#and there’s always a kid clinging to the fence

[thehmn]

Are you a “I miss being a child with no responsibilities” person or a “Thank god I’m no longer a child with zero freedom” person?

[fraugwinska]

Going with the times was amazing! Thank you so much. If I may can I get another Alastor x Reader who is a very affectionate person like always going in for hugs if she's close to them and she gets drunk and starts trying her hardest to give Husk a hug because he looks so grumpy, so he summons Alastor to come get his girlfriend. Who then gets incredibly happy to see him and just clings to him after he picks her up. Id also like to see Angels reaction to all of this.

You are awesome!

No, YOU are awsome! :> I do love Husk and Angel together, throw drunken Reader into the mix and we have ourselfes some chaos :D I sincerely hope you like it! <3

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Take the edge off

It had started so innocently. 

For the first time since you met him, Husk had actually, actively invited you for an after-dinner-sendoff-drink at the bar, along with Angel. 

Coming from him, the one that had been the most on the fence with you, you didn't dare to pass this opportunity. It was understandable though. Husk had a deep distrust in Alastor, and, by proxy, in you when he had introduced you to the surprised residents as his ‘courtship’. 

You had visited the hotel often after that, staying for activities or dinners, bringing over some baked goods or homemade treats if your work schedule allowed time for it, lending listening ears and comforting hugs in spades to anyone who needed it and earned the admiration - or at least acceptance of your presence - from almost everyone over time. Almost. 

Husk, ever the skeptic, had made it clear to you he wouldn't want to have any relations to demons who chose to stay at Alastor's side, let alone his ‘partner’. 

But you stubbornly persisted, even though it had hurt, even though Alastor would pat your head and tell you it was wasted labor - you still tried, bringing an extra bottle of the herb sirup you knew Husk liked to spice his drinks with, or you tried to engage him in conversations about things you learned he was interested in. Now, your earnest efforts had seemed to finally been fruitful - instead of invading, you were finally invited to sit at his bar. 

In all the nervousness of not fucking this up, you drank too much, way too fast. You were a lightweight on good days, but now, after five not-so-kid-friendly drinks in the span of less than an hour, you were… unhinged. 

“I told ‘ya the last Gin Tonic was too much for her!”

Angel snorted with laughter, two hands holding you back from climbing over the bar to an aggravated Husk, arms outstretched and whining loudly. 

“Huuuuuuusk, come on, just oooone!”, you struggled against Angels grip on your waist, eager to reach the furry demon and put your arms around him, “I give the bestest, bestestest hugs ever, you cannot not smile, I promise!” 

Husk ducked with a mumbled curse, dodging your gripping hands when Angel temporarily lost grip on you because he laughed too hard at the chaotic mess that you were - normally his job, with Charlie as the babysitter - oh, how tables turned. 

“Fuckin-... how the hell was I supposed to know that she'd turn into a goddamn demonic care bear?!” Husk grunted, pulling the feathery end of his tail out of your hands - you had caught it with delighted giggles and glee, and pouted when it slipped out of your fingers. 

“Niffty! YO, NIFFTY!”, he bellowed, looking down to find her already at his side behind the bar. 

“Shit, you're fast. Oy, go and get Alastor, pronto, tell him his friggin’ girlfriend is…” Husk was pulled back by his neck, a sudden weight on his back making him swallow the end of his sentence. You had managed to escape Angels restrictive hands, and slung your arms around the cat demons neck, nuzzling your cheeks into the fur on his back. 

“Theeeere ya go! Feel the frown turn upside down!”, you sang, words muffled by his pelt, grip as strong as iron. Husk groaned, prying at your hands, but - to no avail and Angels absolute amusement - you tightened your hold on him the more he struggled. 

Niffty tilted her head, clearly not fazed by what was happening. Angel heaved, clutching his chest as he tried to calm down enough to speak. 

“Niff, just… pfff, stop that, leave his whiskers alone babe, holy shit, huh-huh, okay, okay… just run an’ tell Smiles to get his doll before she strangles Husky, okay?”

The little bug nodded eagerly and scurried away. 

Angel turned to Husk, still a highly bemused grin on his face. “‘Ya know, having the radio demons lover hanging around ‘ya neck might earn ‘ya some major street cred.”

“Oh, you fuck off if yo’ can’t help.”Husk growled, trying to ignore your figure, still clutched onto him like a living backpack. “Get off me kid, come on, dammit.”

“But you're not happy yet.”, you said innocently, refusing to let go. 

Angel gave Husk a meaningful look. “‘Ya know, she really does give great hugs, when she's sober and not batshit crazy drunk like this.”

“I don't need hugs, I need a fucking drink is what I need.”

“Huuuuusk…”, you whined again, quieter now, sadder. “Why do you hate me?”

Husk stood still, exchanging a look with Angel, who seemed pitiful now. He nudged his head to the two of you as a silent command: Say something nice. Husk sighed, patting your arm around his neck awkwardly. 

“I don't hate yo’, kid.” 

“Yeah you do… I just want to be friends, see your happy face, smiling… but you hate me…”

Angel narrowed his eyes at him, mouthing ‘Do better’, and he huffed. 

“Jesus fuckin…, listen, I don’t like yo’ choices of men, but ...you're alright. Way better than yo’ bitch ass of a boyfriend at least.”

Angel opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of Alastor's signature jazz background music approached and he quickly decided to just sit back, out of the immediate danger zone but near enough to have a first class seat to whatever would happen now. 

Alastor walked up with an amused smile and curious expression. 

“Evening, my fellow friends. Niffty came to me with a cryptic message, about my darling doe strangling our beloved bartender?”

Husk scoffed, turning around so the radio demon could see you hanging on him like a koala on a tree trunk, pointing at you. “This yours?”

Alastor laughed, his face lighting up in a softness Husk had seldom seen before. 

“Indeed, it seems to be.” He chuckled, stepping up to you. “Darling?”

You rose your head at the sound of his voice, smiling happily when you recognized him. 

“Al!” He caught you with ease when you jumped from Husk’s back straight into his arms, patting your back as you locked your arms around his waist. “My, those two did their diligent work, you are quite inebriated.”

You giggled into his coat. “Yup, I am hammered like a rusty nail!” You lifted your head, beaming up with tired eyes at his bemused grin. “And Al, guess what! Husk said I'm not an ass like you, so he doesn't hate me anymore! I’m alright!”

Husk, who rubbed his sore neck, froze at your words, quickly shooting the radio demon a glance. Static crackled and for a second, he shivered from the licks of electricity running over his spine, making his fur stand up. But nothing further happened. Alastor just smiled at you, ignoring the cat demon completely, and ruffled your hair. “How good for you love, you did it afterall! But it’s late now, why don’t you stay here tonight?” “That’d be nice…”, you sighed, sleepy and exhausted.

You let his waist go, only to wrap your arms around his neck as he scooped you up to carry you. Angel and Husk gawked at the scene before them, questioning reality as Alastor, of all people, pressed his lips to the crown of your head, which made you humm and turned to leave, leaving the bar without so much as a cheerful "Good night, chums.".

Angel leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands in his hands, watching the pair disappear in the dark with an amazed expression. "Man, she really takes his villain-y edge off, doesn't she? Kinda scary how she gets Smiles to almost behave human." Husk poured himself another drink. "Scary doesn't even cut it." He took a huge swig, but he still had to grin.

[undercoverpena]

ii. the borrowing of honey

joel miller x f!reader | chapter two of honey stained hands

Chapter summary: lifting his chin, he finds you already watching him. “What’d y’like me to call you?” Your hands pause, flour clinging to your palms, your hands. “I like that you call me Honey, Miller.”

wordcount: 3.9k warnings: no physical descriptions. joel calls you honey (ellie calls you bee - because you look after the bees). no use of y/n. typical canon-angst. brief mentions of reader handling some raiders (murder couple yesss). my spelling. joel trying to fit in and be good for ellie. an: doesn't matter how much time passes, i still get so nervous when it comes to sharing joel.

Your name is present on the tip of his tongue whenever he sees you.

It’s there when he watches you walk by; when he finds you in the centre of the sheep pen, Ellie and other kids circling you, listening attentively.

For Joel, what he likes the most, is the teeth showing when Ellie grins, when she moves closer to you, when it’s clear in the way her arms aren’t folded anymore, that she trusts you—this person, this neighbour of theirs.

Against all odds, he has also found your name coming to him with ease when he opens his door to you, the chill of the outside air mixing with the warmth of his home.

Your appearance, as always, knocking him off balance, especially when he spots that apron again—flecks of flour, a stripe of it against your cheek.

You don’t happen to have any honey, do you, neighbour?

From morning to night, it’s there, ready—hanging on the tip of his tongue.

He swears it’s as though your name has been scratched into him, etched into some space he hadn’t known was still there, existing, being.

A pull within him.

One that led him to your door the following day, a book in hand—one you’d lent Ellie and had been meaning to return—as he found you baking. All smooth movements, unbothered by him stopping by as you combined ingredients with your hands.

Hands he was unsure how they’d made it here. A question, that circles his brain in constant whirrs.

Because, until the scent of honey hit his nose, Joel wasn’t sure you could appear any sweeter.

“What y’baking?” he’d asked, nodding to the jar of honey open beside you—the one he’d given the day prior, the label scratched from his thumb picking at it as the two of you idly chatted. Talks of the day, whether he’d had any more run-ins with the animals.

Your lip tugged into your cheek, pausing in your crumbling to wipe your forearm across your brow. “Shortbread—but it’s only my third time making it.”

“Three times more than me.”

Snorting, you grinned. Large, unfazed—as though the world had never ended for you. “When you’re done fixing fences and homes, I can teach you.”

“Not sure I can learn much, honey.”

“I think you sell yourself short.”

Smirking, he nodded, mumbling a funny as he continued to watch, and admire. Paying attention to how your hands moved, how they rolled whatever you were making inside the bowl before you held up your dough.

You hadn’t shared much, just that you had learnt to bake when you were younger—something you’d begin doing when you couldn’t sleep. How the honey had been an easy (in terms of sourcing) replacement for sugar. That, you’d amassed too much once, so you shared your goods, left treats at the Tipsy Bison, took some to the shops that could spare some cheering up.

Joel didn’t share much either, just nodded to the questions you asked, whether he’d travelled far, whether he liked fixing porches and whether it was true a sheep had tried to eat his lace.

The main things that Joel learnt, was that you were too good for a person like him.

A person maybe years and years ago he’d have been able to entertain with witty stories and charisma. But both were few and far between now. That however you’d survived, however you’d made it here, had been likely on luck and not because you, like him—and likely others—had found themselves in the shadows of who they once were.

Then, he saw a different side.

Your name almost hangs from his lips when he watches you dismount weakly, almost stumbling—falling before you catch yourself.

There are snowflakes in your hair. Ellie had said the weather is ‘all fucked. Now, he can see it for himself. How drops from the clouds had clustered, clung to strands, it almost making you look innocent—like the version of you Joel had sculpted in his mind.

That is except for the scarlet splattered across your clothes and face—chunks of something mattered in your hair. It’s sticky, that much he can tell. It catches the sun's rays, reflecting across the parts that haven’t dried. Lit up further by the wild look in your eyes, the one that makes him realise, that for all your sweetness, there’s something uncaged inside you. A look, that is both a mix of haunting and adrenaline, thrumming in the depths where he’s usually basked in goodness.

The earlier thought, the one which had been irking him—festering in the back of his mind—wondering how something so kind had managed to survive, is now answered. It is on display, proudly there for him to see. You’d done well to drill it down, hide it deep inside of you, conceal it, but it was bellowing now, hammering its fists on your chest, all proud to be out, breathing, living.

Because you disguise it too, the monster. Thing so many of the people around the two of you aren’t. But a beast recognises another—and Joel sees yours.

There’s no mask or sheet big enough to hide it now. No way he can’t see where it’s stitched itself to the person you were before civilisation snapped in two and hell poured out from the core.

It’s that, he reasons, as to why he steps closer—tries to stabilise, soothe. Even if your body is calm, barely a shake in sight—no infliction as others come to your ‘aid’ that anything is even wrong—less so when the questions begin to rise.

You—a clever thing—wait until Tommy arrives. Letting him, and only him—guide you, lead you. Those who need to, follow, and Joel finds his feet carry him too. Joel finding a spot, remaining stood, just watching from the corner as you begin to share what had happened on patrol.

Your report is clinical, stiff. All to the point.

You speak it as though you were itemising, giving a list, and he suspects it isn’t because it’s a coping mechanism. It sounds normal from your tongue, loss—death. It’s all a matter of fact, with no emotion—no semblance of kindness or grief as you describe how your patrol partner was gutted in front of you. How they talked about you, not realising, not knowing…

He listens as your voice trails off then. Knowing, more than many of those who have been comfortable here for too long, what it is you’d left unsaid.

Then, you’d added Raiders. You chin lifting, eyes cold, unbothered, adding, low-level ones—as if there are grades to this shit.

“Do we need to send others out to deal with them?”

A valid question, asked by someone Joel has no fucking clue what his name is.

Instead of replying, your eyes flick to his. A momentary hold, a prolonged stare. It doesn’t claw at him to steal his breath or dig in to take a swipe at the fractured parts of him. It is just a stare—an almost cold one—as though he could have been replaced by anyone else in the room, and it would have been the same.

But you sought him out. You looked for him—stamping the answer into him. The one you say in a second or two, but makes him body relax before the rest of them can think of doing as much.

Because Joel knows this is you showing him who you are, the monster unwilling to be caged—the demon inside of you still breathing, snorting and spitting smoke.

“No,” you say, devoid of emotion. “I sorted it.”

Somehow, even after spending the night watching you bake, he doesn't doubt that for a second.

He knows something shifted, changed, the day after your patrol.

Something ebbing, flowing—commutated in the way he finds your eyes even through a sea of people. Mostly, he discovers that he doesn’t hate it when you find yourself beside him, sun in his eyes making him squint, you leaning close by as he repairs whatever is on the agenda.

The times begin to bleed into one. Something he’s distantly aware means something—even without Ellie pointing it out.

Because even she knows you, more than bits and bobs—more than someone who teaches them things. But intimately. You, who the kids have dubbed Bee likely due to the bees you’re often around and the honey that you tend to. Something that makes him smirk, a thing he struggles to hide.

He knows things have changed. Had known it the moment you stood giving a detailed account—letting another man’s blood dry on your face—that he had misunderstood you. Joel had made an assumption based on those he’d come across before, kind things—soft, pliable souls.

