#(please... please be happy with me Father...)

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Miss You✨

Summary: Lucifer can’t help but tease you with his sexy new outfit while you’re away; you decide he needs to be taught a lesson…

Yeah, that Valentine’s Day outfit got me barking like a dog, so I’m dragging you all back kicking and screaming!

Happy Father's Day ig, have fun fucking the devil!

Warnings: 18+, smut, sexting, teasing, masturbation, toys, orgasm denial, use of safe word, oral (f receiving), p in v, Lucifer is a bit of a brat

Ring ring ring

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you walked along the streets of Hell. Pulling it out, you saw Lucifer's adorable rubber duck icon pop up on the screen. You smiled and hit the answer button.

"Hey Luci, what's going on?" you answered cheerfully.

"Oh, you know, just waiting for my darling to return home to me," he sighed dramatically on the other side of the phone.

"Hon, it's only been an hour!" you scolded playfully. "I had to pick out something special for tomorrow, you know."

Tomorrow was Valentine's Day; one of Lucifer's favorite mortal holidays. The chocolates, the flowers, the romantic setting, everything about it excited the little devil! And of course, he always treated you to a special candlelit dinner, complete with dessert and champaign. But you knew Lucifer always looked forward to the end of the night; that time he gets to worship you as the goddess he saw you as.

This year, however, you decided you wanted to spice things up a bit. Which is why you made it a point to visit the Entertainment District which housed the best collection of sex apparel in the pride ring. Lucifer insisted on giving you anything you wanted, but new lingerie wasn't all that you were looking for; some new toys were definitely needed. It took a while to convince him since you knew he didn't like being left alone for too long, but you promised him that you would be as quick as you could. Nevertheless, that didn't seem to stop him from calling you up after only a short amount of time.

"I knoooowwwww," Lucifer groaned on the other end. "But I miss you! Is there any way I can convince you to come home sooner?"

His proposition intrigued you, so you decided to play along. "And how would you do that, I wonder."

You swear you could almost hear him smile. "Well, my dear, since you got to go out and look for a special outfit, I thought I would try my hand at creating one just for me! Gotta say, I'm pretty happy with it! Tight in all the right places!" You heard the static-filled snap of the fabric hit his skin as he spoke.

"Wait," you paused, moving yourself up against a building. "Are you wearing it right now?" He was doing this on purpose, you knew he was. He knew how to tempt you. And picturing Lucifer in something less than decent did nothing to help keep your composure out in public. You could already feel the heat in your face begin to rise.

Lucifer chuckled lightly. "Would you like a sneak peak, love?" Before you could answer, there was a buzzing on your phone. He already had a picture queued up just to tease you. You opened the message with a gasp, fumbling your phone in your hands. The picture showed of his exposed stomach with the rest of his body covered in a lovely black. It looked as though he shot this photo from the waist up because you could make out his forked tongue that was sticking out through his sharpened teeth, smiling wickedly at the camera.

Quickly, you closed the picture hoping no one else had seen what was on your screen. "You ass, I almost dropped my phone!"

"Hey, you're the one who opened it!" he shot back. "But I can tell you like it, isn't that right?"

He was right, of course he was! How could you not?! But he was getting too cocky for his own good. If he wanted to be a brat today, you had no trouble giving him exactly what he wanted. Even if it meant cutting your outing a little bit short. You were going to surprise him with his favorite chocolate candies, but perhaps you could get them after you taught him a lesson.

"I'll be home in 15 minutes," you responded in a hushed tone, trying your best not to draw the attention of others. "If you aren't handcuffed to that bed by the time I'm back, you're gonna be in for it."

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Lucifer murmured, sending shivers down your spine. What a fucking tease, but God, did you love him.

“You have 14 minutes now,” was all you said before hanging up the phone as you pushed yourself away from the wall and began to walk back towards the Morningstar mansion, paying no attention to the onlookers who noticed your brisk pace as you passed them. There was someone who needed to be put in his place.

By the time you made it back to his place, you still hadn't decided how you were going to approach him. On the one hand, he was being a brat, but he was being a brat on purpose. It's like he wanted to know how many buttons of yours he could push. But on the other hand, you knew he couldn't be left by himself for an extended period of time. Even an hour seemed to be a bit of a struggle. Either way, you weren't upset, far from it. Spending any amount of time with Lucifer brought you joy.

You opened the door to his bedroom and placed your shopping bags on the vanity, not fully aware of your surroundings before you spoke. "I'm back! Okay, Lucifer, let me see this snazzy little outfit you-" You lost your voice when your eyes finally landed on the man shackled to the bedframe. Well, half-shackled. One hand was cuffed while the other laid across his exposed stomach. The innocent yet shit eating grin he gave you felt like a flashbang. Oh, this man was going to pay.

"Hi, honey," he greeted playfully, wiggling his fingers as he waved.

You took a deep breath in, trying to quiet the very loud voice in your head that begged you to pounce on him. "Is there a reason you have a free hand?" you spoke sternly, doing your best to keep up the disappointed facade.

"What do you mean?" he tilted his head, "How could I possibly handcuff both of my wrists by myself!" Both you and him knew damn well he could do so easily, he was an angel for Heaven's sake! He was magic incarnate.

If this is how he wanted to play, then it was game on.

You took a few steps closer, softening the scowl you had plastered on your face just a minute ago. "Hmm, guess you're right," you falsely agreed. You stood at the side of his bed, running your hand down his stomach, stopping just above his crotch. You could tell from a quick glance that he was already worked up in anticipation. "Eager already, are we?"

Lucifer laughed cautiously. It seems as though he hadn't expected the response you'd given. Before he could muster up an answer, you threw your one leg over his body, perfectly straddling him. A soft gasp escaped the angel as you began to shift your hips along his clothed length. His free hand found your hip, helping you steady yourself as your heated core began to rile him up even further. "I-I have to say, sweetie," Lucifer spoke up at last, "you're a lot gentler t-than I thought you might be."

You smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his parted lips, removing his hat in the process. "Oh Luci, I just want to give you everything you deserve." Your lips left his as you began to trail kisses down his pale neck and collar bone, earning soft whimpers from the man beneath you. His hips stated to match your movements as he desperately used his body to beg for more friction, more contact. He was putty in your hands and you've barely begun. "You want more, my sweet boy? I can feel how hard you are."

"Y-Yes," he babbled, "P-Please..."

You hummed contently, shifting your body down further to straddle his legs. You reached for the hem of his pants and pulled them down past his waist lethargically, savoring the sight of exposing each inch of his engorged member. You pulled the fabric to his knees and moved your face inches away from his twitching cock. Lucifer nearly whined since you were taking longer than normal to touch him. You pressed a quick kiss to his leaking tip before crawling back up his body once more. Your smile turned wicked as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his ear. "I would love to give you more, Lucifer," you whispered teasingly, "but where's the fun in that?" Immediately, you removed yourself from the bed and sauntered over to where you had left your shopping bags.

"W-What?" the poor man sobbed.

"Aww, baby," you cooed cruelly, "you didn't think I was going to give in so easily, did you? If you don't want to listen to me, why would you think I would reward such behavior?" You watched as Lucifer gulped at your words that were laced with a certain intensity he was not used to. "And besides, you have a free hand, don't you? I suggest you use it, because I'm not going to touch you anymore until you've been properly punished. Do you understand?"

Lucifer's hand visibly trembled as he reached for his neglected cock, gripping it timidly as he began to rock his hand back and forth. Small cries emanated from the bed, but you weren't going to back down. You turned away from your saddened lover and began to rummage through your things for the brand-new lingerie set you had purchased; the white thin lacy fabric with red accents that left little to the imagination.

"Close your eyes," you commanded, holding back a smile as you watched your lover struggle. "It's indecent to watch a lady change." You could have easily locked yourself in the bathroom to throw on the new outfit, but torturing Lucifer by withholding your gorgeous form from him was much more entertaining.

"Love, p-please," Lucifer began to beg. "You're teasing me too much..."

"You know the safe word, Luci," you responded calmly, refusing to give him an inch. "What color?"

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Green."

He was perfectly fine. The color system was the perfect way to gauge each other's boundaries, all discussed previously, of course. The man groaned as his hand continued to pump himself furiously, his precum now leaking over his darkened hand. "Ah, ah, not too fast now," you reprimanded. "Can't have you have too much fun without me." Lucifer whined but complied, slowing his movements at your command. "Now, be a good boy and close your eyes." He nodded and did as you asked, watching his eyes scrunched tight. You made quick work of discarding your dress, making sure to keep an eye on the ravenous man on the bed. You slipped into your lingerie with ease, giving yourself a quick glance over in the vanity mirror. Lucifer's colors looked good on you.

You began to go through the other bag and took out some of the new toys you had purchased on your very short outing, a small vibrating bullet and a brand-new vibrating flesh light. You sauntered over to Lucifer, who was behaving and keeping his eyes closed for you. You ran your hand gently down his flushed face before pressing a soft kiss to his needy lips. He forced his head up as much as he could, desperate to deepen this kiss. But you pulled away way to quickly to leave him satisfied. "Greedy," you mocked playfully. "Keep your eyes closed, I'm almost done."

You pulled a small bottle of lube from your nightstand, dabbing a generous portion to your fingers. You heard Lucifer's breath quicken as he no doubt realized what you were about to do. "H-Honey?" he squeaked.

"Relax," you chuckled as you made your way to the foot of the bed, placing your free hand on his pants and pushing them even further down to rest as his ankles. Lucifer's hand continued to keep a steady pace around his shaft even though your ministrations were pushing him closer and closer to the point of no return. "You're being so good for me," you praised. "Lift your legs for me. Don't stop stroking." Lucifer complied, giving you easy access to complete remove the bottom half of his special outfit, leaving the lower half of him completely exposed now.

"S-Sweetie, please..." he groveled, "Please touch me...I-I'm sorry I teased you! I'll do anything! A-Anything you want!" The strain in his voice was nothing short of tantalizing. Part of you wanted to end his torment, to satisfy your own desires as it became increasingly hard to ignore the pulsing between your own legs. But the other, more sadistic side of you was drowning out any sympathy you had for the little devil.

"Spread your legs," your ordered. "We've hardly begun. And I'm going to make sure you learn your lesson."

Slowly but surely, the devil's legs fell apart now fully exposing himself to you. You pressed your fingers against his tight hole before lethargically working them inside. Lucifer's strangled yelps only prodded you further, delighted by the needy sounds that escaped his throat. After a minute or two of preparation provided b your digits, you reached for the small vibrator, switching it on the lowest setting.

Lucifer gasped.

"O-Oh God, no..." the angel lamented, his eyes still closed. The soft sounds of the buzzing toy must have tipped him off. "My love, you're not going to-"

"Oh, but I am," you interrupted. "Now stay still, Luci."

“B-But…”

“Shh, behave now. I think it’s about time you started listening to me.”

You slipped your fingers out of him without warning and quickly replaced them with the bullet, pushing it inside of Lucifer's tight ass to the hilt. The man began to thrash on the bed, his hips jerking every which way from the new stimulation he was receiving. "Calm down, sweetie" you instructed, reveling in the way he was responding to your antics, "you can remove your hand, but keep your eyes closed. I have one more surprise for you." Your words echoed in his mind as more of a threat than a surprise.

Babbling out a less the coherent response, Lucifer's hand immediately gripped the bed sheets as he attempted to keep himself as still as he could. You hummed in approval, sneaking a quick glance at his dripping cock; precum now coating his stomach. He was was on the verge of losing control, you both knew it. But you weren't quite done with him just yet. You walked over to the side of the bed with flesh light in one hand as the other reached for his neglected dick. A breathless scream erupted from your lover as soon as you touched him. You pumped him a few times before lining up his cock with the other new toy. You forced the flesh light down his length slowly until it enveloped him completely.

"G-GAAAAHHH," Lucifer cried out in a state of overwhelming pleasure that teetered on pain. Almost at a torturous pace, you stroked the flesh light up and down as you watched Lucifer writhe on the mattress below you.

“How’s my little pet doing?” you asked, your voice laced with a sadistic tone.

Lucifer shook his head as he desperately tried to regain control of his body. “I-I gaaahhhh f-ffffuuaahhh…t-too much…”

“Aww, poor baby," you teased, "Do you want to cum, Lucifer?”

“Mm-hmm…” he whimpered.

You halted your movements immediately as Lucifer wailed at the loss of friction. “Hmm, let me rephrase…do you think you DESERVE to cum?”

“N-No…” Lucifer swallowed hard as he gasped for air.

Your hand began to move once again, pleased with his answer. “Glad that we’re on the same page, love. Brats shouldn’t get to cum, should they?”

Oh, the way Lucifer squirmed was something to behold. If you could replay this moment in your head for the rest of time, you would do so in a heartbeat. He was losing himself and it was all thanks to you. His demonic horns burst from his forehead as his tail found its way around your thigh. You had a thought of reprimanding him for touching you without your permission but putting him in this state was already more than enough punishment. Plus, you were starting to feel neglected as it was becoming increasingly harder to ignore the pulsing between your legs. His touch was a more than welcomed one.

“Y-You’re lucky I’m even doing this f-for you," you scolded, small stutters slipping through your dominant facade. "Given how you’ve acted today, teasing me while I’m out in public, making me come home early from my day out, not listening to my simple instructions…" You took your free hand and held Lucifer's chin in your fingers. "Now, what do you say?”

“T-Thank you, l-love…," the angel stuttered in response. "Thank you s-so much…you’re too g-good to me…”

“Good boy."

Lucifer nearly went limp from your praise. His babbling was incoherent now. There was a shift, but you couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was. When you looked at him, it was as though he wasn't all there.

"Color, Luci?" you asked. No response. At least, none that you could understand. But you did feel his tail tighten even more around you, to the point where you know it would bruise later.

Bad sign...

Your motions slowed as you waited for his answer. "Lucifer, can you give me a color?" Still nothing. Your heart sank when you realized he was in no condition to continue. Your hand completely stopped, removing the flesh light from him and tossing it on the mattress followed quickly by the vibrating bullet. His body continued to tremble as your hands flew to his face, wiping the excessive drool that spilled from his mouth. "Hey, Lucifer, honey, look at me. I need you to open your eyes for me now. Please..."

Finally, a sign of life. His eyes squinted open after having them shut for so long. It was hard to see, but you could tell his eyes were glassy. "H-Honey?..." Lucifer finally managed to speak, his tail at last loosening the grip it had on your thigh.

You breathed a heavy sigh of relief as one of your hands removed the strands of hair from his sweat covered face. "Shh, it's alright. It's okay. You scared me there for a minute. Seemed like you fell too far."

" 'M sorry..." he blubbered.

"Hey hey hey," you scolded softly, "none of that. You did nothing wrong. Are you able to give me a color?"

Lucifer sniffled, a single tear rolling down his cheek which you easily wiped away. "Red..."

"Okay," you breathed, your worry finally starting to dwindle. "We're done." You kissed his forehead before heading to the night stand to retrieve the key the unlocked his restraints. His hand feel to the bed with a thump. You picked it up and ran your fingers over his darkened skin. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm going to get you some water. Just relax for me. You did very well, Luci. Very well."

As you promised, you returned quickly with his drink along with a towel you doused with some cold water. Lucifer laid on the bed nearly lifelessly, his horns and tail had vanished as well. But at least his breathing was steady. You handed him the cold glass as he gave you a soft smile. But you noticed a twinge of sadness in his expression; you knew he still felt guilty about ending the session early. But what mattered to you was that he was alright, no matter what he would say otherwise. He gulped the water rapidly as you ran the cool towel across his forehead.

"Let's get this off of you, shall we?" You tugged at the black jacket that still remained. Lucifer nodded and let you remove the coat. "You must have been overheating, huh?"

He chuckled lightly. "Just a little. Maybe black wasn't the best color choice."

"You look really good in black, though," you teased, tunning the towel down his exposed chest. He sighed deeply as he watched you through half-lidded eyes.

"Thank you, love," Lucifer spoke softly as he put the empty glass on the night stand. "You're too good to me. I-I'm really sorry about-"

"None of that," you responded hastily, "Lucifer, you don't need to apologize for anything. If you're not having a good time, then neither am I. It's as simple as that. You did nothing wrong."

Lucifer sighed. No matter what you said, it wasn't going to change how he felt, even though you wish it did.

"It wasn't that it didn't feel good," he said, finally sitting up  "it did, it felt amazing! I just...spaced out, I guess. I mean, really spaced out. That's what scared me..." He pushed his knees to his just, resting his head on his arms. "But I know you're disappointed..."

You scooted over beside him and gave a tender kiss to the side of his temple. "I'm never disappointed when it comes to you, Luci. Never. I-MMPH!"

Your words were cut short by Lucifer's lips on yours. He dragged his tongue languidly across your bottom lip, begging for permission. And you happily granted him access. The way he explored your mouth distracted you enough to where you didn't even notice his hands grabbing a hold of your hips. You were hoisted into his lap before you could protest, earning a surprised squeak from you. Lucifer pulled away and leaned his forehead into yours as you both tried to catch your breath.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he praised, his fingers tracing the lacy hem of your panties, "especially in my colors. And to think you deprived me of this, now that was the real punishment." It was only then that he noticed the small slit in your garment that gave him free access to your needy core. "And what's this?" His digits traveled south, but his hand stopped just before making contact. "May I?"

You let out a small sigh. "Are you sure?"

Lucifer responded by pressing a chaste kiss to your supple lips. "You spent so much time taking care of me today. Let me take care of you now."

You bit down on your lip and relented to his request. There was no hesitation with his fingers after that as they quickly found their way your lower lips, already soaked in anticipation. You sucked in a deep breath when he finally made contact, goosebumps littering your body as he touched you where you needed him most. Your head fell on his shoulder within a matter of seconds. He knew everything about you and your body; it was child's play getting you to such a desperate state.

"So wet already and I'm only now touching you." You could hear the smugness in his words as he spoke. Truly the sin of pride. "Does torturing me turn you on this much, my darling?"

"Y-you know, f-fuck..." you tried to speak through your gasps, "you know I w-wasn't trying to t-torture you."

"I know you weren't" he cooed, his thumb now running gentle circles against your clit. Your breathing became rigid and your heart felt like it was going to burst from your ribcage. Your little whines only egged him on further, feeling him push two fingers into your aching hole. The air caught in your throat as he began thrusting the in and out of you a slow pace. "You feel so good, so warm. God, I could spend the rest of the day like this."

And you'd let him. He knew this. But straddling his lap and feeling his hard cock pressed against you did not make it easy. But you'd never push him for more, not after the state he was just in moments before. Not unless he-

"I want you," he pleaded. "Please, love..."

"Lucifer..." You knew what he was doing. He wanted to make up for what happened. Not that you didn't believe he didn't want you, in fact, he probably wanted you more now than ever before. He needed you, starving for you, if  the way his body reacted was any indication.

"Green," he murmured in your ear. You lifted your head and looked into his soft yellow eyes. "Green," he repeated. "Please..."

The last of your resolve faded away, now shifting your body to where your soaked folds teased the head of his cock. You both moaned in unison as you sunk yourself down his shaft, taking him to the hilt. Fuck, did he feel good, your neediness at last being satiated. The joy on Lucifer's face was unmistakable, elated to finally feel you after so long.

"You're still alright?" you asked still trying to remember how to breathe properly. The way he felt was dizzying, no matter how many times you've felt his cock buried deep inside you. It was a constant battle to stay conscious.

"More than alright," he laughed lightly, "now that it's just you and me. No toys, no games, just...you. All I ever need is you. N-Not that I don't enjoy the toys o-or the games! I like them! I-I just mean-"

"Lucifer!" you interrupted.

He cheeks flushed a soft tint of yellow. "I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

"Just a bit." You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned in for a deep kiss. "Now be a good boy and let me fuck you."

Lucifer did a motion with his hand, simulating zipping his lips closed. He chuckled as you started shifting your hips. That non-existent zipper didn't last very long as soft moans and whimpers began to pour out from Lucifer. The man gripped your waist, steading you as you picked up the pace. Riding him was one of your favorite ways to bring him pleasure, because you were in control. Of course, Lucifer could more than easily overpower you at any given point and have his way with you if he wanted. But he didn't. He was letting you use him, and he loved every second of it.

"You're s-so good for me, Luci," you praised, your body slamming itself up and down on his thick cock. "You m-make me feel so good. Tell me what y-you want, baby."

"I-I...fffffuck..." he stammered out. His mouth latched onto your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your tender skin. He tried his best not to bite down too hard, but you loved when he left marks on you. He let go, his breathing becoming more and more staggered. "W-Wanna fill you...fuck, PLEASE...need to cum...s-so close, I-I can't..."

You were close yourself. Having Hell's most powerful being at your mercy and begging to cum filled you with such unholy desire that your body had no power to deny him. "I'm close too, Luci. I just n-need you to do one thing f-for...shhhit...for me."

"Anything! Anything for you!" he cried out. He was losing himself and it wouldn't be long before he reached the point of no return.

You smiled and pressed your lips to his ear. "Fill me, Lucifer."

That was all he needed.

He cried out your name in pure bliss as he finally came, filling you with his hot seed. At this point, your body was not moving on its own. Rather, Lucifer was using it for himself, making sure you finished with him. His actions had you barreling towards your own orgasm, your pussy clenching on his cock that continued to pour more and more cum into your needy hole. You could feel it leaking it out of you after a few more moments, sliding down your inner thighs and pooling onto his lap. The poor thing was denied for so long today, he had more than enough to fulfill your request. At last, the two of you stopped moving altogether, your head's resting on each other's shoulders as you both caught your breath.

"Lucifer?" you whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

Lucifer picked his head up, his half-lidded eyes felt as though they were peering directly into your soul. "I love you more."

You scoffed jokingly. "The nerve, sir! I don't think you can just-H-HEY!"

Before you could rebuttal, Lucifer has pulled you from his lap, shifting his body down in the process so that your full cunt was inches away from his ravenous mouth.

"What the hell are you doing?!" you asked, your flustered voice making Lucifer grin mischievously.

"Cleaning you up," he replied before his lips met your clit without warning. The near scream that escaped from you echoed throughout the room. Lucifer was insatiable. You couldn't fight back even if you wanted to, not with the way his clawed hands dug into your hips to keep you in place. Through your teary eyes, you watched as he devoured you as well as the mixed fluids of both of your cum.

You bit down on your lip trying to keep the little composure you had left. "Y-You...GOD-...why do you a-always have to one up me?" His forked tongue slithered across your tasty cunt, making sure not a drop  of you or him was left.

He smiled up at you, peppering kisses along your thighs. "I'm the sin of pride for a reason, dear. Can't have anyone out do me. Not even you." His tongue felt incredible inside you, hitting that little bundle of nerves that he knew drove you crazy.

"But I wanted t-to be full!" you pouted.

"Well then," he chucked, his lips ghosting your clit once more "I guess I'll just have to fill you again. Can't have my pretty girl empty now, can we?"

You spent the rest of the night being worshipped by the King of Hell in every sense of the word; truly it was the best Valentine's Day a girl could ask for.

****

You can stone me to death, it's fine, this shouldn't have taken 4 months...

@ask-theradio-demon @sonicwind-01 @thonethatflies620 @willoryn @a-okay-rj

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@sunflower-reaper @activesplooger @damsel-loves-machines @redfoxwritesstuff @shae-mermaid

[casscainmainly]

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO THE FATHER OF ALL TIME DOUG THOMAS!!! WE (AND DUKE) WILL NEVER FORGET YOU!!!

Batman (2011) #33 // Batman & The Signal #2

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

MICHELLE PFEIFFER- J. TODD

day fourteen of the june bug masterlist

pairing: older! mechanic! jason x innocent! fem reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: your car starts acting funny in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service or tow trucks in sight. you do the only thing you can do- wave now the nearest truck and pray for the best. luckily, your prayers are answered, because the man helping you turns out to be jason todd, a mechanic whose pretty... good with his hands.

warnings: SMUT! smuttiest of the smut, heavy praise kink, pet names, not manipulation per say (maybe a little but its jason todd who cares he can do whatever he wants to me) - but a power imbalance? (reader really has to rely on jason), daddy kink, finger sucking, degration/ heavy dumbification, manhandling and huge size kink

i was rlly horny when i wrote this lol. but im proud and happy with it :)

 “and everythings easier way out west, wholly mad and half undressed, i love the way it always feels to miss you. i tell all my friends everything you do, a sick obsession that i still try to prove- and but it's no good, cause who am i without you?”- michelle pfeiffer, ethel cain 

This was probably one of the worst things that could be happening at this very moment.

And of course, it had happened to you.

Here, all alone- in the hot summer heat, your tire gone flat. On the hottest day of the year, barely a tree for shade and your car already low on gas- you realized you had hit a new all time low.

