#Still fourth on ao3 after half a month baby | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deliciouskeys · 7 months

Text

@cozycornerkinktober's prompt lucky #13: Nursing/lactation

Another deleted scene from the Selfish Gene (Butchlander)

Warnings: Everyone's going to write about HL's canon nursing/breast milk fetish for this one. And uh... so am I. But in mine he's the one lactating so trigger warning for that upfront. Mpreg. Supe baby. Injuries. Weird fetishes. Probably a little bit more emo than I intended. @vanshoundd requested this one, but I'm not at all sure they'll be pleased with the result lol, but I tried! AO3 link.

Butcher’s nose was never that sensitive, but he starts to detect it as soon as he’s out of the elevator on the twenty fourth floor of their new hoity-toity high rise condo building. It hits him full force when he opens the door to the apartment, thick, cloying, notes of melted butter and even something a little like apple, all mixing together into a bouquet that now smells like his partner, like their child, like home. Butcher puts away the groceries he brought in before following the overly familiar, obnoxiously loud sound of the pump coming from their bedroom.

Homelander is sitting half propped up in bed, browsing on his phone, the wearable vest with suction cups stuck to his otherwise bare torso, both 150ml milk bottles half-full with creamy white liquid, frothing up slightly from the negative pressure. Lena’s sleeping soundly on top of his body and not in her crib— as far as Butcher knows she’s never been in her crib in the two weeks since being born, Homelander being completely engrossed with taking her everywhere and keeping her close at all times. He hasn’t really left the house except to go out on the balcony, despite having been so enthusiastic about having the house confinement officially nixed a few months ago. At least their new apartment overlooks Central Park and has two spacious bedrooms— not that Homelander has let Lena stay in her nursery yet. Butcher made a token attempt to convince him that sleeping together with your newborn in the same bed was ill-advised, but SIDS was just not something on Homelander’s list of worries. ‘How about you worry about Sudden Dad Death Syndrome,’ he said dismissively. Butcher had no intention to stay away and sleep in another room. If he’s going to get lasered for rolling over on his infant daughter, well, it was a good run. Homelander seems genuinely worried about that eventuality though, and keeps Lena between his own body and a pillow. Butcher’s not sure how much the pillow would really protect him, but he’s learned not to argue about most of these things. He’s also not sure how much Homelander actually sleeps during the night, because he’s still feeding the baby so often, and every time Butcher wakes up groggy during the night, Homelander’s either feeding, burping, changing, or pumping.

At the moment Lena’s sound asleep, positioned along Homelander’s belly, tiny legs flexibly curled up under her diaper, tiny ribcage visibly moving in and out underneath the tiny blanket draped over her.

“I don’t know how she can sleep through that racket going on near her head,” Butcher says as he lies down next to Homelander.

“It’s really not that loud.” Homelander rolls his eyes, finally putting away the phone.

“It’s pretty loud, love. And I think you’re going to break it soon if you don’t stop running it 24-7.”

Homelander huffs. “What am I supposed to do if I can’t store much inside my body?”

Supplement with formula maybe, Butcher thinks but doesn’t say out loud. It’s a really sore topic they’ve been over multiple times over the past couple of weeks. Homelander’s body responded to pregnancy by the textbook, golden colostrum letting down as soon as Lena rut her face into his chest, not even an hour after being born. But his milk supply never came in as plentifully as the lactation coach assured him it would. He produced milk quickly, but had little storage capacity. His chest was only a little bit more swollen and veiny than before pregnancy, and there was apparently just not enough volume for a satisfying feeding, even for a tiny newborn. Butcher had probably never seen him as upset as when he was frantically switching Lena from one nipple to the other, to no avail because she’d drained both in short order and was crying for more. “Why can’t I do this right?!” he’d lamented, sobbing about his failure, rather than the fact that their famished newborn’s suction was apparently strong enough to make his nipples’ skin chafe, pop, and bleed. Butcher fed Lena formula out of a bottle between her breast feedings during those first few days, and Homelander refused to even watch it happen, lying in bed turned away, weeping, depressed, and defeated. The mere sight of the bottle would send him into what, in Butcher’s mind, was irrational hysterics, but suggesting that there might be some postpartum depression at play here was angrily dismissed out of hand. Butcher found what was at least a stopgap solution, buying one of those supplemental nursing systems where breast milk could be mixed with formula to boost the volume and be used to feed the baby through a thin plastic tube taped to align right with the nipple. All the nice physical bonding of not using a bottle, without the anxiety about your baby going hungry, Butcher figured. But Homelander was still a purist, and wanted zero Similac in the mixture. That’s why he’d taken to pumping day and night, every hour except when Lena was actually latched on to him. For better or worse, it seemed to be working, his body slowly adjusting to meet the demand. In the past few days, he finally started having leftovers to freeze.

“I just feel like I haven’t been able to talk to you without raising my voice over the din of that motor,” Butcher says, cupping Homelander’s face and kissing him on the cheek, then rubbing his hand against the rough beard bristles on his chin. Homelander was so focused on his baby that apparently he stopped prioritizing shaving every morning, brushing his hair, or showering.

“Sorry, I haven’t been taking care of myself today,” Homelander says defensively as Butcher’s hand runs along his jaw.

“D’you want to?” Butcher asks.

Homelander looks down at Lena and sighs.

“I can watch her while you take a fifteen minute shower,” Butcher says, both amused and annoyed. “You can’t keep being this much of a control freak.”

“If she wakes up-”

“I’ll inform you at once, commander-in-chief, Jesus.”

“And if she…”

He trails off but Butcher knows what Homelander is getting at without any more being said. Lena has yet to actually fire off a laser but her eyes have powered up a glow a couple of times in the past two weeks. They haven’t been able to pinpoint what seems to trigger it. Every time it’s happened she was latched on, feeding, and not fussing. Butcher thinks it’s overwhelmed-with-happiness-and-pleasure lasers, not rage-lasers, but they can’t know for sure.

“I’ll be careful and point her away from me. What do you want me to say?”

Homelander nods and slowly sits up. Lena makes a quiet whimper and he freezes but she seems to go right back to sleep, despite being held almost fully upright. Butcher takes her gently into his arms and cradles her. She turns toward his body but thankfully doesn’t wake up and start searching for milk. Homelander walks out of the bedroom with the pump still attached to him.

“Maybe you should take it off before you get in the shower,” Butcher mutters to himself under his breath, but Homelander hears him loud and clear, of course, even with the machine still on and says “Very funny” from the bathroom.

Butcher enjoys the rare opportunity to study this tiny creature snoozing in his arms, a creature he helped make. He leans down and inhales the scent of her head, her wispy dark hairs flying up when he does. He finally hears the pump being shut off and the shower running shortly after. Lena stays asleep, eyes sometimes moving underneath her thin eyelids, long eyelashes twitching slightly. She’s unbearably cute. Holding her, Butcher admits he can understand why her other parent doesn’t seem to want to let go of her for even a minute. He never would have imagined he’d feel like that about anything, let alone a newborn, but there’s some kind of biological or psychological program that’s kicked into gear in his brain once he finally saw her in the flesh. Somewhere in his deep memory he also recalls what it was like to see Lenny for the first time, and feel an overwhelming immediate sense of love for someone so tiny.

As he watches her sleep, his mind starts to drift as well, as if the sleepiness is contagious. He’s in this hypnotized state, so he’s not sure how it happens exactly, but Lena wakes up pretty suddenly. She doesn’t cry, just opens her eyes and next thing Butcher feels is her tiny fist finding and wrapping around the pinky of the hand he’s laid on top of her. Butcher immediately realizes his dire circumstances when he feels powerful force squeezing his finger and bone starting to crack. He stays stoically silent, looking down at her open eyes. They’re huge—sometimes it feels like they’re taking up half of her face— and a piercing blue. He’s heard babies’ eyes often darken as they grow, but as of now they’re the spitting image of Homelander’s. Maybe that’s why he feels just a tiny bit unsettled whenever she fixes them on him– some echo of their old antagonism still buried somewhere deep in his brain.

“Lena, love, let go of Daddy’s hand,” he says quietly through teeth clenching in pain, still smiling at her, already knowing talking like this is futile. He’s fairly sure he feels something fracturing and blinks back tears. She stares up at him, but doesn’t release her grip. He can’t even try to pry her hand off, with none of his hands free. The shower is turned off already, and loath as Butcher is to prove that he can’t watch Lena for fifteen minutes, he gets up and carefully makes his way to the bathroom.

“Can you help me out…” he says as he’s pushing the door open with an elbow and sees Homelander choke on something and press the back of his hand to his mouth. Although he’s at the sink, turned away from the door, Butcher can see in the mirror that he was sipping on one of the milk containers that he detached from his chest.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST CAN YOU KNOCK?!” he explodes, apparently before he’s swallowed everything down because the first words come out with a gurgle.

“I actually couldn’t…” Butcher answers sheepishly, wincing because Lena’s grip tightened further around his already broken finger during the yelling.

Homelander looks over and sees the situation and his facial expression twists from anger to distress. He quickly approaches and pries her tiny fingers open, taking her into his own arms almost at the same time, cradling her close.

“She hurt you,” he says, frowning so dramatically that Butcher can’t help but feel amused at their predicament. A baby being able to mangle her father has some kind of dark humor to it.

“She’s fine. I was careless,” Butcher says, almost waving his injured hand dismissively before feeling a jolt of pain in his pinky at any movement.

“Your right hand. You need to go to the hospital,” Homelander laments, starting to sound panicked.

“Hey, it’s not a big deal, alright? Leave it alone. I’ll take care of it later.”

Homelander looks unappeased by that, and it dawns on Butcher that he’s probably insecure about his child being perceived as a danger to normal people, the public. Perhaps to be locked away in a secure facility until all the powers are under control.

“Hey, I’m okay. I was just careless.” Butcher says, but he’s also starting to survey the scene he walked in on. Homelander’s standing naked, hair still wet, holding Lena in his arms who seems to recognize her feeder parent smell and is starting to root around his chest. Butcher sees the bottle of breast milk, almost drained. He doesn’t say anything, but Homelander seems to catch where his gaze went.

“I make enough for her! I’m not having anything that she needs!” he starts saying and Butcher doesn’t know where to start with this.

“Look, I don’t care what you do with it. You’re the one obsessed with not giving her formula. If you want to drink your own breast milk, I’m not going to be the one to stop you.”

Homelander chews on his lip, face crimson, and Butcher can’t believe that this is, of all the strange things this supe’s done, what he’s going to be mortified by.

“I’m not saying it’s normal, but you’re not harming anyone.”

“You don’t get it,” Homelander says, eyes fluttering when Lena finds his nipple and latches on but then he looks down at her and avoids eye contact with Butcher. “I obsess over it. I- I feel like I get turned on when she’s nursing. I even get a little turned on when I’m pumping. I’ve been wanting to drink it. I have real issues.”

Butcher rubs the bridge of his nose, remembering to use his left hand. “I mean, yeah, that sounds a bit sick, but it’s harmless I guess.”

“You never feel tempted to even just taste it?” Homelander asks. His tone is weird and desperate, as if he’s hoping to hear just a little bit of support for this freaky fixation.

“Can’t say I have,” Butcher says, but then adds. “I kind of like the way it smells. I’ll taste it if it makes you feel better.” He approaches and takes a small sip from the same bottle Homelander was drinking out of, smacking and trying to describe the taste like a connoisseur. “It’s really sweet. It’s not that bad. If I didn’t know what it was I might have though it was some kind of bland custard.”

Homelander watches him, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“What?” Butcher asks. “What do you want me to say?”

“You’re not revolted?” Homelander asks cautiously.

“I don’t know, after watching you be in labor for more than a day and then give the bloodiest birth I’ve ever heard of at home on a shower curtain I spread out on our bed? I think I’m beyond being revolted.”

When they move back to the bedroom, Butcher holds Lena while Homelander puts on fresh sweatpants. He’s rushing, as if every second Butcher is holding her is borrowed time.

“You can’t do everything yourself.” Butcher sighs. “It’s just a broken finger. I don’t even feel like going to the ER. They’ll just put it in a splint.”

“Fix your hand,” Homelander answers him brusquely. “I don’t want you walking around with an ugly crooked finger and have it be this ‘Story’ about how Lena broke your pinky.”

“And here I thought you cared about my well-being.” Butcher chuckles.

“Maybe that too,” Homelander says morosely, as he lies back and switches Lena over to his other nipple. His expression softens whenever she’s latched on. “If you’re not going to the ER, can you…bring the bottles from the bathroom…?”

Butcher shrugs and carries the two containers back into the bedroom.

“Can you…” Homelander’s voice gets really quiet. “Can you feed me with it.”

Now Butcher’s a bit disturbed. “Can I what now?”

“Just put the bottle top on it with the nipple and just hold it to my mouth.”

Butcher sighs, incredulous, but does as he’s asked. He watches Lena sucking languidly on Homelander’s nipple– she’s not hungry, she’s mostly doing it out of habit and for comfort. He watches Homelander slowly downing the remaining milk in one bottle and then the other.

“Yeah, this is a bit fucked, love, I have to tell you.”

Homelander licks his lips when he’s drained everything. Lena leans back at about the same time, and the synchrony is vaguely disturbing to Butcher.

“I know,” Homelander says, looking off into the distance and avoiding eye contact. “But it makes me happy.”

A/N: The oxytocin released by the brain upon the sensation of breastfeeding doesn't bring people to orgasm, but it can turn some people on quite a bit. Socially unacceptable biological phenomena, but honestly it makes a lot of evolutionary sense that you'd get rewarded for feeding your brood.

#butchlander #mpreg #cozy corner kinktober #I've missed so many days of kinktober!!! unacceptable #and this is what I bring you after the long absence lol pure id and self indulgence #the selfish gene #homelander #billy butcher #nursing #lactation #kind of messed up #the boys #the boys tv #mystuff #fic

41 notes · View notes

talesfromthesnogbox · 1 year

Text

I Was Wonderful

Summary: Steve thought maybe he'd be a basketball dad, he never thought he'd be a dance mom.

Rating: General

Word Count: 3,245

Notes: Hiya! This is a more fleshed out version of a thing I posted a few months back that ended up getting some traction. I haven't actually ever written for Steddie, sorry if the characterization is all over the place, I'm rusty!

Yes, this one did come to me midway through a Dance Moms rewatch. In all fairness, I grew up dancing so this fic was kind of inevitable. Hope you enjoy!

