfluffy @mandalorian-baby-bird @theblueslytherin @hawksadmirer @assassinslittlesister @deepcollectorphantom @thesubtlewhore @popcatx0

"Good morning Birdie~" You shuddered at the sound of his voice, trying to ignore the feeling of his fingers dancing down your spine. "C'mon wake up, baby~"

His hand moved along your body, and you were silently grateful for the thin pajama shirt he'd slipped onto your torso last night, protecting your skin from his fingertips. He tugged your body closer to him, and you bit back a hiss of discomfort.

"Baby?" His voice wavered a little, and you felt him shake you slightly

"M'awake..." you murmured, keeping your eyes closed to feign exhaustion. "Jus' gimme a minute." You should feel exhausted, you couldn't sleep at all, not with your captor's body so close to your own, anything you did could cause him to sit up and check on you, at the same time, he seemed amused when you were uncomfortable, as if he didn't really care about you as a person, just you as his toy.

"Aw, did my baby bird not sleep well last night? Poor darling, it must be the mattress, don't worry I'll get a new one for you, I'll take the one from your past home."

The way he spoke, as if he wasn't aware that he was the cause of your inability to rest peacefully, and as if your home was only a figment of your past, not the place you longed to return to.

As if this room was your new home.

Even if you could return home, you knew you wouldn't feel safe there, he could track you anywhere, why was he even going after you? You'd barely exchanged a few words with him during your first interaction and now he was under the impression that you were his mate, and he was keeping you safe by locking you away from the rest of the world.

He was delusional.

He was crazy.

And you needed him to get his hands off of you before you screamed.

"I-I'm hungry-" you started, only to feel his hand slip under your shirt. "W-wait, what are you doing?" you exclaimed, hand flying to his wrist to get his skin off of yours.

"You don't get to demand anything of me, darling~" his breath was hot against your ear, and you felt his lips pressing against your skin as you tried to squirm out of his grip.

"Please let me go!" you whimpered, gasping when he rolled his hips against your leg.

"Where are your manners, Baby? What's my name?" You squeezed your eyes shut, still trying to push him off of you.

"Sir please don't touch me!" You choked out, and you felt his hand leave your stomach, and his weight lifted off the bed. You curled up, sucking air into your lungs as best you could.

"Your welcome." he spat angrily, you didn't need to roll over to know he was glaring at you with ferocious intensity.

"T-thank you-" you whispered, curling into yourself more.

"And if you're hungry, you just have to ask me to make you breakfast, I can't trust you to make your own food yet."

"I'm not hungry anymore."

"Too bad. It's morning, you haven't eaten since early yesterday, I can't let my perfect darling starve now can I?" You felt his hand grip your shoulder, forcing you to roll over and face him. "Gimme a kiss~" he tapped two fingers against his cheek as he lowered his face towards you.

You clutched the sheets beneath you, frightened, numbing your brain as best you could to press our lips against his skin and pull away as fast as you could.

"Good bird~" he cooed, and you heard the floorboards creaking as he walked away, the door slowly opening as he left the room. You pressed your face into the pillows, lip quivering as you held back tears.

-

"T-thank you, Sir. T-the food was delicious." You shakily handed the empty plate back to the winged man beside you, trying not to focus too hard on the loopy smile on his face.

"You can call me by my name you know, Sir is just a formality," he said, taking the plate and resting his hand on yours. You tugged your hand back to your chest, not wanting to make contact with him.

Calling him by his name?

Admitting he was a person?

That he was human, living and breathing next to you?

Impossible, this monster had no name, he was just a filthy creature that had snatched you away, and you were left with nothing but the dream of rescue by another hero, the police, or Izanagi.

You knew this monster's name, of course, he'd told you, but thinking about it caused so much discomfort and confusion, as monsters don't have names.

But you knew of a few other words that would calm your racing heart, and soothe you into a spell of comfort and love.

Izanagi was one of them.

Just thinking about the blue-haired man, remembering the sound of his music, his voice, his skin surprisingly soft against your own, his eyes that would soften at the sight of you, like a warm, fuzzy blanket, and not like a knife to your throat.

You would never call this monster by its name, it could never get any kind of humanization from you. It was difficult enough to call him 'sir,' as 'sir' would be a waiter, a stranger who dropped his keys that you would return them to, a teacher's assistant, a hero, someone to respect, someone worth something.

This monster was not worthy of being called 'sir.'

But 'daddy' was even worse.

Daddy was someone who would take care of you, an actual father, a caretaker, maybe even something more intimate.

But his name was worse than both of those.

Sir and Daddy were faceless.

A name was not.

"I-I'd rather call you Sir," you mumbled. "It's respectful, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it's dehumanizing. I'm not someone to respect, I'm your mate. Call me by my name." He moved closer to you, setting the plate down on the counter. You moved away from him in fear.

You longed desperately to tell him the truth.

That he wasn't a human, wasn't worthy of having a name, that he was a monster.

"Aw, is that what you really think of me, Birdie?" Your head snapped up, staring at the open door and not at him.

"Did- was- I didn't- I'm sorry please don't hurt me!" You wrapped you arms around your head, shaking.

It didn't feel like you were in bed, swathed in a warm comforter, belly full with (surprisingly) tasty food.

You could only feel his eyes on you, and the collar itching too tight around your neck, and the open door, so close, almost as if he was teasing you with freedom, never to actually give it to you.

"Remember the second punishment?" his voice was low, and you could feel it vibrating in your stomach despite him being the one who was speaking.

You shook your head quickly, in all that had happened, you hadn't been able to memorize everything. You heard him sigh, standing up and getting off the bed. You sank lower into the pillows, forcing your eyes to follow his shape.

He wasn't heading to your side of the bed.

He wasn't going to touch you or beat you.

He was leaving the room.

You relaxed, lowering your shaking arms to your lap.

You were shocked that you hadn't cried yet.

-

It felt like hours and hours later when he returned, and yet it was all too soon, having to watch his body move into the room, slowly walking towards you, a glass of water in one hand and a wet handtowel in the other.

He set both items on the nightstand, golden eyes flicking to you. You never imagined that such a beautiful color could ever seem so cold, so harsh, so horrible.

"Don't drink this yet," he commanded, moving to the closet, pulling something out of it. He returned to you, throwing the blankets off of you, revealing the pajama pants he'd forced you into the night before.

He'd changed you last night, ripping your shirt so he wouldn't have to take off the collar, pulling a soft button up onto your body, and when your wings didn't fit into the holes, he just took one of his feathers, sharpened it, and cut the holes bigger.

Just another reminder of his power.

He didn't even need to find knives to be able to cut your skin.

You felt the mattress shift as he sat down, waving for you to sit on the edge of the bed, you reached up to unbutton your pajama shirt, accepting the button up he handed you and pulling it on quickly.

Next was the pants.

That wasn't so bad.

You reached to accept the new pants from him, only for something smaller to be pressed into your hand.

Clean underwear.

You looked up at him, horrified, did- did he really expect you to take off your underwear in front of him, to reveal a part of your body so private, just to cover it up again with something he got for you?

Something that you couldn't help but notice smelled like him.

"You need clean garments, Darling~" he cooed. "I won't touch, but I can't promise I won't look."

You shifted your body away from him, slipping your underwear down and pulling the fresh pair on as quick as you possibly could. Finally, he gave you the pants, and you shuffled into them.

"Such a good birdie, so good for me~" he purred, pressing his face against yours and rubbing like a cat. You flinched away from him, and his purring shifted to a scoff. "Except when you're not. You called me inhuman, a monster. Take your punishment."

He stood, grabbing the glass off the counter, handing it to you, demanding you to drink it all. You glanced up at him in confusion, it was just water after all, how could drinking a glass of water be a form of punishment?

You put the cold glass to your mouth, tipping it up and letting the water flood your mouth.

Just a moment later, you spewed it all out onto your captor's clean shirt.

It was saltwater.

The man in front of you growled, grabbing the glass from you and forcing your mouth open, he plugged your nose shut, and the liquid-filled your mouth, running down your throat as the salt scratched you raw.

Tears filled your eyes as you scratched at his wrist, the last drops of water leaving the cup. He dropped it to the floor, and you lifted your feet unconsciously when you heard the glass shatter over the floor.

The monster forced your lips clothes, rubbing your throat until you swallowed. When you did, he shoved you onto the ground, onto the glass.

The shards pierced the skin of your feet and legs, you grabbed the nightstand, praying the collar wouldn't tighten and choke you. You felt your stomach jump up into your throat, and your body jerked forward, all the food you'd just eaten coming up to cover the floor.

When you finished vomiting, you realized he was gone.

Leaving you alone in the room, sitting in a pile of broken glass, vomit, blood, and tears.

He really was a monster.

You needed to get out of here.

-

Seven days after your kidnapping, he came home wingless.

One week, it felt almost like destiny, forcing yourself to play by his rules, and it was by playing his game that you would get out of his clutches. Away from this monster.

"Sir, are you alright?" you asked softly as he stumbled into the bedroom, a bucket of KFC tucked under his arm. You noticed the bruises littering his skin, the cut on his lip, and most importantly, the absence of his wings.

He limped into the room, shoving the bucket of food into your arms and collapsing into the blankets next to you. He turned his head, looking at you, he seemed miserable.

It took all your strength not to smile.

"Sir?" You lifted your hand, biting back disgust as you pressed it against his shoulder, right on a bruise. You heard him hiss in pain and you brought your hand back to safety by your side.

"Villains," he grumbled, eyeing you. "I just need to rest, you should eat." he turned his head away from you, relaxing a little. You sighed, knowing you needed the energy if you were going to run from this monster. You shoveled the food into your mouth, setting the bucket aside.

That was when you heard it.

Almost like a growl, rumbling and making the bed buzz underneath you. Then it was a soft breath, air puffing against your arm. Your eyes fell to the monster's body, realizing he had passed out. You sucked in a breath, glancing around the room, you could do this.

You looked at the only pocket on his coat with a zipper, noticing the imprint of something against the tan fabric. Your hand snaked above the blankets, two fingers pinching the zipper, tugging it down to open the pocket.

You froze when the sleeping man shifted, moving his body just slightly away from you. You held your breath, waiting for his eyes to open.

But they didn't.

You'd never been happier to see closed eyes.

You unzipped the pocket further, and a small piece of metal fell out. You snatched it up quickly, examining it. It was a loop, with three keys on it. A gold one, a silver one, and a rusty skeleton key. You pulled the gold key off the loop, trying to be quiet to not wake your captor.

You moved it behind your collar, feeling around for the lock you had discovered the other day. You located it and fiddled around with the key to try and unlock it. The teeth didn't seem to want to fit into the hole.

You cursed inwardly, putting the gold key down and trying the silver one, almost instantly hearing a soft click. You bit your lip to keep from smiling or squealing, slowly undoing the clasp and removing the collar.

The cold air of the room hit the skin on your neck, beads of sweat rolling into your collar. You set the collar down gently so as not to disturb the feather, knowing he would wake up immediately if anything touched it. You slipped the keys into your pocket, silently slipping out of bed.

It felt like only a second later, but you had finally gotten out of the bedroom you'd been locked in for the past week. There was the pretty vase, right in front of you, Begonias, Butterfly Weeds, and a Hibiscus flower bobbing in the slight breeze from the open window.

You dashed down the hall, finding a large living room with a grand piano, giant TV, fancy modern kitchen, and you didn't have the time or patience to examine everything. All you could care about was the huge glass door, showing you the way to the balcony.

His wings would take a few days to grow back.

You could still fly.

You patted the keys in your pocket, not bothering to hide the wide smile on your face as you pulled the glass door back, stepping out onto the balcony.

You squeaked when you felt a drop of water on your head, realizing the sky was slowly darkening. You spun around, feeling the water soak your skin, clothes, and feathers, turning and taking flight, free of the shackles the monster had put on you.

You knew exactly where to go.

-

It was pouring when you arrived at his doorstep, and even if you dried yourself for hours, you were sure there'd be at least a little bit of you still wet.

His door hadn't changed in the past week, it still had that old dent in it from when a couple of kids tried to knock down the door, and the scratches from that dog that wanted to get in.

And the doorbell was the same too, with the little note attached to it saying it was broken, and asking someone to knock, even though he'd gotten it fixed two months ago.

It was calming to see his handwriting on the paper, the little smiley face he'd drawn next to the 'thank you.' Your hands were shaking as you pressed a finger against the doorbell, hearing the chime alerting him that someone was at his door.

Your wings were wrapped around yourself, trying to keep warm as best you could, and you ignored the way your heart was racing.

You were finally away from him, and you were finally seeing him again.

You pressed the doorbell again, jumping when you heard a loud noise inside the house.

"Godamnit I'm coming, I'm coming! I swear if it's one of you door-to-door salesmen I am going to punch you in the face." You pressed your hands over your mouth, it was his voice, he was still here, the monster hadn't killed him!

The door slowly creaked open, revealing the man you'd been thinking about for the past week, his blue hair tied up in a bun. He looked exhausted, not dressed the way he usually was. He was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Alright so waddaya want-" he looked up, freezing when he saw you. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "No- it- I- Y/n?"

"Izanagi-" your voice was hushed, eyes watering as you stared at your best friend. A moment later, he was clinging to you, body pressed up against yours as he held onto you, shaking.

"Holy shit, Y/n I- I was so scared the police wouldn't tell me anything and they threatened me and- and holy fuck I- I'm so glad you're okay!"

He buried his face into your neck, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, letting out a sigh of relief that you still smelled like you.

"You- you are okay, right?" he asked.

You were still just staring at him, trying not to cry. You slowly shook your head, glancing over your shoulder.

"Okay, come in, let's get you dried off, and then you can talk to me okay? Hey, please say something."

He cupped your face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over your wet cheeks, taking in the sight of you.

"I'm so relieved you're alive." you breathed.

"Of course I'm alive why wouldn't I be?" you shook your head, not wanting to speak. You felt like there was a block in your throat keeping your words from leaving your mouth. Izanagi pursed his lips, ushering you into his house, shutting and locking the door behind him.

He encouraged you to take a shower, telling you he still had some of your clothes to wear. It was nice to feel the warm water on your skin instead of cold, for some reason your captor refused to get warm water for his showers, preferring to force you to take ice-cold showers just like he would.

It was great to put on your clothes again, clothes that smelled like you, clothes that wrapped comfortably around your body, clothes that closed fully in the front. Holes in the back that fit your wings perfectly instead of being open too wide or not wide enough.

You walked out of the shower, finding Izanagi on the couch, holding a mug of hot chocolate, he passed it to you when you sat down.

"So... are you going to explain everything now?" you took a deep breath, starting the long story.

-

You could barely remember the last time human skin felt comforting instead of traumatizing to you, but laying next to Izanagi reminded you of how things used to be; when you were safe. His arm around you wasn't there to force you to stay, but to keep you protected. His body against yours was a reminder that maybe you could be safe from the monster. His breaths didn't strike you with paralyzing fear, scared witless for when he wakes up but instead calms your racing heart.

You were safe last night in his arms.

He let you cry, telling him about how a pro hero kidnapped you, trying to get you to love him. You didn't say which hero though, you simply couldn't utter his hero name or his real name, and you felt that you'd never respectfully call someone 'sir' ever again.