Tears spilled out from the corners of your eyes, the humid wind brushing them away as you stepped out of the car- pulled off on the side of the road.

You had a spare tire- but you didn't know how to put it back on.

Needless to say, you could try.

There was no cell service out here to call for any means of help, as you were in the deep country, surrounded by hay bales and brush.

Your lower lip quivered, and you braced a hand on the car, as if your touch could magically fix the issue. You had to be a big girl, and figure this out yourself, you told yourself- but god you just wanted to sob more than anything.

Then- as if God himself had heard your call- a truck came up over the bend- leaving a trail of dust in its wake. All you could think to do was stand on your tippy toes, trying to get the driver's attention as you waved.

Please. Please stop.

And he slowed.

You could just make out his figure, tall and large, built of solid muscle. He looked strong. He could lift the tire, knowing damn well you couldn't by yourself.

His truck engine sputtered to a halt as he parked behind you, and you were so relieved you started to cry again. He stepped out, streaks of grey in his darkened hair, tattoos snaking around biceps that were the size of your head.

He was old enough to be your father. But his eyes were so pretty, all warm and coaxing as he approached you, as if you were a startled dog.

“Hey sweetheart what's going on?”

His gaze instantly dropped when he got close enough to see the tears staining your cheeks, rushing to place a hand to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Awh little fawn don't cry. Shh, shh it's alright. What's going on? Why are you here all by yourself?” he asked softly, as you tried to pull yourself together.

“I was just driving and I just- my car-”

”Hey, hey calm down. It's okay. I promise.” he smiled and you nodded, wiping your fresh tears.

“I got a flat tire and I don't know how to put on the new one. And it's too heavy for me to grab and I just-”

You sighed, trailing off, kicking the ground.

“Well you’re in luck, fawn, I happen to be a mechanic. M’ Jason. Jason Todd.” he rubbed your arms in a soothing motion, forcing you to look up at him, staring into his intoxicating blue eyes.

“I’m Y/N. Thank you, so, so much Mr. Todd.”

“Oh god don't call me that. You make me sound old. I don't need reminders.” he teased, making you giggle.

“There's that pretty smile. See? It's alright fawn. Let me just get your spare, okay?”

You nodded, stepping aside to let him do his thing. He was so large he seemed to tower over your little camino, lifting the tire with ease from the trunk. You watched in awe as he hoisted it up onto his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

A drip of sweat trickled down his bicep, tracing the ink on his skin and you caught yourself ogling like a cartoon character. You wouldn't be surprised if little hearts fluttered around your head, and you trailed behind him as if he was a fresh pie through an open window.

Stranger danger was a foreign concept today, but honestly, you didn't like to think about that danger.

Everyone was nice, at least you liked to think so. And Jason was super nice.

Stopping to help you fix your car? He just seemed to be the nicest man in the whole wide world.

A cluck of his tongue and a sigh broke you from your lovesick trance, and you peered over his shoulder as he crouched, examining the tire with a shake of his head. “Is everything okay Jason?”

He sighed. “M’afraid not fawn. This tire is no good either.”

“Oh! Well…what's wrong with it?” you asked timidly, trying to get a better look. He blocked your view from the commotion though, sweeping you up with his syrupy voice and southern charm.

“Nothin you need to worry your pretty lil head about darlin. But, I dont think it's safe to drive on. Do you wanna come with me to my shop and we can grab a new one and come back?” he asked, empathy rolling off him in waves you were swept up in.

Why couldn't you trust him? He was nurturing, wanting only the best for you. Plus, wasn't it dangerous for a little girl like you to be out here all alone?

You would be safe with Jason, he was a nice old man who probably just wanted to keep you hydrated and out of the sun- and any bad onlookers who would lure you in their trap.

There was no question to be asked, no second guessing.

You felt yourself nodding, happy and eager for him to lead you, a large hand on your lower back, all warm through the thin fabric of your little white dress.

“Good girl. No more tears, okay? I got you sweetheart.”

·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

“Look at you, pretty lil thing. All those pretty tears.” Jason cooed above you, pounding into your tight cunt so hard you started to see stars.

All that could be heard was his sweet praises and gentle coos, mixed with the sound of skin slapping and your short gasps, and gentle moans. You couldn't help the tears from falling again as he splayed you out on a workbench, dragging you to the edge and splitting you in two.

He was so big and thick you couldn't think straight, and with the pace he was setting- it was as if he had no sign of stopping. You felt his thumb brush away the salty tears as you hiccuped, moaning as he slipped his fingers in your mouth.

You instantly sucked them, pacifying yourself as a means of grounding.

“Atta girl. Daddys gotcha.”

You clenched around him at the name he gave himself, and he chuckled lowly. “Oh you like that, don't you fawn? You like when Daddy takes care of you? Makes things all better, cause you're too lil to figure it out yourself?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed as he thrusted even harder, balls slapping your ass as the bench banged against the wall, making the tools above you jolt.

He had you wrapped around his finger.

That was the plan all along of course. He was always keen to help a stranger, but you? He knew he couldn't leave you, just quite yet.

So yes, he had told you there was an issue when there truly wasn't- but could you blame him? How else was he supposed to take care of you the way you so desperately deserved?

Jason could tell as soon as he saw the quiver of your lip and the anxious fidgeting with the hem of your dress that you had needed this- needed him for a while. And he was more than happy to oblige to your needs.

He watched as your legs started to quiver from pleasure, like a little newborn fawns. His little deer.

A thin line of spit trailed his fingers as he pulled them away, letting your whines and moans get louder. You clawed at his biceps, gripping them tight as his pace refused to falter.

Daddy daddy ohhh- Was all you could muster out, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Yeahhh sweetheart just like that. Grippin me so tight- s’like you were made for me hm? You needed someone to take care of you baby? To split this lil cunt in half like she deserves?”

You nodded absentmindedly as you let the pleasure wash over you- holding onto him as if he were your savour.

He was- your savior. And he’d be damned if he’d let you forget it.

“Gonna cum please daddy can I-”

“Can you? Oh look at you, using your manners without me even reminding you. You’re such a good girl baby, go ahead n cream around this cock lil fawn.”

You cried, wails bouncing off the walls- sounding like sweet music to his ears, as if it was coming from his old radio in the corner he’d whistle a tune to while he worked.

But your sounds were much, much better. So sweet and delicate- your face all contorted in pleasure, nose scrunched, eyes clenched shut as you let go around him.

All he could do was coo at you, his sweet little girl, planting soft kisses to your face. You were so soft and gentle to him on the ride over, thanking him endlessly, clenching your thighs as he dared to slip a hand down to rest on your thigh.

Swooning over him, like a love sick puppy.

He didn't miss the way you stared at him when you thought he wasn't looking. And maybe it was wrong, for him wanting to corrupt such a sweet angel like you, so innocent and eager to do right by him for a simple gesture of kindness.

But he couldn't help himself.

And this? Peering down at the bulge in your stomach from where his cock rearranged your insides?

This was payment, and then some. 

[moondustbaby]

The Man We Love Most

blue collar!Rafe x wife!Reader

summary: It’s Father’s Day, and you wake up early with Mia and Jace to make Rafe his favorite breakfast and surprise him with handmade cards and love. What follows is a syrupy, sleepy morning filled with kisses, laughter, and quiet moments that remind you just how lucky you are to call him yours.

⸻

It starts just after six.

The house is still quiet, sun barely beginning to peek through the blinds, when you slip out of bed carefully—trying not to wake Rafe. He’s snoring softly, arm still draped across your waist, hair a wild mess from sleep. You press a kiss to his cheek and ease yourself out from under the blankets.

The second you pad down the hall, Jace is already standing at his bedroom door, eyes wide with excitement.

“Is it time?” he whispers.

You crouch down, brushing a hand through his sleep-tousled curls. “Yep. Let’s go surprise Daddy.”

Mia takes a little more convincing. Her hair’s tangled, arms full of stuffed animals, still rubbing her eyes when she finally lets you scoop her up and carry her to the kitchen.

Together, you make Rafe’s favorite: chocolate chip pancakes, scrambled eggs, and crispy bacon. Jace insists on pouring the batter himself (and makes a total mess), while Mia’s in charge of sprinkles (which she dumps over absolutely everything). The kitchen looks like a war zone by the time you’re done, but you don’t care. They’re happy. They’re giggling. They’re proud.

While you plate everything, Jace and Mia run off to decorate the dining room table with the handmade cards they’d worked on the night before. Jace’s has stick figures of the whole family—Rafe holding a hammer, Mia with a tiara, and you holding what he swears is a coffee mug. Mia’s is mostly pink hearts and scribbles, “DADA” scrawled across the front.

Once everything is set and the table glows with morning light, you tell them, “Okay, go wake Daddy.”

Jace lights up. “Can I jump on him?”

You laugh, “Please don’t break him. Be gentle, okay?”

They tear down the hallway, barefoot and loud. You can hear their squeals from the bedroom.

“Daddy! It’s your day!”

“Come on! Pancakes!”

Rafe emerges a few minutes later, smile lazy and wide, hair pointing in every direction. He’s got Mia on one hip, Jace clinging to his hand, both kids practically vibrating with excitement.

“Well good morning,” you say, leaning against the counter. “Happy Father’s Day, baby.”

Rafe’s eyes find yours, and that dopey, sleep-drunk grin softens into something even warmer. “You did all this?”

You shrug, fighting a smile. “Your little fan club had a vision.”

He looks around—the messy table, the lopsided pancakes, the flower Jace picked from the yard shoved into a glass—and then back at you.

“I’m the luckiest bastard alive.”

“Language,” you say automatically, nodding toward the kids.

He grins, kisses Mia’s cheek and Jace’s forehead, then walks over and wraps an arm around your waist. You bury your face in his chest for just a second, inhaling the scent of sleep and warmth and him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against your hair. “For all of this.”

You curl your fingers into the soft cotton of his shirt. “You deserve it.”

Then the four of you sit down—at a syrup-sticky table, surrounded by glittery cards and pure chaos—and eat breakfast together. Rafe makes silly airplane sounds to feed Mia pancakes, Jace recounts every detail of his kitchen “help,” and you just watch it all, heart full.

It’s not fancy. It’s not perfect.

It’s just your family—tired and messy and so full of love you could burst.

And Rafe?

Rafe has never looked more like a man you’re proud to love.

a/n: okay so i wrote this with tears in my eyes and syrup in my heart. it’s giving domestic dream, it’s giving pancake-eating husband, it’s giving “thank you for making me a dad” whispered against your neck while your kid sticks a crayon up his nose. if you’ve ever imagined rafe soft-smiling at you in boxers while holding your sleepy toddler on father’s day… this is for you. 🫶🏻

♥️ lani

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@lolabunnyworldss @superlegend216 @bonjourjiminie @rafesbabygirlx @raineshua @wolfcin04 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @angelofcigs

[netherfeildren]

the coldest girl in coldtown

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: do murder and mutilation count if you're just a girl and bad men deserve it?

-OR-

joel miller as the unhealthy coping mechanism and/or muse.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: qz boston au; graphic depictions of violence; attempted sexual assault; murder; blood&gore; discussions of sexual assault; assault attempt is NOT perpetrated by joel; morally grey fmc; brief use of misogynistic language; consensual! but not safe or sane; obsessive behavior; rough sex; use of restraints during sex (m!receiving); unhealthy relationships; somnophilia; vaginal sex; anal sex; power dynamics; mentor/protege, kinda sorta; dead dove: do not eat

A/N: heyyyyyy, happy father's day or whatever.

see end notes if you want a brief overview of the TWs before reading.

Word Count: 5.3K

Read on AO3

The first time I saw him kill someone, he was saving me.

Bare-bruised knuckles against split-slick flesh, over and over until there was brain matter splattered against the concrete. When he’d pulled his fist back for the last time, a pause to make sure the body was well and truly dead, it shook like he was afraid of what he’d done. Or, that’s what I told myself, anyway. That he’d frightened himself. 

One of us needed to be disturbed by his brutality, after all. 

If it’d frightened him, it meant he was good. Decent. Just another lick of proof.

A knife had been pulled from his waist and slipped quick and shucking into the body’s throat. I’d never seen something like that so up close before. It’d startled me at first, the jut of the knife. I had the sudden thought, don’t kill it, please, do not kill it. But then it was done, and I was glad for it. 

And when I’d rushed back to my damp box room only to find slick lust against clinging cotton, I’d known it hadn’t been me, the frightened one. 

She calls it an attempted break in, later, because she’s never liked the word rape. 

Who does, of course? Caught unawares—she was new at this, after all, the business of smuggling or watching out for her own life—she’d been unprepared, fumbling a second too long with her gun before they were on her. Unpracticed in watching the blind spots, the dark corners. Didn’t know what to listen for and how a creaking door isn't always just that. An easy fist to the gut and a heavy boot crushing her hand and temple, her head painfully crooked, neck stretched and forced to stare one of the grunts in the eye as they all wrestled her to the ground. He was ugly and drooling, and if she focused on the memory of it, past the slimy cold claws and huffing breath touching her body everywhere, she could remember the saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth while she was touched against her will. 

There had been six of them, against one girl. Which, aside from the act at hand, was just plain cowardly. One could’ve had her easy, she wasn’t very good at defending herself just yet. But now, maybe, she thinks she’d needed the incident to inspire her application to the strengthening of her body. And it’d worked afterwards, anyway. There was that. 

And then there was him. 

Now that was a man adept at making his body do the things he needed it to do. 

Maybe he didn’t know the Pandora’s box he’d been opening when he’d done it. When he’d snatched that worm from between her legs, and had gone and gone and beaten until the face had caved in and his knuckles were split; an unsanitary mingling of blood. Maybe he wouldn’t have stepped in if he’d known what it was he’d open inside of her after that. 

She thinks—later, though—what an unfair approximation of his character that’d been. He would’ve always stepped in. 

It could’ve been called admiration, afterwards. By some. 

He called it obsession. Obnoxious. Child’s fantasy. She called it a gateway, the whole thing, the men and their hands and his killing. The moment.

She’d become obsessed with picking apart the minutes she’d lain on the floor of that dark and damp warehouse until the fingers in her mind bled. How cold the concrete against her back had been where her shirt had ridden up, the gravel burn of torn skin and the sandpaper feel of foreign hands. The way they’d said she wanted it. The certainty within herself that she hadn’t, and how disgusted she’d been. And then, other things. Like how close it’d come to happening and how abruptly he had just made it stop. The quickness of it all. How it hadn’t really happened but it had. How it planted things inside of her chest cavity that weren’t there before. 

Most of all, the sight of him killing the man. The nucleus of the memory. How the surface of the face had become sunken little by little. The nose concaved into the mouth, forehead like a bowl until the white of bone jut forward and cut his knuckles. How all the rest of them hadn’t even tried to fight him because they knew him by reputation alone, scared enough to run fast. How a human could become so frightening, his mere actions spoke his name in silence. 

And then his hand with a tremor, extending towards her.

“I know you’re scared, but you’re okay,” is what he’d said when he was done with it. 

How could he have known, though, if that were the truth or not?

But then her body had felt totally numb, almost perfect, completely fine. The only thing hurting, the inside of her throat where she’d screamed her animal screams.

Maybe she was not so afraid, not so hurt. He’d shown her something— What was there to be afraid of now? —How to kill.

First, you hunt for his name—

After, he'd led you back towards the QZ—careful to keep his distance from the wounded animal— when the quick skip of a large stag had come out of the forest brush to startle you both. It’s gait heavy and thumping, skipping in a zig zag, good at running away to avoid capture. He hadn’t said anything more after, and his abject silence had somehow been more unsettling than the fleeing animal or the brutal mauling of a human skull. He’d turned right back around and gone once you were safely delivered. Be more careful next time, he’d said, just as quick as he’d come. An abruptness of a sort that makes one well aware of how significant a person can be. Whole world tilting sort of thing because you’d turned to watch him go, and known he could not go away forever, that he’d be important still, that you needed to know more. 

Joel Miller, that’s what they say his name is. Stay away, they add, too. 

And there’s a woman, Tess. You go after her first. Slotting behind her in line for ration cards, can’t fucking stand the stench of these bootleg chemicals anymore, after a sanitation shift. She provides nothing more than a quick flash of a sideways glance, but when you see her at the commissary a few days later, going for the last box of overpriced tampons, falsely gracious in letting her take them, there’s recognition in her face, the willingness to chat now, too. 

His Tess, she’s the one that gives up his name first. 

It’s the second thing you ask, if they're together. Unabashed in your prying, masked as silly, girlish inquiry. Someone once, a long time ago, had taught you how to be a good liar. And you lie and lie and lie to the woman, and it’s a little embarrassing to see how easily she believes the earnestness on your face. You tell her about a boyfriend, who does sort of exist, but only when there’s an itch to be scratched and you’re in need of an easy fuck. What’s the use in love at the end of the world? Nothing but a guaranteed death. 

You’d always thought to avoid the artifice of it at all costs. No need to drag around an iron lung in your chest, life was already rotten enough. 

From there on, it’s easy. To ingratiate yourself with Tess, to slot yourself into their complicated little life. A third pair of hands can’t ever be a bad thing, or at least that’s what she tells Joel when he’s angry at your presence. You think he doesn’t like the reminder your face brings, of that ugly almost-moment. But after that first and singular time, you’re sure to never, ever let something like that take you by surprise again. Quick on your feet and good with knives if not your fists, you’re useful with the added bonus of a smaller mouth to feed and you learn quick, too. They both have a lot to teach you. Little protegé. You make sure not to ask for much, especially not when your eye is set on much larger game. 

There is something, though, that does take you by surprise, in the weeks that follow. Which turns out to be nothing more than how easy the whole thing is—sowing discord between the pair of them. Perhaps it was less your own finesse, and more that Tess had already grown tired of him. How he didn’t feel exactly how she felt, love or whatever, maybe. Or how they were both just a little too type A for long lasting camaraderie. Maybe it was just that the whole world was dead and nothing is forever anymore, all partnerships, even those forged in blood and fear, eventually run their course. 

Likely, though, it was nothing more than the regular human greed that ruins most things—both of them in want of someone to order around, and you, with the inclination to only obey one of them when you so chose to. 

A lie here, an omission there, their house falls to pieces like it’s made of cards. No one seems to pay much attention to the spider in the cracks. Or at least that’s what you want to think. And when it’s only you left then, with a warm shoulder for him to console himself with, there are no real fangs to sink into his skin, but you imagine they’re there. 

You have to show him you’re grateful, you reason, for saving you. Or you have to punish him, maybe. He’d opened a wound inside of you. Something delightfully festering that had maybe always been there, but that he’d ripped open by the mere act of saving a girl he didn’t know from something she didn’t want. Really, it was that he’d been the only man to ever do something good for you and not ask for payment afterwards. 

And it’s easy to wear down such a lonely, broken creature. You see that in Joel eventually. He wants something so badly, he just doesn’t know what. 

He fucks your mouth first. Real mean and rough-like. Something you’d offered as a little stress relief. He’d said he didn’t want to have full on sex because you’d end up getting attached, and he wasn’t looking for some young thing that couldn’t take a hint. He said he was unavailable, even though Tess hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. She looked at you with suspicion now when she saw you in the streets, like she knew what you’d done, what your intentions had been from that very first random meet in the rations line. 

He said he didn’t really like you. But he’s a bad liar, and none of that really deters your persistence. Eventually, none of that stopped you from finding yourself bent over the kitchen table of some long-gone family’s abandoned home, his hips slapping wet and hurting against your ass, only a few weeks later.  

In his defense, he really did try to keep to his word. 

Joel Miller is an honest man, after all. Even if he is a killer. 

In repayment of your debt, you teach him how to lie in a way that matters, a believable way. 

You volley your little lessons back and forth. Where the best spots are to pilfer for things in long ago picked-over places. A good slight of hand to make a pull from deep in someone’s coat. How to shoot someone in the head without missing. How to breathe through your nose while a cock is lodged in your throat. Enough truth sewn through your lies to make your story believable. How to throw a knife at an angle that won’t veer. How to take a fucking without crying or complaining. The FEDRA soldier on Tuesdays and Thursdays posted on the East facing gate that’ll look the other way if you say or do the right things for him. How to make dessert without sugar or flour or milk and have it turn out actually good despite the fact. How to pretend. How to kill. How to get what you want. 

He doesn’t notice at first, when you start to hunt them. Going out on runs together, coming home dirty and sweaty and tired but amped enough to fuck and then fall into an exhausted stupor, sweaty limbs intertwined; it keeps him distracted for long enough. 

But people start to talk, after the third one goes missing and is later found chopped  up and scattered in pieces. A well known gang through the QZ, the deaths start to cause a stir. 

He starts looking at you funny after that one. Something like hesitancy in his touch, a subtle but cautious pause before he speaks. He tries to lie, to play it off, but you’re the one that taught him how to do that. Doesn’t he know it won’t work on the source? Men are always so stupid. 

You kill them slow because the moment happened so fast. Taking your time to savor the way it feels to force each one of them out of their lives. You’re inventive about it, experimenting on how to approach each one differently. Reasoning that you remember the almost-ness of it so brilliantly because it happened so fast, and that if you take a more leisurely approach with your get-back, it’ll leave your mind quickly. 

When there is only one man left, of the group of six, Joel starts to ignore you. When you come round, knocking on his door, trying to corner him when he’s getting off his shifts, the subtle brush offs, a heavy hand to your shoulder that tries to assuage you of his coldness. But you feel it and you don’t find it very fair, the fact he’d be frightened off by the very thing he wrought in you. 

You’re only doing what he showed you to do at that very moment of your almost hurt. 

It could be that he’s worried about attracting the wrong attention. The fact that you’re already on probation, an aside you’re not interested in dwelling on, for disorderly conduct, followed by an attack on a soldier several months back. It doesn’t really help your cause. You reason that he has a smuggling enterprise to keep going and the wrong attention could ruin things for him. You reason that you probably should not be going on a murder spree when you’ve already got eyes on you. But what must be done, must be done. And you do not like being ignored. 

There is something else, though, that you have over him, that you introduced him to besides the art of lying, and that’s a great fuck. 

Something more difficult for him to ignore or forget, than your words in the street are. 

He’s sort of a coward about it. Sneaking in on you in the dead of night when you’re asleep and unable to force him into things he pretends not to want. Like he’s afraid to face you. Like he’s afraid of the questions you might ask and the answers he might give. Foolish of him to think distance might keep him safe. 

One late afternoon, your face hot and sweaty with anger after you watch him actively turn the opposite way, ignoring you when you try to catch his eye, “Why are you ignoring me?” Because you want it said out loud, you kind of want him to acknowledge that he knows what you’ve been doing, even. 

Do you want me? Do you like me? Could you love me?

Maybe he’s tricked you into believing in things you didn’t before. Who knows. 

He’s getting off a shift, sweaty, too, dirty and grimy, that musk male scent of hard labor and a long day in need of a woman to soften it all. 

“Not ignoring you,” he lies like you’d taught him, wiping his grimy hands down with an ever grimier rag, pushing dirt around needlessly. 

“Oh, right,” you laugh. “You can sneak into my bed at night, but you can’t look me in the eye in the street. That it now, Joel?” 

He looks around at your raised voice, wary of others listening in on your tiff. And the once over he gives you is mean, cold and condescending like a father readying to scold his unruly child for embarrassing him. 

“Listen,” he sighs and you bristle, “We gotta talk—”

“Yeah, we do,” you cut him off. “You’re being kind of a pussy.”

“Watch your mouth, kid.”

That makes you cackle, head thrown back. “Kid. Not so much a kid when you’re balls deep inside of me, are you?” The words are ugly and you catch a woman hovering nearby out of the corner of your eye, her small shocked gasp and quick scurry away as you spit your obscenities.

His mouth tightens in displeasure and he takes you roughly by the elbow, yanking you down the street towards your room. “Don’t be disgusting,” he scolds, yanking your harder, whiplash to your neck. You try to dig your heels into the asphalt, reminded of your inability to fight off men who want to force you to do things you don’t want to do. 

“Maybe that’s just me. Disgusting.” Your stubby nails trying to gouge at the skin of his wrist do nothing. 

Maybe if it was possible to be rotten and still be loved, then you might be convinced to believe after all. But he’s doing a piss poor job of it so far. The both of you are, actually. This really is like you’re carrying around an iron lung. Feels terrible. And when he whips around abruptly, finally on the sorry stoop of your front door, he looks truly angry at you in a way you don’t think you’ve seen him look before. 

“You’re killing them.”

That look, it almost makes you want to be sorry. To say, I’m bitter now, I want to be sweet again. I feel like a ruiner. Some strange emotion wells up in your throat, behind your eyes. Almost. 

“Yes.”