AO3 Link

~~~

Steve Harrington never saw himself as a girl dad.

After the dust settled with Vecna, and his crop of (now teenage) nuggets was safe, Steve went through a period of self discovery, or what Robin loves to call his “big gay awakening”. See, Steve Harrington was always a ladies man, no matter how much he struck out. So when he fell for one Eddie Munson, that was a shock to all, especially Steve.

But big gay awakening aside, Steve and Eddie were madly and completely in love, and Steve didn’t care who knew it. Nothing had ever felt more natural in his life than being with Eddie, they just made sense together. Even years after Steve’s heartfelt confession, the two were still in their honeymoon phase, so nobody was surprised when one sunny Fourth of July, they announced they were going to start the adoption process.

Neither of them knew what to expect. They went to Wayne for advice, having adopted Eddie legally after he was dropped off on his doorstep all those years ago, but this was different. Not too many agencies were too ecstatic about the idea of two “unmarried” men taking on a child together in the year 1993. The process was long and frustrating, and frankly, Eddie was ready to give up.

“It’s been two years, maybe it’s just not meant to be Stevie.”

Steve shook his head. “So then we push on through year three. It’ll happen Eddie, I know it.” He took Eddie’s hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing lightly.

“I just… Steve, I love you, and I wish I could give you the life you always wanted—”

“No, none of that Munson.” Steve cut him off. “Things change, I changed when I got to know you. I don’t need six little nuggets and a Winnebago to be happy. I need you and the life we have, and maybe a little bit of hope that one day we’ll find someone to take a chance on us.”

And suddenly, one day almost at the end of year three, someone finally took a chance on them.

Steve played with his ring nervously as he sat and waited in the office at the adoption agency (they couldn’t legally get married, but that wasn’t to say they couldn’t wear rings and call each other husband to show their commitment to each other). Eddie listened intently to the social worker, explaining that their application had been approved, that the little one didn’t have anywhere else to go and they thought their home would be a good fit. Steve’s heart pounded in his ears, only catching half the conversation.

“Her name is Rosie—”

“Sorry, her?” Steve cut him off.

“Yes, eleven month old Rosemary Evelyn, born August 13th, 1995. She was born premature, and her mother had some complications during birth and passed away shortly after. Her father surrendered her, and she’s been in our care for just under a week.” The social worker could see Steve’s face contort in confusion. “Is that a problem, Steve?”

He shook his head. “No I just… I never… how could… can we meet her?”

Steve Harrington never saw himself as a girl dad, until he met Rosemary Evelyn.

Tears sprung to Eddie’s eyes as they were ushered into the play room, a small babbling little girl with dark curly hair, big blue eyes, and chubby rosy cheeks stared up at them. She smiled when she met their eyes, and instantly, they were gone for her.

Within a week, the Harrington house was fully baby-proofed, and Rosie Harrington was moving in. Steve felt a sense of fulfillment wash over him seeing Eddie hold her. It had only been a few days, but he already knew Eddie was the best dad on the planet. A year passed, and then two, and Steve was absolutely positive that no other dad was as good, or kind, or loving as Eddie Munson.

But that frustrated the hell out of Steve.

One night, Steve collapsed on the couch next to Eddie, and exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “I don’t get it. She loves Metallica, she’s obsessed with Lord of the Rings, but she doesn’t even want to try basketball.”

Eddie laughed. “Stevie, she’s only just turned four, are you really sad you aren’t raising a jock?”

“No! I just want to be able to share something with her like you are.” Eddie saw right through his worry and tugged Steve down, laying his head across his lap.

“Baby, you’re nothing like your dad. You’re trying, you’re spending time with her, and she can see that, I promise you. Rosie loves you, and you’ll find something.” Eddie stroked Steve’s hair, seeing the worry dissipate. “Hey, Wayne is itching to see her before she starts preschool, why don’t we send her off to grandpa’s for the day, maybe he can get her to play ball or something.”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, yeah I think she’d like that.”

When Eddie and Steve picked up Rosie from Wayne’s the next day, she wasn’t playing ball with him on the front lawn. Instead, their little girl ran to them in a droopy pink tutu and leotard with little ballet slippers. “Daddy! Daddy! Look what Grandpa Wayne gave me.” She was all smiles as she spun in place, nearly toppling over from lack of balance and excitement when Steve caught her.

“Wow princess, look at you!”

Wayne picked up a rogue sequin and grumbled. “Claudia was over earlier, they were showing something about Swan Lake on cable and the kiddo’s eyes lit up. We went for a walk downtown and looks like there’s a dance school that just opened up.”

Steve’s brows shot up. “Really? What do you think Rosie, should we go down there and see if they have any classes for you?”

That’s how Steve found himself a Saturday morning regular at Sparkle Steps Dance Centre. They had a routine down: the boys would wake her up, Steve would slick back Rosie’s hair into a delicate little ballet bun while she ate breakfast, they’d help her into her tights and leotard, tie her skirt, and pack her little shoes in her backpack and walk on over to the studio. Rosie would say hi to Ashley the receptionist, and hug Steve before her hour long 9am ballet class with Miss Abby in studio A.

“Good morning Melissa, Kelly, Jill.” Steve sat in his regular spot in the viewing room with the other moms.

“Morning Steve!”

Steve Harrington had become an enigma to the moms at the studio. They loved to gossip about where Rosie’s mother was, who she was, and why she was never seen with Steve at the studio. But Rosie always came in early, perfectly dressed, and well mannered despite her sass at home. Steve pretended he didn’t hear what the moms at the studio were saying about him; he was 33 with the same great hair he’d had in high school, and charm to go along with it. He wore a wedding ring, but never spoke of a significant other, it was always just Steve and Rosie.

Of course Eddie had wanted to join them, but wanted to give Steve space, have something that was his with their daughter, and he was perfectly happy to have a day to sleep in.

One of those quiet Saturday mornings, Rosie had insisted they stay after her ballet class to watch her new friend Rachel. “Daddy her feet make noise! Can I do that?”

Steve tilted his head as he watched the girls in the class stomp their feet and tap their toes. He knew Eddie would approve of the rhythmic sounds the tap shoes made, but worried it would be too much all at once. He looked to Melissa, “Rachel likes it?”

Melissa smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “She loves it, it keeps her busy and tires her out so she actually naps in the afternoon.”

Steve nodded in approval. “Let me think about it, okay Princess?”

As soon as they’d arrived home, Steve grabbed Eddie and dialled Dustin. “We need to talk, Rosie wants to start tap.”

“Tap, like the noisy shoes tap?” Eddie’s eyes lit up. “That’s metal as fuck, Gareth will probably want to teach her how to drum next once she’s got the rhythm.”

“Steve, you can’t take her out of ballet, it’s the foundation of all dance, she needs that foundation.” Dustin rebutted through the phone. The kid was way too invested in his niece’s interests, and that’s probably why he was her favourite uncle.

“No, no, she’d do both. Ballet and tap. But you don’t think that’ll overwhelm her will it? She’s only four.”

Eddie shook his head, and Dustin laughed. “Steve, she’s like the smartest kid I know aside from my own. She’ll do fine.”

“Dustin, your kid is like five months old.” Eddie chided him. “Stevie, Rosie is gonna be fine, let her do tap!”

Just like that, Steve’s one hour at the dance studio Saturday mornings became two. “She’s so excited for the next class.” He chatted happily with Melissa. “But I’m confused, the taps didn’t come screwed on.”

Melissa giggled. “No sweetie, you’ve gotta screw them on yourself. Do you have a toolkit in your car?”

Steve sighed. “Shit, no we walked here. Hold on, let me call someone.” He ran down to reception, Ashley granting him the phone, and prayed Eddie was out of bed. “Hey babe, I need a screwdriver…”

Twenty minutes later Eddie came barrelling up the stairs to the viewing room, Ashley hot on his tail. “Sir, that room is for parents only—”

“It’s okay Ashley! He’s with me.” Steve assured her, handing Eddie the shoe and the tap. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“No sweat, couldn’t let our little girl miss out on her first day of tap.” He kissed Steve’s cheek, not realizing three pairs of eyes on him.

Steve’s cheeks blazed red as Melissa, Kelly, and Jill eyed the matching ring on Eddie’s left hand, putting the pieces together. He cleared his throat and gestured to Eddie. “Um, ladies this is Eddie, my husband.”

“Oh, husband!” Jill sidled up beside them. “Very nice to meet you Eddie, Steve has told us nothing about you.”

Eddie chuckled. “No glowing review big boy?”

Steve hung his head. “Not everyone in Hawkins is so open minded…”

Eddie and Steve spent the rest of the hour telling the moms about how they got together, their small wedding ceremony in the Byers’ backyard, and how they’d adopted Rosie. By the time the ballet class had ended, the moms had adopted Eddie as one of their own just as they had Steve. Before long, Eddie was joining Steve and Rosie on Saturday mornings at the studio.

Autumn flew quickly, Christmas came and went, and once the new year hit, recital talk began. Rosie really took to her lessons, she raised her hand when she didn’t understand something, and Steve took to practicing her routines with her at home, even if he didn’t fully understand what he was doing.

“Remember what miss Abby told you, shoulders down, chin up, soft hands, stretch your feet, okay?”

Rosie nodded, kissing Steve’s cheek and disappearing through the doorway of studio A.

“Moms? Can you join me in the studio please?” Miss Abby beckoned to the adults. They all followed dutifully, taking off their shoes and lining up at the barre. “As you all know, recital season is quickly approaching. We’ll be putting in orders for the tutus and their tap costumes, but they’ll need to be modified. Proper buns for the recital and light stage makeup, clean pink tights for ballet, and nude tights for tap. Got it?”

The moms and Steve nodded as they were dismissed, making a mental note of what he needed. “Melissa, when she says modified…?”

“Oh you know, glitter, rhinestones, the usual.”

“Right, the usual, cool.”

Steve’s head was in the clouds until he returned home; Eddie, always the observant one, could see the panic on his face.

“Babe I think we’re in over our heads with this dance thing. I need to modify costumes now?”

Eddie frowned. “Modify how?” Steve relayed what Melissa had said, panic stricken. “Steven, that’s nothing. Did you forget I used to make whole costumes for the party for DnD? I got this.”

The day the costumes arrived, Eddie finally felt totally in his element with the moms. He’d brought along his whole costume kit, much to the surprise of the moms, showing them how well his fabric glue held, and teaching them the best stitches to ensure no elastics snapped off their daughters’ ballet slippers. For once, he was the star parent, and a huge wave of pride rolled off Steve as miss Abby complimented Eddie’s tailoring work on Rosie’s costumes.

Eddie tagging along to the studio meant Steve had backup learning Rosie’s routines. His memory was sharper than Steve’s was, and he was surprisingly more competitive. They worked together to support their little dancer, Steve would wake up early with her and stretch before their day began, Eddie would help her run through her routines before bed each night. One day after work at the body shop, Eddie brought home a large slab of wood, sanded and stained and perfect for practicing with tap shoes on, and a pair of the noisy shoes for himself, knowing he could help his girl better if he could do the steps with her. Steve stood behind them watching Eddie coach Rosie through the steps, counting them out for her as she danced.

“ONE and TWO and THREE-EE and a FOUR. Don’t forget that brush in there, stay on your toes don’t drop your heels, yes that’s it!”

Steve chuckled and decided it was time to intervene, hitting pause on the tape. “Alright twinkletoes, bath and then bed.”

Eddie picked her up, depositing her on the couch and helping her take off her shoes. “Daddy did you see, I did the whole dance without forgetting the next step!”

“I saw princess, you’re doing wonderful! And what do you say to dad for helping you run through your routines?”

Rosie kissed Eddie on the cheek and threw her little arms around his neck. “Thank you Dad, I love you.”

“I love you too kiddo, I’m so proud of you.” He peppered her face with kisses, tossing her noisy shoes onto the tap board. “Now go take a bath, you stink.”

She giggled, running to her room to grab her bathrobe.

“You’re incredible.” Steve hugged Eddie from behind.

“I dunno man, her technique is better than mine will ever be—”

Steve squeezed him harder and whispered lowly in Eddie’s ear. “Shut up, you know I’m not talking about the dancing. You. Are. An amazing. Father. And I love you, so fucking much.”

Eddie turned in his arms and caught Steve in a searing kiss. “She’s an amazing kid, she’s our amazing kid. And I love you too.” He pulled his husband in as close as he could, reconnecting their lips in another toe curling kiss.

“Ew! That’s so gross!”

Eddie chuckled, pulling away. “Guess this will have to wait until after bath time.”

“Holding you to that Munson. Now come on, time to bathe the gremlin.”

The early June recital weekend came faster than anyone was prepared for, and the boys were panicking.

“Stevie, are you sure we’re supposed to put makeup on her? She’s just a kid.”

“Eddie relax. Abby said light stage makeup. It’s probably just so the lights don’t wash her out. Gotta see that beautiful face from the back of the theatre.” Steve kissed Rosie’s cheek and swiped on some more blush. “But just for dance, you got that? No makeup until you’re older. Your beautiful skin doesn’t need all that gunk on it.”

Rosie nodded dutifully and closed her eyes as Steve applied a thick layer of eyeliner.

“There, what do you think?”

Eddie turned his head sideways and frowned. “Baby I think you went a little too heavy on the cheeks.”

“God you’re right, we’re hopeless.”

“It’s okay Daddy, Auntie Nancy can fix it when she brings me to the stage door.”

He patted the top of her head, careful not to disrupt her perfectly slicked back hair. “Auntie Nancy will make you look perfect. Come on, let’s wipe this off before she gets here.”

Nancy and Robin took Rosie to the stage door while Eddie, Steve, Wayne, and Claudia found their seats. As soon as 7:00 hit, the house lights went down, and the show was starting. Rosie’s ballet routine was right after the opening number, and Steve hadn’t been so nervous in a long time. As the music faded out and the lights changed, he took Eddie’s hand and squeezed, feeling his husband squeeze back.

After what felt like hours, Rosie’s ballet music started. A chorus of “Awww” spread out amongst the audience as the four little girls scurried out in their rhinestoned tutus, big smiles on their faces. Steve barely saw the routine he knew so well; his eyes glistened with tears seeing Rosie on stage, confidently dancing just like they’d practiced. Chin up, shoulders down, soft hands, feet stretched. Eddie on the other hand had his lips pursed, watching her intently as she made it through a particularly difficult stretch of the routine. “Yes!” He whispered when she landed her pirouette, perfectly spotting the back wall just as Steve had reminded her to. The number was over too soon, and Steve was whispering “I love you” towards the stage as applause broke out and their daughter exited stage right.

Steve wiped his tears, subtly kissing the back of Eddie’s hand. They could relax until intermission, Rosie’s tap number wasn’t until the second half of the show.

The tap number turned out to be a hit. Steve didn’t expect to still be emotional watching his girl on stage, but the tears came nonetheless. Eddie was more tense for this one, listening to all her sounds, counting out the music as they danced. “That’s my girl!” He shouted as Melissa and Jill whooped on the other side of him as Rosie landed her pickups. Wayne quietly handed Steve a tissue, sporting one of his own in his shirt sleeve as the girls finished their routine and flapped off the stage.

Just like that, the show was over, and it was time to collect their little dancer.

“Daddies! Grandpa Wayne!” Rosie came running towards them, hugging Wayne around the leg.

“Did you see Auntie Claudia, Nancy, and Robin came too?”

She nodded enthusiastically, passing hugs around to all of them. Her eyes lit up as Wayne handed her a bouquet of roses, and Robin a little teddy bear in a tutu, congratulating her on a great show. She’d had a big day, and Steve could tell she was exhausted.

“Here princess, let me take those for you.” He took the bouquet as Eddie picked her up, her little head falling to his shoulder. Glitter rained down Eddie’s right side, sticking itself to the ends of his hair and his worn leather jacket. Steve chuckled sympathetically, brushing what he could from his back as they took her out to the car.

“Hey Daddy guess what?”

“What’s up, princess?” Steve opened the lobby door, letting Eddie and their sleepy dancer through first.

“I was wonderful.”

The boys chuckled, Eddie kissing the top of her head. “You were baby, you were.”

#steddie #steve x eddie #steddie dads #girl dads steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie muson #stranger things fic #my writing

104 notes · View notes

hebuiltfive · 6 months

Text

N/B: It's up on AO3 with the news work skin, if you'd prefer to read it there. If not, I present to you Jeff and Scott's join POTY interview (the date is flexible, shush).

TIME’s Person of the Year 2065

Jefferson and Scott Tracy: A Hero’s Return

By Lila Ward.

Rumours have swirled and gossip has flourished in the months following the return of Jefferson Tracy. Questions have been asked, both in public forums and behind closed doors, on his suitability to return to his work, as a face of the good and the honourable, but none of that has seemed to stop him.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last eight years, the world knows the story of the great Jeff’s Tracy’s demise. For eight whole years, the world had thought Jeff had perished in one final battle of good versus evil; a heroic death for an extraordinary man.

The truth was not so simple, as it rarely ever is.

Jeff Tracy had not succumbed to an early grave, but had been exiled in the far reaches of space. For nearly a decade, Jeff Tracy lived out a life in the stars; a solitary existence for a man who deserved better.

The universe, however, smiled upon him favourably and sent the blessed International Rescue to save him from a cold and lonely demise, an organisation that Jeff had set-up years prior.

How had he survived?

What state was he in?

Did he really make it home unscathed?

Is he really capable of carrying on where he left off?

These are some of those questions that have been asked. I, myself, had been one of the many who was curious about the answers too once upon a time but any and all worries are dispelled the moment I set eyes on the man for the first time.

It’s a cold, rainy November day in New York. I had half-expected to greet a man who looked like he’d spent the last eight years in space, but that wasn’t the man I met. Jeff isn’t frail or in need of any sort of help. He looks his age, he sounds ever-so cheerful and his energy is boundless.

Over the course of his impressive career, Jeff Tracy has had a number of “firsts” —he was the first man to step foot on Mars; the first man to travel at Mach 20; the first man to survive an eight year stint in space with nothing but the remnants of a test-plane and the clothes on his back — but what I want to hone in on is his achievement of being named Time's Person of the Year for the fourth time — a record breaking feat which he can add to his list of “firsts”.

"I can't say that it was a record I was setting out to break.” Jeff confesses to me when I ask him what it feels like to hit yet another milestone. “It is nice though, I won't lie, to be up there with the greats.”

The first time Jeff was named Person of the Year was all the way back in the late 2020s, when Jeff first took over his family's business. "I had no idea what I was doing back then.” He admits to me with a twinkle sparkling in his eye. It makes me wonder if he's telling the truth or not. "I was just a baby trying to find his way. God... 2029! I don't even think I was married at that point."

His second Person of the Year feature was, like this one, a joint piece. Back then, Jeff was joined with Captain Lee Taylor, a close friend and colleague, after they had both recently returned from their two-year mission to become the first Men on Mars.

"Lee always joked that it was the highlight of his career; not the mission but the magazine, the title. I said to him, "Lee, you cannot be serious. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the mission!" But he was deadly serious about it, telling me firmly that it was the greatest moment of his life. I’m still not sure whether he was trying to pull my leg or not with that.”

Was it an honour to be named Person of the Year alongside his friend? "Of course it was, Lila! It was an honour to be named Person of the Year the first time. Being able to do it with Taylor? That was an even greater honour. The greatest, of course, if being able to share it this year with Scott.”

His third time being named Person of the Year was for his creation of the philanthropic organisation, International Rescue. "That... was a tricky one." Jeff remembers with an almost sour expression. "The world had only just found out some of the identities involved in that work — we had tried very hard to remain anonymous at first, but alas it wasn't meant to be — and some of the world didn't like the idea of who was behind it."

Some tabloids ran with obscene headlines that claimed International Rescue wasn't an organisation for the people due to the billionaire who had founded the group. Others claimed that their attempts of secrecy meant the team were hiding something nefarious. We know now that all of those rumours were based in nothing but opinions, but at the time, Jeff recalls it doing damage.

"It didn't hit me hard, but I remember Casey becoming increasingly more frustrated by it. Taylor too, if I'm being honest. To me, so long as it didn't impede my ability to get out and help people, I didn't care what they wrote. It didn't matter. I was in a position to help people and so I did.

“There were times when our help was refused, purely because people had believed what they’d read in the tabloids, but… there was nothing we could do except keep trying to do better and prove ourselves. We should never have needed to prove ourselves but I guess we managed it.”

In the years that followed, and in his subsequent years trapped in space, two of his sons managed to follow in Jeff’s footsteps and attain the title for themselves.

John Tracy was first, being named Person of the Year the same year Jeff disappeared. At the time, he was one of the youngest to obtain the title, a fact that makes Jeff chuckle. "He told me about it when I got home. He didn't seem to speak fondly of the experience but I'm sure that was just John. He’s never been keen on interviews and I don’t think that’s changed much. I know he was proud of it, though; he wouldn't have told me if he wasn't."

The second was Scott Tracy a few years later.

I turn to Scott who is sitting beside his father. This year, as joint Person of the Year alongside Jeff, marks Scott's second time being awarded the title. I ask him whether it’s different the second time around.

“The first time was bizarre and, at the time, I felt a little like an imposter. I think it was a couple of years after we thought we’d lost Dad, and to be named Person of the Year for all the work I was doing in Dad's name, with his companies, all without him being around to witness, or even claim the title himself... it was a little weird.

“It’s a lot less weird this time, though. I think I’m able to actually enjoy it this time around.”

Both of them have just come back from their accompanying photoshoot and are still dressed in the last ensemble Wardrobe had trussed them up in. Jeff wears a dark navy blue trimmed suit, his silver hair gelled in a style that makes him appear younger than his actual years. Scott wears a similar cut of suit, though his is in a shade of lighter blue. The resemblance between the father-son duo is much more prominent in person than in the glossy photos were accustomed to seeing.

Scott, along with the rest of his family's organisation, were the reason Jeff arrived home safe and sound, and the reason I'm able to sit down and chat with the great hero himself, but it must have come as a shock when they discovered the truth about what really happened to their father?

"It certainly wasn't the news we had been expecting to hear." Scott answers with a grim expression. I assume he's remembering that fateful day. "But when we heard there was a chance that Dad was still alive, we all knew there was no choice but to try. That’s all we ever do at International Rescue; we try for the best option, deal with whatever hand we're dealt."

It’s safe to say that International Rescue are probably experts when it comes to dealing with whatever hand their dealt at this point. Not only do they have to adjust plans whilst out on their rescues, but this very operation of rescuing Jeff nearly ended in more tragedy.

"We did encounter a few problems." Scott goes on to tell me, detailing how their arch-nemesis — the international criminal known as the Hood — tried to abandon them in the depths of space. I wonder aloud how it feels to have someone considered an arch-nemesis, but Scott laughs.

"I wouldn't recommend trying to find one. It might sound cool but they're more trouble than they're worth."

So, after the mission they’d essentially been unknowingly preparing for all their lives, what’s next for International Rescue and the Tracy family? Is Jeff planning on heading into retirement?

"Oh, no. No, no, no." The determined shake of the patriarch’s head is enough to emphasis his point. "No plans of that whatsoever. I've still got life in me, come on! I think people expected me to come back as this weak, older man who had given up hope over the years ago, but that isn't me."

Jeff is proud of that fact, I can tell. He lifts his head and those crystal blue eyes pierce mine. "I've got plans. The world thought they'd said goodbye to Jeff Tracy years ago, but it was just a see you later. There might be a lot of people who would like to see me fade away into the shadows — actually, there’s probably a fair few — but that ain’t happening anytime soon."

The plans Jeff claims to have are a tightly guarded secret, however. Even Scott doesn't know the scope.

"We've not had a full discussion yet, but I think I know the direction Dad wants to go. There's still a lot to be ironed out but it's very exciting and it's definitely going to help International Rescue, and the world at large really, in the near future."

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderfam #scott tracy #jeff tracy #five fics #fic: TIME's Person of the Year 2065

31 notes · View notes

skywarpie · 1 year

Text

Never Love an Anchor

I have a lot of feeling about Imperator as a mother. Best if having listened to this song, which gave me the inspiration and title.

Tags: typical angst, Imperator as a mother, and a baby Copia

AO3 Link --- 3,316k words

Her heels clack against the marble floor, her figure swaying to and fro. A hand rests protectively against her still flat belly, something that will surely change in the months to come. If she’s being honest, Imperator has never really seen children in her future. Not because she dislikes them or anything. More along the lines of knowing she’ll never be able to fully tie herself to one person in such an intimate manner. Or well, that’s what she thought anyway. Current circumstances speak differently.

There’s just something about Nihil that makes her drop all her defenses (her clothes also apparently). Maybe it’s because he’s such a smooth talker. Or it could be that he’s devilishly handsome. Or maybe it’s just because she sees something in him that she’s never seen in anyone before.

She grimaces. Smooth talker he is indeed. His three sons that reside within the ministry, each having a different mother are subject enough to that. Imperator scoffs under her breath. It’s also evident that Nihil is not the ideal father, but she’s not too worried about that. It’ll be easy to put him in his place. It’s only when he’s out of the ministries walls that issue will arise. She can’t risk there being a fifth Emeritus. It’s already bad enough her own child will be fourth in succession.

The heavy doors to the Whisky a Go Go give way easily under her pull and she makes her way inside the dimly lit building, climbing the steps to have the highest view of the man in question. At the moment he’s singing – fuck, she honestly has no idea what song he’s even singing. Half of the time she’s hardly paying attention to that, occupied with other activities.

The ghouls that stand behind him strum and finger their instruments in time with Nihil’s vocals. It’s a hypnotizing scene. They all make for the perfect sight. Nihil portrays the brilliant flawless leader and his ghouls emitting a threatening atmosphere. It’s intoxicating.

Imperator’s attention is dragged from the scene in front of her as a woman to her left shrieks with laughter. It’s an annoying, earsplitting laugh and her disdain only grows as she watches the woman blow out a plume of smoke after taking a drag from her cigarette.

Her deft hand darts out and snatches the afflicting object from the clumsy hands of the drunk woman beside her.

“Hey! What the fuck –” her voice is cut off by an equally shrill yell as Imperator presses the burning end of the cigarette to her skin. Thankfully (for the girl) she isn’t too drunk to get the message and quickly stumble away.

She smiles, proud of herself. Maybe she does have a motherly instinct somewhere deep inside her. Her hand once more places itself on her abdomen, rubbing absentmindedly. The plan is to tell Nihil after the show and once he’s good and wasted. He’s a fucking sappy drunk and it’s the perfect time to drop such a bombshell on him because come morning he’ll be armed with the knowledge and nowhere to go.

The song he’s singing finishes and Imperator makes to wave at him but she stops dead in her tracks, eyes widening and face falling.

Nihil leans down into the crowd, grabbing every woman near he can, planting disgustingly wet kisses onto their mouths. Her hands that have planted themselves on the banister begin to curl, her sharp nails digging into the wood beneath them. One, two, she’s not sure how many he kisses. More than she wants to admit.

It’s then that he glances up to the balcony, mismatched eyes landing on her. She knows by the expression he wears that he’s panicking internally. Not because he’s worried he made her mad, but more so that she caught him in the act. She doesn’t give him the chance to hop from stage and stumble toward her before she turns and marches out, now on a mission of her own.

—-----

She sniffles, despite herself. It’s hormones. She tells herself. Mainly because she’s never been one to openly show emotions in any sense. Fucking stupid idiot. She slings articles of clothing and some of her personal belongings into the suitcase stretched out on her bed. The idea that Nihil could be a perfect father was nothing but a figment of her imagination and now she’s paying the price. Not only is she angry with him, but this thing inside of her is forcing her to leave the only home she’s ever accepted as her own.

She steps back and takes a deep breath. Her hands flexing at her sides. It’s not that baby’s fault. She has to remind herself of this over and over, otherwise she knows she’ll do something that she’ll more than likely regret in the long run.

“We don’t need him.” She rests her hand on her belly again. “He’ll only make things harder. You’ll be so much better than him.”

Grumbling, Imperator slams her suitcase shut and slings it off the bed, tugging it down the ministry halls. Nihil hasn’t returned yet which is good. She doesn’t think she can deal with his whining and bitching right now without snapping.

She makes her way out of the large wooden doors and down the concrete stairs to the taxi that waits at the bottom. The driver practically jumps out of the car upon seeing her, rushing forward to take her suitcase from her. More than likely he’s hoping to get lucky. A smirk crosses her face. Pathetic little man.

Once placing her belongings safely in the trunk, the driver rushes forward to yank her door open for her. She gives him a small smile, surprisingly it’s genuine. The man practically melts under her attention.

“Where – uh where to, Miss?” He stumbles over his words as he practically dive bombs into the car.

She hums, looking out the window and pulling her fur shawl tighter around her delicate shoulders. “Airport. I have a plane to Italy to catch.”

His eyebrows almost rise off his face as he regards her in the rearview mirror. “Someone special waiting on you there?”

Imperator has to physically keep herself from rolling her eyes. What is it with men and thinking they’re entitled to know every aspect of a woman’s life? As if she would even consider lying next to him. “No.” She sniffs. “It’s a treat for myself.” Her eyes meet his and the man drops contact immediately, realizing he’s not getting lucky anytime soon. He nods and the car begins to pull out of the long driveway.

She looks out the window, capturing every detail of her church and confining it to her memory. She’ll be back, she obviously knows this. It’s just, she doesn’t know how long that will be. It will obviously be the typical nine months but…what if she changes her mind from what she’s decided? What if she can’t part with the baby and remains at the new branch of the church, confined by her love and care for some small crying blob.

No. She straightens herself in her seat, cracking her neck. She’ll arrive in Italy, seek out that branch of the ministry, stay there long enough to have her baby, and, as much as she hates it, she will leave them with the nuns there. There’s no way to return home with a child and try to explain it off as “Oh I just found this sweet little thing.”

Besides, it’s best if the baby grows up as far away from Nihil as possible. Otherwise it will always be destined to fail.

—--

As the months progressed, Imperator as it turns out, had nothing to worry about when it came to Nihil bombarding her with shitty love letters. None ever arrive and it’s honestly a breath of fresh air.

She’s fallen into a nice routine here. She wakes, helps the sisters of sin, listening to sermons and does what few chores she’s been assigned. Her belly is nearly the size of a beach ball now and it makes certain tasks hard to do. That accompanied with how winded she easily gets now, the sisters are loath to let her overwork herself, but she insists that she can do more. It lands on deaf ears.

It’s a warm summer day in late July when it happens. She’s tending to the small garden of herbs that decorate one of the many window sills along the kitchens when the pain hits her. She takes a step back as she gasps, grabbing at her side. Just a cramp. She tells herself, but it’s quickly proven to be a lie as another cramp engulfs her. Imperator doubles over, cradling the large outline of her stomach as she screams. Has it already been nine months? Her thoughts are cut short as she crumples to the ground. Several sisters rush forward, trying to get her up and to the infirmary.

She doesn’t remember much after that. Well, except for the excruciating pain that lasts for what feels like years, but is more along the lines of twenty hours. There’s far too many people in the room for her liking but she’s not really in any condition to argue.

Eventually it does it and she’s handed a tiny screaming bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Ah, a boy. Imperator knows she should refuse to hold him. If she holds him it’s only going to make leaving even harder, even though she knows it’s best for him.

A sister offers up the bundle again and she caves, taking the baby into her arms. The tiny scrunched up face relaxes and a smile crosses the tiny features as he acknowledges his mother for the first time.

Imperator caves. She blames it on her raging emotions as she begins crying, holding the baby close to her chest. The tiny grin never leaves his small face, even as he yawns and begins to drift into a fitful sleep. Suddenly it feels like everything was worth it. That the whole ordeal with Nihil, the long months here in Italy, the painfully long labor, it feels like it was all for a reason and that reason is buried in a blanket in her arms, cooing softly.

“Have you chosen a name, Sister?” One of the younger siblings asks. Her accent is thick and Imperator silently hopes that maybe when she meets her son again he’ll have the same. It’s very distinguished.

“Riccardo.”

“Ah, brave ruler. A strong name!” The sister grins.

A strong name indeed. For a ruler he will be, one day.

—-

Originally Imperator had told herself she would leave after a month. That would allow time for her body to recover, somewhat, and long enough for the baby to get accustomed with his new caretakers.

That plan had quickly been scrapped as the second month quickly approached her, then the third, then the fourth, then the fifth. Each day baby Riccardo grew more and more and she loved watching and learning new things. He was already trying to crawl, which was something advanced for his age.

Imperator feels herself fill with pride as she watches him figure out what hole his block shapes fit into. Each time he gets one right she lets out a small yay lightly clapping her hands, the baby giggles and squeals in delight.

Finally one day a sister spots her in the hallway and waves her over. Imperator readjusting the baby on her hip that’s content to play with the free strands of her hair.

“Sister.” The sibling quietly begins. “It has been nearly six months since he arrived.” She motions to the baby.

Her brows knit together. “And?” She knows where this is going.

“Well,” the sister twiddles her thumbs together. “You don’t have to leave him. Not if you don’t want to.”

Imperator’s stare turns cold. “You think I’m unaware of that?” The baby in her arms pats at her cheek lightly. “Riccardo, stop.” She grabs his small hand before turning back to the sibling. “I have thought well and hard about this. I know what I’m doing.”

The sibling nods and tucks their head as they hurry off. She watches them and bounces the baby on her hip. She’s already been here too long. Imperator knows what she has to do.

—-

It’s a cold and rainy day early in the new year when Sister has a ghoul haul her suitcase to the waiting car. Funny. The day she had arrived here it had been sunny and only peaceful. It seems fitting that her departure would be accompanied by rain.

She walks around her room bouncing the baby that sleeps in her arms. He’s grown so much and he’s so smart. Her heart swells with pride. This is her son. The only indication of who his father is is the mismatched eyes that adorn his small handsome face.

Imperator makes her way to the parlor as slow as possible, trying to savor any little moment she can, imprinting everything to memory. She gnaws her lip. It’s what’s best for him. She reminds herself and she reluctantly places the baby into the waiting arms of a sibling. Theirs, along with the others present, have their sorrowful mood plastered on their faces. But she ignores it.

Riccardo’s tiny arms stretch as he wakes up and for a moment Imperator feels her heart sink. This would be so much easier if he were to stay asleep but he doesn’t. His tiny eyes blinking open as he yawns. He blinks as he looks at the sibling holding him and then to his mother.

“My sweet boy.” She smooths his brunette hair back. Her hands cup his tiny face as she plasters kisses on them with dramatic mwah’s, making him laugh. “You be good.” Sister pulls back to look at him. So young and yet it feels like the baby staring back at her is twice his age. He knows what she’s doing. “You’ll take good care of him?” It’s a demand but it comes out more like a question.

“Of course.” A sibling places a hand on her shoulder. “You can visit whenever you want.” They smile.

Imperator doesn’t match the sentiment. “I will send for him once he has finished his schooling.” That’s such a long time. A pit forms in her stomach and she feels a wave of nausea settling over her. He’ll be grown. It sinks in that this is the last time she will ever see him as he is now, small, round, and full of joy. Her hand lingers on Riccardo’s cheek a second longer before she pulls it away. “Thank you.” She nods to the sibling and turns to make her way toward the door.

Riccardo wails. His small arms flail as he reaches out for his mother. Imperator steals herself. She knows if she turns around she’ll stay right here with her little boy and never leave. She bites her lip and walks out the doors. Her baby’s screams and cries are the last thing she hears as she piles into the car, looking out the opposite window, refusing to look back at the tiny human that pleads for her to return.

—-

“I don’t understand what’s so great about this Cardinal.” Nihil’s voice drips with poison.

“He’s the youngest in our congregation to achieve the status of Cardinal. You don’t think that’s something great?” Imperator’s voice matches his as she crosses her arms. It’s been nearly three decades since she’s returned from Italy on an impromptu trip. Claiming she needs space from Nihil after the incident at the Whisky a Go Go. Being the idiot he is, Nihil accepts it with no qualms.

“I suppose.” He groans. “But it seems incredibly unnecessary to bring in another Cardinal when we already have several.”

Imperator rolls her eyes. “He’s arriving and you will meet him this evening.” She turns to leave but stops, turning back around. “And you will be nice.”

Nihil cocks a brow but nods.

—

She’s sitting at her desk, signing off on church finances when there’s a knock at her door. “Come in.” She doesn’t look up at the ghoul that enters.

“Ms. Imperator,” the ghoul starts, “Cardinal Copia.” They move out of the way and motion to the man behind them.

Now she does look up. Copia? That’s not his name, no it’s – why do you think he should keep the name that a mother who abandoned him gave to him? She rubs her forehead and motions for the man to enter. The ghoul bows then closes the door behind them as they exit.

Now she gets a good look at the man. His features have filled out nicely, making him quite handsome. His sharp nose accentuates his rounded face. Sideburns decorating his jaw and the pencil thin mustache that adorns his lip gives him a suave aura about him. His black cassock makes him look taller than what he really is, but it suits him. Surely siblings are practically knocking down his door every night.