Now, he couldn't unsee the fire. The ferocious thing inside of you that you stuffed away and hid behind baking and tending to fucking bees.

“Didn’t realise you had access to all the honey, honey.” “You trying to flirt with me, Miller?” “No jus’… trying to figure out why you needed my honey.” “Maybe I thought yours would taste better.”

He was aware the idle chatter had turned flirty—more tinged in power, dominance. Who could make the other uncomfortable, snap or make the move first. Each day, the answer was different—sometimes him, sometimes you, oftentimes both.

Joel was old, worn—aching all over—but he didn’t like the idea of bowing, not after all he’d done to get here to begin with.

“I think you’re softening to me, Miller.” “You’re just my neighbour.” “Yeah, yeah. That’s what it is.”

A part of him reasons that he goes to the Bison to see if you’re okay, spotting you in the corner, at an empty table—a book open in your hands before you nod at him to join you. You tell him, quickly, he doesn’t have to make conversation, turning your attention back to the book, just no point sitting by yourself being ogled at.

Joel found he did talk.

First, about the book in your hand, and then questions about other things—the two of you floating them back and forth. Nothing major, nothing too deep. Enough to spark a smile or a laugh here or there.

No more pages of your book were read, not even as you eventually closed it—bidding him goodnight. He’d almost let you walk home alone, almost. A sudden emotion flared in him as he downed the drink and hurried after you.

Knowing you were safe mattered.

He repeated the sentiment over and over as though it was the only reason—or, better yet, the only one he wanted to believe, especially when the two of you stopped at the steps of your porch.

A goodnight rises, sitting on his tongue, but it never forms. Your eyes stare at him, shimmering, but you blink it away and replace it with a smirk. Because he’s sure if you were any other woman, you’d be jingling your keys and sending him all the signs. But you’re not like those women.

It’s the reason you’re the only one he doesn’t want to roll his eyes at when you speak.

“I’m not someone you should want to be more than friends with, Miller,” you say gently, shifting the book over your front.

“That so?”

Nodding, you flash him one of your usual smiles, dropping your eyes to the floor. “Yeah, I bite.”

Joel tells himself there’s plenty to do when he’s alone.

He can read—learn about space, study carpentry, maybe even just be, relax. He could pick at guitar strings until chords and melodies came back to him.

Instead, he finds himself in front of your door, knuckles out, hammering away at the wood until he hears you shouting for him to come in.

Fuck. The sight of you knocks into him, more prominent this time—more air stolen than just a gasp. Finding you hidden behind your kitchen counter, lips spreading into a smirk, he wants nothing more than to rid.

Powder streaking your cheek, your face free except for it—all bare, natural—the strap of your bra having fallen, all black—lace. The rest of it is hidden beneath a white vest top, your apron shielding the rest of your attire except your bare legs. Bruised, healed scars and thick woollen socks.

“You here to fix somethin’?”

He shouldn’t feel so much from just a smirk, but his mouth is dry, eyes glazing up and down your frame as you lick your lips.

“Or you here to see something?”

Lingering, he digs his hands into his jacket pockets, finding the usual leaning post of your doorframe—watching, secretly admiring but not admiring.

“Your silence doesn’t intimate me, Joel. If anything, it just allows me to talk more.”

Snorting, he shakes his head. “S’not what I’m doing.”

You stop mixing, hands hovering over the bowl, eyes narrowing, assessing, but smiling. “Right. Of course.”

He doesn’t like it. The tone. The way you let each letter fall from your tongue, laced in something he can’t quite work out. So, he steps closer, boots booming as he moves more into the kitchen.

“Whatever errand Tommy has you on, I’m fine. It’s only me here now, anyway.”

He nods. “Y’have someone else here then? Before.”

Before, even he hears how it moves around the room, pulsating, thickening. Your eyes drop back to the bowl, moving ingredients and making flour dust tinge in the air.

“A while ago, yes.”

For you, it’s curt—sharp. Another notch rallied against the evidence that sweet and fucking kind wasn't all there was to you.

Then you lift your eyes, devoid of all he’s used to in them. “I don’t need anything fixing, Joel.”

He stands. Loiters. A part of him wondering what you mean by fixing, because he suspects you don’t mean furniture, porches and doors. He suspects there’s more ravelled inside of you, a thing he wants to tug on, yank at—let it unspool out until he can digest it all, and consider, just maybe, if he can unspool his out too.

It’s why he’s unwilling to leave, more out of sheer stubbornness because, in truth, you’re the only one he doesn’t despise talking to. One of the few who don’t look at him with questions, with a scowl. A scarlet letter stitched into him, sewn by the things he’s done to breathe and survive.

So, he remains. Watching as your movements become more erratic, more charged. Your anger ploughed into the dough, it forming, thickening at your fingers as though your whispered hissed sweats were like enchantments getting it to form.

“No good comes from staying, Miller.”

He lifts his chin, brow raising. “That so?”

Nodding, you lightly smirk. “Yeah. Because then you’ll realise I’m not all that to be around, and it’ll mean you have to talk to another human.”

Moving to your side of the counter, he stares at the contents of the bowl. “Y’not too bad to be around.”

“Fuck, you flatter me, Joel.”

It’s there again. That sparkle, the shimmer. The glint in your eye that shoots down to his cock, the same one from the porch. The one he sees when he passes you in the street, and you tell him he’s looking good—

“Why d'the kids call you Bee?”

“Because I didn’t like that they called me miss, and you know, I’m often with the bees.”

Something uncurls inside of him—a fire partially ignoring, a fuse switched. A thing which made him feel both young and old all at once as he leaned, the scent of you mixed with whatever you were baking, all intoxicating—enough to burn the odour of decomposition from his memory for life. A smell that is so reminiscent of you, so genuine and real.

Lifting his chin, he finds you already watching him. “What’d y’like me to call you?”

Your hands pause, flour clinging to your palms, your hands. “I like that you call me Honey, Miller.”

Nodding, he smiles, folding his arms as he leans again—just like he had done over a week ago. “Honey, it is.”

He doesn’t just see you around, he begins to see you in his dreams, too.

Not frequently, but when he’s able to enjoy a night’s sleep not ruined and tainted with nightmares, you’re there. Sometimes fleeting, sometimes more present. A thing, an anchor—looping yourself around him, figuratively, literally. A different kind of heat on his cheeks when he wakes after those, a different fist to his chest as he tries to level his breathing.

He doesn’t show it when he’s awake. When the bitter chill in the air makes his hands rub together and your eyes find his over the top of Ellie’s head, her interest suddenly in bees is unsurprising. Joel has learn, that anything that stings, seems dangerous, or kicks, seems to get the kid intrigued.

Joel just smiles at you, burning a thank you into your eyes—for doing this for her, with her. Giving her something to chatter incessantly over food with him. But it’s the one you give him back that sticks in him, remaining with him until he closes his eyes—it’s another one added to the collection which you wear like an accessory when he dreams.

He likes that you’re there. In his newly formatted dreams—greeting him there too. Little flashes, soft smiles and alluring stares hide your monster and make his bury itself in his chest. Sometimes, you wear white, the picture of innocence—all pure and unbroken. Others, he finds you coated in scarlet, a beautiful oxymoron—his own real-life Carrie.

It’s why he misses your usual comment when you pass his house on the way to the pen. It’s why he looks out for you when he’s tending to some shop door—why Tommy finds him looking around when he’s packing up.

“Y’missing something—or someone?”

Shooting a look, he’s met with a snort, a grin.

“Get outta here, will you?”

Tommy just snorts louder, “She don’t work today—Bee.”

He almost shoots back that’s not your name. It all unfurled on his tongue, the weight of it sitting there. But he swallows it.

“Don’t know what y’mean.”

“Come off it, brother—you’re across the street from me. I see things.”

It lingers with him. Sticks. Clinging to him as he trudged back, Ellie hammered her feet down the stairs to greet him, a thousand and one things shooting out at him. Question after question—some he hears clearly, others get lost in the excitement. More names, more people she’s made friends with—

“So can I?”

“Can y’what?”

She shifts—shyness present, a look he’s not used to seeing on her. “Can I go watch the movie at theirs?”

All he can think is, that she looks like Sarah—that same permissive look that children adopt when talking to their parents.

The unease. The hoping—but not wanting to show too much. Just in case. As though by expecting, it’ll hurt more if he says no.

Not that he would. Not that he does.

Her chorus of thank you’s painting the house in glitter and gold, his smile challenging to hide as he puts away the toolbox—and removes his boots.

“I heard Bee’s at home.”

Turning his head, he knows he’s pulling a face. A mix of how do you know and what you getting at, all mushed and rolled into one.

Ellie just shrugs, that annoying knowing one that he remembers back when she cracked the radio. The look of deviousness and mischief swirling in her eyes and spreading to her lower face.

“Get outta here, kid.”

You bought him a batch of shortbread.

They’re encased in a tin—it’s small, circular. It’s old, likely restored as best as it could be from wherever it was taken from. But, the contents are new—sweet, rather perfect, even if your note attached had been describing them as anything but.

Joel hadn’t been here when it arrived, coming home to the lid already off, a small plate next to it, adorned in crumbs. He supposed if Ellie liked it, he would—and fuck did he.

“So, she just baking you things now?”

“Looks like it.”

He knows all of Ellie’s faces—each emotion stitched into it. A scowl here, a surprised look here. Tonight was a cross between sarcasm and, really, man.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Shifting his weight, he dips his chin. Staring, right over his nose as she holds her hands up, excusing herself, dashing up the stairs before signalling his lack of an answer with the slam of her door.

He could admit that each time he sees you, you flirt—that you’re still all kind, sweet. But, Joel knows there is an edge to it. Something simmering, bubbling. A current attempting to wrap itself around the two of you and pull you under—laced with flirtations, them prickling in the air.

It reaches a new height quickly, his fingers plucking at strings as you walk past. Your eyes glazed, the night heavy—a storm brewing in the air, something he can feel, half-expecting rain to fall down and do its usual cleanse of the soil, leaves and muck.

He had seen you pause, turning your frame to his porch. Climbing it, stopping yourself from stepping on the top step.

“Y’good, neighbour?”

He snorts. “You’re drunk.”

“Merry.” Your correction comes with a smirk. “Drunk makes me sound like I can’t handle it—and I can handle it.”

Sliding the guitar from his lap, he looks at you leaning, that same smirk. The one that’s been growing over the days, weeks. One that makes his blood boil and his jeans tighten.

“You know, if you ever feel like playing with something that sounds just as pretty, Miller, you let me know.”

Whatever retort he’d been about to give, fizzles, dies. It slides back down his throat as you throw up a wave, practically skipping down his steps. Not even looking back as you walk that bit further to your own place, before you’re out of view.

He should go in, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he watches your home, as you flick a light on as you move through your home—hidden by curtains and blinds.

Joel can’t hear anything, but a part of him wishes he could.

Wondering whether you sing to yourself, whether you’re clumsy—and you paint the air with fucks and shits. Whether you’re thinking about him…

Joel picks up the guitar again, calloused fingers ready to brush over strings.

But he just hears you. A ghostly echo of your statement, humming, swirling around the porch.

Leaning it against the side of the house, he stands, bones creaking, porch chair groaning, as he heads inside.

Needing another door and wall between you and your confession and the relief he needs to find to be able to look you in the eye tomorrow.

CHAPTER THREE ->

[topherwrites]

SNOWFLAKES IN MY STOMACH WHEN WE'RE KISSING

summary - spending the holidays with jake's family isn't always smooth sailing, but little else matters when you're grossly in love. (also - jake dresses up as santa for his nieces and nephews, you're real into it.) pairing - jake seresin x (fem!)reader word count - 2.7k rating - nsfw content, 18+, mdni! content warnings & tags - no use of (y/n) / mostly fluff / jake being super in love / jake's family celebrates christmas / very brief angst / me being incapable of giving jake a good childhood / brief mention of childhood abuse / swearing / alcohol consumption / dash of smut / fingering / lmk if i missed anything! a/n: a little belated christmas one shot for you all. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated! TOP GUN MASTERLIST / LIBRARY BLOG

Heat audibly blasts through the vents, the entire house sweltering. A solid summer day indoors. His mother won’t even let anyone touch the thermostat. In her defense, she grew up without a lick of snow on the ground and now it’s fifteen degrees in December, a real white Christmas.

Which isn’t exactly ideal for Jake considering he’s been roped into wearing a Santa suit for his young nieces and nephews. The suit is all red polyester—the least breathable material known to man—and thick faux fur cuffs. It’s causing him to start perspiring where sweat simply shouldn't be, his white undershirt clinging to his back and his crack.

“It’s too goddamn hot in this thing.”

Unbuttoning the jacket, he airs it out, the relief near immediate. 

Over his shoulder, he catches sight of you lounging on the guest bed—the one his mother oddly insisted that you could share—odd because that’s been a hard and fast rule for all the non-married seresin kids since his older sister began dating.

When she’d pointed him to the room, he’d paused, waiting for her to tell him which room would be yours, separately. Exactly like the sole previous time a girlfriend had stayed the night, way back in college, he figured you’d be placed in the room past his parents so no premarital shenanigans would occur. When that moment didn’t come, he’d stood there stupefied till you bumped his hip, nodding in the direction of the room.

Then he found out that with his brother and sister, their spouses and kids, and a few stray cousins and aunts staying, every other room was already occupied tenfold when he showed up with you in tow. 

He wasn’t sure if he would actually come down until a few days before, on the fence about spending so much time packed together with his family. But you’d volunteered to go along with him, meeting everyone besides his mother for the first time. Offering yourself up as a buffer.

It gives him pause less and less, just how much you care about him. Warmth spreads through him at the memory.

He was thankful that you had a bunch of airline credit banked, otherwise booking so late during the peak holiday season flights would’ve cost an arm and a leg.

Your feet kick back and forth as your eyes drag up his back, not put off in the slightest by his melting-like-frosty-the-snowman state, meeting his gaze with a heat you don’t attempt to hide. His irritation at the outfit dispels at your attention, melting away into something far sweeter.

“Is this doing it for you?”

“Oh,” your voice strained, “yeah, absolutely.”

And while there’s a bit of humor to the whole situation, what with the whole ‘being dressed as Old Saint Nick’ thing, your attraction to him isn’t a joke in the slightest. Sweaty, sunburned, exhausted. You seem to take a liking to any form Jake comes in. 