Maybe it’s accusation mixed with worry mixed with fright, you don’t know. Because when the anger leaves his eyes and he drops your arm as if stung, it feels bad in a distinctly unpleasant way. He must see something sinister in your glassy eyes, to bring it forward. 

Why can’t he see that this is all his doing, opening this thing inside of you and showing you how to do it as easy as a bare handed kill?

“The FEDRA goons’ll catch on, you’re not bein’ careful, and you’ll get caught ‘nd that won't be something I'll be able to get you out of. You’re out of control.”

“Not yet, I’m not.”

He shakes his head, disappointed look down his nose at you. “I won’t stick around to watch the crash out.” Very fatherly-like. You’d laugh in his face if you didn’t also want to cry in his arms just now, so you bare your teeth at him in an angry growl, and he’s the one to laugh in your face instead. Imagine an anger so weak it’s funny. 

“Maybe we’re the same, Joel. Have you considered that? Maybe that’s what bothers you about it. That we’re too alike for your own comfort.”

“You only see what you want to see, that’s why bad things come your way.”

“That’s a mean thing to say, Joel Miller.”

“You’re bein’ fuckin’ crazy, not careful. I’m not stickin’ around to watch you hurt yourself. You understand me?” He’s really working himself up, red in the face. Real upset with a finger thrust into your nose that’s making you more emotional than you even think you really feel. But he’s got you all twisted up inside, obsessed and murderous and thinking you might believe yourself in love when you were so sure that wasn’t even possible. “Thinkin’ you’re so fuckin’ smart, so sly. I see you.” He thrusts his finger at your face, gets real close and personal. “I know what you are, you little mess.”

You have to force sound up through the knot in your throat, your voice cracks anyways, you swipe an angry hand at an escaped tear. “I’m just doing what you taught me. You can help me, if you want. If you’re jealous you’re missing out on all the fun.”

The look he gives you, eyes full of furious heat like he could throttle you. You can feel his panting breath against your mouth and those angry eyes flash to your lips for a second, and you know he wants to kiss you, too. Can’t even help himself. You taught him how to lie, how to trick his way into what he wants better than he already knew how. Showed him a good fuck. There’s things Joel’s obsessed with now, too, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. And it’s not such an easy thing to brush off as a weakness, an obsession, when the object of its desire is right in front of you and just as panting angry. 

When he storms off in a huff, you make sure your mocking laugh is loud enough to follow.  

He comes when it’s midnight dark outside, not like a ghost because Joel could never be something as ineffable. Whatever it is that can be worse than a ghost, though, that’s what he crawls into your bed as, you decide. 

The night is dark. It is quiet. The air is still. If something bad were to happen, this would be the perfect moment. 

You hang suspended in your dreamscape, not awake and not gone to sleep completely. The feel of his weight moving over you on hands and knees could be light as nothing the way you float on that edge. But the heat he radiates is unmistakable when he pulls the light sheet away from your damp body, and you can feel the bare heat of his naked thigh brush against the inside of your knee when he nudges your legs apart. 

A coward is worse than a ghost. 

He moves your limp body as he needs, spreading your thighs and hitching your hips. 

“S’alright, just open your legs for me…yeah, baby, yeah. Lemme in, don’t need to be awake, just take it.” There’s the wet tuck of the wide head, “Here ya go, darlin’. Nice and easy.” Skin so hot it scalds, but so, so soft, too. The forward nudge, the slick slide because you were dreaming of this already, went to sleep wishing for it, so it’s tight and gripping but wet. 

This is how one confuses lust with love. And you think: I want…I want. And I want it from him and he has to give it to me.

His thumb rubs along the stretch of your cunt around his cock as he sneaks his way inside your body, so sleepy, such a good girl, coaxing the taut skin to do what he’s demanding, gathering slick beneath the pad of his thumb to slide up the curve beneath your cheeks to press at your other hole, insistent on intruding even further. 

You whine pitifully, still trapped in that half-dream place and he gruffs soft and chuffing in his chest, half braying buck, half soft, easily manipulated thing. 

“You like this, baby,” he tells your half asleep form. “Like it when I use you like this.” 

He’s got one arm bent over your head to cup the top of your skull, applying gentle pressure to press your body back into accepting his cock, and when he’s slid full into the hilt, fingers of his other hand hitching one knee higher to make more room for his bulk, he pauses and holds still to breathe into your neck. That’s what gets you to wake up completely. The concentrated scent of his body so close, the hot wash of his breath against your throat, the smell of his clean sweat blended with heat. Your own cold sweat blooms along the line of your vertebrae, and you can feel the thump of his aorta in his belly against the small of your back and deep in your cunt against your cervix, that thump thump thump. You wish you could reach in and take hold of that lifeline, grasp in your hand that which keeps him alive for you and guard it for him in thanks for his keeping you alive, too. 

“So good, stay right there, just like that. Don’t move, baby, need this right now.”

He presses a very gentle kiss to your jaw, and then starts to thrust. You like that he’s always gentle when he sneaks up on you like this. That he’s always very careful about fucking you awake, ever aware of the fact that he’s taking something. 

You moan softly for him, the feel of the wide head moving against the front wall of your cunt, rubbing against the sensitive spot there. The catch and tug at the ring of your entrance when he pulls his hips all the way back to slide in long and stretching next. 

“That feels good, doesn’t it? Feels good to just lay there and take it. My little hole to fuck and fill whenever I want.”

You start to pant, quick and panicked, needing to get there already. You want it so bad. He presses in as deeply as he can go, tip to womb, grinding and you start to come, so hard it’s painful, like your insides are all stretched and wrong and bruised, and then suddenly pulls out of your belly with a wet, tight suction. 

It forces a strangled little scream from your throat— “Come inside me, no, no, please, please, Joel. ”

“No.” —Your entire body spasms painfully and half-fulfilled.

“Don’t be mean to me. I can’t take it, not tonight, please— No, no, don’t, Joel—” Before he’s forcing that thick mushroom head into your ass, stinging and unprepared, and jacking the greater half of his cock to spend into your tight hole, his palm wrapped around your hip, fingertips pressed to the pulse in your groin to force you back onto his spurting erection. The sound he makes, loud, unrestrained groan with his hot, wet mouth pressed against your ear, the feel of his tongue licking at the sensitive dip below, and the unbearable heat of his semen bleeding into your belly, it makes your cunt spasm again, milking hungry at nothing. 

Angry, greedy, starving tears slip from your eyes when he pulls out of your stinging ass. He doesn’t even frown when he sees your splotchy, tear streaked face, only licks them clean away like they’re exactly what he expected to slake himself with in the aftermath. 

He’s a heavy sleeper when he’s in your bed. One of the silent reassurances because you know he wouldn’t be able to truly rest, to find real sleep beside you, if he didn’t trust you completely. 

You straddle his waist, the soft thickness of his cock tucked between your bodies, and admire your handwork. The broad musculature of his chest, the thick vein, dark beneath his skin, running along his shoulder, highlighted by the intruding moonlight. You press the hard muscle beneath it, watching as the blue thread disappears for a moment and then bleeds dark again. When you grip his face, his lashes flutter for a moment, and then it’s just his stupid, animal eyes, helpless to your grace, following you even when you terrify him. 

“I told you not to be mean to me,” you tell him, digging your nails into his cheeks. He looks at you blankly for a second longer, taking stock of his body, and then his head tilts up, up, following the line of his arms to where his hands are tied together at the bedpost. 

The look he swings back your way, crooked brow and all, is condescending enough you take hold of his hardening cock between your bodies, tugging his hips off the mattress so he’s whimpering, hardening further immediately. 

“What’re you up to, baby?” He pants, head falling back between his lifted shoulders, groaning when you squeeze the reddened head tightly. 

“My turn to play,” you murmur, sitting back to admire the thick bulge of his biceps as he strains against the ties, his reddening chest. 

“Fuck—that’s fuckin’ good,” Joel moans as you twist your fist around him, tugging his sac with your other hand, spitting to lubricate your fist moving up and down his length. He moans louder, your name, and his legs shift restlessly behind you, tipping you forward on your knees with the movement. You squeeze his balls tighter, trying to find your balance and he whines. There’s a tiny bead of sweat at the delicious notch of his throat that you taste with the tip of your tongue. Sweet and salty, both at the same time. 

“Fuck, fuck, that’s enough now.” He widens his knees bent behind you, trying to dislodge your balance further, and you hear the creak of the headboard as he strains further against his binds, the muscles in his arms bulging obscenely. Your heart beats a panicked flutter of excitement. “That’s enough, you’re going to make me fuckin’ come—fuck.”

“I told you not to be mean to me tonight. I asked you to come inside me and you wouldn’t. You’re mean, Joel Miller, and I don’t like it.”

You shuffle your knees wider, and he looks down at you with glassy, delirious eyes, his erection throbbing almost violently in your grip. 

“You’re bein’ a real bad girl right now.”

“I want you to love me,” you tell him, notching him at the mouth of your sex. 

“I won’t.”

“I’ll make you.”

You press down on him until his thighs are against your bottom, both of you groaning ferociously at the tight fit caused by the angle you're bent forward at on top of him. Looping your arms around his neck, yanking his head back with your fingers in his hair. 

“Fucking kiss me,” he demands, and you press your mouth hard to his, tasting his tongue. Tightening around him, you bear down, molding your chest to his. I’ll make you, I’ll make you, you tell him and he eats at your mouth, growling with the force of his strength when he rips the restraints free of the headboard to wrap one freed arm around your waist, pulling your hips still and lifted so he can pound up into you as hard as he wants until you’re both falling into your orgasm together, gasping mouth against gasping mouth. 

When he’s finally caught his breath, he tells you, “If anyone could, it’d probably be you.”

The last of the six takes a long time to catch. Like a bad, sneaky rat that’s learned all the tricks. She takes too long, and he gets another girl, and what he does, it isn’t just an almost, not even just a breaking in. She’s forced to say the whole hateful word out loud. It’s all very brutal, makes her stomach hurt. Makes her cry and feel guilty and then relieved, terrified and then horrible again. 

So when she finally catches him, she makes it really count, real slow. 

“You gotta hold the knife like this. Forty-five degree angle, cock your wrist and press firm. But controlled. Don’t wanna go too deep, though, and knick the liver or he’ll bleed out right quick like a stuck pig. Real messy.” Joel’s instructions are clear, precise. “Yeah, good, like that. A little deeper.” The blood spurts, it is very red—arterial, too deep—the body bays like a dying thing.

“Thank you.” He knows what she means.

“Sure.”

She looks at him and he stares back at her. 

“I told you I’d make you. Didn’t I?”

“You did.” His eyes are deep and soft. “Now focus,” he tips his chin at the dying body, “We’re almost done.”

Later, when Joel steps out of the old, abandoned house, her work cleared away not to be found, he sees that there is a large, dead stag just by the door, seemingly come out of nowhere—caught now. 

End Notes: FMC is attacked and a sexual assault is attempted, she is pinned down and groped (body parts not specified) but Joel stops her attackers before it can be taken further. If you would like to skip ahead the description of assault starts from "She calls it an attempted break in..." and ends at "First, you hunt for his name."

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[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ brat tamer!matt loves being called daddy

matt bends you over his lap, your ass up in the air, putting you in the perfect position for what's to come. "you know what happens to bad girls, don't you baby?” he asks, his voice dripping with dark promise. you shiver, knowing all too well the delicious torment he has in store for you, matt flips your skirt up.

the first spank lands with a loud sound, pain but pleasure blossoming across your tender flesh. "say it," matt demands. "oh—oh my—i’ve been a bad girl, daddy," you whimper, feeling so small and vulnerable bent over his strong thighs. this only spurs him on. "that's right, you have. and ‘m going to make sure you don't forget it." his hand comes down again and again, each smack stinging more than the last.

your ass is soon burning, throbbing an angry red. tears streak your cheeks, but you don't want him to stop. you need this, crave the exquisite punishment only he can give you. matt pauses, rubbing your scorching skin soothingly. "are you going to be a good girl for me?" he asks. "y—yes daddy, i'll be good," you sniffle, meaning it with all your heart. "good." he sounds pleased. he pushes you off his lap, down onto the floor on your hands and knees. "you're going to be a good little slut for daddy, aren't you?"

the crude words make you flush with shame and arousal. "y—yes daddy!" you moan out. he positions himself behind you, the fhead of his cock nudging against your entrance. "beg me for it," he commands. "please daddy, i need you inside me, fuck me please!" you babble frantically. with a growl, he thrusts deep, impaling you on his considerable length. you cry out at the intensity of it, feeling split open and thoroughly mounted.

matt fucks you hard, his hips slamming against your spank-warmed cheeks. the room is filled with the lewd sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and your moans. "you like that sweetheart? like being punished?" he grunts. "y—yes, oh my gosh—" you whine, lost in subspace. he brings you to the brink again and again, only to deny you each time. you're mindless with need, tears of frustration streaming down your face. you'd beg but you can't find the words, can only sob and moan piteously.

finally, matt takes pity on you. "cum for me, babygirl," he coos and with a few rubs of your clit you're hurtling into oblivion, screaming his name. with a roar, he spills inside you, his seed painting your insides white. afterwards, he gathers you in his arms, stroking your hair and crooning endearments while you shudder and cry. "my sweet, perfect girl," he breathes worshipfully. "all mine."

© delilahsturniolo

💌: i cringed so hard writing this im sorry 😭 anyway happy fathers day!!!!

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Hard Times

Chapter One: After the untimely death of your family, your step-father steps up and takes care of you.

RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

❥Kim Hongjoong x fem reader

"A little girl who needs her Daddy real bad."

-Ethel Cain, Hard Times ♫

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, angst, smut ➯disclaimer: DARK FICTION. DEAD DOVE. RIP I KILLED THAT HOE- 18+. MINORS YOU DON'T BELONG HERE.

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: limited short series; see general warnings in the masterlist: step-dad hongjoong, reader calls hj dad on accident / jokingly + he likes it a little too much, age gap (reader young adult, hong in his late 30s), serious daddy issues, flashbacks will be italics and past tense, soul crushing grief (readers parents passed in car crash just before the story starts), survivors guilt, brief hospitalization, kissing on the lips (half) platonically, depepictions of deep depression, medication, mentions of ptsd nightmares, joong yells at reader (but it's kinda fair imo), emotional manipulation (lowkey going both ways), attempted suicide (via pill overdose, reader throws them up->) emetophobia, reader wears traditionally girly clothes + makeup, perv!hong has a corruption / virginity kink, talking about virginity + how readers bf tried to pressure her, non-sexual nudity, pet names including: (sweet, pretty, little, ect) girl, angel, sweetheart, baby, honey

➯a/n: happy fathers day to all the lovelies out there with horrrrrid daddy issues (self shout out fr) let me know what you think <3

୨ sweet as honey ৎ @m00njinnie @seonghwassii @whyismingi @emotionallyanaemic @werewolfcrimson @ninjakitty15 @klllerwaifu @a-tiny-thing @pandyandy71 @monstacheol @aurorasjoongie ₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

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────୨ৎ────

"I hate you!"

Hongjoong jumped as he heard you scream from your room, muffled through the walls. He instantly got up off the couch, heading down the hall.

Equal parts nosey and concerned, he stopped outside of your closed door. "Why do you always do this? You promised me that you'd t-" He leaned his ear closer.

"Oh, and now you want to interrupt me when I'm trying to tell you how — Will you listen to me? I really wanted to spend time with you..."

He heard you throw something, followed by a sniffle. "Yeah, no, I get it... Mhm. Love y- hello? Hello?" You let out a soft, sighing, laugh. "Yeah, fuck you too, Dad."

He waited a few moments before knocking lightly. "Hey, (Y/n)?"

"Just- just a second."

You were wiping your hand on your leg as you opened the door, clearing it of the tears you were trying to hide. He, obviously, could still tell you were crying. "What's up, Joong?"

"I was wondering," he leaned against the wall across from your door, giving you some much needed space, "since your mom is going to be late tonight, why don't we order some takeout? I still have that menu from the Chinese place. We can get her some too so she doesn't have to worry about stopping after work."

"Sure," you nodded, sniffling again, "the, uh, Lins Express?"

"Mhm. You liked it, right?" He knows you did, you wouldn't shut up about their honey noodles for hours. It was so endearing — how could he possibly forget? "Honey noodles for you?"

Your eyes softened as you finally looked up from the floor and met his gaze.

He smiled. Gentle and light.

He remembered what you liked from the place you had one time? He's only known you for two months, he must be very observant; that's what you told yourself as you felt the smallest flutter of happiness in your heart.

"Yeah- yes. Yes, please."

────୨ৎ────

"Has she moved yet?"

"Not an inch."

You don't hear them speaking. Not really, anyway.

After your initial shock when they broke the news to you — you cried. A lot.

You cried so much you couldn't breathe. Sobbed so violently you fell to the floor even though they made you sit down on the hospital bed before they told you. Doubled right over and almost smacked your face into the tile if not for the fast acting nurse catching you.

And after that, after the nurse sedated you, you cried yourself to sleep with your face in the pillow. It kicked in fast — left you only with a mere minute to beg them to let you join your parents.

"Can you blame her? Poor girl's in shock..." Your step-father, Kim Hongjoong, leans back in the stiff chair on the wall; crossing his arms over his chest.

He'd married your mother almost a year ago. After her divorce with your father, she had trouble staying afloat. And marrying him helped her back to the surface. Taxes are a powerful thing.

For him, marrying her, it brought him closer to you.

He met you at a work event, when your mother had brought you along.

Dancing in the grass in a sun dress that twirled with your movement, the most beautiful smile on your lips —

He fell in love.

It was a stroke of luck that your parents got divorced a few months later. For him, at least.

And another that you had been on the way back from your old home together, finalizing the selling of it, when you were hit by an oncoming truck. Leaving you the only survivor with nothing but a broken arm, a bump to your head, and a crushed soul. Again, luck for him.

He was still thinking of a way to get his hands on you. And this works. As fucked up as he knows it is — this works.

His is the only family you have left. In the state you're in, in the state he knows you're going to be in for a while, you need someone to lean on.

Might as well be him.

"I think I'm going to head home and get some shut eye..." Your uncle, his brother; Bumjoong, pats his leg as he stands.

Leaning his knee on your small hospital bed, he leans over and kisses your hair. "I'll be back soon." He doesn't know if you can hear him, but he lets you know anyways. "Be strong, kid."

You're staring at the wall, laid curled up on your side just like Hongjoong left you after you'd woken them up with your sobs for the fifth time.

When you don't respond after a moment, he lets out a soft sigh and rubs your arm before getting up. "Take care of her, Hong," he says as he leans down to hug him, "I'll be back tomorrow. Try and get her to eat something, will you?"

"Yeah," Hongjoong nods, hugging his brother back lightly, "I'll see you tomorrow."

He turns to face you as Bumjoong leaves, waiting to hear the door thunk closed before he moves towards you.

He speaks your name quietly as he sits on the twin bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The blanket it ruffled and messy ontop of you, pulled all the way up to your neck. When he touches your head, he reels back.

You're burning up.

"Get this off, honey," he hurries to pull it off of you, and you still don't move a single muscle. Even as he drops it to the floor and gets up to turn down the AC in the room.

It's almost the height of summer, and you don't even seem to notice you've been sweating for god-knows how long.

"Come on." He lifts you with a groan — his heart breaking as you let out a soft whimper.

He hates that this is the way he gets to have you all to himself. His sweet girl doesn't deserve all of this pain. If he had it his way, nothing in the world would ever hurt you. But it went and stole away both of your parents on the same night, breaking your forearm and your heart in the process.

As he pulls you onto your feet and wraps your arm around his shoulders, your eyes start burning with the urge to cry. Nothing comes out, though. You've already exhausted your body's supply of hydration through your sweat and tears. You squeeze them shut to relieve the sting, sobbing tearlessly as he guides you to the connected bathroom.

"I know, sweet girl," he whispers, bumping the door open with his foot. "It's going to be okay."

It certainly doesn't feel like it.

"I know it doesn't feel like it," he pouts as he sits you on the closed toilet. "But I'm going to be here with you, okay? We're going to get through this together, you and me. I'm here for whatever you need, honey."

He peels the thin hospital gown off of you carefully, forcing his eyes anywhere but your chest as it heaves with the force of your dry sobs. "Let's get you cleaned up."

────୨ৎ────

"She didn't eat anything: I tried, the nurse tried, the doctor tried to tell her she should at least have something..." Hongjoong sighs, holding his phone to his ear as he leans his head against the wall; slumped in the chair. "Mh... You can get her some honey noodles. It's her favorite, so..." He trails off.

"Hopefully she'll eat it?" Bumjoong speaks on the other end of the line.

"Yeah. We couldn't even get her to drink anything. They had to put her on a drip, she was so dehydrated she couldn't even cry."

"Poor thing..."

"Mhm..."

"How are you doing, Hong?"

He pauses for a moment. He hadn't really thought of his feelings — too worried about yours. Your wellbeing far outweighs his care of his own, it has for a long time.

"I'm okay." He says truthfully, "I'm a- I'm sad, I guess. I wasn't in love with her, and I didn't know him. She was..." A means to an end? "A good friend. I really cared about her." Not nearly as much as he cares about you, though. "I'm more worried about (Y/n)."

"It's a really big shock. Both of you will get through this. I know you'll take care of her, you're good like that."

"Thanks, B- oh, I gotta go. See you when you get here."

Hongjoong stands up quickly as he catches you moving in bed. Laid atop the blankets in some slightly too large sweat pants and a tank top, you stir awake.

He's by your side when you open your protesting eyes, holding your hand gently. "Hey, honey." He keeps it simple, "I'm here."

"Joongie..." Your voice comes out raspy from all the crying, and more tears are working their way into your eyes now that you're hydrated again.

"I'm here, don't worry."

You open up your arms, and he dives right in, wrapping his around you tightly and pulling you up into his lap. Your legs lock around his hips, and your arms around his neck, the rough texture of the plaster cast itching his skin; but he doesn't move it as you land your face in the crook of his shoulder.

"I've got you. Joongie's got you." He coos at you like you're a child and really — you might as well be one right now. All you can do is cry and cry and cry.

His hand sliding up and down your back gently keeps you grounded, and you aren't sure if you appreciate it. You don't know if you want to be present while your mind sorts through all of the sudden grief you're slammed with.

Through your blubbering, messy tears, you ask, "wh-ere are- are they?"

He doesn't want to answer. He knows anything he says will make it worse. But he can't lie to you. You deserve to know. "They're in the morgue. Bum just went and claimed their bodies-"

You let out a scream into his shoulder, making him jolt before he hugs you tighter. Pure heartbreak, absolutely soul shaking and he knows the patients in the neighboring rooms have heard it.

Another raw scream rips through your throat, followed by a series of mumbles. "No, no, no, no, this can't be happening-"

"Shhh, I'm sorry, honey," he holds your head to his chest, tucking you under his chin, "I'm sorry, it is..."

He blinks away his tears, cradling you close to him. He can't stand to see you so upset. But there's nothing he can do to make it better.

This is only a wound that time can try to heal.

But that doesn't mean he won't be there as it does. He's always been there, ever since he came into your life. He isn't going anywhere.

────୨ৎ────

You were always afraid of thunderstorms.

It started when you were a girl, and carried all the way into your adulthood.

As the thunder boomed too close for comfort, you curled up in your blanket tighter. And when the lighting flashed right outside of your window; you scrambled up with a terrified yelp. "Mom!"

"(Y/n)?" Hongjoong yelled as he ran to your room quickly, sluggish with the remnants of sleep but bolting to the sound of your voice nonetheless. He was just about to fall asleep, but your scream had him up in seconds.

Your mother wasn't home, and wouldn't be for some time. She had taken to working extra late nights and weekends. It's usually always just you and Hongjoong when you get home from work.

He grabbed your doorframe as he came to an abrupt stop, looking around your room before he heard a small sniffle — and there you were.

Sitting with your back against the bed and your head in your knees, hugging yourself tightly. "Honey?" He called with such gentleness it hardly broke the air.

Your teary eyes looked up from your legs, your lip trembling. He came up to you slowly, placing his hands on your knees as he kneeled in front of you. "Are you okay?"

"It's so- so childish..." You had whispered, wiping your face quickly as tears streaked down your cheeks. Just when he was about to ask 'what?' —

Another house-shaking rumble of thunder made you jump, instinctively grabbing his arm. Fear in your eyes, you opened your mouth; but no sound escaped.

"It's okay," he said, placing his hand over yours gently as you clung to his arm. "Are you scared of the storm?"

Embarrassedly, you had nodded.

"Yeah, I get it — mother nature is a scary son of a bitch." His eyes lit up as you chuckled lightly. "Do you- is there anything I can do?"

You hesitated for a few moments before another rumble shook the walls, then you spoke quickly; "Can you stay?"