The man clears his throat, wringing his hands in front of him. “Uh, Si-Sister Imperator, I am –”

“Copia.” Riccardo, her mind screams. She motions for him to sit in the chair across from her, which he does but his gloved hands twitch like they don’t know where they’re supposed to settle.

“I was – I was rather surprised that you chose me to join your sect of the church.” He laughs awkwardly, mismatched eyes looking anywhere but at her.

He’s just nervous. The thought that this is a result of her leaving settles deep in the back of her brain. “And why’s that?” She steeples her hands under her chin.

Now he looks entirely dumbfounded. “I – well – I – I mean there are others far more qualified for this position than myself.” There’s that nervous laughter again. It causes Imperator to frown. She doesn’t like the way he speaks of himself.

“Cardinal, you are the youngest to ever gain such a title in our church. Do you not think that’s something worth acknowledging?” Her brow quirks.

Copia swallows thickly and fidgets in his seat uncomfortably. “I – I did work rather hard.” He doesn’t meet her gaze.

“Ri – Cardinal,” she catches herself, practically shouting the title and causing the nervous man before her to squeak. “There are no others in this church that have arisen to the title of Cardinal at the age of thirty. You are the first.” She begins to feel that bit of pride swell inside of her again.

“Right.” He nods.

The longer she studies him, the more Imperator sees her own features in the man. She sees some of Nihil too, unfortunately. It’s not his fault his father is a fucking idiot and he bears resemblance in some sense to him.

Briefly she wonders if he recognizes her. Does he remember her singing to him? Holding him? Kissing and hugging him? No, of course not. That was thirty years ago. Any semblance of memory relating to her has since dissipated.

“Have you been shown your rooms?” She breaks the silence.

“Oh – uhm, no. No.” He shakes his head. “I was instructed to come here first.”

So he follows orders? That’s good. Something she can keep filed away for when she sees useful to use it. “Come then.” She stands and motions as she makes her way to the door. “I will show you.”

A brief wide eyed look crosses the Cardinal’s face, but he nods. The man awkwardly stumbles against the chair he was seated in as he makes to follow her.

She can’t help the brief smile that stretches across her lips. Her son is finally home. He may not know that he is her son, and he may be a bit awkward and clumsy, but he’s home. Imperator doesn’t plan on letting him go a second time.

#the band ghost #okay to reblog i guess #skywarpie writes #dont @ me #i needed some angst in my life #ghost bc #ghost band #cardinal copia #sister imperator

41 notes · View notes

right-brain-of-froggy2 · 2 years

Text

Colors

A little Saturday day drabble for you all- hope you enjoy it!

AO3 link here!

“Jeff balances the unimaginable: giving a guest lecture at MIT and herding his three little boys”

“So if you take into account the resistance drag from all of the asteroids’ gravity between here and Jupiter, the maximum size of a carrier ship is…”

“Ten!”

Jeff holds back a look as Virgil giggles at John’s exclamation. The students of the class, however, don’t hold back their coos as Scott clamors up into his lap at the same time.

“Well, as you can see, I am on babysitting duty today,” Jeff explains. Lucy had to help out her folks at the farmer’s market this morning after their normal hands got sick, leaving Jeff to manage a menagerie of sons. A nine-month-old, three year old, and very rambunctious five year old are not the best to combine with a guest lecture to PhD students at MIT.

Scott gets himself comfy and waves his own model spaceship (stolen from John, Scott certainly doesn’t have any space toys as by his own accord) to the class.

“Blue is the fastest color. You should make it blue!”

One student unmutes himself. “He may be onto something there, Mr. Tracy. You might want to look into that.”

“Actually, I would argue red is faster,” another jumps in.

Relieved that the students are better-natured than his last group, Jeff lets Scott stay in his lap. He does a quick scan of the room to find Virgil in his playpen and John by his feet with a set of action figures.

“The answer to the actual question is half a kilometer. Any larger and gravity would produce an unstable inertia.” The students jot down his answers. Jeff looks to the next few slides of his PowerPoint. They’re on the typical space travel topics that he’s sure these students have studied before in their classes. He’s just been brought in as more of a celebrity than a point of reference.

Scott makes vrooming noises as he crashes the ship into Jeff’s arm. It’s the last confirmation Jeff needs to shut out of the PowerPoint. Professor Mavis looks concerned as there’s still thirty minutes left, but Jeff waves her worries off.

“I’m sure you’re all tried and true with all the information I would have shared with you. It’s textbook information that I only add to with a few personal stories. But let’s go a little off the beaten path today. Let’s talk about those questions that no one has answered about space travel for you before.”

The students nod- they look excited- but stay quiet.

John makes grabby hands to be lifted up. Jeff moves his holoprojector to the coffee table to pick up his second son. Once again, the students cheer at the sight of another chunky little baby. John hides his blushing face into Jeff’s chest. He clears his throat. “I’ll start. Red or blue. Is one of them faster?”

“Red is!”

“Blue!”

“Guys, it’s a trick question…”

“No, red!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I think o-ange,” John adds his two cents in. That just about earns him a wallop from Scott who will die by the color blue.

Jeff laughs at the students bickering amongst themselves. “I bet you weren’t ready to discuss color theory today in class. There is a right answer, but it’s not quite based on speed. Does anyone know what we’re starting to base craft colors on?”

One of the students, a fourth year Jeff recognizes from previous talks, unmutes. “Would it be based on distance in correlation with the redshift theory? Red is easier to see for deep space missions when viewing from the Solar System?”

“That’s a good idea,” Jeff says with a nod. “But not quite. We aren’t on the level of deep space travel that redshift would need to be considered.”

“Oh, you’re right,” the student agrees. “And unless it’s emitting light, there’s no way we would probably see a reflection.”

A chorus of “ooh’s” and “umm’s” chorus.

“Anyone else?”

“Blue is best,” Scott says. He looks to the students and nods oh so seriously that the students all have to go along with it.

Jeff finally answers. “Well, we based what colors to make a ship based on-”

Virgil decides to let to a racket of noise from his playpen at the anticipated moment. He’s whacking one hard toy against another as a mock hammer. The boy shrieks in joy when a chunk of one flies off. “No, no, no Virgie! Don’t break toys!” Scott’s pushing of from Jeff to play dictator and tell Virgil that he did wrong. John takes his chance and claims the prime spot on Jeff’s lap for his own.

Jeff laughs. He can feel how red his face is with the slight embarrassment. “We base colors on destination. You want to pick a color that stands out against both space, the sun, and your destination. That immediately takes out black, yellow, and most tans or oranges. Silver is common due to it’s reflectivity. And being the normal color for most of the metals we use. But so, if you have a rocky planet mission, blue would be an excellent choice. Going to Neptune or Uranus? Blue might be the worst possible choice. Go for red.”

The students flood with Jeff questions after the gate has been broken.

John falls asleep against his chest as he continues discussing all things space with the students. Scott’s asleep on the floor, half under the table, and Virgil’s fixated on a bird at the bird feeder outside the bay window. Jeff can’t think of a more perfect day beyond if Lucy were here, napping on the other couch too.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #pre-international rescue #jeff tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #wee tracy’s #fluff #pure fluff

51 notes · View notes

sleepyfaceandsnark · 2 years

Text

Liability

Carlos' past relationships weren't always good for him

AO3

Baby really hurt me Crying in the taxi He don't wanna know me Says he made the big mistake of dancing in my storm Says it was poison

They say, "You're a little much for me You're a liability You're a little much for me" So they pull back, make other plans I understand, I'm a liability Get you wild, make you leave I'm a little much for everyone.

The truth is I am a toy that people enjoy 'Til all of the tricks don't work anymore And then they are bored of me I know that it's exciting Running through the night, but Every perfect summer's Eating me alive until you're gone

Better on my own

"You could... stay a little longer," Carlos offers as he grins at the man in his bedroom.

"Thanks, but I'm kind of a screw and leave sorta guy," the man says as he rebuttons his shirt.

"Right. Of course. Me too." Carlos says. He sits on the edge of the bed. He watches the third guy he's had in his bedroom this month get redressed. Carlos doesn't think about the fact that the month isn’t even half over.

"I mean… you were good," The guy says. "Really good. I like that one move you do with the..." the guy laughs, stopping himself. "I'll save your profile in case of a dud night."

Carlos nods.

"You seem upset."

"No, no. It's just." He thinks for a moment. "You don't have to leave. You can stay a bit."

The guy practically laughs at him. "Dude, you met me on tinder."

It wasn't actually tinder (the guy was wrong about that). Maybe it was more of a hookup app but it wasn’t exclusively that. Or rather, it didn't have to be.

"I'm not really looking for anything," the guy continues. "Relationships just aren't for me."

Carlos nods again. "Right. Me either." A lie.

"I'm sure you'll make some guy very lucky," the stranger says with a smile. "See you around, Carl.”

The man disappears behind Carlos' bedroom door, and in a few minutes, he hears the front one shut as well. He rolls his eyes. He can’t even use the correct name.

Carlos wished these interactions were few and far between, but they were not. He knows what these men want him for; his body. He certainly works hard on it, but knowing that's all they want him for and nothing else makes him even more self-conscious.

He is easy to love, he's been told, granted it is usually by people he did favors for.

He thought he found love in so many men, only for them to tell him he was too much. He's always too much.

He admits it. He falls in love too quickly, which might scare anyone off, but is it so much to ask for something more than a one-night stand?

He wasn't always like this. He had a boyfriend a little after High School. He had reasonably decided Texas wasn't best for him and moved away. They dated for just a little over six months. It was long enough for Carlos to like him but not enough to miss him when he left. Or maybe the spark just wasn't there anyway.

He had a brief fling with another. Carlos ended up breaking the poor guy's heart, accidentally. He honestly didn't think the guy was into him.

And one that creeped Carlos out. He tried to friend his entire family on Facebook before even meeting them. And they were only dating for a month. He did other things that put Carlos off too. Guy ended up posting hate messages about him while still being friends with his friends after Carlos didn't agree to a fourth date. It was all super weird.

Then there was Trent.

He wasn't exactly someone to bring home to the parents, not that he would anyway, but Carlos was infatuated with him. He was hot and adventurous; he loved rock climbing and rode a motorcycle. Trent was kind of an asshole. Okay, he was really an asshole. Carlos couldn't read if it were just a front, like some kind of defense mechanism or if, to his core, he was an asshole. He'd soon find out which it was.

Trent was the opposite of most of the guys he'd been with. He would parade Carlos around, almost like a prize. He would openly have his arm draped around Carlos. He’d whisper lewd acts he wanted to do to Carlos in his ear in public which caused Carlos to blush or outright shush him. He would grab Carlos' body in possessive ways. Sometimes Carlos liked it and sometimes he didn't. It wouldn't be as much of a bother, the parading, if it weren’t so drastically different when they were alone. In private Trent barely held on to Carlos for 5 minutes if they weren't fucking, let alone let Carlos kiss him.

The act of not wanting to kiss shouldn't have been a red flag, there could be a reason someone wouldn't want that kind of affection. The reaction to Carlos kissing his cheek one night should've been. He got met with a "what the hell do you think you're doing?" as Trent got up to wipe Carlos' kiss off his cheek like it was the vilest thing he had on his face.

Carlos quickly apologized. Trent had left in a fury that night regardless. Carlos got a naked picture two days later, so it seemed all was forgiven. Despite the hold Trent had on him, Carlos still rolled his eyes at the gesture.

There were many hints they weren't in the same boat that Carlos' mind ignored. They'd go out to clubs. Trent wouldn't want to be near him besides to make a guy eyeing him jealous. Carlos told himself he didn't care. Trent always went home with him or showed up at his door at 2 am sometime after. Trent never inquired about Carlos' family, not that Carlos would tell him anyway. He never asked about Carlos' life or his past. Matter-of-fact they never talked about anything more than whatever sports were on at the time or what new gay bar was opening up.

Carlos tried several date ideas Trent would turn down for one reason or another; "I don't like ice cream,” "Mini golf is boring,” "I'll only see a movie if it has (insert action star Carlos had no desire to see)," "Why would we pay for that when we can just eat at home?". Of course, they never did eat at either of their homes together anyways.

But Carlos played along like he didn't care. Trent had chosen him, for the most part.

The breaking point, for both of them, was a little year after their first time together. Carlos considered it an anniversary, but Trent did not.

Trent didn't even think of the day or its significance despite Carlos dropping some hints here and there. He had gone off with one of his friends to hike someplace outside of Austin. He got hurt. Carlos' car broke down on the way to the hospital. Trent’s friends told him it was nothing serious. Just some bruising, a broken wrist, and a sprained ankle. Carlos' car was in the shop longer than Trent was in the hospital. He tried to go down to Trent's by getting an Uber, but work got in the way.

When he finally got a day off, he went over to bring some things for him. He knew Trent was supposed to stay off the ankle and add a broken wrist on one arm, Carlos knew it was hard for him to do things himself.

Carlos didn't mean anything more by it, and looking back, any person would've taken the gesture, especially if they were technically together.

"I'm getting kind of bored of this..." Trent said after Carlos had been there less than an hour.

He cleaned some dishes, made sure Trent iced his injuries like the doctor said, and was about to make him the first meal that wasn't from a takeout box.

"Of what?" Carlos asked. Trent had been bad-tempered since Carlos got there. He tried to tell himself it was just because of the pain Trent was experiencing.

Carlos figured Trent meant the tv station he flipped on. Carlos hadn’t been ready when Trent told him, "Us."

"What?" Carlos let out. He was sure he didn't hear right.

"You come here with your nursing kit and copying the shit your mother used to do when you scraped your knee. Touching me. Pampering me."

"You got hurt... I just thought that-"

"You offered to clean the apartment. You offered to cook. You keep asking if I'm okay, keep asking if I'm icing properly," Trent's started to rise.

"And?"

"No guy wants to be doted on like that!"

Carlos let out a small, hurt laugh. "You're my boyfriend. I just wanted to -"

"Boyfriend? We were never boyfriends, Carlos." Trent said.

Carlos knew that wasn’t true. Trent had called him his 'sexy boyfriend’ when he introduced Carlos to other people.

"Why are you saying this?" Carlos stumbled on his sentence. "That's not-"

"Look, I'm not liable for your fucking feeling. It's not my fault you didn't understand what this was."

Carlos took a sharp breath in and blinked his eyes. "And what was this?"

Trent didn't answer.

Carlos was about to ask if he wanted him to leave. He was about to apologize even though he didn't do anything wrong. But Trent's mouth moved before Carlos could think of what to say.

"You're like a poison..." He had mumbled so quietly Carlos swore he didn't hear it. "Forcing this domesticity constantly when everything in your head should've told you," Trent stopped himself. "You just...you're a little much."

There it was.

Carlos looked down and tried to steady his breathing to keep himself from crying or screaming.

"It was fun for a bit." Trent continued but stopped. Maybe he realized he had ripped Carlos' heart apart enough in the past few minutes. Trent gave a small laugh. "Look, man. You're hot. That's all you need to be."

And Carlos never felt more disgusting. Trent had the nerve to grin at Carlos as if that line would get him one last fuck.

It wouldn't. As Trent alluded to, Carlos could get that anywhere.

"Would it make you feel better if I said it was my mistake?" Trent asked. "I let it go on too long. I should've stopped it. Might've given you the wrong idea."

Carlos hadn’t been able to decide if that helped or not. The signs should've been there. Why did he ignore them?

"Think you wanted something that wasn't there so badly..." Trent said as if he could read Carlos' mind.

"And what's that?" Carlos asked. His face turned stoic.

"Love?”

Carlos shut his mouth in anger and nodded bitterly.

That was the last hit for Carlos.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get out.

He couldn’t remember if he said one last remark to Trent before he left, or even if he slammed the door, but he remembers being grateful he got his car back before this happened. He doesn't know what he'd do if he had to stay to wait for a ride. He couldn't stay in that place any longer.

Trent was right. Carlos wanted that so badly he was willing to look past the red flags, past the bad behavior.

He just wanted to love and be loved.

He wasn’t sure when he stopped caring if the men were kind or not.

After Trent, Carlos decided to keep it casual with his relationships. He never kicked them out of his place and usually made them breakfast or a snack afterward. They'd kiss him goodbye. Some would tell him, "See you later.” Carlos would decide if that would happen. He never 'fell' for them exactly, but occasionally he'd catch himself daydreaming of a date with one or something more. He'd quickly shake his thoughts away from that. Not anymore, not again. And it was like that for a while. He had accepted it.

So, when a Firefighter and his Fire Captain father move into town, Carlos doesn’t know what started going through his head. The minute his eyes lay on TK everything he had fought against since Trent, fights back. Something was so different about TK. From the beginning, Carlos could tell he was genuinely sweet. When he was new in town, he was friendly enough. TK wasn’t necessarily shy, possibly a little standoffish, but not in an intimidating way. He was always by his dad. Carlos remembers thinking something might've happened there. Or that it was just because his dad was the only person TK knew, and he didn't get to connect with the 126 yet.

The first time he saw TK was on a call. It was barely a few minutes, but since that first one, Carlos spent his time hoping the 126 would be there when he was out on the field.

One night they were on a call together. A baby was getting rescued from a tree. TK stood by him and put his hand on his shoulder as they anticipated the outcome. They both shared a sigh of relief as it was carried down to safety. Carlos didn't let TK know then, but he melted from the touch and silently begged for another when TK pulled away.

"He's a pretty impressive guy," Carlos said.

"He's my dad," TK answered.

Carlos watched as TK looked at his dad, proud.

Carlos had tried at first to keep his thing with TK casual like the rest of the men (and like he talked about with TK), but TK just had this strong pull on him from the start.

TK is nothing like Trent. TK wanted love; he was just hurt so extraordinarily by it. He knew TK was different, even when he asked TK why he was “acting so crazy” that night. He didn't let himself see that there was something else when he mentioned their dinner 'wasn't a marriage proposal' because he convinced himself this was someone else he drove away.

But TK came back to him. Maybe it was fate that he worked that night and was the one to let TK go at the station. Or perhaps someone of higher power was throwing both of them a bone.

After Trent, Carlos never thought the neck he kissed as part of a hookup would be the same neck he now finds comfort in. TK needs Carlos as much as Carlos needs him. They both are each other's second chance at love.

"Hey," Carlos asks TK one night, long after they became established boyfriends. They turned the TV off an hour or so ago. Both were tired of trying to find something to watch. TK opened a magazine soon after. Carlos was reading some of it over his shoulder as TK lay between Carlos' legs.

"Hm?" TK calls out, not sure if he should close the magazine yet or not.

"If I ever," Carlos waits, unsure if he wants to bring it up. TK starts to lean his head back toward Carlos, but Carlos stares straight ahead. "If I ever dote on you too much, will you tell me?"

"What?" TK asks as he closes the magazine. Carlos can feel him move under him as he tries to turn around, but Carlos still stares at the wall.

"Like if I annoy you with that stuff...?"

"What stuff?" TK asks. Carlos' grip is lost on TK as he now faces him. "Loving me?" TK tries to say lightly, but he can tell by Carlos' face that he's serious.

"Am I too much sometimes?" Carlos asks. He finally looks down and makes eye contact with TK. He has some relief at TK's confused face.

"You're not too much, Carlos," TK assures him. "Who made you think that?" TK reaches to palm Carlos' hair as he stares into his beautiful brown eyes.

Carlos smiles warmly and shakes his head. "No one important." He leans his head into TK's touch and welcomes the soft kiss TK plants on his lips.

Any memories of Trent or the men before him wash away as TK leans back into Carlos’ body, fitting together as if they are one.

#Tarlos #tk x carlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star #911 ls #my fics #my stuff #light angst #angst #past relationships #pre tarlos #into present tarlos #angst with fluff #angst with happy ending

6 notes · View notes

jadegrey711 · 3 years

Text

Trouble

Soft dark!Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hello everyone! So recently I’ve become absolutely obsessed with both @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18 who both write absolutely amazing stuff and I want to be them when I grow up. So when I found out Siri was doing a 5k writing challenge i figured i’d throw my hat in the ring and maybe get out of this depression writing slump.

So I decided to make a vey very very! Soft!Dark Andy Barber x Fem!Reader. Seriously it’s like Dark Light lol. But I hope you all like it! I hope to do another one before the month is over but let’s see shall we?

*NOT MY GIF. Credit in the TAGS*

Word Count:1484

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711)

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake.

WARNINGS: Sexual Situations (18+ ONLY), Overstimulation, possessive Andy, deeply jealous Andy, Oral sex (F Receiving), Vaginal sex.

Other warnings include very mediocre writing.

He watched you from a distance as he continued talking with his fellow associates, making sure to keep a watchful eye on you as you chatted with the wives. He smirked to himself knowing you must be bored out of your mind, but you did it for him and he loved you for it.

Suddenly though, Andy watched as Neil Logiudice approached you from behind, putting a hand on your arm. You seemed startled for a minute and then smiled, putting your hand on top of his and Andy saw red.

He barely registered what the others in his group were talking about. Because his gaze was focused solely on you and Neil and how cozy you were in each other’s company. How you and the other women laughed at some joke he made and about how in the three minutes he had been standing there he hadn’t been able to keep his fucking hands off of you. He felt like breaking each one of those fingers, making sure he let Neil know that he was never to touch you again. He could feel his whole body vibrate with violence as he continued watching, knowing you were none the wiser.

Neil was nice enough and he was an associate of Andy’s so when he put his hand on your arm to get your attention you let it slide, putting your hand on top of his and gave it a friendly pat fighting the urge to swat it away immediately. You were at a party full of Andy’s work friends and associates so making a scene over something small would not be a good impression on either your part or Andy’s; so you let it slide and you let the other four times he touched you slide as well. Even as you were mentally flinching each time he did it. After the fourth time you looked around the room for Andy, looking for an escape of some kind and immediately found him; across the room and boring holes into the back of Neil’s head with that dark gaze.

You took that as your cue to quickly excuse yourself, saying that it was getting rather late and you should go and find Andy. Everyone waved you off as you departed from the group and over to where Andy was.

“Hi honey.” You smiled, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers with his and while everyone else in the group was still talking you heard Andy sigh and grip your fingers back; turning his face towards your he gave you a small smile.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He whispered in your ear.

“Definitely!” You whispered back. Before you plastered a smile on your face as Andy said goodbye to everyone and then put his hand on the small of your back and guided you out the exit.

Later that night after you both had gotten home, gotten into bed and as Andy had your leg over his strong shoulder while he devoured your soul between your legs did he bring up Neil.

You writhed on the bed, your fingers tangled in Andy’s hair as you felt your orgasm coming on fast with the pace he was eating you out at. When suddenly Andy surprised you.

“You good friends with Neil now?” he asked nonchalantly against your folds, before he sucked harshly on your clit. Making you groan.

“What?” you asked confused at what he was possibly asking you right now as he was sucking all rational thought out through your pussy.

“Are you good friends with Neil?” He asked again, giving your clit another harsh suck. And you felt your legs convulse.

“What the fuck Andy?” You asked but the sound of his name was more of a moan as he added two of his fingers and pumped your sweet pussy.

Andy didn’t give for a minute as he continued to suck and lick at your folds until you finally came, but instead of gently working you through your orgrasm, his fingers kept their harsh pace as he looked up at you.

“You seemed like real good friends when you let him put his fucking hands on you.” He growled as he placed an open mouth kiss on your pussy. His other hand pulling the hood of your clit back before placing another one of those kisses there and sucking it again.

“Fuck! Andy! I’m gonna come again.” you cried out, feeling that the pleasure was starting to be too much for you. But the way that you started to pull on Andy’s hair to pull him off or the way your hips turned away from him his touches didn’t deter him one bit as he continued with his interrogation.

He leaned up from you and watched his fingers stroke in and out of you before he added a third one, earning a low whine from you as you felt yourself building up to another orgasm.

“You didn’t answer my question sweetheart. Why did that fuck think he could put his hands on what is mine?”

“Andy.” you moaned, trying to get away from his touch but he wasn’t having any of that as he placed his heavy bicep over your stomach, keeping you there at his mercy.

You felt that sinful tongue run through your folds again, his thick beard scratching your thighs adding whatever sensations you were feeling to new heights. Then he pulled out his fingers so he could fuck you with his tongue now. Your third orgasm coming like a runaway freight train. You felt your toes curl as your third orgasm washed over you making you lift from the bed like Andy was performing an exorcism on you.

You felt tears in your eyes as you tried again to pull away from Andy’s touches feeling your thighs tremble uncontrollably now but Andy wasn’t stopping not until he got what he wanted from you; not until he got an answer for why Neil thought he could put his hands on what didn’t belong to him.

“Fuck Andy! Stop!” you sobbed. “He just came up to me. I didn’t want to make a scene about some guy putting his hand on my arm so I didn’t do anything about it. I knew you were right there if I felt uncomfortable and I did; so I left.” you cried out, feeling the tears roll down your cheeks. “Please honey stop.” you sobbed.

You watched in relief as Andy pulled his plump lips away from your aching pussy, and felt your pussy clench at the sight of his beard absolutely drenched in your juices. But your relief was short lived, as you saw the look in Andy’s eyes, the feral look they held in them.

“He made you uncomfortable?”

“Yes, but I came straight to you. Please Andy I can’t take it anymore baby please.” you whined.

“I should break everyone of his fingers for laying a fucking hand on what’s mine.” He said softly, placing chaste kisses on your inner thighs and you let out a small cry. You watched in relief as he climbed up the length of your body, and ladened you with soft hungry kisses, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“I love you.” he said softly, giving you another soft kiss. “I’m so glad that you felt that you could just come to me when you were feeling uncomfortable. I never want you to feel that way again so next time, you’ll just stay with me the whole time okay?”

You quickly nodded and kissed Andy back. You both just stayed there like that for a minute, him hovering and stretched over your body, ladening you with soft kisses before he pulled away from you and gave you a wicked smile.

“But I think you have one more in you baby.” he said and before you could even react. Andy grabbed the back of each of your legs, bringing you closer to him, before he swiftly impaled you with his achingly hard cock.

Andy set a brutal pace obviously trying to get you off one more time before he loses all control. You let out a high keen, and grabbed onto Andy, your nails raking down his back; a small revenge for him absolutely wrecking you tonight all because of some asshole touching you.

“I’m gonna fill you up so nicely baby. No one will ever have any doubt that you are mine.” he let out a low grown. “And that I’m yours.” he growled leaning down to suck and place kisses on your neck.

Without warning your orgasm crashed over you and you were sure that if Andy wasn’t there pressing down onto you, you would’ve snapped in half from the force of it. As Andy chased his own end, he kissed the tears that were flowing down your cheeks.

“Nothing fucks with my baby.”

#jade tries writing #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge #Andy barber x reader #andy barber x fem reader #chris evans charcter #andy barber oneshot #a very very soft!dark Andy Barber #pretty much NNeil gets the reader in trouble #defending jacob #jadegrey writes #my writing #andy barber #defending jacob oneshot

412 notes · View notes

imbrium-mare · 3 years

Text

A Thousand Sunsets

Marauders era

Hello. So I havent written a proper fic in AGES, let alone published one, but the jily discord had me all emotional today and this just kind of happened. Basically birthed from (1) my anger that lily's life was never expanded upon other than where it related to guys, (2) the absolute tragedy of nearly an entire group of friends dying at twenty one and what it would be like to survive it, and (3) @sirenicc and @thequibblah s amazing fics about death in the first wizarding war. I'll edit and post it on ao3 tomorrow, but its half past two and I wrote this on the notes app on my phone in the park closest to my house and I really should be getting to bed, so you can have this for now. Major character death and angst to follow. Let me know what you guys think!

Mary Macdonald didn't cry at funerals. It felt like too much of a spectacle, there with all the other mourners around her. She felt as if she was performing her grief, like she was taking the attention off of the dead. She always waited until she was home, with her pillow and her tea and the memories of her loved ones crowding her. But not at the funeral. Never at the funeral.

Except now. Mary stood off to the side in the cramped graveyard, tears streaking her red cheeks. The early November wind had long since numbed her nose, but she knew that if it hadn't she'd feel it running. On the horizon, behind the church, the sun was setting. The sky streaked red and orange above her, unusually clear for winter in England. Mary took it as a sign. She had insisted they postpone the burial until after dark. Lily loved sunsets, and she deserved to watch this last one.

Hell, Lily deserved a thousand sunsets. She deserved a lot more than that, deserved to laugh again and hold her son again and dance in the rain again. But all Mary could give her was a sunset and her tears.

The funeral was packed. Wizards filled the cemetalery and crowded the streets outside. More than tears, she heard laughter. Children oohed as Ministry wizards Transfigured the war memorial in the square into a towering replica of James and Lily, baby Harry in their arms. A group of young wizards behind her were discussing what charms would conjure the prettiest, most long lasting for their party later tonight.

Mary was crying, but she wanted to scream. Because you're not supposed to cry at funerals. Because this wasn't any fucking funeral, it was Lily's fucking funeral, and didn't they understand that?

But she knew she couldn't blame people for celebrating. Not when the war was over and Voldemort was gone. The relief coated the air, had started to settle into her muscles. And she was happy, she supposed, that her friend would be remembered. That she'd saved the world. That so many people had come to see her go.

But that was the thing. The Lily they were celebrating wasn't Mary's Lily. Their Lily was a loving mother, a selfless woman who'd taken a killing curse for her son. Who'd sacrificed everything for the world. Their lily was young, and beautiful, and kind. And sure, Mary's Lily was all those things too. But she was so much more than that.

Her Lily was eleven, all messy morning hair and knobbly elbows, yelling at Mary for not doing her Potions' essay last night before relenting and handing over her own to be copied.

Her Lily was thirteen and jumping excitedly on her four poster bed when Mary told her that Fourth Year Amos Diggory had asked her to Hogsmeade. Then she'd climbed down and turned the dormitory upside down helping Mary pick out an outfit.

A month later Amos was seen snogging a Fourth Year Hufflepuff, and it was her Lily that held her as she cried and cursed his name as creatively as any thirteen year old could.

Her Lily was fifteen, hiding behind a tapestry in the fifth floor corridor and hexing Mulciber bright purple after she heard what he'd done to Mary the previous day. Mcgonagall knew who'd done it when no one on the staff could reverse the spell, but her Lily had held her head up high and denied it. She was stuck in detention until the spell faded two weeks later, but her Lily didn't care.

Her Lily was sixteen and admitting that ok, maybe James potter wasn't that bad.

She was seventeen and dragging Mary and Alice and Marlene out onto the grounds for a snowball fight when they should have been studying for NEWTS.

She was eighteen, drunk on firewhiskey in a Muggle parking lot, helping Sirius charm the heavens into opening up above them so she could dance with James in the rain.

She was eighteen and one day, curled up in bed with a cold and a hangover and cursing Mary for letting her drink so much.

She was nineteen and spinning in a white dress, he laugh filling the air and her smile brightening the room.

She was twenty and standing by Mary as they buried Dorcas, then the Prewett brothers, and Benjy Fenwick. Not Marlene Mckinnon, though -- Lily wasn't allowed to go.

Her Lily was twenty and in hiding with her son and her husband, trying to stay alive, and she wrote Mary about toy broomsticks and Christmas ornaments and her crazy old neighbor.

Her Lily was twenty one and dead. Her Lily was twenty one and she was smart and brave, and funny, and she gave the best hugs. Her Lily was sentimental about the seasons changing and watched the sun set from her Dormitory window every day for seven years. Her Lily got loud when she was angry and cried when her sister didn't come to her wedding and liked reading Muggle classics and hexing any asshole who hurt her friends. Her Lily had given birth to the only known survivor of the Killing Curse, because that was just something Lily would do, and that was all anyone could talk about. That was all anyone would remember.

Except Mary. Mary remembered Lily alive, not just dead. Mary remembered Dorcas and Marlene and Alice, who couldn't even remember her own name. Mary had to remember, because if she didn't, who would? And Mary had to cry, even if she never cried at funerals, because near everyone else was happy.

She watched as the sun disappeared below the horizon, and the sky went from red to pink to purple. She imagined Lily, on the window ledge in their dormitory, clutching a book and staring dreamily at the sky.

Mary joined Remus, and together they levitated the two caskets into the grave. And just like that, her Lily was gone, and she was still crying.

Mary Macdonald went home, eyes dry and head aching. And when Godric's Hollow emptied out, and Lilys name was just a footnote in a History textbook, she made sure to watch the sunset and dance in the rain and read all her best friend's favorite books. Because if she didn't, who would?

#lily evans #james potter #marauders #maruaders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders angst #major character death #minor character perspective

134 notes · View notes

kassandras-one-braincell · 3 years

Text

Soma x Reader - Sear

Bad Things Happen Bingo, prompt: Cauterising a Wound

Can be found on AO3 here.

Warning: contains graphic violence, gore and mentions of death (no major characters)

Red.

Bright, untamed red engulfed Grantebridge as the town is swallowed by roaring flames, cobbled streets drenched in blood. Roofs, market stalls, banners ablaze, smoke billowing into the night, suffocating. Corpses litter the paths, neither woman nor child safe from the raiders’ wrath, mothers collapsed atop their young in feeble attempts to shield them from lethal blows. Drengir bid their fallen comrades safe passage to Valhalla, closing unblinking eyes and laying them to rest with their weapons atop their breast, praying that morrow’s eve they shall feast with the Gods. No raider remained breathing, all having been hacked to pieces by Soma’s men, but the devastation was done.

Scouring each burning home for the injured, you hold your tunic to your nose as a barrier against the clouds of grey and ash, kicking down charred door after charred door, assaulted by the stench of scorched death. Your hand remains firmly clasped around your axe, grip unwavering and knuckles white from defending a longhouse of children and elderly some minutes prior, adrenaline yet to dissipate from your veins. The raiders came in hoards, their numbers vast – they could be lingering amongst the shadows, poised for attack. You have to remain alert.

As you pass the third, fourth lifeless bodies of children – the baker’s sweet boys, you could barely identify through the flaking skin and charcoal – a woman’s petrified scream rings out to your east. Immediately, you take off into a sprint, using the cries of fear as your compass.

Panting, you reach the source of distress: a lady, belly swollen with child, cowering from a stout straggling raider, grinning maniacally with his longsword raised for the kill. The poor woman sob, pleading for her life, for her baby’s life, tears muddying with the blood staining the pebbles beneath her. Without thinking, you tackle the man, ready to accept the embrace of the Valkyljur should you perish for this lady.

At first, you fail to notice the sword cleaving into your abdomen, focused wholly on driving your axe through his jugular, grunting with every swing until crimson sprayed your face. Sweat mingles with scarlet as his breathing stilled, head all but severed from his neck. You pry yourself from atop the raider, muscles screaming. It is only when the lady stares at your stomach with sheer horror that you feel the warmth of your blood seep through your clothes.

Then, panic.

It’s deep. Far, far too deep to be safe. Dirt from your tunic meddles with your severed flesh, the promise of infection imminent, should you survive the night. And fuck, there is so much blood, rivulets dripping onto your trousers. You clutch the wound, praying that your guts don’t spill to the ground, gasping first in shock but now in pain as agony shoots through your stomach with each heave. “Shit, shit…” You take it back; you aren’t prepared to die. I can’t die.

On your knees, staring at your casualty in disbelief, you hear a deep voice cry your name. “Gods, fuck, hang on,” you hear the man curse, unclear with your pulse pounding in your ears. It’s only when he reaches your side, slinging your free arm around his neck that you identify the man as Lif.

As he lugs you to your feet, he urges you to keep pressure on the wound, not that you’d dare remove your hand from its position. “We’ll get you to the longhouse, alright? Stay with me,” he tells you, and you find yourself nodding in futile hope. For a second, your foggy eyes meet the tear-stained ones of the lady you saved. Words didn’t need to be exchanged: her gaze holds a thousand thank-yous.

The journey to the longhouse is an orange blur, the inferno tearing through Grantebridge, a flaming, ravenous wolf feasting upon its prey. Safe from the cinders and torches, the longhouse stands intact upon a hill, the only structure safe from the raiders’ rampage. Warriors rush between the injured, frantically applying salves and gauze to the countless injured. Mothers cling to their suckling babes, mumbling their praise to Freyja for shielding them, while others clutch at their heart in agony as they mourn their losses. The children – gods, those precious children – cry out in horror as Lif helps you to an empty stretcher, you having protected them barely half an hour ago. You muster your strength and give them a reassuring smile despite knowing your fate.