He hugged you, holding you, and told you he wouldn't let you go again, not even to the police. He'd make enough money for the both of you, and he would take you to work with him, you would never be out of sight, at least until you were both certain that the threat had passed.

With the monster, the idea of being stuck with him was terrifying, but it was something you relished with your blue-haired friend, being able to be safe and protected by his watchful eye.

It was the first time you slept well in a week, eyes slowly fluttering open to gaze at the ceiling. The blankets were comfortable against your skin, and you rolled over to nudge Izanagi awake-

Only to be met with an empty spot.

The sheets weren't even warm.

You shot up, scrambling out of bed and racing out of the bedroom.

"Izanagi?" you called out, praying he was just in the kitchen making breakfast, but he wasn't there.

That wasn't to say there wasn't someone in the kitchen.

"Hello, baby bird~" the monster cooed at you, lips curled upwards in a prideful sneer. "How'd you sleep?"

"What are you doing here? Where's Izanagi?" you shouted, backing up slowly. Your eyes scanned his body, realizing he'd regrown his wings enough to be able to fly.

"Y'know, I was real upset when I woke up and found you gone, and I was even sadder to find my keys missing. But I was impressed you'd managed to sneak out at all, I really thought my cameras would alert me to movement in the living room." he ignored your question, stalking towards you at a steady pace. "But I'm certainly not impressed with where you chose to go, Fujikawa was the first person I suspected to have stolen you away from me, Yuu was the second. You probably should have gone to your old workplace, or maybe even a Library!"

He was laughing now, eyes flashing in the fluorescent lights of Izanagi's kitchen. You made a dash for the door, wings already spread. You heard his footsteps slamming against the hardwood, chasing after you.

You threw the door open, taking flight into the open sky the second your feet hit the concrete. You went as fast as your wings would let you, shooting off like a bullet in the opposite direction of Izanagi's house.

You knew it was no good, he was on your trail now, he was stronger than you, and his quirk had more uses, there was no way you could escape.

But fuck, you would never let him just have you, you were desperate to fight for your freedom, to find a way to get away from him, maybe find another pro hero, or even a fucking villain, you would fly even after your wings would feel like falling off, you were prepared for stay airborne for multiple days if it meant getting the monster off your tail.

You were ready to fly all the way to America to get away from him.

But you only made it a couple streets before his body slammed into yours, forcing you both out of the air. You screamed, kicking and clawing at him the whole time you fell, desperate to get away from him, desperate to get freedom back.

He swooped up right before you both hit the ground, before slamming you onto the asphalt of the street, both hands pressed up against your neck, thumbs pressing against the front of your neck.

You struggled beneath him, hitting him everywhere you possibly could, his legs keeping you from kicking him. He sent two feathers after your arms, forcing them down to the ground, rendering you helpless to him.

"You are fucking pathetic." he spat. "I thought you were kinder than this, but you didn't even think twice about him." Your eyes widened when you realized who he was talking about.

"You just wanted to run away from me, you didn't think about where he was, what I might do to him, to both of them. You're a fucking selfish asshole who couldn't give two shits whether their friends live or die. When I threatened Fujikawa's life, saying I'd kill him if you went near him, you didn't try to protect him, no. You went straight to him, begging for your safety. Whining like a fucking baby!"

You were starting to get lightheaded, feeling his claws dig into your skin.

"Please-" you choked out

"Oh, please save me, Izanagi! Save me from this monster!" He mocked, rolling his eyes. "Fucking pathetic. Have you ever thought that maybe they needed saving from you? That you were the monster? Maybe I was saving them from you?"

"No-"

Suddenly, his weight was lifted off of you, and he stood over you, golden eyes piercing your soul. You wanted to scramble away from him and take flight again, but you didn't have the strength.

You gasped, sucking air into your lungs as he slowly stepped away from you, scoffing.

"You're worthless. What is it that you do for those friends of yours? And what is it that they do for you? Exactly. You know you're just a burden to them. I'm the only one who really loves you. Those two have been waiting for a chance to get rid of you, but they're just too nice to do it. You don't deserve them."

"You're a monster-" you panted, sitting up and glaring at him.

"Takes one to know one," he growled. "Monsters like me deserve monsters like you. I want to hope there's at least a little bit of you that cares about Fujikawa, otherwise, his blood will be needlessly spilled. I don't want to hire a cleaning crew to get it out of my carpet."

Your eyes widened, realizing where Izanagi was.

"No- no please no- don't kill him please!" you begged, tears brimming in your eyes, you crawled over to him, tugging on his pants. "Please don't kill him!"

"Pathetic." he kicked you away, and you lay on the ground, sobbing, too weak and scared to move. "If you really want him alive, you'll return to me willingly. You have until midnight tonight. If you don't return home by then, your friend will die."

With that, he turned away from you and shot off into the sky, leaving you crying on the floor.

[nolpat0]

too late | t. jost

summary: he left her, but he realizes it was a mistake too late

wc: 1,724

warnings: break up, angst

Cold, numb fingers curled around the steaming hot paper of coffee cup, gripping the fresh beverage with new desperation, the owner trying to will the heat into his frozen bones by sheer force of thought. Tyson huffed softly, his breath clouding thickly in the frigid, winter air, a shiver snaking down his spine despite the thick, wool layers he wrapped himself in that morning. Muttering a soft curse as he remembers just why he should've grabbed the thick, fuzzy gloves that were currently sitting on his entry side table, Tyson moves from the busy, buzzing street corner and quickly strides across the crosswalk. As if he can merely outwalk the cold threatening to petrify his bones; and Tyson was pretty damn sure it was a real possibility. Finally searching his surroundings, Tyson's dark eyes scan the scenery of the cold, wintery lense of Colorado's capital, trying to pick out his car from the rest of the masses in the over-stuffed parking lot. His dark eyes land on a couple, laughing loudly in the cold air, as free and in love as they could be, paying no mind to the freezing temperatures or the snow littering the ground in various, black slush clumps. A bell of familiarity rings in his mind at the sound of the girl's silvery laughter, but Tyson is unable to place the exact memory begging to be released to the surface of his consciousness. A tiny, confused frown tugs at the edges of his pink, chapped lips as his heavy, boot-clad feet shuffle closer. He knows the laughter.

And then it hits him: her.

All the icy breath trapped in his pink lungs rushes out, leaving him breathless and stunned, a sharp shard of aching pain slanting through his chest and cutting against the muscle of his wild heart. Tyson blinks, his hazel eyes shuttering in bitter surprise as he watches her with the unknown man. His heart goes tumbling to his stomach, burning away into nothing but ash when he sees her fingers curl around the upper arm of his jacket, her familiar, toothy smile tugging at her pretty face. She's laughing, a high and pretty sound that dislodges a horde of repressed memories from the back of his mind, bringing them forth and sparking a wave of stinging tears to prick the backs of his eyes. But she's not with him or holding on to Tyson, she's with him. At first, Tyson is unable to place him, his brain too overloaded with the endless stream of merry moments of the past two years with her to try and problem solve why the unfamiliar man is vaguely intriguing. And then he realizes why the sharp cut of his low voice is familiar: it’s Zach. Her college from work that Tyson always thought was too flirty and willing to touch her and brush his fingers against her arm when she said something funny.

She was now with Zach. The realization and reality of the statement hit Tyson like a freight train, barreling into him without remorse and at full speed, knocking the breath from his lungs once again. Tyson vaguely felt his white-knuckled grip on his scalding coffee loosen, shock waves of pain and regret rippling through him.

She looked up, crinkled eyes full of mirth and laughter flickering up to catch Tyson’s dark eyes, feet accidentally stalling against the snow-clogged gravel as they locked eyes. Tyson, for the life of him, was unable to turn away and continue the seemingly futile hunt for his car. And she was too stricken with shock to register that she’d been staring. Old, familiar feelings clawed at Tyson’s throat as he regarded her, begging to be released. But he held them back, determined to hide his regret from her and her all-knowing eyes. She dipped her chin, the barest form of a nod as the edges of her lips curled into a soft, melancholy smile. Her feet continued their previous path and she mumbled a quick, halfhearted apology to Zach before allowing her gloved hand to fall into his naturally, tugging him away from the scene of her broken heart before either boy noticed. Tyson was still watching the sidewalk she disappeared down long after her figure faded from sight.

———

Standing in the cramped, messy confines of Zach’s hallway bathroom, she pressed her fingers against the worn door in an illusion of more privacy as she dropped to the tile floor. Her eyes roam over her illuminated phone screen, rapt on the single notification that alerted her during dinner.

Tyson Jost: Voicemail

With shaking, uncertain hands, she unlocked her phone, eyes catching the photo of her pressing her lips against Zach’s cheek. The background was a familiar pose, one she and Tyson would make thousands of times in selfies in a mockery of the pose, grinning like fools every time the camera snapped and captured them in their happiness. Memories flitted across her eyelids, stacks of them as they played their heartbreaking adoration back to her. She pressed her fingers against the call app, playing Tyson’s voicemail.

Hi.

Tyson’s gravelly, unsure voice filled the small bathroom, reigniting a familiar ache in her chest, reminding her just how much she missed the familiar lilt of his calming, smile-lined voice.

I know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now, but I- I felt like- I don't know. I feel like I should say something.

With baited, frozen breath she curls around the device clutched in her palm, hanging on to every crackling syllable that hums from the speakers as if she can picture Tyson pacing, in the small, tiled room of his cramped kitchen as he hesitates with every breathed word. She's almost grateful for the conversational, thought-like cadence of his playing message, if only for the fact she can better picture him, imagine the scene of him talking to her under the warm glow of his kitchen light.

It isn't fair for me to say this. I know that, but Jesus, I gotta get this off my chest, baby.

Her heart stutters wildly in her chest at the achingly familiar pet name, the quiet murmur of her breath cutting off rapidly as a renewed wave of pain crashes through her body, burning every nerve. The subconsciousness of the saccharine saying has her head-first tumbling into every moment of Tyson's second nature actions of his love; the brush of his thumb against the soft back of her hand whenever she clung to him, the press of his lips into the layers of her hair when she laced her arms around his neck, the tug of her legs onto his lap whenever they lay on the couch together with his eyes still trained on the TV.

Letting you go was the worst decision I ever made- in my life. My mom and Kacey let me know that- like all the time. I kinda hate them for it, but I know they're right.

Fuck. I don't know what to do- but I- seeing you today nearly fucking destroyed me, okay? Like I couldn't breathe for like a minute and I thought I was sort of moving on, but now I know I just forgot how much I still love you.

Red-rimmed eyes going wide at the rashly truthful confession, she hiccups, throat catching on the breath as a quiver over sakes the tips of her fingers. She never thought she'd hear the confession again; hear the rough syllables of his voice etch out the words she imprinted on her traitorous heart.

———

She remembers the first time he finally confessed the words to her; after she'd confessed them a week prior.

Tyson's long fingers had run through his head of dark-honey curls enough to brush them out significantly, and she knew he was on edge from the glint in his eyes as he looked at her. She'd hesitantly laughed softly, eyebrows furrowed as she slowly surveyed him,

"Tyson? Why are you so nervous?"

"Right?" he cried in sudden protest, a choked laugh falling from his lips. "You already said it, and I know you love me, but I'm still nervous as fuck to say it back."

Her eyes crinkled gently at the fumbled words falling from his lips, a grin tugging at her lips s she reached for him, smoothing over the collar of his shirt as she giggled lightly. "You don't have to say it, you know."

"No, I want to." Tyson shakes his head softly, dark eyes intent on hers as his calloused palms slide against hers and his fingers curl atop hers. "Because I love you. So much."

———

A soft, grief-stricken sob escapes the boundaries of her shut lips, echoing off the pale tiles of the small bathroom as she places shaking fingers against her chapped lips to silence herself; saving herself from the inevitably embarrassing moment Zach finds her sobbing over a long, fumbling voicemail from her ex on the dirty floor of his bathroom, still as devastatingly in love with said ex as the day she confessed it.

Leaning her head against the wall of the room, she pushes a shaking, broken breath past her lips, trying to reel herself in, scooping up her shattered pieces into some semblance of herself so she can wrap her head around what his message means and what it means for her.

"Damn you, Tyson," she breathes with gentle conviction, squeezing her eyes shut as she wishes for the millionth time she just deleted the message instead of sneaking away to listen to it. Or, if she really got all three wishes: Tyson never let go of her smaller hand and let the shining glass of her fragile heart slip from his fingers as he tried to ease the blow with his calming, sorrowful words.

Shattered into thousands of tiny, beautifully glittering pieces on the floor of her boyfriend's bathroom, she accepts the one thing roaring wildly in her head in an endless, unrelenting loop that won't let her go. She might not understand how she'll continue on, or what this means for the clueless current boyfriend settled on his couch, or for the curly-haired boy with words capable enough to break her. But she understands one thing with distressing clarity.

She is in love with Tyson, and she'll never stop.

[honeytae]

could i request something fluffy with joon like an ice cream date and when the reader orders mint chocolate chip namjoon just doesnt shut up about it lol

Are you telling me I have to choose between you and mint choco?

okay so i absolutely loved this idea lmao. i’m sorry it took a while for me to get this posted, but i really hope you like this, anon!! here we have a grumpy tired joon in the studio so the reader takes him out for a little break and..you know the rest :) thank you for sending me this adorable scenario <3

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy

genre: fluff

word count: 2.1k

“Ugh, no.”

At Namjoon’s sudden groan, you glanced over from the opposite side of the studio as he tapped the pad of his pointer finger around the mouse, rapidly moving things around on the monitor in front of him.

Frowning, you placed your phone down onto the coffee table, pushing yourself off the loveseat you’d been reclining on to investigate.

Fingers plucking at your shirt to readjust it from where it had shifted around in your position, you walked across the room to where the man sat, sneaking up behind him to drape your arms over his shoulders.

“What’s going on?” You asked as you folded your fingers over his arm, appendages soothingly rubbing at his bicep as he let out a deep sigh.

You felt Namjoon’s shoulders ease even just the slightest at your touch, tension draining from the muscles as you set your chin atop his head to peer at his computer screen.

“I just don’t know why I can’t make this chorus work.” He sighed, and your heart twisted at his saddened tone.

He sounded genuinely disappointed in himself, something you despised and wanted to wash away immediately.

“You’ll make it work, Joonie. I know you will.” You pressed a kiss to the side of his head, the man letting out another breath as he dejectedly sunk back into his mesh chair.

Feeling the need to step in, you guided his hands off the desk and away from the monitor, smoothing over his long appendages with tender circles of your own.

“I think you need a little break.” You proposed, the man grunting a bit in protest before huffing a breath out past his lips, letting you rub at his stiffened shoulder with a stretch of his neck to give you easier access to the sore spot.

“Hey,” you spoke softly, “you deserve a break. You up for a drive?” You offered, the man shaking his head, palm placing itself onto the back of your hand as he soothed his fingers over your skin graciously.

“I’d love to babe, but I can’t.” He frowned, an expression visible to you by the reflection of his face in the fading computer screen in front of him.

“How about a walk?” You offered, adding when you sensed his hesitation, “Just fifteen minutes?”

You could see him internally debating his options before he seemed to pull the plug, nodding slowly before he began inching his chair back from the desk.

Cheering internally, you walked over to grab his coat from where he’d slung it over the back of the couch upon his arrival hours ago, offering it to him with a smile as he thanked you.