You felt ridiculous. A grown woman asking her step-father to stay with her because she was afraid of some thunder and lightning. You thought he'd come up with some excuse to leave and go to his own bed.

But he didn't even pause before saying, "of course, honey." He didn't make you feel ridiculous. Childish.

No, he made you feel safe.

────୨ৎ────

"Are you awake?"

You are. Staring at your ceiling. In complete silence. The comfort of your own bed, your own clothes, the smell of your mothers laundry soap that you always complained about being too floral — it's all so comforting that you haven't moved since you got home... 17 hours ago.

"...Yes."

"Are you hungry?" Hongjoong asks from the doorway, leaning with his hands in his pockets. "The doctor said you should try to eat with your medicine."

You take a second to think. To try and feel your bodies needs. You fall short. "I don't know."

"I'll make you some breakfast."

Breakfast?

You turn your head with a groan as he walks away, looking towards your window. In from the closed curtains, on your floor is the early morning light; trying its hardest to seep into your room.

You roll your head back and sigh, looking at the ceiling for a moment before urging yourself to sit up.

Sit up. Just do it. Just get up!

But your body doesn't respond to your brain telling it to move. You close your eyes defeatedly, keeping the tears held back by your eyelids. "Hongjoong..." You call weakly. "Joong."

He peeks his head into the room before coming in slowly, "yes?"

"I c-" You breathe out slowly, forcing your eyes open. Your chin trembles with your held back emotion. "I can't move."

His eyebrows push together, "do you want me to help you?" He asks softly, his fingers tracing over the cast on your arm.

"Please," you choke out your response, melting into his touch as he wraps his arms under you and pulls you up carefully.

"Here we go, baby," the nickname slips out unintentionally; and neither of you notice it. "Easy does it." He hums as he rubs your arms, letting you sit up on your own as he moves your legs to dangle off the bed.

"When- when are we going to bury them?"

He sighs, crouching infront of you and placing his hands on your knees. "Are you ready to talk about that?"

"I need to- we need to. I can't... I can't just let them sit there." I should be there with them; is what you want to add.

It's all you've been able to think about. Why, of all of you, are you the one to survive? The only one?

"We can talk about it after you eat something."

"Hongjoong, c-"

"Come on," he grabs your hand gently, leading you onto your feet and holding you steady as you waiver. "One step at a time."

────୨ৎ────

"Hey, Hiyyih," Hongjoong greets the young woman as he opens the door the next day.

She's the first person other than him and Bumjoong that you were willing to speak with.

"How is she?" She asks as she pushes her way into the house, taking off her shoes in a hurry.

"About how you'd expect..." He sighs, pushing back his messy hair. He spent the entire night in bed with you, both of you only getting fitful episodes of rest between the nightmares and crying.

But he was diligent and soft with you the entire time, holding you close with just enough pressure that you didn't feel trapped. You just felt... protected.

"Not great. At all."

She goes to run to your room, but she stops herself and looks him up and down. "I've got her. You need to get some rest, too."

"Thank you," he smiles, just barely.

He doesn't want to put you in someone else's care. But, if it's going to be anyone, he's glad it's her.

You've been best friends since childhood and he's got to know her and her brother well during the last year. She cares about you almost as much as he does. Almost.

"If she needs anything- or you, if you need anything-"

"I know where to find you," she nods, giving him a light hug before rushing down the hallway; calling your name.

She finds you right where he left you, laid on your side in the bed; watching your fingers trace along the cast on your arm with the slightest hint of disgust in your otherwise blank eyes.

"Hey." Her softly spoken tone makes your eyes flick to her quickly, relief written on your face.

"Hiyyih," you sit up too quickly, but your dizziness doesn't stop you from getting up and hugging the blonde tightly; getting the exact treatment back.

She doesn't handle you like you're fragile, like the brothers do. And she doesn't carry pity in her voice, like others had, as she says, "I'm so sorry."

Hiyyih hugs you like she means it, wrapping her arms around you tightly and squeezing you into her while you both start tearing up. "I was so scared," she whispers as she holds you impossibly closer, "they wouldn't let me and Kai up to see you. Joong wasn't answering his phone, yours is still straight to voicemail, I was so scared I lost you-"

"I'm still here," you choke out. Pained with the fact. And she can hear it in your voice.

She pulls back with a pout, her arms around your neck gently, "and I'm glad. (Y/n), what happened to you is-"

"A miracle?" You grimace as you recall the word the doctor and nurses said over and over again. "So I've heard."

"It's a miracle she survived." The doctor had told Hongjoong. "Your arm should heal within two months, it's really a miracle." The woman said as she explained how to care for your cast. Miracle. Miracle.

The word even slipped from Hongjoong the day he brought you home from the hospital, as he placed you into bed. Thinking you were sleeping. "My miracle."

"No," Hiyyih shakes her head, frowning. "It's a tragedy. I can't even begin to imagine the pain you're in..."

Hearing someone else say exactly what you were thinking, hearing it be validated — you crash right back into her arms in a wreck of sobs. "Oh, Hiyyih! I can't- I don't-"

She doesn't shush you, she doesn't tell you it's okay. She just sniffles, holding you tightly as you shake with the force of your grief.

────୨ৎ────

"He said that?!" Hiyyih slapped her hand over her mouth as you shushed her.

"Shhh!" You hit her arm, pouting dramatically, "will you quit it? My step-dad works from home."

"Sorry, sorry," she frowned, sitting atop the counter while you cooked for the both of you. "But... he said that?"

"Yeah... That's what he said," you smiled brightly, "he said he'll even pick me up."

"Oh, I'm so excited for you! This is your first date since when? How long has it been, two years, three-"

"Hey, girls," Hongjoong said as he turned into the kitchen, spooking you both into silence. He nodded to Hiyyih briefly before smiling towards you.

"Hey, Hong." You didn't seem to think anything of it as he pushed you forward a bit by the small of your back to get past you to the refrigerator. "If we're too loud, just tell me. Hiyyih doesn't know how to control her volume." You stuck your tongue out at her, laughing as she did the same.

"You're fine," he chuckled lightly, taking a seat at the table with his drink. "What're you making? Smells good."

"Ramen with my secret ingredient," you were already reaching into the cabinet to get another pack as you asked, "want some?"

"Sure. What's the secret ingredient?" He hummed, leaning his head in his hand as he watched you.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret~"

"It's Tajin and cooking wine." Hiyyih smirked as you turned to her, wielding your fork like a weapon.

"I'm never telling you my secrets again. You've betrayed me for the last time!" You yelled dramatically, snatching up the seasoning she handed to you.

"Yes, you will," she gigged, nudging your leg with her foot, "you tell me everything!"

"Not any more."

Hongjoong watched from the table, smiling, as you and your friend went back in forth with your playful argument. Really though, his eyes never left you.

────୨ৎ────

Neither your mother nor your father had much family. The only ones who showed up to the funeral a few days later was a handful of cousins and some sympathetic co-workers. Hiyyih and Kai, their parents.

Hongjoong didn't let you leave his side, and you didn't want to anyway.

You dread the day he leaves because he's the only thing keeping you even semi-functional.

For the past four days: he's pulled you out of bed, cleaned you up, made sure you took your medicine, he helped you change everyday — claiming it was only worse for your mental health to stay in your pajamas all day.

He must pity you. That's what you think. That's why he's sticking around. He'll probably leave after the funeral like everyone else.

Your stark white cast stands out in the sea of black as your parents are lowered into the ground next to one another.

Hongjoong looks over to you; your bloodshot eyes trained on the caskets.

He doesn't pity you. He loves you.

Of course he feels bad. He hates that you're in pain. But he cares for you more than he pities you. Far more.

He wraps his arm around your shoulders and your head immediately falls into his, your hand coming to cover your mouth. Bumjoong, from behind you, rests a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You don't know what you're going to do when they leave.

Hiyyih, from your other side, rubs your back softly as you muffle your cries. Kai is biting back his tears as he reaches between you and holds your hand. You'll always have them.

────୨ৎ────

And even if you didn't, you don't have to worry about the brothers leaving, especially not Hongjoong. He tries to make that clear as he helps you out of the car.

He came back with you. He isn't going anywhere.

"I'll heat you up some-"

"(Y/n)?" Your elder neighbor hobbles over quickly, stopping the three of you in your driveway. "Dear, look at you..."

"Now's not a great time-" Hongjoong tries to stop her, pulling you behind him gently when she reaches out.

"Oh, I'll be quick," she says as she takes your hands in her own, cast and all.

"Ma'am, really-" Bumjoong similarly gets cut off.

"I just wanted to let you know how very, very sorry my husband and I are for you. You're so young, you shouldn't have to deal with such grief. I was in my fifties when my parents passed, I can't imagine..."

You look up at her blankly, "thanks, Miss K."

"Oh, dear, I'm so glad you're okay! You're such a sweet girl. It's a miracle you survived. I saw the photos on the news, it's a work of god that anyone made it out-"

"Okay, okay," Hongjoong steps between you, "really, that's enough. Thank you for your condolences."

Both you and Bumjoong are looking at the woman like she's grown another head, wide eyes and jaws dropped.

Hongjoong, though, is seething. "We'll see you around, Miss K." He yanks your hands from her grasp and pulls you to the front door, hiding you in his side with his arm around you while he unlocks the door. "What a fucking bitch, read the room-" He grumbles as he pushes the door open, guiding you inside. "Come on, honey."

Bumjoong gives the awestruck woman an awkward smile before run-walking to join you.

Hongjoong is kneeling down, taking your shoes off of you gently.

"Ignore her." He knows you feel guilty for surviving. He, and everyone else, have been trying to get that idea out of your head.

The idea that you should have died with your parents.

"I think I wa- I want to go lay down."

That's all you've wanted to do for the past six days. All six days since the crash — all you want to do is curl up and disappear.

"Come on," he pushes you into the direction of the couch, "Bum, will you make her something to drink?"

"On it."

You crash onto the cushions, laid face down as he pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over you. "Thanks." You say shortly.

"Anything you need, honey. Anything at all."

────୨ৎ────

"What're you wearing?" Hongjoong hummed, leaning his head over the back of the couch and looking you up and down.

Dressed in a cute skirt and a button up blouse, all dolled up, you did a twirl that made his heart flutter. "Cute, right?"

"Very~ Where you off to?"

"Me and Hiyyih are going on a girls date. Her boyfriend just broke up with her, so I'm standing in," you laughed as you grabbed your purse from the hook by the door.

"You're a good friend," he smiled, quickly standing up and making his way to you. "No boys right?"

"No, Dad," You rolled your eyes playfully, missing the way his eyes widened a bit. "Just me and her- well, her brother. But he doesn't count!"

"Hmm... I'll allow it," he joked right back after his shock passed, handing you the keys to his car after you pulled your shoes on. You took them with a big smile.

"Really? I was gonna take my bike to meet her-"

"In that skirt? Do you want the whole neighborhood to see your pant-"

"Okayyyy!" You shoved his arm, "I get it, perv."

He smirked lightly — if only you knew the half of it.

"I'll be back before mom gets home," you said as you opened up the door, leaning back to him. "Mwah," you gave him a quick peck. Chaste and fleeting.

That's one thing he still can't get used to. You kiss everyone on the lips, it's just part of how you show affection. But it still makes him giddy.

"Bye, Dad." You closed the door before either of you got the chance to really take in what had just slipped from your lips. Not joking like before.

Hongjoong stared at the door with wide eyes, debating on whether or not he actually just heard you correctly.

Debating on if he should just deal with the consequences of yanking the door open and shoving his tongue in your mouth to show you how to really kiss.

In the end, he didn't. But he thought about it.

He still thinks about it. A lot.

────୨ৎ────

"I made you an appointment with a grief counselor," Hongjoong says quietly over the sound of the rain against the roof.

The wind howls, the screen door bangs every few seconds, the television keeps it's steady sound of a show you've seen a million times.

You stay there, laying across the couch, unmoving with your unfocused eyes on the TV.

"Did you hear me, honey?"

"...Yeah."

"Is th-" He sighs, rubbing his face as he leans on the doorframe. He's asked you 'is there anything you need' five times a day, at the very least. And he never got an answer.

He's not been guiding you through your grief — he's just been keeping you afloat so that you don't drown in it completely.

He needs to know what you need to start getting through it.

"I'm really trying. I really am, (Y/n)... But I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need."

The lights flicker with a loud rumble of thunder, and his heart breaks a little more as he watches you flinch.

He pushes off of the wall, getting a tissue from the third box you've gone through this week and a half on his way over.

When he kneels in front of you and dabs your tears away, they start flowing quicker. "Shhh," he coos softly, rubbing your arm as you hold yourself, "I know. I know, honey."

His blurry figure pouts as you meet his gaze. "I need-" Your voice cracks, "I need you to hold me."

He presses his lips together in a gentle smile, "okay. I can do that."

You finally push yourself off of the couch for the first time in hours, sniffling quietly.

He sits next to you and pats his lap lightly, urging you forward. Carefully, you sit sideways atop of him; your shoulders slumped and your head low as you wipe your eyes.

As he wraps his arms around you, you can't help the wave of ugly sobs that come with the comfort of his touch.

"It's okay," he says softly as he presses his forehead against your shoulder, "cry it all out."

You turn quickly, hugging his neck and crying into him, "why am I alive, Joongie?"

He's well and true speechless. He has no idea what to say. How to comfort you. "Don't... don't say that."

"It should have been me-"

"Stop. Stop talking like that, honey."

When his palms touch your cheeks, you almost think he's slapped you from both sides simultaneously — but his touch is soft, and it doesn't move.

His eyes flick wildly across your teary face, his finger twitching on your cheekbones. "Don't say that. Don't fucking say that."

"Why are you even here? You can leave, go find an actual girlfriend-"

"I don't want to." He breathes softly, frantic eyes finally locking on yours, "I don't want to leave. This is our home. This is where we belong, together. I don't want a girlfriend, I want you."

"Wh-"

"I want to stay with you," he shakes his head as if correcting himself, "I want to take care of you, honey. Please, please just let me. You don't need to do this on your own — you can't. I want to stay."

Your pout only gets bigger, bottom lip trembling and calling his attention. "Why?"

"Because I care about you."

Despite the circumstances, his heart is trying to beat out of his chest to try and jump into yours. He means every word he says, but you don't know the extent.

"Don't say those things again, baby. Never. You deserve to live. And I'm not going to leave. Especially not when you're hurting so bad."

A bittersweet warmth touches your soul for the first time since the accident. The corners of your lips twitch up instead of down. "R-really?"

He takes a steadying breath before he pecks your lips, holding himself back. "Really."

────୨ৎ────

"Joong." You grab his wrist as he turns to leave your bedroom the next night, looking down at the floor.

"Yup? Yes, honey?" He turns back around quickly, rubbing your arm.

He had helped you clean up and change into your pajamas, and was about to go do the same for himself.

Hiyyih had visited again, but left a few hours ago, promising she'd come back soon. You hugged her extra tight.

"I just wanted to say... thank you for taking care of me and my mom. You're a really nice guy. I hope- I hope one day you'll get to have an actual family."

He wants to tell you you are his family. But he just smiles and pets your freshly washed hair. "You're sweet."

He gets the wind knocked out of him as you crash into him. Hugging him extra tight. "Oh-" He wraps his arms around you in return, squeezing you much gentler than you do to him. He waits until you let go — he always does.

You appreciated that about him. He was good to you. "Goodnight, Hongjoong."

"Goodnight, honey. See you in the morning."

You don't say it back.

He closes the door behind him quietly. Shuffling down the hall, he rubs his face tiredly.

It doesn't hit him until he's rinsing his face, staring down at the place where your pain and sleep pills should be. And it's empty.

The door just about comes off the hinges as he yanks it open, running down the hall. "Hey!" Your door gets the same treatment, slamming into the wall behind it as he throws it open.

It's only been twenty minutes — if that. But you're sitting on the floor, leaning on the side of the bed, eyes drooping as you stare at the photo of your parents on your nightstand. Both bottles of pills are empty on the floor next to you.

"No, no, no, no," he mumbles as he runs to you. "No! What did you do? What did you do, baby? Hey, you stay awake, goddamn it!" He slaps your cheek lightly, multiple times in quick succession until you pout and open your eyes.

Wildly dilated eyes scanning his face, you groan. "I'm gonna go."

"Like fuck you are! Get up, c'mon," he grits his teeth as he hauls you to your feet, wrapping his arms up under yours and dragging you out of the room, "you aren't going anywhere! No fucking way!"

"Let go of me," you slur tiredly, kicking your feet weakly as they drag on the floor. Everything is slightly blurry from your tears. The photos lining the hall, the wallpaper they're on — your mother's bedroom door that hasn't been opened in a week.

He falls to the tile with you, dragging you to your knees as you protest feebly, "oh, god... How long ago- oh, god!"

You whine as he pulls your torso over the clawfoot tub, slapping at his hand while he grips your jaw. "You can't leave, you can't! I need you. You can't go." His fingers dig into the sides of your face; forcing your mouth open.

His fingers are in the back of your mouth before you can even grab at him, making you gag. "Ge- get them out, angel." He shoves them deeper, making you retch right into the tub. Bile and half dissolved pills.

But not nearly as many pills as he knows was in those bottles.

He does it again, cringing at the sound of your gagged whines. Not paying any mind to the stomach acid on his fingers as he digs them back into your throat. Only your pained noises as you spew more pills.

"Shhh," he uses his clean hand to rub your back as he turns on the water, washing away all of the filth and pills before rinsing his fingers. "Shhh, you're o- I'm here."

He doesn't dare say 'you're okay'. Because that's far from the truth.

You're so filled with grief and misplaced guilt that the first thing you've done in almost two weeks without being coaxed — is try to kill yourself.

But as you spit up into the tub: hard tile under your knees, heart clenching painfully in your chest, casted arm slipping on the edge, Hongjoong's trembling voice cutting through the air to beg you to stay awake long enough to get the pills out —

You realize you're afraid to die.

He's crying almost as hard as you are as you ask yourself, in a near incoherent voice, "why did I do that?" You cough into the tub, spitting up the taste of your stomach. "Joongie, what did I do?" You yell as you grip the edge of the tub with your finger-tips. "I don't want to die!"

You don't.

You miss your parents so badly that it feels like there's a void in your heart — like someone has hole punched it and left you to bleed out. You feel so guilty for walking away with nothing other than a broken arm that you may as well be calling yourself the anti-christ; like you've committed a mortal sin just by existing.

But you're afraid of what comes after death. If it's pitch black and cold. If it's like a deep sleep. If it's like heaven and hell.

You aren't ready to find out.

He hugs your arm tightly, sobbing into your sleeve, "how many did you take?"

"I t- all of them! All of them!" You shake your head, blinking rapidly, "what do I do?!"

"Open," he shakily lifts his fingers again, wrapping his hand around yours on the edge of the tub as he shoves them back into your throat. "Get them out, as many as you can, honey. Before you start digesting them more."

You can hardly breathe as he makes you empty your stomach into the tub, three more times before pills stop coming up with the burning acid that has your throat raw.

"We need to get you to the hospital-"

You shake your head, coughing dryly, "they'll admit me."

"You need to be looked at, sweetheart..."

"Please," you look at him, begging. "Don't make me. They'll keep me, Joong... I can't- I can't." You squeeze his hand tightly, "they won't let me see you."

His gaze softens even more, lacing his fingers with yours. The rushing water fills the silence between you.

"You were right," you say quietly, voice hoarse with pain; both physical and mental. "I need you to take care of me. Please, take care of me."

────୨ৎ────

You came home late, mascara smudged and half-assedly cleaned up.

"Where you been?" Hongjoong's voice made you jump, holding your hand to your chest. He turned around at the table and his eyes widened; practically jumping out of the chair. "What-"

"It's nothing." You tried to shove his hands away as they came up to cradle your puffy and heated face. That, along with your ruined makeup, told him you'd been crying.

He tilted your head up, pouting as he inspected you. "What happened?"

His soft touch, his gentle tone, the genuine concern in his eyes — it made you burst into another round of tears.

"Oh-" He shook his head, shushing you as he rubbed your cheekbones with his thumbs, "hey, shhh, you don't need to cry, sweetheart. Whatever it is, I can try to help you."

You threw yourself into his chest, hugging him tightly and leaving him a bit surprised for a moment before he returned the favor.

It was the first time he ever called you anything other than 'honey'.

He let you cry into his chest for a good few minutes before you finally exhausted yourself; sniffling and holding onto him.

"Want to tell me what this is about?" He whispered as he traced on your back.

"He dumped me."

Hongjoong wanted to jump for joy, but he hid his smile as he continued to hold your head to his shoulder; trying to keep his tone even. "He doesn't know what he's missing, honey."

"Can I... could I ask you something a bit personal, Joong? About guys?"

"Sure." He smoothed out his expression as you leaned back. He'd answer any question you ask without hesitation.

"Well... I know you and my mom don't have sex-" His eyes widened a bit, having absolutely no idea where you were going. "-and... I was just curious if guys really do get blue balls if they don't... do it? God, I sound ridiculous." You laughed humorlessly, wiping your cheeks.

"Uuuuhm- sorry, sorry." He scratched his neck, feeling heat creeping up it. "I wasn't expecting that-"

"You don't have to answer, I just- well... Google wasn't very helpful. It was a bunch of incels on Reddit, not the most reliable source."

He pushed a hand through his hair as he wandered back to the table, sitting quickly. "No, that's not true." He looked down, and then back to you in a split second, "why?"

He noticed your unease, the way you swallowed with a bit of trouble; like there was a lump in your throat.

"He said that's why he couldn't be with me anymore... We were just w-" You cleared your throat, choosing to leave out the details, "he said because I won't put out."

"That's stupid, honey-" Your heart dropped for a split second, thinking he was telling you you should go back to him and- "-you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

You slunk into the chair across from him, tapping your fingers on the table as you bit your lip. "You seriously don't get blue balls? He made it sound so real..."

He laughed a bit, fondly. Reaching over, he held your hand softly, "seriously. We can handle it on our own." Looking over your features slowly, watching you take in the information; his eyebrows pressed together. "Are you a virgin?"

The question had caught you both off guard, and he let go of your hand quickly to cover his mouth. "I'm so sorry. I did not mean to say that."

Although a bit mortified of answering, you thought it a fair question. You know he didn't mean to ask, and he was definitely not expecting an answer — he was fully expecting a scold or a slap or for you to completely ignore his personal inquiry.

But you just spoke, "yeah."

You didn't know it, but his wide eyes weren't of shock. They were of wonder and awe. Can you get more perfect? Is what he was thinking in the brief moment of silence that hung between you.

He swallowed thickly before speaking, "and that's why he broke up with you? Because you aren't ready to have sex?"

"Yeah, but, I mean," you shrugged, "I see where he's coming from-"

"No, no, noooo," he interrupted, quickly, "absolutely not!" He met your eyes and spoke sincerely, "you should wait until you're ready. Don't let that jackass get in your head. If it's important to you, you should do it with someone special."

"You really think that? Most people say I'm overreacting, being too picky..." You looked away, sighing, "most people my age don't really think it's such a big deal. I mean, it really is mostly societal- but for me, I want to feel safe with the person who I literally let inside of me, y'know?"

He was internally freaking the fuck out, but he kept a calm face; nodding along with your words. It was your first time ever opening up to him about something so undeniably personal.

"No, that's completely valid," he said quickly when he realized you were done talking; looking to him for a response. "I can imagine it's scary to you, right?"

"Yeah," you leaned your head on your hand, "it is."

He'll make sure you never feel scared with him. He can take much better care of you than any boy your age ever could. He should make sure you stop going on dates — one of these times, you might give into their pressuring. All of these thoughts ran through his mind as he watched you, his heart in his throat. What can he do to make you feel better?

"Hey, honey?" He broke the silence carefully, a smile tugging on his lips as you looked up at him. "Have you ever egged someone's house?"

────୨ৎ────

"How are you feeling?" Hongjoong asks for the third time in twenty minutes, looking over to you as he puts the stopper in the tub.

Letting it fill with lukewarm water, he sits on the edge to face you.

"Tired," you whisper as you pick at the plaster cast. "My throat hurts- you had to jab me so hard?" You're fuzzy headed and it's the first time you've even gotten close to laughing.

Your small joking tone doesn't amuse him though, not when you're still in the danger zone and refusing to go to the hospital.

He knows he should just pick your ass up and make you go. But he can't bring himself to, the thought of them keeping you away from him nagging him into doing research as fast as possible so he can take care of you.

You're going to be so pissed when he keeps you awake for the next few hours, already nodding off every so often with your head rolling back and forth on the wall you rest on. But he isn't risking letting you fall asleep. Not when you never waking up is a possibility.

He knocks his foot against yours as your eyes droop for the umpteenth time.

"Let me sleep," you draw on in a whine, slapping at his foot clumsily.