“Soma!” Lif calls out, catching your jarlskona’s attention. Her eyes widen in panic as she sees you, utterly terrified and on what just may be your deathbed, and she rips her hands from the basin she was just cleansing them in, pushing past her men to reach to your side.

Within seconds, your lover is kneeling at your side, fear smeared all over her face. “Soma…” you croak out, on the verge of tears.

“Hush, save your strength, my love,” she whispers, voice hoarse from ordering her men. She tears away the torn fabric covering your wound, gently moving your blood-soaked hand to the side. You whimper, afraid your entrails would seep through the laceration. The way her breath hitched in her throat breaks your heart in two.

“I need a clean sword and some cloth. Now.” A young drengr to your side nods and scampers off, asking no questions, the urgency in Soma’s voice palpable. Your usually calm, collected jarlskona is unhinged, desperation clouding her brain. “Listen to me,” she ushers, reapplying pressure to the gash, her other hand cradling your cheek. “You’re not going to die. I’m going to seal the wound shut, alright?” A stray tear escaping, you nod. She sounds affirmative, and for the first time since the raid commenced, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Some seconds later the drengr returned with the cloth and sword. Soma thrusts the sword into the nearest brazier, eyes wild as she silently pleads for the blade to heat up swiftly. Lif takes the rag from the man’s hand and hovers it above your lips. You open them, knowing its purpose, mentally bracing yourself for the searing agony of cauterisation, and sink your teeth into the fabric when he stuffs it into your mouth.

“Breathe, brave drengr,” Lif says. “In a few months, an infant’s cry will sing through Grantebridge thanks to you. And you’ll be around to hear it.” A choked laugh escapes you, your body jerking forward, and if it wasn’t for the rag between your teeth you’d call him a sap. But the thought was comforting. Live or die, a new spirit would be brought into this world.

Soma turns to the two other warriors nearest to you. “Help hold her down,” she orders, and they obey, one joining Lif at your arms and the other at your legs. They grip your limbs tight, knowing you’ll thrash against the searing blade. Upon seeing the steel glow amber, Soma takes the hilt into her hand. She moves the hand on your wound to just above it, pressing down to secure your torso in place.

“Look at me, my love,” she tells you. Your eyes connect, pools of grey stormy with determination. She musters a soft smile, and for a split second you gain control of your breathing. You remember this woman would endure the depths of Helheim if it meant you would live another day. You’ll live. Just a bit of pain.

“Remember the springs we found this summer passed? The rabbits sleeping by the water – hold her firm – without a care in the world?” You nod, your clammy hand grasping for hers atop your stomach. She spreads her fingers so you could interlace yours with them, giving you something to cling onto. “We spent hours lazing in the sun, making love and eating blackberries.” The memory washed over you, embracing your mind in hazy warmth. “Gods, you looked ethereal—” The flat of the blade comes into contact with your wound. White. Hot. Agony. You scream into the gag, teeth clenched so hard you think they might break. The sickening smell of burning flesh fills your nostrils as you writhe against the hands restraining you, tears welling in your eyes, body desperate to move away from the blade inflicting this anguish. You knew it would be torturous, but gods this was blinding. Sobbing, you try to find something, anything to focus on, settling on your woman’s face, contorted in distress from causing you this pain. A second, more intense wave of agony crashes over you when Soma flips the blade to cauterise the other half of the large gash. You squeeze her hand hard enough to bruise for weeks to come. Fuck, you want death, you can’t endure this anymore, you want to be back at those springs in Soma’s arms again. “—all sun-kissed in the cool water. I’d die a million deaths to relive that with you.”

Finally, sweet reprieve. Soma removes the blade and tosses it to the floor as the men holding you flat relent. You heave and whimper into the gag, moaning in pain. She leans over and removes the gag from your mouth, the metallic taste of your blood on her hands sharp against your tongue. Her lips meet yours in a firm, loving kiss. “My sweet, brave girl,” she whispers, the pride in her voice tangible. “It’s all over. Gods, you’re so, so strong.” The scar across her face curves as her features twist into a relieved smile.

Exhausted, you laugh in a burst of hysterical happiness, content to be held by your jarlskona.

Grantebridge is in ruins, but home is in Soma’s arms.

#bad things happen bingo #soma jarlskona #ac valhalla #soma x reader

90 notes · View notes

heytherejulietx · 3 years

Text

The Office - Bughead

Masterlists

Requests open (ONLY for Bughead)!

Read on AO3 here!

Notes - Ahh I’m so excited to post this one! This fic is for an April writing challenge by @writers-chateau using the prompt “office au”. This is based on an actual episode of the show “The Office” - season 6 episode 17 “The Delivery”. I’m so happy with how this turned out - this is fuelling my obsession with the show and bughead amazingly. Also thank you to @andmybelovedneitherdoyou for helping me out with some of the characters in this and beta reading it for me, I love you tons! Some characters and lines are taken from the show so not all of this fic is my original content!

Warnings - Pregnancy / labour, mentions of pain.

Word count - 5k.

Riverdale tag list - @bucky-j-barnes @adorably-sweet-hufflepuff @kpopgirlbtssvt @booksmusicteaandanimals @happy-puff @cheryllclayton @jesso80 @dietbreadloaf @thebluetint @hppygmc8 @lilireinhartsimp @camiczzzz @bitchy-broken @crazyninjalight @luella-cane @bc-jh22

To join my tag list fill out this form

“Good afternoon, I just wanted to check and see if there was anything you needed before I went on my maternity leave since I won’t be here for a while,” Betty leaned back in her seat as she spoke, her free hand resting over her eight months pregnant stomach. She should have been on maternity leave already for a few weeks now, especially considering how far along she was in her pregnancy, but Betty was stubborn and had refused to only until she really had to. Her and Jughead needed the money from two incomes, especially with a baby on the way, and although Jughead had tried to get her to take it sooner, there was no stopping Betty once she was determined to do something. So at almost eight and a half months pregnant she was still working her office job, selling printers, paper, and other stationery supplies. “Yeah, I’m having a baby. Thank you, you're so kind,” The blonde smiled at the nice comment that the customer had left, scribbling down a note on her pink post-its as they continued. “Great, I’ll type up your order for you now. Thank you, have a nice day.”

“Wait a minute, you can’t do that,” Betty sighed as she put the phone down and looked across her desk, where Bret was seated opposite her. “You cannot exploit your baby for sales.”

“Hey, did I tell you we’re having a baby?” Jughead’s voice cut in from where he was sat on Betty’s left in the middle of herself and Bret speaking with a customer, shooting a wink in the latter’s direction when he started glaring at him.

“Hey, stop that Jones.” He snapped.

“Bret, there is nothing bad about talking about your life. People like that kind of stuff-” Betty started, before she winced and squeezed her eyes shut as her right hand pressed into her side.

Jughead looked up over at his wife’s desk with a small concerned frown, a crease forming in between his eyebrows when seeing the pain she was in. Betty had been having contractions since the morning, though since they were irregular and far apart, they had agreed to wait until they were seven minutes apart before going to the hospital. Their insurance company only covered two nights there so they were trying to hold off until midnight, but seven minutes apart was when they were going if she got there before midnight.

“See? Even your baby hates it. They aren't even born yet and you’re using them for your own personal gain. How disgusting.” Bret scoffed, and Jughead just shook his head at him as he wheeled his chair closer to Betty around the corner of the desk.

“You try giving birth to a baby then, Bret.” Betty shot back towards him once the contraction had pretty much passed, gently squeezing her husband's hand when it had been offered to her.

“Fine, easy, my hips are big enough for an easy birth anyways. Maybe that’s why you’re already so bad, you’re too small.” Bret rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you have a baby then if you’d be so great at it,” Jughead proposed, somehow managing to keep himself composed through the ridiculous proposal. “Then you could use your own baby for sales.” He shrugged before he leaned back closer to Betty to check that she was okay, leaving Bret staring into the distance as if he was actually considering the idea.

“So, what are you thinking about baby names? I’m dying to know.” Veronica enquired with a smile as she leaned against Betty’s desk, beside where the woman herself was seated in her chair.

As silly as it sounded she had been trying to avoid anything that was even rumoured to induce labour; so no spicy food, no sex (although that wasn’t really a problem in the office - at least not recently), and no walking around unless she really had to. Jughead had offered to wheel her around in her desk chair, but after a recent incident with a shopping cart and a cast on Archie’s arm she decided against it and declined his offer.

“Well, if it’s a boy then he’ll be taking up Jughead’s name as the fourth,” Betty smiled when she caught Jughead winking at her from across the desk, deciding to ignore the sarcastic fake yawn that Veronica let out. “And if it’s a girl then we’re thinking, oh-” She cut herself off with a quiet groan, her hands coming around her stomach as she stiffened in her seat. She felt Veronica’s hand on her arm soothingly, and just as she heard her husband start to speak beside her, his voice was soon drowned out by their excited boss making his way out of his office.

“Oh oh! Contraptions she’s contrapting!” Reggie’s voice rang through the office loudly, very clearly excited that Betty’s baby was slowly but surely on the way.

Reggie Mantle was a strange man. For such a well put together man; slicked back hair, expensive looking suits, and the smoothest talk when he needed to sort a business deal - he was honestly quite far from that. To everyone in the office who got to see Reggie outside of formal business and meetings; he was a loud, childish, obnoxious, idiot. To put it politely. He had a good heart, but he either didn’t use it enough or went too far. When it came to Betty and Jughead’s baby, he was definitely pushing it too far.

“Okay!” He clapped, standing in front of the entire office as he grinned. “Someone call an ambulance, grab the go bag. It’s hospital time let’s go!”

“Why do you have a go bag-” Betty started before she was cut off.

“Okay, calm down Reggie,” Jughead shook his head a little, lifting a hand. “We aren’t going to the hospital yet, we’re trying to wait until midnight because of our stupid HMO.”

“Right, of course, Betty cross your legs and keep ‘em in there.” Reggie pointed at her and earned an irritated look in return from Betty as her contraction started passing.

“Yeah sure, I’ll do just that.” Betty muttered sarcastically with a sigh as she managed to relax back in her seat.

Veronica usually had the best chair in the office - she had lied to corporate about some back issues just to get an expensive though very comfortable chair out of them, compared to the cheap and uncomfortable ones that everyone else in the office had - though through the last week of work she had been letting Betty use it to make sure she was comfortable. She could handle an uncomfortable chair for a week. Just about, anyways.

As Bret distracted Reggie with something that led the two to retreat into his office and Veronica left to go and find Archie, Jughead wheeled his chair around the desk again to be beside Betty and gently took her hand.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just go in now?” He asked as he gently ran his thumb across her knuckles.

“No, no I’m fine,” Betty smiled and shook her head as she gently squeezed her husband’s hand. “When they’re seven minutes apart then we’ll go. I really wanna try and make it until twelve, Jug.”

“Okay, as soon as they’re seven minutes apart then we go.” Jughead gently squeezed her hand back and pressed a kiss to her lips for a moment, matching her smile with his own once he had pulled away before he wheeled back to his own seat. Of course he was worried about her, he hated how much pain she had to go through for their baby to come, but he was happy that they would be going to the hospital soon to have their baby - whether it was before midnight or not.

“Alright, seven minutes,” Jughead clapped his hands together as he walked over to Betty’s desk where she was sat with a grimace across her features as she gripped the arm rests of her chair, breathing out through her teeth. “Couldn’t quite make it to midnight but that’s okay, we’ll just get you settled at home after. Let me just grab the bag and then we’ll go.” He gently rested his hand on her arm before he turned to leave, though stopped when her hand reached out to grab his arm.

“No no, slow down Jug. I’m okay we don’t have to go yet.” Betty breathed out, and Jughead couldn’t help but frown in confusion and concern.

“What? Betty, no, we need to go.” He shook his head with a frown, becoming increasingly worried that they would be putting it off for too long. Jughead was well aware of how stubborn Betty could be, especially over something like their insurance, but he really didn’t think that it was such a big deal that they wouldn’t get as much time in the hospital as they had liked. He would just settle Betty comfortably in their bedroom when they got home with the bassinet for the baby. He didn’t really get why it was such a big deal to stay at the hospital.

“No, Jug, we can wait a little longer. It’s okay,” She managed to smile a little once her contraction had passed, reaching out to gently take his hand with a gentle squeeze. “The doctor said anywhere between five to seven minutes. We’ve still got time.”

Jughead stared at her for a moment before he sighed and reluctantly gave in, knowing there wasn’t any persuading Betty once she was being stubborn about something. If there was anything he had learnt about his wife after being with her for a good couple of years, it was that she was even more stubborn than him. And that was saying something.

“Fine,” Jughead sighed and nodded. “Fine, we’ll leave at five minutes. But no later, okay? I’m serious, Betty.”

“Of course. Five minutes.” Betty smiled.

Jughead exhaled and nodded as he squeezed her hand again before he sat back in his seat at his desk beside hers, trying to focus back on his work. But he could barely pay attention, glancing back at his wife every few minutes; and practically staring at her with a frown when she had another contraction that left her wincing as she leaned back in her seat.

“Stop staring at me,” Betty breathed out as she met his gaze, her hands cradling her enlarged belly. “I’m fine don’t worry.”

“Okay crazy,” Jughead scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “I think I have some better things to do with my day than worry about you. Like sell printers. Well, now ‘till Friday; twenty percent off all toner cartridges. That’s a big deal. While we’re on the subject why don’t I just run you down to the hospital?”

“Nice try,” Betty shot a finger gun at him, smiling a little more as her husband shook his head irritably. “Five minutes apart, sweetie.”

“Yeah five minutes apart I know.” Jughead grumbled in annoyance, the tapping of his fingers against his keyboard becoming harsher and louder as he grew more irritated.

“Hey, guys,” Archie wheeled over on his seat from across the office, one hand on his arm rest as the other - which was still in a cast - rested in his lap. “Word of advice, speaking as a former baby. Don’t get too hung up on baby names. I was named Walter Jr. named after my great grandfather, until I was about six or so when my cousin was born, and my family changed their mind. They thought my cousin better exemplified the Walter Jr. name so they gave it to him, and I was renamed Archibald out of a baby names book from like the eighteenth century. How cool is that?”

Betty and Jughead blinked and glanced at each other for a moment, trying to process what Archie had just told them, before Jughead nodded as he turned to face him again. “Thanks, Arch. We’ll be careful about it.” He nodded, and Archie grinned at him as he nodded to.

“Oh my god, Betty,” Veronica gasped as she came over, standing beside Archie as she rested her hand over her chest. “You are such a strong and brave woman. Did you know that you could be in labour for like twenty hours? That’s twenty hours of pain like this-“

“Veronica?” Jughead cleared his throat.

“-and your hair and teeth can fall out, like you could lose them all-“

“Veronica.” Jughead repeated a little firmer.

“-and the baby can get stuck and hurt and you can like pass out and bleed really bad-“

“Thank you Veronica for letting us know!” Jughead spoke loudly, causing Veronica to jump and shut up immediately. “Don’t you guys have some work to do?” He shot an irritated glare towards her and Archie, which caused them to just nod before they retreated to their own desks. He looked back at Betty and frowned when he saw her scared expression, reaching across the desk to take her hand. “Hey, that’s not gonna happen with us. You’re already pretty far along. Far enough along to get going already-“

“Jug it’s not happening.” Betty told him, and he rolled his eyes, but frowned when she groaned quietly and clutched at her belly again.

“Okay, baby time!” Reggie stepped out of his office and clapped his hands, a grin over his expression as he walked over towards Betty and Jughead’s desk.

“No, we aren’t going yet.” Betty got out through gritted teeth, and Jughead just sighed as he looked at her, his bottom lip being brought between his teeth for a moment as he started to get a little frustrated.

“Okay, well do you want a distraction to keep you from thinking about it?” Reggie asked, and Jughead practically shot daggers at him as his eye twitched slightly in annoyance.

“Actually, Reggie-“

“Yes please.” Betty cut Jughead off, smiling at Reggie some as Jughead gripped the armrest of his chair tight enough for his fingers to dent the cheap rubber covering it.

“Okay great. Uhm, Jughead and Veronica will you guys go in the break room with her?” Reggie asked as he gestured to Betty, and Jughead had to clamp his jaw to keep from expressing how irritated he was as he stood up and took her arms to help her up and to walk her to the break room along with Veronica.

“Betty, I have this brilliant movie on my laptop we can watch together since Archie doesn’t want to watch it with me. It’s got Leonardo DiCaprio in it; total bae, I know.” Veronica grinned as herself and Jughead helped Betty into one of the seats in the break room beside the many vending machines they had in there.

Once Betty had smiled and nodded Veronica left to get her laptop from her desk, leaving Betty and Jughead alone as he moved to sit beside her.

“You’re annoyingly stubborn, you know that?” He asked her, and she just fondly shook her head as she took his hand.

“You still love me though.” She told him with a smile as she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

Jughead chose to sit with Betty and Veronica to watch the movie, just to make sure Betty was okay and to sit with her through the contractions. At some point Reggie had joined them, which only made Jughead more irritated at his attempt to talk Betty through her contractions, which we’re just extremely annoying.

“Alright, you’re at six minutes apart, another like seventy-five contractions and you’re going to be there.” Reggie told Betty with a grin, earning an irritated look from the couple and a sharp “shh!“ from Veronica who was extremely interested in the movie.

“Six minutes is close enough to five. You know what? I’m just going to call Doctor Keller he’ll know what to do.” Jughead stood up, extremely worried and irritated as he let go of Betty’s hand to grab his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Jug-“

“No Betty we should probably call-“

“Honey we don’t even need to go yet-“

“Actually yes I think we do-“

“Guys can you shut up I’m still watching this movie.”

“Yeah Jug you’re really distracting me from my distraction right now. Sweetie, I love you, but I’m trying to watch this movie.” Betty spoke a little louder over Jughead’s worried rambling, causing his jaw to clench and his eye to twitch in irritation again as he looked at his wife. “Why don’t you try and go do some work?”

“Great,” Jughead nodded with a sarcastic smile. “Of course. I’m sorry for worrying about my wife who’s going into labour.” He huffed as he walked out of the break room, leaving Betty with Veronica and Reggie to watch the movie.

Though instead of going back to his desk he walked straight past it and towards the exit of the office, ignoring Bret’s complaint that he wasn’t working as he quickly went down the stairs and left the building to head towards his car. He unlocked it and got inside, rooting around in one of the bags they kept in the back seat until he found what he was looking for; four pregnancy books.

“Five to seven minutes,” Jughead mumbled as he flipped through the first book, before he tossed it into the back seat and opened the next one. “Five to seven minutes,” He repeated, the next book being thrown. “Six minutes; different, but not really,” He huffed before he opened the next one. “Five to seven minutes.” He groaned and dropped his head down to rest on the steering wheel, though flinched and sat back up when he had accidentally beeped the car horn.

He sat down there on his own for a good five minutes before he heard a light tapping on the car window, and looked up to see Betty stood there. She motioned for him to roll down the car window and he quickly did so, leaning his arm on the door of the car afterwards.

“Hey,” She smiled. “I’m not going to get into the car because I know you’ll try and drive me to the hospital.”

“Ah, you know me too well.” Jughead nodded, fiddling with his tie as he looked up at his wife.

“Jug?”

“Hm?”

“Everything is fine, okay?” Betty smiled reassuringly. “I’m okay, we still have time, she isn't coming for a while yet.”

Jughead froze as Betty did, his mouth dropping open slightly as he met her gaze. “She?” He whispered.

“Oh god I’m sorry,” Betty clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “I called the doctor last week, I just couldn’t wait. Are you mad?”

“Mad?” Jughead’s voice broke as he smiled uncontrollably, reaching his hand out of the car to grasp his wife’s gently. “How could I be mad? We’re having a little girl,” He nodded a little as his vision grew slightly blurry, tears collecting along his waterline. “Really?” He asked, and was met with a teary smile from his wife that matched his own as she giggled.

“Yeah,” Betty smiled brightly. “We’re having a baby girl.”

Jughead let out a light laugh and nodded, his smile only widening as he lifted his hand to run over his eyes before he leaned out of the car enough to hug Betty, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. Originally he had wanted to wait until the baby was born to find out the gender. He had refused multiple times when the doctor had asked, not wanting to find out prematurely, but he couldn’t even be the slightest bit unhappy that Betty had let it slip early, the emotions that were running through him in that moment were indescribable; he couldn’t wait to find out how much better it would feel once the baby was born. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Jug.” Betty whispered, gently hugging him back before she let him go so he could lean back into the car.

“Okay, I’m gonna go back upstairs, okay?”

“Okay.” Jughead nodded and smiled as he gave her a once over, but paused when he saw what she was wearing. Before he had left the office she was in her usual attire; a skirt and a jumper. But now she was wearing a pair of maternity leggings and one of his hoodies, an outfit he knew that she kept in the office just in case. “Did you change outfits?”

“Oh yeah, my water broke so I had to.” Betty shrugged before she turned to go back into the office.

“Oh right.” Jughead nodded as he sat back in his seat, still thinking about the baby more than anything else. Though once he had processed what Betty said he sat up and looked over at her just as she was walking back inside. “Wait what?”

Jughead had been pacing outside of the break room where Betty was with Reggie for what felt like hours, though in reality it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. He knew if he was in there then he would just stress Betty out more with his (rational) worrying, so he opted to stand outside. Though it was definitely worse out there; having to listen to Betty in pain and Reggie’s annoying talks through it was really just setting him even more on edge.

“Okay, that’s fine, almost made it to midnight but you should probably go to the hospital now.” Reggie was saying as Betty groaned again. “Too bad you didn’t have sex like… seven and a half hours later. But you had to have the afternoon delight, I understand, sometimes you just have to go for it.”

“N-no, I’m fine, the doctor said it’s s-still considered a minor contraction as long as I can still talk through it-” Betty barely forced the words out shakily before she groaned, causing Jughead to immediately walk into the room with a frown.

“Okay, Betty we really should go.”

“No, it’s fine,” Betty started as Jughead walked over to her, shaking her head. “That wasn’t even the worst of them, no-” She started rambling as Jughead took one of her arms and Reggie took the other to try and get her out of the seat.

“Betty come on.”

“No, no Jug it’s fine-”

“We should really go now-”

Everyone started talking at once as the men tried their hardest to pull a struggling Betty out of the seat before she scowled and shook her head harshly. “No!” She yelled, tugging her arms away harsh enough for them both to let go of her. “No! No I am not going yet! I’m not going okay? I’m not going because I can’t do this I don’t think I can do this.” Betty’s voice broke as she started crying, her lip trembling as her vision blurred with unshed tears.

Jughead’s gaze softened as he looked at her, a frown curving his lips downwards as her voice filled him with sadness and sympathy for his wife.

“Are you kidding me?” He asked softly as he crouched in front of her chair, taking one of her trembling hands in his as she sniffled in front of him. “Betty, you are the strongest person I know. If anybody can do this then you can, okay?” Jughead asked softly, and she nodded tearily in response. “I’m scared, love, I’m so scared. But this little girl is going to be the luckiest baby out there because she has the best mother in the whole damn world.”

“You’re having a girl? Really? Guys, I wanted to be surprised what the hell?” Reggie complained from across the room.

Jughead only rolled his eyes and chose to ignore him as he turned back to Betty. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do; we’re going to get our bag, go down to the car and drive to the hospital, and then we’ll have our beautiful baby girl. Okay?” Jughead squeezed her hand when she nodded and smiled as he stood up to kiss her forehead softly.

“Thank’s Jug.” Betty whispered as she looked at her husband.

Jughead nodded before he turned to look at Reggie, clearing his throat. “How’re we doing on contractions?”

“Two minutes.”

“Two- two minutes?” Jughead asked, a glare quickly being sent to Reggie as frustration quickly bubbled up inside of him. “I thought I said to let me know at five minutes- what good is two minutes that’s too late two minutes doesn’t help us! What happened to four and three minutes huh?” Jughead started rambling as he helped Betty out of her seat who was starting to get worked up again.

“Jug we can still drive-” Betty started, stopping his rambling for a moment, before she gasped and almost fell over at the intensity of her next contraction, groaning as she gripped onto Jughead’s hand tightly.

Jughead frowned and held her up, his free hand rubbing her back as she started crying again. Reggie, who was clearly flustered and not too sure what to do, grabbed Betty’s jacket from the chair and helped Jughead lead Betty out of the room as her contraction started to past.

“It’s go time people!” Reggie yelled across the office, letting Jughead hold Betty up completely as he walked out in front of the whole office. “Veronica call an ambulance!”

“No, ambulances are for emergencies only,” Bret spoke up with a glare. “You call an ambulance I call the cops.”

“We’re driving it’s fine,” Jughead spoke up as he carefully helped Betty sit down at her desk chair, gently pressing a kiss to the crown of her head in hopes of keeping her calm. “I’m just going to grab the bag and we can go, okay?” He asked softly and Betty nodded as she gave him a tearful smile. “Okay.” He gave her arm one last squeeze as he quickly jumped up and practically ran across the office to where they were keeping the bag in one of the cabinets in the kitchen, his heart racing a million miles an hour in the panic and excitement (though mostly panic) that their baby was on the way very soon.

By the time he was back in the main office area everyone was in a panic: Reggie was running around packing his own go bag for some reason, Veronica was squealing excitedly about getting to meet her godchild (they had picked her as the baby’s godmother a few weeks ago and she still hadn’t gotten over it), and even Bret was up and out of his seat, talking to Reggie quickly.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Jughead tried to smile as reassuring as he could towards his wife as he walked back over to her seat with the bag over his shoulders, taking her hands to help her stand up. “Are you good to go-”

“This is ridiculous,” Bret cut him off as he walked over. “Has anyone even checked how dilated she is yet?” As he spoke he pulled out a tape measure and kneeled on the floor in front of Betty.

“Bret!” Jughead and Betty gasped at the same time as he opened the tape measure.

“Bret are you serious?” Reggie scoffed as he walked over. “Give it to Jughead that’s his job.”

As Bret held the tape measure up to give it to Jughead he rolled his eyes and pushed it away, instead moving his hands to his pockets frantically as he started to just freak out further.

“Has anyone seen my keys- where are my keys?” He shouted, before he reached into his trouser pockets and sighed as he pulled them out. “Got them.”

As he started leading Betty out of the room he managed a genuine smile as everyone in the office started shouting goodbye and good luck, and he felt a little relieved when he saw Betty was smiling too. He gave everyone a big wave before he took both of her hands again and led her out of the room and into the elevator so that they could leave.

The whole drive there Jughead kept her hand in his free one, letting her squeeze it as tightly as she needed through contractions and constantly ran his thumb over her knuckles to try and soothe her somewhat. He truthfully was terrified, but wanted to get Betty there as calmly as possible. He didn’t have time to panic about it, as much as he wanted to, he just had to settle with the constant thumping of his heart until they pulled into the hospital and he ran out to grab her a wheelchair.

“We’re here now, okay? Everything is going to go perfect, Betty. We’re going to meet our baby girl soon.” Jughead assured her as he helped her into the wheelchair with a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you, Jug.” Betty smiled as she reached back to take his hand as he wheeled her to the door.

“I love you, too.” He smiled.

There were two doctors at the door waiting, and as they had offered to help her inside Jughead squeezed her hand before he let it go. “I’m just going to park the car, I promise I’ll be back in a minute.” He told her as one of the doctors started wheeling her inside, and smiled at her until he couldn’t see her anymore.

Jughead got back in the car and took a few minutes to find a parking space, though once he had he sat in the car for a minute longer than needed. His fingers reached up to brush along the edge of the scan photo that was clipped to the mirror of the car, an easy smile sweeping across his lips as it took everything inside of him to not get emotional again. Even though he was still panicked and worried and terrified, he couldn’t help but take a moment to smile and breathe.

He was simply excited to meet their little girl, and that would be enough to keep him smiling forever if he could.

#amber’s writing #fyeahbughead #bugheadcentral #we april 2021 #riverdale #bughead #bughead au #bughead one shot #bughead fanfiction #bughead fluff #bughead parents #bughead fic #bettycooper #betty cooper #jughead #jugheadjones #jughead jones #betty cooper x jughead jones #jughead jones x betty cooper

81 notes · View notes

shoutogepi · 4 years

Text

You Want Me to Call You Baby Girl?

Todoroki Shouto

word count : 10k oopsies

[ ✘ (nsfw!) ]

themes : DD/BG kink, minimal booty spanking & temp play, man-handling ahaha

bio : Shouto accidentally discovers his girlfriend is much kinkier than he suspected… and he intends to test out his new knowledge as soon as possible.

author’s note : o BOY THIS IS A SPICY FIRST FIC. whew i promise im not usually this nasty actually who am i kidding yes i am :))) also side note, all characters are aged up to year 3 in this (so everyone is 18+!!)

also available on AO3 here~

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅈our duffel bag buzzes loudly, taking your attention away from the sparring match you and Ochaco were currently engaging in.

“One sec, Ochacho-chan,” you request hastily, putting your hands up in apology and bowing.

“Sure thing Y/N,” she smiles, “I need to take a break anyway!”

You squat next to your bag, hands fishing blindly through the compartment for your vibrating phone.

Shouto ♥︎ flashes across your screen, a photo of the handsome boy slurping soba lighting up the background.

“Shouto,” you pick up, huffing after your challenging training session.

“Y/N,” he replies, his suave voice instantly bringing a minute flush to your cheeks. “Where are you right now?”

“Ahhh I’m at the training center with Ochacho-chan,” you answer, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “We were working on our hand to hand combat!”

“Hmm,” he purses his lips in frustration. “I left my Search and Rescue textbook in your room yesterday. Any chance I could come by and grab your key?”

Your foot absentmindedly plays with the strap of your duffel bag, wandering aimlessly as you clutch the cellphone to your ear. “My door should actually be unlocked,” you chime,” so no need to come all the way over here!”

Shouto frowns. “You leave your door unlocked?” he pauses, “Knowing we have some questionable… characters living in the same building?” His mind is immediately on Mineta and Kaminari, the two perverts of the class.

Your laugh smoothes over his distaste, instantly bringing a small smile to his lips.

“I know you forget your things in my room so you have an excuse to see me,” you say playfully, your bottom lip captured by your teeth as you bashfully rock on the balls of your feet.

A slight blush covers Shouto’s cheeks, which he is glad you’re not there to see. “Hmm, it seems I’ve been figured out. I guess I’ll stop doing that then,” he teases, prodding you for a reaction.

“N-No, that’s okay,” you rush out, adding a hesitant laugh. “I’ll… I would take any excuse to see you,” you murmur, voice growing quieter.

Shouto’s heart flutters, momentarily at a loss for words.

“Um, anyway, my door is unlocked so just go on in. I should probably get back to Ochaco now,” you trail off awkwardly.

“Can I buy you dinner tonight?” It slips out before Shouto can even think.

A beat passes, and Shouto licks his lips in anticipation.

“I would really like that, Shouto,” you chuckle into the phone. “I’ll see you later then?”

“Of course. See you tonight,” Shouto smiles, taking the phone away from his ear and pressing the red button on his screen. He stands in front of your door for a moment, gazing at your contact picture. God, you were so cute. How he had managed to score you, he had no clue.

He’d been in his room when he called you, but walked over to your floor and dorm room as the conversation ensued. Just as you had said, when his hand touches the door handle, it gives way and he steps into your room.

Closing the door behind him, he breathes in and closes his eyes, savoring the sweet and clean smell of you that lingered on your belongings. After a moment, he walks over to your desk, his textbook in sight, but buried underneath an open notebook with your messy notes scrawled across half the page. Your laptop rests to the left of the notebook, open and upright, but the screen is black and the charger light is green, indicating the battery is full.

Shouto’s fingers automatically reach for the cord, unplugging the charger as it was best to do so for your laptop’s battery in the long run.The screen automatically lights up, a black browser popping up and displaying a video.Shouto tries to avert his eyes before he could read the screen, but he had already read the video title the instant it popped up.His face instantly bursts into a cherry-red blush, and he chokes as his throat suddenly dries, his hand shooting up to cover his mouth in shock.

You Want Me to Call You Baby Girl? Beg for Daddy, Maybe I’ll Be Nice.

Shouto’s wide eyes scan the title again, and then a third, and a fourth time to make sure he had read it correctly. You had left your door unlocked, your laptop open, and a porn website out on display?

Had you… meant for him to see this?

He shakes his head in disbelief. There was no way that his innocent and sweet girlfriend had planned this out… which meant that you would probably be mortified if you knew he had found this.

Shouto stands frozen at your desk, unsure of what to do. The two of you were no strangers to sex. You had been dating for almost seven months now, and you had been intimate together a handful of times.

But never like this… Daddy? Baby girl? Begging?

Shouto’s mind suddenly wanders somewhere very indecent, and he gulps as he shakes his head. Sure, everybody has fantasies and turn-ons… this wasn’t that far-fetched.

But that’s why he is so torn. He could leave now and pretend he had never seen this… or he could sit down and watch this video, and do to you whatever this video entailed.

Unable to make up his mind, he hastily sits in your desk chair, swiveling the back around and scooting in to sit properly in front of the laptop. This was dangerous territory.

Well… watching the video couldn’t possibly hurt, could it?

Biting his lip, his long fingers reach toward the trackpad. His fingertips hover over the key hesitantly, before he shoots up abruptly from the chair and delves his fingers in his two-tone hair.

Pacing now, he lunges across the room and bolts the door. Walking in a circle, his arms cross on top of his broad chest. Why was he second guessing himself? He had been so sure just a second ago… That’s right, he had made up his mind!

Shouto rushes over to the chair again, eagerly hopping into it. Before he could question himself again, he grabs the headphones plugged into your computer and presses play, his heart thumping against his rib cage. His knee bouncing, palms clammy, the video begins to play.

The screen remains black, but shuffling is heard through the headphones. Suddenly, a sultry male voice speaks.

“Hmmm, you’re back for more so soon, kitten?”

A fresh blush immediately bloomed on his cheeks, his adam’s apple bobbing. Hands quivering, he remains still, questioning if he should be here or not. Before he can think further, the voice starts again.

“You know it’s very naughty of you to beg for me like this, baby.” A sweaty hand lands on Shouto’s knee, his lips wavering uneasily as his fingers grab on, knuckles turning white. The voice chuckles darkly, purring almost. “What’s that, you need me to touch you? Hmm, like this? Do you like when I touch your tits like this baby girl? You’re such a naughty little thing, not wearing a bra like this. Mmm, I can’t help but touch your aching body, princess.”

Shouto sits back roughly, cheeks still bright red as he processes the man’s words. Is this… what turned you on? Could this be… what you touched yourself to? Did you… did you close your eyes and think of him when you did? His cock jumps in response, a tent rising in his pants. Fuck, this was hot.

“Did you miss me baby girl? Did you touch yourself while Daddy was gone? You know that’s against the rules.” Shouto’s mouth feels as dry as a desert, a shaky breath tumbling out of his parted lips. Holy shit, the image of you touching yourself to this makes him sweat. Would you be willing to call him that? Daddy?

“Oh baby, look at you. What a mess you’re making on our sheets… You’re dripping wet, mmmm, look at your slick, tight, little pussy.” Shouto’s eyelids fall as he imagines your hot, sweet cunt, remembering the taste of you and the way you whimper as his tongue disappears into your heat. His hand trembles, hesitantly jerking toward the tent in his pants.

“Fucking shit,” he groans, hunching over the desk as his hand rests gently on his bulge, fingertips brushing back and forth gently.

Is this how you wanted him to talk to you? You wanted him to talk dirty to you and call you these sweet names?

The voice purrs lowly, a sigh escaping the man. “You want my fingers in you baby girl? You want me to fuck you with my fingers huh? Tell me what you want, baby. Be a good girl and beg for me.”

Shouto gasps as his body shudders. Jesus, this was some kinky stuff. But… he liked it. Very much, apparently, according to his prominent erection.

“That’s very rude of you, baby girl, to address me incorrectly.”

A smirk crosses his lips as he could definitely imagine you acting like a little brat underneath him, just to irk him. You loved to push his buttons all the time, even when you weren’t fucking.

“What was that kitten? I didn’t hear you. What’s my name again?”

His eyes closed, a quiet moan falling from his lips. He could just picture you in front of him, gazing up at him with those wide and innocent eyes… calling him Daddy. Imagining that word rolling off your sweet tongue jerks him out of the chair, pausing the video.

A harsh sigh heaves from his chest, hands splayed on the desk as he pants, hunched over your laptop. Watching this video, invading your privacy… it made him feel grimy, but the feeling in his pants was just as intense.

He stands still for a moment, processing all of this, before he rewinds the video back to the beginning and plugs your laptop charger back in. After making the computer go back to sleep, he pushes himself off the desk, making sure to grab the textbook he came for. With a last glance at your laptop, he exits your room, book strategically placed on his abdomen, hurriedly returning to his room to conduct further research and take care of his… issue at hand.