You continue, twirling your finger in a slow, instructive circle, humor alighting in your eyes, “Do a little twirl for me, baby.”

He laughs but gives in to your borderline indecent direction, turning steadily on his heel. He does a slow three-sixty, letting the jacket fall to his waist so your eyes can freely roam. Turning back to you, he takes you in the sight of you before he closes the gap, crawling over you to give you a kiss.

Things are so simple with you, you never make him work for your affection, it’s always present, even in your teasing. He doesn’t feel that pang of being inadequate that his father instilled in him when he was young—the pang that he let drive him for far too long into his adulthood. He can breathe right around you, loosen his tongue, soften his words. He can be a good man, not just a good pilot.

He loves you. You love him. Everything is right in the world.

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The kids love the whole theatrics of him dressing up like Santa, faux beard, and all. He answers their inquiries into whether or not he’s their uncle Jake with a falsely grandiose tone, handing them their presents—you’re not sure if they fully buy into it, but they all seem to be having fun.

Sipping on a mug of coffee, warm in your palms, you watch him from afar as he juggles holding two of his nieces, one dangling off of his arm like it's a monkey bar and the other calmly being held on his hip.

Ainsley and Avery—without judgment, you wonder what the reasoning is to name all your kids with the same first letter, like Pokemon evolutions.

“He’s always been good with them. Kids.”

Ah, the dreaded (potential) future mother-in-law ambushing you about kids part of the day. You had that penciled in for sometime around… now, generally. You look over at her. She looks back at you with a familiar glint in her eye. God, Jake looks just like her, same straight nose and dimpled smile and hooded eyes.

Mae doesn’t mean any ill will. You’re aware. But it all still settles ominously on your shoulders. The breadth of the unknown, what the future could hold, kids or not—whether or not you and Jake will even get that far, you hope so.

You nod slowly, calmly noting, “That’s not surprising.”

You see the way he is with them, how much they adore him. It’s a nice picture. But you're both still undecided on whether that’s one that you want of your own.

She seems to detect that you’re not going to humor her about the subject, dropping it. She looks at your empty mug, “Do you want a refill?”

────────────────────────

You casually gesture to the sprig taped to the doorjamb above you, “Is that what you were up to earlier?”

You note the little red berries, the toothed leaves, and the bush-like appearance.

“Maybe.” With a self-satisfied smile, he shrugs. His large palms grip at your waist, gently pushing you against the doorway.

You scratch at your cheek. “You know that’s not mistletoe, right?”

Holly. It's a frequent mistake, mostly from movies that wanted something to hang with a little more visual pop than actual mistletoe. He sighs, head falling back as he glares up at the traitorous plant. You’d never pass up the chance to poke a little fun at him, but now you want to bring the smile back to his face.

You poke at his side, bringing those pretty green eyes back to you, “But I suppose I can spare a kiss regardless.”

A smile creeps onto his face, warmth clear in his gaze. He leans his weight into you, not enough to crush but enough to let you feel all of him. Tilting his head, his voice drops as he questions, “Oh, will you make an exception? Bend the rules? For little ‘ol me?”

Breathing the same air, his nose nearly brushes yours. Everything but him, every sound and sight is extraneous—it all just turns to static.

You hum in agreement, “For you.” You brush the pads of your fingers along his cheekbone,  intentionally gentle, enjoying the way his lashes flutter at the gesture. “Now give me a kiss.”

Like the ever-dutiful soldier he is, he dips his head in assent, “Yes, ma’am.”

He takes the green light, gently molding his mouth to yours.

────────────────────────

His sixteen-year-old nephew, Sam, heckles him across the dinner table, quietly calling him a “fucking simp” as he hands you a refill of eggnog with a quick peck—that becomes two or three at his insistence, his lips chasing yours. His tone isn’t cruel, just an attempt at embarrassing his uncle.

He gets a smack upside the head from his dad—Jake’s older brother, Matt—for the language at the table, quick and sharp. Recycled material from their own childhoods. He tries to suppress the instinctual flinch, annoyance burning in his chest at how years later his heart is still sent racing. Jake wonders if he too, will become like their father. If it’s unavoidable. Something built into him. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree with his brother.

He knows that he has the capacity for cruelty in him and though it doesn't come as quickly these days, he still has to make an active effort to not be a dick sometimes, especially with Bradshaw.

And then, a hand, warm and stabilizing, slides across his thigh, squeezing tenderly. His eyes bounce around the table, everyone pointedly looking at their plates, just like when they were young and his father thought that one of them needed corporal punishment for acting like a kid. 

Except for you, whose eyes are focused on Jake with so much understanding that he can’t help but knock his boot into his brothers.

“Don't do that shit.”

A tense moment follows. The clatter of forks stop, drinks pause at lips, and everyone’s eyes plant on him, perplexed that it’s been acknowledged in the slightest. Matt levels a stare back at him, and he wonders if he’s going to hear their dad’s signature line come out of his brother’s mouth—don’t tell me how to discipline my kids—leveled at anyone who ever expressed concern for the way their father treated them, teachers, other parents, their own mom.

His brother is the one to blink first, dropping his eyes down to his plate as he stabs at a piece of asparagus. The festivities resume around them. Quieter. 

It’s not a real acknowledgment. But he’s drawn a line in the sand.

Sam continues looking at him for a few more moments. He wonders if his nephew knows just how similar their childhoods were, why his father is the way that he is. Not that it would make it better, but it might help him to know that it’s not him, some fault of his own. 

Jake always thought that it was him. He knows a little better now.

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After all the kids have been bundled up in beds and the adults break out the liquor, it doesn't take long for Jake to crash. Sprawled on the couch next to you, his arm draped around your shoulder becomes less of a pleasant weight and more of a log hanging around your neck. 

You tap his stomach, softer and less-toned after the holidays—at your insistence that he actually eats some sugar for once and doesn’t, under any circumstances, wake you up at five am during your vacation so he can go for a run. You’re glad that he’s taken the threat seriously, that he’s taking it easy and actually relaxing while you’re here. He grumbles at your touch but barely stirs, about eighty percent tired, twenty-percent drunk.

“Christ, when did he become such a lightweight?” His brother directs his jibe disguised as a question to you.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, standing up. You pat his thigh, holding your hands out. “Up and at ‘em, lieutenant.”

His eyes peel open at the use of his rank. Blinking awake, he flops his hands into yours, not taking a strong grip. You're thankful for the fact that he barely relies on you to help himself stand, swaying minorly as he does so. You’re not particularly eager to see what’d happen if you had to haul all two hundred pounds of Jake upright on your own.

You both trod up the stairs. His hand caressing the silver tinsel wrapped around the banister as you go, the Christmas lights hung from it setting the staircase in a warm glow. With your arm looped around his waist and his looped around yours, you make slow progress towards the room at the end of the hall.

He toes off his boots as you shut the door to the bedroom, flopping backward onto the bed. Eyes fluttering sleepily, a hint of a smile on his face, he sighs out a breath. Voicing his inner thoughts aloud, his voice is gentle, “I'm so happy.”

The statement settles sweetly in the air.

Taking hold of your hand, he pulls you on top of him. His eyes heavy, he isn’t particularly conscientious about where you’re going to land, so you have to catch yourself before you knee him in the dick. Straddling him, you find your place in his lap. Affection, as it always does, blooms in your chest at the sight of him.

“Are you as happy as I am?” His question is gently curious, none of his old insecurity laced through.

You slowly nod, hands smoothing over his chest as you lean over him. “Yeah, I really am.”

Under your palms, you can feel him huff a pleased sigh.

Large hands land on your thighs, smoothing up and down the bare skin under the hem of your skirt. His eyes roam over your figure, from your legs, your waist, your chest, finally landing on your face, “You look so pretty. Have I told you that?”

Suppressing your smile, you squint as you tilt your head, imitating deep thought. You hum, “Mm, about twenty times today.”

“I think you could stand to hear it one more time.” He sits up on his elbows with surprising swiftness, his nose brushing along your cheek before his lips settle next to your ear, “You are so pretty.”

He pulls back just enough to kiss you, lips gliding softly over yours. He tastes like rum and vanilla. Under you, you feel him grow half hard. It’s one of the things that you never really expected from him, just how needy of a drunk he is.

He slips his tongue into your mouth, large palms squeezing at your hips as he guides you to rock over him. His breaths mingle with your own as he pulls back, panting, “You wet for me?”

Rucking up your skirt past your hips, his hand slips into your underwear and he swipes two fingers through the wetness collected there before you can—for the sake of his sleep schedule—gently turn him down. You fold over him, smothering your moan into his shoulder as he pushes in, his palm immediately harshly grinding against your clit. With your own buzz sliding through your body, you melt into the pleasure, task entirely forgotten. 

Burning heat spreads through your core, your cunt clamping down around his fingers. It’s so good—it’s always this way, like he’s read the manual on your body.  Slick sounds echo in the otherwise quiet room; your gut twists, high building.

Just as you're about to fall over the edge his movements slow, and the peak he was working you to begins to dissipate. But you're left on the edge as his brain seems to intermittently connect to its previous task, working over your pulsing clit. Your hips kick into his palm, the not quite enough stimulation tortuous. You try to roll off of him, but the arm around your back stays put. He grumbles for a moment. You nearly yelp at a shift of his palm shoots electricity up your spine.

You shake his shoulder, “Jake, Jake.”

“Mm,” he hums, “no, no.” He blinks himself only half-awake, eyes still drooping, “Second wind.”

You reach behind your back, sliding his arm from around you, pressing it to his chest. You draw his hand out from under you, the drag of his fingers sending waves of heat through you. Pressing a kiss under his jaw, you whisper, “Go to sleep.”

Eyes still closed he slides the fingers that were just inside you past his lips, casually cleaning your arousal off them. You have to pretend like that doesn't make your cunt pulse with need. He rolls onto his side, then mumbles into the pillow, “Fine, but I’m going to rock your world in the morning.”

You pat his stomach, placating him—sure that in the morning he’ll remember that he’s surrounded by his parents, siblings, and their offspring, that the walls are a little too thin for what he wants to do to you.

You collapse on the bed beside him, already nodding off.

You're proven wrong in the morning. He sends you over the edge twice with his head trapped between your thighs and his palm sealed over your mouth. And at breakfast, you have to play off the flush he carries as the AC putting out too much heat, smiles barely suppressed.

e/n: thank you for reading!

tagging those who liked the teaser: @mamachasesmayhem @pricelessemotion @sorchathered @dizzybee03 @always-and-forever-at @ofstoriesandstardust @sunlightmurdock @withahappyrefrain @aworldwideapart @shamelessghostwagonwobbler

[tteokdoroki]

✩࿐TRACK 03: WAR WITH HEAVEN. izuku midoriya (2K)

about. upon spending time apart from your pro-hero fwb, deku, for a work trip — he quickly realises he wants it all with you. heaven, hell and life on earth.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! suggestive, sfw, slight angst, fluff, happy ending, sneaky links, long distance relationships, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, friends with benefits to lovers, journalist + fem!reader, pro hero!deku.

things to note. another saturday is upon us and so is another instalment!! i really like this one n can’t believe we’re half way through already !! anyways i hope you enjoy <3 - masterlist / series masterlist / series playlist ✩

whether you believe it or not, izuku midoriya has never been hopelessly in love. 

like most people with an overexposure to romance saturated media — the number one hero has always had that nagging feeling, craving for something more. the person to come home to, the partner, the kids and the dog that chews through the white picket fence or makes a mess on the freshly cut lawn. he wants a family like most individuals. but with a schedule as busy and a lifestyle as reckless as his…there’s hardly any time for izuku’s dreams. 

dreams were for losers, anyways. 

after high school, izuku quickly learned that dreaming wasn’t enough to get by even if it had motivated him to become a hero. reality is harsh and full of hard truths — bearing the responsibility of future number one and being all might’s prodigy had taught him that. so his rose tinted view of the future he had planned for himself quickly collapsed, the stain glass window shattering above him while its shards nicked at izuku’s youthful, hopeful skin.

he wasn’t so pure and good after leaving U.A — at least not in front of the public. behind closed doors izuku was a pessimist. he was sly and maybe a little sleazy, always on the prowl for something or someone to toy with. little deku was all grown up, no longer baby-faced and bright eyed but instead buffer with an unfairly tiny waist and an angular sharpness to his jaw that could cut diamonds. 

he was attractive and he knew it — his new found confidence bled into his sex appeal and sky rocketed his popularity and now…the number one controls the whole of Japan in the palm of his hand. everybody wants a taste of the new and improved izuku midoriya. 

everyone including you. 

mindless hookups, despite being easy stress relief, always left izuku with a sour taste in his mouth. conservations with the elite that happened to stumble into his bed never went further than superficial talk and the odd ‘lets do this again sometime’s. he hated how people would change around him, clinging onto him after a night in the sheets like deku owed them a piece of his soul. 

being the number one was no longer enough for hungry mouths. sex no longer satisfied those in his circle. 

that was until he met you. the first time deku encountered you (at a hero press junket), you had been a shy intern journalist forced to follow around her mentor with an extreme lust for the green haired hero. he felt bad for you, you were obviously there to learn and do your job but the senior professional they’d stuck you with couldn’t help but slobber all over him instead of teaching you. 

half-way through the junket, izuku had managed to sneak away from the pestering paparazzi to get a moment to himself — and it seemed, you’d had similar ideas. his initial assessment of your character was way off too. you were quiet, sure, but observant and snarky as well. a realist just like him. and somehow, you’d managed to convince him to leave to conference; get drinks at a secret roof top bar for only the highest members of japanese hero society, and talk and talk for hours about everything and anything. from quirks to the best snack combinations at the only kombini open past three AM on your street.

izuku liked you, he hadn’t felt such a spark for someone since his rookie days. you were cute, he couldn’t stop looking at your eyes and how they sparkles. your lips when you sipped the drinks he ordered for you and the way you instinctively leaned up to deku just to hear what he was saying. 

the way you ended up in his bed that night was no mystery to either of you. 

except the sensual and sultry night you shared together didn’t end there — at every event, every occasion, where journalists were required to be present, you found yourselves gravitating towards one another. one moment you’d be sharing bedroom eyes with one another from across the room and the next deku would have you bent over in bathroom stalls, his hushed moans in your ear and his fingers deep in your mouth to keep you quiet.  

months went by and the sex didn’t stop, neither of you wanted it to. you made izuku feel a little bit whole again, you made him feel good and made him laugh all in the same breath. he didn’t just like it when you left your claim on his neck bordering the line of keeping your rendezvous a secret and letting the whole world find out — but he liked it when you stayed over and wore his shirts around his luxury apartment. or came to hang out with him at his private gym with a bag of cheat-day take-out katsudon and an earful of gossip from your office. 

deku really liked you, more than he should’ve for a girl who was meant to be just a fling, more than he should’ve for someone who didn’t have time in his day for a lover.

“did you get over me?” the hero pouts into the FaceTime call, watching you struggle to grab your luggage off of the conveyer belt in baggage claim. if he were there, he’d have gotten it for you by now.

despite not being anything serious to one another, izuku had made it a habit to weasel his way into your everyday life. you sent cute little good morning and goodnight texts to one another, along with other messages like ‘get home safe’ and ‘have a good day’ too. those text messages quickly escalated to phone calls once the green haired number one admitted to you that it’s hard to fight crime whilst looking for the right kao emoji to send you.

you roll your eyes, coy smile budding on the edges of your lips. “it’s only been two hours, izuku.” you say, finally managing to grab your bag before you head out to the main lobby of the airport.

one thing about that man, is that he’s clingy as fuck. all of your attention has to be on him or he’ll feel like he might die. with you being away for the weekend at a journalism conference instead of in his arms, izuku feels like he might burn the whole world down from the ground up. just to be near you.

either that or he’s just extremely pussy whipped. 

“streets are sayin’ you might sleep with that guy from your team while you’re there, is that true?” deku fires back, running a scarred hand through the mass of curls atop his head. he lets it run down to smooth over his face, peach fuzz starting to grow through — but you made him promise not to shave until the day after you got back. apparently his light stubble against your inner thighs made you cum so much—

“—i don’t even like him like that, you big baby,” you tell him matter of factly, cutting through his train of thought and bringing your phone up to your face once more to let emerald eyes peek down your sweater. “and i think he’d get the hint if he saw all these damn marks on my neck.” 

pink blooms underneath the freckles on midoriya’s cheeks at the sight of the purple hues decorating your neck and shoulders. he remembers the extra turtlenecks you had to pack because of it. “couldn’t help it, i needed to give you a reminder of what you’d be missing while you were away from me.” 

“you’re so dramatic, deku.” 

“oh, you wound me, angel.” he purrs into the mic with a sly grin, knowing that he’s affecting you just as much as he misses you. especially when you give him a pointed glare. izuku let’s the conversation wither out as you order yourself an uber that’ll take you the hotel. he can’t help but chuckle when you perk up and notice the amount of money he’s sent you to cover the costs of it. “yanno…” deku mumbles, resting his cheeks on his knuckles. “you’re like heaven away from hell to me.” 

you won’t admit how sexy he looks, even if izuku is all googly-eyed and soft for you. even if his forest green locks curl over his pretty eyes and hide them. it almost pisses you off. that he’s so blissfully unaware of how fucking pretty he is and how that mere fact manages to ruin you you even though you’re miles apart. “what’s hell, then?”

“my work. this city. this apartment, without you.” he says smoothly, filling your stomach with butterflies. izuku has a away about him that makes you feel like you’re his entire world and only his — but there’s never been any strings attached, you’ll never fully be his and he’ll very much be the nation’s hero (and dick) until someone manages to tie him down. 

“are you asking me to move in with you, izuku?” there’s no expectancy in your voice — you say it mostly as a joke because you have no idea how much the number one pines for you. how tonight, he’ll drink himself into a stupor with his friends and whine to them about how much he misses you. izuku may have changed on the outside, may be stronger and faster but he’s still that insecure teenager on the inside. 

he has to force his knees to stop knocking whenever you’re around. he finds himself swallowing the lump in his throat whenever he thinks about the possibility of you being with someone who isn’t you. he feels sick to the stomach and panics at the thought of losing you. you mess with deku’s head in the worst of ways and yet he finds himself wanting more. nevertheless, he smiles, loving how his name sounds on the sweet glaze of your lips. 

“you’ve got a place in my bed. you’re always here anyways.” 

“you’d never let me leave it, if you had a say in the matter.” 

“you’d never have to work again if you let the number one hero take care of you angel.” izuku sighs longingly, giving you his cutest pair of puppy dog eyes that never fail to make you swoon. “but you love your job.” 

“i do.” your uber pulls up and you reply curtly so you can properly greet your driver. they aid you with your suitcase and you slip your headphones on while in the back seat to keep your special conversation private. 

“do you love me?” he can’t help but ask. izuku is hopelessly enamoured by you, you’re like a virus that’s spread across his brain and controls his every thought or action. he needs you like his lungs need oxygen to breathe — you’ve changed him for the better, shown him that maybe he can have both work and luxury. a family and foundation. with you, if you’d want him. 

“izuku.” you warn, but playfully.

“so it’s true,” the hero drawls across the line in faux disappoint  though his eyes speak mischief. “you only like me for my cock ‘n my money.” you can practically hear the pout on his pretty plump lips. 

a fondness takes over you and you can’t help but squirm happily. “and your pretty boy smile,” you squeal cutely, filling midoriya with the same amount of fondness “don’t forget.”

“so you do love me.” 

“i can’t answer that until you ask what you want to ask me properly.” 

“alright then,” sitting up, deku grasps at his phone between shaky fingers and holds it above his head — giving you the perfect view of his freckled and scared (and chiselled) body. he chews on the swell of his lower lip, dancing around the question he knows he wants to ask. “angel. i want you. more than just a fling. i want you to be mine.” he blurts, closing his eyes so that his thoughts come easy and he can’t see you reject him.

midoriya doesn’t know what he would do if he lost you, he’s seen what losing your love has done to his friends. kirishima and his partner had almost broken up with each other recently. he’d be a mess in that situation.  izuku has faced too many hardships in his life, his career, to let this one good thing slip from between his fingers. 

“will you? be mine?”

he sees you poke your tongue into your cheek, laughing as you pretend to think. “i will, izuku. i want nothing more,” you coo. “keep my side of the bed warm. i’ll be home soon.” 

relief floods through deku’s body. “don’t be too long, gorgeous.” with a couple of blow kisses, he lets you go with the reminder to call him back once you’re settled in at the hotel (so he can pay for your room service). it’s only when you’re alone again that izuku realises he’d rip stars from the sky to be with you, pull the heavens right down to earth to be by your side.

you’re everything to izuku, and for you, he’d go to war with heaven. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[rusmii]

꒰ Here With Me ꒱ - d.osamu

🐈‍⬛💬 : 15!d. osamu x fem!reader

💬 : whew I'm pumping out these dazai posts a lot. anyways expect a chuuya post soon! NOT PROOFREAD, just posted it.

🐈‍⬛ : not following the main story but has some elements of the original, dazai is a lonely mean dick, reader has this super ultra crush on dazai, one-sided crush, timeline jumps A LOT, up to reader to interpret who says the last line, open ending

💬 : getting rejected by your crush every day was a norm for you. so you turn into a cat to be his friend!

🐈‍⬛💬 taglist (free to join!) : @luvan1 @dollchuya @asqmi @squigglewigglewoo @liviash

"No."

People around you giggle amongst themselves as they pass by. A smile was still plastered on your face as you nodded your head and waved him goodbye. "See you tomorrow then, Dazai-kun!" That was a lie; truth be told you'll see him tonight.

From the corner of your eye, you saw how Dazai interacted with other people — happily chatting to people within his social circle, so unlike him — sure, he was introverted, but you knew that he could be just as social as he hated people.

As he hated you.

Walking home was always a boring adventure. Nothing exciting seemed to catch your attention, like how it does to a normal teenager.

When the sun had set, and people had their windows closed, you finally decided that it's time. Throwing a leg over the short concrete wall, you climb up the fence and onto the rooftop; a random persons rooftop but they didn't have to know.

Digging through your school bag, you pulled out a unique kitsune mask that a jumbo cat had given you one evening. You remember that day like it was the seven stars.

Rubbing your stomach, he whispers, "I wish life was just as beautiful as you are." What should have sent you into cardiac arrest made you purr instead.

You cling onto his vices — his already solitude atmosphere making you calm. "You know.." He says as he lifts you up to examine your face. "..You kind of remind me of someone I know," he continues his little inspection as he plays with your little paws as gently as he could.

You tilt your head, 'What does that mean?' And for some reason, Dazai feels like he could understand you. "I honestly don't know." Oh, who was he kidding? Understanding a cat? Yeah understanding their social cues, not their thoughts.

Dazai bit his inner cheek, your coat keeping him in a trance as he rubs your back. He looks at your eyes; so glistening bright, opposite of his. Full of life like a little midget he knows and.. well, someone who just won't get off his ass.

"[Name]..." He whispers before he could shut himself up. When he sees your spine perk up, he panics a little. "What's wrong?" He asks you, the chills still never leaving your body. Was he seriously thinking about you? What happened to him constantly saying he hated you?

And wanted nothing to do with you? "[Name]," Dazai repeats again but this time you don't give him much of a reaction, trying to act calmer; pawing at his shirt as soon as he says the name. "Meoow!" A long drawn sound escaped from your little mouth, and when another repeat of your name came up, you rub your head against him.

"[Name] huh?" Dazai ponders, "You seem to like that name a lot kitty," he pets your head. "Do you like [name]?"

Dazai smiles when your meow sounded positive. "Yeah.. I like that name too," He admits — which catches your interest real fast. Noticing your new profound interest, Dazai fake coughs. "Sharing secrets aren't my thing but...." He looks around his room, despite it just being you two, he eyes his window before bring his head down to you.

"I guess I can share this one with you," he smiles at you, placing you on your back as he gets up to close his window.

Each piece of foreign information made you happy to say the least.

Sure, it may seem a little creepy to have gain any new knowledge on someone's personal life this way, but that's what made you love him even more.

All the little oopsie daisies and the big successful achievements he makes are all worth sacrificing your human self for just a bit.

Putting the mask on your face, you jump from your two human legs and land on your four paws.

"Do you wish to meet your boy?" A voice from behind you asks. You yelp and jump up from the bench, a big cat eerily smiling your way. It was standing next to the vending machine and had a whole selection of kitsune masks right next to it.

You hopped from roof to roof, in the direction of his house. The outline of his neighborhood finally coming into view.

'What the hell did you do to me?!' You wanted to scream as soon as you saw the world get bigger and your hands more warmer, but what came out was gurgled angry screeches. As if it was mocking your current predicament, it points into a random direction.

"Go see your boy, and thank me later when you're satisfied."

Once you reached the premise of Dazai's house, you scoured around to where his bedroom was and started scratching at the window.

It didn't take long for your beloved to open his window with a platter of food already ready for you. "You must be hungry, huh?" He laughs when you jump inside and run straight towards the leftovers from his dinner.

"[Name], if you eat too fast, you'll choke and die!" The name. Your name sounds so endearing when he says it like that. "Actually, imagine a cat and a human dying together," he continues — rubbing your back.

"Would you be buried next to me?" He questions as you finish your meal, licking the plate clean. Once you turned to him, he picked you up and placed you on his lap as he sat on his bed.

He looks down at you with an expression you couldn't read. "Would you want to be buried with me?" He asks again, albeit a bit sadder this time.

"I do."

[sweetnothingtm]

teachers pet// simon riley x reader

pairing simon riley x reader

word count 1200

content warnings none - entirely fluff and self-indulgence

authors note domestic simon. domestic simon. domestic simon. domestic si-

summary simon notices you leave your lunch at home, and what better way to meet your second-grade class than to surprise you?

truthfully, simon riley had never considered having children.

it’s a lot of time, commitment, and patience that he didn’t have. simon thought he’d live the rest of his life comfortably alone and worry-free.

until the day he met you.

you taught him how to smile. gentle, patient and kind, you became the home simon thought he’d never have. with a voice soft like honey, and eyes sparkling with adoration, simon fell head first and hopelessly in love with you.

he doted on you - spoiled you rotten to the core and did so without a moments hesitation. he never saw himself as the type to be so smitten, so pathetically entangled with the idea of you being his, but you clicked together like a puzzle piece.

you’re an elementary school teacher, with a class full of twenty-two little rascals who were too curious for their own good. you had a job at the same school johnny’s little boy attended, a second-grade teacher with a bubbly personality that attracted even the worst of people. like him.

he met you on an august afternoon, your hand intertwined with his best mates kid, arms swinging in unison as the little boy laughed excitedly. johnny had been tied up with work, neck deep in paperwork and drowning in meetings.

simon begrudgingly agreed to do pick-up, and had he known your smiling face would greet him for the very first time - he’d do it every damn day for the rest of his life.

the first thing you said to him, with a little coy smile plastered across your face, had him bleeding out and begging for mercy.

“simon, right? i’ve heard so much about you,”

“only the good things - i hope.”

“i’d like to think so - but you’re more then welcome to correct me if i’m wrong.”

you left your lunch at the apartment you shared - the one he invited you to stay at after only four months together. your jacket is hung up on his door, your shoes left underneath his bed and the paperwork with your curved handwriting sitting on the kitchen counter. remnants of you stick to him like glue, and simon just doesn’t have the heart to wash you off.

he stalks through the school corridors, eyes scanning for the familiar blushing face he’s come to adore. the mask is left in his center console - he didn’t want to scare anyone, as amusing as it may be. your classroom is down the hall, the door propped ajar as a silent invitation for him.

he’s never seen your class before - always preferring to meet you in the parking lot with a toothy grin spread across his face at the sight of you leading kids to their parents.

lately, simons been thinking of a life with you. a two story home, white picket fence and a ring around your finger with a smile that’s made just for him. there’s a backyard, a little hammock you can swing in as he cooks for you.

hell - maybe even a little one that clings to your side. his eyes. your hair. his stubborn nature. your curiosity. it’s a thought, one that he’s never considered until you.

simon wasn’t thinking straight when he drove to your work, your lunch bag sitting in his passenger seat as he grew giddy at the idea of seeing you. always the fool.

he heard your voice from across the hall, gentle and smooth alongside a symphony of energetic kids who shouted your name and gathered their things. simon felt the familiar quicken of his heartbeat, chest tightening with excitement as he knocked gently on the door and popped his head in.

you leaned against the white board, dragging your gaze away from the class and landing on simon. at the sight of him, you blushed crimson red and gnawed on your lower lip. he extended an arm outwards, your lunch dangling from his fingertips.

twenty-two pairs of eyes focused on him in an instant. their little heads snapped to him, voice shrill with curiosity as simon blinked in bewilderment. you parted your lips, voice falling silent in the background of the class going wild.