"No. You need to stay awake for at least a few hours until I know you're okay."

You peek your eyes open and pout up at him, dramatically at first. But it turns genuine as you register the sternness, the care and concern on his face.

His nose slightly red from crying, his eyes puffy, and his hair a mess.

"I'm sorry." You blurt out quickly. "I d- I just..." You squeeze your eyes shut as you roll your head to face away from him. "I don't even know. I'm sorry..."

"Why did you do that?" He deadpans, finally asking the million dollar question.

"I don't know-"

"Yes, you do."

"I don't!"

"Stop lying to me!"

You flinch as he stands quickly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Stop lying to yourself! You didn't do this for the fuck of it. You were trying to kill yourself! I want to know why! Why would you do something so stupid? What if I hadn't noticed? Huh? You were just going to lay there on the floor until you seized to death? Until your heart gave out? All alone i- What- I can't-" He paces back and forth in the small space, gripping his hair.

He stops as he hears you choke back a cry, and his eyes snap to you; still on the floor. Your knees pulled up to your chest and your wide eyes teary as you watch him.

He sighs, sliding down the wall to sit next to you. He holds your hand gently, but his voice is still laced with anger and confusion, "I want a goddamn answer, (Y/n)."

You take a few short seconds to steady your shallow breaths, not daring to look over at him even as you feel his gaze on you. "I feel like... I shouldn't have survived. Like this is some sort of sick joke the universe is playing on me. Why d- why did I get to live and they don't? It's not fair..."

"Life isn't fair," he says without hesitation, "life is fucking brutal. It sucks, but, honey, that's the truth. The world will throw the most vile things at people who deserve it least. It pummels us to the dirt — and you know what we do?"

He squeezes your hand lightly, getting you to look at him. "You know what we do?"

You shake your head slowly, gripping his hand tight.

"We get up. And we keep going. No matter how much it hurts. We keep living, keep fighting. Do you understand me? We don't get to give up just because life is unfair."

Your lip trembles, and before you can stop them, tears are free falling down your face.

"C'mere," he mumbles softly, opening up his arms and wrapping them around you as you crawl into his lap. "I got you."

"I'm so sorry, Da- Joong," you stutter into his neck breathlessly, already a mess of sobs in his hold.

"I know, honey," he hums as he rubs your shoulders slowly, "it's okay, I'm not mad. You just scared me, you know? What would I do without my sweet girl?"

You can only respond with more tears, clinging to him tightly.

────୨ৎ────

The sun rises in through the windows, casting the dim table in its light. Shining on you and Hongjoong in two separate blocks of warmth as you both rest your heads on the surface.

Your fingers play idly with his, eyes barely held open.

He's just the same, holding back his yawns as he waits in silence; tracing your face and committing every detail to memory like he hasn't already.

He had kept you up all night despite your growing aggravation as he did so; the pills that managed to dissolve in your stomach making you unbelievably sleepy. Eventually, around two hours ago, you had given up arguing and forced yourself to stay awake so he'd stop shaking you and blasting music in your ear.

When you made it clear you'd stay up, he turned off the blinding overhead light and rubbed your head to aid your headache.

When the alarm on his phone finally goes off, he breathes a sigh of relief. "You're in the clear," he shuts it off quickly, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head.

"Can I eat now?" You moan tiredly as you rub your eyes, forcing yourself up.

"Yes, and then we'll get some sleep," he kisses your head as he stands. "Cereal okay?"

"That's good."

The events of the night still hang heavy in the air, but less so. In between your bouts of annoyance over not being able to sleep; Hongjoong got you to open up more.

All of your feelings laid out in the open, the crushing weight of dealing with them all on your own has lightened. Your shoulders feel less tense. Your soul feels just a bit less plagued.

You eat in silence, both of you clearing your bowls quickly with the promise of sleep awaiting you.

He doesn't even bother clearing the table before he stands up and opens his arms for you. With a small groan, he lifts you up and allows you to wrap your arms and legs around him. "Let's go to bed, honey."

"Mhm," you hum into his shoulder, resting your head against him while he carries you to your room.

"I'll set an alarm for a few hours." He lays you down gently before taking his phone from his pocket, doing just that.

You expect him to leave, go to his own bed. But he throws his phone down on your bedside table and tells you, "scoot over."

You don't hesitate before sliding closer to the wall, making room for him as he lays next to you. "You're going to stay?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna stay," he smiles lightly, settling on his side to face you. "I need to know my honey is safe."

You roll to mirror him, eyes tired like never before — but he sees a small flicker of life in them as you move closer.

You cuddle into his chest, hiding your face in his shirt as you close your eyes; melting into his hold.

"Thanks, Dad."

The word slips without you even noticing, already falling asleep with the warmth of his body soothing your soul.

But he latches onto it. Letting it echo with something akin to love blooming in his chest, sinking it's vines into his heart.

He isn't going anywhere.

────୨ৎ────

[suliigwp]

Ended In An Ippon!

Oscar Piastri x Judoka!Reader | SMAU+written

Face Claim: Uta Abe(my goat)

SULI: literally obsessed I came up with this after crying for hours after uta won her fifth world championship — I wish I was put in judo when I was a kid, I wish — the limit of 10 pictures on a post is so shit come on tumblr— also I highly recommend getting into judo it's amazing trust me and go support uta she's the sweetest

I'll say it right here I want to write a part two about winning the fifth world title😝

SUMMERY: the internet slowly unraveling the relationship between two A list Athletes

Warnings: talks of disappointing a parent it's fine though

Liked by voguesports, yn_yln, hattiepiastri and 5.7M others.

vogue: Happy Birthday @/yn_yln! What better way to celebrate than remembering partnering with vouge for the first time after winning her first world tite! See the interview here...

Comments.

grapplingqueenx: the definition of strong, stunning, and silent. ICON.

throwhergold: happy birthday to the most terrifyingly elegant woman alive 🥹🎂

gridgirldiaries: wait why did Hattie Piastri like this 😭😭

->piastrified: maybe she’s just a fan?? y/n is kind of a legend

fanoflegends: world champ, Vogue muse, birthday girl??? she’s booked and blessed fr

helmetgirliexoxo: imagine being so iconic you win a world title and shoot with vogue in the same month. I’d simply pass out.

wheelsexplicit: guys please don’t start again 💀 not every like means someone’s dating her

->softoscarfiles: okay but didn’t Oscar follow her the day she won?

combatbutmakeitcouture: ICON

blackbeltbarbie: that Vogue shoot changed lives. mine specifically.

sweetsubmissions: remember when she smiled during the post-fight interview and the world stopped turning. yeah.

See all comments.

...

...

Liked by nicole_piastri, judoworldgallery, hifumi_abe and 1.5M others.

yn_yln: So exited and honoured to be at the Olympics. Giving it my all

comments.

judoworldgallery: Been watching you since juniors — go make history 🥇🏆 ♥️ Liked by author

nicole_piastri: Wishing you all the best!! 💛💛 cheering you on from home 🫶 ♥️ Liked by author

->oscahuh: HELLO?!!?!!

grapplequeen_21: LET’S GOOOOO THE REAL MAIN EVENT 🔥🇯🇵

softoscarfiles: not Nicole Piastri liking this post and commenting 🤨 do with that what you will

f1wagspec: she’s got the Piastris in her likes??? guys. guys.

hifumi_abe: Ganbatte! 🥋💪 rootin’ for you 👊

♥️ Liked by author

->yn_yln: go get that gold!

mattechoked: all this AND a Vogue feature? she’s booked and winning.

throwersanonymous: gold medal + soft launch same week would actually kill me i fear

...

Liked by mclaren, georgerussell63, yn_yln and 2.4M others.

oscarpiastri: great weekend. Proud of the team and for someone else too but that's for later.

comments.

goldmedalrizz: YOU'RE NOT SLICK

softpiastri: y/n liked this. Y/N LIKED THIS. I REPEAT. 🚨

papayawives: be honest Hattie wrote that caption

throwinggoldmedals: no bc she’s literally at the Olympics and still has time to like his post 😭

gridgirldetective: watch him post “great weekend” and she posts “great win” next and I’ll spiral

hattypiastriupdates: THIS IS BASICALLY CONFIRMING IT COME ON

mclarengfenergy: imagine winning a race and having a literal Olympian double tap your pic… life’s unfair

wagspeculations: I don’t wanna assume things but… I’ve already planned the wedding

...

Liked by ynstans, judoworlddomination, oscarapologist and 1.3M others.

judoworldnews: HEARTBREAK IN PARIS: Emotional scenes as judo star Yn Yln falls to her knees in front of her father after losing the Olympic gold — crying and asking for forgiveness.

The pressure of legacy? The weight of the nation? Whatever it was, this moment shook the arena.

Comments.

goldmedaltea: this BROKE me. like actually broke me.

judofangirl7: she deserved better. the pressure on her is insane omg 😭

goldmedaltea: this made me cry. she wanted that gold more than anything 😭

tracksidegossip: "asking for forgiveness"??? this wasn’t just a match for her… this ran deep

f1andmatburn: I know we’re all thinking it… where’s Oscar now??

papayavision: his mom liked her Olympics post last week. wonder if he’s gonna say anything now 👀

wagspecwatcher: she’s always been so private. but after this? I wouldn’t be surprised if she disappears again 😕

judowifetokyo: the silence is loud tbh. someone check on her.

...

Liked by ynstans, oscaaaaah, goldmedalts and 1M others.

f1teaandtokyo: EXCLUSIVE: Oscar Piastri spotted at Melbourne Airport earlier today, signing merch before boarding a private flight reportedly headed to Paris.

No official reason given — but the timing comes just hours after judo star @/yn_yln’s heartbreaking Olympic loss and emotional breakdown went viral.

Just a coincidence? Or something more?

👀 What do we think, tea lovers?

Comments.

softlaunchdetective: okay BUT… what if he’s actually going for her 🫢

papayaplotline: he didn’t post. he didn’t comment. and now he’s just… on a flight to Paris? HELLO?

mattechoked: he said “I don’t do public statements, I do grand gestures” 😭

judowagsources: can’t wait for them to pretend they just ran into each other in Paris 💀

f1rizzarchives: if he shows up ringside for her match i’m gonna combust.

goldmedalfinale: “just a coincidence” sure babes… we’ve been in the soft launch trenches too long for that 💅

...

PARIS

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Y/N sat curled into the corner of the hotel bed, knees pulled to her chest, wrapped in the oversized white duvet like it could protect her from the outside world. The curtains were still drawn, throwing everything into a grey haze. The bedside clock blinked slowly: 11:47 AM.

She hadn’t slept.

Not really. She’d dozed in pieces, jolting awake to the memory of the match — the way her hand missed its grip, the way her body hit the mat, the way her father's face looked in the crowd. Disappointed. Or maybe just stunned. Her mind made it worse than it probably was, but that didn’t matter. It felt real.

The weight of the silver medal sat untouched on the desk. She hadn't even looked at it since last night. There was a bottle of water unopened on the side table. Her phone was face-down, on silent, buried under the pillow. Dozens of messages probably waiting. None of them from him — she wouldn’t know. She hadn’t checked. Couldn’t.

Then came a knock.

She flinched. Three soft taps, not the kind a hotel staffer would use.

She stayed still.

A pause.

Then another knock. Slightly firmer this time, and then —

“Y/N... it’s me.”

Her chest tightened instantly.

She wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating. Delirious. The room was too still, too heavy for him to be real. But she knew that voice. Even through a door.

She slowly uncurled herself from the bed, feet hitting the carpet. Her hoodie sleeves hung far past her hands, swallowing her up as she crossed the room in silence.

When she cracked the door open, just barely, she saw him.

Oscar stood in the hallway, cap pulled low, hoodie rumpled like he hadn’t even changed after the flight. A strap of his backpack was slung over his shoulder. His face looked tired — soft, careful, unsure.

He blinked. “Hi.”

Her throat was tight. Her fingers curled slightly on the edge of the door, holding it like she didn’t know if she should let go or close it.

“You came,” she whispered.

“I did.”

“I thought—”

“You didn’t answer. I figured I might not see you,” he said, quiet, voice low. “But I came anyway.”

There was a pause. A whole conversation exchanged in the silence that followed.

Then, slowly, she stepped aside.

Oscar walked in like the room wasn’t a battlefield. Like he didn’t see the discarded Team gear on the floor, the towels she’d cried into, the untouched food tray by the wall. He just walked to the center of the room and stopped, watching her as she closed the door behind him gently.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

She didn’t look like herself. She looked smaller. Not broken, just dulled. Drenched in something invisible that Oscar wished he could carry for her.

“You didn’t have to come,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. “But I couldn’t sit across the world watching everyone talk about you like you weren’t a person.”

Her lip trembled. She bit down on it. Looked away.

“I should’ve won.”

“You gave everything,” he said.

“I failed.”

Oscar stepped closer. “You didn’t.”

“You weren’t there.”

“I saw it,” he said. “And I still know you didn’t.”

She shook her head, suddenly breathless. “I wasn’t enough. For my country. For my dad. For—” Her voice cracked. “For you.”

Oscar stepped in and wrapped his arms around her before she could pull back. And for the first time in hours—maybe days—her body softened into someone else's.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” he murmured into her hair. “I just need you.”

Her arms came around him, fists clutching the back of his hoodie. She didn’t say anything at first. Her breathing was shaky, shallow, the kind that comes right before the tears finally come back.

“You don’t have to hold it together,” he whispered.

That did it.

She broke—silent and slow. Not sobbing, but clinging. The kind of crying you only do when someone sees you when you least want to be seen.

Oscar pulled her to the bed gently, never letting go. He sat beside her, letting her lean into him fully as she cried into the side of his chest. He didn’t speak. He didn’t rush her.

When the tears finally stopped, she lay there, eyes red, face pressed against the soft cotton of his hoodie, chest still rising and falling unevenly.

He stroked her back with slow, absent-minded motions. Like it was instinct. Like he'd memorized this rhythm for her.

“I don’t want to go online,” she mumbled, voice hoarse.

“Then don’t.”

“They’re all waiting for me to say something.”

“Let them wait.”

Another pause.

“You’ll get in trouble,” she whispered. “Being here. People will talk.”

“I don’t care.”

She closed her eyes. Something in her chest loosened.

Oscar pulled the duvet back over her without asking, laying it across both of them like a peace offering. He stayed seated next to her on top of the covers, hand still holding hers.

The world outside kept spinning.

But inside room 312, she finally slept.

...

7:42 AM

The first thing she felt was warmth.

Not the sharp, stifling kind that made you sweat in panic. A softer warmth — steady, alive, familiar. She stirred under the covers, blinking slowly as the soft sound of breathing reminded her she wasn’t alone.

Oscar was still there.

He sat slouched in the corner of the armchair near the bed, arms crossed, cap tilted back, mouth parted slightly in sleep. At some point, he must’ve tried staying awake and lost. His hoodie had slipped down one shoulder. Her water bottle was now half-empty beside him.

She pushed the covers back gently and sat up. The room still looked the same — quiet, heavy with that Olympic silence — but something inside her had shifted. Just slightly. The ache was still there, but it wasn’t hollow anymore.

Oscar stirred when he heard her move. His eyes opened instantly — alert, soft, worried. “Hey.”

She managed the smallest smile. “You stayed.”

He gave a sleepy half-shrug. “Didn’t want to miss you.”

“Weren’t you uncomfortable?” she asked, nodding to the tiny armchair.

“I’ve slept in worse.” He smiled faintly. “And I wasn’t gonna sleep in your bed without asking.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a beat. The world outside the window was beginning to wake — a car horn here, a dog barking faintly. Paris was alive again.

Oscar stretched a little, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, looking over at her gently, “My mum says hi, by the way.”

Y/N blinked. “Your mum?”

He nodded. “She was watching the match live. Texted me right after. Said to give you a hug if you’d let me.” He paused. “My sister too. They’ve… actually followed your career for a while.”

She looked down, trying not to let the tears come again. “They’re sweet.”

He smiled. “Yeah. They’re obsessed. My mum says she still gets goosebumps from your Tokyo gold match.” He leaned forward. “Also… your dad told me where you were staying.”

That made her look up.

“He… told you?” she whispered.

Oscar nodded. “I think he knew you wouldn’t tell me yourself. And I think he wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.”

Her eyes welled again, but she blinked it away. “He didn’t seem like he wanted to look at me.”

“He didn’t look at you like that.”

“You weren’t there.”

“I saw the footage. I saw a man who didn’t know how to hold his daughter when she was hurting on national television.”

She didn’t reply, but her eyes dropped to her lap, fingers tugging at a loose thread in the blanket.

Oscar stood up slowly, crossed to the bed, and knelt in front of her again — just like he had yesterday.

“I know this is gonna sound annoying,” he said gently, “but I’m not letting you stay in this room all day.”

She raised an eyebrow, weakly amused. “Oh yeah?”

“Yup. I’ve got coffee, croissants, and a list of places we’re going to see because you’ve been in Paris for days and haven’t done anything but punch people and break hearts.”

A small laugh escaped her. It was raw, caught in her throat — but real. “Oscar…”

“You’re getting dressed,” he said, with a mock sternness. “You’re putting on that ridiculous cap I know you always wear on travel days, and we’re going to have a ridiculously normal day.”

She raised an eyebrow. “People will see.”

He just shrugged. “Let them."

She blinked. “You don’t care?”

He reached up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I care about you. I don’t care who sees it.”

That did it — her chest cracked open again, but in a different way this time. A lighter way.

“I don’t know if I can act normal yet,” she admitted.

“Then don’t. Be messy. Be quiet. Be grumpy. I’ll handle the Paris itinerary.”

She laughed — a real one this time. “You planned an itinerary?”

“I’m Australian, I organize chaos.”

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. Not a kiss. Not yet. Just warmth. Presence.

“Get up, Y/N.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

...

Liked by nicole_piastri, oscaaaaah, yntans and 2.3M others.

f1afterdark: 🚨 EXCLUSIVE: Olympic judo golden girl Y/N Y/L/N spotted in Paris tonight getting cozy — and very kissy — with what looks suspiciously like a certain McLaren driver 👀

The two were seen laughing, sharing a kiss (yes, laughing while kissing, who even does that? 😭) outside a tucked-away wine bar in the Marais district.

Sources claim he arrived yesterday morning and has been staying with her since 👀

Paris really is the city of love.

Comments.

tracktales:not him LAUGHING while kissing her I’m gonna rip my pillow in half

goldmedalchaos: mamma Nicole in the likes

gridgirlie:the judo girl??? THE driver??? oh this is a romcom

mclarensockfan: NICOLE??!???!!

yourgfspov: he flew to her after the biggest loss of her career and now this???? he’s HIM

thursdaykissings: delete this i’m emotionally unstable

...

Liked by yn_yln, nicole_piastri, hattiepiastri and 3.5M others.

oscarpiastri: Figured it was time to clear the air before you all break into the Louvre looking for clues.

Yes, she’s mine.

No, this post isn’t PR-approved.

I watched her lose something she’s worked her whole life for last week — and still get up, still breathe, still be kind, still hold herself with more strength than most people ever will.

Four-time world champion, Olympic silver medalist, and the bravest person I know.

She doesn’t owe anyone anything, but if you’ve ever wondered how it feels to love a warrior — it’s like this.

That’s all. Please stop harassing my sister.

🥋🧡

Comments

yn_yln: my heart. my entire heart. shut up. thank you. now hand over the croissant you didn’t share

hattiepiastri: THANK YOU. I’M FREE. STOP MESSAGING ME.

lando: Just say you’re obsessed with her and go 🙄 (proud of you tho)

kevinmagnussen: This is the most romantic thing I've ever read and I’m married.

tracktoktrolls: he said “soft launch” in lowercase and then absolutely bodied us

f1afterdark: respectfully… we will continue speculating. for fun.

team[yourcountry]official: 🥋💙 We’re proud of her. Always.

mclaren: we approve it now. posted with tears in our eyes.

georgerussell63: Not me tearing up on a Monday morning. Congrats to you both.

charles_leclerc: Softest hard launch in history. Bravo, mate.

valtteribottas: A well-written statement. 10/10. Will be printing it out.

zhouguanyu24: Didn’t expect to cry today, but here we are. Strength recognizes strength.

yukitsunoda0511: Tell her I miss her and also I want snacks

hifumi_abe: We’ve both stood on that mat and felt the weight. She gave everything. That doesn’t disappear because of a color around her neck. So proud of you✊

->yn_yln: thank you friend❤️ proud of you on gold

fernandoalo_oficial: 👏👏👏 Champion heart. Both of you.

nyckdevries: Can I like this twice?

estebanocon: The last photo got me. She’s adorable and incredible.

carlossainz55: Congrats you two❤️

olympics: This trully ended in an Ippon!

Taglist, comment to be added; @angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu

Make sure you can be tagged!

[fiastomatocheek]

SNOOPY CUTS ALL OF HIS CURLS OFF!

series: ‘happiness is a warm blanket’

pair: dad!luke hughes x f!reader

genre: family, fluff, humor, domestic cuteness.

warnings: none just pure fluff!

summary: father’s day was supposed to be filled with chocolate muffins, art, hugs, and happiness until luke decided it was time for a trim without letting anyone know. the result? a dramatic showdown when his 6-year-old sidekick, lucy, realizes their matching locks are gone.

fia’s note: i guess y’all saw it, right? luke’s curls are gone, i mean, gone gone and i’m honestly so sad. i miss his curls!! this can’t be real, please tell me i’m just having a bad dream 😂 and i think it’d be so fun if lucy found out he cut them without saying a word. you know luce would be soooo dramatic about it, gasping, pouting, maybe even staging a miniature protest.

tagging team fia ! — @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk @kell9rs @alwaysclassyeagle @nokiaholland @macka @silvenyy @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi @ruinix @when-im-with-you @puckinghughes @astrotrilogy @definitelynotdomanique @fallinallincurls

fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | yap & fic

“That’s a looooot of chocolate chips, Mommy! Snoopy’s gonna be soooo happy when he sees them! Because Snoopy really loves chocolate, just like me! And we’re kind of the same person! Because we have matching…curls!!”

Lucy giggled, adding another generous handful of chocolate chips into the bowl.

“That’s true, you and Daddy are kindred spirits.”

You nodded warmly, smoothing a lock of her messy, wild hair.

“Curly team for life.”

“That’s right! Curls-for-Life!!”

Lucy cheered, bouncing up and down in her seat, nearly bouncing off it in pure happiness.

“Snoopy and me! Forever! Oh, Mommy, I made something for him! Do you wanna see??”

She darted toward a stack of art paper and tugged a large sheet from the pile.

“It’s a picture of me and Snoopy with matching curls! I made matching glitter borders! So pretty, right, Mommy??”

“That’s so beautiful, Luce.” You nodded, admiring the glitter-covered picture.

“He’s going to love it. This is a very special Father’s Day.”

Meanwhile, across town, Luke was sitting in a barbershop with Jack and Quinn. His nervous reflection stared back at him in the mirror.

“Are you sure I’m not making a mess?” he whispered quietly, tugging a lock of his thick, curly hair.

“That’s a big change. I know how much Lucy… and honestly my wife… love it.”

“That’s the point, Lukey.” Jack nodded casually, turning a page in his golf magazine.

“Change is a good thing. It grows back. Plus, it’s kind of a new era. You’re a dad Lukey, you’re not a kid with flowy locks anymore.”

Luke pressed his lips together, reluctantly nodded, and turned toward the stylist.

“Alright… cut it.”

He closed his eyes as the first locks fell to the floor, a momentous transformation underway while Jack tried (and failed) to stifle his smugly amused smirk.

Back at home…

“Mommy, I think Snoopy’s gonna be soooo happy today! Because I made him something SUPER special, and we made his favorite muffins and we’re matching!!”

Lucy hopped down from her seat, carefully placing her picture in a purple envelope.

She turned back toward you, bouncing on her toes.

“I wanna wrap it! Did we buy wrapping paper, Mommy?”

“Yes, we did! Let’s go wrap it together.”

You turned off the oven, drew the muffins out, and placed them to cool while you and your enthusiastic sidekick made your way toward the wrapping paper.

Just as you and Lucy finished wrapping up all the chocolate muffins, you heard Luke’s car pull into the driveway, you knew today might bring a dramatic moment or two with your fiercely passionate 6-year-old.

He opened the front door with a huge smile. His arms were already stretched wide in anticipation, his ‘open-arms-always’ policy for his little girl.

“Luce! Snoopy home! Where’s my little Luce?”

He barely finished his sentence before a small tornado of pure happiness came darting toward him… until, halfway across the living room, Lucy came to a dramatic halt freezing in place then turning on her heels and darting directly toward you instead.

“Mommy!! SNOOPY CUTS ALL OF HIS CURLS OFF!!”