~~~

You blow away the stray hair tickling your nose, diligently holding the iron away from your face. The fresh curl falls as you release the clasp, and you smear away a mascara smudge under your eyebrow, leaning into the mirror. Blinking at your reflection, you let out a shaky breath.

You unplug the curling iron, your other hand running through the curls to smoothen the neat spirals. Fixing your top, you turn away from the vanity, standing up.

Swinging your small purse off the back of the chair, you grab your jacket and shrug it on.

A knock on your door grabs your attention, and an eager smile immediately blossoms on your lips. You quickly drag your perfume rollerball across your wrists and dab it along your neck, tucking the vial into your purse and opening the door.

Your boyfriend stands in the doorway, thumb tucked in the pocket of his jeans, the other hand fixing his hair. The sherpa-lined denim jacket laid perfectly against his broad shoulders, gray t-shirt snug against his muscular chest, finishing off with black jeans tucked into his dark brown chelsea boots. His hand falls from his hair to snake around your waist, gathering you to his chest. You gladly let him scoop you up, arms coming to wrap around his neck.

“Shouto,” you mumble into his neck, breathing in his strong and fresh cologne. “You look so handsome tonight.”

He pulls back his head so your eyes lock. Something unrecognized stirs within the depths of his heterochromatic gaze. His other hand floats underneath your face, thumb and forefinger catching your chin to lock you into his stare. You’re suddenly very aware of the hand that presses into your lower back, his long fingers trailing across your jacket slightly.

He responds, voice whisper-soft. “And you look absolutely delectable, baby girl.”

He allows one second to savor your stunned expression as you process the new pet name that he had addressed you by before he guides your lips to his, capturing your mouth tenderly.

Your whimper lodges from your throat as Shouto’s lips press against yours, your hand pressing the nape of his neck towards you to deepen the kiss.

His hand drops from your chin, face pulling away from yours. His half-lidded eyes admire your flushed cheeks, and the desperate look that lurks below the surface of your expression, a smirk landing on his lips. He gently pries your hands away from his neck, kissing your cheek swiftly as he laces his fingers with yours.

“Hungry?”

Oh, so he was just going to skate on by it, like it was no big deal. You clear your throat tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and nodding quickly. “S-starving.”

“Let’s go then, baby girl, the ramen place closes in an hour,” he says nonchalantly, eyes regarding you as he watches blush blossom across your cheeks. This could be fun.

You bite your bottom lip and nod, and he exhales softly through his nose at the action, concealing a groan. He tugs on your hand, steering you toward the elevators and toward your awaiting meal.

~~~

“Y/N?”

Flustered, you look up at your boyfriend, who is watching you with a quirked eyebrow.

“Sorry, what?” You ask, embarrassed to have been caught in your own thoughts.

A warm smile splits Shouto’s lips, a short laugh escaping. His eyes catch yours, genuine zeal clearly identifiable. “Do you want to watch a movie? I can look up what’s in theaters now. Or maybe we could get bingsu? My treat, baby girl. I know you love the mango one, from that place on the corner.”

“S-Shouto,” you murmur, eyes falling to rest on the cleared table in front of you. Your fingers pick at the corner of the discarded napkin nervously.

Shouto reaches out, his hand folding around yours, effectively making you look at him. “What is it baby girl? You wanna go home?”

Your legs clench together underneath the table, the building heat between your legs burning insatiably. He’d been calling you “baby girl” all night and you just couldn’t stand it anymore. You swallow, eyes averting from his to look at the hem of his t-shirt. “Y-Yes please, I don’t feel very well,” you answer honestly. You definitely wanted to get back to the dorms.

Shouto nods earnestly, getting up out of his seat and helping you out of your own. His left hand lands on your back, slipping underneath your jacket and making the warmth of his quirk known through your thin shirt. “No problem, Y/N, let's get you home.”

He calls an Uber back to the dorms even though you had originally walked, the restaurant being about a 25 minute stroll from the UA campus. He opens the car door for you and slides in after you, hands reaching out to click your seatbelt into place before securing his own. You blush again, murmuring a “thank you”, and grab his hand eagerly. Shouto smiles smally in return, his other palm smoothing over your joined hands.

As you step through the doors to the dorms, a burst of nerves blooms deep in your stomach. Shouto’s hot hand was again on your back, gently guiding you to your door.

Your head feeling light, your hand searches frantically for your keys in the depths of your purse. You had locked your room this time thanks to Shouto’s earlier admonishment.

Shouto’s lips press gently to your temple, making you jump in surprise. The corners of his mouth twitch upward at your reaction. ”Are you okay baby girl?” he breathes into your ear.

Your pussy quivers at his voice so close, his fingers spreading downward from your waist. His breath fans over your neck as your shaky fingers finally reach your keys. Your wrist trembles as you push the key into the door, and Shouto reaches over to turn the handle, pushing it open and slightly nudging you into the dark room.

The door shut behind you and the click of the lock is heard audibly in the silent room. A crack in your blinds casts a thick beam of moonlight onto the floor, illuminating your otherwise pitch black room.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as Shouto’s hands find your figure again, fingertips floating across your waist. His biceps caging you into his embrace, he presses a short kiss to your throat. “You don’t feel so good, baby girl?” His lips part and he places them against the column of your neck again, this time leaving behind a slick patch from his eager tongue.

You shake your head weakly, knowing your voice would come out broken and wavering. You feel his hands traveling around your waist, his hips brushing against your ass just barely.

“Anything I can do to help you, baby girl?” His voice is so low, and it drips with something almost ominous, swallowing up your senses. His teeth ghost over your throat, triggering a soft gasp from you. His mouth breaks into a sinister smile at your reaction.

“Y-Yes, I need your hands… on me,” you whimper, hand reaching up to anchor yourself on his bicep.

Shouto exhales against your skin, cock jerking in his jeans at your reply. His hands move slowly from your waist down your hips, fingers curling around your inner thighs, sliding up past the hem of your skirt. “Where do you want my hands, baby girl?”

Your legs tremble, and you curve your back into his chest, ass pushing against his crotch. A fresh blush litters your cheeks at the recognition of his clothed erection.

“You gotta tell me what you want, baby girl,” he murmurs huskily into your ear, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. They were so painfully close to your panties, a ragged breath escapes you.

Your mouth parts to reply but your words fail you, your body only being able to focus on breathing as steadily as possible. Oh god, you were so turned on right now.

His fingers brush against the edge of your panties, and your legs clamp together desperately. “Here? You want my hands on you right here? Use your words, kitten.”

A reticent moan leaves you, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “P-please, Shou…”

An ardent grin raises the corners of his mouth, and for the first time tonight his breath shakes as he replies. “That’s very rude of you, baby girl, to address me incorrectly.”

Your body freezes, anxiety enveloping you in an icy grip. You absolutely knew what he meant, without a shed of a doubt. Eyes wide, you rip out of his grasp, turning to look at him.

Your eyes meet and a hesitant look penetrates his intense gaze.

“You—,” you choke out, eyes darting to the open laptop on your desk. Shouto’s eyes follow yours, and a guilty expression instantly graces his handsome face. His hands out in front of him, blush reddening his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Shouto whispers, “Please let me explain. I didn’t mean to see it, but I accidentally woke up your laptop when I was grabbing my textbook and I tried not to see it but…”

You feel absolutely mortified, eyes wide and tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You cannot believe you were so stupid to have left your laptop open and on the Incognito browser! “Oh my god,” you sniffle, pure shame encompassing you.

Shouto closes the distance between you two, arms bringing your figure into his embrace. “Y/N, I'm so sorry. Please don’t be embarrassed, there’s nothing to be ashamed about.” One hand runs through your hair repeatedly, while the other presses you tightly into his chest.

You stay silent, words once again failing you. What if he was just doing this because you thought it was hot? What if he was making himself do this, even if he thought it was freaky? You bite your lip to stop it from trembling, hugging him back.

After a moment he draws your head back so your eyes lock, and that dubious emotion once again is visible deep in his two-toned stare. “I know I shouldn’t have pressed play,” he admits, tongue slipping out to run across his lips swiftly. His eyes flick to your own lips momentarily before looking deep into your eyes once again. “But the thought of you being into this,” he groans, eyelids dropping half way and fingers clutching your hair intensely,” The thought of you touching yourself to that… Just the possibility of you imagining it was me saying those nasty things to you… God, I couldn’t help myself, baby girl. You have got me so damn infatuated with you.”

His sultry eyes bore into your wide ones, melting away all your fear and hesitance. You want to say something, anything, but your lips are just paralyzed in shock. He was into this? Your cool and composed boyfriend wanted the same dirty things you did? Your pussy throbs between your legs, desire intensifying like he had poured gasoline onto the fire.

“You can say no, baby girl. Don’t be afraid to, there will be no consequences and no hard feelings on my part. I know this is a lot to ask of you,” he breathes, his magnetic gaze buttering you up. His hand stretches around your head, middle finger pushing against your jaw and thumb brushing your cheek. “But if you want to continue, I would happily oblige. All you have to do is—“

Your hands move before you can think, lacing around the back of his neck and gathering his lips to yours. The kiss is passionate but short, catching him by surprise. The fact that he is just as considerate as ever, even in this mortifying yet exhilarating situation… it turns you on even more. This man is all yours, you are all his, and you damn straight intend to show him.

You pull back, admiring the startled expression on his features. A soft, wanton moan escapes you, your eyes falling to his lips before sneaking back up to his eyes, catching his dazed stare through your thick eyelashes. “Please continue, Daddy.”

Shouto’s dick strains against his briefs, angrily awakened by your enthusiasm. A strangled noise releases from his throat, his fingers automatically gripping you harder. His eyes wide in astonishment, he blinks at you once, twice, before his entire demeanor reverts back to his predatory behavior from earlier.

“Fuck,” he groans, smashing your lips against his. The kiss is hot and wet, his tongue immediately pushing past your lips and thrusting into your mouth. Tongue rolling over yours, his hands roughly touch your aching body. His hands fumble to tear away your jacket, your purse making a loud noise as the metal chain on the strap hits the ground.

His right hand cups your breast, squeezing diligently as his thumb rolls over the center of your bra, right over your nipple. His other hand grabs your ass cheek, gathering you closer to his body as his tongue dances with yours.

Your hands feverishly run along his body. Fist full of his hair, your other hand desperately running along his muscular shoulder, thumb dipping down to press into his collarbone.

Your mouths pull away, a string of saliva connecting your restless tongues as you both gasp for air. Your gaze meets his as you both try to catch your breath, desire clear as day in his eyes.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles on ragged breath, the fingers from the hand on your ass straining toward your panties. They successfully push them aside, the tips of his middle and ring fingers connecting with your slick hole.

Your body shakes uncontrollably at his caress, a pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you throw your head back.

Shouto pushes your body backwards, scooping you up and throwing you onto the bed. Your back hits the comforter and he’s instantly on top of you, fingers sliding back and forth easily along your slit.

“You’re wet as fuck baby girl,” he accuses, fingertips prodding your hole just barely enough to get a reaction from you. “Have you been this wet all night? Pressing your legs together underneath the dinner table and in the Uber? Hmmm, you like when I call you baby girl, don’t you?”

Your leg curls around his, trembling in anticipation. “Yes, Daddy, I love it so much,” your voice is hoarse from being breathless, and Shouto’s cock swells at your tone.

“You’re such a good girl, Y/N,” he whispers into your neck, pausing to place more hot, open-mouthed kisses along your thumping pulse. “I think you deserve a reward for being so cooperative, baby girl.” His fingers push into your tender core, neatly trimmed fingernails rubbing along the pulsating, velvety walls.

You’re positively quaking underneath him, loud and unabashed moans meeting his quiet pants. His fingers feel so good inside of you, the way he curls them upward slightly to massage that special spot he always manages to find. “Oh, Daddy,” you whine, legs opening wider to give him more access.

“God, look at you,” he taunts, voracious eyes gauging your desperate body thrashing under his. “You’re such a nasty girl, you love when I touch you like this, don’t you?”

It’s impossible to breathe, so you just nod pathetically, your nails cutting little crescent indents into the skin on the bicep he’s propping himself up with. The nod seems like just enough to satisfy him as he smirks, tongue forcing itself into your mouth again and dominating yours.

His fingers slide deeper inside of you with ease, and he curves his fingers rigidly, assaulting your pussy without mercy. “Christ, look at you. You’re making such a mess baby girl.”

Your hand grips the duvet, fingers frantically clenching the material. Your spine arches off the mattress, breasts pressing up against his chest. “Please, Daddy, I need more! Please!” you beg, your mind hazed with lust.

Shouto sighs ruggedly, his hair tickling the side of your face as his body rocks gently to the force of his fingers in your tight cunt. He leaves a short kiss on your cheek before his teeth pinch the tip of your ear, his hot breath hitting your cartilage. “I love when you beg for me, baby girl. How can I resist when you ask so kindly?”

His mouth leaves your ear, body slithering south so his face is in front of your sleek, hot pussy. His fingers leave your core, and the noise of discontent that leaves you is cut short immediately as his tongue thrusts into you. His tongue pushes in and out of you quickly, the fingers that were in you a moment ago rubbing your clit with fervor.

Your hand slaps over your mouth as you let out a stifled cry, eyes scrunching closed at the feeling Shouto was giving you. No matter how good he was making you feel, you would die of embarrassment if your classmates heard you in such a state.

“Baby girl,” Shouto pants as his mouth comes away from your cunt, his chin shining with your slick. His fingers plunge back into you, making it hard for you to look at him straight. “Do you like it when I eat you out? You like my tongue on your pussy, baby girl?” he asks, eyes glittering mischievously. His tongue wraps around your clit, pulling it into his mouth and ravishing the nerve in circles.

Your back flies off the bed once again, a hand clutching his hair for dear life. You take your hand off your mouth for a moment to reply, but your voice dies in your throat as his fingers ram into you harshly. A muffled squeal escapes you, and a dark chuckle replies from the man between your legs.

“I think I’m gonna cum,” you warn, your voice unsteady. The pressure building between your legs becoming undeniable, your thighs shake slightly around Shouto’s head.

Shouto’s tongue leaves your clit, lips kissing the bundle of nerves gently. “You wanna cum, baby girl? So soon? You must be desperate, huh?”

“Oh god, Daddy,” you whine, glancing down to catch his intense gaze. “You make me feel so good, I can’t help it. Please, please let me cum.”

He smirks against your hot cunt, fingers never tiring. “You’re such a good girl, I don’t even have to tell you to beg,” he sighs, eyes closing as he savors your taste. “God, you’re so sweet and wet. Now be a good girl and cum all over my face.”

His mouth sucks your clit back in, tongue smoothing over the nerve back and forth with renewed speed. His wrist finds a new angle, allowing his fingertips to assault your cunt even deeper than before.

Your body sweats feverishly against his hot embrace, and you cry out in surprise when his right hand slips under your shirt and then under your bra. The icy temperature awakens goosebumps on your skin and your nipple hardens quickly, rolling the pert bud between his thumb and forefinger. The novel sensation pushes your body over the edge, your cunt clamping down on his fingers harshly. Your hand claps over your mouth just in time as you let out a scream, your orgasm raking through your body. Your hips dig into the mattress, your pussy clenching and throbbing and leaking your cum all over Shouto’s fingers and his mouth.

Shouto’s fingers slow, but his tongue continues to lick eagerly at your clit, lapping up the fresh essence that leaks out of your slit. His fingertips brush over your sweet spot a few more times before he takes his fingers out of your hole, his tongue taking their place and tracing circles inside of you. He trails his tongue from the bottom of your slit to the top, circling the tip around your clit one last time before he pulls away, kissing your thighs with his slick lips.

Your body shivers as the tide of ecstasy recedes, eyes opening to see Shouto looking down at you intensely, his fingers in his mouth as he sucks your cum off his digits. “You’re such a good girl, Y/N,” his lips touch yours tenderly, almost softly. His fingers curl around the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. His tongue shyly licks your bottom lip, and your mouth gladly grants him entrance. Your taste lingers on his tongue, but it’s pleasant as his own tongue caresses yours gently. Your fingers curl under his jacket, pulling on the trim with pleading hands. Shouto’s hands leave you for a moment as he rips it off, flinging it onto the floor. He also yanks his t-shirt over his head, discarding it as he had the jacket. Your hands eagerly land on his broad, muscular chest, savoring his delicious build. Your lips meet his again and your tongue meekly pushes into his mouth, taking him by surprise. He moans into your lips, allowing your tongue to push his into moving in sync.

Shouto shuffles backwards so he sits between your legs, his hands gripping your waist and the back of your neck again, pulling you to sit upright with him as your lips continue to push against each other.

His hand grabs the hem of your shirt, lifting it up swiftly. Your lips break away from his for just a second as your shirt leaves you, but as soon your torso is exposed his hot lips are back on yours. This time, he takes the lead, easily dominating you as he shoves his tongue roughly between your lips. You gasp, only making his quest easier than before as you allow him further access. His hands clutch onto your waist, pulling your hips toward his. Your mouths part, shared shaky breath leaving the both of you. You watch as his eyes open slowly, gaze trained on your face before trailing down, regarding your uncovered chest and the lacy bralette.

“This,” he mumbles as his lips touch yours again, on hand settling on your hip while the other pinches at the clasp of the bralette,” has got to go.” The lacy material sags as the clasp opens, and his calloused fingers brush away the straps on your shoulders. He sweeps the discarded material off the edge of the bed, focus directing to your bare chest instead. His hand cups one of your breasts softly, lips gliding against yours as he groans. “Why are you so fucking irresistible?” He ducks his head so his mouth captures your nipple gracefully, licking and skimming his teeth along it teasingly.

You arch into his touch, throwing your arms around his shoulders. Your hands grab onto his skin as a destitute mewl floats out from your lips. “Shou,” you huff, wanting to catch his determined gaze once more.

His eyes cast upward toward yours impishly, a smile curling his lips as they hold onto your pert nipple. His tongue runs over the hard bud between his teeth, making you cry out softly. “What did you call me, baby girl?” His hand claps swiftly against your ass cheek, your body jolting against his as you let out a shaky moan.

“I, I’m sorry Daddy,” you whisper, your body dismayed as he releases your breast, head returning to your eye level. His gaze analyzes yours, watching your expression perceptively. You had responded positively to the spank. “Can I…”

“What was that, baby girl? Spit it out,” he commands, his other hand clashing against your other cheek, which jiggles invitingly, advertising the fresh red mark he had just inflicted.

“Can I p-please suck your cock, Daddy?” you finally manage to choke out, an intense blush infiltrating your cheeks. Shouto’s eyebrows raise slightly in surprise at your request, but a smirk quickly rises to his lips.

“You wanna suck my dick, baby?” his lips brush underneath your jaw as he leans in, sucking the skin there harshly and lapping over it with his tongue afterwards. “God, you’re such a fucking slut for me.” His fingers graze your soft folds again, making you buck your hips against him clumsily. He gazes at his digits, watching the trail of arousal string out as he stretches his fingers apart. “You really are my good baby girl,” he remarks, eyes landing back on your pleading expression. “Alright, go ahead. Show me what your sweet little mouth can do.”

Your hips shuffle forward, placing yourself on his lap as your hands splay down his muscular back. He hums mirthfully as you trace your hands down his torso, your lips finding solace on his trapezius. You roll your hips against his slowly, savoring how his hips jut up against yours and the way his head falls back at the action.

Eagerly, you shuffle to the edge of the bed, Shouto’s body following you on his own accord. Your head tucks down, yout tongue tracing a trail down his pec and swooping around his nipple slightly. A forced cough erupts from the back of his throat at the action, his skin more sensitive than he likes to admit. His hand combs through your hair, grabbing onto it as you place more kisses down his abs, stopping at the top of his jeans. You get off of him, sliding off the bed gracefully as your knees hit the floor in one languid action.

Shouto stands, hands undoing the button on his jeans hurriedly and he pushes the denim down his thighs halfway. His hot gaze lingers on you as you tentatively move forward, lips meeting his clothed cock in an innocent kiss, eyes glancing up to capture his. A hot blush rushes across his cheeks, and he’s glad you look away, focusing your attention back to his dick. Your hand meets the prominent outline of his cock, rubbing your fingertips along the shaft as you place an open-mouthed kiss on the head, effectively wetting his briefs. He swallows thickly, watching as you shyly tug the elastic band over his hips.

His cock springs free, bouncing out to touch your cheek impatiently. You smile at the sight of his dick so ready for you. His member stands thick and long, totally upright with veins popping out and running the length of his dick, the head swollen and red with just a drop of precum sitting pearled and ready. Restlessly, you wrap your hand around his cock, lips parting and tongue dragging along the tip of him, savoring the salty, musty taste.

Shouto has a wicked grin on his lips as he watches you from above, enjoying the sensation of his cock finally being acknowledged. “Oh, baby girl, you know I don’t like to be teased. Why don—”

You cut him off, mouth opening and taking in half his dick, tongue swirling on the underside carefully. Shouto’s smirk effectively is wiped off his face as you moan, the vibration locking his legs up as he shakes slightly, shocked at your sudden actions. Quickly while you have the upper hand, you bob backwards and then toward his body again, even more of his hard cock disappearing into your hot, wet mouth. He gasps for breath, mouth open and eyes wide as he watches his dick penetrate your lips. Your sinful tongue snaking around his shaft, a quiet “fuck” slips out of him as the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. You moan at his sheer size, the action constricting your throat around him and his hips jolt into you. His cock slams even deeper into your throat and you repress the urge to throw up, gagging harshly and eyes watering as his gaze locks with yours. You lean back and gasp for air, coughing shakily.

Shouto bends down, hand moving your hair to the side as his expression shifts toward concern. “Are you okay baby girl? Sorry, that was a little rough for you,” he mumbles regretfully, hand rubbing your back.

You look back up at him and his breath stills as your gaze catches his. “Oh, Daddy, I love choking on your cock,” you admit, ignoring the tears stinging the corners of your vision. Your hand grabs his slick cock once again, taking him into your mouth and starting to bob on his length at a fast pace.

Shouto’s hand flies up to cover his mouth, his brow scrunched in a mix of pleasure and awe, watching your eager actions lustfully. Holy shit, you were so fucking hot to him.

You continue to nod along on his length, savoring the way his eyes flutter as his tip reaches the back of your throat each time. His hand clutches your hair tightly, moving along complacently as you set the pace. Your other hand floats up to fondle his balls, massaging them in your palm gently as your other hand digs your nails into his thigh.

Your mouth leaves his cock with a quiet pop, a thick string of saliva trailing between your parted lips and the head of his dick. You only mean to take a quick break to gasp for breath before you continue, but Shouto has other plans.

He pounces on you, rough hands cupping your ass and throwing you up into his arms so your center slaps against his abs. Your breath is ragged, chest shaking with sheer excitement. Shouto seems just as frantic, his wet, hard dick caressing your ass cheek as he places your back against the comforter, your head gently touching the pillow. He’s panting, warm breath rolling over your cheek as his two-toned eyes pierce your own. His body hovers over yours, long locks of red and white grazing your face. Your body jumps slightly at the feeling of his tip meeting your slick entrance, rubbing between your folds gently.

Your stomach momentarily stops roiling with anticipation as butterflies suddenly appear there instead, Shouto nudging his nose softly against yours. “You ready?” he whispers, cerulean and gray orbs peering deep into your eyes, searching, probing, for even the slightest wisp of doubt.

Your hand lifts and cups his jaw, pressing your lips to his sweetly for a moment. An unspoken thankfulness for his considerate gesture transferring from you to him. Your eyes open again, all tenderness gone. “I’ve been ready for you all night, Daddy.”

A wicked grin splits his lips, eyes glinting down at you as his hips rut forward, shoving his entire length into you in one powerful thrust. A mix between a wheeze and a shout of pleasure releases from you. The sensation of your pussy stretching to accommodate his thick cock, the feeling of him pushing your cervix aside to nestle deeply inside of you, caressing your most secret and hidden spot— it makes your eyes roll back and your lips fall open, even though no noise escapes.

Shouto is still as a statue above you, expression almost pained as he tries not to even breathe. You had never been this reactive to him before, your drenched pussy gripping his cock so tightly stars briefly danced underneath his eyelids. And yet, even with how tightly your core held him, it had been so gloriously easy to just slide his dick right into your awaiting trove, your essence leaking out from your hole to dampen the sheets.

“Fuck, Daddy,” you lament, your body shaking in bliss at his cock filling you so perfectly. Your whine seems to snap Shouto out of whatever cosmic trance he was in, his hips automatically pulling away only to snap back into you, a wet smack bouncing off the walls. “Shit,” he murmurs, repeating the action. His eyes jump from your pussy swallowing up his dick, to your face of pure bliss. Your jaw falling wide open, your eyelids clamped shut tightly, eyebrows drawn upwards in the middle of your forehead as you obediently take his cock. “You’re so fucking tight baby girl,” he groans, glancing down again to watch his dick sink into your scorching, slippery core.

It’s so hard for you to find your breath. Every time Shouto’s hips hit yours you forget everything else, including how to breathe it seems. You close your mouth, teeth pinching your bottom lip and eyes prying open to catch his sizzling gaze. He stares you down, your exchange intense as he dominates you, plunging his thick cock into you again. The feeling makes your eyes flutter, a fresh blush lacing your cheeks as you look at him.

Shouto’s lips are in a self-assured smirk, eyebrows scrunched as he leans down onto you, carelessly rubbing his tip into your g-spot. Your pussy throbs and you fight back a sob of pleasure, your eyes still wet from choking on his dick minutes before. “Daddy,” you wail as he positions himself closer to you, arm curling tenderly around your waist to arch your back, pushing your hard nipples up against his strong chest. His hips dig into yours, grinding the head of his dick against your spot. Both your body and your walls shiver at the action, fingers curling into the covers hysterically.

“What do you want, baby girl?” he whispers, voice low and more gravely than you had imagined possible.

You lick your lips urgently, throwing a short look to his dick retreating from your aching slit before catching his sinful gaze again. “Please Daddy, I want you to fuck me,” your hair fanned around your pretty face, your cheeks bright red, desperation filling your wide eyes. Your needy look makes Shouto groan, his heart slamming against his rib cage. God, it was so hard for him to not give in… but he really wanted to hear you beg.

His hips glide into yours slowly, pulling out and pushing back in at a measured, hesitant tempo. Even just these careful thrusts has you covering your mouth, head tossed back in ecstasy. His hips carefully rake against yours a few more times before he leans in close. His lips ghosting over the hammering pulse in your throat. “Like this, baby girl?” His body trembles as he restrains himself, strung out like a ticking bomb as he continues his calculated ministrations.

You grab the back of his neck, lacing your fingers in the short hair and pulling harshly. He lets out a small moan, hips stuttering as he almost strays from his plan.

You wiggle your hips flush against his, opening your legs wider and securing them around his waist. “Daddy, I love your dick so much,” you whisper onto his neck, feeling his hands tremor just a bit before you smile against his skin. “Please fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Shouto sighs, pulling almost all the way out before shoving his whole cock back into you. Your eyes roll backwards in your skull and before you can even cry out, he does it again… and again, and again. His pace is so fast and hard you can’t keep up. His hips snapping harshly against yours, he fucks you like his life depends on it. His hand is turning the flesh on your waist white as he slams your hips onto his, strangled gasps falling out of his mouth. Your lips fall apart but you can’t muster any words, hell, you can’t even produce a single thought. “Fuck yes, Y/N,” he hisses, balls deep in your dripping core. “Your cunt is so wet for Daddy— you love being fucked like this, don't you, baby girl?”

All you can do is nod weakly, overwhelmed by the pressure building between your legs. You whimper, nails digging into Shouto’s prominent back muscles as your toes curl in bliss. He laughs crudely at your frazzled state, sounding more like a snarl as he continues the delicious onslaught on your g-spot.

“What was that, baby girl?” he teases short-windedly, your cunt trembling around his thick member. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

You try your best to clear your throat, but only a dissolute sob comes out. Shouto’s hand grabs your chin sharply, and your eyes fly open as his rapid pants fan your cheek. You summon some unknown force within you and push the words— any words you can think of— out of your mouth. “Your h-huge dick makes me — nnngh!— m-makes my slutty cunt feel so fucking good Daddy!” you cry, celebrating in the way your testimony summons a hot pink flush to your boyfriend’s cheeks. He continues to pound into you, his efforts revitalized. The reaction only eggs you on as your lips part on their own again. Your eyes wide as this unknown, brazen side of you surfaces,” I want you to fuck me so hard, please abuse my pussy Daddy, it’s all yours.”

Shouto’s eyes roll back at your plea, and he wonders for a split second why you’d never shown him this side of you before. He absolutely loves it. He pulls out of you for a moment and you wail at the loss of his hot, thick length. Just as fast as he left, he’s flipping you over, grabbing your hips, and raising them into the air. You barely even realize you’re on your knees before you register his cock crashing harshly into your tender core, a scream ripping through you and luckily being swallowed into your pillow. A loud clap! sounds and your ass stings, making you arch into his chilled palm. “Oh, baby girl. You’re such a fucking slut for me,” he chuckles darkly, watching your ass bounce against his pelvis and savoring the fresh pink mark. Goddamn, he never knew hitting you like this would turn him on. One of his hands reaches out and grabs your ankle, shifting the angle of your hips slightly and rocking your body back to meet his with every thrust. The other hand squishes your ass cheek, hot fingers digging into your supple skin.

“Fuck,” you huff, face retreating from the pillow to finally gasp a breath of fresh air in. “Holy fuck!” you exclaim as Shouto continues to drill his dick into you. The sheer force of him pushing so deeply into you makes a tear roll down your cheek. You’d never been fucked so good in your life. And you never imagined that Shouto would be the one to dominate you like this either-- the boy was usually so collected and calm. A sharp crack! yanks you out of your thoughts, a delectable tingling sensation spreading over your ass. Your head falls back to look at your boyfriend, who is ready to catch your gaze with a pointed, seductive look.

“You like when I treat you like this, baby girl?” he slams you onto his abs, making a startled shriek float out from you. He simpers at your reaction, hand leaving your ankle to wrap around your torso, encasing your breast while his icy thumb rubs your nipple gently.

You can’t help but curve into him, shoving your cunt harder onto his waiting cock. A short grunt slithers out of him, and his thumb and forefinger pinch the sensitive bud forcefully. “Mmmph-- I love it so much,” you gasp, one hand shakily reaching toward your throbbing clit.

Shouto’s eyes follow the movement, and he gulps as you touch yourself, the new stimulation making your pussy instantly squeeze around him tightly. His gaze sharpens with vehemence as your cunt grasps him needily, fluttering distinctly around his dick. Your soft whimpers are muffled into the duvet as you rub your slick clit repeatedly, the tension burning between your legs building rapidly with such provocation. “Baby girl, are you close?” he whispers hoarsely, fingertips turning white as he brashly clutches you soft skin.

You nod wildly, not caring if your makeup smudges against the sheets. “I, oh god Shou, I’m so close,” you warn, pussy clamping onto him forcefully.

An anguished sob rips from your throat as Shouto pulls his cock out, leaving your cunt aching and empty. With tears springing into your eyes, you look back at him, dejection prominent in your gaze. But all he greets you with is a gentle smile, hands trailing off of you to feather his fingertips against the skin of your waist. “On your back, baby girl. I want you to look at me when you cum all over my cock,” he tantalizes, and you instantly roll over, legs stretched far apart. He snickers lightly, eyes scouring down your flushed body, lingering on your glistening, trembling core. He scoots forward, pushing your back against the headboard, tucking a pillow behind you thoughtfully. “Give Daddy a kiss, baby girl,” he murmurs, and your plush lips greet his own right away. He hums, savoring the feeling of your hot tongue rolling against his. The way you follow his orders with such enthusiasm sends fresh blood to his cock, which twitches irritably against your wet cunt.

You whine impatiently as his dick slides against your slit, his tongue driving yours into submission. Your heart hammers against your ribs in anticipation as his arms tuck underneath your knees, folding your legs against your stomach and then pushing them open so his body fits between them perfectly. His tips presses against your quivering entrance, and the hand around his cock guides himself in slow circles, collecting your arousal before he pushes into you.

He only enters you halfway but your body quakes at the feeling of your walls welcoming him inside once more. His hips shuffle, easing his cock further and further into your sopping cunt with each thrust. His breath is heavy but measured as he finds a rhythm, battling against your clenched heat as he shoves himself inside you. His hands gently grasp the top of your hips, holding you close to himself but doing so almost tenderly. “Did you think about me when you touched yourself to that nasty video baby girl?” he pants, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face. His eyes burning with dominance, tongue running ferociously under his teeth.

You gasp for breath, locking eyes with him and nodding wantonly. “Yes, yes I always think of you when I touch myself Daddy,” you attest, head falling atop the pillow as his left hand gropes your breast in response. The renewed frost of his palm causing you to jerk against him, his hips persist the assault on your core. His hot right hand pushes your calf into the air, making you tighten around him as he accesses your deepest point again.

“Is that all, princess?” Your cunt tightens against his thick cock at his prompt. His hips roll divinely against yours, the new movement making his abdomen brush against your clit. Your lip trembles, recognizing the numb feeling sprouting within you that signals your orgasm is near. “Don’t you wanna convince me to let you cum?” he presses on, thumb swiping across your perky nipple and inciting a lustful moan from you. Shouto knows that you’re hurtling toward the edge, but it’s so much fun to see if you’ll be able to control yourself for him.

“I— oh god, Daddy,” you squirm slightly in his hold, your peak dangerously impending.

“Take your time, baby girl,” he smolders, lips hung tightly in a victorious smirk. Watching you melt in his hands, he notices that he’s nearing his own climax… but he pushes the thought of it away now so he can focus on you.

You feel a wave of heat wash through your body, toes curling almost painfully as you press your lips together into a firm line. You glance down to watch Shouto’s cock disappear into your center one more time before you look at his face, catching his eye. “I,” you gulp, sucking in a breath of air before he had the chance to steal it from you. “I can never make myself feel as good as you do, Shouto.” You relish the way his eyelids sink hazily, his teeth capturing his pretty bottom lip. “Y-You make me— nghhh— feel so full when you hit my g-spot, ah!” your hands fly to his shoulders as his own viciously grip your hips, pace and force increased. “Please!” you beg,” Please let me cum Daddy! I— I’ve been so good for you, please!”

He laughs menacingly against the moist skin of your neck, “I suppose you have been a good girl, Y/N.” He can feel your legs quivering as you dangle on the edge, a wave of pride washing over him as he looks at your wrecked state. “Whose— fuck, whose pussy is this?” He leans close to your face, pushing your leg against your body even tighter.

Your voice cracks in desperation, spine curving into a crescent shape as your fingernails scrape his shoulders. “Yours! Oh my god— Yours, Shouto— Daddy! Please!” You were so close, the corners of your vision going blurry.

His hips continue to slap against yours ruthlessly. His curled lips press a chaste kiss to your cheek, nose pressing against your ear as he commands,” Cum for me, baby girl.”

Your legs stiffen around his hips, the rubber band of your orgasm snapping brutally as your pussy clenches onto your boyfriend for dear life. His lips cover yours as you let out a defeated and unfiltered moan, hips crashing against his in ecstasy. He wheezes as your cunt voraciously grips his length, hips stuttering as he lets you ride out your climax. His mouth leaves yours and swoops down, slurping a nipple into his mouth, suckling and twirling his tongue around the peak. Your lungs burn for air as you gasp, lightning tingling from your fingertips to your toes. You brush an overwhelmed tear from your cheek, your mind beginning to fan off the clouds of pleasure.

Shouto lets go of your nipple, returning to pound into you from above. His movements are rough and fast, and they abuse your already aching g-spot even more, making your eyes nearly cross. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he rasps, perspiration dripping down the deep grooves of his muscular torso,” You’re such a good baby girl for Daddy, look at you taking my cock so well.” He throws his head back, harsh pants traveling towards the ceiling as he realizes he doesn’t have to hold back his own orgasm any longer. Fuck, was he this close to busting a nut in you the entire time?

You nudge your nose underneath his slacked jaw, making him hang his head again for you to capture his lips. His lips dance against yours clumsily, the tempo of his hips becoming jerky. You can feel his ragged breath on your skin, low moans tumbling out from his mouth as his eyes clench shut. “Daddy,” you whimper, wiggling your hips to push against his further.

Shouto curses under his breath, eyes peeling open into slits to regard your provocative expression. “Y-Yes, baby girl?” he groans, taking in the way your round breasts bounce to the glide of his thrusts.

“Please cum for me,” you plead, your hands running along his solid, sweaty frame. He moans at your request, hips bumping clumsily into yours at his heightened pace. “I want your cum to fill me up, please, Shouto,” you urge, “I need it so bad!” Your cheeks blush once again at your erotic invitation, and Shouto feels himself rip through the finish line as he takes in your bashful, demure expression.

“Fuck, Y/N!” he grumbles, his hips jutting against yours lazily as his cock spurts his hot, thick load into you. Your cunt quivering as you receive his cum, your body thrums, sharing in the ecstasy radiating off of Shouto’s rigid form. He whimpers as he pumps into you a few more times, the last of his cum shooting into your welcoming core before he stills.

Shouto’s slick torso gently sags onto your body, shaky breaths dragging into his lungs as he attempts to recover. His face falling into your neck, he groans as your pussy clenches on his still-hard dick. His palms meet the swell of your breasts, thumbs softly caressing the prominent buds that stand upright for him. His lips glide against the sleek skin of your neck, and you feel his eyelashes tickle your jaw as he places sweet and gentle kisses to your throat.

You barely recognize the fluid dribbling out of your pussy, collecting into a small puddle underneath your ass. It’s just Shouto and you in this moment, the two of you savoring each other’s presence. He stays hovering over you for a minute, body still connected with yours as he gains his sanity. Your eyes are closed, breathing finally evening out.

His lips greet yours playfully, gliding in sync as one of his hands travels to your neck, tipping your head back so he has better access to your mouth. Your lips part with a whine as he takes his cock out of you, feeling empty and sore without his warm fullness inside anymore. His tongue coasts deeper into your mouth, tangling with yours as his fingers slip into the hair at the nape of your neck. He lets your leg slide off his shoulder, placing it down next to his hip with care. He pulls his mouth away from yours, chuckling deeply as his mischievous eyes meet yours.

Your eyebrow quirks up, a small smile gracing your lips too. “What?” you pout, fingers hanging around the back of his neck.

The smile that splits his lips is blinding and so genuine, it stuns you for a moment before you process his words.

“You nasty, baby girl.”

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

make sure to shoot me an ask or a reblog if you enjoyed, nasty bb girls ♥︎ thank you for reading!!

masterlist (no other fics at this point as of feb 6, 2020)

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

3K notes · View notes

spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

love drunk, waiting on a miracle

Summary: an average case of the flu develops into pneumonia and Spencer is left alone, suffering and afraid he’s going to die. Aaron’s on a case in Wyoming when Spencer stops replying: when he finally gets back home to him, his entire world flips on its head.

Tags: pneumonia, whump, serious illness, hurt/comfort, hurt!spencer, est.rel., hospitals, worried!aaron, fluff, crying, protective!aaron

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

In the haze of his fever, confusion worms its way into Spencer’s mind. He should really be getting better by now, right? It had only been the flu: a surprisingly cruel DC winter had sparked a much more severe flu season than usual and Spencer, with his terrible luck, had managed to contract it. Not surprising, really, when he considers the poor ventilation on the Metro. Flu season had probably turned the handrails into a petri dish, and there was that day two weeks ago when he’d been in such a rush he hadn’t time to use his hand sanitizer.

The flu, logically, made sense.

Except he thinks he’s probably been sick for at least a week and a half by now and flu symptoms are meant to improve after 8 days. He’s only getting worse. His chest pain is intensifying and he’s coughing up bloody phlegm every couple of minutes, but through his fever-induced haze he can’t think. He knows somewhere in the back of his head that something’s wrong, that he needs to get help, but he can’t even get up out of bed to do anything about it.

His heart is racing and he’s freezing cold, although his thermometer reads a number so high he wonders whether it’s broken, and the last thing he ate was two days ago. As the light in the window opposite his bed slowly fades and night approaches, his coughing turns to gasping and he’s struggling for breath.

Distantly, he wishes Aaron was here. He’d know what to do, he’d figure out how to help him, but he’s… somewhere else. A case maybe? He can’t quite remember. Wherever his boyfriend is, he's not here and that means Spencer has to lay awake, dazed and confused, gasping for air in the lonely darkness of his bedroom, terrified he’s about to die.

⭐️

Aaron doesn’t waste any time racing to his SUV as soon as the jet lands, vaguely acknowledging the rest of the team yelling after him to text them as soon as he gets to Spencer, before climbing into his car and speeding over to his boyfriend’s place. He has his sirens on — technically this is an emergency — but he’s still shouting at the traffic when lazy and distracted drivers don’t get out of his way fast enough.

Spencer had called into work sick last week with the flu. It wasn’t really anything to worry about: with enough rest and fluids he’d be back to work in no time. He’d stayed at Spencer’s apartment through the first four days as he attempted to play nurse much to both of their amusements, but they’d been called out on a case in Wyoming that had lasted for far too long. Spencer had sent him updates the first couple of days he was away, but then he’d fallen silent. The team had all attempted to contact him, and they’d all gone unanswered.

Sick anxiety swirls in his stomach as he presses his foot harder against the accelerator, pushing the limits of his SUV as he bolts across the border into DC, wishing desperately that Spencer lived closer to Quantico.

He hopes to God he’s wrong; that Spencer’s phone had run out of battery and his phone was broken or his texts just weren’t getting through for some reason, that he’d let himself into his apartment and he’d be sat on the couch, still not 100% but on the road to recovery, but he can feel deep in his gut that he’s right. Something is seriously wrong.

He abandons his car as safely as possible outside Spencer’s apartment complex before punching in the code for the front door and running up the stairs, taking two at a time until he’s on the right floor, sprinting down the corridor and hastily shoving his key into the lock.

The apartment is dark and the living room and kitchen are both deserted, so Aaron rushes to the bedroom, opening the door to find Spencer wheezing on the bed, clearly fighting for breath. He’d entered 911 into his phone on his way up, intuition telling him he’d need it, and he hits the dial button as he rushes to Spencer’s bedside.

“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?”

“Hi, yes, I’ve just come home from a work trip and my boyfriend is gasping for air and struggling to breathe,” he replies, panicked as Spencer looks around, not seeming to recognise his surroundings. He leans down to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead and recoils at how hot his skin is. “He’s burning up… I— please. We thought it was just the flu.”

“Okay, sir, an ambulance is on its way. Is your boyfriend conscious?”

“Yes,” Aaron breathes, panic rising as he watches Spencer wheeze and gasp, “but I think he’s delirious. I’m not even sure if he knows I’m here.”

“Alright, it’s good news that he’s conscious. What’s your name, sir?”

“Aaron Hotchner.”

“And your boyfriend’s?”

“Spencer Reid.”

“Okay, Aaron. Stay with me. An ambulance is only a few minutes out. I need you to do a couple of things for me, okay? Do you know how to check Spencer’s pulse?”

“Yes. I’m first-aid trained.” Aaron places two fingers against his jugular. “It’s fast. Definitely over 100.” Spencer did not need tachycardia added to his plate right now, but here they are.

“You’re doing great, Aaron. Now I need you to remove any pillows under Spencer’s head and keep monitoring his heart rate and breathing for me until the paramedics get there. If he stops wheezing or gasping you need to tell me, okay? Same with his heart rate. Any change, you let me know.”

“Okay.” Tears are rolling down his face as he pulls the pillow out from under Spencer’s head and keeps two fingers pressed against his neck. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. Help is on the way. I’m here, I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.” He leans in to kiss his forehead again, before brushing his fingers through Spencer’s tangled, greasy hair.

“Aaron?” Spencer manages in between gasps.

“Yeah, baby, I’m here. You don’t need to talk, okay?”

“What’s— what’s happening? I can’t breathe.”

“I know,” Aaron says, voice strangled by a sob, “an ambulance is on it’s way. You’re gonna be alright.”

Spencer’s small moment of clarity passes and he slips back into his disoriented state, mumbling nonsense about chores he forgot to do in between his gasps for air.

“Has anything changed, Aaron?” the 911 operator asks.

“He talked to me for a second but now he’s confused again.”

“Okay. It’s good that he’s able to speak. The ambulance is less than a minute out, okay? I need you to leave Spencer on his own for just a second to let the paramedics into the building and lead them up to his flat. I promise you that this is the best and quickest way to get Spencer help.”

Aaron winces as his stomach clenches in anxiety at leaving his boyfriend alone, but he knows he needs to listen to the voice of reason right now. Emotion is only going to be a detriment to Spencer.

“Yeah, I’m heading down now.” He kisses Spencer’s forehead once more, whispering that he’ll be right back even though he knows it’s useless before running out of the apartment and down the stairs, sobbing with relief at the sight of flashing lights and sirens pulling up outside the complex. “The ambulance is here.”

“Okay, Aaron. I’ll leave you in their hands, now, alright? They’ll help you and Spencer.”

He barely hears the 911 operator hang up before he’s running down the couple of steps leading up to the front door to greet the EMTs.

“Are you Aaron Hotchner?” one of them, a blonde woman, asks.

“Yes, I— please, Spencer’s up here.”

He remembers leading them up the stairs but standing at the foot of his boyfriend’s bed and watching the paramedics attach an oxygen mask to his face before sliding him onto the stretcher is a blur of noise and light, snapped out of it only by the male EMT shouting at him through his haze, telling him to follow them into the ambulance.

This is the absolute worst day of his life.

⭐️

“Pneumonia?” Aaron repeats after the doctor standing in front of him in the sterile hospital hallway, still feeling out of it, consumed by shock. “We thought it was just the flu.”

“It’s likely that that is how it started,” the doctor explains gently. “Pneumonia is an unfortunate, and fairly uncommon, complication of the influenza virus, and with Spencer’s temperature so high he wasn’t able to take any kind of emergency action. The pneumonia going untreated caused an exudative pleural effusion which was why Spencer was finding it so difficult and painful to breathe. He’s incredibly lucky that you got there in time, Mr Hotchner.”

Tears well up in Aaron’s eyes for at least the fourth time tonight, but he’s powerless to stop them. Just the thought of losing Spencer cuts deep in his gut. “So, what now?” he asks, voice choked with emotion.

“Well, we’re draining the pleural effusion with a chest tube, aided by a diuretic,” she replies, “and he’ll need to stay in hospital for the next couple of days in order for us to monitor the progression of his pneumonia and to ensure that we don’t see any other complications. But Spencer is already improving, Mr Hotchner, so we have every reason to expect a complete recovery. Pneumonia tends to linger, but generally we see temperatures clearing by the end of the first week, chest pain and mucus production gone after four weeks, and all other symptoms except fatigue disappeared by the three month mark. In almost all cases, patients are back to normal by six months.”

“Six months?” Aaron asks incredulously, his mind going a million miles an hour as he tries to comprehend what this means for them both.

“Pneumonia is a fairly serious illness, Mr Hotchner. It will take some time to get over completely, but he should be able to go back to work by the end of the month, even if he doesn’t feel 100% yet. It’s a slow but steady journey.”

He nods in understanding as he drags a hand down his face. He can’t help but feel responsible for Spencer being in this mess: if he’d been home, he would’ve noticed the change in his health and rushed him to hospital to make sure he got promptly diagnosed and treated instead of suffering a fucking pleural effusion scared and alone.

“Okay,” he sighs. “Thank you. Could you— can I be the one to tell him?” If he has to hear this news, he should hear it from Aaron, not some impersonal, impatient doctor who doesn’t care about Spencer beyond the performance of his lungs.

The doctor nods. “We’ll be along to make sure he understands the medical side of things,” she clarifies, “but there’s no reason you can’t speak to him first.”

With that, she walks off down the corridor, leaving him standing outside a sleeping Spencer’s room. Taking a deep breath, trying to steady his pounding, racing, bleeding heart, he opens the door and slips inside, settling into the seat next to his bed.

He’d had to be sedated once they arrived at the hospital, his delirium spiralling into terrified anxiety, making it difficult for the doctors to assess him. It had made the chest tube insertion easier anyway, and allowed him to sleep through the worst of the pain before the non-narcotic medication he’d been prescribed kicked in.

Almost as soon as he sits down and takes in Spencer’s pale, sleeping form, his phone pings with a text from Derek. He’d texted them with updates in the waiting room, as much as he could through the haze of shocked anxiety anyway, and the last one had been a quick text saying Spencer was sedated and in for tests. How’s it going? Any updates?

Influenza that developed into pneumonia. Went untreated which caused a pleural effusion. Doctors say the worst will pass in the next few weeks, but full recovery could be up to six months.

It had felt exhausting enough when the doctor had told him, but typing those words out means facing the reality properly, and all of a sudden he’s heaving violent sobs as he bends over Spencer’s bed, clutching his hand tightly in his own. It’s nearing 4am, and after an exhausting case Aaron still hasn’t slept. Exhaustion mixes with relief mixes with stress into a heady cocktail of emotion. He allows himself to fall apart, but it takes almost twenty minutes for his tears to dry up and his body to stop heaving.

He leans back in the chair and stares tiredly at Spencer’s rising and falling chest, eyes dry and swollen, using the reassuring motion of his boyfriend’s breathing as a sort of meditative exercise. The early signs of dawn are visible outside the window when he’s roused from his miserable trance by the door opening.

A small amount of surprise flashes through his mind at the sight of Penelope closing the door behind her and walking over to sit in the spare chair next to him before he realises that this makes complete and total sense for her character. Spencer is her best friend, and she’s hardly one for boundaries or waiting for an invitation. Aaron’s never been more thankful for that aspect of her personality than right in this moment.

“Penelope,” he sighs, and he doesn’t even care that the relief in his voice is painfully evident.

“You look awful,” she says sadly. “You need to eat and drink something. I bought you some water and an energy bar.”

He hadn’t realised how hungry he is until he’s unwrapping the bar like he hasn’t eaten in days. “What are you doing here?”

“I was with Derek when you texted him.” That explains her lack of makeup and colourful dress, he supposes. “I made him drive us over immediately, but he stayed in the waiting room because he didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Well, Aaron can be grateful for that, at least. He doesn’t mind Penelope seeing him like this but it might be a little too much to have Derek around him in his most broken state.

“Spencer’s going to be okay, Hotch,” she says softly, uncapping the water bottle and insisting he drink some. “You need to take care of yourself in order to take care of him. Why don’t you sit in the high-backed chair over there and try and close your eyes until Spencer wakes up.”

“No, I need to stay awake, what if he—”

“Hotch,” Penelope interrupts, “I’ll wake you up if he so much as twitches. But I doubt you’ll need it. You’ll know; your subconscious will wake you, I promise.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, and Penelope is nothing if not tenacious so even if he tries, he knows it would be a futile battle. He’s out even before she’s finished draping her scarf over him.

She ends up being right, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, and he’s jolted out of his doze as soon as Spencer stirs. He leaps up and immediately rushes to the side of the bed, ignoring his headrush in favour of leaning over and placing a hand on the top of his head, threading his hand through the tangled curls again. “Hey,” he murmurs as Spencer blinks his eyes open blearily. “You’re in the hospital, but you’re going to be okay. I’m right here, baby.”

Penelope is nowhere to be seen, but he guesses that she’s probably just nipped to the toilet or out to talk to Derek.

“Aaron,” he rasps, trying to move the oxygen mask from his face.

“No, you need to keep the mask on, sweetheart,” he explains, placing his hand gently over Spencer’s and moving it away. “You can talk through it, okay?”

“What happened?”

Aaron breathes in shakily and sighs it out before meeting Spencer’s eyes again. “The flu you had developed into pneumonia which gave you a pleural effusion, which is why you have that chest tube in.” He watches as Spencer moves his head to the right to look at the clear tube draining fluid from his lungs into the collection device at the side of his bed. “You’re on painkillers to help you breathe more easily, antivirals to ease the initial infection and a diuretic to help reduce your pleural effusion.”

He watches helplessly as Spencer’s eyes fill with tears at his words, and he presses closer, moving his hand to his cheek.

“I was so scared,” he cries, nestling into Aaron’s hand.

Me too. “I know, baby,” he murmurs, running his thumb gently across the small line of exposed skin above his oxygen mask. “You’re safe now, I’m here. We’ll get through this together, okay?”

It’s a few seconds before Spencer speaks up again, meeting Aaron’s eyes as tears spill down his cheeks. “Six months.”

Of course Spencer knows the average pneumonia recovery time. Of course he’d take the hardest job off Aaron’s plate. All he can do is nod sadly as tears spring to his own eyes and lean down to kiss his forehead. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Six months.”

Penelope comes back into the hospital room to find Aaron lying next to Spencer on the hospital bed. It had taken a decent amount of convincing but every bone of his body aches and longs to protect Spencer, so resisting those teary requests had been a losing game from the very beginning. He’s dozing tiredly on Aaron’s chest as his fingers caress his head gently, soothing him against the pain he’s feeling.

“Oh,” she gasps as she hurriedly closes the door and rushes over to Spencer, whose eyes flutter open at the sound of his best friend’s voice.

“Penny,” he says quietly, not moving his head but reaching out his hand to Penelope, who immediately clasps it gently in hers.

“Oh, baby genius, I’m so glad you’re okay.” She tears up as well and it almost makes Aaron laugh: this hospital room will be drowned in their emotions by the time they’re heading home. “Do you want me to get Derek?”

At Spencer’s tired nod, she smiles, squeezes his hand and rushes to get Spencer’s other best friend.

Derek, thankfully, doesn’t add to the pool of tears already collecting on the linoleum, instead walking confidently over to the bed and leaning over to hug Spencer as well as he can when he’s obstructed by both the hospital bed and Aaron’s arms wrapped around his boyfriend.

“We’re gonna get you through this, Spencer,” Derek says, looking deep into his eyes with that intense, earnest expression on his face that tends to make an appearance at times like these. “You’re not doing this alone, you hear me?”

God, Aaron tears up at that, he can’t blame Spencer even a little bit when he immediately bursts into tears.

“Shh, baby,” he murmurs, holding him impossibly closer. “You’re okay, you’re so loved. Why don’t you try and get some sleep before the doctors do their rounds in a few hours yeah?”

“We won’t go anywhere, Spence,” Penelope reassures him. “Derek and I will stay right here.”

⭐️

It’s a long six days of sleeping in uncomfortable high back chairs and holding Spencer as he tries desperately to get rest despite his disruptive, painful cough and irritating chest tube. The entire team visits as much as possible, but with both Aaron and Spencer both away, the caseload is much more difficult. He’d feel guilty if he wasn’t absolutely sure he’s where he needs to be.

With the pleural effusion completely drained and Spencer’s lungs healing well, they’re eventually discharged, and they don’t even have to talk about where they’re going. Aaron drives them back to his own apartment, which is helpfully on the ground floor, so he doesn’t have to carry Spencer up three flights of stairs.

As soon as he’s settled comfortably in bed with everything he could possibly need close to hand — tissues, water, dry crackers, the remote for the TV, and a stack of books he’d requested, alongside the home oxygen supply he’d carefully set up — he sits down next to him.

“I’ve taken three weeks of compassionate leave,” he says softly, brushing a lock of curly hair from Spencer’s face. It’s washed and brushed out, not a hint of the gel he usually slicks it back with, and Aaron’s always loved him like this, soft and natural.

“You didn’t need to do that.” Spencer’s voice is still a little croaky, but muchm clearer as his lungs have healed up and his words aren’t obstructed by a clunky oxygen mask. The nasal cannula also means it’s much easier for Aaron to finally kiss his boyfriend again.

“I know, but I wanted to. You’re more important than a job: I need to be here, and I will be. I’d move heaven and earth for you, how many times have I told you that?”

Spencer smiles bashfully at that, a pink flush colouring his cheeks — it’s so good to see his pale skin come to life again. “Two hundred and thirty-six.”

He laughs warmly at that. “God, I love you.”

“You’ve told me that five thousand, six hundred and forty-two times,” Spencer murmurs, lacing his fingers with Aaron’s. He pauses for a moment, staring at their intertwined hands before looking up again. “Come and lay with me?”

“Anything for you, baby,” Aaron coalesces, toeing off his shoes and slipping under the covers. He can’t help the smile that crosses his face as Spencer immediately curls into him, nestling his face into Aaron’s neck.

“Love you,” Spencer murmurs, warm breath brushing Aaron’s collarbone.

“I love you more, sweetheart.” He’s fairly sure it’s true; he can’t imagine anyone loving someone more than he loves Spencer.

“Five thousand, six-hundred and forty-three,” he whispers sleepily before his breath evens out and he falls asleep.

The road ahead isn’t going to be easy, Aaron is under no delusion, but right now, his life seems pretty damn perfect. He came so close to losing Spencer, but here he is, pressed tightly against him in a fierce cuddle so emblematic of his boyfriend’s character, with the promise of a full recovery — however long that will take — and he’s not oblivious to how unbelievably lucky that makes him.

It’s hard not to smile as he presses a gentle kiss to Spencer’s curls.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamalystark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau (taglist form)

#criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #hotchreid #hotchreid fic #spencer reid whump #hurt spencer reid #hotchreid whump #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #hotchreid angst #hotchreid fluff #aaron hotchner/spencer reid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid #spencer reid/aaron hotchner #spencer reid x aaron hotchner #my writing

97 notes · View notes

imaginesmai · 3 years

Text

With all my heart (IRONDAD) - Chapter 1

Hey there! I’m back with a full fic! ❤💕💕💕 This is an irondad/bambi/The game plan AU! It’s finished, so it will have two updates every week, or more (if you guys like it a lot!) Make sure to follow me on instagram:@ irondadiscanon to know when I update, more irondad content and fic recs!

SUMMARY: Tony Stark isn't the best dad - distant, cold, almost neglectful. But when his ex-wife dies, he has to take care of his son; 5-year-old Peter, a boy with too many allergies and that can't talk to Tony without stuttering. Follow the path of two hurt people, a man and a boy, who learn how to love each other through thick and thin.-A Bambi AU (Disney) that @buckets_of_stars inspired me into writting that I've mixed with The Game Plan.

AO3 link

Tony has a tight smile on during the funeral. He knows he has no right being there, that most of the people around him, even if they are strangers for Tony, were closer to Mary than him. He shifts uncomfortable in his black suit, fighting the hangover from last night. On his right, Mary’s sister is crying her eyes out, looking at the coffin as its lowered on the ground. From what he has heard, the man besides May is Ben, his husband, and both of them have made a long journey to come to the funeral. It makes him feel bad, because Tony was the one arriving late and he lives barely thirty minutes away.

But the news hit him hard.

For six years, he has been doing just fine. He gets drunk, sleeps around with anyone that catches his eye, bosses around and goes to sleep really, really late. It’s not something to take pride of, but Tony likes his life – now, his past life. There is another thing that has been a constant for the last five years and a half; monthly cheques to his ex-girlfriend account. Since he lost any type of right over his son. Five and half years ago.

Now, Mary is lying eight foot deep in a coffin. He received a call yesterday, and found comfort in his liquor cabinet. He shouldn’t have, he’s sure of it, because he knows that there has to be new changes on his life from now on; but he still kept a small place of his heart for the brunette girl with big, doe eyes that had a contagious laugh. Tony tightens the grip on his left wrist, trying to control the shaking of his hands.

When that doesn’t work, he tries next looking at the small figure gripping May’s legs, close to Tony. It’s not the first time Tony has seen Peter Parker, because once or twice every two months, he gets to spend a weekend with his son. He has a room on the tower, as dull as a white paper, and Tony is listed as his second emergency contact. It doesn’t matter how much he tries to distance himself from Howard. Most of the times the kid is with him, Tony is reminded of the lost chance of raising him. Peter sees him as a stranger, and Tony drinks.

Peter sniffles softly, and May runs a careful hand through his curls. Taking after Tony, he’s short and skinny. The father doesn’t know much about him – that he likes science, is asthmatic and has a list of allergies, dyslexic, and his favourite colour is blue and red. Mary made sure to keep him away from Tony, and she wasn’t wrong. Because Tony is the worst influence the kid can have.

It doesn’t matter, though, because May and Ben are both active workers that are barely home, and Peter doesn’t have any other family left.

“Tony”

He turns around, and shamefully discovers that almost everyone is gone now. Only May, the priest and Peter remain. The last one is still hiding between May’s legs, hiccupping every now and then. Tony blinks and coughs the awkwardness; he tries to clear the wetness around his eyes, and thanks himself for getting dark glasses before leaving that morning. May, always the kind woman, gives him a soft smile, and squeezes his forearm gently. His husband doesn’t like Tony that much, but it seems that May sees something not even Tony himself can see.

“We have to arrange some things. Custody papers and legal documents” she says.

“Yes. I’ll – My driver is just there. He will take us to the notary. He has enough space for all of us. And don’t worry, Happy is discrete. He won’t – “

“Ben and I can take care of it just fine” May interrupts him. He pushes Peter forward, but the boy doesn’t look up. “Peter hasn’t slept much, and he hasn’t eaten since yesterday. I thought that, maybe, you could take him home and rest a little. It’s been hard for everyone.”

“Happy can take him”

“Peter needs his father”

It’s her stern voice. He has only heard it twice; once, when Peter was born and he was late for the birth, and Mary decided she didn’t even want him to meet his son. May had used her stern voice on her and Tony had held Peter close, as the boy latched on his little finger. The second time was directed at him. He was ready to give up the custody of Peter, he didn’t want to go to the trial; and thanks to May, who dragged him out of his ear, he got to see Peter every two months. Even if he hadn’t known how to do it right.

Peter looks up at Tony, and the man notices the tears still falling from his eyes. He has the same look he always carries around Tony; as if he wasn’t his father, just an authoritative stranger that he had to respect.

“I think a nap will do you some good” Tony lowers his voice, and tries to give Peter a reassuring smile. “Did you pack your bag already?”

“No” he answers in a small voice. “Uncle Ben said I c-could do it later”

“We can bring it later. Maybe have a last dinner together before we leave?” May suggests, and Peter nods vigorously. “We have to leave tomorrow morning. But we are only a few hours away. If he gets sick or needs anything, we’ll be here as soon as possible. And that goes for you too Tony. You can call me anytime you want”

“I think we’re gonna be just fine. Right, Peter?”

Tony holds his fist so that Peter can bump it, but the kid just stares at it. Possibly, it’s not the best place to do something like that. Reluctantly, he lowers his fist. He remembers the first time Peter was brought to him as a conscious human being, not a baby. Mary had been on a trip with him for three months, and Tony got to stay with Peter for a week – and in that moment, when Peter didn’t call Tony daddy but ‘Mr Tony’, Tony realized that Peter didn’t see him as a father. As a dad.

It hurts him that he hasn’t known how to be there for his son. Some of the dates Mary and him set for Peter to stay with Tony were spent poorly; Tony out drinking and Peter with Pepper or with a nanny. Tony missed some of them because he liked to party, and the man wasn’t there when the kid had his first asthma attack and ended up in hospital. He wasn’t even there for Peter’s fourth birthday, because he was lost somewhere in Monaco drinking expensive liquors and losing consciousness.

Selfishly, he thinks that this is his chance to make things right. Peter has to stay with him, because there is no chance that he lets the boy in the system, and staying with his aunt is impossible. So, he tries to bury his hurt and keeps the kind smile on.

“Give me a call when you’re finished” he tells May, who nods. The woman kneels in front of Peter, and cradles his cheek.

“We can come whenever you need us. Ask Tony to call us or use the phone mom got you, it’s in the bottom of your bag. You remember Ben’s number?” May asks. Peter doesn’t answer. “Come here, give me a big hug”

Peter launches himself to his aunt’s arms, letting out a chocked sob. May hugs him tight and lets him cry on her shoulder. As most of the times he’s with his son, Tony feels misplaced. Like he’s watching a show he’s not a part of – like it isn’t his family. It’s not, his mind supplies. They break the hug before Tony can dwell on the thought for too long. If someone expected Peter to hug his father next, they get a huge disappointment. Peter moves to stand close to Tony, and quickly dries his tears so Tony doesn’t notice them.

“No peanuts, walnuts, cashews or hazels. That goes for Nutella or other chocolate sweet that could have hazels” May remembers him, although Tony has JARVIS programmed to keep up with Peter’s allergies. “There are epinephrine injections in his bag, with the instructions. He has to take his vitamins every morning. After breakfast”

“And I have to be careful with lobsters and oysters, because they upset his stomach”

“You have to cut the crust off the sandwiches, and Peter doesn’t like cheese sandwiches. But make sure to put extra cheese on his pizza”

“He also likes mac and cheese, I know” Tony says with a bit of annoyance. “He’s my son. I know him better than what you think”

“You better take care of him, because I don’t care how much money you have or how important your last name is” May takes a threatening step forward. “If I have to drag your sorry Stark ass to court, I will. Without blinking once”

Tony briefly remembers the conversation he has had with May before the funeral. Mary said it in her will, Ben and May knew they would have to change their life style if Peter came to life with them, and Tony was the most capable person, in materials and financial terms, to take care of Peter. But still, she had offered to take him. And Ben had threatened Tony. The man hopes he can live to everyone’s expectations.

He reaches a hand and brings Peter closer. In a soft whisper that only comes out every now and then when he’s with his son, he tells him to go and wait in the car. Peter gives a quiet ‘yes sir’ and hugs May one last time. Tony doesn’t miss the glassy eyes May gets when Peter wraps his skinny arms around her waist and squeezes her tight. He has never received a hug from Peter.

Not like he feels worthy of them.

Peter waves at her and drags his feet to the car. The boy likes Happy, or at least he likes him as much as he can like someone from Tony’s life – he gives the man some rare smiles and actually answers to his questions. He watches as Peter disappear inside the car, and closes the door behind him. Then, he turns to May.

“You can’t say those things in front of Peter” he argues. “He’s gonna think I’m some kind of monster that it’s gonna eat him at night”

“He already thinks that. Why do you think he wanted to spend the night with us in the hotel instead of going with you? Peter is afraid. The only memories he has with his father are you sitting on a couch drinking, hiding in the lab or giving him away to nannies” May points a shaky finger at him. “He spent the whole night crying and sobbing, but when he comes here, he tries to hide it so you don’t see him. Trust me when I say he knows where he’s going”

“And what am I supposed to do? If he hates me so much, then maybe you should take him!”

There is a second of silence in the lonely cemetery.

“Peter doesn’t hate you, Tony. He thinks you don’t want him” she says sadly, and Tony thinks he preferred the idea of Peter hating him. “All he knows is a cold man with a hard face, that didn’t make an effort to love him when he went to see you”

“I really don’t know how to fix that, May” he admits. He realises his own eyes are getting misty behind the glasses, but he doesn’t feel strong enough to wipe them. He only wants to go back home and lock himself in the lab with a bottle of whisky, maybe two.

“You and I both know you love him. You did things wrong, but so did Mary. So just – show him you love him, now. Consider this your chance to be a father to Peter, a real father”

May surprises Tony by dragging him into her arms, and he goes rigid. He doesn’t like behind handed things, he doesn’t like shaking people’s hands, he doesn’t like touching anyone and doesn’t like being touched unless it’s Pepper. He has ignored Rhodey’s calls and Happy attempt to comfort him, because he knew that no matter how much he hated physical touch, he would break down.

So, Tony breaks down in sobs, and hugs May Parker back. The woman is tall but skinny, yet is almost as strong as Tony. It’s the touch he needs, because it manages to keep him together. Tony thinks of Mary, of how beautiful everything was before he fucked up and she left, pregnant without knowing. He thinks of her sweet smile and dimples, of her brown curls that fell loose on her back. And he sees her in the boy in the car, in the way he pretends to be collected but wears his heart on his sleeve.

A raindrop hit him on the nose, and when he looks up, he’s met with another on his left glass. He tears away from May who doesn’t bother wiping the tears away from her cheeks. They share a short nod and a few words, then Tony walks towards the car. He tries to make the small distance to it as long as possible, because he doesn’t want to meet the doe, bambi eyes that will stare at him in the car.

Because Peter does that a lot – staring at Tony. Not talking, not smiling. Staring at Tony as if he’s looking for something that he doesn’t have. That’s part of the reason why he avoids the boy so much, because if he can’t be what Peter needs, then what good can he make?

Apparently, he’s about to find out.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

#peter parker #Irondad and Spiderson #irondad fic #irondad #irondad imagine #spiderson and irondad #iron dad #iron dad imagine #iron dad fic #iron dad series #tony stark #tom holland #rdj #Avengers

72 notes · View notes

let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

Text

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 26: Accustomed

Chapter 25

Read on AO3

On August fourth, the actual date of their one-month anniversary, Claire was working until ten at night. When she shoved the key in the lock and shouldered the door open, she expected to see Mrs. Lickett on the couch with a book as she always was after Faith was put to bed. What greeted her had her frozen in the doorway. Mrs. Lickett was talking animatedly with Jamie.

He shot up from his seat immediately, swiping something off the coffee table. Mrs. Lickett silenced herself, looking back and forth between the younger people like she was watching puppies play together.

“Happy one-month, Sassenach.”

Claire realized through her bleary vision that he’d swiped up a bouquet of flowers. She felt like her bones were melting in her body, and she just wanted to throw herself on him and weep with exhaustion and tenderness.

“I’ll leave you two…” Mrs. Lickett said, getting off the couch. “Nice talking to you, Jamie. Goodnight, Claire.”

Claire stammered an incoherent goodnight, and Mrs. Lickett closed the front door, Claire having had it open this whole time.

“I came after Faith was asleep so she wouldna get all excited, so dinna fash about that. Mrs. Lickett texted me.”

In any other situation, Claire might have laughed at the thought of the two of them texting one another.

“There’s a bottle of champagne in the fridge if ye’d like. I can also go, if ye wish. I ken ye had a long day, that’s why we celebrated on Saturday, so if ye’d rather I — ”

He paused, and only then did Claire even realize she’d actually started weeping.

“Claire? What’s wrong?” The flowers dropped from his hand, landing on the couch, and in three quick strides he was upon her, hands gripping her shoulders. “What is it, lass? Did ye lose many patients?”

Claire sniffled, laughing at her own hysterics. “No...well, yes, a few but that’s not…” She wiped her eyes, then cupped his face. “You’re just….so sweet, Jamie.”

“Oh.” The concern wiped itself off his face, replaced by vague dumbfoundedness. “Ye’re alright, then?”

Claire nodded vigorously. “I’m...I’m perfect, Jamie.” She kissed him, wet snotty face and all. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She nuzzled her nose with his.

Jamie exhaled with relief, nuzzling her back. “I’m glad ye’re glad,” he said with a laugh. “I ken we celebrated already, but it felt wrong to not see ye on the day. Even if it’s just fer a bit. I couldna stop thinking about ye all day.” His thumbs rubbed circles on her shoulders.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you either.”

They kissed again, Claire threading her arms around his neck and Jamie threading his around her waist. When they pulled apart, Claire laughed wetly. “Shall we get out of the doorway?”

They did, making their way to the kitchen where Claire arranged the flowers in a vase while Jamie got flutes for their champagne. Claire remarked over and over how beautiful the flowers were, and Jamie retorted nearly every single time that they weren’t nearly as beautiful as she was. They clinked their glasses, toasting to one another, and they finished the bottle on the couch, intermittently kissing sloppily and laughing at the episodes of Friends that TBS was playing.

When the bottle was finished, Claire had herself wrapped around Jamie like a koala, and she found herself weeping again. When Jamie prodded, she sniffled and looked up at him.

“I don’t know, you just...you do so much for me.” She wiped her eyes. “I feel like I don’t...I don’t do enough.”

“Sassenach…”

“I just want you to know how much you mean to me,” she finished. “Even if I’m terrible at…”

“Claire.”

That stopped her. Not Sassenach. Claire.

“Ye’re no’ terrible at anything.” He wiped wetness from her cheeks with his thumbs, looking into her eyes.

“But do you know…? Do you really know that you’re...you’re so important to me?”

“Aye, mo ghraidh. I know.” He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. “I know.”

And then, like the person desperate for physical connection that she was, Claire pounced on him, tearing his shirt off and letting him tear off hers, and her bra, as she straddled him. The blazing warmth of his bare chest pressing her breasts flat was almost too much to bear. They kissed fiercely, Jamie raking his nails up and down her back, causing her to shiver and groan. It didn’t take long at all for Jamie to stand up, carrying Claire bodily with him. He paused for a moment to adjust her legs around his waist so she wouldn’t slip, and they both giggled. Then Jamie walked into the bedroom, kissing Claire all the while, and he laid her on the bed like she was made of glass and meant to be worshipped.

She didn’t wait for invitation before stripping her bottom half, and Jamie did the same before joining her on the bed. He teased her nipples with his mouth and rolled her clit in his fingers for a while, until Claire was choking on her own moans, bucking her hips into the air, desperate for him. He entered her, and she came immediately from the sheer release after a long day and the build up he’d given her. Jamie let her get her bearings before moving within her, and then he was reaching between them, pounding and rubbing her mercilessly until they were both crying out their release into each other's mouths, biting on each other’s lips to keep each other quiet.

Claire was seeing stars, the darkness of the night around them consuming her senses. Jamie’s warmth was all around her, surrounding her. He rolled over next to her and gathered her against him, and without thinking, she threaded her legs with his, nuzzling into his chest and kissing his sternum. In that kiss, she said:

Please know. Please know how much I care.

Jamie’s answering kiss to the crown of her head, accompanied with a large hand rubbing up and down the smooth expanse of her back answered:

Aye, mo ghraidh. I know. I know.

——

A persistent banging noise was what woke Claire the next morning. She groaned with annoyance at first, pulling the blankets over her ears, but then she felt someone shaking her.

“Sassenach,” Jamie whispered. “I think Mrs. Lickett is here.”

Claire’s eyes shot open, and she sat up. “Oh shit,” she hissed. “That’s Faith outside the bedroom, isn't it?”

“Aye, indeed.”

“Shit shit shit…” Claire scrambled from bed and breathed in exasperation upon remembering she’d fallen asleep stark naked. Faith banged more insistently on the door, moaning in frustration. “Coming, lovie! One second!” Claire threw up a prayer of thanks to whoever was listening that Jamie had thought to lock the door behind them last night.

She tore through her closet for a robe and yanked it on, then turned to see Jamie was getting dressed.

“Don’t move,” she breathed. Jamie froze with one leg still halfway into his pants.

“Ehm…why?”

“I don’t want Faith to know you’re here. She’ll never let you leave.”

Jamie bit his lip to stifle a laugh, finishing with his pants.

“Just…get in the corner. Far away.” She gestured absurdly with her hands, pushing him farther and farther back from several feet away. “Don’t make a sound. She will figure it out, and there will be a meltdown.”

Jamie pantomimed zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key. Claire rolled her eyes before unlocking and opening the door, just a crack. Faith was way ahead, grasping the edge of the door the second she could, and trying to thrust it open.

“Good morning, Faith,” Claire said warmly. “No, no, we can’t cuddle this morning, I’m sorry darling.”

Faith groaned, giving another sharp push that would have had Claire stumbling backward if she hadn’t seen it coming. “Don’t push me, Faith,” Claire said softly, but firmly. “Mrs. Lickett is here, come on.”

Claire did a little pushing of her own, shuffling Faith away with her legs and prying little hands from the door. She quickly shut the door again behind her as soon as she was certain that no fingers would get crushed, and she scooped Faith into her arms.

“Coming!” Claire called as she settled Faith onto her hip and scuttled into the living room. She put Faith down so she could unlock and open the door, and she cringed to think how unhinged she must look to the poor woman.

“Good morning, so sorry,” Claire said, flustered. “I overslept, clearly.”

“That’s alright,” Mrs. Lickett assured, stepping inside.

“Ehm, just a few things,” Claire said with an awkward chuckle. Before she could continue, a scratching noise filled her ears, and she whirled around to see Angus scratching on her bedroom door.

Of course he knows.

“Angus! Come!” Claire said, her voice thin with panic. The dog obeyed immediately, of course, well trained as he was, but he definitely knew something was up.

“Uh…” Claire cleared her throat. “Right. So, there is, ehm…J-A-M-I-E is H-E-R-E,” Claire said carefully, deliberately spelling any words that might trigger excitement for Faith. Realization illuminated Mrs. Lickett’s face, and she nodded, lips taut with the effort of stifling a smile. “So I, uh…just need you to keep her busy while I get dressed and get H-I-M…O-U-T.”

“Right,” Mrs. Lickett said.

“Have her feed Angus first and foremost and then…how about a bath? She never runs out of the tub.” Bath time was indeed one of Faith’s favorite activities; she treated it like her own little ocean, playing mermaid and squirting water with her bath toys. Getting her out of the tub was like trying to get her out of the Abernathys’ swimming pool.

“Sounds good,” Mrs. Lickett agreed. “I’ll shut the door for good measure.”

“Perfect.” Claire looked behind her to see Faith on the living room floor with her Barbies, arranging them on the coffee table using some filing system that Claire would never understand. She then watched in horror as Faith pushed a bra and two t-shirts off the coffee table. She darted forward and snatched them up before Mrs. Lickett could notice, though she likely already did. “Okay baby, listen to Mrs. Lickett, Mummy needs to get ready for work.”

With that, Claire shuffled away back into her bedroom, careful to only open the door just enough for her to fit in, locking it behind her. When she turned around, Jamie was just sitting on the bed, still shirtless for obvious reasons, grinning like an absolute fool.

“I’m glad you think this is funny!” Claire whispered harshly, throwing his shirt at him, but her own smile betrayed her.

“It’s like Jenny sneaking Ian out of our parents’ house,” he said quietly, biting his lip to contain a chuckle. “Couple of teenagers we are.”

Claire rolled her eyes, making her way to the closet. “You wouldn’t be smiling like that if she started crying when you left because she found you.”

“Aye, I ken,” he said. “It’s just…” He sighed, leaning back on the pillows. “Christ, Sassenach, my wame’s been doing tumbles since the second I woke up this morning, then watching ye fret and flit about…”

“Oh, stop…” Claire blushed, throwing clothes and fresh scrubs to pack onto the bed.

“And now ye’re just gonna flounce about in that wee robe like a temptress, to taunt me?”

“Please, you know I threw this on for any reason but to tempt you.” Claire rolled her eyes as she untied the belt, then she paused. “Do I need to make you turn around so you don’t get drool on the bed?”

Jamie grinned sheepishly, though he didn’t avert his eyes. Claire turned to face him, one eyebrow raised.

“I mean it, sir. I’m already running late, because of you.”

“I can control myself!” Jamie said in mock offense. “D’ye take me fer a heathen?”

“I might,” she grinned slyly, finally opening the robe and sliding it off herself. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, and she huffed. “I can’t believe I don’t have time for a shower, I feel disgusting…”

“Dinna look it.” She chanced a glance up to see Jamie laying back, hands behind his head, taking in her body like a royal feast.

“I’m sure I positively reek,” she went on, pulling on underwear and clasping her bra.

“Come closer, I’ll check for ye.”

She looked up at him again, aghast. “You are shameless.”

“Never said I wasna.”

Claire scoffed and rolled deodorant on before pulling her shirt over her head. She looked up to see a tiny pout on his face, though the evidence of what her naked body had done to him was still plainly visible.

“Ruined your fun, did I?” Claire said, tutting her tongue in mock sympathy. “Poor lad.” She pulled her capris on and started shoving the scrubs into her bag.

Jamie chuckled softly, but she could see how his eyes had darkened, could see the strain that his arousal was placing on his entire body. The veins in his neck protruded, his face was red.

“You know,” Claire began, trying to straighten the absolute mess of curls atop her ahead in the mirror full length mirror on her closet door. “We do have to wait until Faith is in the tub. You’ll hear once the water starts running, and only when it stops are you all clear to leave.” She gave up on her hair and decided to tie it in a knot atop her head, shoving in a few pins and pulling on a headband for good measure.

“So?” Jamie said, cocking an eyebrow at her from behind her in the mirror.

“So…” she turned around slowly. “I might be able to take care of that little problem.” She flashed her eyes at the tent in his pants, and he visibly and audibly gulped. “But only if you promise not to make me a mess again.”

He nodded eagerly. “Aye, lass, I promise.”

Claire smirked and chuckled wickedly, approaching the bed. “Go on, take them off.”

Jamie gulped again and lifted his hips to pull his pants and boxers down. A rushing noise filled the air.

“Ah,” Claire said. “That’s the bathtub.”

Jamie’s cock sprang free, and Claire knelt on the bed. “But I’m not worried about taking too long.”

Jamie’s eyes flashed with dark indigence, as if he’d like to punish her for saying such a wicked thing, but knowing that he could not, given the promise he’d made. Claire ran her hand up the length of his inner thigh.

“Oh,” Claire said, pausing her hand right before reaching the desired destination. “And you must be very quiet.” She wrapped her hands around his base, delighting in his quiet hiss. “Can you do that?”

He nodded dumbly, swallowing again. She gave a few languid strokes before leaning down and kissing the tip.

“Good lad.”

——

Claire spat into the sink and checked her breath for the third time out of sheer paranoia. Mrs. Lickett was sitting on Faith’s little step-stool next to the bathtub while Faith was playing in the warm, bubbly water. Claire watched as she fully submerged herself for the millionth time, flapping her little hands as if she had an entire swimming pool’s room to do laps in there. Satisfied with her breath, Claire finally rinsed her mouth and straightened a few wild curls, even while fully knowing they’d pop out the second she stepped out into the humidity (humidity; something she’d never experienced in England, and decided she hated).

Claire waited on her knees for Faith to pop back up from under the water, greeting her with a little “Boo!” when she did. Faith started, blinking a bit, and Claire worried she’d actually given her poor girl a fright. But then her absent face melted into that familiar smile, and Claire laughed.

“Okay, baby. Mummy is going to work now. You’ll be a good girl today, yes?”

Faith ignored her, slapping her hands at the surface of the water and reaching for her Ariel mermaid Barbie.

“Hey.” Claire picked up the doll herself, redirecting Faith’s attention. “Look at my eyes.” Faith reached for the doll, quite unhappy with Claire’s decision to withhold it. “Be a good girl today. Yes?”

Claire gave a thumbs up, and Faith whined.

“Faith Julia.”

Faith gave a hasty thumbs up, even as she continued whining and reaching for the doll.

“Good enough,” Claire remarked to Mrs. Lickett, who chuckled softly. “Okay, kisses.” Claire kissed the top of Faith’s wet head, and Faith returned with a wet sloppy kiss to her cheek. Claire dramatically wiped it away, eliciting more giggles from Faith.

With one final goodbye, Claire left the bathroom, grabbed her bag from the couch, and was out the front door. She locked it behind her then turned around to see Jamie leaning on his car, arms crossed, like some high-school jackass stereotype. It looked much hotter on him. She shook her head as she descended the stairs, laughing.

She’d rushed him back into his clothes when the tub stopped running, and then she’d shoved him out the front door. He’d gone, but not without pulling her in for several sloppy kisses, even as she was attempting to shut the door in his face, and not without stopping to give Angus far too many scratches and pats.

Evidently, that rushed goodbye was not good enough for him, because there he stood, waiting for her.

“Still haven’t had enough, Fraser?” Claire teased, unlocking her car and throwing her bag in the backseat.

Jamie sauntered over to her. “Never.”

She hummed in amusement, and he pulled her in for a sweet, lingering kiss.

“I really do have to go,” she said breathlessly. “I’m lucky if I’m even on time at this point, let alone early enough to get into my scrubs.”

“I’d apologize, but…” He kissed her again, and she groaned in either annoyance or something else. “I’m no’ very sorry fer any of it.”

“Hmph.” She gave him one final peck before getting into her car and shutting the door. As she started the car, he rapped on the window with a knuckle. She sighed with annoyance, but her smile betrayed her, as usual. “What?”

“Happy anniversary, Sassenach.”

She could literally feel her face melting into that stupid, soft expression reserved for only his most endearing moments (which was nearly all his moments, admittedly).

“Happy anniversary, Jamie.”

She leaned out the window to kiss him one more time, then started rolling in reverse, even with her head still craned toward him. He waved until she couldn’t see him in her rear view mirrors anymore, and she rolled up her window.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Beauchamp…

Claire gulped and turned the air conditioning up higher.

One month, only one month…

And you are so, so far gone.

——

For cooking night that week, Jamie brought over ingredients for homemade pizza. Faith very much enjoyed rolling the dough, and it was difficult to simultaneously stop her from playing with it like play-doh and keep her from eating it. She also had fun putting innumerable slices of pepperoni on the pizza. The original plan was to split the pie into sections and have each of the three of them put on whatever toppings they wished on their own section, but Faith’s pepperoni could not be contained. Then when Jamie tried to put peppers and onions on his section, Faith pushed his hands away, whining, and no amount of coaxing could get her to relent. There was no reasoning with her; regardless of the fact that she would only eat two of the small slices, this entire pizza was Faith’s to dictate, end of discussion.

To compromise, Jamie cooked his and Claire’s vegetables of choice in a pan on the stove to sprinkle on once the pieces were cut.

“It’s a good thing I like pepperoni,” Claire remarked wryly.

“Aye. I do too.”

Claire did not even allow Jamie anywhere near the bedroom that night; they’d agreed no staying the night, accidentally or not, when Claire had to work the next morning. They’d already embarrassed poor Mrs. Lickett enough for one lifetime. For Saturday night, however, they had a plan. On pizza night, they’d both told Faith that Jamie would be “sleeping over” on Saturday night, meaning he would be there when Faith woke up in the morning, and that he would leave sometime in the afternoon. Faith hardly seemed to even be paying attention, but Claire was almost certain she’d retained it.

It was important to Claire — to both of them, really, to normalize Jamie’s presence in the home, overnight or no, so Faith didn’t bounce off the walls every single time. Come Saturday afternoon in Jamie’s car, Claire was satisfied that Faith was properly prepared. They’d just dropped Faith off at the Abernathy house in her bathing suit, ready for a full day in the pool with her friend while Mummy and Jamie went on their date. Claire beamed at Jamie in the driver’s seat.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said flippantly. “Just…excited. Happy. I don’t know.”

Jamie took her hand and brought it to his lips, keeping his eyes on the road. “So am I, lass.”

Their hands remained intertwined for the rest of the drive until they arrived at Jamie’s chosen date location for the weekend: the stables.

He’d promised her that night on the carousel that he’d take her riding for real, and today he was making good on that promise. Staff rotated who had to come and care for the horses on weekends, and this week was Jamie’s turn, so they’d be alone.

“I’m there every weekend anyway,” Jamie had explained, “for Donas. But this way we ken we’re alone.”

The wink he’d given her sent a shiver down her spine.

Jamie had also packed a picnic lunch for them to have on the grounds, complete with a light whisky. They departed Jamie’s car in the parking lot, and Claire marveled at the lot’s emptiness with no one else around. Claire started to make her way toward the welcome center, then Jamie gently took her hand. She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he answered:

“This way.”

They bypassed the building and he took Claire to a gate, then produced a clanking ring of keys from the pocket of his shorts.

“This is the more direct route to the horses,” he said, shuffling through keys. “But if ye need the restroom, dinna fash.” He unlocked the gate, removed the key, and held up a different key. “I’ve got the key fer that, too.”

Claire chuckled and followed him through the gate, waiting for him to lock it again behind them. Jamie led them past the stable that Claire knew Pippi was kept in.

“We dinna keep Donas where we take the bairns,” Jamie said. “That’d be a recipe fer disaster.”

Claire’s brow practically raised to her hairline; she was almost nervous to meet such a notorious creature.

“Spoiled beast practically has the whole stable to himself,” Jamie said it in a chastising manner, but his sheepish grin gave him away.

“You’re quite fond of him,” Claire said.

“Aye,” Jamie said, handing Claire the picnic basket so he could open the doors to the barn. “One of my best friends.”

He winked before he heaved the doors open, but Claire was not at all certain he was joking. The thought had bubbles rippling in her chest:

My boyfriend, best friends with a horse.

“Could you be any more endearing?” she said, following him inside.

“Huh?”

She chuckled. “Never mind.”

Claire noticed immediately that out of the eight stalls in this stable, only four of them had horses in them, where the other stable was always full. Claire took in the sight of a regal white mare, a beautiful brown and white spotted Appaloosa, a silver Andalusian, and an enormous, terrifying black stallion, the stalls next to it deliberately empty. In fact, the four stalls on that side were empty save for him; the other three horses all on the other side.

Claire gaped for a moment. “Donas, I take it?”

“Aye.” Jamie swelled with pride.

“He’s…beautiful, Jamie. Really.” Claire had to fight the urge to reach out and touch him, somehow convinced he would bite her hand off.

“Aye, bit rough around the edges to be sure, but sweet as anything when ye get to know him.”

“He…doesn’t look like he wants to get to know me.”

Donas huffed, stomping his front right hoof. Jamie laughed.

“He’d no’ get to know anyone if he had any say in the matter. Lucky fer us,” Jamie put a hand on Donas’s muzzle, looking into his eyes, and the beast leaned into his touch. “He kens who is master is.”

Claire’s heart warmed at the sight; they really did look like a couple of chums.

“Now, Donas,” Jamie said sternly. “I’ve a lass here, and I’d no’ like to be embarrassed. I ken ye dinna care what she thinks of ye, but at least fer me, could ye no’ bite her?”

The warmth immediately disappeared, and Claire’s eyes bugged out of her head. Jamie laughed out loud, and Donas tossed his head away from the sound. Jamie pulled his head back, holding it in place and stroking soothingly, even as he continued to laugh.

“I’m teasing, Sassenach. He willna actually bite yer heid off. At least I dinna think he will.”

Claire eyed him suspiciously. “Is this going to be one of those things where if this doesn’t work,” she gestured between herself and Donas, “then this doesn’t work?” She gestured between herself and Jamie.

Jamie barked another laugh. “Well if that’s true, ye’re no’ trying very hard to keep me!”

“Jamie…”

“Come on, Sassenach. Ye canna be so afeared. He can smell it on ye. It feeds his ego to ken that ye fear him.” He gave the thick, black neck a solid pat. “And that just spurs him on to be more of an arse.”

Claire straightened out, sticking her nose in the air. “I’m not afraid.”

Jamie cocked an eyebrow. “Then show me.”

She took a deep breath and then approached the pair of them, careful not to shrink or falter in the slightest.

“I can do this,” she said calmly, slowly stretching her hand out, taking a quick peek at his ears to make sure they were not pinned back (they weren’t). “This is just like trying to talk to the misogynist pricks at work. Can’t let him know he gets to me.”

Jamie made an amused Scottish noise. “My horse is a misogynist now?”

“Very well could be. Have you ever asked him?”

Jamie laughed, but pointedly kept himself still and quiet as possible so as to not sway Donas’s opinion of the hand approaching him.

“Don’t worry,” Claire said calmly and evenly. “I mean no harm. I care about your master very much.” She let her hand hover under Donas’s enormous, flaring nostrils. “I just want to be friends. Acquaintances, even. For Jamie’s sake.” She flicked her eyes to Jamie to find him grinning like a fool at her, his pupils blown wide. But then:

“Dinna break eye contact,” he hissed, and Claire immediately rectified it. “He doesna like that.”

“Of course he doesn’t.”

Claire had to repeatedly tell herself, he will not bite my hand off, he will not bite my hand off, in order to remain still and have any hope of keeping the smell of fear off of her. Then, like watching a miracle unfold, Donas tapped his wet nose into Claire’s cupped hand for a split second. Claire laughed triumphantly, and Jamie beamed with pride.

“He doesn’t hate me!” Claire knew better than to say he likes me; that would certainly be pushing it. She knew enough from riding with Uncle Lamb that if a horse touched your hand, it was an invitation to be pet, so she flipped her hand and reached forward.

She stopped, however, when Jamie swiftly grabbed her forearm.

“What?”

“He showed ye he doesna hate ye, an achievement in and of itself,” Jamie said, his eyes full of mirth. “Let’s no’ push our luck by trying to get him to like ye. No’ just yet.”

Claire sighed with annoyance, letting her hand drop. “Fine.” She carefully stepped away. “Pompous brat.”

Jamie laughed out loud, giving said pompous brat another solid pat. “Careful now, Sassenach, or he willna be so gracious next time.”

“Gracious my arse,” Claire grumbled.

Jamie clicked his tongue and left Donas’s side to gather her in his arms and kiss her gently. “Ye’re no’ gonnae be grumpy the rest of our date because a horse doesna like ye?”

“No,” Claire said, but even she didn’t believe herself.

“Och…” Jamie cupped her face in his hands. “Ye ken I canna resist that wee pout.”

“I’m not pouting!”

“Aye, ye are.” Jamie laughed through the words. “Come here.”

He tipped her face up into his and kissed her much less gently, immediately demanding entrance for his tongue. She obliged eagerly, even though somewhere in the back of her mind she was thinking about how the horses were all watching them. Jamie’s hands moved from her face to her hair, tugging greedily and groaning into his mouth, wanting to swing a leg over his hip right there in the middle of the stable.

An indignant huff interrupted them, even as Jamie’s excitement grew. They pulled apart, and Claire looked over Jamie’s shoulder to see Donas stamping his hooves again.

“Seriously?” Claire fired at him. Jamie laughed out loud again, untangling his hands from Claire’s hair and running them down the length of her arms.

“Come on, lass.” He took both of her hands and pulled her away from Donas, into a stall, leaving an empty one between them and Donas.

“What on Earth are you doing…?”

“Getting ye away from prying eyes.”

Jamie captured her lips with his immediately, his tongue resuming its prior task of exploring every inch of the inside of her mouth. Claire whimpered in surprise and then began moaning, threading her arms around his neck.

“This is…” Claire breathed. “We can’t do this here.”

“Why no’?” Jamie nibbled at her neck. “I told ye we’d be completely alone.”

The thought sent a jet of heat to her core, and she stifled another moan. “Because…the…” She lost her train of thought as Jamie’s hand found its way under her shirt.

“The horses dinna mind, Sassenach.” He sealed his lips on hers again, squeezing her breast under her bra.

They moved together, back, back, back…until Claire’s back slammed against the wall of the stall.

“Besides,” Jamie said, palming her over her capris, eliciting a muffled groan from her. “I havena been able to hear ye since last week. Ye’ve had to keep far too quiet fer my liking.”

He squeezed her breast harder and increased the speed of his hand over her pants, and she sighed in ecstasy, kissing him hungrily and letting her hands roam to his fly. She forcefully pushed his shorts and boxers down, savoring the strangled cry he let out when she fisted him in her hand. His clothing fell around his ankles, and he reciprocated, unzipping Claire’s capris and forcing them along with her underwear down. Claire clumsily toed off one sneaker so she could get one foot out of her pants, and then hooked the leg around Jamie’s naked hips. She dug her heel into him, pulling him in closer. For a moment, Claire ground against him, savoring the friction, keening desperately as she did. And then, in one swift motion, Jamie viciously grabbed her thigh and lined himself up to enter her with a powerful thrust. Claire cried out loudly, breathing heavily.

“Aye,” Jamie rasped, kissing her sloppily. “Let me hear ye, mo nighean donn.”

Claire hummed in appreciation, her voice hitching with each of Jamie’s piercing, almost painful thrusts. Her back slammed and rubbed against the wood behind her, and somewhere in her hazy consciousness she thought she’d definitely have a bruise after this, and then that thought had her moaning louder.

The thought of him marking her.

Her increase in volume had him doubling his pace, grunting and groaning in her ear, biting her earlobe, her neck. Her grip on his shoulders became more desperate, her heel dug in harder, her voice grew higher and louder.

“Claire…” Jamie hissed, gripping her thigh harder. “Oh, Claire…”

The sound of her name on his lips like that was almost enough to undo her. Then his free hand began mercilessly rubbing her clit, and she made a guttural noise she didn’t even know she was capable of making.

“Aye, lass…” Jamie looked deep into her eyes and redoubled his efforts. “Let go. Only I can hear ye.”

It was a wonder to Claire that he was capable of speech right now, because if she’d tried to speak, only more shrieking moans would come out. And oh, they did. She felt herself tightening, and she dug her nails into Jamie’s back, and then she was falling, hard. She knew she was screaming, knew, and didn't care. Her walls gripped him so tightly he almost slipped out even though it would defy gravity in this position. Jamie was not far after, spilling into her with her name on his lips like a prayer.

Afterward, they sat in the hay on the floor, still half naked leaning against the stall, limbs entwined. Jamie kissed that spot on her shoulder where she thought she already felt a bruise blooming.

“I can’t believe you’ve already made me sore before we even get on the horses.”

Jamie snorted, then kissed the top of her head. “Wasna my intention.” Claire hmphed, and Jamie laughed again. “You just let me know when ye’re ready to go.”

Claire hummed, her eyes closed, and then felt consciousness slip from her against her will. She woke less than a half hour later, and after chastising Jamie for letting her fall asleep, and both of them repairing the state of their undress through endless fits of giggles, they made their way back to the horses.

Donas looked thoroughly disgusted with them, though Claire might have just been projecting onto an entity she knew had distaste for her.

“See that white mare?” Jamie said, leading Claire over. “This is Millie. Toni’s horse.”

“Toni rides?”

“Oh, aye. That’s why she works here.” Jamie let Millie sniff his hand, then began petting her. He gestured for Claire to do the same, and the process was much less painful (and terrifying) than it was with Donas. “They take a wee bit out of yer paycheck to keep yer horse here, but it’s a hell of a lot cheaper than having the land yerself, or using a public stable.”

“She’s beautiful,” Claire marveled, running her fingers up and down the long nose. “Very gentle.”

“Aye, she’s bonny. Toni said ye could ride her for today.”

Claire looked up at Jamie, her gaze warm with affection for Toni. “That’s really nice of her.”

“Please, ye ken that meddling wee besom’ll do anything to get us alone. Since last September. This wasna done out of sheer generosity.”

Claire chuckled, moving on to the softness of Millie’s mane. “You tease her too much.”

“Ach, she kens she’s a good friend.”

“Where does she fall on the friendship tier? Above or below Donas?” Then Claire yelped, or rather squeaked; Jamie had pinched her arse. She swatted at his arm, and Jamie remarked that if she’d done that so close to Donas, he’d really have bitten her head off.

Introductions out of the way and teasing (mostly) finished, they got saddled up and led the horses out of the stable.

“Now, I ken ye said ye rode before,” Jamie said. “So it’s yer choice. D’ye want to use the riding hall and keep it moderate, or d’ye want to roam around the grounds, get a wee bit exciting?”

Claire smirked at him around Millie’s head. “I’m always up for a wee bit of excitement.”

In one swift motion, Jamie launched himself onto his saddle, that wide, lopsided grin dancing on his beautiful face. “That’s what I hoped ye’d say.”

Claire mirrored him, getting herself settled in Millie’s saddle and giving her loving strokes on her neck. “Shall we?”

They rode anywhere between a trot and a gallop, all over the grounds that Claire had become familiar with on foot. It did look different without tables or Easter eggs or dunk tanks and projection screens. Jamie was a bit of a show off on his glorious, enormous mustang, and as much as Claire wanted to smack him, she also found it endlessly endearing, his desire to impress her.

They stopped somewhere to have their picnic lunch, letting the horses graze while they ate slowly, sipped whisky, and of course, kissed each other until they were both lightheaded. Claire very nearly threw a leg over to straddle him and ride him right there on the picnic blanket, but it would have been far too much effort to remove her shoes and capris again. So she took care of Jamie’s still-new-to-sex-and-always-ready excitement with her hand, and remarked with a sultry smile that she knew he’d take care of her later.

They rode some more, joking and laughing — Claire tossing her head back so far she nearly fell out of the saddle, holding hands between them (despite Donas’s apparent disapproval), and even guiding their horses close enough to kiss one another. And then of course Jamie yanked Donas away before he could bite off Millie’s ear. Obviously there was a very good reason they kept the stalls next to that brute empty.

They reached the stable again and bid their horses proper goodbyes, Claire remaining a safe distance from the Brute. Jamie held her hand all the way back to the car, and her legs felt wobbly, her stomach fluttery. It was impossible to tell if she was swaying from straddling the horse for so long or from the way Jamie had slammed into her against the wall, but either way, it was not altogether unpleasant.

They picked Faith up promptly at six, having given her a hard stop time in the pool at five so she’d know what to expect and be ready to be picked up, and hopefully not have a meltdown when it was time to get out. Gail’s report was that she was very well behaved, though she’d had more snacks than Claire would have liked. Faith did not at all protest when it was time to leave, especially because it was Jamie who stepped into the room first. Claire could not help the twinge of jealousy when Faith wrapped herself around his legs and listened to him far better than she would have to Claire if she was alone, but she knew this was normal, for any child, let alone a child on the spectrum.

After Faith and Claire showered together, Claire made mac and cheese with dinosaur chicken nuggets for all three of them while Jamie showered.

“See?” Claire remarked when they were all sat down at the table, loading a stegosaurus with several little Frozen character-shaped macaronis. “Being a bad cook is fun sometimes.”

They watched the movie of Faith’s choice (Frozen, to no one’s surprise), and then Faith did not protest when it was time to brush her teeth and get into bed. She did not protest because Jamie had promised to be the one to tuck her in that night. He was not granted the honor of teeth-brusher or Risperdal-dispenser, but tucking in and turning on the nightlight were sacred parts of nighttime routine nonetheless.

And Claire knew that Jamie took it very seriously.

She stood back, watching from the doorway as Jamie pulled the blankets up to her chin, multiple heavy blankets despite it being summer.

“Sleep well, a leannan,” Jamie said softly, stroking back her wild curls. “Ye were a very good girl today.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, and Claire’s chest ached. “I’ll see ye in the morning.”

That had Faith grinning, her eyes wild with excitement.

“But morning willna come if ye dinna sleep,” he warned. “So I willna see ye unless ye sleep.”

She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, wrinkling the lids with the effort. He and Claire both chuckled, and Jamie shook his head.

“Alright. Goodnight, lass.”

With that, he patted Angus’s head and stood up from the bed, allowing Claire to say her own goodnight, and then they departed to Claire’s room.

Jamie did take care of her, face buried between her legs hooked over his shoulders, took care of her so well that she had to put a pillow over her face to keep from rousing the five year old they’d just put to bed.

When he was finished taking care of her, he rose up and tossed the pillow away, laughing no doubt at how positively insane she must have looked after flattening her face into a pillow. He kissed her anyway, insanity and all, and he lined himself up to take her.

“You didn’t have enough today?” Claire teased, breathless.

Jamie’s eyes darkened, and he wet his lips. “Never.”

And he took her.

107 notes · View notes