“who are you?” “you look old.” “do you know my dad? he’s big like you.” “i think that’s teachers friend-“ “teacher doesn’t have friends!”

“teacher said it’s rude to stare, mister.”

“sorry, kids - someone forgot their lunch,” he states, looking to you expectantly. god help him. simon’s never been the one to get along with children - much less an entire classroom full of them. but you were right there, with eyes sparkling full of happiness as you watched him.

those eyes - they tell him the same thing you’ve said every waking moment you spend with him. i love you.

“he’s a delivery driver!” someone shouted, causing a chorus of argument, your shoulders shaking as you held back laughter. simon entered the room, gently placing the bag on your desk and giving you a subtle wink.

clearing your throat, you grabbed the children’s attention with ease, a hand on your hip as you gestured to him. “this is my friend simon. class - say hello,” you state, voice slicing through the chatter as they quieted down to listen.

simon stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do as nearly two dozen shouts rang out to greet him. you look over to him, a smirk on your lips as he rubs a hand behind his neck.

“is he your best friend, teacher?”

you can’t help but laugh, the sound ringing like a sweet melody in his ears. simon adores you, heart slipping a beat at the way you nod your head innocently in agreement. “we’re the bestest of friends,” simon whispers loudly, a hand cupped around his mouth as those little eyes widen with excitement.

you think he’s the one, the very explanation of your existence. the pearly gates of heaven could greet you outside and you’d run straight to him. it’s got you thinking there’s a life worth living if it’s with him.

“thank you,” you say softly to him, opening the paper bag and rifling through it. “you’re off early today.”

he actually called out after he found your lunch left behind. he spent the morning looking over shiny rings at the jeweler, brows furrowed as he thought only of you. he got the pretty one, swiping his card without hesitation and keeping the velvet box in his pocket. it sits there even now.

“things are slow,” he states, eyes casting over the classroom with little pieces of you across it. there’s posters hung up on the wall, your handwriting scrawled in large letter and photos of all the trips he’s taken you on. you’ve labeled them all, and there’s a picture of him that sits on your desk.

“i think he works at a restaurant.” someone whispers amongst the sea of young faces. “no, he looks like a secret agent.” another pipes up.

simon laughs, the sound deep and reverberating through the room. he shakes his head in amusement. glancing over to you, he feels himself falling effortlessly for you all over again. you hold his gaze.

“caught red-handed.”

[sophswritingthings]

ruin my life -- chapter 1

| warning(s): light swearing |

| a/n: modern mizu had such a grip on me, and now were here. |

| summary: an overlook into mizu's life before you enter it. |

| song rec: ruin my life -- zolita (for the story, in general) |

| word count: 776 words / 4,211 characters |

______________________________________________________________

mizu always kept to herself, she was never the loud type. always played a background role, even if people thought she should be in the spotlight.

never had she believed that before she met eiji.

eiji was an alumni at her school.. one of the many famous actors the school had produced. the amount of actors they had produced is why she really wanted to go to the school, in the first place.

and meeting him kind of changed her whole perception of her own talent, of her own mind. if someone who was so great could tell her all these great things about herself, they were true, surely.

"listen here, kid, nobody ever did anything by sitting on their ass and never getting anything done," he furrowed his eyebrows as they walked side by side, through the halls of the marbled school. "I know that better than anyone. you remind me of myself, when I went here."

she arched one eyebrow, "how come? im.. nothing like you, I mean.. you're this great actor and im just.. a college student who can barley pay their own tuition."

he gently gripped her shoulder, nodding, "exactly. do you think I was some great guy while I was in college? I didn't come from riches, kid, I could barley pay for this college when I was your age."

she adverted her gaze, a little sigh leaving her lips, "suppose that's true," mizu mumbled.

"and ive heard you do fencing," he tapped his cane against the ground, "as did i."

"oh--yeah. yeah, I know," a small smile crossed her lips. "its part of the reason I wanted to start. sort of, I guess."

"its a noble practice," he nodded, smiling a bit. "may I request to meet you, again, mizu? after your classes, tomorrow."

her eyes widened, gazing at him. someone as great as him, wanted anything to do with them?

"um, uh, yes." she stammered, "I'll meet you here."

and from then on, that's what they'd do. hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks that she would meet eiji for both fencing practice, and acting/college advice.

eiji was basically the father she had never had, someone to inspire her, push her forward.

her college life had improved, a little. not by much, but a little. she still lived in a small-ass college dorm with three other girls, sharing two sets of bunk beds in the room the size of a walk in closet.

"mizu? hey?" one of the girls, carrie, seemed to take an interest in her early. and of course, she had settled on the top bunk of mizu's bed. the girl popped down, swinging her head over mizu's bed. "you doin' anything tomorrow? me and some friends were going out and--"

mizu's head had almost immediately blocked out any word she said. she didn't want anything to do with this girl, nor what she was offering. she seemed to be the kind of girl to cling and never leave, and she was not about that. she'd come home crying over some new girl every week, she could guess, crying that they said she was "too clingy".

"uh--yeah. im working," mizu hissed, never looking up from her phone.

that wasn't a lie, actually, she had work at her average pay job as a barista. she had been working there ever since she got accepted into the college, how else would she pa her tuition?

not that it helped, much, it wasn't the best pay ever. and her tuition was more than 50,000 dollars a year--she was going to be in debt for more days than she thought she could count. but if she managed (and hopefully she would, with eijis help) to get a good gig, or few, she could pay it off in no time.

the coffee shop wasn't too bad, though. customers were usually quiet, besides the few that would come in every so often. she'd get okay tips, considering she tried to be as respectful as she could.

she had her friends. none of which attended the same school--they all had different majors. whom she considered her best friend, akemi, was in harvard law school miles away from them. taigen had gotten into law school, too, just not the same. (he definitely wasn't smart enough for harvard, that's for sure.) and ringo, the sweet culinary major she'd met going out for drinks, one night, with akemi. he was a mixologist, and despite his lack of hands--he was a wonderful one.

her life was calm. her life was quiet.

there was never anything absolutely interesting, about it.

that was--until you walked into it.

______________________________________________________________

[peachymilkandcream]

My Husband, My Monster|Part 7|William Afton x Wife!Reader

(A/N: Now I'm kind of back in the swing of things, writing can continue as scheduled with a brand new chapter of MHMM. This one is a bit of a time jump, since the series isn't going to be that long. Who knows when the sequel comes out I might do some oneshots in the same timeline. Hope you enjoy and comment to be added to the taglist!)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

==============================================

Her body was spent, two kids later her body had taken the toll. William demanded that perfect picket fence life, and that included his children, their two boys Michael and Evan Afton. At ten, Michael was already more than the couple could handle, since Evan was the baby he got more attention. This caused a rebellious streak, he acted out at any given opportunity to get his parent's attention. Knocking over vases and terrorizing his poor brother with a Foxy mask he had stolen from their newest location. She had gone past exhaustion when it came to trying to discipline him, William was no help, telling her as the wife she should handle it herself and not bother him. Single life appealed more and more, but in her heart she was becoming more and more fond of William, maybe it was the start of even loving him.

All of his time was now spent at work, his own children treated him as little more than a stranger since he was this vague and distant character they had never come to know. When it came to her they either despised or adored her and there was no in between, she was all that they had so it they made the best of it.

When she voiced her concerns to William, finally after all this time he seemed to hear what she had said and listened. He was lost in thought for so long after she had finished her ramblings that she thought he was angry with her.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke. "I suppose you have a point."

"I do?"

"Don't let it get to your head. I said you have a point, but as always I need to be the one to figure out a solution."

"Yes- right- what do you suggest?"

"Bring them with you tomorrow and come to the restaurant, they can see what I do and maybe I'll be able to spend more time with them while getting work done."

"You don't think they'll get in the way?"

"Are you questioning me?"

"I...no- you're right William, I'll do that tomorrow."

"Good, then let's not talk any more about it, come here." His arms were outstretched waiting for her to join him in bed.

She does so, laying against his chest and listening to his heartbeat while he strokes her hair.

"It'll all work out fine my dear."

=============================================

Children and large machines do not mix.

Despite all of William's attempts to introduce Evan to the animatronics that took up so much of his time, he was determined to hide from them and cling to his mother's skirt at all costs. The machine's terrified the hell out of him, he just wanted to go home. Although this just seemed to annoy William even more, an aggressive streak coming into him as he dragged him around and forced him to get closer despite his mother's protests.

"William can I talk to you about something?" She was wringing her hands with worry over her son's increasingly stressed behavior.

With an eyeroll he nods for her to follow him into his office, leaving the children alone in the restaurant since he refused to have the children in his workspace.

"What is it?"

"You're scaring the children, can't you see how terrified they are of those machines?"

"He needs to grow a backbone, you're raising him to be soft. I never should have let you raise them on your own."

"He's five!"

"And? I wasn't afraid of machines at his age. He needs to grow the fuck up."

"I can't believe you would act like this."

"Oh get off it, you're being so dramatic."

"I am not! You're just-"

She's cut off by a bloodcurdling scream outside of the office, causing the two of them to rush out to the source of the noise.

The first thing they saw was Michael sobbing on the floor, holding himself while he looked up in horror.

The two parents slowly scanned their eyes up to meet what he was looking at, freezing in horror when they saw the crushed head of their son trapped in the mouth of the golden Fredbear.

Tags:

@fandomreader @n3r0-1417 @2pacl0ve

[beyondflashpoint]

Vladislav Masters, or Vlad Plasmius, if you prefer. CEO of Master’s Tech, founder of the Master’s Financial Group, playboy, billionaire, entrepreneur.

Vlad is suave, casually stylish, and charming. Vlad Masters is a man who has everything. Well… almost everything…

My version of Vlad is much more debonair than his canon counterpart. More of a Norman Osborn to Danny’s Spider-Man. Also changing some backstory to make he, Jack, and Maddie a throuple, up until the incident with the proto-portal. After that horrible incident he pushed Jack and Maddie away, and they went on to marry and start a family. Vlad did return years later, shortly after Danny was born, and try to mend fences, but while Jack and Maddie had moved on, Vlad was still clinging to his perfect past. Inevitably it went too far, and Jack had to put his foot down, telling Vlad that in no uncertain terms could they rekindle their old flame, and though he was welcome in their lives as their friend, that was all they could ever be, and if he ever made Maddie uncomfortable again, that was it. Vlad left to do his own thing, and take some time to “recover,” but he still visited from time to time, to take the kids, or just hang around. So far he seems to be respecting the boundaries that have been set.

He was always kind to the kids, but showed obvious favoritism to little Jazz. Uncle Vlad always sends the best birthday presents, and plans the best vacations, though lately he has been keeping his distance.

[seas-storyarchive]

Crazy au

Back when Danny and Jazz were little, Alicia's farm burns down, a forest fire that spread to her farm during the night - she got out okay. Her pride wasn't really as alright.

She moves in with Jack and Maddie, basically becoming nanny to Jazz and Danny. Look, it took her a bit to adjust. Taking care of kids, and her sister and her brother-in-law (Jack). Like, she just doesn't leave but the family is fine with it because it's family.

Breakfast, lunch and family dinners are mandatory. Alicia has shut off the power grid more than once, it's going into the high double digits, sometimes multiple times in the same day. Who let her be in charge of the house? She just took over so the kids had stability with their parents working and so Jack and Maddie didn't have to worry about their kids running wild.

Alicia put up a sturdy fence around the small yard of Fenton Works and turned some of it into a patch of garden to have tomatoes, potatoes and other plants (some on hooks, some in a greenhouse that no one put up a fuss about her having). Danny in particular, back then and to present day, helps his aunt in the garden. Jazz was more of the "wash the veggies" type of kid so that was fine

Gives the kids extra money with a wink ("hey, $20 extra for you to go pick me up some small," Jack/Maddie leaves the room "cheap chocolate, you keep the change.")

the years pass, and Jazz and Danny listen to Alicia moreso than their parents because it's always been that way - they still love and listen to their parents, don't worry, it's mainly when the parents are working

Jazz knows her home situation isn't normal, but loves and appreciates her aunt for the stability she's attempted to give her

Danny loves his aunt, she's the best! She's helped him fix his room over the years to match his interests and recently she gave him space wall-clings for his room (guys, is it manly to hang space themed wall clings on your walls? no? oh well, onto the wall it goes)

Alicia singlehandedly prevents the whole Phantom situation - Danny is given the options: be grounded for (attempting, at the time) taking people down there without hazmat suits and breaching the containment zone for doing that, or take his friends to the movies with some extra cash and curfew being extended 15 minutes (for Jazz too)

they guys all just hang out at the mall instead

Alicia likes Tucker the most out of Danny's friends. She has had many a problem with Sam - from her snide comments about her wearing overalls all the time, to her pitching a fit the first times she ate dinner there because she didn't know Sam was an ultra-recyclo-vegetarian but doesn't ban Danny from hanging out with her because aside from the comments made by a 14 year old being annoying, she's harmless and she'll grow out of it, right? Tucker's parents are at first confused when they meet Alicia ("wasn't she the aunt?" "I'm sure it's nothing too strange.") but they adjust to her and they like her company. Sam's parents HATE her (mutual, honestly)

and then Alicia met Vlad. It's a strange meeting between the two, with them being awkward around each other

but the meetings kept happening, and the Fentons began to see Vlad take an interest in Alicia - maybe he'd truly given up on chasing Maddie?? - and then it started to be reciprocated by Alicia after a bit

So yeah, Alicia/Vlad becomes a long-distance thing for a while with them going to visit each other (Alicia coming back with gifts for the family - Vlad bringing some too when he visits)

[river-bottom-nightmare]

The kid really wasn’t supposed to be an issue. Dick assured himself it wasn’t going to be an issue. He crossed his heart and hoped to die, dragged a knife over his throat, offering Tiger a solemn promise before flipping the knife between his fingers, dancing too close to his jugular, and winking. (One of these days, he’d put a flash of panic in Tiger’s eyes, he just knew it.) Agent 37, especially now with Tiger, was damn near unshakable.

But here’s the thing: this little brat with a suit more expensive than half of Bruce’s wine cellar and a pout sweeter than a baby’s and pudginess still clinging to his cheeks hadn’t stopped talking about jaguars in the past ten minutes.

“Eyes on target. Two minutes to break through security’s last defense,” says Tiger’s voice in his ear, quiet even through their tinny comms. Dick can picture the concentrated furrow on his forehead, the set of his shoulders and flex of his traps to settle himself before a mission’s last stretch. He can picture it better than he can his siblings, somedays.

“That’s great, buddy!” Dick tells Tiger and the kid damn-near clinging to his leg. His hair is blonde, ruffled, clinging to any vestige of its gelled style with a sort of hopeless desperation, like trying to ground a ghost. And this wouldn’t be an issue, it really truly wouldn’t, if Damian Wayne hadn’t also spent their last gala running his tiny, calloused hands through his sticky hair, doing his best impression of not clinging to Dick’s leg, and continuously talking about tigers.

How long has it been since someone’s last touched him with such simple trust? Dick feels the boy’s faith angularly, like a spear of glass through his ribs, through the ribbons of his tendons.

It’s frigid. The two of them are on the ballroom’s balcony, letting the wind use her cold fingers to trace the underside of Dick’s scalp, letting a night of dancing and quiet drugs and secrets spill out behind them. (Letting Dick protect this child’s innocence a day longer.) He isn’t true royalty but he may as well be, the way Bruce always was, because underneath the balcony overlook is a very illegal jaguar enclosure. Inside, the jaguar seems to be stretching, waking herself up for the day, taking note of the iron fence surrounding her as Dick supposes she does every morning. Dick can sympathize. There’s a different sort of freedom they’re both experiencing for the first time, and Dick thinks they both rather prefer before.

“—and they have the strongest bite of any big cat! Compared to its size, I mean.” The boy clearly thinks this fact is splendid—it actually kind of is—and he looks up at Dick, pleading with his eyes for acknowledgement. His aunt and uncle, the child’s new guardians, are attempting to use him to release a bioweapon four nights from now that would potentially kill millions. He’s resisted them for weeks, and here he is, begging for a morsel of praise.

Dick lets his eyes go wide. “Whoa, really? That’s actually pretty cool.” The boy beams, his little wildflower head bobbing and his smile unburdened, beauty like something peeking up out of the earth for the first time. God, Damian used to hate these parties. Used to scowl at any mention of fumbling himself into a child’s suit and making nice with shark-toothed civilians for hours. Used to look up at Dick with that same unfiltered joy when they sat in the hall, asking Alfred to sneak them some tarts, Damian leaning into Dick’s arm and telling him about a cool new tiger fact he learned. That arm still prickles. Emptiness does the opposite of pain, and somehow that is always worse.

“Everything’s disabled,” Tiger’s voice nudges him out of his reverie. “Except the last password. Needs to be handwritten. You got that kid to open up yet?” Dick can hear the challenge in his voice, ever so subtly weaved into his even tone, and he can’t keep his lips from turning up at the edges.

The jaguar in the enclosure below folds up from her stretches, smooth like a burn, and leaps atop a large rock in her enclosure. The boy is stunned into silence for a brief moment. He seems to be gazing at the jaguar with a dangerous sort of longing in his eyes. Like he wants to be cracked open, like a stone-fruit ripped in two and devoured, like trust seems to be at once a holy and sordid thing to him. (He seems to be exactly the son of parents who, rather than entrusting any of their relatives or partners, made their child create the password for access to a mass bioweapon, then had the brilliant sense to be assassinated before they could tell him about it.)

Quietly, murmuring into the comm on his wrist, Dick says, “Try panthera onca.”

There’s a pause, then, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“He’s a kid, Tiger.” It wasn’t really that long ago that Dick was making up stupid passwords for Bruce to guess. The password to the pillow fort Dick made for Bruce’s birthday was the binary nomenclature for a bat. The password Damian uses—used, fuck, used—for his phone was the king cobra. 

Silence from the other end of the comm. Silence from the kid, too. Dick glances over, and sees he’s still hypnotized by the jaguar. He follows the child’s line of sight, and finds the jaguar staring straight at them. I am hungry, her eyes tell him. I have not felt another living being in so long that I will devour the next one I touch. I am so fucking starving and I want you like an organ taken out of your guts, I want to swallow you into a lanky-shaped hollow near my stomach, and maybe, Dick thinks, maybe she’ll name it “Agent 37” or “Nightwing” or possibly even “Robin.” But what I want most of all, she says with a flick of her tail and a twitch of her ears, is to rip out your bones and hold them, craft them, use them to wrench open the bars of this cursed cage so that I may run, and never return. I will take your bones with me, the jaguar promises, so you will be free as well.

The jaguar growls quietly, and Dick can somehow hear it from the balcony. Then, she flits away. Dick untenses in time with the boy next to him. He thinks of iron bars and bloody torsos and a time when he could wear his own face. He thinks of a boy, only a little taller than the one standing next to him, who would have kept him from ever giving in to Bruce’s demands to renounce his face to begin with.

(He thinks of Damian’s bloody torso, specifically, and thinks that he would let the jaguar carve open his gut and tear out his bloated bag of organs, if only she would give them to Damian. They would be more useful than his unknowable face.)

Tiger’s voice filters through the comm. “Package secure. Heading towards safehouse delta.”

The kid next to him sighs happily, again. “Pretty cool, isn’t she?”

Dick smiles down at him. “Very. What’s her name?”

The boy frowns, confusion on his face. “She doesn’t have a name. It’s better not to have one, I think.”

“Oh really?”

A nod from the child, more serious than Dick imagined “She did bad things. She killed people. That’s why they let me have her. And I think she’d like it better if I didn’t use her old name, the one that she had when she did the bad things. But I don’t want to give her a new name and have it be wrong! So she doesn’t have a name.”

“Do you think she likes that?” Dick asks. “Names are—names are important.”

“I don’t know,” the boy says, suddenly looking very unsure of himself. “But I think it’s better to not have a name than to have one that hurts you. Or to have one that doesn’t fit.”

Dick hums. Considers. Offers the boy another smile and straightens up in the way people do when they’re getting ready to leave. “I suppose you have a point, kid.”

The child nods. There are bruises in the tender skin under his red-rimmed eyes and his lips have scabs from his own teeth all over them. They’re so chapped, they’re nearly bleeding. Dick knows how much sleep children get after their parents are murdered in front of them. “Thank you for the jaguar facts,” Dick tells him, sincerely. “They made the night much more fun.”

The boy nods. Opens his mouth, closes it, then seems to make up his mind and opens it again. “Before you go,” he says, with all the hesitation he’s kept close and quiet this entire night, “can I—can I just have a hug? Please?”

And Dick, without hesitation, folds to his knees and opens his arms.

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@dickgraysonweek dick grayson week day 2: first responder au | “can i just have a hug? please?” | spies & secret agents

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[emeritusemeritus]

Hi!! If it’s okay, can I please request a (Fred lives au) Fred Weasley x Muggle!fem!reader where it takes place after the Wizarding War, and Fred is wandering around Muggle London, needing a break from the repairs him and George are making on their shop (that had been badly damaged during the war), wanting fresh air to clear his head. He hears a woman scream, very clearly in danger, and he goes to help her, ending up saving Y/n in a dark alley, him using his powers to do so. Leaving Y/n shook (and still scared about the situation). He makes the bad guys (who are also muggles) forget about him using magic, and while he wishes he didn’t have to make Y/n forget as well, as she’s currently clinging to him in shock after he saved her, he still makes her forget. They run into each other again the next day, Y/n not remembering anything from the night before, and they have a lot of chemistry and start dating, and all is going well until Y/n finds out about the night he made her forget, about magic and wizards, and Y/n is upset that he lied to her about it all? Especially upset that they had met before and upset that he made her forget at all, and Fred tries to explain why he had to make her forget. George ends up playing “Parent Trap” to get the both of them in the same room to reconcile? With a happy ending?

Hi my love, full disclosure: I didn’t go full parent trap as I have something in the works a little similar so I hope this is okay for you! 🖤

Warnings: Brief mentions of assault and attempted SA but only one scene. I’ve added asterisks before and after so you can skip past it if you want to avoid. Lying, violence, deception, George meddles, Fred is a bit of a simp. Fred calls us sweetheart. POV change after the time skip. muggle!Reader. Bit of heartbreak, a bit of breakup and makeup. One sexual reference at the end.

Word count: 3.7k

Little bit of liberty taken with this one as I’ve written that spouses of wizards and witches can visit Diagon alley (similar to parents of muggle born kids) as lost as they are accompanied by magic users.

London was always rather bleak this time of year, no matter where you went. It seemed there were roadworks and building works happening in nearly every neighbourhood, workers mingling with the tourists that found to get their photographs in between the newly erected cones, temporary walkways and fences.

It seemed that it wasn't only the wizarding world that had suffered, though Fred doubted this actually had anything to do with Voldemort. Arthur had a theory that the juggle prime minister had funded an effort to 'clear up' London whilst Diagon Alley underwent extensive repairs as to not alert the muggles to the work, noise and sudden influx of workmen disappearing through the entrances to the Alley. Looking at the work sites all around him, Fred was inclined to believe his initially mad conspiracy.

Diagon Alley had been near decimated in the war with deatheaters looting, emptying and burning down stores for no apparent reason. Half of the shopping district had been abandoned, left to rot, the owners fleeing or captured and the other half was essentially destroyed. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had thankfully not fared too badly; it still needed extensive and expensive repairs to the exterior but the inside had been virtually untouched. Fred was eternally thankful of the jinxed he'd put on the premises along with the anti-alohamora charm he'd crafted which had seemed to keep away the deatheaters.

Even though it hadn't fared too badly, he was still exhausted from the repairs. He and George disagreed about what repairs should happen, the priorities and so on, neither if them agreeing if they should improve things or repair them back to the original. Use the full money on repairs or scrimp on the exterior issues and boost for a full restock once they were open. It was a constant battle of wits and opinions, a never ending cycle of unresolved issues and Fred had found that he just had to step out for some fresh air, to clear his head. Discussions around replacing the large figurehead of him and his twin's likeness had been the last straw, pushing him over the edge to the point where he just needed to escape for a bit.

It had fallen dark as he wandered around muggle London, the night time beginning. Due to the building sites and road works littered around, there was virtually no light. Whole clusters of street lamps out of commission with hardly any replacements, leaving this area of London in near darkness. Just as he grumbled to himself about the figurehead, unable to forge it from his mind, a loud, panic filled noise rang out and grabbed his attention. It was a woman screaming, the kind of scream that only happened when you were truly terrified and calling for help.

He knew the sound exactly, having heard it multiple times in the battle. He forced those thoughts out of his head and tried to follow the route that would lead him to where he'd heard the noise, realising he was the only one around to help.

When he ran past a little jitty between two shops, a butchers and a mechanic shop, he froze and retreated upon himself, looking down the dark alley to see a sight that turned his stomach. Three men, all approaching a woman that clearly did not want their company.

*

One was holding her by the throat, pinning her up against the brick wall whilst one's hand began wandering up her leg, pressing something to her throat with the other hand, something that looked silver and sharp, though Fred couldn't exactly see from his place in the shadows of the alley. The third man was just stood there, evidently the lookout, though he was doing a terrible job, choosing instead to watch the woman who was rightfully beside herself in fear.

He couldn't take three men on at once, not if they had muggle weapons. Fred was far from small but he'd never had to truly work with combative skills or fighting as his wand did most the duelling.

It took leas than twenty seconds before he reacted, fuelled by the woman's desperate whimpers as their hands began to wander, all whist threatening her with the blade.

"Stupify!" Fred said clearly but quietly, aiming directly for the third man, the lookout as he hung back in the shadows. The man flew back and hit his head on one of the big bins outback, rendering him unconscious. The man not holding you hostage with the blade turned in shock at what had just happened to his friend, his twisted and demented face turning towards Fred's direction trying to see if anyone was there. When they didn't see anything, both the men looked at each other and gave a disgusting chuckle at their friends expense before turning back to the woman who was still struggling against them.

Fred honestly didn't know if this would work, but he aimed so carefully at the weapon holding arm and cast a quiet 'expelliarmus,' to hopefully disarm the pathetic excuse of a man. It worked, the knife clattering to the floor some distance away as the blokes argued between one another, that they were messing it all up.

"Stupify," he cast once again on the second man who was trying to search for his knife on the ground as he verbally threatened the woman to stay where she was. The man immediately flies back much like his friend, hitting his head on the same dumpster and falling into a slump beside the first one.

The last remaining man looked on in fear, realising he was next. His hand slipped from the woman's neck as he looked upon the slumped bodies of his friends and realised quickly that he was without a weapon.

*

Fred took great pleasure in the full body bind he cast upon the man, rendering his completely still and useless on the floor, as if an invisible net had been cast around him, rendering him useless.

Fred stepped out of the shadows then, not yet replacing his wand as he stepped over to the bound man. He didn't know what had come over him but as he looked at the poor woman who was crying and shaking, he felt rage like never before.

His eyes were filled with pure rage, hateful anger filling his body as the man on the floor noticed him, fear filling his eyes at whatever he had done to him.

Fred pushed aside his anger as he turned to you, throwing his jacket over you and offered some calming words which he hoped would help you even slightly. Suddenly, you threw yourself at him and he accepted you into his arms without any thought, trying to calm your frayed nerves as you clung onto his body.

He aimed his wand at the two men who were mostly unconscious, though the first was beginning to come around with a groggy groan. He knew he didn't have time to get you away before he needed to do this and began obliviating the two slumped men.

He then turned to the third who looked utterly terrified at what Fred had done, unable to talk, move or get away from the mad man with a stick of wood.

"I hope this hurts," Fred says dangerously low as he points his wand directly at the man's head, ensuring the tip of the wood was ever so slightly sticking into the flesh of the man's forehead before he obliviates him.

As soon as it's done, he pockets hits wand and turns to face the woman, wrapping her in his arms as her silent cries lessen. She's so cold, so scared, it makes his heart ache. He was only wearing a work uniform from a local pub, evidently walking back home from her shift and it makes him feel even worse when he realises you were just going about your day, completely oblivious and undeserving.

"It'll be okay, you're safe now I promise," he says soothingly, not wanting to touch her outright after what had so nearly happened but still wanting to give her comfort.

"What, what did you do?" She asks with a sniffle, clearly a little afraid of what had happened.

"Better I don't explain," he says, cursing himself for having no other way of protecting you. "Where do you live? I need to know you get home safely."

When she doesn't reply, he realises his mistake.

"Sorry, it's okay not to tell me, I just want you to be safe. Do you have somewhere to go?"

He feels her nod against his shoulder and exhales the breath he hardly realised he'd been holding. He knows what he has to do but as he looks down at her frightened and rather pretty form clinging so desperately to him, he realises how much he doesn't want to. He wants her to forget what happened with the men, knows she needs to forget what she'd seen him do but the idea that she'd forget all about him made him feel disproportionally sad.

He holds his breath as he slowly pulls out his wand and holds it up towards her back, feeling guilty and wrong about what he's doing as he battles his raging inner monologue.

"Obliviate," he says gently, watching as the blue tendrils of the spell erupt and consume her. He has to be quick, pulling his jacket away from her shoulders and stepping away, walking quickly out of the alley. He doesn't want to leave her, his brain fighting every step that he takes but he can't stay, without an excuse as to why he was there.

He considers watching her as she walks home, checking that she made it back okay but he knows that would look worse. He couldn't have her be scared of him.

When he gets back to the shop, almost completely consumed by worry, he ignores George's rant completely, agreeing to whatever his twin wanted. He hardly sleeps that night, worried for her. He knows it's wrong but she was so pretty, so scared, it's like she'd imprinted onto his brain. Maybe he needed to be obliviated to forget her.

The next morning, he's up bright and early having abandoned any chance of sleeping. He remembers the logo on her work uniform and wants to check that she was alright, hoping that she might be there by now. He knows he can't mention that night, or ever meeting before but he can at least try to calm his mind if he saw her alive and well.

He never even made it into the pub, bumping into you on the way there. He smiled widely when he saw no lasting damage, no trauma and that you hadn't gotten frostbite or pneumonia from your extended time in the alley. In the daylight he realised you were absolutely beautiful and he took full advantage of your 'accidental run in', asking you out on the spot.

You thought it was strange that he didn't have a phone, or any real concept of technology but it all became clear six months into your relationship when he revealed his big secret, that he could use magic.

The conversation was approached with caution, having gathered tips from his siblings and his dad on how to proceed. You'd actually taken it surprisingly well, though if course you were shocked and disbelieving at first. It helped that you'd gotten really close with George and that he'd also assured you that they weren't pulling a prank on you. It all took a while to sink in with Fred slowly opening up more and more about his world. There were things you loved about it, and things that you found odd but that was the nature of growing up so differently. You'd met his family and been in complete amazement at their weird and wonderful home and they had been unbelievably warm and welcoming, making you feel like family already. You'd seen the incredible shop he and his brother had opened and had been amazed by everything in there. You'd moved in together, certain that you were endgame for each other. You saw how everybody in the wizarding world loved them, their inventions and it warmed your heart to know that you'd chosen a good guy.

It all came crashing down when you began talking about how you met, one night in your flat over a bottle of wine on your one year anniversary. Naturally, you assumed that it had been a coincidental run in that morning near your work, a fated moment where you met your soulmate. From that moment you just couldn't stop talking, couldn't be apart. Your relationship moved quickly but it felt right in every way, never giving you reason to puse or think twice. You were certain you'd never seen him before; you'd definitely have remembered his fire red hair, wide shoulders, gorgeous towering height and that beautifully mischievous smile. Fred however, had accidentally let it slip that it hadn't been your first encounter really, his eyes widening in panic when your eyes snapped up to his in utter confusion, realising he had said too much.

You managed to extract the truth from him eventually, the whole truth. He'd saved you, but then wiped your memory. You felt dirty, betrayed.

Knowing that those men had had their hands all over you, of what they wanted to do, it made your stomach roil dangerously until you were throwing up your celebratory anniversary meal. You couldn't look Fred in the eye, the strong sense of betrayal making you want to run away from him, feeling like you couldn't trust him at all. Everything was built on a lie, your entire relationship, the home and the life you'd built together, talks of the future.

You left that night to go back to your parents, scrubbing yourself raw in the shower at just how dirty you felt, how wrong you felt in your own skin. It had been nearly a month and you hadn't seen him once. You'd ignored his letters, thankful that he didn't have a phone because you'd be ignoring that too. You'd taken time off work so he couldn't find you there and had openly avoided any place in London that he might think to look for you- especially avoiding anywhere close to Diagon Alley. He'd come in and changed your life completely, given you hope for a wild and adventure filled future and then spoilt it all.

And the worst part is that you couldn't explain to anyone why. You didn't know a single other magical soul who wasn't directly or indirectly related to Fred and you couldn't exactly explain to your muggle friends and family the exact reason that you'd left him. The questioning from your parents was exhausting, wanting to know what happened between you and that 'sweet boy', your parents already considering him their son in law. But you couldn't say anything and so you remained vague, taking their questioning and opinions on the chin, taking the hit for him.

He saved you that night, you reminded yourself. It wasn't as if he was the one that had done you any harm, he'd actually saved you from getting hurt. Logically you knew that he had to wipe your memory, it was in their statue of secrecy, an unspoken code of conduct for the wizarding world. But still, the lingering feeling of betrayal never went away. Your relationship had been a lie, he had been a lie.

It was a Tuesday afternoon when you received a letter by owl that you'd nearly immediately thrown in the bin until you watched the owl fly away, noticing that it was a different colour to the one Fred usually used. You looked at the letter and noticed that it wasn't his writing but rather a smaller, more cursive font that wasn't as heavily scribbled as his was.

George.

You immediately felt guilty, realising that not only had you left Fred that night but you'd also left George in the dust, abandoning him as well. He wrote to say how much he missed you, that he was sorry and that he didn't know. He asked you to meet him at the leaky cauldron on Friday, if you still wanted to be friends, regardless of his brother.

You began to write back only to realise that you'd sent the owl away, that you'd have no chance of getting the message to him. Your only option was to meet him there Friday.

To say you were nervous was an understatement, trying to blend into the background as you walked through the opening of the cauldron, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the witches and wizards bustling about inside.

"Y/n!" You heard from the side, a little booth that wrapped around a brick pillar off to the side and you smiled when you saw George waving at you. You walked towards him, feeling a little calmer as he pulled you into a brief hug, asking how you were.

"Oh merlin, I left my wallet in my room," he says with a frown, looking at the staircase.

"Room?"

"Yeah, had to do some repairs to the flat so I've been staying here, bastard twin took the room at mums." You try not to react at the mention of his twin but your eye inadvertently flinches, forcing you to look away.

"It's okay I can get them," you began to say only to be cut off by George as he gives you a knowing smirk.

"Oh yeah, got a load of galleons in that bag?"

"Right, wizard money," you say with a frown, not having even considered that. "I might have some left over in here."

"It's okay, why don't we nip up to my room, it's only up there, be back in two minutes. If I leave you alone they might ask you to leave."

The smile on your face that had been there since reuniting with George disappeared the second you stepped into the room and saw a slightly broader version of George sat on the bed. At first you hoped it was just a mirror but when he turned to glare at his brother, you knew it was Fred instantly.

"Really George?" You said in frustration, turning to see him looking at you with a guilty and almost sad expression.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted you two to talk. I can't take his moping anymore," he says, gesturing towards Fred who still gives a thunderous look towards his brother.

"I told you not to get involved!" Fred says loudly towards his twin, the anger evident in his eyes.

"I missed her too," George argues but it's weak under the venomous glare of his twin. "Fine," he relents, feeling the double glare coming from both your and Fred.

"Just let me," he says slowly before quickly opening the door and closing it behind you. You hear the key turning in the lock and bolt to the door, trying to open it. You look to Fred who appears by your side, banging on the door and trying to pry the handle open but it was unless.

"He's jinxed it," he says in annoyance, turning to look for his wand that was on the table but is longe there. "Git's stolen my wand!"

"There aren't any repairs on the flat are there?" You ask, realising he'd fooled you completely.

"I haven't been back since we," he says, all anger dropping from his tense figure as he looks at you briefly before diverting his eyes.

"I meant at the shop, George's flat," you say, feeling a little awkwardly.

You look up at him in confusion when you hear him snort out a laugh. "That was what he told you?"

"How was I meant to know?" You asked sharply, not liking the laugh he'd given you because you fell for his trick.

"No I didn't mean, never mind." he says quickly, defensively before he breaks off his speech mid sentence, sighing and taking a seat on the bed.

It's painfully awkward as you take a seat at the little desk in the corner, Fred sitting on the bed. The room is small, completely taken up by the wooden four poster bed and it leaves little room for you to avoid each other.

"I," Fred says after a while, breaking the tense silence. "I'm so sorry."

Your eyes slowly trail up to him to see him looking at you with wide and emotion filled eyes. "I should have told you, I should have done more so that you knew but I really thought I was doing the right thing."

"You did."

You watch as his eyes bulge at your words, as soon as they sink it. His wide eyes suddenly merge to a look of confusion as he ponders your reply.

"You did do the right thing, at least for the wizarding community. A muggle saw what happened, you had to fix that," you say quietly with a little shrug, looking away from him. "I understand why; I just hate that you hid it from me for so long."

"I know," he replies, "there was just never a right time. I couldn't tell you until you knew about me but by then I was already so in love with you that I couldn't risk losing you so I kept quiet."

You can feel his gaze on you but you don't look at him, worried that if you looked at him now your heart would break all over again. You never expected love to be so complicated, never knew that with great love came great heartbreak.

“I miss you sweetheart.”

Those four simple words broke your resolve completely, shattering whatever resentment you were holding on to completely.

You finally look at him, really look and you can see that he looks tormented, like he’s not been sleeping right. You miss him too; you want your old life back, where you were happy together.

“No more lies,” you say, fixing him with a soft but meaningful glance, laying out your terms.

“No more lies,” he agrees, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips as he watches you slowly stand and make your way over to him, the past forgiven and forgotten.

When George enters the room an hour later, checking on the progress and to see that you were both still alive, he sees a lot more than he bargained for… and certainly more of Fred’s arse than he ever wanted to see.

[bigdumbbambieyes]

happiest of birthdays to my bub, my best friend and twin flame, @hephaestn 🤍

“I had a dream,” Billy murmurs into Steve’s sleep-warm skin, his cheek pressed to a firm shoulder as they cuddle in the early morning.

His boyfriend is still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he replies in an equally soft voice, “Yeah?”

Because Billy doesn’t dream much anymore, not after what happened in the summer of 1985 — and if he does, it’s usually a nightmare of gore and monsters that has Steve shaking him awake.

“Yeah,” Billy whispers, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist to gently and easily move his pretty boy onto his side to pull him closer, so Steve’s back is to his chest, “You were in it.”

“I was?” Steve smiles as he glances over his shoulder, their eyes meeting easily.

A nod is all Billy gives him, and a kiss to his shoulder, because he loves the way Steve looks when he wakes up. Soft.

“What was it about?” Steve murmurs, facing forward again while sliding his hand under the blanket to trail his fingertips along Billy’s forearm, smoothing his palm across the back of Billy’s hand, where it rests over his heart.

Billy goes quiet, for a moment, as he thinks of his dream. He tries to remember the details as he really begins to wake up, tries to grasp at the dream before it can slip away.

“I was a kid again,” he begins quietly, his mouth pressed to Steve’s shoulder, “At my old house, in California. My mom always used to plant rows of sunflowers in the backyard and they always grew so tall—taller than the fence,” A soft smile graces his face as he recalls it, “And in my dream, it was a warm day. The sun was shining and I was staring up at the sunflowers when I felt you stand next to me. You were a kid, too, and you pushed my shoulder and yelled ‘tag!’ then ran off laughing.”

Steve huffs a tiny laugh at that, clearly imagining it now, too.

Billy’s smile grows into a grin, comforted to know that Steve isn’t thinking about how weird he is for dreaming such a thing, “I ran after you and we chased each other through my mom’s garden under the sun, laughing, until I took your hand and lead you into the sunflowers, where we found the secret raspberry bush that my mum planted for me when I was a baby. I ate raspberries there every summer, until she…she…”

His throat closes up a little, because while he’s done a lot of healing with his mother’s abandonment, it still catches him off guard sometimes. Steve squeezes his hand gently, reassuring him quietly while asking, “Did we eat the raspberries?”

Billy nods, his mouth softened into that tiny smile again, “Yeah. We picked them and put them on our fingertips, ate them one at a time. And then we collapsed onto the grass in the backyard and talked, about something I can’t really remember, but I remember the way the grass left marks on your face and how our fingertips were stained pink. We laid there for a while and promised to be friends forever and then my mom called us in for lunch and then…then I woke up.”

They let the dream float in the air between and around them for a moment, soaking it in, imagining it in their minds as they cuddle.

“That’s a nice dream, baby,” Steve finally murmurs, thoughtfully thumbing over the back of Billy’s hand slowly before looking back at him again with his big, earnest eyes, “I wish I’d known you when we were kids.”

The sentiment is sweeter than the raspberries in his dream. It brings tears to his eyes as he whispers, “Me, too.”

Steve makes a soft sound at the sight of tears, eager to soothe because then he’s turning around in Billy’s arms to press him down onto their mattress, their lips meeting in a kiss as gentle as the sunlight.

Billy clings to him, because even if he didn’t have Steve when he was younger, at least he has him now.

[issdisgrace]

CLINGY

WARNINGS: Fluff, Jamie is clingy

Jamie has been very needy for the last couple of days. When I tried to inquire about his neediness, he changed the subject. Deciding that he’ll tell me what’s wrong when he wants to. I drop it, letting him cling to me as I do stuff around the ranch. He stays out of the way for the most part only occasionally getting in the way. As the third day of him clinging to me drawn on, I could see Jamie getting more and more tired by the minute. We rode together as I checked for any breaks in the section of fence that Rip had asked me to check. It took an hour to check the whole section and as we rode back to the ranch. I realized that Jamie had fallen asleep in my arms. I smiled and kissed the crown of his head, making sure to take it easy. I’m really glad I insisted he rode in front of me instead of behind me. When we made it back to the ranch, John and Rip were standing on the porch talking about something. I ride up to the porch.

“Can one of you put away Alastair for me?”

“Sure.” Rip says.

I carefully dismount from Alastair, making sure Jamie doesn’t fall off. I then gently pull Jamie off of him and lift him to carry him bridal style. Rip comes off the porch and takes Alastair to the barn, John silently watching the scene with a smile. Walking up the porch steps. John says,

“He falls asleep on you, too?”

“Yeah.”

“He used to do that when he was a kid. He’d fall asleep on me or his mom all the time, but he stopped when he was 7 when we finally got him his own horse to ride.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah it was.”

“What was Jamie like as a kid?” I asked, looking down at his sleeping form in my arms.

“He was quiet, very curious, and clingy.”

“Well, I guess the clingy part never went away, because that’s all he’s been for the last couple of days.”

“He’s probably stressed out. He always got clingy when too much was going on or when big things came up. So please take care of my son,” John says brushing strands of Jamie’s hair that had fallen out of his eyes as he smiled softly down at him. 

“I will always take care of him. You have my word.”

“Thank you, Y/n.”

“It’s no problem John, I love him with my whole being. But right now I should probably get him inside now.”

“You probably should. Here, I’ll open the door for you.”

John holds the door of the house open and I step in. I slowly make my way upstairs with Jamie to our bedroom. Still being passed out cold and not wanting to wake him up. I take off his clothes myself before tucking him and giving him a kiss on the forehead.

“Sleeptight Jamie. I love you.” I say as I turn our bedroom light off before leaving him to rest as I finish up my work for the day. 

It took 3 hours to finish what I needed to get down and by now it was 5:00pm. I was in the living room with everyone else watching Jurassic Park as it was Tate’s night to pick what we watched before dinner. As we watched it, I heard a very tired Jamie call out for me. Getting up, I go to find Jamie, finding him at the bottom of the stairs. Still in just his boxers and a tee shirt trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Y/n.” He mumbles out as he sees me. 

“You sleep well Jamie.” I ask, knowing the answer. 

“Mmm, still tired.” He says, stumbling towards me practically falling face first into my chest. Catching him, I chuckle at just how cute he is when he’s tired. 

“Alright, big boy. How about we get you back upstairs so you can sleep some more? Dinner won’t be for an hour. “

“No.” He says, shaking his head.

“Alright then. You think you’re awake enough to walk to the living room or do want me to carry you?”

“Carry me.” 

“Alright.” I say, picking him up, his legs quickly wrapping around my waist and his arms wrapping around my neck. I carry him back to the living room, his head resting in the crease of my neck. No one says anything as I enter and sit down with Jamie wrapped around me. Well everyone except for Tate.

“What’s wrong with Uncle Jamie?”

“Uncle Jamie is just really tired right now.” I responded back to the worried boy. 

“Oh, ok,” He says happy with the answer before turning back to the tv. I rub Jamie’s back as I turn my attention to the tv. 

“This is going to make good blackmail.” I hear Beth say as a camera click is heard.

“You are not going to blackmail your brother. He’s tired and stressed.” John reprimands Beth. I pay no mind to it and just continue my watching of Jurassic Park.

[georgiapeach30513]

When I Hear Your Name, Part 2

Summary:  How did Steve know?

Pairings:  Bucky Barnes X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, dark, smut, unprotected sex, PIV sex, marking, creampie, cheating, voyeurism, obsessive behavior, threats, implied kidnapping, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  2.4K

Previous

Steve Rogers Masterlist

A/N:  My entry for @the-slumberparty Week 2 Blast From the Past Challenge.  My random generator theme was ‘Descent into Madness’ and the setting was ‘Military’.  

First Line generator gave me:  “He didn’t want to go out on such a night, but...”

He didn’t want to go out on such a night, but since Steve had returned he wasn’t the same.  You were no longer the same.  You stayed with Steve day and night, and he just sat there.  He didn’t speak to you.  Barely ate or drank.  Steve was just there.  When you had called Bucky to meet you at a local bar, he couldn’t deny you.  He had seen you becoming more withdrawn from life.  

Before you and Steve were the life of the party.  Always giggling, cutting up, usually singing at the top of your lungs, but not anymore.  It was sad how war can change a person.  And sometimes that person brought that back with them, and they changed the people around them as well.  It wasn’t fair, but it was true.

Bucky could see you with your head hung down low immediately.  All alone in a darkened corner with a glass of a dark amber liquid, and Steve’s choice of beer in a bottle on the table.  He wasn’t there.  Bucky knew he wasn’t there.  You just couldn’t stop ordering for him.  It was second nature at this point.

With a deep breath, Bucky walks up to your table, offering a quick peck to the top of your head before sitting opposite of you.  His finger traces circles on the table, while he raises a hand to the bartender.  Bucky didn’t have to order, his order never changed, and a glass of beer would be set in front of him shortly.

“Moonbeam?” You sniffle at the sound of Steve’s nickname for you.  It had been so long since you had heard it.  Steve didn’t talk, definitely didn’t say your name.  Bucky changes and whispers your name, but you shake your head no.

“No, I like hearing that name,” you finally look up at him, and he feels the utmost pity.  Your eyes were rimmed in bright red, and the veins were prominent.  You hadn’t been sleeping.  Your face was more gaunt than he remembered.  You were becoming Steve.  “You know we once had these big dreams.  We were going to get married and have kids.  Have our house with the white picket fence, and a dog.  Now…I’m never getting him back, am I Buck?”

“I can’t answer that.  I wish I could.  I know how much Steve loved you, and your plans for the future,” your face turns up in pain as tears start streaming down your cheeks.  It was but distant memories of laying in the bed naming the children you hadn’t had yet.  “He’s never going to stop loving you.”

“He’s not even Steve anymore.  He’s…he’s a shell.  He’s not even there.  He’s…Bucky, I don’t know what I’m going to do.  I can’t live like this.  I haven’t been touched since he left.  I forgot what it feels like,” with one solid move Bucky’s hand slides across the table, and he rubs the top of yours, and a fresh wave of tears start when you place your other hand on top of his.  It felt good.  Similar and different all at the same time.  Warm and loving.

“Come on,” Bucky stands out of the booth, holding out a hand.  

“What?”

“We’re going to dance,” it was innocent enough.  Standing up, you follow him to the dance floor, and he doesn't hesitate to wrap his arm around you.  Holding your other hand with yours, and you lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his beating heart.  It was soothing.  Steve barely wanted you to touch him.  You had been so alone.  

Bucky was so smooth with his moves.  Guiding you, while you sink more into his embrace.  Clinging to his shirt, when you lift up off his chest.  Staring up at him when he gives you a soft kiss to your forehead.

He wasn’t Steve, but the kiss didn’t seem forced or crossing any boundaries.  It wasn’t until he was jerking his head away from you that you realized you had offered a kiss of your own.  This one was on his lips, “Moonbeam,” his voice was just as haggard as your own.  Bucky loved Steve as well, and this was also affecting him.

“Bucky, he doesn’t touch me anymore.  I need,” you can’t finish your sentence as you pull his head down.  Standing on your tippy toes you give him a lingering peck.  Becoming breathless and heated with every second.  Stopping to see his own pupils were blown wide with lust.  “Touch me.”

Bucky grabs onto your hand, racing you out of the bar.  He only lived a block away.  The two of you were in the elevator no more than a second when he was pulling you back to him.  The taste of his lips was desperate and needy, and you just wanted to feel something real with someone you did love and care for.  

Pulling you into his apartment you become a tornado of hands and clothes.  You didn’t even know who was struggling to undress the other more.  A trail of discarded fabric led the way into his bedroom, and you were clinging onto every part of him.  Grabbing him into your body, you needed to feel his entire weight over you.  Needed to feel the passion of love once more.  

Bucky had you laid on the bed quickly.  His tip runs through your folds, and the two of you stare at each other.  Holding onto whatever reserve you had left.  Giving each other the chance to back out, but when you nod your head yes, he dips his cock down until it breeches your entrance.  There was nothing sweet about this moment; it was needy.

With one hand grasping onto the bed frame and the other pulling you closer for a heated and sloppy kiss, he rails into you with a severe speed.  You were going to remember the way he felt inside of you for a month.  This couldn’t happen again.  It shouldn’t.  This was going to need to last you for a lifetime.  

His thrusts were so demanding and sharp you yip with every pound into you.  Your fingers dig into his back because the pleasure was too much.  It was delicious and sinful all at the same time.  Your greedy little cunt was sucking him back in and soaking his thick shaft.  Juices spilling out onto his bed while he moans along with you.  

Your squelching pussy was downright vulgar, and even your pornographic mewls of his name.  Bucky’s name.  Steve was never uttered out of your lips.  You wanted this just as much as Bucky had wondered what you felt like.  No wonder Steve was obsessed with you, he had never felt anything more delectable.  Your body was molding to his.  You were taking every inch of him so well.

He twists his body without pulling out of you.  Letting you take your frustrations out on him.  Your head tilted back and looking up at the ceiling, screaming out your pleasure to the heavens, and fucking the pain away.  It had been too long since you had felt this good.  You forgot what it felt like for someone to hold onto you as well.  His hands grip tight to your waist as you bounce yourself over him.  He was leaving bruises and you didn’t care.  You needed a reminder of hands on your skin.

His voice was a symphonic melody to your ears.  He was vocal.  There were no words, just deep breathing, sighs of relief, grunts, and the sweetest whimpers.  You were making a mess on his stomach and Bucky was obsessed.  He could do this everyday for the rest of his life, and he knew he shouldn’t want this at all.  You were his best friend’s girl.  He couldn’t help it that you were in need of a good fucking.  Could help that your body was begging for this relief.  He just had to tell himself that he was doing you and Steve a favor.  You were going to find someone, and at least Bucky wouldn’t hurt you.

You press your hands on Bucky’s chest as you ride him.  Squeaking out how you were about to come, and so was he.  You were clenching down around him, and it was becoming too much.  “Bucky!  I’m…I’m gonna…gonna — oh fuck,” your leg starts quivering, and he spurts his seed so deep in your womb.

Your chest heaves as you try and steady your breathing, but it shocked Bucky to see you start to drift down lower.  Laying on top of him.  “Bucky, hold me.  Tell me you love me.”

“You know I do.”

“Tell me like you mean it.  Please.”

“I love you, Moonbeam,” you could almost pretend that it was Steve again.  His hands were so gentle as he caressed your back.  You believed him.  Not the made up Steve in your head, you believed Bucky.

——

“We promised we would never mention it again,” you almost growl as Bucky corners you in the kitchen.  “Steve is in the bed.”

“He’s always in the fucking bed!”

“Lower your voice,” you hold your breath as you listen for any movement from Steve.  “He can’t know.  He wouldn’t…you know he couldn’t handle it.”

“He hasn’t been handling anything since he’s been home.  Why are you doing this to yourself?  He needs help, and you can’t give him the help that he needs,” Steve sits up in the bed, hearing you and Bucky causes something to stir in him.  

Walking out the bedroom softly, he listens to every word, every inflection.  “Moonbeam,” he didn’t call you that.  That was Steve’s name for you.  “Please, look at me,” don’t you do it.  Don’t you dare look at him.  

He views the two of you around the corner, relaxing in the shadows when he grits his teeth.  You were staring up at Bucky owlishly.  A hand on his hip, while his hand cups your cheek.  Bucky’s thumb runs over your lips, and Steve wants to vomit.  “I would do anything for you.  You know that.”

“Then, please, just forget it ever happened,” Steve knew it.  He could smell Bucky on you when you came home.  You didn’t even look at him as you gathered your clothes for a shower.  Didn’t kiss him like you usually did.  And when he stood at the bathroom door he watched you scouring your body, trying to remove the remnants of Bucky Barnes.  You left your soiled panties on the floor.  The essence of Bucky staining them, and he hated both of you.  You were both liars, and this was proof.

“I need to see you again.”

“No.  No you don’t.”

“He’s never coming back,” it was a lie.  He was right there watching your cheating ass.  Did Bucky make you do this?  Has Bucky been waiting all these years for a chance to ooze his way in?  “Moonbeam, you can’t live like this.”

“I can’t lose him,” ahh, the tears.  This was all Bucky’s doing.  You were just an innocent party.  He should have known.  “He can never know,” but Steve did know.  He was watching it.  

“Shh,” Bucky whispers, his hand cupping your mound.  “One more time,” Steve hated him, but couldn’t look away.  Bucky lifts you up on the counter, rucking up your dress, “On or off?”

“On,” you whimper, letting his slide over your panties.  Bucky takes out his cock, giving it a few pumps in his fist, before he sinks into your warmth.  Holding there while the two of you listen.  “No one knows.”

“Of course not,” he whispers into your ear, drawing himself out of you before he pushes back in.  Bucky moves quickly rutting into you while you bite on your lip trying not to make a sound.  It didn’t matter, Steve was watching in real time the debauchery.  He knew you were a dirty little whore, but you were supposed to be his dirty little whore.  Instead you were letting Bucky fuck you, and in Steve’s house.

He had you growing weak, wrapping your legs around his waist.  You were disgusting.  That was his pussy, and one day he would show the both of you just who you belonged to.  He didn’t care how long it took.  He could play the long game.  Could bide his time until it was right.  

Your body leans back a little bit further, and a mewl slips out.  But Bucky didn’t care anymore.  He was so close.  So close he could almost taste your pleasure on his tongue.  He was pounding into you, and Steve didn’t know just how much your body could actually take.  If he wasn’t so pissed off, he would find this to be hauntingly beautiful.  

Bucky starts pulling out of you, ready to pump his spend on your stomach, but you push him back in.  “Don’t you dare stop,” Bucky whines out your name, “I want to feel you,” one more drive into you, and he and you both come so hard that you’re left speechless.  “No one knows.”

But Steve knew.

——

It was now or never.  You couldn’t live this double life.  Not anymore.  There was nothing to pretend anymore.  Your infidelity was as clear as those two pink lines on a stick that just now determined your future.  You couldn’t stay with Steve anymore.  You and your baby didn’t deserve it.  Couldn’t stay with Bucky knowing he would never leave Steve.  You had but one choice, and that was to leave the both of them forever.  Go back home, and begin your new life.

Bucky would make an excellent father with someone that wasn’t you.  It was so wrong, and you knew it, but your hands were tied.  You didn’t know what else to do.  You didn’t even want Bucky to be there when you told Steve goodbye.  You couldn’t look in those silvery blue eyes and tell him a lie, so you said nothing.  

You would do nothing.  You would be a single mother, and you were okay with that.  Okay with kissing this life goodbye.  You and your child deserve better.  You just hoped that one day they both would understand.  But deep down you know they never would.  

“Goodbye, Steve,” you say softly, turning your key in the ignition.  “Bye, Bucky, thank you,” they never would hear those words.  A single tear falls down your face as you pull out onto the road.  “It’s time for us to go backwards, baby Barnes…uh, you’re going to be getting my last name.  I’m sorry to say your daddy will never know you.  But Bucky knew the risks.”

Bucky certainly knew the risks now.  Tied up in a chair while Steve slaps him hard across the face, “I will bring her back.  And you will be the one listening to me give her pleasure.  Just wait and see, traitor.”

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