Lucy’s big eyes glimmered with tears of disbelief, sadness, and betrayal.

“That’s not Snoopy anymore! Where are his curls? Did… Did Uncle Rowdy cut them off while he was asleep?”

“That’s a very good theory.”

You knelt down to ease her worries, placing your hands warmly on her small shoulders.

“But I think Snoopy chose to cut them… just a little… because sometimes people need a small change. But I know they’ll grow back Luce, he’s still your Snoopy. Curls or not.”

Meanwhile, Luke stood a few feet away, unsure whether to move forward or hang back.

He pressed his knuckles to his forehead.

“Aw, Luce… I messed up big time, huh? I’m so sorry I made you sad. I know you really liked matching me…”

He knelt down to her level. “Would you… still be my team if I grow them back? Because I think I made a big mess today.”

Lucy turned, reluctantly, to face him.

“That… depends… if you grow them back faster!!”

She crossed her arms in pure dramatic style.

“And I wanna be matching again… soon. Okay, Snoopy?”

“That’s a deal, Luce.” Luke nodded warmly, extending his pinky finger toward her, their tradition.

“Pinky promise.”

She reluctantly intertwined her small finger with his.

“That’s not all, Snoopy! I made you something!!”

Lucy darted toward the envelope, then turned back, adding with pure dramatic flair, “but I’m still mad, you know.”

She handed him the envelope. Inside was a picture of the two of them with matching glitter-covered borders.

He held it up, smiling warmly.

“It’s beautiful, baby. I’m going to hang it up in our room. So we remember, team Curls-for-Life.”

He pressed a small kiss to the top of her messy locks, then turned toward you.

“That… was dramatic.”

He sighed quietly, tugging you into a side-hug.

“That’s our family.”

You whispered back, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Full of chaos, and a whole lot of love.”

[lilolebambi]

▶︎CAMERAS/GOOD ONES GO INTERLUDE.. DILF!MATT.

"There you go, baby— jus' take it for me, know you can." You nod helplessly, sweet noises falling from your lips as he slots his legs over your shoulders.

It's been hours. Since you put on that cute little set for him, since you were drooling all over his cock, since he took out his camera from the drawer beside his bed.

He tilts your head up, "C'mon, sweet girl. Be good for the camera." You whine, your face contorting when he starts ramming into you again.

"So fuckin' t-tight—" He groans, hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise. "Gonna let me stuff you full? Must just wanna—" You cry out as he hits that special spot inside you, "Give me another baby, you wanna give me another baby honey?"

"Uh-uh— yes— yes—" You can barely think, walls clenching like you're to keep him forever inside you. "So good for me— so fuckin' good—" He kisses down your body, trying to pull you ever so closer with the camera in his hand, "So good for letting me have you like this— letting me record— shit—"

"Matt— m-matttt—" You whine, feeling in your stomach getting more and more intense. "Shhh, I got you, sweetie. It's okay, cum."

That's it for you.

Your body thrashes around, knuckles turning white from how hard you're grabbing at the sheets as you tighten around him. "Fuckkkk." He groans, "Can take a little more, can't you? Want me to give you my babies, right?"

"Yes— yes— pleaseeee, stuff me— gimme your babies—" You mewl, grabbing at him desperately. Matt places the camera down in front of your face before he goes harder than he has all night.

"Gonna breed you, fill up this pretty little cunt." He growls, pounding you with everything in him. You nod dumbly, "Please— please can feel you—"

"Fuck— m' gonna—" He groans, thrusting a few more times into you before shooting his hot, sticky load inside you.

You're both left panting and heaving, staring into each other's eyes. But you muster up the power to say: "H... happy Father's Day."

a/n: creds to @mattscoquette for the dilf!matt au !!! father's day special 😛😛

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @domizmez @drewswife @strnilolover @sirensdollesque @courta13 @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @y2kstarr @sugarraez @sweeethrt @moond0llie @ambi-squirrelly @wastelandzella @applecidersturniolo @riasturns @iloveduckssm @oopsiedaisydeer @sturnsflirt @cayleeuhithinknott @h3arts4nat @angelyearner @pink1man @mi-co-uk @slvt4subchratt @tezzzzzzzz @chrisbratt333 @izzylovesmatt @chrisowenmuncher

[desturns]

FATHER'S DAY SPECIAL , making matt a daddy

a lot about matt got you insanely horny. his hands, his beautiful smile, the way he'd be able to make you laugh until you were crouched over near pissing yourself, his stubble when he got too lazy to shave down after a couple of days. hell, half the time all you needed to do was look at him and you're ready to pounce. but the one thing that made you worked up without a shadow of a doubt?

watching him interact with kids.

there was something about the way matt was playing with your cousins, nieces and nephews right now that was getting you. . . for lack of better words, aroused. last year, you visited his dad for father's day, but this year it was your turn to bring him home. your dad wanted a big dinner with his family and everyone happily obliged, and when it was over, matt couldn't resist when the younger children begged him to play with them.

the way he feigned defeat whenever they'd tackle him to the way he'd kindly scold them whenever they were being too rough. it was down right attractive, and the minute you guys got back to your apartment, you were determined to let him know just how much you loved it.

your hips grind against his, burying his cock deeper into you as you set a slow yet passionate pace. matt was flat on his back, his jaw slacked as he stared up at you in lust, awe and admiration. his hands were everywhere–gripping your waist, occasionally cupping your tits that bounced, but never taking control. you insisted that tonight you were going to take care of him. he's so in love with you, how could he deny you?

“doin’ s-so good. . . jus’ like that,” he praised breathlessly, his hands returning to your thighs as he held back his impending orgasm. he wanted you to cum first– you always came first and he didn't want to ruin it by getting you off him.

you practically purred at his praise, your hands continuing to clutch at his shoulders, your nails leaving indents behind. his words encouraged you to keep your pace, alternating between bouncing and grinding in a way that had him a whimpering mess beneath you.

but you knew that he was holding back and right now, you wanted nothing more than for him to lose it. “c’mon, baby. cum for me.”

matt shook his head mindlessly, too fucked out to verbally protest as another whine left his lips, his eyes squeezing shut as he desperately tried to hold back. he could feel his dick twitch and throb inside you and he tried to lift you up before he released within your slick walls, but you planted yourself back on him. “nuh uh. cum in me. lemme feel it.”

that got him to open his eyes real fast. he looked up at you with a sense of confusion and arousal, his hands now grabbing your waist. “w-what? pretty, i’m n-not wearing a co–”

“cum in me, matt. please. need it,” you panted out almost desperately, now riding him harder just to make him lose his edge, holding back your own noises of enjoyment. “want it so bad. wanna get pregnant, give you a kid. god, you'll be the b-best dad. please–cum in me.”

he didn't need to be told twice. he let himself go freely, shooting thick spurts inside you with a loud groan. you were more than satisfied now, letting yourself come around him, milking and squeezing him for all his worth. after your orgasm, you thought he'd be done, that you were both fully satisfied. but then he was flipping you over and nestling between your legs.

“gonna make you the prettiest mama. wanna make me a dad, huh?” he mumbled, his words full of promise before he started fucking into you again. “c'mon, give it to me, baby.”

after all— he's so in love with you, how could he deny you?

A/N happy father's day to yall who still got daddies and stuff. i personally don't celebrate today, but i will be celebrating with dilf!matt 😛

divider by @bernardsbendystraws !

[angel-writes-skz-here]

More than the Sun, Moon & Stars

Dad! Chan x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Father's Day is all about Chan, mostly. Warnings: SMUT, oral (both rec), p in v unprotected, toys, blindfolds, restraints. Sweet aftercare. Chan being babied. A/N: Father's Day smut, basically. Enjoy my sweets! Comment to be tagged in future fics. I need a short smut break for a few days guys, but stick around bc I'll be back to it. Also, I've said it once & I'll say it a million times, Chan needs to be babied and taken care of.

You couldn’t believe the weekend was finally here. You and Chan had decided a vacation was in order for the two of you, promising Hwan you’d be home Sunday for Father’s Day; but you explained you need a weekend just you and him. You hadn’t told Chan anything about the vacation, or anything you planned for him.

So, when the two of you walk into the beach house, and it looks seemingly normal, he’s cool and calm.

“You made it sound like some big secret,” he snickers as he puts your bags down outside the room bedroom.

“Well I do have surprises for you,” you wink at him as you wrap your arms around his waist. He quirks a brow at you before smiling cheekily and kissing your lips.

-

After dinner Chan’s on the bed shirtless, relaxing when you walk into the room wearing a sexy new piece of lingerie.

Chan’s eyes flit over you, a cocky grin on his lips.

“That’s new,” he smirks as you stalk over to him, hands behind your back. He watches you closely as you move to straddle him on the bed, his hands automatically going to your hips. You smile at him, a seductive chuckle escaping you as you take your hands from behind your back, holding red satin restraints. His eyebrows raise in surprise.

“We’re using these?” He asks.

You bite your lip front teeth showing as you nod your head yes and hum the answer. You take his hands, tying them to head board. His eyes follow you, willfully submitting as you secure the ribbon.

“Feel ok?” you ask. He nods, throat slightly parched. Normally Chan was the one to control things, but tonight was all about him. What he wanted, well, mostly. You’re having some fun too. You take a moment to admire your work, seeing him unable to move, legs sprawled out on the bed. His adams apple bobs when he swallows as he watches you leave the room for a moment. His heart is in his throat in anticipation.

You walk back in, blind fold in hand. Chan’s bottom lip goes between his teeth and a soft, barely audible whimper is heard from him and if you hadn’t been paying attention, you never would’ve heard it.

“Don’t worry, baby boy. I got you.” You whisper in his ear as you tie it behind his head.

“Color?”

“Green,” he breathes out. You smile, kissing just below his ear.

“Breathe for me, baby. Tonight’s all about you.”

He shutters in response.

He pulls against the restraints instinctively. You kiss his cheek nails brushing the opposite one as you do so. You leave the room, grabbing your fun bag.

“What’s going on?” Chan asks.

“Patience, daddy. Patience.” You giggle. He huffs, heart erratic and anxiety a little high. You help him out of his pants, body bare in front of you, and your mouth waters as the sigh of his erect cock, standing at attention.

“Someone’s excited,” you giggle as you lightly let your nails skim the top of it. Chan gasps, arms tugging against the restraints.

“Y/n, please,” he begs.

“Shhhh, I’ve got you, trust me.” You murmur. You barely blow a little air at the tip, causing Chan’s body to go stiff.

“I’ve always loved this little happy trail,” you praise him as your nails then glide along it, making his skin pebble with goosebumps. He breathes deeply, anticipation high. You grab a feather from your bag, lightly ghosting it over his abs. He tenses under the touch, a grin on his face.

“You’re such a tease, ah,” he hisses as you run it over one of his nipples.

“Am I?” you ask as it goes up his neck. You glide it back down, tracing it over his thigh, the tops of his feet, before going back up the other thigh and lightly letting it touch his cock. His hips buck at the slight amount of friction.

“So eager.” You grin as you run it over his damped head, watching as little beads form at the top.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmur as you stand in the door way.

“I’ll be right back,” you bite your lip as he lays there, utterly leaving you in control. You grab a piece of ice from the freezer, holding it between your lips as you enter the bedroom once more.

You straddle his waist, touching the tip of the ice to his neck, making him hiss and let out a breathy laugh.

“Fuck,” he grunts as you run it down his neck, in between his pecks. You slowly circle it around his nipples, watching as they become erect even more and Chan responds with a deep groan. You travel the ice down his abdomen, watching as his muscles go taut and he pulls against the restraints. You trail the ice down to his cock, letting it hit the base of it and Chan lets out a moan.

You move your head up, letting the ice flow over his cock, resting it at the tip, a slight pleasurable siting being felt.

“Color?” you ask before you continue.

“Green,” he breathes and you smile, continuing to allow the ice to melt against him.

“Ah,” he gasps as you grab his balls, slightly squeezing them.

“Fuck,” he shouts out face a little red from the anticipation.

“Baby please,” he whimpers hips lifting from the bed.

“Use your words,” you tease as you get up, discarding the ice.

“I wanna feel you,” he breathes. You smirk, licking his saft starting slow, his voice coming out in broken words and sounds. You take him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him.

You bob your head mercilessly, feeling him twitch in your mouth, and you can hear his breathing becoming labored.

“I’m gonna cum,” he moans and you pull off him.

“What the hell?” he asks, head lifting in your direction.

You hum in response, straddling his hips again. You lean down, holding his jaw between your fingers and kiss his lips. He hums against you, desperate for anything you’ll give him.

You reposition yourself so you’re facing his cock and you lean down, kitten licking his tip. He groans as his back tries to arch. You giggle to yourself, satisfied.

“More,” he moans, “Please.” You wrap your lips around him, slowly sliding down on him, your top lip running over the vein on the underside. Chan lets out a guttural moan, something that causes your cunt to dampen. You begin to bob your head, slowly, with hallowed cheeks, the bed frame creaking from how hard he’s pulling, hands begging to touch you.

“Be a good boy, Christopher,” you reprimand before reattaching yourself to him. He whines, hips shifting upward, hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag.

“Shit, sorry, sorry,” he apologies profusely. You hum around him, feeling him twitch in your mouth. You let him go with a pop, a strangled noise coming form him. You pick out a vibrator from the bag, switching it on and holding it to his tip.

“Angh,” he arches his back gasping as the vibration hits his nerves.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last,” he gasps.

“So don’t. Fall apart baby. It’s ok,” you answer him.

“Fuckfuck,” he whines as more whimpers follow the harder you press it to him. Your hands go to his balls, massaging and licking them.

He chokes out another moan as you stroke him at the base, cum quickly covering his stomach and the toy. You smile at the release and the heavy breathing he does.

“Fuck,” he exhales. He feels your hands lift his head, hair slightly damp at the root from sweat, and you undo the blindfold. His pupils are blown, his face a light pink and his chest heaves and he watches you.

“Fuck,” he says still pulling at the restraints.

“Feel good?” you wink and chuckle at him as you flatten your tongue. He watches as you lick up the mess on his stomach, blowing out a deep breath.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” he says his eyes half lidded. You smile up at him once he’s cleaned up.

“Baby,” he asks, voice small.

“Hmm?” you hum in satisfaction.

“I wanna taste you,” he pleads. You raise your brow.

“I guess you do deserve it, you were very good,” you answer and Chan exhales a breath. You slip out of your underwear, position your cunt over his face, loosening the straps just a little so his hands can come down and touch you if need be.

“Still ok?” you peer down at him and he nods his head frantically.

“Sit,” he says. You do as he asks, and hover over his face.

“Baby, I said sit, not hover. Let me have you,” he almost whines, and you oblige, sitting down fully. His tongue is warm, a moan escapes him as he tastes your arousal and the vibrations go straight to your clit, causing you to gasp and your hips to grind down a little. Chan is quick to get to work, his tongue lapping at your clit like it’s his last meal- the last thing he’ll do before he dies. Like making you cum is his life’s mission.

“Fuck, yes, keep going,” you shift your hips as your hand goes into his long hair.

“Ah-ha, god yes,” you squeal as his tongue curls up into your clit. His eyes watch you the whole time, and you discard the bra you’re wearing, massaging your own breasts as he flicks your bud over and over again, that sweet heat building quickly in your stomach.

“God, you’re gonna make me cum,” you whimper as your hand grips at the root of his hair, tugging slightly. His tongue works impossibly faster and harder until your legs are shaking on either side of his head and back is arched, cunt clenching around nothing. You pull yourself from his face, gasping for air.

Chan smiles at you, as you untie the ribbons, allowing his arms to come down, and as your about to position yourself above him, he takes the momentum from you and flips you on your back. You squeal in excitement and he laughs with you, hovering above you, a look of pure love in his eyes.

“You were supposed to lay there,” you feign a pout.

“Well, I wanna make my baby girl feel good,” he mumbles, a hand caressing your cheek before he leans down pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. You hum against his lips, as his head presses against your clit, causing you to jump.

He lines himself up, pushing in slowly.

“Fuck,” you groan at the full feeling, feeling him stretch you oh so well.

“So tight,” he mumbles, eyes closed. Your legs wrap around his waist, resting your heels on either side of his back.

“I love you,” he whispers as he begins to thrust.

“I love you too, baby.” You share an intimate kiss as his hips rock, quickly gaining speed, chasing your highs. His head falls to your shoulder, and you cradle it lovingly.

You bite into his solid shoulder, tears brimming your eyes from the sheer amount of pleasure.

“Fuck, Chan I’m close,” you whimper as your face rests in the crook of his neck.

“Me too, cum with me, ok?” You groan in response as his hand finds your clit, rubbing tight circles on it.

“Three,” he moans.

“Two.”

“One, cum for me baby.” He says as his hips go impossibly fast, and the both of you break together; the room filling with moans and curses. Your pleasure tears falling from your eyes.

“Fuck,” he breathes, both of you taking a moment to catch your breath. He wipes the pad of his thumb over your cheek with a small smile.

“God that was amazing,” you say breathlessly. He captures your lips, bodies resting as one for a minute.

“You are the love of my life, baby.” He says. You smile proudly.

“Hwan’s a close second though, right?” you quirk a brow and he chuckles, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

“Of course.” He smiles.

-

The two of you are laying in bed cuddling together.

“Tour starts in two weeks, how do you think he’ll take it?”

“I think he’ll miss you, but we’ll get to see all the live streams and stuff so I think he’ll be ok once he’s used to you not being home.” You smile up at him with your head on his chest.

“What about you?” he asks cautiously.

“I’ll be fine, so long as you flash your abs to the camera every night. And in between shows I get pictures.” You wink playfully and Chan laughs at you.

“So, you’ll just miss my abs, got it.”

You sit up on your elbows hand drawing circles on his chest.

“We’ll be fine, Chan. I promise. Go have fun, see the world, do what you do best.”

“Again? Baby I made you cum twice how many more times do you need?” he jokes. You swat his chest and hide your face in his neck.

“Christopher, I’m serious.” You whine.

“I know, I’m kidding, well sort of.” He says.

“I wanna do something,” he says after a moment. He sits up, grabbing his phone off the bedside table.

He opens his camera and without capturing your face or his, takes a picture of your hands interlocked. He places the black and white filter over it and posts it to Instagram and bubble with the caption being a simple red heart.

You look at him with a wide smile.

“Did you just soft launch us?” he smiles as he clicks the screen off and peers down at you.

“Maybe.” He smiles before kissing your forehead.

You grin up at him, before You kiss his chest and run to the bathroom.

A few moments later water is rushing into the large tub and you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist. Chan’s chin rests on your shoulder.

“Do you know you how much I love you?” he asks. You giggle and lean into him.

“More than the sun, the moon and the stars?”

“More than that,” he whispers. The two of you step into the warm water, you forcing Chan to sit in front of you. You begin working on his muscles, rubbing them, caressing them, leaving behind a kiss every now and then. He sighs content, letting you pamper him for once in his life.

“You work so hard,” you whisper. He nods; shoulders tense. Once you finish rubbing his shoulders, your hands go around his stomach, and your cheek presses into his back, holding him.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” You say quietly. Chans hand rests on top of yours for a moment.

“You’re an amazing father, an amazing boyfriend, amazing artist, and most of all,” you bring your lips to his ear, “an amazing man. The man of my dreams.” You smile as he leans into you a little more.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005 @velvetmoonlght

Do not repost my work

Love notes and comments are greatly appreciated!

[vigilantekisser]

Let It Be Done Unto Me

pairing: matt murdock x f!reader (wc: 7.5k | ao3 mirror)

summary: some dreams have always felt beyond reach for matt, including having a family of his own. but post-party, three drinks in—well, turns out all he had to do was ask.

cw: husband!matt, breeding kink (mentions of impregnation & pregnancy – both matt and reader want kids here), dom!matt, rough sex, oral!f receiving, doggy, mating press, light bondage, choking, biting, use of “good girl” “my wife” during sex, slight dacryphilia, possessive behavior, classic daredevil guilt, allusions to religious devotion, fluff

note: foggy and marci are married and have a kid here! also matt holds a baby in this one, so obv it’s totally self-indulgent : )

A/N: HAPPY FATHER'S DAY to the dilfest lawyer on earth!!! i started this completely intending for it to be just filth but my nine year delusionship with this man means everything i write about him WILL grow feelings. also I’VE BEEN SO BUSY WITH SCHOOL but i alw read everyone’s sweet sweet messages in my inbox and thank you so much for them, i’ll get through everything eventually!! dex again next

The bustling warmth of Foggy’s apartment hits you the moment you step in the door. Every inch of the space is alive with the sound of chatting adults and shrieking children, not to mention the same incongruously happy verse of “We Did It!”—the Bluetooth speaker cutting out the Dora playlist over and over. Bright balloons cling to the backs of chairs, paper plates and half-eaten cupcakes cluttering every surface. To put it simply, it’s utter domestic chaos.

So obviously, it’s hard not to smile.

“Wow,” Matt says beside you, his lips twitching upward faintly as his head tilts to take in the scene. “This place is alive.”

“Alive,” you snort, swatting him gently on the arm as you guide him through the threshold. “It’s a full-on circus. Foggy must be in hell.”

“Can confirm,” Foggy interjects. He’s appeared behind you as if summoned by the mere mention of his name. There’s a smear of frosting on his button-down, and there’s a crazy light in his eyes you haven’t seen since college. “Thank God, cavalry’s here. I was this close to drinking Scotch out a sippy cup.”

You laugh, leaning in to hug him as Matt claps him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday to the big guy!” you grin as Foggy pulls back. “Officially one! How’s it feel?”

“Haven’t heard, huh? We’re auctioning him off later,” Foggy deadpans, though the affection peeks through. “Which reminds me—mind if I pawn off your husband for a bit?” He turns to Matt, gesturing toward the kitchen where a battalion of Nelson women’s engaged mid-conversation, holding plastic cups and talking animatedly. “Dude, do me a solid and work your lawyerly magic on the aunties, please. They’ve been talking about SNTs all afternoon and frankly, I cannot feign interest anymore.” 

“Oh, Fog, I don’t know if I’m the guy for that—” Matt starts, but Foggy’s already steering him toward the fray. “You’re exactly the guy, go make them cry with one of your blind crusader stories. Right this way, ladies,” Foggy urges, as Matt’s protests are drowned out, swallowed by the chattering mass of Nelson aunts. 

You stay back, still laughing, and duck toward the table of snacks. From the few remaining drinks, you grab a can of Yoo-Hoo and your finger along its sweaty condensation—until the sharp wail of the baby cuts through the din. 

You turn. 

Across the room, the birthday boy’s squirming in his frazzled aunt’s arms, flushed and clearly seconds away from a full-blown meltdown. Without thinking, you slip over to them (Yoo-Hoo forgotten), holding out your hands with a soft, “Here, let me.”

Teddy comes to you easily, his weight settling against your hip as he lets out one last cursory wail before quieting. His chubby fists tangle in the fabric of your dress, his head falling against your chest as his breathing hitches. You rock him gently, murmuring soft nonsense under your breath until his cries subside entirely. It doesn’t take long before he’s calm, little body relaxing against yours as he smacks his lips softly, his stubby fingers patting at your collarbone. 

Across the room, the Nelson women chatter on around Matt.

“You poor dear,” one of them coos, clutching his elbow, “how’s work? Foggy says the firm’s doing very well. You boys must be rolling in clients.”

“It’s steady,” Matt says mildly, “we’ve been lucky.”

“And her?” someone else asks. “That sweet girl of yours still hasn’t run away screaming?”

A small smile curves his mouth. “Still here, thankfully.” A chuckle goes around the circle. 

“Oh honey,” Foggy’s mom cuts in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So, when do you think you’ll have one of your own?”

Matt raises his eyebrows, amused and a little cornered.

One of the great-aunts is squinting across the room. “Hmph, looks like she’s halfway there already.”

He tilts his head slightly, tuning in—adjusting the direction of his senses—then stops. His heart stutters. The space between you—the constant hum of your heartbeat, the soft lilt of your voice as you soothe the baby—it’s all amplified in his head, pulling his attention like a magnet. 

“Must be nice,” another jokes. “You can always tell who’s gonna be a good mom. Poor Foggy looked like he was going to pass out.”

Matt smiles faintly, his usual charm just barely masking how his throat has tightened. “Ah, she’s good with kids. Always has been,” he says, deliberately keeping his tone light.

The mention of children is a trap he’s navigated before, typically with casual deflections that fall back on vague hopes of someday. But this time, the words are harder to shake off, and when one of the aunties has so pointed it out—the way you’re holding Foggy’s baby, calm and radiant and perfectly at ease—it feels less hypothetical and more, well, inevitable.

“Well, you’re doing well for yourselves now,” one of the women says, her tone pointed but kind. “Don’t wait too long. You’ve got a good thing going—and if you ask me, you could use one of those little ones running around.” 