While it always took a bit of persuasion to get Namjoon out during his funks, you had learned over your time with him that he would eventually cave; although a bit stubborn, deep down he knew he needed a break from continuously racking his brain for all the right words.

And it always helped; a little bit of fresh air and non-work related conversation went a long way, his head typically clearing up within a half hour so that he could head back to his desk with fresh ideas.

“Oh, it stopped raining.”

Those were the first words out of his mouth as you both exited the building, peering up at the hazy clouds, eyes squinted at the sun appearing from behind them.

“Did that ruin your romantic fantasy of kissing me in the rain?” You flirted, alluding to the slightly disappointed tone in his voice, the man biting down on his bottom lip to contain his shy smile before he shook his head, turning toward you to pull you into his chest.

“I don’t need rain to kiss you.” He laughed, cradling your jaw in his palm as he brought his lips down to yours, tilting his head to deepen the action only slightly before pulling back with a dimpled grin.

“Romantic enough for you?” He raised his eyebrows, quiet laugh escaping his mouth when you only pulled him back for more.

Leaving chaste kisses on your bottom and top lip, butterflies erupted in your chest when he slid his palm against yours, locking his fingers around your hand as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“Yeah.” You exhaled, Namjoon chuckling quietly at your sudden flustered demeanor, smiling fondly as he watched you try to regain control of yourself with a clearing of your throat, nodding your head toward the direction of the sidewalk as you gently tugged him along beside you.

You easily recovered from the moment of weakness, confidently leading him down the street with soft hums escaping your throat as his fingers gripped yours.

He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face when he noticed the tune of what you were singing; it was the song he’d been working on all day, bits and pieces most likely leaking out of his headphones as he worked only a few feet from you.

Smiling down at your joint hands swinging between your bodies, the sounds surrounding you completely disappeared, only your boyfriend’s soft yet sturdy hold on your appendages registering in your brain. It was just so him.

“Is that an ice cream booth?” He suddenly asked, squinting at a small sign in the distance as you lifted your head, effectively snapped out of your daze as you giggled at him.

Pulling Namjoon by his hand, you took initiative and led the way to the little ice cream shop, the man clumsily stumbling after you with a wide grin.

Wrapping an arm around your waist as you paused to stand in the back of the line, Namjoon set his chin on your head, swaying you side to side absentmindedly as his eyes scanned the list of flavors available.

“What are you getting, babe?” He asked, you humming in response with a slight shrug.

“I’m not sure yet. What are you getting?” You set your head down onto his shoulder to peer up at his face, eyes tracing his features as he blinked at the blackboard menu straight ahead of him.

“Rocky road, I think.” He answered, seemingly debating it in his head for a moment before nodding to himself, satisfied with his decision as he stepped forward to bring you both to the front of the line.

“Good afternoon, what can I get for you guys today?” The man in the vendor smiled, Namjoon giving his order with a polite nod before the man turned his attention to you.

“And what can I get for you?” He smiled kindly, causing you to step forward a bit to see the choices.

“Um,” you squinted at the menu, looking back at the man with a small grin, “mint choco, please.”

Shifting your gaze back to your boyfriend, you couldn’t help but laugh out loud at his expression, eyes widened and mouth agape in shock.

You had heard him debating his friends on mint chocolate before, expressing his open hatred for the flavor with a passion. And you’d always managed to keep quiet, only sitting back and listening with an amused smile on your face as they bantered back and forth about the topic.

But how could you not take the opportunity to mess with him when it was presented in scribbled green chalk right in front of you?

After all, you never saw a problem with mint chocolate anything. And the look on his face was fucking priceless.

The man continued staring at you in disbelief as you doubled over in front of him, clutching your sides as you wheezed at his face of genuine betrayal at the mere thought of you ordering his least favorite ice cream flavor.

“Wha- how could you?” He asked, smile lifting his lips a tad as you broke out in more giggles at his question.

“It’s good, baby.” You finally caught your breath enough to say, defending your choice as the man shot you another look of disapproval, his eyes widening further at your words.

“It’s good? It’s practically toothpaste!” He said, exasperated as he watched the man come back up to the counter with a rocky road cone in one hand, a green mint chocolate chip one in the other.

Thanking him, you took both of them in your hands, handing your boyfriend’s order over to him with a sly grin.

Walking out of the shop, you nearly snorted at the look on Namjoon’s face as you raised the cone to your mouth, his grimace evitable even from the obscured sight of him from the corner of your eye.

“Mm,” you hummed upon the ice cream meeting your tastebuds, Namjoon rolling his eyes at your exaggerated reaction with a sigh as he paused his steps and lowered himself down onto the bench beside the sidewalk.

“I cannot believe you dragged me out of the studio just to betray me like this.” He sighed, making you laugh again as you settled down beside him, easily melting into his embrace when his arm habitually fell around your shoulders.

“You like me.” You poked and prodded at his chest with your pointer finger along with the childish words, watching your boyfriend’s lips twitch a bit before he regained composure.

“I don’t know, babe. This might be a dealbreaker.” He teased, you humming in response as you licked at the pastel green ice cream once again, Namjoon pulling a scowl as he watched.

“Are you telling me I have to choose between you and mint choco?” You asked after swallowing the sweet cream, chewing on the small chocolate chip left on your tongue.

“I’m telling you that I’m very content in my rocky road bubble over here.” He smirked, raising his chocolate cone in front of his face for emphasis before glancing down at you.

“Good for you. I’m very content in my mint choco bubble, so take that.” You shot back, an amused grin on Namjoon’s face at the banter before he shook his head.

“I cannot believe you’re on that side of this argument.” He sighed, eyebrows pulled together as he watched your tongue swipe at the scoop of ice cream yet again.

“I like being on my side, personally.” You sassily shrugged a shoulder, smirking as your boyfriend scoffed at your smugness.

“The wrong side.” He muttered under his breath, chuckling when you jokingly widened your eyes at him. His dark eyes held contact with your own as a smile slowly filled his cheeks, causing your expression to do the same at the infectious dimples appearing by his mouth.

Squinting at him, you tried to place the source of his sudden change in demeanor, wiping at your lips with the back of your hand for any misplaced chocolate before pulling it away from your face to inspect your skin, clean of any chocolate chip remnants.

“What?” You questioned him, the man chuckling a breath out through his nose as he swept a piece of hair that had been moved out of place by the wind back behind your ear.

“I just can’t believe your one flaw is liking mint choco.” He responded to your confusion, smile widening when you laughed at his words.

“Yeah, and yours is being a mint choco hater.” You joked, your shoe scuffing against the cement as you kicked your foot out in front of you.

He chuckled in response, bringing the softening ice cream cone back up to his mouth again. When he pulled it away, you noticed a dark spot of chocolate gathered at the corner of his lip.

Giggling slightly at the sight, you brought your thumb up to swipe at his skin, the man’s eyes locking with your own as your hand fell back to your lap. The world around you seemed to fade away completely as you began leaning into each other, you throwing caution to the wind by pulling him in by the chin to meet his lips.

It didn’t seem to matter that your mouth definitely tasted like the mint chocolate ice cream you’d been licking at only moments before, Namjoon’s tongue swiping across your bottom lip as if you didn’t taste like something he wholeheartedly despised - or at least claimed to.

You smirked against him as his hand came up to secure the back of your head so that you couldn’t pull away, deepening the kiss with a push of his tongue into your mouth, pulling back to grin at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I thought mint choco was a dealbreaker, Joonie.” You said, tone smug as you watched the man lift his own ice cream cone to his mouth, effectively hiding his shy grin as he tongued at the chocolate swirls.

“For you, I may be willing to see past it.”

[falling-pages]

Solara: TamaKyo

Honestly I have no excuse for this except that I just wanted some Tamakyo.

-

Synopsis: Tamaki and Kyoya finally agree on a name for their unborn child.

-

Ships: Tamaki Suoh x Kyoya Ootori

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

btw, Reiko is their surrogate <3

-

Golden rays bounced off the water as the sun dipped beneath the end of the world. Kyoya had always had an odd fascination with sunsets, especially at the beach, when it appeared the star was swallowed by the ocean, only to rise again the next morning. How it died to itself each night before rising into a new day fresh and bright and alive. He knew that wasn’t how it worked--perspectives and optical illusions and all that--but he still found it enticing, how the light could disappear, its only reason for coming again was to bring light and life to the solar system.

He sat in the sand, knees propped up to his chest. His forearms burned with the exertion of keeping them close, but he groaned into the stretch, rolling his neck and arching his back. Vacation was the only time he truly felt relaxed, at the beach especially so--be it because Tamaki’s shirtless body roaming the water or sipping pina coladas while reading a good book, he couldn’t tell.

Crunching sand behind him alerted him of his beloved’s approach. Tamaki never could be subtle, despite his charisma and heavy charm, even less so at the beach, when his long legs sprawled across the uneven ground like a newborn deer.

“The sand is cold, my love,” Tamaki said as he squatted down. “Allow me to warm you up.”

It was a bold-face lie--Fiji in June meant warm sand even in the evenings--but, recognizing his old tricks, Kyoya smirked and allowed Tamaki to settle down behind him, pulling Kyoya between his stretched-out legs and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Kyoya sighed and rested his head against Tamaki’s shoulder, relaxing in his hold. Marrying the Suoh heir meant he had to quickly come to terms with physical affection, a challenge he was never presented with growing up, but Tamaki’s hands on him soon drove away that aversion, replacing the unfamiliarity with a craving need akin to that of a child who needs a stuffed animal to keep the nightmares away.

Given the opportunity, Tamaki turned and attacked Kyoya’s neck and cheek with kisses. He laved his tongue and lips across the skin, so sticky with salt and sand. The air was heavy with pheromones and the scent of flowers, the two of them lost in their tropical paradise. Citrus smells burned his nose, but he just continued to bury his face in Kyoya’s shoulder. A maid had forgotten to pack Kyoya’s cologne, but he didn’t quite mind; he smelled like the soft sheets of their bedroom, the vanilla incense in the meditation room, the eucalyptus in his body wash.

“Sniff any harder and your nose might fall off,” Kyoya teased.

Jerked from his reverie, Tamaki responded with another dramatic inhale, clutching his husband even tighter to his chest. “‘S not my fault,” he whispered, nibbling on his neck, “that you smell so good.” The bite turned harsher. “Good enough to eat.”

Kyoya wiggled away far enough to see his face and placated him with a kiss. “Not on the sand, my darling. That is a mess I do not wish to clean up.”

They laughed, and Tamaki cuddled him tighter, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. Kyoya returned his eyes to the sun, now nearly sunk beneath the sea. It struck a chord in him, a reminder of what he had been meaning to share. He opened his mouth but closed it just as fast.

He didn’t know why he felt so nervous; Tamaki would like it, and even if he didn’t, he would be gracious about it.

“Tamaki,” he whispered, and felt him stir behind him.

“Yes, my dear?”

His mouth felt like cotton; licking his lips did little good. “I’ve been thinking...of names.”

Tamaki perked right up, squeaking out a little sound of excitement at the news. He scooted back, just enough to see Kyoya as he turned his head. His eyes blazed in excitement, lavender, like the slowly dying sky. “You have?”

“Yes. And I was thinking…” Kyoya gestured to the sunset. “Solara.”

“Solara.” An unusual name, to be sure, but classy, and wealthy, and beautiful.

“I know it’s neither Japanese nor French, as we were discussing,” Kyoya resumed with haste, “but I know how much you like nature names, and since Reiko is due in August, I thought it might--”

Tamaki cut him off, grabbing his face and kissing him, more teeth than lips as they smiled, clutching close in joy and anticipation. “Kyo--” he kissed him again-- “Kyo, I love it. I love it.”

Kyoya chuckled as his glasses were knocked askew, but even without them he could see his lover’s brilliant smile and glassy eyes. “I know you really wanted something French, but this is Latin, so it might be close--”

He was interrupted, again, by Tamaki’s kisses, and this time he just determined to stay silent and enjoy the moment, enjoy their clashing noses and teeth and laughter in a way he was never allowed to growing up--a way he only could with Tamaki.

Once Tamaki finished laughing, burying his head between Kyoya’s shoulders, he began to cry so severely that Kyoya dug out his head and cradled his cheeks, wiping away the glistening tears rolling down his warm pink skin. He hiccuped, as Kyoya tried to ask what was wrong, his eyes reflected that beautiful sunset.

“We’re…” his brain stopped functioning, and there were no thoughts behind those eyes. Finding Japanese too difficult at the moment, he switched to French: “We’re having a baby.”

“Oui,” Kyoya said, catching one stray crystalline tear on his jaw. “We’re having a baby.”

“Her name is Solara…”

“Yes.”

“Like the sunset…”

Kyoya shifted away, pressing his back against Tamaki’s chest, so together they faced the night sky. He took his husband’s hand and traced the faint remaining streaks of orange against the midnight blue canvas. The scattered remains until the world comes to life again.

“No, my darling,” he whispered. “Like the sunrise.”

-

[earliebirb]

Hey, I hope you are having a nice day. If you're taking any asks, may I request for a cuddly needy Steve insisting on being close to Tony all the time. Like not letting him out of bed in the morning or making Tony sit on his lap during movie nights. That kinda stuff. Please, please consider writing this one. Thank you!

Hello, Anon. Thank you for the prompt. Cuddly and needy Steve is my favorite.

Have some tooth-rotting fluff in honor of my birthday! 🎂🥳🎉

keep me warm

steve/tony, fluff, established relationship, 4015 words

Steve will take any and every opportunity to touch and be as physically close as possible to his husband, thank you very much.

(Or, five times Steve demonstrates that physical touch is very much his love language and one time Tony seeks him out for it.)

(1)

Tony wakes to the sunlight shining in his face. He groans, instinctively hiding his face back in his pillow. The light feels too warm and bright for early morning sun and a quick glance at the digital clock sitting on his nightstand confirms his suspicions: It’s ten minutes to eleven.

Upon seeing the date and time on the clock, the first thought that crosses his mind is of the numerous tasks he has to finish that day. He sighs a long, drawn-out, and heavy sigh. He hasn’t been feeling his best for the past few days and he has the horrifying suspicion that even his ultra-workaholic self is teetering on the edge of a full-fledged burnout. Between SHIELD, Stark Industries, and the Avengers, he has no shortage of work to do. This is definitely not the time for burnout. His only saving grace for the day is the fact that Pepper has allowed him to come in the afternoon. 

Closing his eyes, he relishes the brief yet sweet escape from reality, pretending just for a few moments that his day is blissfully empty. The work seems never-ending. The only reason he is in bed at all is because Steve had coaxed Tony to come to bed, complaining about how cold he was and steadfastly refusing to sleep without Tony in his arms. 

After a few minutes, he resigns himself to the harsh reality of a busy day and moves to roll out of bed. Except the minute he tries to do so, his body moves further back toward the center of the bed instead of the opposite. Tony blinks at the arm tucked firmly around his middle. A warm weight is plastered against his back, a puff of breath tickling his ear. 

“Steve?”

He gets a short hum in reply, rising at the end in intonation.

“It’s eleven.”

Tony gets another sleepy hum and Steve burrows closer, the cold tip of his nose tucked behind Tony’s ear.

“Why are you still in bed? Did you come back to bed after your run?”

A quiet sigh, and then Steve’s gravelly voice is in Tony’s ear: “Never went.”

“What? Why?”

“Missed you.”

Tony’s lips quirk up into a small smile without his permission. “I never went anywhere, baby.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Sorry, honey. Work gets crazy this time of the year.”

Steve hums again, lips resting against the back of Tony’s neck.

“And I’m really sorry, baby, but I have to go. More work awaits.”

“No,” Steve mutters decisively, throwing a leg over Tony’s body and pulling him in. 

Tony snorts, amused. “No?”

“No work. You’re mine for the day,” Steve grumbles, arm curling tighter around Tony’s stomach.

Tony strokes the arm Steve has around him soothingly. “Pepper’s going to have my head if I don’t check off at least half the things on my to-do-list today. You want your husband to stay alive, don’t you?”

“I’ve told Pepper to give you the day off.”

“You told Pepper to give me the day off? And she agreed, just like that?”

There is a period of silence, and then:

“There may have been… some flowers involved. And some cupcakes and… bagels sent to her office, along with a—” Steve breaks off to yawn. “A very sweet and carefully worded handwritten note.”

Tony pauses. Then he gasps. 

Turning around in Steve’s arms to take a proper look at him, the ends of Tony’s lips are tugged upwards in a disbelieving grin. 

“Did you— Did Captain America commit an act of bribery?”

Steve frowns, squinting at Tony, sleep still heavy in his eyes. “It wasn’t bribery. It was… a gesture of appreciation.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. Steve stares back at him.

Eventually, Steve sighs in defeat. Tony’s grin widens.

“Fine,” Steve grumbles, shuffling closer to bury his face in Tony’s chest, “it was bribery.”

Tony chuckles, running his fingers through Steve’s soft blond locks. 

“Captain. What would the people say?”

When Steve speaks, his muffled voice comes out rough and near incoherent, speech slurred groggily. “Captain America condemns bribery.” He lets out a content sigh, body melting further into Tony’s. “Steven Stark-Rogers, on the other hand, is not above bribery to get his husband a much-needed day off.”

Tony grins helplessly at his husband’s unfairly adorable antics, leaning down to nuzzle the top of Steve’s head fondly.

“What a menace you are, Mr. Stark-Rogers.”

His husband lets out another noncommittal hum that Tony feels against the bare skin of his chest.

“Go back to sleep, Mr. Stark-Rogers,” Steve mumbles. Tony closes his eyes obediently, slipping back into slumber with ease, a smile on his lips and a newfound lightness in his bones. 

(2)

The sun is shining brightly up in the clear blue sky. The farmers market is bustling with life, with people visiting various tents stationed along the long stretch of road, each offering a variety of fresh produce as well as various finger foods and cold beverages.

The road is also lined by trees on either side, their towering height allowing their leaves and branches to form a natural canopy high up above, effectively shielding people from the sun’s scorching heat. There is even a gentle summer breeze that blows every now and then.

All in all, it’s a wonderful summer day, perfect for an outdoor date.

Now, if only Tony’s husband would stop ruining the day by being a stubborn bastard.

“Steve, this is getting ridiculous.”

“What?”

“Give me a bag!”

“You have a bag.” Steve nods at the bag of red apples Tony is carrying.

Of course, that is nothing compared to the four bags of produce Steve is carrying. He even refuses to distribute the weight evenly between his two hands, insisting on carrying all four bags with one hand and using his other hand to hold Tony’s instead. He tries to reach around Steve in an attempt to grab one of the bags, grunting in frustration when Steve moves the bags beyond his reach. “Steve, your arm’s going to fall off. Just— Give some to me.”

“Tony, your shoulder just barely healed.”

“It’s completely healed. It’s fine, Steve. Just—”

Tony reaches for the bags again only for Steve to catch his arm and bring it back down. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. I’m a supersoldier.”

“You do not get to pull the supersoldier card right now.”

“Why not?”

“Steven, let me hold some of the bags.”

“You want something to hold? Fine, I’ll give you something to hold.”

Steve reaches for Tony’s arm and secures it around his own waist. Tony glares up at his husband and removes his arm from said waist with a sigh. 

“Come on—”

Letting out an abrupt grunt and doubling over dramatically, Steve clutches his own waist and fakes a pained expression. “Oh, why is my waist suddenly so heavy?”

“Steve, that doesn’t even make any sense—”

“Oh, God. So, so heavy. If only my husband were around to help me hold it—”

Tony rolls his eyes, slipping his arm back around Steve’s waist.

Pulling Tony closer so that he is pressed flush against his side, Steve beams at him, smile bright as the sun. “I feel a lot better now. Thank you.”

He leans down to kiss the tip of Tony’s nose. Tony wrinkles his nose, but he is determined to not let his glare falter.

“Ugh, I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

(3)

“Tony.”

Steve’s face falls the second he sees Tony walking into the study. Somehow, Steve has managed to infuse an impressive amount of frustration into the two syllables making up Tony’s name. 

Tony freezes after having taken a few steps into the room, wide eyes blinking in bewilderment and a mug of hot tea in his hand. He racks his brain to figure out whatever sin he has committed to make Steve’s face crumple up like that—sandy brows furrowed and the edges of his lip tugged down into a displeased frown.

Coming up with nothing, he pads over quietly to the desk and sets the mug of Steve’s afternoon tea down on an empty space between a wooden penholder and a Stark Industries memo pad. Looking up at Tony from his seat in the plush leather office chair, Steve’s frown deepens.

Tony takes a few steps backward, hands raised in surrender.

“Whatever it is I did wrong, I’m sorry, and it’s one hundred percent my fault. Look, I even brought you a peace offering. A cup of tea to make you feel all warm and cozy?” Tony flashes him a wide, placating grin, gesturing to the mug sitting on the desk. Never mind that Tony has been bringing Steve his tea everyday for years now.

Not even sparing a glance at the mug of steaming English Breakfast, Steve stands up wordlessly.

Slowly, Steve begins walking toward him, eyes on Tony and frown still in place.

“What? I said I’m sorry.” 

Steve continues to walk toward him and Tony continues to walk backward until he feels his back hitting the wall.

“Honey, please—”

Slumping forward, Steve buries his face in the crook of Tony’s neck with a grunt, hands coming to rest on Tony’s waist.

“...Honey?”

“How am I supposed to get any work done if you walk around the house dressed like this?” Steve whines.

“What—” Tony blinks, looking down at his own attire—or rather, the lack thereof. Having just woken up from a nap, he is dressed only in his boxer briefs. A laugh bubbles up his throat, his entire body shaking with it. “Steven.”

“Don’t you ‘Steven’ me,” Steve grumbles.

“I don’t walk like this around the house all the time. I just woke up, honey.” Tony chuckles, hand coming up to bury his fingers in Steve’s hair, massaging his scalp lightly. “Go and finish your paperwork.”

“You can’t expect me to get any work done after seeing you like this,” Steve says, almost mournfully, nuzzling the delicate spot under Tony’s ear and sending a shiver down Tony’s spine. 

“Shut up, you sweet talker. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Also, you have to finish your paperwork. We have dinner plans, remember?”

“Can we cancel dinner?” Steve asks hopefully. He runs his index finger along the boxer briefs’ elastic waistband and Tony squirms, ever ticklish.

“We can’t, darling,” Tony says, soft and apologetic even as he grins. “We’ve cancelled on Carol and honeybear twice already. They’ll kill us if we cancel on them again, especially if the only reason we’re doing it is because you can’t keep your hands off of me.”

“Your fault for walking around naked.”

“I’m not naked.”

“I can get you naked.” Steve slips his thumbs under the waistband and Tony grabs his wrists, stopping him before things can truly escalate.

“Nope,” Tony says with a breathless giggle, squeezing his eyes shut and resolutely ignoring the delicious curl of heat in the pit of his stomach. “Dinner plans.”

Steve lets out a defeated sigh, stepping back with a pout. “I hate it when you’re being responsible.”

The sight brings a fond smile to Tony’s face and he hooks his fingers under Steve’s chin to drag him into a soft, languid kiss.

“Please,” Tony says before planting another kiss on his husband’s jawline, “you love me.”

“I do, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, blue eyes gazing down at him softly. “I really, really do.”

(4)

When Tony walks into the art studio and sees the floor littered with paintings of different shapes and sizes, he whistles.

“Look at you go, Picasso.”

Steve turns to him, brush in hand, face lighting up like a Christmas tree. There’s a streak of blue paint across his cheek that Tony is tempted not to tell him about.

“Picasso?” The sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the studio illuminates the entire room. From the doorway, Steve’s blond hair gleams golden.

Tony winces as he steps into the room. “Sorry, did I miss the mark completely? Art’s always been more of Pepper’s thing.” Steve grins, easy and bright. “I know.”

Over the years, Pepper and Steve have cultivated a monthly routine of sorts. They have a standing date—sans Tony—whenever Pepper comes over to visit. Bonding over Tony’s antics and the intricacies of fine art, they get along pretty well, much to Tony’s surprise and delight.

Tony tiptoes cautiously around the studio, taking extra care not to step on any of the paintings Steve has laid out to dry. When seen from up above, the wooden floor of the studio would probably look like some rendition of abstract art, the vibrant colors on the different paintings lying on it coming together to form another picture altogether.

He finally manages to make his way to where Steve is sitting, stationed in front of an easel carrying a piece of stretched canvas which has been painted with streaks of red and gold. He looks around and frowns at Steve. “There’s no place to sit. There’s barely any place to stand.”

Steve looks around to confirm Tony’s observation and laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, guess I got carried away.”

The art studio is always in some state of disarray and it drives Tony up the wall sometimes, if he were being honest.

“But there’s always a place for you to sit, sweetheart,” Steve croons, voice all soft and honey sweet. He curls an arm around Tony’s waist and draws him closer, fingers stained with dried paint of different colors resting on the small of his back. Steve nuzzles his stomach and plants a feather-light kiss on the spot just below his sternum. He looks up at Tony with a child-like grin. “Come sit on my lap?”

“Sap,” Tony remarks, but proceeds to sit down sideways on Steve’s lap, his legs perpendicular to Steve’s. Spotting the smears of colorful paint staining the floor and the painting supplies scattered all around the studio, Tony clucks his tongue in disapproval. “You know this is going to take forever to clean up, right?”

Steve’s grin widens and he starts trailing kisses along the column of Tony’s neck. “Maybe this was all part of an elaborate plan to get you to sit on my lap.”

Tony snorts. 

“I highly doubt that.”

(5)

“Sweetheart?”

“Hm?” Tony’s eyes are glued to his armor as he circles it to inspect the damage from all angles, the suit looking slightly worse for wear. Nothing that a little tinkering and a new paint job won’t fix, but the real problem lies within. He had experienced a brief glitch with his right repulsor mid-battle and he is hoping that he will be able to pinpoint the source of the problem immediately after JARVIS finishes running diagnostics.

“Come here for a second?”

Tony walks to where Steve is lying down on the workshop couch, long legs stretched out comfortably along its length. He beckons Tony closer.

“Come here, I need to tell you something,” he whispers, like someone who is about to divulge a monumental secret.

Tony bends down obediently. Steve reaches up to cup Tony’s cheeks in his hands, leaning close until their noses are brushing against each other.

“You look really good in a tank top.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth jerks upward in an amused smile. “You just called me over to say that?”

“Well, no. I also wanted to do this.” Steve promptly hooks his arms and legs around Tony and pulls him down.

Letting out a surprised yelp, Tony lands on top of Steve’s body. Steve grins smugly before tilting his head to growl playfully in his ear. “Caught you. You’re trapped now. Good luck escaping.”

Tony tests Steve’s hold. Steve’s limbs tighten their hold in response. Hiding a smile in Steve’s chest even as he sighs, Tony says:

“Steven, darling, love of my life. As much as I’m enjoying this, I’m afraid that my broken armor isn’t going to fix itself.”

“Shhh,” Steve whispers into his hair, “you look tired. You deserve a break.”

“Baby—”

“Okay, okay. And maybe, I just wanted to hold my husband for a moment. Can we stay like this for a while? Give me one minute.” Steve plants a kiss on the top of his head. “Please?”

“...Okay. One minute. Start the countdown.”

“Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…” Steve begins. 

Tony allows himself the luxury of melting into Steve’s arms, relishing the way the solid warmth of Steve’s hold squeezes the tension out of his own muscles.

“Fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight…” Steve’s warm breath tickles Tony’s forehead as he continues to count down. 

“Forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight…” Eyes closed, Tony focuses on Steve’s voice and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. 

They stay like that for a while, both of them calm and content, Steve’s hushed voice counting down the seconds the only sound in the room. Time passes by slowly and too quickly at the same time, and the next thing Tony knows, Steve has reached the final ten seconds.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five…”

Then Steve turns quiet. Tony waits, but when Steve doesn’t continue the countdown, he looks up. His husband is already gazing at him, face looking deceitfully innocent.

“Honey?”

“Hm?” Steve says distractedly as he caresses Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. 

“You stopped counting.”

“Oh. Did I?” Steve asks, still maintaining his ridiculous charade. “Sorry, sweetheart. You know how forgetful I am.” His thumb migrates down to Tony’s bottom lip, as does the gaze of his blue eyes. “I am a centenarian, after all. My memory is just not what it used to be.”

Tony sighs fondly. “Continue the count, please.”

“Will do, sweetheart.” Steve smiles. “Thirty…”

“Five.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You stopped at five.”

“I did?” Steve’s smile widens, leaning forward to capture Tony’s lips in a kiss.

“I know what you’re doing,” Tony says against Steve’s lips.

When Steve leans back, his face is all confusion. His blue eyes, however, are teeming with mischief. “And what is it that I’m doing? I told you, sweetheart, I’m just a very forgetful person.”

Tony rolls his eyes before resting his head back on Steve’s chest. 

“Let’s go, soldier.” He pats the side of Steve’s thigh. “Start with five.”

“Sir, yes, Sir. Five, four, three and a half, three…”

“What the—”

“Two and a half, two…”

Tony pokes him in the side.

“One and three-quarters…”

Giving up, Tony breaks into laughter. “Honey.”

“One and a half, one and a quarter, and…”

“Uno. Okay, good job, Captain. Let me go now.” Tony tries to wriggle his way out of Steve’s hold, but Steve’s limbs remain unyielding.

“Shhh. Zero,” Steve whispers. And then:

“Minus one…”

“Steve, no!”

Laughing gleefully, Steve finally releases Tony. “Okay, okay. I’m letting go.”

Tony extricates himself from Steve’s hold. Steve glides his fingers along Tony’s arm as he does—determined to get his fill of physical contact until the very last second—and it ends with him catching Tony’s wrist just before Tony is about to stand.

His warm blue eyes hold Tony’s gaze as he brings said wrist to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to the pulse point. Something warm unfurls in Tony’s chest at the way Steve’s every movement screams of his reluctance to let Tony go. 

“Meet me for dinner later?” Steve whispers against his skin.

“Of course, baby. Wouldn’t miss date night for anything,” Tony promises.

With that, Steve lets Tony’s wrist go with a sigh before throwing an arm over his own eyes.

“Now go. Before I change my mind.”

Tony leaves, snickering all the while at his husband’s dramatics.

(+1)

“I need a hug. And a kiss. And I need you to tell me that you love me.”

It has taken years for Tony to be entirely comfortable with asking for affection in such a blatant way, but over time he has learned that doing so—actually communicating his needs and wants—has actually done wonders for their relationship. He desperately needs some loving at the moment—the end-result of a long day of all work, no play, and the worst of all: no Steve.

Plus, there is also the fact that Steve always turns all soft and happy without fail whenever Tony does ask for some affection. 

Steve blinks and turns his head around from where he is crouched in front of the oven, waiting not-so-patiently for his mac and cheese to finish baking. At the sight of Tony sitting atop the kitchen counter, legs swinging lightly and eyes staring back at him expectantly, a slow smile blooms on his face. He stands up and makes his way to Tony. 

Enveloping Tony in his arms, Steve presses his lips to Tony’s temple. Tony scoots forward and wraps his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders, locking his ankles around his husband’s waist like a koala on a tree. 

Pulling back slightly to plant a kiss on the corner of Tony’s mouth, Steve cradles his jaw, thumb rubbing his cheek affectionately. “I love you, sweetheart. So much.”

Then he pulls Tony close again, gently placing Tony’s face back in the crook of his neck. Steve rests his head against Tony’s and sways their joined bodies together slightly from side to side, humming a slow love song that Tony knows he has been listening to repeatedly for the past week. 

Tony inhales and lets Steve’s comforting scent fill his lungs, a mix of his coconut-scented body wash and the laundry detergent they share together. It smells a lot like home. 

For the first time since he woke up in the morning, Tony’s day is finally looking up. 

“This is nice,” Tony mumbles tiredly into Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve hums sympathetically, gradually stopping their swaying. His hand comes up to massage the back of Tony’s neck. “Rough day?”

“Something like that.”

“You did a great job today.” Steve’s fingers are still pressing into his neck in slow, circular motions. “You worked very hard at the office. I love you.”

Lips brushing Steve’s neck as he speaks, he says, “You don’t know that. You weren’t there.”

“There are some things that I just know. For example, my husband worked hard today. My husband did an excellent job today.”

Tony snorts.

“Here’s another example. I didn’t see you at all today, but I knew, I just knew that my husband looked beautiful today.” Steve pulls back, cupping Tony’s cheeks and looking down at him. “And would you look at that,” Steve says, voice hushed with something akin to awe, “I was right after all.”

Tony squeezes his eyes shut. “You are so corny,” he says, in the hopes that his remark would distract Steve from his burning cheeks. Years of being married to Steve and the man can still make Tony blush like no other. He just doesn’t understand how Steve can make all these sappy declarations sound so sincere, so genuine. Like he’s just stating an indisputable truth.

“I am also so very right. You are beautiful.”

“Corny.” Tony keeps his eyes shut.

“Beautiful,” Steve whispers in his ear, warm breath tickling his skin. A fleeting kiss is planted on Tony’s cheek. 

For a few seconds, nothing happens. Hesitantly, Tony opens his eyes. He is greeted by the sight of Steve bending down slightly to meet his eye level, hands planted on the counter on either side of Tony, eyes looking straight into his.

Steve’s smile turns lopsided when Tony meets his eyes.

“Hey there, beautiful.”

Tony punches Steve’s shoulder lightly in protest and buries his face in his hands.

“Jesus Christ, stop. I will hurt you.”

“Hm, feisty. I like it.”

“Please just go check on your food or something,” Tony mumbles miserably, voice muffled by his own hands. “It’s probably burning.”

Chuckling lightly, Steve finally lets him off the hook with a kiss to the top of his head. “Love you, sweetheart. Go shower, dinner will be ready in a minute.”

Tony hops off the counter and makes a hasty escape, lest Steve continue torturing him with more saccharine words that make him want to melt into the floor in embarrassment.

His husband can be so ridiculous sometimes.

(He wouldn’t change it for the world.)

[writethelifeyouwant]

Meet the Parents

Pairing: Cordell x Trevor x Stella 

Rating: 18+

Summary: When Stella brings her boyfriend home from college to stay the weekend, they are planning on doing a bit more than just “spending the night together”... and it certainly turns out to be more than that once Cordell overhears them in Stella’s room.  

Word Count: 4.7k

Created for: @walker-bingo​ Free Space | @anyfandomgoesbingo​ Meet the Parents/Family

Tags/Warnings: Incest, Father/Daughter Incest, Threesome, fingering (f and m rec), oral (f rec), rimming, instruction kink, daddy kink, p in v, p in a, condoms, creampie 

A/N: I’m going to hell, please come keep me company. 

Stella had gotten back from college earlier that afternoon, usual bag of laundry in tow, but she had some extra baggage this time - the boyfriend. Cordell has heard whispers of ‘the boyfriend’ from August, who spoke to his sister a little more regularly than he did, not surprisingly. No eighteen year-old fresh out of their parents’ house wants to be texting their father 24/7, but he would have appreciated some kind of heads up that they were expecting company for the weekend. 

Cordell’s sitting in the den, bourbon in hand, listening to the crickets outside chattering away, but they aren’t quite loud enough to drown out the soft giggles and whispers that are leaking from Stella’s room right now. He feels his hand clench around his glass almost like it’s a phantom limb, everything feels numb except for his ears, burning with the strain of trying to listen to what Stella and Trevor might be saying. He’s confident that whatever it is they are talking about, he doesn’t actually want to overhear the conversation. 

Draining the remainder of his drink, Cordell makes his way to the counter to pour a refill. 

He wasn’t going to bed until he knew for a fact that everyone else had gone to sleep, and from the sounds of it, Trevor and Stella weren’t exactly close to settling in. There’s a short burst of laughter and a ‘shh’, and Cordell looks up at his daughter’s closed bedroom door, moodily. 

His mind flashes back to his baby girl sneaking into the kitchen an hour ago, small pyjama shorts riding up far too high, clearly rooting through the fridge for some beers to sneak back to her room. She’d jumped when Cordell cleared his throat behind her, sitting forwards from his spot on the couch, so the light of the refrigerator caught on his stern face. 

“Whatcha doin’ there, Stella Blue?” 

“Hi, Dad,” she squeaks, tucking her hands behind her in the fridge. “Just, um,” she scrambles for something out of sight, “grabbing this.” Stella pulls a soda from behind her back. 

“Really?” Cordell smirks, not angry, he’d been expecting something like this - that’s why he was up and sitting on the couch, waiting. “Caffeine? At this hour?” Even August, teenage boy obsessed with the internet that he is, had turned out his lights and gone to bed a little while ago. 

“I - uh…” Stella grimaces. 

“Why don’t you put that back, Stels?” He feels his lips tighten and brows furrow in his best attempt at ‘stern dad’ without looking angry. For a moment, Stella looks like she’s going to argue but then she thinks better of it, puts away the soda, and slinks back to her room, shutting the door softly behind her. 

Another giggle breaks him from his reverie and his hand closes into a fist against the cold granite counter, fighting the urge to knock and tell them to go to bed. He downs the new measure of bourbon he’s just poured out, desperately wishing he could erase some of the things he’s heard tonight. But the alcohol and the burning in his throat do nothing to block out the soft groan that slips from beneath his daughter’s door. 

It was so quiet, he isn’t positive he’d heard it. And his Ranger brain kicks in, trying to find any possible explanation for what the noise could have been; the wind outside, an animal in the ranch paddock… the creak of a bed spring. That is definitely what the new sound he’s just heard is – a muffled squeak as bodies shift on a too old mattress and less than well-oiled box spring. It’s quickly followed by another quiet groan, and Cordell grits his teeth and takes a long swig of bourbon, foregoing the formality of pouring it into the glass first. 

The bottle is halfway to his lips again when he hears a small, high-pitched whine – Stella’s – but something seems … off. Cordell has known his baby girl for eighteen years. He knows what she sounds like when she’s happy, when she’s tired, when she’s sad, when she’s hurt. There’s another small whimper and Cordell strains to hear better. He needs to be sure. The third time he hears it he’s certain. That’s not a happy sound coming from his daughter’s bedroom, it’s one of discomfort, one of pain. Cordell bursts through the door in a fury, already rolling up his sleeves in preparation for tearing this Trevor kid in two for hurting his baby girl. 

“Aah, Dad!” Stella screams, pulling her pyjama top back down to cover her exposed breasts and yanking Trevor’s hand out of her shorts. Cordell stops dead, unprepared for the shock that it is seeing Stella splayed out on her bed, chest bare and trembling, and her boyfriend’s fingers between her legs. In his burning rage he also feels a flare of desire distracting enough to delay him wringing Trevor’s neck. 

Trevor is very carefully trying to shift away from Stella in the bed, like Cordell is less likely to beat him up if he increases the distance between himself and his daughter, and the movement draws Cordell’s attention back to the boy – the very naked boy – in his daughter’s bed.  

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Cordell hisses, finding the presence of mind to shut the door behind him so August doesn’t walk by and see what’s happening inside. “You think you can come into my house, force yourself on my daughter? Boy, I learned how to castrate bulls when I was ten. What do you think I’m about to do with you, huh?” Trevor is frozen in terror, boner now completely limp, his cock retreating like a turtle into its shell. 

“Dad, no!” Stella exclaims, pulling a blanket over Trevor to cover his modesty. 

“Stella, don’t worry baby, I’m not gonna let this piece of scum touch you ever again,” Cordell promises, storming towards the pair on the bed. 

“No, Daddy,” she tries again, standing up to put herself between Cordell and Trevor. “Stop. He wasn’t forcing me! I wanted it.” Cordell stops short, looking down at Stella, who has her hands pressing against his chest in an effort to calm him. “I –” Stella swallows nervously, looking him in the eye. “I’m sorry, Daddy, but I wanted this. That’s why I asked him to come stay this weekend, we wanted to, y’know…” she can’t get the words out. “Don’t hurt him, he wasn’t forcing me.” 

“But,” Cordell’s mind is still reeling from the fact that Stella is standing here in front of him telling him she planned to lose her virginity this weekend, “Stels, I heard you. You sounded like he was hurting you.”

“I would never hurt her,” Trevor shoots up in the bed, angrily, but cows under Cordell’s glare, “um, sir,” he finishes lamely. 

“Stella,” Cordell sits her down on the end of her bed and drops to one knee in front of her. He brushes her long red hair off her face, cupping her cheek gently, and focusing on her soft blue eyes, shimmering with nerves. “I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me. Was he hurting you?” 

Stella shakes her head immediately but takes a moment to find her words, Cordell can tell she’s holding something back. “No,” she finally starts, “not, um, not on purpose.” 

“What?” Trevor and Cordell speak simultaneously and equally confused. 

“It.. he, um, he didn’t hurt me Dad,” Stella is stronger in her conviction now, “it just,” she grimaces, stalling. Cordell finally understands. 

“He wasn’t very good, was he?” Cordell grimaces in sympathy, and a little amusement at Trevor’s expense. Stella shakes her head ever so slightly, and Cordell laughs. Trevor is sitting in an embarrassed silence behind them, clutching the blanket in his lap. Cordell stands, brushing a hand down the back of Stella’s head as he rounds on the boy. “You ever touched a girl before, Trevor?”

“Yes,” he answers indignantly. 

“You ever made a girl cum before?” Cordell is a little taken aback by his own bluntness, but he supposes the seven or eight shots of liquor he’s had over the past hour must be fogging his brain a little. 

“Yes,” Trevor answers again, but his doubt is evident. 

“You don’t sound too sure about that, son,” Cordell pokes, standing over him now, arms crossing over his chest. Trevor tries to stutter out an answer but he doesn’t manage any actual words. “From where I was standing, it sounds like you could use a few lessons,” Cordell smirks knowingly. 

“Dad, leave him alone,” Stella objects, climbing back up the bed to Trevor’s side. 

“What?” he feigns innocence, smiling. “I’m just looking out for my baby girl. Can’t have you getting hurt, even by accident.” 

“Dad,” she whines again, burying her head in Trevor’s shoulder. 

“Plus,” Cordell kneels again, putting himself back on their level, “what kind of daddy would I be if I didn’t make sure you were being taken good care of?” Both teens are clearly not sure what they’re supposed to say to that. Cordell takes advantage of their silence and sits on the edge of the bed, and Trevor recoils slightly into Stella’s arms, which are wrapped around his waist. “So,” Cordell brings his hand up to Trevor’s face and brushes a curl behind his ear, keeping eye contact with the boy as he speaks, “he a good kisser, Stels? Or is he useless at that too?”

“Yeah – no – he’s… he’s a good kisser, Daddy,” Stella blushes, her answers given in an almost trance-like state. 

“Well, let’s find out,” and he leans forward to kiss the younger boy, hand still in his curly brown hair. 

Their lips meet hesitantly, like Cordell is waiting for Trevor to pull away, and Trevor is waiting for Cordell to tell him this whole thing is a joke, but now they are kissing softly – like you would at the end of a first date, when you still need to find out what they like. Stella’s cheeks burn as she watches her father kiss her boyfriend gently, surprised by the surge of arousal she feels pulsing through her at the sight. She knows what Trevor’s lips feel like against hers, soft and wet and insistent, and she wonders if they feel the same to her daddy. They break apart with sharp gasps, and Cordell’s eyes flick to hers, glinting in the low light. 

“Well, at least I know he’s been showing you a good time so far, baby girl,” he smirks at her, and Stella nods gingerly. “C’mere, sweetie,” Cordell motions her forwards, and she goes willingly, not knowing what he was planning to do but wanting desperately to find out. “Kiss her,” he breathes at Trevor, and the boy listens, leaning forwards and drawing Stella into him. 

Trevor’s kiss overwhelms her, and Stella melts against his bare chest. His kiss is familiar and warm, but the hand against her back is new. It’s larger, rougher, and it curls into her skin more possessively than Trevor’s fingers ever had. Stella moans into Trevor’s lips, letting his tongue wrap around hers, and her daddy’s fingers twist into the hair on the back of her head. 

“There you go, sweetheart,” he whispers against her ear, and Stella whimpers, this time very clearly from pleasure and not discomfort. The hand against her back pushes down, and Stella follows, straddling Trevor and laying down over him, tangling their hands together on the pillow by his head. As they continue to kiss and grind, she feels Trevor’s erection through the thin cotton of her shorts. Pleased that she can feel his reaction to her, she rubs over him eagerly – and her daddy must have noticed, because his hand drags down her back and lands on her hip, encouraging her grinding. 

Trevor moans and ruts up between her legs, and the pressure there against her core feels amazing. “Shit,” Trevor groans into her lips. 

“She gettin’ wet yet?” Stella whines in embarrassment and arousal at her daddy’s words. 

“Yeah,” Trevor pants from beneath her, “can feel it, even through her shorts.” Stella hides her face in the crook of his shoulder, but can’t stop herself rubbing against the hard member between her thighs. 

“Fuck,” Cordell is smirking, Stella can hear it in his voice. “You must be soaking, baby girl.”

“Mmhmm,” Stella’s voice is muffled in the pillow, but  she doesn’t want to pick up her head and reveal just how much her daddy’s words are turning her on. 

“Bet you taste so fuckin’ sweet, baby,” Cordell’s fingers ghost over her bottom, drawing dangerously close to the wet patch that is clearly visible on her little shorts. “You wanna taste her, son? Get your first good lick of pussy?” Trevor’s groan answers him. “Roll over, Stels, on your back, honey.” Stella lets her father’s hands push her off of Trevor and onto the bed.

“Get those clothes off her,” Cordell commands Trevor, and he eagerly complies, reaching out to pull Stella’s shorts down her slim, pale legs, stretched out beneath him, cradled in the sheets. She pulls her own top over her head, small perky breasts slipping free, and Cordell can’t take his eyes off them. Fuck, his baby girl has grown up so fuckin’ pretty. “Spread your legs for us, baby.” He puts his hand on one of her thighs and encourages them to part, revealing her glistening core. “Now, hands and knees, boy, c’mon,” he spins his finger in the air, indicating Trevor needs to turn himself around and get between Stella’s legs. 

The boy climbs to the space where Cordell wants him and settles on his hands and knees, staring at the spot between Stella’s thighs where he clearly wants to be, but keeping still, because he hasn’t been told to do anything else yet. Cordell hops off the bed and quickly unbuttons his shirt, discarding it on the floor, where it’s joined shortly by his belt and pants. He crawls back onto the bed behind Trevor, and smooths a large, calloused hand up his thigh and over his ass. 

“You strike me as more of a ‘hands on learner’, buddy. That true?” 

“Yes, Sir,” Trevor nods, hoping that’s the answer Cordell was looking for. 

“Good. Then I’m gonna show you everything you’ve gotta do to make my little girl cum for you. You want that?” 

“Yes,” the boy answers eagerly. 

“You’ve just gotta follow my lead, do everything I do, okay?” 

“Mm-hmm.” Another nod, and then a shocked gasp, as Cordell leans down and runs his tongue up the seam of Trevor’s ass, right over his hole. He does it again, the same simple motion, one lick bottom to top, and Trevor groans, shuddering beneath him. 

“I thought I told you to do everything I do?” Cordell huffs when he draws back and sees Trevor’s head hanging limply between his shoulders. “Don’t leave my baby waiting.” He doesn’t move back to his task until he sees Trevor dip his head and drag his tongue over Stella’s entrance, and up to the small bundle of nerves at its peak. Stella almost squeals, hands rushing to clutch in the boy’s curls and make him stay there between her legs. He licks against her again and she whines, high and desperate. 

“Daddy…” she whimpers, tossing her head back. 

“You’re doing so good, baby girl.” Cordell brushes the hair out of her eyes, which are currently squeezed closed in pleasure. “Look so pretty… all spread out for us – doesn’t she?” 

“Mmm,” Trevor hums against Stella, his tongue still drawing its lines up and down her core. Cordell grins behind him, happy he’s not taking his mind off the task at hand. Stella’s breathing is sharp and quick, still not familiar with the sensation of having a tongue playing with her pussy, and he’s about to teach Trevor some more tricks to make her squirm. 

Cordell draws his tongue flat along Trevor’s hole, laving at the expanse of skin beneath it as well. The chain reaction of moans from Trevor and then Stella tells him that Trevor has copied his movement over Stella’s entrance. He quickly changes tact and traces the tip of his tongue in small circles right over Trevor’s hole, making it flutter and twitch, then soothing it with longer licks. “You feel what I’m doing to you?” Cordell hums into Trevor’s skin, and the boy moans in affirmation. “Do that right over her clit, nice and light— there ya go,” Stella keens across her daddy’s instructions, making him smile. “Now go ahead and give it a nice hard suck, and keep your tongue moving, just like that, yeah,” Cordell strokes his hand over Trevor’s back as he continues to build Stella closer and closer to her orgasm. 

Stella’s hands are gripping the quilt beneath her like she’s about to fall off a cliff and that’s the only thing that’s keeping her grounded. Her daddy moves up to her side, grabbing her hand and winding their fingers together, so she can hang on to him instead. She turns and buries her face in Cordell’s side, while still pushing her hips harder into her boyfriend’s mouth, whimpering in pleasure. Cordell draws soothing circles over the back of her hand as she clutches him even tighter. 

“You need to cum, baby girl?” He keeps his voice soothing, and steady. Stella nods into his side. “Alright, sweetheart.” He brushes the hair back from her face, so he can watch her expression. “Okay son, want you to take your finger and push the tip inside her, just a little bit.” Trevor doesn’t make an audible response, but Cordell can tell when he does it because Stella’s breath hitches, pushing her chest into his leg. “Alright, now work it deeper, go real slow for me.” He sees Trevor’s arm start to push in and out of his little girl. “There’s a spot you want to find, if you move your finger along the top…” and after a moment Stella moans, deep and full. “Yeah, feels good doesn’t it, baby girl?” Stella whines and answers by bucking her hips down into Trevor’s finger. “Okay keep rubbing against it like that, and get your mouth back on her —” another moan from Stella “— now a little faster —”

“Oh my god,” Stella is close to sobbing with the pleasure, now. “Daddy, Daddy, please.” Cordell can’t help the smirk that splits his face when he hears Stella begging him, not Trevor, to make her cum. 

“Go ahead and cum Stels,” he squeezes her hand. “Be my good girl, cum for Daddy now, c’mon.” 

“Daddy!” She squeals as her body convulses, then stiffens, back arching off the bed in a graceful curve that pushes the pale flesh of her breasts right towards Cordell’s face, and he can’t help but lean down and kiss one nipple, gently. 

“Good girl, Stels,” he strokes his big hand down her belly, which is still twitching with the aftershocks of her orgasm. “Did so, so good for me, baby girl.” When Stella can finally peel her eyes open, and they find her daddy’s face above her, her smile is blinding, if a little dazed. 

“Fuck, that was hot, baby,” Trevor groans, reaching down to stroke himself. 

“Now, please, tell me you two have protection around here somewhere.” Cordell goes to the bedside drawer where Stella’s pointing, telling himself that it’s a good thing his baby girl was keeping condoms on hand. He finds the packet in the drawer, grabbing two, and luckily finds a small bottle of lube, too, which he brings back to the bed with him. He stalwartly does not think about the hint of bright pink he uncovered in his searching that was most definitely a dildo, lodged beside an open packet of birth control pills. 

“You ready to start the real work, son?” 

“Yes, Sir,” the boy groans, shuffling his knees closer to Stella, still between her legs. 

“Woah there partner, not so fast,” Cordell grabs his shoulder and pushes him back down to his hands and knees, ass in the air. “Gotta get you both ready first. You’re gonna follow my lead again, yeah?” Trevor hums an affirmative response. 

Cordell grabs the lube and gets some on his fingers, before tossing the bottle back to the covers. He brings one wet finger to the entrance winking up at him, and traces his fingertip up and down the seam, spreading the lube around before he pushes lightly against the opening, testing its give. It takes a moment for Trevor to relax, but Cordell gets the tip of his finger in eventually. “You gotta relax, boy, let me in. Focus on your girl there, you’re here to make her feel good, yeah?” He sees his curls bounce up and down as Trevor nods and brings his hand back to Stella’s pussy, drawing his finger through her slick before he pushes his middle finger in. 

Cordell continues to pump his first finger in and out of Trevor’s ass, feeling the boy loosening around him, until he’s ready for another finger. He pulls out and adds more lube, before bringing the digits back and pushing two slowly but firmly back in. “Start to stretch her out now, add another finger in.” Stella whimpers when Trevor draws out and re-enters her with two fingers this time. 

“Feel good darlin’?” Stella nods, locking eyes with her daddy. “I bet she’s nice and tight, ain’t she, son?”

“Yes, Sir,” Trevor pants, forehead resting against his left forearm. He seems to really be enjoying Cordell’s fingers in his ass. “She’s so fuckin’ tight. F-feels good.” 

“Try to fit another finger in there, stretch that pussy out real good f’me.” Cordell punctuates his statement by adding more lube and a third finger into Trevor’s opening, and the boy can’t contain his groan of pleasure at the thicker intrusion. 

“Fuck,” he moans, pushing a three fingers into Stella, who is dripping enough to make a spot on the sheets beneath her. She lets out an answering moan and bucks her hips up into Trevor’s hand. 

“Oh, looks like someone’s getting a little greedy, huh baby?” Cordell smirks down at his daughter, writhing on the bed, hair splayed out around her like a wreath of flames. She whines at him in response, pushing down into the fingers inside her again. “You think you’re ready for a cock, baby girl? Want your boyfriend to fill up that slutty little hole you got there?”

“Yes, Daddy, please,” she mewls, thrusting her hips again. 

“What about you, huh? Think you’re ready f’my cock?” Cordell chooses his moment well, and intentionally strokes over Trevor’s prostate when he asks the question, prompting an answering ‘fuck yes’ out of the boy. “Good answer.” 

Cordell opens one condom packet and rolls the thin barrier over Trevor’s dick for him, running the extra lube from his hand over the covered member once he’s down, then quickly rips into the second packet and rolls it on himself, before grabbing for more lube and drizzling it over himself and the tight little hole he’s about to fuck himself into. 

Trevor shifts up the bed so he’s pressed against Stella and he can run the tip of his cock through her slick folds. She pushes back against him lightly, but waits for her dad’s say so, still. Cordell ruts himself along the crack of Trevor’s ass, teasing. When the tip of his cock catches against the boy’s rim, he lets out a hiss. 

“Okay, you ready Stels?” She nods up at him. “Alright, if you need to stop you can just say, baby.” She nods again. Cordell gives Trevor a swat on the ass to indicate he should move. The muscles in his back clench as he pushes the head of his cock inside of the wet heat he’s surely been dying to get to all night. Stella’s face scrunches up as he drives himself steadily deeper inside of her, until he’s pushed in as far as he can go. Both teens let out choked moans at the feeling of finally being this wrapped up in one another. 

“Give ‘er a minute to get used to the feel of you, stay real still,” Cordell presses the head of his cock against Trevor and thrusts in shallowly, easing himself along with soft grunts, listening for any sounds of discomfort, but all he hears from the boy beneath him are small groans of pleasure. Once he’s inside, he smooths his hand up and down Trevor’s back giving him a moment to adjust as well. 

His first thrust in is shallow, but it drags the head of his cock right over Trevor’s prostate and the jolt of pleasure it sends up his body grinds him forward into Stella, drawing a moan from her. She bucks up into Trevor, forcing him deeper inside of her and simultaneously pushing him back onto her daddy’s cock. 

“That’s it, baby girl,” Cordell groans, thrusting harder into the tight heat wrapped around him, “show us how much you want it. Show us how greedy that little pussy is, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck!” Stella pants, arching into Trevor’s hips and grinding her clit against him. 

“Shit, you look so good like that darlin’. Looks so good with a cock inside her, doesn’t she?” 

“Fuck yeah. Feel so good, baby, fuck,” Trevor isn’t able to move much, being pinned between Cordell and Stella, both fucking themselves harder and harder into him, but he thrusts back against Stella with push of her daddy’s dick inside of him. Cordell’s impressed the kid’s lasted this long without busting his nut yet, considering the amount of stimulation he’s currently being subjected to, and Stella looks like she’s about to tip over the edge again along with him. He fucks into them even harder, pace quickening with each piston of his hips, and he hears Stella’s whimpers climb higher and higher as Trevor is pushed into her faster with each thrust. 

“You wanna cum again, sweetheart? Gonna cum all over that cock inside you like a good little slut? Yeah? You gonna be Daddy’s good little girl?” Cordell’s taunts push Trevor over his edge and he stutters in his pace, his ass clenching around the cock still fucking him as he cums inside Stella with a broken groan. Irritated, and on the cusp of his own orgasm, he pulls out of Trevor and throws him off of his daughter. Stella whines at the loss, and he can see her pussy clenching around the emptiness. “S’okay, baby girl, Daddy’s gotcha.” He pulls his condom off quickly and ruts his cock through Stella’s folds to ease his way when he pushes inside her. She’s so tight and warm and wet, Cordell knows he won’t last long himself, but he can wait until he’s taken care of his little girl, first. 

“Oh god, Daddy, please,” Stella moans, pressing her hips back into the cock inside her, clearly relieved to be filled up again. 

“Yeah, that’s it, honey, you fuck yourself real good on my cock. Want you to cum so hard, okay baby? Be Daddy’s perfect little slut, yeah?” Cordell lifts Stella’s ankles over his shoulders and begins a punishing pace, raking over the sweet spot inside her faster and faster on every thrust. Stella’s breath is coming in gasps so short he’s not sure she can even breathe. “C’mon baby girl, cum for your Daddy. Want you to cum for me before I fill you up. Gotta take care of you first darlin’, so c’mon, cum for me.” 

Stella turns her head into her pillow and screams her release, her whole body shaking as she cums, her walls clenching hard around the cock inside her, giving Cordell exactly what he needed to fall over the edge. He seizes up bent over Stella, her legs dropping to his sides and her arms curling around him, like he was an anchor keeping her from drifting away into nothing. A small kiss placed on her forehead, and a whisper of ‘good girl, baby’, and Cordell pulls himself out slowly, groaning at the sight of his cock laced with the white of their climaxes. He flops to the side of the bed and happily makes room for Stella when she curls into his side, drawing her fingers through the hair on his chest, seemingly lost in thought. 

“What’s on your mind, Butterbean?” Cordell asks, worriedly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.  

“Just thinkin’,” she smiles serenely. 

“About…?” 

“About how I’m never bringing a boyfriend home to meet you again.”

Tags: @vulgar-library​ @tintentrinkerin​ @negans-lucille-tblr​ @fandomfic-galore​ @petitgateau911​ @whoreforackles​ @schaefchenherde​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @little-diable​ @laxe-chester67​ @kassyscarlett​ @sonofslaanesh69​ @walkersbabygirl​ @austin-winchester67​ 

[lordabovehelpme]

Stormy Day- Din Djarin x Reader 

This amazing moodboard is done by @jedi-jesi !!!

A/n: Hello! So I had this idea and literally could not stop myself from writing it. 

This is the next part to my Days filled with love series!

You can find the first part here! 

Warnings: Children, mother reader, f! reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud boom of thunder wakes you from your slumber. Opening your eyes, you peer out the window. Rain patters against the roof and wind howls through the trees. Their branches sway and creak in the moonlight, casting daunting shadows across the wall. Light flashes and illuminates your room as it dances throughout the sky. Soon after, a loud echoing rumble reverberates throughout the house.

Subconsciously, your hand raises to rest on the weight atop your chest. Your fingers slowly weave in and out of your husbands curls, grounding yourself. His head rests perfectly nestled on your sternum. Soft breaths fall from his open mouth and the rise and fall of his chest pushes against your side.

Instinctively his arms tighten around your sides, pulling you further into his embrace. “Cyare?” His voice, husky and rough from sleep, vibrates down your spine.

“Did I wake you? Sorry.” Rubbing slow circles to his temple, you try and lull him back to sleep. All you get for an answer is a lazy kiss to your skin.

Another loud boom of thunder crashes through the peaceful moment. And, as if on cue, Tobbi starts crying from his crib next to your bed. A groan falls from your husband's lips as you shimmy from beneath his hold.

Once free from his limbs, you lean over and press a kiss to his forehead. “Duty calls.” Taking the three or so steps it does to reach the twin’s cribs, you grab your son from his. Bringing him into your arms and resting him against your chest, you start to shush him.

His wails turn into cries as you sway, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Patting his back softly, you rub soothing circles on it. However, he still hiccups as tears fall from his eyes.

“Oh baby,” you coo, “Did the storm wake you?” Still swaying, you make your way to the large window in your room. Gazing outside, you inspect the damage so far that the storm has created. “Shh, Tobbi, look. Look at the waves on the lake.”

Turning his small form, you point at the large crashing waves. The wind howls and stirs the usually calm water. It rises to towering heights before striking on the shore. Another roll of thunder echoes through the sky and a whimper comes from your son.

His little head turns into your form and small hands clutch at your sleep shirt. Rubbing his back again, you whisper him words of adoration. You tell him that he’s safe and nothing could ever harm him when he is in your embrace. Teary eyes stare up at you in the moonlight and his cries become silent. Little fingernails scratch at your skin and small feet occasionally kick.

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you glance over at the sleeping form of your daughter. She is fast asleep and as you get closer you can hear the little breaths falling from his lips. Just like your husband, she can, and will sleep through anything.

Clutching Tobbi to your chest, you crawl back into bed. Two large palms rise from underneath the blankets and come to rest on his son. The mandalorian lifts his head and shifts onto his back then proceeds to grab his wide-awake son from your arms and place him on his chest.

Grabbing your hand, he brings it to his lips and presses a kiss to it. “Go to sleep, cyare.”

It always amazes you how caring he can be. When you first met him, he only showed you what he showed to everyone else. He was calm, stoic, and quiet. The very first months you spent with him on the ship were spent in silence. He only spoke to you when he absolutely needed to, and you were still a little unsure of the warrior.

Once you were sure he was not going to kill you in your sleep, you started trying to induce conversation. However, it was really only where he would sit in silence while you would tell him story after story of your life.

But as time went on, he would slowly start to respond to you. Sometimes, he would even offer you pieces of his personality and backstory that no one had heard before. Your favorite is when his humor started to peek through. It was small at first, little witty remarks that you could barely catch, but soon he was laughing with you.

Maker, the first time he laughed you nearly died. It was a simple joke you had made, not really expecting any response, but a small chuckle surprised you. Then the hearty chuckle turned into a fit of giggles. And then, a full baritone laugh. It sounded so foregin to your ears, but you loved it, willing your brain to record the sound.

Here you are, almost eight years later. Not a day goes by without his hands pulling at your flesh. Or without him giving you sad eyes, begging for your attention. Or without you turning just to find him already looking at you with a lopsided grin.

Smiling at the memories, you shake yourself from your thoughts and snuggle into your husband's side.

“Do you think we should check on the kids?”

The room falls silent for a second before your husband groans. “Take him, I’ll go, you rest.”

“I can go. I was just asking.”

“No, you need sleep.” Handing you back your now sleeping son, he rises from the blankets. You can hear the quiet pads of his bare feet as he walks out of the room and down the hall. Looking down at your son who rests on your chest, you brush his tuff of brown curls.

It’s not even two minutes before your husband comes back. “You should come see this.”

The mother bear in you instantly flares up, and you fear the worst. Immediately rising from the bed, you set Tobbi back in his crib before frantically looking at your husband. Your heart rests in the bottom of your stomach as image after image of your children hurt play over in your mind.

“What happened? Are they okay?” Not giving him time to answer you rush down the hallway and open Myles door.

But the sight before you leaves you standing in your spot.

In his bed Myles is fast asleep. Except, snuggled under his arm is Reeza and on his other side is Grogu.

Your chest swells and one of your hands comes to rest on your heart. Strong hands find purchase on your hips and a head rests on your shoulder.

“They’re fine, I just wanted you to see.”

A large smile is plastered on your face and you nearly cry. It warms you, knowing that they can find security in their big brother. Reeza obviously got scared from the thunder and crawled in. Grogu must have followed her somewhere along the way. You could not have asked for a better first born than Myles. He is always so considerate and compassionate with his siblings.

“Come on, we don’t want to wake them.” Din preses a kiss to your neck and his hands leave your hips. Giving your sleeping children one last look, you walk out and slowly close the door.

Walking back into your own room, Din rests on his back with his arms open wide for you. Your smile, still fresh, only widens as you launch into his embrace.

“They’re so cute!”

“Mm, yes they are. Now can we go to bed?” You can hear the drowsiness in his voice and his eyes are already closed.

“Oh yeah, sorry.” Giggling, you lean up and press a kiss to his lips. His own lazily try to catch yours, but when you pull away they don’t protest. “Goodnight, Handsome.”

He groans and by the slow rhythm of his breaths, you know he is close to sleep. A quiet yawn surprises you and your own eyelids flutter shut. Resting your head, you drift off into sleep by the steady pump of your husband's heartbeat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Part: Day of Remembrance

Anyway, I hope you guys liked it! I’m still on vacation for another week so I’ll still be alittle in and out. 

But as always, I love hearing y’alls thoughts and comments. 

Love you all so much, Lordy :) 

Ohh, and could you guys tell me if my tumblr is back to normal now. So like if you saw it on your feed, or if my tag list worked. That would be amazing!!!

Masterlist 

Taglist: @ficthots​ @along-the-lines-of-space​ @jedi-jesi​

If you want to be added to my taglist, just give me a holler! :)

[fatiguing-thoughts]

Golden Eyes - Paul Lahote x Reader

A/N: I thought of this last night when I had trouble sleeping. Can’t wait for you all to hate me, but I thoroughly enjoy it and encourage you to read until the end.  It’s kinda a sad one folks, but I give to you a soft Paul 

Paul and I sat in the meadow as we had grown accustomed to. He had found it on patrol a few months ago, so now we come here as often as possible, now that the threats of impending vampiric doom was dwelling since Bella and Edward got married a few days ago. It was time for everyone to breathe for what felt like the first time in forever. 

I inhaled the fresh scent of teakwood cologne on Paul’s chest. My head rested on his bicep as we laid down. Simply enjoying the company of one another, laughing at each other’s stupid jokes, and giggling whenever he whispers yet another sweet nothing into my ear. 

The light shone on us almost magically, it almost felt surreal. I felt the warmth from the sun’s rays shining on my skin, pairing with Paul to make the almost chilly day bearable. 

The deep rumbling of his chest sent waves of happiness throughout my body, his laugh was the air I needed to breathe. Paul really made me feel things I never knew were possible. 

Suddenly, the air grew quiet. The sounds of nature came to a halt. We no longer heard the sounds of birds nor the rustling of the wind. Paul’s chest tightened and he inhaled deeply. His large body turned over onto mine, crushing me into the ground. 

“Paul?” I asked, voice trembling. 

“Shhh.” 

He looks around, trying to find the source of whatever killed our blissful moment. Though that only lasted a few seconds before I heard his voice once again. 

“What’re you doing here, Irina?” Paul asks, letting himself get off of my chest.

I turn and see the woman I recognized from Bella’s wedding. She stared daggers at us all night. 

I looked into her golden eyes, and I saw nothing but pure disdain. She was not happy to see us. 

“I came to apologize to Carlisle for my behavior at the wedding.” She smirks, looking over at me. 

“Well, you’re about fifteen miles away from their house.” Paul says, growing more uneasy by the minute.

He stood in front of me, I began to stand myself but my legs were trembling with fear. 

She wouldn’t be stopping to see us for any good reason. She might’ve actually came to apologize to Carlisle, but smelling us out here might’ve presented too good of an opportunity for her. 

“You killed him.” She scoffs, her golden eyes burning holes into Paul.

I knew Paul wasn’t trying to escalate the situation, as he was trying to avoid more conflict and was hoping she would just leave. But it was after then he knew that he had to phase. 

“He tried to kill Bella.” Paul reminds her. 

I latched onto his bicep in fear. 

“He wanted to be like us!” She yells, beginning to walk closer.

“Move back.” Paul whispers, shoving me backwards. 

His body bursts into one of a large grey wolf, snarling. He backs up closer to me, protectively standing in front of my trembling frame. 

“Cute.” Irina scoffs.

Before I could even blink, she was running at us. Thankfully Paul was able to actually see her as he met her in the middle. He threw her into a nearby tree, snapping it in half. Paul runs over to where she landed, hoping to just destroy her. 

“Where the hell are the rest of them?” I mumble under my breath, panic fully setting in. I tore my eyes from Paul and Irina and look into the tree line, hoping to see the rest of the pack. 

Irina was a seasoned vampire, she knew what she was doing. I had all my faith in Paul, but I worried for his safety greatly. 

A loud wine caused my blood to run cold. It was Paul. Irina had crushed his ribs. 

“Paul!” I scream, almost running over, but I couldn’t bring myself to run-- it was like my legs were made of concrete. 

It was then that my eyes almost bulged from my skull. I watched as she grabbed him from the neck, killing him instantly. I watched as his lifeless body slumped to the ground, his eyes rolling. 

“I’ll protect you until my dying breath.” The memory of Paul’s voice rang through my head, echoing around the walls of my skull. He meant those words more than anyone else would ever have. 

I immediately fell to my knees, screaming but nothing came out. I tried to run over, but I couldn’t get up from my collapsed state. I was stuck to look into the love of my life’s dead eyes. 

Until she stalked over to me, far too slowly. She grabbed me by the throat, lifting me off the ground with an enormous smile on her face. 

I watched as the rest of the pack charged out of the treeline, though it wasn’t before she bit me. 

I fell to the ground as Irina was grabbed by Sam and Jacob-- being destroyed. 

I was flailing on the ground, convulsing as the venom surged through my body. It felt like there was no longer blood traveling through my veins-- it felt like fire, like corrosive acid. I was looking around, screaming-- trying to get up and run to Paul. But I couldn’t, my eyes simply just faded to black-- ignoring the signals my brain was attempting to send to them. Suddenly, I was void of all sight and sound. 

Suddenly, I hear my screaming again and I’m sweating profusely. Anxiety coursing through my veins. 

“(Y/N), wake up. Please.” Paul begs, gently shaking me awake. 

My eyes shoot open and see a worried Paul leaning over me, clutching onto me for dear life. I immediately grab him, pulling him into me. 

“(Y/N), you had a nightmare. You’re okay, I’m here. I’m here, baby.” He whispers, raking his fingers through my hair as he held me close. 

He picks me up, placing me in his lap, shushing me as I sobbed into his chest.

“I got you, baby. I’m here. It was just a nightmare. It’s okay.” His raspy voice soothes. 

“P-Paul.” I choke on my sobs.

“Shhhh, talk about it when you calm down.” His warm hand rubbing circles on my back, my head on his chest. 

Hearing his heart beat was the best thing I had ever heard. I was so grateful to hear it, to feel his chest warm. To see him alive. 

We sat there for a few minutes, waiting until my uncontrollable sobs turned into slight sniffles.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He whispers into my ear. 

I nod, pulling away to look at him. I felt that it was better to tell him, afraid this dream was an omen of sorts. Maybe to consult with Alice. 

“I’m just so happy to see you.” I press my forehead onto his. 

His warm hands stayed on my waist, his eyes never tearing away from mine, patiently waiting for me to tell him about my nightmare. 

_______________________________

Word Count: 1166

A/N: yeah sorry I love you guys tho, don’t kill me lmaooooo I just wanted a little bit of a angsty thing, I wanted a shocker. I wanted to scare some of ya. Please lemme know if you enjoyed or not. Including a very soft Paul. 

[ladyanaconda]

Helluva Dad Vol. 4: Spring Broken

Bombproof just had to get a cold; it was nothing serious, but he'd need to rest for a few days, meaning that Striker and Jake would have to ride the I.M.P. van to get to work. It might have been a more-or-less intriguing experience if not for the radio music playing at full volume and Blitzo's careless driving. Striker spent most of the ride covering his ears while Jake was peering through the window alongside Millie.

This is why he'd rather ride Bombproof to work.

"Daaad! Can we ride the van with uncle Blitzo more often?!"

"Over my corpse!" Striker shouted over the noise. "Get away from the window, boy! The last thing I want is you losing your head!"

"But it's so fresh out here, dad!"

"Now!"

Jake groaned and went to sit next to his father with an unhappy scowl on his face. "Killjoy."

"Is this your first time riding a van?" Millie asked curiously.

"No, it's my first time riding a van with a crazy driver!" Striker banged on the wall separating the back with the driver's seat. "Hey, Blitz, can't you go any faster?!" he snapped sarcastically.

Jake's face had gained a somewhat greenish hue and his arms were clutching his stomach. "Dad, I think I'm gonna hurl!" he groaned.

"Kiddo, whatever you do, don't hurl on the carpet or Blitzo will deduct it from this month's paycheck! If anything, hurl on Moxxie's fanny pouch!"

"Hey!"

The van making an abrupt turn to get into the parking lot was the last straw for Jake. As he rushed towards the window, the vehicle came to a sudden stop and skidded. Jake would have flown out of the window if Striker hadn't grabbed him by the tail, but the vomit went up to Jake's stomach, all the way to his throat, and flew out of his mouth.

"Are you okay, my boy?" Striker asked, concerned, as he cradled the impling in his arms.

"I hate vans," Jake grumbled, earning a hair ruffling from his father.

"Listen up, you unoriginal pink cum dump! You have three goddamn seconds to get your tampon race car out of my parking spot…!"

Blitzo's voice brought the stunned group out of their daze. Striker stomped out of the van, intending to pummel Blitzo for the awful experience, but stopped in his tracks as he saw the cause of the problem. A pink car had parked on I.M.P.'s only parking spot. And the owner of the car was none other than…

"Oh shit! Verosika!"

The succubus didn't seem to hear him or didn't care. She was seething with rage, her face dripping with vomit. Jake flinched when her eyes fixed on him.

"I should have known you'd be here. I could smell fish for miles, which is odd because I believe the nearest ocean is…" Blitzo fell off the van's cabin, faceplanting on the ground. "Three rings down!"

Verosika outright ignored Blitzo this time and stomped her way towards the van. Jake hid behind his father.

"You little brat-!"

"Whoa, whoa, hold your horses, miss!" Striker stood to his full height. The succubus was taller than him, but he never faltered. "My boy didn't to… Well, throw up in your face."

"You should be grateful! You got a facial treatment for free!" Blitzo sneered. Verosika looked like she'd snap at any moment, but she merely huffed and wiped the vomit from her face with a napkin, which she then threw at Blitzo's face.

"I suppose you're the fella who spawned that brat, am I right?" She asked, uninterested.

"I'm the boy's father, that's right." Striker nodded. Is it just him or is the succubus eyeing him eye to toe behind her sunglasses?

"You ought to teach that little spawn of yours some manners, cowboy." Verosika purred the last word in a seductive manner, running her hand down Striker's chest, leaning a bit too close for his liking.

Thankfully, Blitzo got in between them. "I'm surprised they let your fat ass out of rehab," he growled. "I can see you're still a drunken whore, clutching unto that beelze juice bottle like it's the last cock in Hell!"

"They let me out because I'm still famous, and rehab is for sad, loser wash-ups." Verosika took a sip from her flash, sneering as she wiped some drops left on her lips. "So, your sister says hi." Jake made a 'burned' hiss. Striker gave him a stern frown.

"Why are you parking here?! This is the only parking spot my company has, so take your tampon race car somewhere else!"

"Um, Blitz…" Jake pointed at the ground. I.M.P.'s name was crossed out in purple spray paint while Verosika's was written in cursive letters.

The succubus smirked. "I'm doing a bit of freelance for one of the infinitely more successful companies in the building…"

"Dad, who's that nasty woman?" Jake asked.

Loona gasped as if the impling has just spoken blasphemy. "Wait, you don't know about Verosika Mayday?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I've seen her in dad's porno magazines, but-" Jake quickly covered his mouth, but it was too late. He laughed nervously when his father stared at him in shock. "Just to clarify, dad, I didn't read. I skipped!"

"I'll talk with you about this later." Striker hissed.

Thankfully, an angry yell from Blitzo distracted them from the argument. "I wasted so much time with a bag of holes like that."

"You know Verosika Mayday?!" Loona asked, incredulously.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, her. Yeah, we dated."

"That explains a lot of things." Striker murmured as Millie and Moxxie stepped out of the van.

"Was it before or after she became a pop star?"

"You dated a pop star?!"

Blitzo frowned. "Okay, why are you all acting like that's such a shock?"

"Hello, it's Verosika Mayday?" Loona pointed out.

"It's you?" Jake added dryly.

"I just… Is she blind? Suffering some form of brain damage? I mean, it'd make sense if she had dated Striker."

The cowboy rolled his eyes. "Gee, thank you, Moxxie, but she's not my type."

"Okay, look, you are all making this into a way bigger deal than it needs to be." Blitzo crossed his arms. "I don't pry into your stupid personal lives."

"You do that all the time, sir!"

"Come on, you kinda do that."

"You totally do that."

"Do I have to remind you all the times I've nearly shot you for sneaking into my house at two in the morning?!" Striker snapped.

"So…" Jake grinned mischievously. "What was sex with her like?" He yelped in pain when his father gave him a smack in the back of the head.

*HB*

Jake didn't quite understand what the fuss was about. From what Millie and Loona said, Verosika Mayday was a musical pop star, but dad wouldn't let him listen to her music; when questioned as to why he couldn't, all dad said was that it was for 'adults'.

In the end, Striker managed to distract his son via target practice. Millie would place an apple on her head so Jake could shoot it with the crossbow; Striker was quite surprised that she wasn't frightened in the least.

"Hey, Blitz, what did you do to Verosika Mayday for her to hate your guts like that?" Striker questioned casually.

"It was nothing, really! I merely borrowed her credit card when she was still sleeping and went to Wrath to take horse riding lessons!"

"Well, no wonder she's so mad."

"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side."

Striker shrugged. "Sorry, but you're on your own when it comes to relationships."

The door slammed open, startling Jake into shooting the arrow a few inches down, but Millie caught it with a hand. Moxxie looked disheveled, and his face was covered in lipstick marks. All he said was that he needed to lay down as he dropped to the floor. Millie went to check on him.

"What happened to Moxxie?" Jake asked. Striker shifted uncomfortably.

"Let's say that he received too much love," he murmured.

"But it wasn't from Millie, she's right here."

"Oh, Strikeeer!" Blitzo sang as he leaned in closer to the cowboy with a wide, exaggerated smile. "Do you know what's the best part of being the employee of the month?"

"Let me guess: to do you personal favors so you won't have to face your shitty issues yourself?"

"Bingo! I was wondering if you could use your… natural charm," Blitzo quirked his eyebrows coyly. "To have that bitch give back our parking spot."

Striker dropped Moxxie's cup of coffee. "What?"

"You know, a little bit of sweet-talking, flirting. Maybe some oral sex-"

"I know what you mean, Blitz! What I mean is why me."

"Well, you're a ladies' magnet. I don't think you'd have trouble convincing a drunken slut to give you all of her assets."

Striker wasn't sure of how Blitzo always, always, manages to convince him to do that kind of stuff, but in the end, he agreed to try 'without' having to recur to sex. He didn't need to go far, as the band of succubus had taken the vacant offices right in front of I.M.P. Well, no wonder Blitzo was so mad! Meeting up with your ex and finding out you'd have to be in the same building for a bloody week wasn't pleasant.

Striker took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Apparently, the succubus band was still making fun of Moxxie's probably tiny dick. They went silent as soon as he came in.

"Well, look who it is."

"Greetings, miss Mayday." Striker tipped his hat for the sake of courtesy. "I suppose I don't need to explain why I'm here."

"Want a kiss, cowboy?" one of the incubi got a little too close to his liking, prompting Striker to point the barrel of his pistol right at the demon's face.

"Put a hand on me and I'll put a bullet in-between your eyes." the imp hissed, tail rattling.

"Oh, look! His tail is like a baby rattle!"

"Hey, did that cute little impling come with you? I want to eat him with kisses!"

This time, Striker pulled out his angelic pistol. "Leave the boy out of this," he growled, expression dark. The sight of the weapon scared the succubi into silence, all but one.

"Well, well, you certainly have more balls than the little guy with the bowtie." Verosika purred, hips swaying as she approached him. "Too bad I already got a bodyguard, 'cause you look like you'd be good at that." she gently pushed the barrel of the pistol aside with a finger, leaning dangerously close to Striker's face. "I suppose Blitzo is still throwing a tantrum over the parking spot, right?"

"That's right, ma'am." Striker stepped back warily, putting his pistol away. "Perhaps we could reach an agreement, considering that…"

He's dealt with succubi before, but never in such a personal manner. Not ever since… Striker knew what was happening when he realized he had been cornered against the wall. Verosika's hands lay on his chest as she leaned in close to his face. His tail rattled uncontrollably. His bottom tightened at the she-devil's enticing aura.

"An agreement, you say?"

"Y-Yes…" Striker cursed himself for stuttering.

Verosika pulled him closer by the waist, licking her lips. "You have such alluring eyes, cowboy. Reminds me of an anaconda hypnotizing her prey…" Striker grabbed her wrist before she could reach for the zipper of his pants. Verosika laughed, running her other hand down the line of his neck. "Let me kiss you…"

Her lips were inches away from Striker's when she heard a click and something pressing against her stomach: the blessed pistol, firmly held in the imp's hand.

"Nice try, sugar, but my heart already belongs to someone else." Striker sneered. Impressed, Verosika stepped back, smirking.

"Not bad, cowboy. Not everyone can resist my charms. Just for that, I'm offering you a deal."

"A deal?"

"A demon duel. I bet you and Vlitzo's sorry company can't off as many people as we can fuck by the end of the day. If you win, I'll return your parking spot. If I win," Verosika whispered into Striker's ear. Whatever she told him sent shivers down his spine.

Reluctantly, Striker looked up at the succubus, fists clenched. "Game on, bitch."

*HB*

"Alright, shut your assholes, here's how we're going to do this shit. First, we find a fuck ton of clients, we portal up, we have our fun murder time as per usual, we pill all the bodies into a big fucking canoe…" Striker didn't pay attention to the rest of Blitzo's ranting, instead distracting himself by polishing his angelic rifle. "Do you have any questions?"

Jake raised a hand. "What does orgy mean?"

Striker spat his mouthful of coffee right into Moxxie's face while the others exchanged nervous glances. Blitzo cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Let's say it's something you aren't supposed to know about for at least ten years. Now-"

"Where did you learn that word?!" Striker all but yelled, grabbing the impling by the shoulders.

"One of Verosika Mayday's songs is called 'Orgy' and I got curious."

"And where did you hear the song?"

"Loona was listening to it." Striker glared at the hellhound, but she merely shrugged.

"What? It's just a song. By the way, think I can come with you guys this time?"

"Absolutely not," Blitzo said, crossing his arms disapprovingly. "I forbid it. Not gonna happen. Sorry, sweetie. Spring break is no place for vulnerable goth girls. You know the kind of freaks yup there who'd drool all over you!"

"Well, I can blend in with humans easily enough. Just let me tag along."

Blitzo blinked. "Wait, say that again?"

"I can blend in…?"

"Do you have a human disguise?" Millie inquired.

"Yeah. Don't you?" Loona widened her eyes in realization. "Wait, you five have been screwing around on Earth this whole fucking time without human disguises?!"

"What if we did?" Jake asked.

"Let's say it's against the rules to be seen by humans in our real forms."

"Okay, new plan!" Blitzo made a new, crudely-made scribble. "Loonie can help lure the humans to us and we'll take care of the rest. Okay, how about that?"

"Flawless logic."

"There's one little detail. We need enough client killing demands to win this bet so I won't have to-" Striker trailed off as he recalled that Jake was listening. He cleared his throat. "How will we get so many clients in such little time?"

Blitzo grinned. "I got that covered, Strike."

*HB*

Basically, Loona just lured the people on the list to a secluded spot so they could kill them without anyone noticing. Jake still couldn't believe how hot Loona looked in human form.

Jake was sure that something was bothering his father. Ever since he returned from talking with Miss Mayday, Dad acted a bit… edgier than usual. He didn't tease Moxxie as often and focused more on killing the targets. But what gave him away was the fact that he was using the blessing-tipped rifle rather than the regular one. He only uses it when there's something on his mind.

By evening, they had killed twelve people, two offed by Jake with a broken bottle.

"That's twelve kills in the back!" Blitzo laughed as they continued to put the bodies into bags. "I'd like to see that waily snatch orgasm that many…"

"All right, spring breakers! Ya'll ready to get fucked up and make some bitchin' bad choices?!"

The group glanced in the direction of the nearby stage adorned in black and pink just as Verosika stepped out of the smoke in her own human disguise. All the humans on the beach roared in excitement as the concert began. Jake noticed something odd in their behavior. Once Verosika started to sing, they-

Something covered his eyes. "Hey!"

"You're not supposed to watch this, Jakey!" Millie cried out hurriedly. Striker gave her a thankful look.

"Goddammit! That bitch started her goadish mating call! Now she's gonna win all those sex maniacs! We gotta pick things up, guys! He's on the list, Loonie?"

"Huh? Y-Yeah… I-I think so." Striker realized that Loona hadn't even looked at the supposed target. Her attention was focused on Verosika's own hellhound.

"Blitz, I don't think-" Too late. Blitzo had already sliced through the human's skull.

"All right, next one, Loonie, come on." No reply. "Loonie? Wait, where-" Blitzo panicked once he realized Loona was nowhere to be seen. "Where's my baby?!" Striker merely pointed towards Verosika's hellhound. There she was.

"And… We've lost him." Moxxie sighed as Blitzo stomped his way towards the hellhounds.

"Can't blame him. I wouldn't like any guys sniffing 'round my daughter either." Striker murmured. "Anyhow, looks like we'll have to handle the rest of the list."

Millie laughed in excitement. "Hell yeah! Team MMSJ getting shit down!"

Jake wanted to help with the killing spree, but his father put him on a table behind some beer barrels, blindfolded him with his red scarf, and firmly told him to wait for him there. So the impling sat there with a big pout on his face, arms crossed. What's up with dad today?!

"Yeah, party!"

The table was knocked over without warning. Jake fell face flat onto the ground. "Ow! What the…?!"

"Eeww! Oh my god! Fucking possums!"

"Wait, what?" Jake lifted the blindfold and realized the humans had seen him. Before he could try to escape, he was grabbed by the tail and shoved into a barrel of beer.

"Ow! Jake?!"

"Moxxie?! What's going on?!"

"I don't know, I think the humans mistook us for opossums!"

The two imps were thrown about within that confined space, sometimes getting submerged under the beer. They accidentally ended up taking big gulps of the alcoholic beverage.

*HB*

"That boy is in so much trouble!"

He gives him one simple instruction: wait at the table. Then he returns ten minutes later to find Jake and the table gone.

"Hey, Mildred! Have you seen Jake 'round here?" Striker asked Millie as soon as he saw per peering into a barrel.

"He and Moxxie are inside one of these barrels!"

"What? What the fuck are they doing in there?!"

One of the nearby barrels wobbled. Striker tipped it over with a kick, spilling out the remaining beer as well as two familiar imps.

"Moxxie!"

"Jake!"

"Millieee!" Moxxie blurted out in a drunken state. "Hey, when did you get four heads? I wanna kiss 'em!"

"Jake? Are you okay, kiddo? Striker grabbed his son by the shoulders. "Answer me, boy!"

"Hey, daddy! The impling said in-between hiccups." "This water's soo tasty! Can I have more?"

Striker rubbed his temple. "Wonderful. My kiddo's drunk and he's only nine."

"Chill out, cowboy! Just don't tell Striker 'cause he'll make a fuss!" Moxxie giggled.

Striker would have made a fuss if not for the massive sea monster that emerged from the ocean. A loud roar sent most of the humans running away from the beach, but Moxie and Jake were completely unfazed.

"Oooh, fishy! Can I keep it, daddy?"

A long, slippery tongue wrapped around Moxxie and Jake as they were pulled into the monster's mouth.

Striker and Milli exchanged determined nods. The former shot a nearby human to take his bottle and make a molotov cocktail, which he threw at the monster. The explosion was enough to make the creature fall. The imps swam towards the mutant fish, digging their respective knives into its hide just as it got back on its feet. They managed to climb towards the mouth and pry the jaws open; Moxxie and Jake, still in the tongue's grasp, were clumsily punching the monster's uvula. Millie reached out for their hands, but instead of clasping it, the drunken imps merely gave her a high-five.

"Oh, for the love of…!" Losing his patience, Striker went into the mouth and sliced the tongue off. The fish shrieked in pain and spat out the severed organ, and its two captives, with it.

However, the abrupt movement slipped the angelic rifle off Striker's shoulder and sent it down the beast's throat. "Oh, no, you don't! Mildred, think you could keep this thing busy?!"

"Striker, what are you doing?!"

The cowboy took out his knife. "I'm gonna retrieve my weapon."

*HB*

Millie and Striker swam back to the beach, both panting heavily. The latter was covered in the creature's blood after slicing open its entrails, his rifle held tightly in one hand and the bloodied knife in the other. They reunited with Blitzo, Moxxie, and Jake on the shore.

"Oh, yeah, way to show off, guys!· Blitzo cheered.

"Are Mox and Jakey okay?" Millie asked.

"Oh, yeah. They're fine." Blitzo looked down at the still-drunken imps in his arms and dropped only Moxxie to the ground.

Thankfully, Jake had fallen asleep; his young age made him less tolerant of the heavy alcoholized state. Striker carefully took the boy in his arms.

"Aww, they grow up so fast!" Blitzo chirped, teary-eyed, as he watched Jake snuggle in his father's embrace.

Sadly, the relief didn't last long as Verosika and her crew approached.

"That was handled rather… Obvious, don't you think?" Verosika sneered.

"You know, I found this," Striker held up a black and silver flask decorated with hearts. "While slicing through that creature's entrails," he smirked. "And I know for certain that it doesn't belong to any of us." That said, he tossed the flask back to its owner.

"Would be a shame if anyone found out you guys were behind a giant monster fish in the human world." Millie sneered.

"Oh satan! You all be so… fucked! Haha…!" Moxxie laughed in his drunken stupor.

Verosika was taken aback by the realization that they were right. "Yeah, well, you five nasty ass gremlins will be in shit for not being in disguises." she countered.

"A human called me a possum. I'm not a possum!" Moxxie collapsed face-first into the ground.

"And given that the humans who saw us were in a deep alcoholic intoxication state, they'll probably think it was a product of their imagination." Striker added with a sneer of his own.

Blitzo chuckled. "You know, we could keep this little Bee movie scene on the down-low if you agree to let us use that parking space." Striker nearly laughed at the sour, almost childish scowl on the succubus's face. She was against the ropes and she knew it.

·...Fine."

While the others cheered at their victory, Striker merely sighed in deep relief.

"Hey, Strike, now that we're on it, what did that bitch say you'd have to do if we lost?" Blitzo asked later that day.

Striker's only response was a loud slurping sound with a straw as he enjoyed a well-deserved meatshake.