“We’ve got some time,” Matt laughs offhandedly. “Haven’t really sat down and talked it through in depth. Maybe soon.”

Mercifully, the conversation shifts, but Matt’s distracted now. Every word buzzes in the background as he hones in on the sound of you: the soft rise and fall of your breathing, your voice swaying upward as you coo at Teddy, the faint rustle of fabric as you shift your weight to keep him secure on your hip.

Before he knows what’s happening, you’ve made your way across the room to him, oblivious to the swirl of tension beneath his skin as you’re saying something lighthearted about how “it’s about time Uncle Matty took a turn.” He doesn’t even have time to protest before the toddler’s being nestled against him, pudgy fingers pawing at his tie.

“Careful,” he says, a little alarmed. “I could drop him.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Couns,” you say breezily, smoothing a hand over Matt’s arm. “You’ve done this before. Plus he’s pretty sturdy, you know. Babies are tougher than they look.”

Matt falls silent, holding the baby cautiously, keeping completely still so that not even his breathing will disturb the delicate balance of the moment. Teddy squirms briefly before miraculously—horrifyingly—settling into his chest, and Matt’s heartbeat jumps, but the baby’s doesn’t. There’s just the faintness against his sternum, the rise and fall of milky breath; he can feel the pulse in his tiny wrist. The echo of a hiccup in his ribs. He finds himself cataloguing every flicker of life beneath the fragile skin. 

It’s overwhelming.

“Matt,” you say softly, “you okay?”

He nods, handing Teddy back to you a little too quickly. “Yeah. It’s just—he’s warm.”

“He didn’t pee on you, did he?”

“No—no,” Matt chuckles faintly. “Not that kind of warm.”

You lift a brow at him, but say nothing more. The baby yawns, then burrows into you again. Matt can hear everything. The low, involuntary sound you make when the baby nestles just right under your chin. The shift in your skin temperature: your whole body warmer than usual. And that scent—he’d missed it before, but God here it is, subtle but unmistakable under the usual fare of your perfume. Sweet earth, clean sweat, and something deeper, headier. His heightened senses tell him what his mind has tried to ignore; it makes his chest tighten and imagination run rampant. He tries to shake away the thought, wresting his focus from the way you smell so right, so perfect, but it’s hurtling like a tidal wave.

Later, by the time you’re on the train ride home, the realization has planted itself in the hollow of his chest, refusing to be moved. You sit beside him, scrolling idly through your phone, humming some barely-there melody under your breath.

He’s silent the whole time, thoughts turning over in slow, endless waves.

It’s already dark outside when you arrive at the apartment. Matt’s still unusually quiet, his mind somewhere else entirely. You shrug off your coat by the door and toss it onto the hook with a bit of flair. Trying to fill the silence, you busy yourself with telling him about the Nelson family dog—a story you picked up about the ratty little mop of a thing getting passed around from household to household like a fuzzy hot potato.

“It’s probably because it’s so ugly,” you grumble lightly, shooting him a grin as you kick your shoes off toward the mat. “Swear, if you could just see it, it really is so ugly it’s insane.”

Matt is usually one to tease, grinning back in that sly, devil-may-care way, but tonight he doesn’t even give you a huff of amusement. Your brows draw together in concern: could someone have said something earlier? He wasn’t one to let offhanded comments get to him, but there had been exceptions… Or maybe the party was too much? Its noise and chaos and endless stimulation, well— you could see this silence as an aftermath.

“Matt?” you finally ask, your tone gentle as you cross the small space to him. He hasn’t moved from where he’s standing near the door, barely out of his coat. “Are you okay? You’ve been so quiet since we left. Did something happen at the party?”

The longer he stays silent, the more determined you become to shake an answer out of him. Whatever storm is brewing in his mind, you’ll be damned if he keeps it locked away, as he tends to do. It triggers your instinct to soothe. Or at the very least, poke fun at it to take the edge off. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging here. Whose ass do I have to beat? Was it Uncle Tommy? Was it something I–”

“Sweetheart,” Matt cuts through your ridiculous coaxing. Though his tone is steady with concerted effort, there’s a flush creeping up the column of his neck, coloring the edge of his ears.

You step back half a pace, blinking. “What?”

“It’s nothing. Please.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Matt, tell me what’s going on with you.” In truth, you greatly dislike all this unceremonious pushing and goading, but the last time he’d gone quiet like this it turned out he’d been hiding a broken rib and a tender side from late night patrol. You frown, stepping closer. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m not. Honestly.” The shift is almost imperceptible, but you notice the way his body tenses further, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He drags a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, “Forget it.”

“Forget it?!” you gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. That at least earns you the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips, but he smothers it so fast you wonder if it was a figment of your imagination. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” You wag a halfhearted finger at him. “You absolutely do not get to brood like that then ‘forget it’ me! You’re going to tell me, Matthew”—the way you enunciate his name is pointed—“because you at least owe it to me to tell me if you’re hurt, or I swear to God I’m—”

“Fine,” he snaps, putting an end to your mock dramatics. The tension in him pulls tight enough that the words tumble out unguarded. “Let’s have a baby.”

You blink.

The air around you seems to still, as if the apartment itself is holding its breath, having followed his bidding for silence.  “What?”

“I want a baby with you,” he confesses slowly, sounding pained. It sounds almost like loathing, the derision with which he views how badly he means it. 

You laugh before you can stop it, strangled and half-scandalized. “Matt, Jesus! What the hell…”

But your startled amusement is already tapering off as it clicks into place. Oh. His quietness, his strange mood during the ride home—it was now making perfect sense. Earlier, you were utterly at ease with Teddy, and maybe he’d been, too. The situation now glaringly obvious, your heart starts to race and Matt’s expression darkens when he picks up on it, his lips twitching with that slow, devilish smile you know all too well.

“Oh,” you begin, blinking up at him as you straighten.

That smile. Christ.

“Yes, oh,” he says, already closing the distance between you. “I mean it.”

His hand finds your waist, pulling you closer to him with deliberate pressure.

“Let’s make one,” he murmurs. “Right now.”

Your heart hammering violently in your chest, you tip your head back slightly to meet the wine-dark mirrors of his glasses. In the reflection, all you can see is yourself. His next step seals the last inch of space between you, and when his mouth finds yours, whatever resistance you had left dissolves like sugar on the tongue.

His kiss is needy, and you feel his every hot exhale fanning your cheeks as a hand slips to your waist—guiding you, pushing you back, back until your spine hits the wall. His other hand curls around your nape gently, cushioning the press of your head against the panel. You gasp into him, grabbing at the tense muscles of his shoulders through his shirt. He’s so close, pressing so close now that you can feel the heated hardness through his slacks. Well, he seems to not mind. If anything, he wants you to feel it, grinding himself against your stomach.

“Somebody’s eager,” you tease playfully, never mind that you’re growing lightheaded from the delicious burn of his stubble scratching your face. “Christ, this is a lot of intensity for a lady who just inhaled too many cupcakes. Mmf, ow!”

His teeth catch your bottom lip, nipping at it lightly before letting it free.

“Not now, honey,” he rasps against your mouth. You know it well enough to be a warning, but you don’t know if it’s more terrifying or thrilling. The hand at your waist slips upward, finding the curve of your breast over the flimsy material of your dress. Your face grows embarrassingly hot, and Matt’s breath hitches, groping you a little harder, more possessively, and the thought crosses his mind: the sensation of your tits rounding out for him, growing swollen, heavy with milk… Fuck, the thought makes his cock jerk hard in his pants, and the guttural moan that tears from his chest seems to surprise even him.

Fuck, Matt, get it together.

Shaking his head, he dips down to the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. You smell so damn good—milky and earthy and uniquely you—it’s a shame you’re oblivious to it. What you aren’t oblivious to, though, is the way he’s trembling slightly. From restraint or the desperate undercurrent of his desire, you can’t tell.

“Is this really you?” you ask, breathless now, trying to wriggle just enough to make him loosen his grip. This isn’t like him—not Matt the charming husband, the overzealous lawyer. But you do recognize him. This voice, it belongs to the man who comes home late at night beaten within an inch of his life, collapsing on the floor as you scramble for the medkit. But that part of him has been quieter, gentler lately, less frequent with the overly suicidal excursions—a promise he’d offered you when he asked you to marry him. 

And yet here he is now, returned with that fire reignited, directed solely at you.

“You smell so good I can’t think straight,” Matt murmurs, his nose dragging along your throat, pausing to press a hot, deliberate kiss behind your ear. “You wanna know something?”

You nod, the unbearable heat trickling between your thighs.

“You were holding him,” he begins, voice rasping like he can barely get the words out, “and all I could think about was my baby. Our baby. You’re ovulating right now, and Christ, sweetheart—I can smell it on you.”

That stops your breath cold. You’re reeling, your internal voice screaming for decorum, coolness, anything that might save face—but it’s impossible to, not when hot nerves are zinging traitorously through your body at his words. Not when his hands are on you, hot as brands. Not when he’s put words to the question you’d been hoping he’d bring up again for the past year.

It’s so embarrassing how easily he unravels you. Case in point–

His hand cups your sex through your soaked underwear, pressing the heel of his palm into you hard.

“Matt—!” It’s more of a plea than anything else, but you barely manage to say anything else before his hands slide down your weakened thighs, broad palms curling under them, and he lifts you effortlessly. He hikes you up further against the wall, grinding his hips into you and fuck, you can feel him pulsing—he’s like iron, a fact you’re darkly aware of even through the unconscionably selfish layers of his clothes hiding his hardness from view. The sheer force of his want makes you gasp, hands to his chest as if to push him away—though you clearly have no intention of doing so.

But seemingly, he does.

He pulls back from the kiss, and for the first time all night, you catch a flicker of hesitation cross his face. A crack in the mask of breathless certainty, the very same that had carried you across the room and into his arms just minutes ago.

“Are you sure you want this?” 

You almost laugh. He’s asking you? When he’s the one tearing you out of your clothes, talking filth? “Are you?” 

“I… Well–” The vibrations of his voice tickle your collarbone as Matt rests his head against your shoulder, unceremoniously snapped from the trance of his arousal. Visibly, achingly, he’s searching for words that won’t come. You take it upon yourself to help him out.

“I am.” It’s unsatisfactory; his silence tells you this. For a moment there’s only his measured breathing. But you know what he’s not saying, and he doesn’t have to tell you. It’s there again—the old voice in his head, convincing him he doesn’t deserve any of this, much less the privilege of asking for anything more. The quickly vining doubt in him dictates it: allowing himself this is the most selfish thing he can do. 

You cup his face in your hands so he can’t turn away from you.

“Matt, I know what you’re thinking,” you say gently. “I want this, alright?”

For a split second, you wonder what it’ll take to pull him back from his misery. You swallow, rubbing the sides of your thumbs along his cheeks soothingly. “I want it. Not in spite of your life; because of it. Yes, you bleed and lie and you flake out and… keep going on these fucking suicide missions and yes, yes they scare the shit out of me… But even if I’m scared, I believe you’ll come home, because you always do; that’s who you are. You keep getting back up even if the world’s given you so much reason to be unkind to it.” 

Wordlessly, you reach up and remove his glasses gingerly, tossing them toward the table. They land somewhere with a dull clatter. In the half-light of the living room, you can only make out parts of him, the cut of his cheekbone, the impressionistic slopes of definition on his face. This must be just a fraction of how he sees you, defined solely by blunt form and sensation.

“And that’s why I’m here, too. It’s just my choice as it is yours.” You press your forehead to his, finding him scorching against your clammy skin, before pulling back again. “Your night patrols, all that… If you believe that people deserve all the chances they can get, that there’s always a future for them no matter what came before, then have faith that it includes you, Matt. Everything you fight for is why I believe we could do this. What’s ahead could be dangerous, but what if it’s worth it a—what’s that word you like?” Your lips quirk slightly. “A thousandfold more. We can still bring good into the world, in all the ways we can, can’t we?”

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He closes his eyes. He does want it, all of it, more than anything in the world and he’s being the greediest man in the world right now, taking and taking and you’re letting him. Have faith that it includes you.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Well, it is. It’s no question if it’s with you.” You pause for a bit, before leaning back in, eyebrows wiggling playfully. “And you know, I haven’t refilled my prescription… So if we do this, it’s real. So ask me again.”

An incredulous, lighthearted scoff finally breaks through him. “Unbelievable. Are you sure you’re not the lawyer between us, sweetheart? That was one hell of an argument,” he says, chuckling boyishly through the pecks you’ve started to nip on his cheeks. “Fine. Last chance—are you sure about this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ha, ha, Mr. Murdock. Please. As if you believe in last chances.” 

He grins, can’t help it, can’t hide it; it’s crooked and a little desperate. But it’s impossible to skirt around it, your body betraying every rational thought. “Yes,” you whisper, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms sliding around his neck to pull him closer. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”

The words have barely left your mouth before Matt presses his hips into yours again, his groan muffled against your neck. The conversation has quelled the worst of his fears—but not the hunger. If anything, your unshakeable trust in him has unleashed something deeper within, darker and older than guilt. Something he can’t say aloud.

But God knows it. And he knows it.

The knowledge threatens to unmake him: he could fill you now, right now with your heated body primed and the timing perfect, let nature take its course. Your cunt is soft and warm and open, ripe and ready for him. And fuck, it hits him like a train.

Fucking you full to knock you up, marking you with proof of your unwavering faith— 

The thought makes his cock ache so hard it’s a mercy he’s still clothed.

Conversely you’re a mess, dress bunched up and panties soaked, and your heart is beating so hard you’re sure it’s deafening him. Matt locks your thighs over his forearms and carries you down the hall in steady steps, kiss never breaking until your back finally hits the bed. He’s over you in seconds, broad and solid and trembling with restraint that’s quickly breaking.

He looms above you, working deftly on the buttons of his shirt with one hand, the other braced beside you on the mattress to keep you where he wants you. His lips—rosy and pouted, kiss-swollen—curl into a knowing half-smirk.

“You have no idea,” his voice is rich with the thickness of his lust, “the way you taste and smell right now. If you could feel what I feel standing this close to you, you’d lose your mind.”

The shirt finally slips free, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail over his chest, marked by two long scars like uneven wings taking flight. Then his broad shoulders, the planes and valleys of muscle. Oh, Christ. He leans down, his hands already finding the material of your dress.

“Up,” he coaxes, warm but unyielding. You obey instinctively, helpless to raise your arms up and shimmy a little so he can peel the dress up and toss it aside in one smooth motion. His lips descend to your collarbone, stubble grazing the sensitive skin there as he kisses you with maddening patience. Every sensation of his tickling, hot breath sends sparks rushing through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough. You squirm, desperate for more, but he’s already working his way down—kisses tracing paths between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your panties.

Nose nudging against the soaked fabric, Matt inhales deep, a shameless groan rumbling from his chest as his hands grip your thighs, keeping them spread. “Fuck,” he murmurs, “you’re dripping for me, honey. Been like this since the train home, haven’t you?”

You flush but don’t deny it. The damp feel of the delicate lace between your thighs is proof enough. He chuckles softly at your silence, a finger twisting under the waistband to peel the damp fabric down, sliding it off the smooth skin of your legs to toss it aside. And suddenly, the room seems to be completely saturated by your arousal, steeping into every inch of air he pulls into his lungs.

Still, Matt doesn’t seem to be in any rush. His lips return to your inner thighs, tracing sultry kisses to burning flesh. Thighs pressed to his ears, the sound of your arteries reverberates like a drumline inside his skull. Femoral, uterine, iliac —he can name every one he hears. A symphony thrumming for him, hot and rhythmic. He kisses the spot where it sings beneath your skin.

(What an asshole, you’re thinking, knowing his every peck is deliberate; every drag of his tongue is just close enough to where you need him that it makes you squeal with frustration.)

“Matt,” you snip, tugging at his locks to guide him where you want him. “Stop teasing and just fuck me already!”

He pulls back from between your legs, lips curved into a cocky grin. “Be patient,” he chides, shaking his head like you’re a child spoiled rotten. “I gotta take care of you first, don’t I?”

You open your mouth to argue, but he isn’t done.

“I heard, it’ll take better if you come first,” he says evenly, using that court voice, the one he uses to explain the facts of a case and win over the jury without fail. “So… I’m gonna make you come again…” a kiss on the inner side of your knee, “…and again….” on your inner thigh, “…and again…” on your pubic mound, “…until your body has no choice but to take me.”

The filthy promise pulls you taut as his nose bumps against your clit. “Oh? And just where did you hear this news from, Counselor– Oh Christ–!” You gasp, hands tightening in his hair as his tongue darts out, tasting you lightly before pulling back just long enough to smirk at how you tremble under him.

“See?” Matt says, voice positively dripping with smugness. “You’re already so wet, sweetheart. Let me handle it, alright?”

And then he buries himself between your thighs, his tongue delving into your folds with ravenous precision. Fuck, he could die happy right then, the sour-sweet taste of your slickness robust and vividly ripe on his tongue, incomparable to its scent he’d only enjoyed since before that point. You cry out, your head falling back to the mattress as he pulls you higher with every stroke of his tongue, every flick and flat press against your clit, mouth working generously to kiss your needy cunt open.

Determined to see you come undone, he dives his rough fingers into you, his tongue maintaining pressure upon your clit. Your walls clench at the sensation of being breached, nerves going haywire with excitement as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. When you call out his name, he brushes at that sensitive spot, conditioning you by the whimpers and cries falling out of your mouth. Training you like an animal to associate the heightened pleasure with his name, though really he has no need to. No one has ever touched you with such precise devotion as him. 

Your heels dig into his back, hips canting to demand more. Matt grunts against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your entire body, and you can feel the mattress dipping slightly as he ruts against it, his own desperation spilling over.

“Matty—fuck—” you pant, hands clutching at the sheets. He only growls in response, his free hand curling against your legs to hold you in place, barring any attempt at escape. He’s eating you like a man starved, shamelessly groaning and fucking the mattress at your taste—and with the pressure in your stomach threatening to snap, you fold and unfold, instinctively trying to get away.

But Matt, all-knowing and bent on denying you the privilege of holding back, presses down harder inside you, rubbing while he sucks at your clit. You curse uncontrollably and the white-hot high finally, finally washes over you violently, downwards, down then up with your thighs clamped around his head, clenching around his thick, thrusting fingers. Matt refuses to slow down or let up, working you through every spasm until you’re left a panting, boneless mess beneath him.

“Christ,” you mutter weakly, when you can get it together enough to speak. The world’s still spinning around you, folded inwards to just the sight of him sitting back on his heels. His mouth and jaw are obscenely glistening with your wetness. Matt, sensing your hitched breath, correctly infers that you’re staring shamelessly at him, and at the bulge that’s tented angrily between his legs.

Smug little shit that he is, he brings his hand up to his mouth. The pretty-pink petals of his lips purse around his fingers as he revels in your taste. Matt hums his praise low in his throat, but you don’t get to enjoy the show as much as you want. The mattress shifts, and his hands close tight around your waist, turning you over onto your arms and knees.

Bent over for him, the anticipation is electric, your body still oversensitive from your high. But you can’t help it, that errant need to reassert yourself.

“Jesus, finally,” you muse, smirking above your shoulder. “I was starting to think you were all talk, Counselor.”

That earns a snap.

You hear the leathery rasp of his belt sliding through the loops of his pants, a sound that makes your toes curl.

“Watch your mouth,” he says, pushing your head forward. He leans down to press a hard, claiming kiss to your shoulder blade. The cold metal of the belt buckle kisses your wrists a moment later, and he binds them behind your back in a practiced knot, giving the binding a perfunctory tug to test its hold. 

Oh. Fuck.

Every inch of your arched posture has you laid bare for him in surrender. Your shoulders are sunken into the mattress, having lost the arms to brace yourself with. Ever the gentleman, he holds you steady with a firm grip while the other hand touches between your thighs, trailing all the way to your wet slit. He inhales sharply at the mess waiting for him, your arousal clinging sticky up to his knuckles. 

Matt huffs a laugh under his breath.

“So fucking ready for me,” he murmurs. 

Fisting his cock, he gives it a few rough tugs, precum slicking over his palm as he aligns his hips behind you, pushing forward. You feel the fat, hot head of his cock notch between your folds, and your cunt clenches on instinct, greedy for the stretch about to come. But Matt’s cruel with his patience, and his pace is leisurely slow.

One of his hands finds the knot of your bound wrists and tightens his grip, using the tension to anchor himself. 

He’s soaking in every detail. How your heat radiates off every cell of your skin; the fertile slick seeping out of you, perfuming the air so thickly he can taste it on his tongue. He can hear your heartbeat in your cunt, veins rushing with blood and fuck, he wants to ruin it, claim you with a violence that will leave no doubt in your body, least not in your womb. But even completely soaked, he knows your body needs time to adjust to him.

You whimper, pushing back to take control, but Matt holds you rooted in place. “Ah,” he tuts, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not getting it that easy, sweetheart. Patience, remember?”

“I literally just fucking came!”

He grits his teeth. The blunt crest of his cock presses into you, splitting you open and it knocks any trace of defiance from your mouth, bordering on too much but your pussy’s welcoming it, spasming around the overwhelming sensation as he fills you to the hilt.

“Oh fuck—” you gasp, “you’re so deep, Matt– Matt—”

“Yeah?” Voice almost cracking as he draws his hips back, only to thrust forward again with a punishing roll that has you keening. “I told you. So fucking tight. Jesus. Your pussy’s just pulling me in.”

Your body jolts with every thrust, each one driving deeper, testing the limits of what you can take. Every time he slams in, your cunt makes a wet humiliating sound and then the hand gripping your wrists slides up, pushing between your shoulder blades to shove you down hard into the mattress as his movements pick up. Fucking you in earnest, his cock drilling into your heat with a brutal, single-minded rhythm that has you whimpering, crying out his name.

“Listen to how wet you are,” he snarls, grabbing the round swell of your ass, “you want it as bad as I do. You smelled so fucking good all day, d’you know how hard it was for me? It was torture. So good with that baby— Gonna let me give you that? Make you mine? Do you want that, honey?”

“Yes–fuck–yes,” you’re panting, thighs trembling as the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens, “want it so bad, Matt, don’t stop–”

“Oh, I’m not stopping,” Matt growls, his chest pressing flush against your back. His breath is hot and wet in your ear. “How many kids d’you want, honey? I’ll give you as many as you’ll let me. I’ll put one in you right now. Not gonna stop til I fill you up.”

The shift in angle forces a sob from you as he sinks even deeper, his cock grinding up deeper than before, hitting that unbearable bundle of nerves with a dense pressure that makes your vision blur at the edges. Your arms are still trapped between your bodies, they’re numb and aching but it feels so so good, getting fucked by your husband with abandon. Matt doesn’t falter; he’s fully over you, pinning you down with his full weight as his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping the tender skin before biting down hard.

You cry out, pain-blinded. The sharpness slices clean through you and with the overwhelming heat, the stretch of him inside you—there it is, you come undone with a fractured sob, violent and searing. Your bound hands writhe uselessly, the bite on your shoulder singing as your vision whites out. Your ears ring, barely registering Matt’s voice swimming in and out of focus, calling you Good girl good girl… his hand petting your head, stroking your hair as your body shakes for him.

Then he’s pushing himself upright again, pulling out and rising to his knees behind you. His praises are still trailing out of him in soft whispers. One hand reaches for the belt at your wrists, tugging—your spine pulled upright by the motion. You whimper a breathy protest as your limbs stretch from disuse.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he praises, voice buttery and low. He sounds so sweet it makes your bruised core flutter, even now. His hands work at the leather binding behind you and finally, mercifully, you’re freed. But your body’s limp, shaking from the aftermath, and without the belt holding you up, you collapse forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Matt chuckles. “Easy, baby.”

He eases you over onto your back carefully, slipping a pillow under your spine to support your sore back. He’s pressing kisses all over your cheeks— and his cock, still swollen and slick with your release, twitches at the salt clinging to his mouth. You’ve been crying.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. “So sweet for me. Is my girl tired?”

You can barely say anything; you nod shakily. Your arms are tingling from the blood finally returning.

“And does she want to stop, hm?” A kiss to your cheek. “Does my sweet girl want to stop?”

You manage a small shake of your head.

A rough, pleased sound rumbles from his chest. “Good. That’s what I thought.”

The pins and needles in your arms are buzzing unpleasantly, but your cunt clenches at his voice anyway. You whine pitifully, and of course he hears.

“One more, alright, honey? Will you give me one more?”

Then he’s shifting, settling himself between your legs again. His hands wrap under your knees–thumbs pressing into the tender divots beneath the joints—and he presses them forward, toward your shoulders. Folded in half, you gasp at the stretch. Completely open beneath him, pinned by nothing but his weight, you shiver under the totality of his presence over you.

“This,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over your lower belly, “this is where our baby’s gonna grow, sweetheart. Right here.”

The blunt head of his cock nudges at your entrance and you’re so wet it slides through the mess of your arousal, teasing but not entering, just enough to make you sob.

“Matt—please—”

“Shh,” he soothes, lining himself up, pressing in. “There we go. So good for me, you’re taking it so well.”

This angle—God, it’s worse than before; better than it. Deeper, impossibly so, hitting places inside you you’ve never felt before, spots that send your nerves screaming. You sob helplessly as your body struggles to accommodate him, every thrust dragging against your walls, each ridge and vein of his cock felt completely. 

“C’mon,” he pants as his movements pick up the pace, thrusts growing fast and erratic. “Gimme this one, sweetheart. Just one more for me, I promise.”

The bed protests beneath you, the frame rattling against the wall. The wet slap of skin fills the room, and just as you start to feel that sharpness creeping up again, something stupid occurs to you: you’re loud. Your screams, the creak of the bed, the sound of your cunt around him– the neighbors—

You turn your head, trying to muffle yourself against your arm.

Matt growls, yanking your arm down and at the same time, he pulls out nearly all the way—only to slam back in with bruising force, hard enough to knock all the breath from your lungs. You can’t stop the scream of his name torn from your throat.

“Matt— please, the neighbors—”

“No,” he snarls. “I’m your husband. I get to fuck you as loud as I want. You want this?” 

You nod frantically, too breathless to answer.

His hand finds your throat, grasping firmly around the delicate column. He feels the hammer of your pulse against his palm, heavy and turbulent like a rushing flood. He tightens his grip just enough to feel it catch beneath his thumb. To him, it seems unmistakably perverse—this power to still you if he wanted. And yet your trust is entire, your faith in him unshaken. 

“Then let them hear,” he says. “Let them hear what I do to my wife. Let them know how good I’m fucking her.”

A generous god, a present one. That’s what you’ve made him.

“Say my name,” he demands, voice rough. “I want to feel it in your throat.”

“Matthew,” you choke out, completely helpless to his touch. Matthew, Matthew, Matthew…

It’s slipping. That darker thing inside him rising, coaxed loose by the mess of needy wetness where you’re connected. It wants to claim you and mark you, become His peer, one worthy of your devotion. 

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He licks the salt from your neck. “Can feel how close you are.”

His hand leaves your throat and presses flat against your stomach, right above where his cock punches deep. The pressure of his cock bulging under his palm sends another wave through your body. The feeling at the pit of your gut’s starting to rapidly swell, acute and compounding by the second as he fucks you with the whole length of his cock. 

“Feel that?” he rasps, pressing down harder. “That’s where m’gonna fill you. Right into your womb. And if it doesn’t take this time— I’ll fucking make sure it does the next. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

Then his hand drops lower, to your cunt, gathering your creamy slick with his thumb to rub the swollen nub of your clit with. 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he says, the words strangled. “Come while I fuck my baby into you.”

You look down where you’re connected, where his cock sinks in and out of you, coated in slick and so much need and you break. Your walls seize around his length, body convulsing as your climax tears through you. You cry out, legs twitching and nails raking across the sheets. Above you, Matt groans with a guttural, broken sound. His hips drive forward once, twice—the head of his cock kissing the ripe seal of your womb, and then he’s coming, thick and hot, filling you with so much it leaks around his cock even as he keeps pumping deep as he can go. His sweat’s dripping onto you as he holds you tightly, arms trembling with the effort of staying upright. You twitch beneath him, aftershocks rolling still and he collapses onto you, pulsing with the last desperate pulses of cum from his cock.

Your body’s completely pliant, legs trembling even when he finally stills. 

“Let gravity help,” he says, easing out gently. He slips the pillow from beneath your back and tucks it under your hips, before slumping beside you. You giggle weakly, nuzzling into his neck. Your sweet husband’s back, placing soft lingering kisses all over your face as his chest heaves from the earlier exertion.

“So,” you start, the haze starting to set, “can you really tell?”

“...Yes,” Matt admits. His voice is husky, warm with affection. “You smell different. And you’re warmer, just a little–”

“Smell different?! Do I stink or something?”

He laughs into your hair, arm pulling you in tight. “Sweetheart, I think we’ve established well enough that you smell absolutely beguiling to me.”

You roll your eyes, your finger tracing absent shapes on his chest. Heart, triangle, star—he hums at each one.

Smiley face. That earns a chuckle. 

“Anyway, you weren’t half bad with Teddy either,” you muse thoughtfully. “I think you’d make an amazing dad.”

You opt not to tease him about the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Matt.” You clear your throat. “You know, I really do want it, but… I just want you to know that I’m happy, even just now. And I’m not stupid, I know you could…” you try not to say die, “...well, the worst could happen. Even then, I’d still want this life with you, whatever I can get. When we got married, I knew that would come with it, and– And if we do have a kid, if the future holds that for us, then it won’t just be us. We have Foggy and Karen and Marci, and my family, too. Takes a village and all that, y’know?”

You pause to catch your breath, Matt nodding you on.

“Point is, we’ll never be left alone, no matter what. I know that’s something you worry about a lot. So if– if something ever did happen to you…” You force yourself to say it, “we’d survive. We can keep living. But between surviving with you and without you, I’ll always choose with. So I’m asking you to let yourself have this. If you really want it. Just promise me you’ll be more careful.”

Have faith that it includes you.

He’s silent for a moment, his hand stroking gently at the slope of your arm.

“I promise,” he says at last, “I really do want it.”

He knows you know the rest. That’s all he can say, pressing a kiss to your temple. Thank you isn’t nearly enough, but it buzzes in his pulse anyway. Smiling faintly into your hair, he lets it stretch just long enough… Before the gravity of the moment slips from his shoulders, not all the way but just enough to let in that familiar, crooked grin.

“Oh, but you know, honey,” he murmurs, lips on your cheek, “you’re not pregnant yet.”

The laugh bubbles from your throat, and he can feel the sound against his skin.

“That was just round one.” His hand slides down to grip your thigh, and he feels you shiver. Perfect. “Let’s get to work then, Counselor.”

tryna get a load from of this guy

[singulariitysims]

🍂

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Beautiful Boy.

Father figure!Hotch x BAU!reader

1k party masterlist | series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: Despite your complex relationship, when your boss is discouraged, you can't help but care and try to make him happy, especially on Father's Day.

Words: 3k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. mentions of crime, reader’s mom (literally only mentioned). hurt/comfort. hotch being a father figure. father and rebellious daughter type relationship. temporarily located in the first season. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I know that you always suffer with this relationship so today I wanted to do something nicer.

You noticed it before anyone else did.

It started in the briefing room, somewhere between the sheriff’s second pot of bitter coffee and the Kentucky summer pressing against the windows like a second skin. The heat clung to everything, thick and sour, like grief. The blinds were half-drawn, but the sunlight still poured in, harsh and gold, catching dust in the air like static.

And your boss was off.

Not in the obvious ways, not in the ways that anyone else would register and understand the way you did. He did not bark orders. He wasn't irritable or cold. He was just...quieter and more withdrawn than usual. More unreachable. Something in him was turned inward, like a lightbulb flickering out behind his eyes.

You could feel it immediately. Because you had learned to read him in all the ways no one else had to, even though you were all profilers. Through posture. Through the silence. From the way his fingers curled slightly when he was overwhelmed but tried not to show it. You'd spent enough nights next to him in empty police stations, exchanging glances over tired files, garbled words, and bad machine coffee, to know when something inside him had gone still.

He hadn’t touched his coffee.

He hadn’t opened his casebook.

He hadn’t spoken unless directly addressed, and even then, his voice was quiet, almost too careful, like he was trying not to crack something open.

It wasn’t fatigue. You’d seen him tired. This was something else. Something heavier.

When the team broke off into pairs, you volunteered to take the victim interviews. You needed the distraction; your own pulse had been too loud in your ears since you noticed the shift in him. You also knew that Derek usually had a better read on things when you couldn’t make sense of them yourself.

The two of you headed out in a black SUV, the air conditioning fighting the summer heat with a weak, wheezing breath. The windows were rolled up, and the sun glared through them, bleaching the world beyond into shades of white and yellow.

The silence inside the car stretched like an elastic band. You toyed with the hem of your sleeve, glanced out the window, then said it:

“Hotch is being weird.”

Morgan’s eyebrows went up slightly as he flicked his gaze toward you. “Define weird.”

You turned to face the windshield, watching the road smear past. “He didn’t say anything when I stayed up half the night drinking coffee and obsessing over case notes. Normally, he’d at least scold me for not sleeping or tell me I’m irresponsible.”

Morgan raised a brow.

You continued, your voice quieter now. “He left his badge at the precinct. And when I said I’d ride with you today, he didn’t even blink. No reassignment. No reminder that I was supposed to stick with Reid because we protect each other. He didn’t even look at me.”

He let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s three signs of the apocalypse right there.”

You gave him a weak smile, but your eyes didn’t follow it. “I thought maybe something happened with Haley.”

Morgan shook his head, shifting gears. “Nah. Nothing I heard. He was fine Friday. Better than fine, actually. Had Jack’s photo out on his desk. Made me look at it like five times. He had that same ‘proud dad’ glow he gets sometimes, you know?”

You did. You knew that look intimately. That strange softness that came over Hotch when he spoke about his child. Like for just a second, all the armor dropped, and he let himself be human again.

You’d seen that same look before. The first time had been in Quantico, in the break room. You were a probationary agent then: young, even more stubborn, hiding all your doubts behind sarcasm and caffeine. Hotch had barely known you, but he caught the panic in your eyes after a hard case and handed you his untouched tea. He didn’t say much. He never did. But he’d sat with you for ten quiet minutes, and that had meant more than anything.

Over time, it shifted. You weren’t just one of his agents anymore. He looked out for you in ways that went beyond tactical oversight. Called you out when you pushed yourself too hard. He brought you tea and cookies when he knew you hadn’t eaten. And when you screwed up? He held you accountable.

You were quiet for a moment. The hum of the tires against the sunbaked asphalt filled the space between you, and then—

The realization dropped in your chest like a stone.

You turned your head back toward the window, your fingers curling loosely in your lap, nails brushing over the soft fabric of your pants. “It’s Father’s Day.”

Morgan didn’t say anything at first. He just pressed his lips together, then slowly shook his head. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

You didn’t look at him. Your voice had gone quiet, like something inside you had curled in on itself. “It’s his first one since Jack was born.”

Morgan finally glanced over at you, his brows drawn. “You think he forgot?”

You gave him a humorless smile. “Hotch? He’s not the kind of man who forgets anything. He remembers how I take my coffee, even after I changed it once. He remembers my mom’s name and the city she lives in, even though I only mentioned her once in passing. He doesn’t forget. This isn’t that.”

Morgan nodded slowly, eyes returning to the road. “So…what is it?”

You stared out at the blur of green fields and gas stations passing by, your throat tight. “It’s avoidance,” you said finally. “It’s guilt, maybe. Or grief. Or…fear.” You hesitated, your voice softer now. “That he’s not doing enough. That he’s missing things.”

Your voice faltered. You blinked fast, hoping the burn behind your eyes would pass.

“But he’s burying it,” you finished, more quietly this time. “And I don’t think anyone else even noticed.”

The car was quiet again for a few beats. Then Morgan, his voice low but full of a kind of warmth only earned through shared history, said, “You noticed.”

You didn’t answer.

Because of course you did.

Of course it was you.

You’d always had that strange attunement to Hotch, that subtle understanding that ran beneath the surface of protocol and title. You knew when he needed space, when he needed backup, and when he was two seconds from exploding but wouldn’t let it show. He never said much, but you learned to listen to what he didn’t say, to read the silence like language.

And sometimes, like now, it was screaming.

Morgan looked over at you again, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was lining up something just right.

“You should do something,” he said.

You blinked, frowning at him. “Me? Why me?”

He gave you a look that was part amusement, part exasperation, and part something softer. “You’re like his other baby here.”

You let out a sharp, scandalized laugh. “Oh, shut up.”

Morgan grinned. “It’s true. You and Reid, you’re the babies.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So what, I’m in the BAU daycare now?”

He shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Reid’s Gideon’s. You’re Hotch’s. The dynamic duo of adopted genius children.”

You scoffed. “I forgot you were ancient. The wise caretaker of the kindergarten.”

You reached out and gave his shoulder a mock-pitying pat, and he laughed, really laughed. It was warm and open, and for a moment it cleared the heavy air in the car like a breeze.

“I’m serious,” he said between chuckles. “You’ve got Hotch wrapped around that little badge of yours. You smile at him, and suddenly he’s pretending you didn’t break five Bureau rules last month.”

Your voice was flat. “It was not five.”

“Oh, right. Six. My bad.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. Still, the warmth that had started to bloom quickly turned back to a quiet ache.

Because he wasn’t wrong. And both of you knew it.

The police station was unusually quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came with calm, but the kind that felt suspended, like the breath before a scream. Outside, the Kentucky summer boiled against the windows, turning them into panes of soft light and distant sirens. Inside, the air was heavy with the mingled smells of old coffee, printer toner, and institutional fatigue.

Most of the team had gone out again, following separate leads. You should’ve been with them. Technically, you were supposed to be reviewing files with Reid and cross-referencing Garcia’s latest data set. But when you walked past one of the smaller briefing rooms and saw him, alone, silent, back turned to the door, something tugged at you and wouldn’t let go.

Hotch sat at a desk that looked too small for his presence, elbows tucked in, spine perfectly straight, the file in his hands open but untouched. His fingers curled around the pages like he was reading, but you knew better. You knew the signs. You’d learned him like some people learned weather, by pressure shifts and subtle silences.

His coffee was cold.

The pen beside him hadn’t moved in over an hour.

He wasn’t working. He was trying to work.

And trying harder not to feel.

You lingered in the doorway, your fingers tightening slightly around the object in your hand. It was a small package, almost weightless, and yet it anchored you to the spot.

You cleared your throat gently. “Hotch.”

He looked up. Not startled, exactly—Aaron Hotchner was not the kind of man who startled—but there was something in his expression, a flicker of recognition that softened the line between his brows.

You stepped in slowly, the sound of your boots muffled by the low hum of ceiling lights. “I, um…” You stopped, nerves prickling your skin. “I have something.”

His eyes searched your face. “News about the case?”

You shook your head. “No. Not that.”

You walked over, deliberately measured, and placed the package on the desk in front of him. Wrapped in simple brown paper, tied with thin twine. It looked like something from another decade, something unassuming, careful, and personal.

He raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Just…something from the team,” you said, quickly, like you didn’t want to dwell on it.

Hotch’s hands moved with practiced precision as he untied the string, folding the paper back in neat creases. You watched his expression subtly shift the moment the cover of the CD was revealed: the black-and-white photo of John Lennon and Yoko Ono pressed in an almost-kiss. Double Fantasy.

You forced yourself not to shift under his gaze. “There’s a track on there. ‘Beautiful Boy.’ Thought it might be…nice for Jack.”

You didn’t say for you. You didn’t say for tonight. You didn’t say because no one else noticed, and I couldn’t stand it.

Instead, you fiddled with the edge of the desk, your fingertips grazing a nick in the wood. “Just thought you might want to play it for him. At some point.”

His gaze stayed steady on you, unreadable. But you saw the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw, the way his thumb brushed the edge of the CD case like it meant more than he could put into words. Which, with Hotch, it probably did.

He didn’t smile. Not really. But something eased in him, just for a moment.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. His voice was calm, even, but lacking the hard edges it usually carried. There was something in it, something softer, closer to vulnerable.

You nodded, unable to meet his eyes now that the moment had landed. “It’s from the team,” you repeated, too fast, too flat. “Not just me.”

And before he could say anything more, before the silence between you could turn into something warm and dangerous, you turned toward the door.

You reached it, one hand on the frame, and paused just long enough to say, almost too low to hear, “Happy Father’s Day.”

You didn’t look back.

But he did. He watched you until you disappeared from the hallway, his thumb still resting on the corner of the case.

When he finally tucked the CD into his bag, he did it with care, not as if it were fragile, but as if it mattered. Which, for him, was rarer still.

And though he turned back to the files, posture straightening, focus returning, something had shifted.

The sadness hadn’t gone.

But now…it wasn’t all his to carry alone.

After a few minutes of moving through the narrow corridors of the local precinct, past officers hunched over phones, and whiteboards cluttered with scrawled names and pinned evidence photos, Hotch finally found the rest of the team gathered in the squad room.

Morgan was leaning over a map on the central table, lips pressed together in focus as he traced routes and known locations. JJ stood a few feet away, phone to her ear, nodding along to a quiet voice on the other end, likely a local detective. Reid sat with one leg folded under him on the edge of a desk, flipping through a legal pad filled with dense notes, midway through explaining something to no one in particular. Something about proximity patterns and variable behavior probabilities.

Gideon, Elle, and you were still out, following up on witness interviews or canvassing the neighborhood around the latest crime scene. Hotch felt that absence in the room like a missing piece of a puzzle. Familiar chaos surrounded him, the kind that usually grounded him, but tonight, it all felt strangely distant. Dimmer. Or maybe it was just him. Maybe he was the one too far away.

He stepped further into the room, the CD still tucked under his arm. It felt oddly heavy now, like something he wasn’t sure how to carry.

Morgan looked up first, lifting his chin. “Hey. Any news from the sheriff?”

Hotch shook his head. “Not yet. He’s still coordinating with the dive team.”

He could’ve stopped there. Should have, maybe.

But instead, after a beat, he let his fingers slide along the edge of the jewel case and, almost offhandedly, too offhandedly, said, “Thanks…for the gift.”

There was a pause. A small, still beat that seemed to stretch a little too long.

JJ blinked, lowering her phone. “What gift?”

Spencer looked up from his notes, eyebrows drawn in confusion. “Did someone send something? I haven’t seen a delivery.”

Morgan narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Hotch looked between them, reading their faces instinctively, a skill honed over years in the field. But what he found wasn’t the guilt of a surprise ruined or the giddy discomfort of a shared secret. It was just confusion. Honest and complete.

He slowly lifted the CD just slightly, so the glossy cover caught the harsh fluorescent light.

“The Lennon album. Double Fantasy.” He tapped the front of the case with his thumb.

Silence fell again. Subtle, but complete.

Derek straightened slowly from the map, his expression shifting, something thoughtful settling behind his eyes.

“I didn’t even know you liked Lennon,” he said, carefully.

Reid blinked, head tilting. “He was murdered in 1980 outside The Dakota in New York. Double Fantasy was the last album he released during his lifetime. It was produced by—”

“Reid,” JJ cut in gently.

Hotch, still holding the CD lightly between his fingers, looked at each of them again, as if trying to catch a tell. But there was nothing. No flicker of recognition. No grin of acknowledgment.

“No one got me this?” he asked, his voice quieter now. Less curious, more precise.

They shook their heads one by one. Morgan’s lips parted as if to say something, then closed again.

JJ glanced toward the door, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. Then her gaze returned to Hotch, and a slow smile began to curl at the corners of her mouth.

“No,” she said softly. “But I think I know who did.”

Hotch didn’t respond at first. He just stood there, silent and still, thumb brushing the edge of the jewel case like he might wear the plastic down if he did it long enough. He thought back to the way you’d handed it to him: direct, like you were giving him a report. No soft words, no sentimentality. Just…intent. Camouflaged as routine.

He should have known.

He did know.

Morgan exhaled a soft laugh, folding his arms. “She told you it was from all of us, huh?”

Hotch gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Jennifer smiled again, this time warmer. “That’s her. Can’t say what she means. But she makes sure you feel it anyway.”

Aaron’s fingers tightened on the CD.

He could picture it now, you lingering in a record shop, maybe, debating whether to do it at all. Or maybe digging it out from your own collection. You hadn’t lingered in the room long after giving it to him. You’d left him the gift like a file dropped on his desk, no fuss, no eye contact. But it wasn’t thoughtless.

Not even close.

Later, back in the temporary office the sheriff’s department had given him—the one with the flickering desk lamp and a broken file drawer—Hotch closed the door behind him. The lock clicked softly in the stillness. He set down his files, loosened his tie just slightly, and opened the side compartment of his bag.

He pulled out his old portable CD player, the same one he used to carry on long flights before digital libraries and Bluetooth speakers became the norm. Worn, dependable. It still worked.

He slipped the disc in, clicked the lid shut, and placed the headphones over his ears.

The opening chords of the song filled the room: soft, earnest, and full of something that felt like forgiveness.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

And let himself feel it.

Just for a minute.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Beautiful girl.

[harrywavycurly]

Father’s Day for Harry in WTF? I need some fluff🥹

Hiii lovey!! I will give you some Father’s Day fluff, I hope you enjoy! It’s short and sweet!💖

-find all things Worth The Fight here✨

CW: None

Summary: You do your best to make Harry feel loved on his first Father’s Day ✨

“Okay Nora let’s see we have fruit.” You mumble to your two week old daughter who is cradled in your arms as you slowly make your way around your kitchen. “Oh and French toast.” You say with a smile as you begin to plate it all together, placing the toast on first and then doing your best to put the fruit in a cute little design on top of it.

“Paris mate you’re gonna make me trip if you don’t get from under my feet.” You let out a chuckle as you hear Harry’s sleepy voice coming from down the hall.

“Your daddy is awake.” You whisper to the only slightly awake little girl in your arms as you turn to grab Harry’s new favorite glass that has the words ‘Dad Goals’ on it, and just as you go to pour some juice into it you hear a small little noise coming from the baby monitor that’s on the counter near the fridge. “Oh I think Eds is-” your words get cut off by the sound of Harry’s voice crackling through the speaker on the video monitor.

“Good morning -oh what’s that face for hmmm?” You smile as you stand there and watch Harry on the video monitor as he leans over the edge of the crib Edward is in. “Tell daddy what’s got you all upset.” Harry’s voice is soft and gentle as he scoops up his son that’s letting out small little whines. “Let’s get you changed and then see what mommy and your sister are up to how’s that sound?” You look down at Nora with a little giggle as Harry begins to change Edward, you turn back around and finish pouring Harry’s juice and setting up his breakfast.

“Let’s get this ready before your daddy-”

“Before her daddy what?” Harry’s voice makes you spin around, a slow grin spreads across his face as his eyes travel down to the little girl in your arms while your eyes look at the little boy he has tucked under his chin.

“None of your business.” You tease as you move to the side to try to block the view of his surprise breakfast.

“Oh-right yeah none of my business.” He says with a playful roll of his eyes as he takes a small step towards you. “Good morning cranky.” You smile up at him as he leans down and places a kiss to your lips.

“Good morning.” You respond as he pulls away. “Will you go sit down please?” Harry raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue as he gives your lips one more peck before turning and going to sit at the kitchen table.

“I don’t know Eds m’thinking those two are up to something.” He whispers as he gently places the baby boy in the bouncer next his seat. “Your mom is a sneaky thing and-”

“And what?” Harry just smiles as you stand in front of the table with his glass of juice.

“And we love you very much.” You let out a laugh as he gets comfortable in his seat so you can place his glass in front of him.

“I love you two very much as well.” You tell him as you walk around the table so Harry can take Nora from your arms.

“Good morning lovey what have you and mommy been doing this morning hmm?” He coos as he leans down to place a little kiss to the top of her head. “You two been-”

“Happy Father’s Day.” Harry looks up as you place his breakfast down on the table along with a little gift bag. You watch his face as he takes in the way you spelled dad out of fruit on top of his French toast. “The twins helped me pick that out.” You tell him as you push the gift bag closer to him, when he looks over at the bag you notice his eyes are a little glassy.

Harry looks up at you before he reaches out and grabs the gift bag. You chew on your bottom lip as he pulls out the tissue paper with one hand while he keeps Nora securely cradled to his chest. When he pulls out a small box he glances over at you with a quirked brow before looking back at the box and opening it. You watch Harry’s lips rub together as he looks at the ring, something that lets you know he is trying to keep his emotions under control.

“It’s-it’s beautiful.” His voice is thick as he plucks the ring from the box his eyes scan the stone, the twin’s birthstone. You smile as his eyes catch the engraving on the inside, their initials with a small heart next to it. “Thank you baby I-I love it.” He says with a few sniffles as you reach over and help slide the ring onto his index finger.

“Thank you for being so good to us.” Harry blinks a few times as tears roll down his cheeks, you walk over to the side of the table and leans down to place a kiss to the top of his head. “Now let me take her so you can eat your breakfast.” He looks up at you with a smile as you take Nora and put her in the bouncer next to Edward.

“I love you.” His words are soft as you take the seat across from him.

“I love you too Harry.” You tell him as he reaches over and grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze.