#daught!reader

[not-neverland06]

broken promises

pt two

bodyguard!logan howlett x congressman's daughter!reader

a/n: the fact that he was canonically a bodyguard makes me absolutely insane someone congratulate me, I finally figured out how to make my own dividers Summary: He's learned from past mistakes that no matter how tempting the girl is, it's better not to get involved. He just needs some cash, he doesn't give a fuck how pretty you are. He doesn't care about you. He makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you besides seeing you sign his check. But, is that really all he wants? You're not blind to the way he looks at you. 18+ MDNI Shameless smut at the end, I'm not sorry about it at all.

Logan had gotten used to this. The long drawn-out wait to meet with the man who wanted to hire him. He always arrived right on time, not a moment earlier. They all had the same game they liked to play. 

The secretary would greet him, a pretty girl in her 20s that the men were screwing or trying to screw. Then they would make him sit in the lobby for half an hour. They’d apologize by pushing the blame on someone else, saying a meeting had gone on too long. But there wasn’t a meeting. There never was. 

They liked to make themselves seem more important than they were. It was a power game, an intimidation tactic that he had always scoffed at. He didn’t give a fuck what government ties they had or otherwise. He just wanted his paycheck. 

This one was no different. A congressman who had only recently begun to make waves when he started up an anti-mutant agenda. Ironic that he had specifically requested Logan for the very thing he was trying to eradicate. 

There was a buzz and then the secretary was picking up her phone. She spared Logan a fleeting glance before whispering something into the receiver. She looked over at him and he already knew what she was going to say.  “He’s ready for you now.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she gave him a coquettish smile as he made his way towards the large office at the end of the hall. The door was closed when he reached it, three quick knocks and then a quiet Come in. 

The man didn’t even look up to greet him. He continued signing something on his desk. Logan took a seat in one of the chairs, waiting for another few minutes before he was deemed important enough to address. He received a tight smile and narrowed eyes as the man took in the way he was dressed. 

He never dressed up for these things. He’d learned a while ago that a suit wasn’t going to get him any further than his leather jacket was. Might as well be comfortable while talking to these pricks. 

“Had a phone call with an associate of mine. Ran on longer than I meant it to.” Always an excuse, never an apology. 

Logan scoffed and shrugged. “I was fine.”

The man sniffed, “I’m sure. Look, I’ll cut straight to the chase. You come highly recommended by my peers and I need help fast.” Logan nodded, motioning for him to continue. The man’s eyes lingered on his fists for a long while before he finished. “It’s my daughter. Things have been a little rough for her at school, for lack of a better word. Especially since this new campaign started. I just need someone to keep a closer eye on her.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “She a party girl or something?” He wasn’t sure he could handle another bratty daddy’s girl again. The last one had nearly made him blow his brains out. They always think flipping their skirts up will let them get away with more and he can’t stand it. 

The man’s face blanched and he shook his head so vigorously that his jowls moved with him. “Oh, no, not at all. But she’s,” he paused and lowered his voice. He leaned in closer to Logan and waited for Logan to do the same. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway. “She’s like you, you know.”

Logan shot him a grin, “You mean a mutant.”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed, face tightening up in anger. “But, yes, a mutant. And I need one to guard her.” Ironic, this man was driving a campaign to make mutants second-class citizens, and his daughter was one. But Logan needed a check, he didn’t give a fuck about the morals of it all. 

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect, you can pick her up from school for me.”

You had your earbuds in, head lowered while you made the trek across campus when you noticed him. He was difficult to miss, tall and buff. Very buff, you’re surprised that tank top of his hasn’t ripped every time he flexes. 

Your dad’s newest campaign has you hyper-aware of your surroundings. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Not after the last attack. 

There’s something about this man that tells you he isn’t someone looking to jump you, though. You’re not sure what it is. Every part of him screams danger, but not the type you’re looking out for. The cigar perched between his lips, the glistening muscles you want to bite, he’s trouble. 

When you spot him outside your lecture hall for the third time that day, you finally figure out what’s happening. Your dad had told you he’d hired someone new to watch over you at school. You hadn’t voiced just how against it you were, but you didn’t like the idea. 

You didn’t mind this guy, though. He wasn’t busting into your classes and embarrassing the shit out of you by making everyone empty their pockets like the last guy. He just lingered. You could deal with lingering. 

What you couldn’t deal with was the way he was leaning against his motorcycle, smirking as you slowly approached him. 

“Did my dad hire you?” You call out, tugging your earbuds out. “Who are you?”

He speaks around the cigar like it's second nature. “Your new bodyguard, sweetheart.” You suck in a deep breath when you hear his voice. He’s extremely attractive, you're surprised your dad would risk this. 

One of the other ones had kind of gotten a little obsessed, stalking you even in his off hours. You didn’t think your dad would want another pretty boy around you. Though, you suppose this one isn’t pretty. He’s extremely handsome, ruggedly so, very manly. Jesus, you might end up being the stalker this time. 

His lips curl up like he knows what you’re thinking about. You clear your throat, shifting your backpack higher up your arm. “You planning on taking me home on that?” You ask, pointing at his bike. 

He straightens up and shrugs. “Got a problem with the bike?”

You grin, “Not really,” but your dad will. “No, not at all.”

You walk towards him and he reaches out, grabbing your backpack straps and tugging you towards him. You stumble, hands bracing against his chest so you don’t land flat on your face. “Sorry, kid,” but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He buckles the straps of your backpack together and tightens them, puffing smoke in your face while he does. “Don’t want this flying off.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re not paying attention at all. The only thing you care about right now is just how ripped he is under your hands. You’re not sure how long you gawk at him but he seems to be ridiculously amused by it. 

“Ready to go home, or what?” You jump back from him, brushing your hands off on your leggings and clearing your throat. 

“Yes, yeah.” You rip your eyes off his body and instead focus on the bike. “No helmets?” You ask.

“You heal, don’t you?” You nod and he shrugs. “Don’t need them then, do we?”

You can’t help the giddy grin on your face at that. It’s gotten tiring being treated like glass. You’re about to get on the bike when you finally process what he said. “Wait, how do you know I heal?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, his gaze darts down to his fists. Your eyes widen when you see the metal poking through the skin. Of course, your father would only tell another mutant about his abomination of a daughter. You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s such a fucking hypocrite. 

Logan climbs on the bike and you follow after him. You're hesitant to wrap your arms around his waist but he just reaches behind himself and jerks you forward. 

You suck in a sharp breath, pelvis tight against his ass while he squeezes your hands. “You want to go flying?” You shake your head and he chuckles, starting the bike and driving off without another word. 

Part of you loves the ride home, the other part detests it. For once you get to experience a little freedom. You’re not trapped in a steel box staring at the back of a car seat while the man beside you pretends he doesn’t exist. 

You can feel the wind in your hair, get a taste of real speed, and enjoy a moment uninterrupted by someone’s expectations of you. On the other hand, Logan does not respect speeding laws. And healing abilities or not, you don’t actually want to experience road rash. 

He manages to get you home in one piece, parking the motorcycle in the driveway and waiting for you to get off. But you can’t, your thighs have been clenching the seat so tight you think they might need to scrape you off. 

“Kid?” He mutters. You shake your head against his back, arms still strangling his waist. It was actually kind of fucking terrifying being on one of these things. You can’t tell if you loved or hated it. 

He lets out a rough sigh, forcibly moving your arms and then tugging you off the seat. Your legs are like jello while you try and straighten out. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks. You can’t manage much more than a strangled hum and he laughs. 

You turn to your front door and spot a leering face peering out the window. “Shit,” you huff. Your stepmother sees you spot her and disappears from view. You feel your hopes of ever getting back on that bike go with her. 

“You took her home on your bike!”

“Well-”

You flinch at the volume of your father’s voice. “I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is! I will not have my daughter seen riding that monstrosity! You are not to do this again, do you understand me?”

You don’t know what Logan says, but you’re certain it’s not the submissive Yes, sir your father is looking for. He continues shouting at him for another ten minutes. When you hear the door to his office open you scramble to look like you hadn’t been listening in. 

But you’re a bad actress and if his huff of laughter is anything to go by, Logan knows what you were doing. “Did you know that was going to happen?” He asks, pointing back to your father’s, now closed, study. 

You nod, pursing your lips with an apologetic smile. “If it helps, I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs, “I don’t really give a fuck how much he wants to scream at me.” It’s refreshing, to finally have someone in the house who doesn’t kiss your father’s ass. It makes you smile, a real genuine smile for the first time in a while. 

You stand from the chair you’d been sitting in, gesturing further into your home. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten all day so I was thinking about making something.”

The smirk drops from his face, expression suddenly serious. It makes you tense up. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m here to get paid. I don’t want to be your friend, kid.”

You suck in a sharp breath, trying not to let the rejection sting. He’s a professional, it should be a relief after the last one. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.”

He nods, “Right,” tone stiff. You stare at him for another awkwardly long moment before you finally turn on your heel and walk toward the kitchen. You rush there, speedwalking so you don’t have to look at him any longer. 

You open up your fridge, keeping your back to him for as long as humanly possible. You can hear him take a seat at the island, can feel the way his eyes bore into you. It’s a physical thing, his gaze, makes chills scrape their way down your spine. 

You make yourself a sandwich and finally force yourself to turn around. Like you’d expected, he’s already looking at you. Lips ticking up just slightly when you finally get the courage to look up at him. 

Logan feels a little guilty. You weren’t coming onto him earlier, you were being genuine with your kindness. He knows there were no ulterior motives to it and there’s a very slight part of him that feels bad for making you so quiet. “Why’s your dad so pissy about the bike?”

You’re a little startled by the question, after the comment he made you’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. You swallow down the rest of your bite and cough a little when the bread gets stuck on the roof of your mouth. 

“He doesn’t want me to crash.”

“But you heal,” he points out bluntly and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem. He doesn’t want me to crash and for someone to see that I miraculously healed. Having a freak for a daughter wouldn’t exactly help his campaign, would it?” You can’t even attempt to hide the bitterness in your voice. And you know Logan picks up on it because he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Your gaze drops to your plate and you finish the rest of your meal in silence. Or, you try to. “Got any plans tonight?”

You chuckle and give him an odd look. “No,” you respond sardonically. “None at all, prepare yourself for a very boring job. I don’t even know why he hired you, I never leave the house unless it's for school.”

“Yeah?” he muses, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. More like he’s talking just to pass the time. “I heard you’ve been having a hard time at school.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a sudden wave of anger roiling through your gut. The cabinets behind you begin to shake and you wince in embarrassment, tamping down on your powers before you accidentally blow up the kitchen. 

Logan watches the moment with subdued interest like he’s not all that surprised or impressed with the display. “Unless they were a PoliSci nerd, I was a nobody up until last year.” There’s no concealing the hate lurking within your words, “And then my dad took up this whole anti-mutant regime. Well, you can imagine how much the activists love me. I’ve just had a few incidents with some particularly passionate protestors.”

“Do you believe in it?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, you hadn’t expected him to actually continue the conversation. “What do you mean?”

He leans back, arms crossed across his chest in a way that makes his biceps bulge. He shrugs, “The anti-mutant regime, do you agree with it?”

You open your mouth, the perfected script almost rolling off your tongue. But this isn’t some politician's son you’re wooing. You’re not the perfect daughter, you’re in your own home, finally talking to someone else like you. 

“No.” You answer, voice strong in its conviction. “And every time I see one of his PAs running around with their little signs I want to ram the stick up their ass.”

He barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling up in amusement. “I think we might get along, kid.”

You try to ignore the way your cheeks warm at his words. You don’t want to be this affected by him, you’ve barely spoken to him. But this is the first person in a long time that you know with absolute certainty you can be honest with. He doesn’t care about protecting your political image or bowing to your father’s every whim. 

It’s a relief, like a constricting weight being taken off your chest. You give him an easy smile and get up to wash your dishes. His eyes are on you again but they feel less oppressive this time. You’ve already forgotten the rule he’s set in place, you’re not supposed to be friends. 

It’s going to be hard to remember that. 

Your father tightens his grip around your waist until you feel like you might squeal. “Smile, now.” You raise your hand, taking the stairs up the stage and waving out at the crowd that’s formed. It’s hot today, your makeup would be melting off if it weren’t for the artists who put it on for you. 

Always have to look good in front of the camera. All of you. Seeing Logan in a suit was certainly a surprise. You’re almost completely sure that your father had to give him a bonus to even consider wearing it today. 

He looks good, but you honestly prefer him in the normal beater and leather jacket. It’s something so uniquely him. This is just a reminder of your reality, that nothing around you is real. It’s all pretty lies wrapped up in expensive clothes. 

You have to bite your tongue and hold back a grimace when your father begins his speech. “First, we had to let them into our jobs. Now they’re in our schools! Our children aren’t safe, not when they’ve got loaded weapons sitting beside them! Because that’s exactly what they are, weapons of mass destruction that will take apart-”

“Fuck me,” you hiss under your breath. Your cheeks hurt from keeping this smile on your face. You’re struggling not to flinch every time the crowd surges up to agree with him, bigoted shouts making your ears bleed. 

Logan’s brows raise and he gives you a brief glance over his shoulder. Your face pinches in confusion only for a moment before you quickly correct it. Still, you keep your lips nearly completely motionless as you whisper, “Can you hear me?”

You dart your gaze back down to him and catch the barest of nods. Your smile softens, becoming something real if only for a moment. You don’t say anything else, you don’t need to. It’s just a comfort to know someone else is there with you, seeing through the painted faces and plastic smiles. 

There’s movement in the crowd. It cuts your father off midsentence. He peers over the podium, trying to get a better look at what’s happening. You hear someone scream and then the entire crowd is getting knocked to the ground. 

You jump back in shock, everyone on stage still. The security, however, is rushing to get to you and your family. It’s too late, though, there’s a mutant in the crowd and his eyes are set on you. “Fuck you,” he screams out your father's name and lugs something at the stage. 

You hear someone shout your name but it’s too late. Glass shatters against the side of your face. It takes less than a second for the pain to start. You can feel holes being burned through your skin, like living fire melting through your bones and gums. A scream rips out of your throat, your hands coming up to block your face too late. 

“Get her out of here!”

As agonizing as it is, you can already feel your skin working to mend itself. You can practically hear the flesh bonding back together. But the acid is dripping down you. It keeps moving steadily through your clothes and skin, your abilities on overdrive trying to repair the damage. 

You can’t focus on anything except the sensation of being burned alive. Suddenly, there’s an arm being thrown around your shoulder and you’re being lifted off your feet. Your skin scrapes against the rough material of someone’s blazer and it makes you grit your teeth and scream again. 

“I know, hold on kid, it’ll be over in a minute.” Logan rushes you behind the stage, where there are no cameras to watch you heal. You don’t know how your father’s PR team is going to spin this. Everyone saw it, saw the way your flesh bubbled and boiled. There’s no hiding the fact that half your face should be melted off. 

“Car,” you grunt out when he puts you on your feet again. 

His hands are clamped firmly around your shoulders, inspecting you for any further damage. “What?”

“We gotta get to the car,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your lungs constrict painfully in your chest while you force the rest out. “Can’t let them see.”

He looks pissed off that that's what you're worried about and not the fact that you were just attacked. Finally, after a minute of just staring at you, he nods. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and runs with you back to the limo. He throws the door open, pushing you inside and sliding in beside you. 

You take in a deep breath the second you’re no longer in view of the TV cameras. “Fuck,” you gasp out. Your dress is in tatters on your left side and you quickly cover your chest. You pray that you didn’t accidentally flash anything while you were still on stage. Your father would never forgive you for that. 

It’s silent in the car for a moment. You feel something being draped over your shoulder and look over to see Logan passing you his jacket. When he catches your gaze he gently grabs your jaw and titls your face towards his. 

His eyes rove over the left side of your face and he gives you a tight smile. “You’re fine, kid.”

You pull your chin out of his grip and pull his jacket closed around you. “See why my father wanted you around? How would he have ever explained his daughter surviving an acid attack?”

There’s something pinched in his gaze. A deep-seated irritation and something else you’re too tired to identify. He’s looking at you oddly and you wish he wouldn’t. You press your forehead to the cool glass of the window and slump against the car door. 

You don’t know when you fall asleep but by the time you wake up, Logan’s already carrying you up to your room. He sees you shift awake and places you on your feet. You steady yourself against the stair banister and walk the rest of the way to your room, trying to shake off the pain of the day. 

You look back just in time to see Logan at the front door. “Goodnight,” you call down to him. You know he can hear you, but he walks through the door without another word. You bite your lip, ignoring the sinking feeling of your gut. 

You toss your destroyed dress to the floor and turn your TV on. You surf through the channels for a bit before finding a clip of today’s incident. “-apparently part of a protest for mutants against the government. I don’t know Bill, they seem to just be proving everybody’s point. They are unsafe.”

“I agree, my thoughts and prayers go out to…”

You roll your eyes as they say your name. They’re saying it wasn’t acid, instead it’s some sort of chemical compound that causes extreme pain. Even you don’t believe that bullshit. You have a feeling your father is going to be looking for a new PR team tomorrow. 

Your attention is snagged by the replay of the accident. You don’t focus on the acid, you don’t want to. Instead, you see how quickly Logan rushed to your side. He seemed to be right there even as the acid was being thrown. 

Your brows pinch together and you glance at the jacket beside you. He’d forgotten to take it back before he left. You pick it up, eyes skating over the fabric before you find what you’re looking for. There’s a large hole in the right sleeve, acid having burned through it. 

You hadn’t even realized he was in pain. You know he can heal, but it doesn’t get rid of the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You’ve never had someone look after you like that. 

You grin to yourself, tucking the jacket in the back of your closet. You’re sure he wouldn’t want it back and you’re not planning on parting with it anytime soon. 

You’re on house arrest for a week after the acid incident. Which includes no school. Your father has to play into the idea that you’re recovering from the trauma and healing. You don’t know how much longer he’s planning on keeping you locked up but you’re going stir crazy. 

Not only do you not get to go to classes, but Logan isn’t around either. He doesn’t need to be, not when the only place you’re in is your room. He’s not a friend, he’s made that clear, but he’s something. And you are desperately craving that specific something. 

“It was a sickening attack against my daughter that my wife and I are still trying to recover from.” You roll your eyes as you listen to your father spew his bullshit to the interviewer in the next room. 

You’re not allowed to be out and about, of course. You can’t risk someone seeing you. But that doesn’t stop you from lurking. 

“It was an incredibly traumatic experience for her, I’m sure.” You grin to yourself, picking at your nails. You like this one, whoever the reporter is interviewing him. She hasn’t let him catch a break. Especially not when he tries to capitalize on your trauma. Even though he hasn’t checked in once with you. 

“Well,” he splutters for a moment. “Yes, of course,” he tries to sound humble but anyone can tell he’s just covering his ass. “And it just further proves what I’ve always said about mutants. They are animals, they’re not like us.”

You’d think at a certain point you’d go numb to it. You’ve been raised hearing this rhetoric from him all your life. But the sting never eases. That cloying ache in your chest never quite leaves you. Not when you know the only reason he publicly accepts you is for political gains. So everyone can see what a wonderful father he is and vote for him.

You feel sick to your stomach and you don’t think you can listen to much more of this. But right as you’re about to tap out a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You nearly scream but you catch a whiff of the man’s aftershave and your mouth snaps shut. 

You leap out of your chair and whip around, a grin plastered on your face. “Logan, what are you doing here?” You can’t disguise the giddiness in your voice. He might constantly be reminding you that you hold nothing more than a professional relationship, but you don’t give a shit. He’s a constant in your life and that’s rare for you, so you’ll latch onto whatever comfort you can find. 

His gaze briefly darts to the connecting wall to your father’s study and you flush. He’d probably heard all of that. You’ve never had someone see the side of your father that you do. There’s something shamefully embarrassing about it. 

He looks back at you and gives you a sly smirk. “Wanna get out of here?” You’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Uh,” you can hear the music from where you stand across the street. You shuffle uncertainly on your feet beside Logan, glancing up and down the sidewalk like your father’s going to pop out of an alleyway. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

Logan tugs his cigar out of his mouth. He’s leaned up against a lamppost and he’s watched you struggle for the past ten minutes. “Live a little kid, would ya?”

You look back at the dingy bar and grimace. “Okay, there’s a difference between living a little and having my face blasted on the news. How’s it going to look if I’m photographed at a bar while I’m meant to be healing?”

Logan points with his cigar to the entrance of the bar. “I can promise you, no one in there gives a fuck about who your daddy is.” Comforting, and a little humbling. 

You take in a deep breath and Logan must sense the change in your demeanor. He flicks the cigar to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He holds his arm out, “Ready, kid?”

You nod, hurrying to his side and slipping under his grasp. He lets his arm hang heavily around your shoulder, hand squeezing your bicep gently to try and quell your nerves. You’d be swooning at the touch if you weren’t about to throw up from anxiety. 

You used to have a life. Until your father had blown it up. You haven’t been around this many people in ages. Well, you haven’t been around people who are just having fun and not sucking up to every politician’s kid they meet. 

The music gets louder as you step over through the threshold of the bar. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor. People laugh loudly all around you, some of them shouting up at TV screens for whatever sport is currently playing. You’re sure half of them don’t even normally watch the game. They just need an excuse to get their wives off their backs. 

The thought brings a small smile to your lips. Logan glances down at you and frowns, “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and move out from under his hold. “Yes, Logan. I’m going into a master’s program, my frontal lobe is fully formed.”

He huffs a little at the attitude, cheeks twitching with a suppressed smile. He nods towards the back of the bar, “Find a seat, I’ll get us drinks.” He walks towards the bar without another word and you resent him a little for it. 

Without him beside you, it’s like everything comes crashing down all at once. The songs playing grate on your ears. Every laugh feels like they’re screaming in your face. You’ve never been more in tune with your sense of smell and you hate it. 

Your hands tremble by your sides and you nearly miss the man in front of you spilling his beer down his shirt. It looks completely unnatural, the way it just flips out of his hand. And you know it’s your doing. 

You shove through him and his friends, running to the back and sliding into the first booth you see. You dig your nails into your palms, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate down a bit. 

Logan slides into the seat across from you, placing a beer in front of you. It’s barely touched the grimy wood of the table before you tip your head back and drain it. You’ve never been a particular fan of beer or any alcohol for that matter. 

But right now you need a buzz before you accidentally level the whole bar. You slam the bottle back on the table, taking in a deep breath, and sitting back. Logan gives you a hard stare, glancing between you and the empty bottle. 

He clicks his tongue and stands up, “I’ll go get another one.”

You bite your lip and give him a sheepish, “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for the buzz to settle in. There’s a slight tingling in your legs and the tips of your fingers. It almost feels like how you get when you’re starting to get aroused. But you don’t know if that’s from the alcohol or the way Logan looks in his slutty little t-shirt. 

Definitely tipsy, you think to yourself, nudging your third beer to the side. 

“Always been a lightweight?” He teases, watching you with amusement in his gaze while he works on what must be his fifth whiskey. 

You shake your head with a soft smile. “No, I used to go out with my friends all the time.” You laugh a little at the memories and lean in a little closer like you’re sharing some horrible secret. Logan rolls his eyes but acquiesces, leaning in to listen to you speak. “We made up alter egos for our drunk selves. Wanna know mine?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows at him with a stupid grin.

His brows pinch together and he frowns, “I don’t think so.”

You laugh and lean back in your seat. “You’re the worst!” He places his glass down on the table and fixes you with an odd look. You shift around uncomfortably, “What is it?”

“What happened to your friends? Why are you hanging out with me and not them?”

“Oh,” your gaze drops to the table and you suddenly find the stains on it very interesting. It’s practically abstract art. You swallow harshly around the lump in your throat and shrug. “Um, just all the stuff with my dad happened, and,” you shrug, “I don’t know. My life kind of fell apart.”

You try and shake off the funk, bring back the happy-go-lucky feeling you were in only minutes ago. “I had to move out of the dorms and head back home. My friends stopped talking to me. My boyfriend dumped me. It all just kind of blew up.”

Logan frowns and you swear he seems angry on your behalf. It’s a nice feeling, having someone care enough to hold a grudge for you. “You ever tell him how it was all affecting you?”

You snort, “Of course I did. He was overjoyed. He never liked my friends, especially not my boyfriend, they encouraged me to be too independent. He thought I was losing the values he raised me with. He just never cared to learn that I never agreed with them in the first place.”

Logan doesn’t say anything for a while and you let your gaze drift to the karaoke stage. Two women are singing a bad redemption of Led Zeppelin and it makes you smile. You don’t see the way Logan’s eyes linger on the curve of your lips and then drop to your chest. 

You never seem to notice how you make him squirm. There is something so interesting about you. Something so different from the families he worked with before. He doesn’t know if it's the whole mutant thing, if you two are somehow kindred spirits in that regard. He doubts it, he’s never really cared much about that. 

But he knows that there is something magnetic about you. It draws him in and makes him hate his own rules. He promised not to get involved with another client. It always ends messy, most times bloody. 

You turn back to him and smile. Your voice is a low purr as you ask, “You wanna get out of here?”

Of course, he’s never been one to follow the rules. 

“I am so sorry about this. Really.” 

Logan glares down at you while you straighten out his tie. You duck your head so you don’t have to meet his gaze and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Forget it, kid.” He says it with a smirk but it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty. 

This will be your first public appearance since the incident. It’s a gala, of course, because your father hates you. He’d demanded you find a date, someone to look pretty on your arm because he doesn’t want you talking while you’re there. You’re meant for pictures and nothing more. 

Considering the fact that no one wants to talk to you on campus, the acid incident not helping at all, you had no luck finding a date. You’d had to beg on hands and knees for days to get Logan to agree. 

You don’t know what it is that finally made him cave but you’re grateful for it. You think your father was expecting you to fail. To come crawling to him and be forced to go with who he wanted you to go with. 

You were not going to spend the whole night listening to some political major try and explain your own father’s campaign to you. You’d rather swallow acid than go through that for another night. Your father, of course, doesn’t know that Logan is taking you. 

You’re planning on ambushing him with it. He can’t do anything about it now. He wants you to have a date for some reason and there’s no way for him to find a backup now. You take a step back from him and turn to look in the mirror. 

Side by side, you do make an incredibly attractive couple. He looks amazing in his suit, his muscles just slightly pushing against the fabric. And as much as he hates the tie and constricting material, he makes it work. 

And you feel pretty for the first time in a long time. You actually got to do your own hair and makeup for once. You’re a lot less heavy-handed than the assistants your father hires. You feel comfortable in your own skin, finally, wearing the deep red dress your stepmother had gotten for you. 

“We look good,” you muse. 

Logan looks down at you and smiles slightly, “You do.”

You give him a confused grin, “I said we.”

He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I know what you said, sweetheart.” Your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the proximity. Gooseflesh raises on your arms where he’s touching you and your knee buckles ever so slightly. 

You can perfectly imagine his husky voice whispering something much, much dirtier to you. He pulls back with a slight chuckle and forcefully turns you around. “Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late.”

He nudges you towards your bedroom door and you nod your head mutely. He keeps doing that to you. These little things that could be so easily dismissed as you reading into his actions. But you know, deep down, you’re not reading into anything. 

But you don’t know what to do with this information that he might possibly be into you. Or at the very least, attracted to you. He made it clear early on that he wants nothing but professionalism between the two of you, yet he continually breaks his own rule. 

Your father and stepmother are waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you both. Your stepmother smiles when she sees you but your father’s face screws up in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? The goddamn bodyguard?”

You shrug and slip past him, already walking to the front door. “A date’s a date.” You pause and grin over at him, “What are you going to do about it?” It’s a taunt, one you don’t give him a chance to respond to. 

You’re already slipping outside and heading to the town car. Something about Logan being with you emboldens you to act in ways you never would. Even when he’s not there, when you’re just having family dinner and your father says something off-putting. You fight back, you don’t let him steamroll you and your opinions. 

You feel better than you have in ages with Logan beside you. Still, the ride there is incredibly awkward. 

The hotel is grand and luxurious. But they all are. You feel guilty complaining about your life when this is your weekend. What do you have to be upset about when you regularly stay in five-star motels and wear designer dresses without glancing at the price tag?

Sometimes you feel guilty around Logan. You wonder if he ever resents you for your privilege. You might be a mutant like him, sure, but you’ve never had to struggle to make ends meet. Or try and scrap together enough money to get your next meal. You’ve never had to worry about where you’re going to sleep next or if you’ll have a roof over your head. 

Your struggles have been so different that you worry if something ever did happen between the two of you, you might not work together. 

But those are spiraling thoughts for another time. Right now, you’re just trying to get through the front door without someone bombarding your father with questions on his stance about whatever. 

When it’s clear that he’s going to be there for a while, he sends you and Logan off to the ballroom on your own. You feel bad for your stepmother, having to stay behind and pretend she’s interested as they bore her with stories that have no real meaning. 

“Poor woman,” you mutter, watching her struggle to keep the smile on her face. 

“You don’t call her mom,” Logan muses. You turn to look at him and he just shrugs. “Just a little weird.”

“Well, she’s not my mom.” His head tilts in confusion and you elaborate. “My bio mom left the second she figured out she gave birth to a mutant. We lie to the public, stepmom’s interfere with the perfect nuclear family ideal my dad’s pushing for.”

“If he cares so much about family then why don’t you have your dad’s last name?” A good question, one you had to field a lot when you first started school. 

You give him a sly grin, “Took my mom's maiden name the second I was eighteen, just to piss him off.” There’s no true reason behind it other than being vindictive and petty. “He’s been trying to get me to change it for years but he can’t force me to. Besides, I like having my name separate from theirs. Lets me pretend I’m not a part of the family. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all, we just never really had the chance to bond.”

Someone passes by you. A couple you know you’re supposed to recognize but you can’t place their names. The man calls out your name, coming toward you with his arms open wide. You can see Logan tense up slightly beside you, bodyguard instincts coming out for a moment. 

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping forward to hug the man. “So nice to see you, again.” You tell him. He grins and squeezes you a little closer to his chest than necessary. 

Logan clears his throat, glaring at the man’s drifting hands. Before either of you can react, Logan is pulling you back, hand resting lightly over the small of your back. He holds his hand out, forcing the man to shake his hand and take his attention off of you.

You can’t hold back the smile on your lips when you see how much smaller the man is under Logan’s intense stare. You’ve gotten used to the men at these events treating you however they want. They don’t see you as a human, you are your father’s accessory and their toy. You envy Logan for how easily he can dismiss these men, take away their larger-than-life personalities, and reduce them to the sniveling rats they truly are. 

He doesn’t even speak, simply tugs you towards the ballroom and away from the man’s wandering hands. You can’t help the stupid smile on your face while you look at him. He glances out the side of his eye and huffs, “What?” He snaps, tone impatient. 

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing, you’re just…” You trail off, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable by telling him how you really feel about him. How deeply you appreciate him, how horribly you desire him. You’re afraid it will all just blow up in your face. That you’ll have truly been reading into everything and gotten his intentions all wrong. After all, he’s made it abundantly clear that there’s meant to be nothing between the two of you except a paycheck. 

You take in a deep breath, smile faltering, “Nothing.” You finally spit out, slipping out of his grasp and walking quicker towards the doors. His hand lingers on your back, fingers trailing slowly down your spine until you’re completely out of his reach. 

The chatter inside gets louder the closer you get to the entrance. You listen to the indiscernible voices, the quartet playing in the corner, and the clink of metal on the glass as they all eat. You straighten out your shoulders and put on your best smile, mentally preparing yourself to keep it stiff on your cheeks for the rest of the night. 

Logan catches up to you, the both of you stopping the second you see the inside of the ballroom. 

People Against Mutants

Evolution or Monstrosities

Parents for the Removal of Mutant Children

Your eyes widen as you take in the banners and signs hanging off the walls. More and more uncreative rhetoric all for the annihilation of mutants. Of people like you and Logan. Your smile drops immediately and you know you should have expected something like this from your father. He’d been refusing to tell you what this gala was for, saying offhandly he was just raising some money. 

You thought it was another charity. Not this. Not people, quite literally, calling for your head. For Logan’s head. You suck in a sharp breath and glance towards the silent man beside you. His jaw is clenched as he takes in all the finely dressed people around you. They’re all laughing and chatting like they’re not actively campaigning for the destruction of children. 

“Bar?” You ask, already walking towards it. 

“Sounds good to me.” His hand is on your back again and you’re grateful for it. The glower on his face, the attitude that screams I don’t belong here keeps people away from you. He shoulders through the men huddling around the bar, forcefully clearing space for the two of you. 

And when they turn around, posturing like they’re going to say something, he only has to look at them for them to retreat with their tails tucked. It’s ridiculously attractive seeing someone command these men so easily. 

“Whiskey,” Logan grumbles, he looks back at you and you slide beside him, leaning your elbows against the cool counter. 

“Just champagne, please,” you tell the bartender. He nods, quickly making your drinks and handing them to you. You turn with the flute in your hand, surveying the room. It feels less like a gala and more like a production of false niceties that will never end and never be genuine. 

“Don’t know how you deal with these fuckers all the time,” Logan mutters, glaring as a man slams into him and keeps walking without apologizing. 

You let out a short huff of laughter, “Honestly,” he glances over at you and you shrug. “I’ve got no fucking clue either.” He scoffs and takes a swig from his glass. But you can’t take your eyes off of him. You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, weighing you down until you feel like you have no choice but to spit them out. 

“You,” his brows quirk up and he glances over at you. You take in a deep breath and start over, nerves making your palms sweaty around the glass. “You make it bearable.”

Logan’s face falls and he sucks in a deep breath. You see the expression on his face, you know what he’s going to tell you. And you hate how apologetic he looks. You especially despise the way he’s making you feel pitied. He’s never done that before and you don’t want him to start now. 

“Don’t,” you tell him before he can say anything. You let out a self-deprecating laugh and place the champagne flute on the bar so you don’t have to look at him. “I know what you’re going to say, alright. So, just, don’t.”

Logan purses his lips and grabs your jaw. You try and jerk your face out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you, he forces you to look at him. He only lets go once you reluctantly make eye contact. You’re surprised by the look on his face. There’s no pity in his gaze like you’d expected. 

This is something else, something darker and more twisted. You can’t put your finger on what exactly you’re seeing but you know it makes your heart race and your thighs clench. “Listen, sweetheart, I-”

“What the hell are you doing?” You jump away from him but Logan just clenches his eyes shut with a short huff of irritated breath. You clear your throat and turn to face your father. He’s glaring between you and Logan, but smiles warmly anytime someone looks your way. “I didn’t bring you here so my contributors could see what a fucking whore you are for the help.”

“Dad!” You exclaim, eyes widening in horror. But Logan doesn’t seem bothered by your father’s words. If anything it seems to incense him, his hand drifting from your jaw to drape itself over the nape of your neck. You try not to show just how much the possessive grip is affecting you but you know they can both tell. 

Your father’s face pinches and he nearly stomps his foot as he looks between you and Logan. He looks like he wants to say something else but your stepmother, thankfully, calls his name. She waves him over towards her and you hold your breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do. 

He takes in short puffs of air, straightening out his suit jacket and glaring at you. “You’re not going to be a fucking wallflower all night, got it?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s stomping off. He calls out a warm greeting to someone across the room and you feel like you can finally breathe again. 

You give Logan a tired smile and nod towards the rest of the party. “Time to mingle.”

He laughs, loudly, enough to make people’s heads turn. You can feel your skin heating up from embarrassment and flinch away from the sound. “Sorry, kid, mingling ain’t part of my contract.”

Your jaw drops as you glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He turns back to the bar, flagging down the bartender for a refill. “Deadly,” he tells you firmly, barely looking at you. You roll your eyes and walk away from him, glaring at his back the whole time you do so. 

He thought coming to one of these things, being stuffed in a scratchy suit, would be his worst nightmare. He was proven wrong when he heard them talking to each other. Bitching about golf and their mistresses wanting more attention. Their kids nagging them and their wives being bitches. 

All of it made him want to down a whole bottle of whiskey and then blow his brains out. His worst nightmare turned into ever having to hold a conversation with one of these pricks. 

Then, he turns around, surveying the room for wherever you were lurking. He expects you to be by your father’s side or hiding somewhere in a corner. Instead, you’re standing close -extremely close - to some pretty boy. 

His hand is on your waist and you’re laughing at whatever boring fucking story he’s telling you. Logan tries to pick up on your conversation but there are too many things happening at once already. His senses are on overdrive and he’s already struggling against a migraine. 

He feels something brewing in his gut, something he’s been trying to just shove down for months. He doesn’t know what it is he hates about this picture but it makes him sick to his stomach. He hears something crack and looks down to find the glass of whiskey split on one side. 

“Shit,” he hisses, slamming the glass on the bar behind him. He shakes his hand out and tries to unclench his fists but it’s hard. He couldn’t have possibly been standing here long enough for you to suddenly find the love of your life. Why the fuck are the two of you so close?

This was so unlike you. Rarely did you ever have something good to say about the men you would encounter at these things. He’d heard you bitch about it enough times. Something about this isn’t adding up and he doesn’t know if it’s his own jealousy or intuition. 

Still, he finds himself pushing away from the bar and stalking towards you both. Closer, he can finally see what the problem is. Your hands are on the guy's chest but you aren’t leaning against him, you’re actively trying to push him away. 

It makes Logan’s blood boil, jaw clenching as he tries to keep himself at bay. He didn’t want to cave some kid’s head in in the middle of the gala. But the closer he got the clearer he could hear your hissed warnings to take his hands off of you. 

Logan finally reaches you and the look of sheer relief on your face makes him want to bring the claws out. He’d love to see that smug smirk ripped off his face, but he holds back. If only so he doesn’t traumatize you. 

“Alright, bub, hands off,” he warns. 

“Why don’t you just leave us alone?” He had to give it to the kid, he’s got balls. Rarely did anyone ever buck up to him like this. Normally, he might entertain him a bit, drag this on longer than necessary to get a kick out of it. 

But he still hasn’t taken his hands off of you and Logan’s not interested in fucking around tonight. Without a word, he grabs the kid by the collar of his jacket and tosses him away from you. 

He lands roughly on the floor with a loud gasp and people turn to look. Logan pays no mind to the onlookers. He places his hand on your back and leads you out of the ballroom, unwilling to have eyes on you for the rest of this conversation. 

“Logan,” you start, tone nervous. 

“Don’t,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately from the way you jump in surprise. He lets out a rough sigh, running his hand down his face, and walks through the first door he finds. “I’m sorry, kid, I just-”

“Logan,” you cut him off. The tone of your voice is enough to get him to finally look at you. Your arms are crossed and you’re glaring at him. “Why the fuck did you drag us into a closet?”

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances around, finally realizing what he walked into, “Fuck,” he hisses. He gropes blindly around the room for a light switch. There’s a small click and then an unflattering fluorescent light is shining down on you both. He’s managed to drag you both into a small, incredibly cramped, cleaning closet.  

You’re grimacing as you push a few mops away from your head. You look over at him and something about the look on his face must be funny because you start to laugh. “What were you thinking?”

Your smile makes one curl up on his own lips. He can’t help it, something about you eases a bit of the tightness constantly lurking inside him. “Thought it was one of those stuffy conference rooms.”

You scoff and reach for the handle, “Just a stuffy closest, good going, Logan.” You roll your eyes and tug on the knob. Your brows furrow together as you jiggle the handle every which way, desperately pulling on it. 

“Move over,” Logan mutters, nudging you to the side. He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks on it, expecting the door to swing open. When it doesn’t his face falls. 

“Did you miraculously unlock it, genius?” You demand sarcastically. Logan feels his shoulders tense up, frustration levels steadily rising. He’s already got a shit temper, he doesn’t need you adding to this. 

“No,” he snipes, “but I don’t see you coming up with any wonderful solutions.”

You throw your hands up in the air, wincing when your elbow collides with the shelving unit behind you. “I didn’t drag us into this mess! Why did you even come in here?” You demand and he can see how angry you are. 

It shows in the way you tapped your heeled feet against the floor and glower at him like he’s the bane of your existence. He doesn’t know what happens, what comes over him, or why this is the moment he chooses to break his rule. 

Your back slams into the shelves behind you and you gasp as he surges towards you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and before you get a chance to question him, his mouth is covering your own. Logan buries his hand in your hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls. You don’t seem to mind much if the way you arch into him is anything to go by. 

His tongue runs across the seam of your lips, tasting the cherry-flavored gloss you’d applied earlier. He wants to devour you. Consume you body and soul, take everything you have to give, and then keep going. He doesn’t want to stop, but he’s not sure he wants the first place you have sex to be in a janitor’s closet. 

He pulls back, tugging you back when you try to chase his lips with your own. “Shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters. He’s struggling to hold back. And when you look up at him, lips swollen from his kiss, and you mutter why, how is he meant to resist?

He tugs you away from the shelves, pushing you against the door so he doesn’t have to see your face twist up in pain every time the corner digs into your lower back. Your hands drop down to his belt, lips desperately carving a path down his neck. 

He’d laugh at your eagerness if he wasn’t just as desperate for you. He reaches for the hem of your dress but it’s one of those floor-length gowns with no slits. He struggled for a minute before getting too impatient and just muttering, “Fuck it.”

You gasp when you feel the metal of his claw against your leg, eyes dropping down to watch as he makes himself a slit. He slices the fabric along your thigh and then just rips it. “Logan,” you hiss as he hikes the silk over your hips. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” You glare at him, eyes darting between him and his pants before you finally shake your head. He laughs slightly, hand drifting under your dress and reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, “that’s what I thought.”

His fingers move gently along your thighs, easing you into his touch. You let out breathy whimpers, tucking your face in his neck the closer he gets to your core. He lets his hand drift lower, searching out the band of your underwear. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s met with nothing but you dripping for him. “Shit, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

You freeze and keep your face stubbornly buried in his neck. Logan laughs slightly, tugging you back and forcing you to look up at him. You mumble something under your breath. It’s said so quickly he can barely understand you. “What was that?”

“Ugh, god, Logan.” You groan and let your eyes drop down to his shirt, fiddling with the end of his tie. “I was hoping this would happen.”

When he doesn’t say anything your face shifts, worry gnawing away at you. You glance up at him and are surprised by the intensity of his gaze. He’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you whole. His pupils have consumed all the color of his eyes, there’s nothing but want on his face. 

“You wanna know why I agreed to come with you, kid?”

Your mind is completely dulled just by being this close to him. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying before you nod your head. “Why?”

The look on his face reminds you of a wolf guarding its territory. It’s predatorial, animalistic, it makes you want him even more. “I didn’t want any of these little boys getting a chance to have their hands on you.” His gaze drops down to your lips and he leans in until your breaths are mingling together. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He dips his head down and his kiss isn’t as intense as it was the first time. His lips move lazily over your own, tongue stroking against yours like he’s savoring the taste. 

You can taste the whiskey he’d drank earlier, can still smell cigars on his breath. It should be revolting, you’ve never liked kissing smokers. But there is something so intoxicating about him. Everything he does is enchanting to you. 

It’s a naive train of thought but you trust him wholly. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him willingly. His hands continue their exploration down your body and you can’t help but arch into his touch. His fingers stroke languidly over your center and you moan into his mouth. 

Your lips part with little gasps and your head thunks loudly against the door. Neither of you notice or care, you’ve all but forgotten the gala outside. The government employees and rich socialites that you’re supposed to be entertaining. 

And when he slips a finger inside you, you don’t care who hears you call out his name. The rough pad of his finger creates a feeling you’ve never been able to produce on your own. There’s something so exhilarating about this whole situation. 

Stuck in this tiny closet, no air to breathe but each other’s. No room for anything other than your bodies pressed as closely together as possible. You're completely surrounded by him and you never want to leave. 

“Logan,” you gasp out his name and shove at his shoulders. He momentarily stops his ministrations, giving you a worried look. “Please, I just want you.” You tug at his wrist, hissing when his fingers leave you with a lewd pop. 

He looks hesitant, but you can see the way he’s straining against his boxers. You let your hand trail down his stomach, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips buck into your hands and he lets out the most attractive noise you’ve ever heard. You’ve always liked guys who aren’t afraid to be vocal. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers. He swats your hands to the sides, tugging his boxers down and squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Come on, up.”

You jump and he slings your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He drags you slowly down his cock, resting your back against the door and giving a hesitant thrust inside you. 

You can’t help the low groan that leaves your parted lips. It’s like you’re full of nothing but him. You’d been mentally prepared for the stretch he would present, but you probably should have given him more time to warn you up. 

You don’t care though, this is all you’ve been craving for months. To feel nothing, taste nothing but him. You’ve been praying that he feels the same way you do, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he does. 

He looks completely wrecked, head resting on your shoulder while you both take a breath. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of finally having what you’ve always wanted. Someone you can give yourself to completely and still feel safe with them. 

You drag your hand up his back, burying it in his hair and reveling in how soft it is. You tug him back by the roots, tilting his neck until he’s forced to look at you. Your gaze drops to his reddened lips and you smile at the gloss you’ve smeared across his chin. 

“Come on, Logan, don’t tell me you’re all talk.”

His eyes narrow but you can see the amusement swimming within them. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, yeah?” You goad, grinding your hips down against his and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You’re trying not to make a noise, trying to make sure he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting you. But you can already feel your orgasm forming, it’s a low tingle in the tips of your toes, a burning hot desire rushing through your thighs as you clench around him. 

“Yeah,” he promises, thrusting sharply into you. This time the moan is forced out of you, your lips parting unbidden as you slump over him, burying your face in his neck. He doesn’t waste any time, using your hips as handles to pump you over his cock like you’re nothing more than a toy. 

The door rattles behind you, each thrust of his hips makes it shake in its frame. His hands fist the back of your dress, grip so tight you think it might tear. You don’t care. He could rip it off of you and you’d walk outside naked right now. 

You don’t care what happens, not when he’s beside you. There’s a feeling of security that comes from being around Logan and you can feel it in this moment. You trust him to take care of you in every way. 

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, you two haven’t known each other long. But there’s not much you’re worried about when he’s moving steadily inside you. You can taste the desperation you share for each other in each pump of his hips. 

He whispers it into your ear while you claw at his back. The shelves around you shake and you worry you might bring them down if you can’t rope yourself in. But you can feel the wave building in the back of your throat, your vision blurring as you tighten your legs around his waist and begin to match his rhythm. 

“There you go,” he mutters, pinning you to the door and keeping your hips still while he moves inside you. “Come on, I can feel you clenching around me, sweetheart.” He manages to hold you up with one hand, the other diving between your legs to rub tight circles around your bundle of nerves. 

It doesn’t take much longer for your muscles to seize up, back bowing as you clench desperately around him. “Oh, fuck, Logan,” you shout his name, and his hand quickly comes up to smother your cries. He squeezes your cheeks until your eyes snap open and he drags you down to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t want to lose my job, need you to be quiet for me,” he grunts out, his tone breathy and strained. He loses his rhythm, movements speeding up erratically while he lets out low groans and whispers of your name. You almost cum again when he finally finishes inside you. 

Your limbs are twitching in overstimulation by the time his hips still. You feel completely boneless, body slumped lazily in his arms. He wraps both arms around you, squeezing you a little before slowly lifting you off of him. 

It’s a relief of pressure when he pulls out. His cum leaks out of you, dribbling down your thighs and dripping onto the floor of the closest. Your face screws up at the feeling and you internally cringe. No condom was probably a stupid call.

But you don’t really want to think about the repercussions right now. Not when he’s stroking your hair and rubbing a soothing hand down your back, waiting until you can form a coherent sentence before he lets you go. “Alright?” He asks, voice bordering on something smug. 

“Mhm,” you push away from him, legs shaky as you try and straighten out your dress. It’s a loss cause, trying to hide what happened in here at all. You’ve got a tear going up to your hip and you’re pretty sure there are holes in the back. Logan’s tie is gone and you don’t even remember taking that off. His shirt is completely wrinkled and your lip gloss has stained his face. 

You’ve both got horrific sex hair and the room reeks of it. You don’t know how you're going to sneak out of here. You still try and relax your hair, patting down the flyaways while Logan retucks his shirt. 

It’s silent between the two of you, heavy but not awkward. You don’t think either of you knows what to say now that you’ve physically acted on what you want. A sudden thought hits you, makes your heart clench painfully and your tongue ties up in your mouth. 

He’d confirmed that he wanted your body. That he desired you sexually. But you don’t think he actually said anything about a real relationship. There would be problems, of course, your father for one would have a lot to say about it. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about any of the consequences, you just want to be with him. 

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants when the door swings open. Both you and Logan whip towards it. But where you look like a deer caught in the headlights he looks like the epitome of male pride. 

Especially when he realizes it's your father on the other side. “Dad-” You start, but you have no idea what you could even say. Your dress is in tatters and both you and Logan are still mussed up. There’s no hiding what happened here. 

He doesn’t let you finish, holding up his hand. His voice is eerily calm as he says, “I thought I heard something banging around in here.”

“You did,” Logan scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at your father. You feel your heart jump to your throat, staring over at him with a horrified look on your face. How could he think that was okay to say? It was so dismissive of what you believed had happened. 

This was more than just a quickie in the dark to you. This meant something, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that it was the same for him as it was for you. And that just makes you feel like the stupid little girl everyone seems to believe you are. 

Your father says your name but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “You’re feeling sick,” he tells you, no room for argument. “Your date had to take you home. It was just too much too soon after the incident at the rally.” When you don’t say anything he shouts out, “Understood?” That makes you jump. 

“Yes,” you clear your throat and face him. “Yes, understood.”

Your father has made his stance on mutants clear. He hates them, despises them to their very being, and wishes he could kill every last one. And as much as you were raised with those ideas, they were never truly turned on you.

But he’s looking at you right now like he wishes you were never born. You feel like shit on his shoe. Something to be hidden away and buried. It makes your shoulders slump like a hundred pounds was just tossed onto your back. 

You try to run past him but he jerks you back, fingers so tight around your bicep you feel the skin tear. You gasp in pain but don’t say anything, too afraid to argue. “Put his jacket on, I won’t have you looking like a whore.” He releases you with a rough shove and storms off. 

You can feel something burning at the back of your eyes. A moment later Logan drops his jacket over your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and running his hands over your arms. “Come on, kid,” he mutters. There’s something resigned in his voice that makes your heart drop, “Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the lobby feels like you’re walking through a dream. You’re not completely present for it, or the ride home. Your mind and your heart are warring and you feel like you’re going to be torn apart if you keep lingering on what just happened. 

You just can’t understand how you could go from having everything you wanted to feeling like the scum of the earth in less than two minutes. Logan doesn’t speak as he drives you home. His knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel and you’re afraid to even try and start a conversation. 

You don’t want to hear him tell you that he didn’t desire you past your body. You don’t want to discover that you’re just another notch on his belt. He seems to do this a lot, sleep with the girls he guards. The idea of just being another job, another fun night, makes you absolutely disgusted with yourself. 

When he pulls into the driveway of your house you both just sit in the car. Neither of you knows what to say. And the air between you is so thick with tension you feel like you could choke on it. You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the ripped seams of your dress. 

You pick at the threads and feel his stare on you. You can’t do this. You can’t deal with the possibility of rejection. Not after what happened between you and certainly not after what your father said. 

You undo your seat belt and Logan watches as you go through the movements of getting up. His eyes never leave you and it’s like a physical caress, his stare. Normally it would make you warm inside, comforted by his presence. But right now all you can feel is the chill of where his cum has dried between your legs and the icy-hot stab of nausea in your gut. 

You throw the door open and you’re nearly out when he calls out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

You don’t look at him, you can’t. You slam the door shut and walk silently to the front door of your house. You don’t look back, don’t respond, you just slip inside your house and finally let the weight of the night come crashing down on you. 

You don’t cry until you hear him pull out of the driveway. 

Your father and stepmother usually stay at the hotel the night of a gala. Most nights you come home and enjoy the house to yourself for once. Tonight, you’re woken up by the front door slamming so hard your walls shake. 

You can faintly hear your stepmother’s voice trying to console your father. She’s muttering something to him you can’t make out. You shoot out of bed, running to pull some sweatpants on. After you’d cried yourself out you’d taken a shower. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw but you swear you can still smell him on you. You rush to your bedroom door, turning the knob quietly and slowly peeking your head outside. Your father’s at the bottom of the stairs, the second he spots your open door he’s screaming your name. 

Your stomach twists painfully and you can feel panic starting to overwhelm you. Your hands shake and your legs are stiff as you slowly step into the hallway. You’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t feel like this because your dad is going to yell at you. 

But he’s been so good at forcing you to rely on him. At forcing you to bend and break to fit his beliefs and mold. You don’t know what to do if you’re not striving for his approval. And right now it’s very clear that he’s never been more disgusted by you. 

If the look on his face isn’t enough to twist the knife deeper, his words are. “I have never,” he screams at you. You take a step back, keeping the stairs between you, refusing to meet him in the middle. “Been more embarrassed to call you my daughter. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you know how many people saw you being dragged outside like a fucking whore off the corner?”

You clench your eyes shut, turning your face away from him as the shame becomes a physical thing inside you. You can feel it making its way up your throat. Because he’s right. Tonight you were nothing more than a slut without any self-respect. 

But you’re also pissed off. You’re fucking enraged at yourself for being so stupid as to ever believe Logan wanted you for anything more than your body. You're mad at Logan for knowing how you feel about him and taking advantage of it. And you’re so fucking tired of doing everything you can to make your father proud and it never being enough. 

“Have you ever once asked me what I want?” You raise your voice, screaming down at him with a ferocity that surprises even you. His eyes widen, frame trembling with unreleased rage. You plow through, not stopping because you know if you do, you’ll never get this out. “No, you haven’t. Not once. Because you don’t fucking love me! And it has taken me years to accept that, to finally realize that you’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself.”

You gasp, the noise wet and painful as something warm trickles down your cheek. You stare down at him with your eyes wide in realization. “It’s so clear to me now, I feel like an idiot for missing it for so long. You never loved me. You’re incapable of it!” 

You’re embarrassed at the way your voice cracks. As much as you want to pretend you’re stronger than him, not afraid of him. There’s still a little girl inside you who wonders why Daddy doesn’t love you. 

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want, Dad. I don’t care what you want my life to look like or if I embarrassed you. I’m glad I did, glad someone finally saw a sliver of the truth you try so desperately to hide-”

“Enough!” He shouts and it startles you so bad that you jump back, your abilities reacting and a vase behind you flying off the shelf. You duck as glass shatters across the stairs and floor. You glance at the scene with shocked eyes, looking down at your father to see that he’s not even a little bit surprised. 

Instead, he just looks so deeply disappointed that it makes you shrink into yourself. The anger within you is extinguished in a second. He rubs his face, shaking his head and turning his back on you. “Dad?” You call out, voice trembling. 

“Go to your room,” he tells you quietly. “I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You hover by the top of the stairs for a moment, not quite believing him yet. And when he realizes you're still there, that you’re not taking him seriously, he finally looks at you again. 

“I wish every goddamn day that those doctors had just put you down. I’d rather have a dead daughter than one like you.”

You stand there, stunned, even after the rest of the house has gone to bed. You clean up the pieces of glass while you try and swallow down your tears. Let the sharp edges dig into your skin and tear until you can feel any type of pain besides the one inside you. 

A week of solitary confinement. You’re surprised that you haven’t just been kicked out of college. You’re sure that your father’s many donations to the university are the only thing stopping your professors from dropping you from the class. 

You don’t care if they do or not, though. You never actually care about what you studied. You’d just always hoped that it would be a way for you to escape the tight grip around your neck your dad has on you. 

You’ve figured out that no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never escape him. He hates you and yet, he can’t let you go. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy wallowing in your depression. 

Someone keeps leaving food by your door but you can’t find it in yourself to be hungry. You’ll nibble on something, but you feel like you’re going to throw up when you so much as breathe the wrong way. 

You haven’t heard from Logan since that night. You knew your father would fire him the second he woke up. But you’d held out hope - foolishly - that he might still try and reach out to you. You have this childish image in your head of the prince coming to rescue the princess from the dragon. 

But you’ve been naive your whole life, you don’t want to keep going down this road. You don’t want to keep expecting the best of people and live your life in perpetual disappointment. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to your father since that night. Wordlessly, he’d banned you to your room. No one’s said it, but you know you’re not allowed to come out. You don’t know when he’s going to deem you useful again and drag you back out into the public eye. 

Contrary to his belief, no one had seen you leave that night with Logan. You hadn’t been in any tabloids or shitty news articles. Besides emotional estrangement from your father and losing the only guy you’ve ever really liked, there were no consequences to your whorish behavior - as your father so lovingly puts it. 

You roll over in your bed and picture yourself taking a shower. It feels like such a workout but you can’t stand lying in your sweat and tears for much longer. With a long drawn-out groan, you throw yourself out of bed and enter the bathroom connected to your room. 

You know you’ll feel better afterward, but everything besides sleep sounds like too much work. Still, you force yourself inside and finally clean the grime of laying on your ass for a week off. 

You walk naked through your room, making a beeline for your dresser. You feel a little better after washing yourself off and moisturizing. But not much. Physical health can only do so much for how you feel inside. 

You hope this will blow over soon, you’re not sure how much longer you can take feeling so awful. You hate pitying yourself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You huff irritatedly, digging around your drawers for your favorite shirt. 

A hand clamps around your mouth, rough and big, yanking you back into a muscled chest and keeping you quiet. You still try and scream, hands clawing at the skin of their hand until you feel blood. 

“Fuck, quit that, would ya?”

Your erratic movements slowly come to a halt. You still feel your heart pounding against your chest, adrenaline warming your blood and making you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. But, you recognize the voice, recognize there’s no danger to the situation. 

That doesn’t make you any less pissed off. When Logan is sure you won’t keep attacking him, he lets you go slowly. You immediately whirl around on him, uncaring that you’re still naked. Energy moves quickly through you, becoming a physical thing under your skin. 

He smiles at you and you push the energy out, throwing him across your room. He flies into your bookshelf, crashing to the ground with a loud slam. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at him. 

There’s no one home right now, luckily, or else you both would be screwed. He shakes his head off, brushing pieces of wood out of his hair and slowly getting to his feet. “Well, I was coming to say hi-”

“You say hi by ambushing naked girls?” You interrupt, grabbing the clothes closest to you and pulling them on quickly. 

Logan rolls his neck out and shrugs. “No, that was just a plus,” he gives you that insufferable smirk and you want to scream. 

This is the first time you see him in a week since you had sex together and your father officially disowned you. And this is what he’s leading with? Seriously? “You’re a real fucking prince, Logan.” You shake your head with a scoff and glare at him.

He narrows his eyes, looking to be in disbelief at your attitude. “What happened?” You expect to hear irritation in his tone. Anger that you’re being such a bitch right now. Instead, he sounds concerned, like he can see right through you. 

You hate that. You used to love having someone who could see past all the pretenses and walls, but it just hurts now. “Nothing,” you tell him, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Look,” you take in a deep breath, and your brows furrow in confusion. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

Logan doesn’t look like he wants to drop the topic just yet but he relents. He nods towards your window and you fix him with an astonished look. “I climbed, I didn’t want your dad to risk seeing me on the security cameras out front.”

You feel suspicion brewing inside you, tone turning defensive. “Look, if you came here because you want to fuck again, I suggest you go find another girl. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” How easily he just dismisses your words. Like they hold no real importance. It makes you want to scream. Instead, you just flick your wrist, throwing him into another wall. You don’t know how you’re going to explain these holes in the wall to your father but you don’t really care. 

“Enough,” he snaps, brushing himself off and glaring at you. Your lips curl up in amusement, the first thing you’ve felt besides anger and depression for the last week. “Look, I was coming here to get you the hell out, kid. Clearly, I’m not wanted.”

He walks towards your window, intent on climbing back down the side of your house and leaving. You almost let him, if only to see him scurrying down the wall. Instead, you take a step forward and stop him with a small, “Get me out?”

He sighs, running an aggrieved hand over his face and propping the other on his hip. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Look, I can’t stand the thought of you cooped up in here, isolated from the rest of the world. It’s not fair, I was gonna see if you…” He trails off and roughly swallows. 

Your interest piques. Whatever is this hard for him to get out has to be interesting. “Logan,” you call his name softly. “See if I what?”

He huffs out a rough breath, turning around and staring you down. There’s something in his eyes, something reflected in yours. He’s looking at you the same way you always look at him. “You wanna come with me, kid?”

Well, you’d have to be an idiot to say no. 

You don’t leave a note. You don’t give them any clues or hints as to where you might have gone. They can draw their own conclusions about what happened to you. They can tell the news whatever twisted lies they want. 

You don’t care, that’s not your life anymore. Your life is packed away in a backpack in the back of Logan’s trailer. Your new life is in the passenger seat beside him. You’re equal parts terrified and excited to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of it. 

a/n: can you tell I know fuck all about politics?

Also, smut, wow, this was hard and rough to write. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle. I just feel guilty writing such dirty words, it’s absolutely diabolical that I have no problem being crazy over a guy whose age gap with me is the same age as my parents, but I can’t write smut.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp♡

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Precious - L.JH

🦆Who: Lee Jihoon (Seventeen) x female reader 🦆What: Angst. Fluff. Nursery school teacher Jihoon. Single parent reader. 🦆Word count: 11.8k 🦆Warnings: Big ol’ misunderstanding, which technically, is intentional but not designed this way. That’ll make sense when you read. Junhui is reader’s best friend and a menace but also the best friend a person could want. Reader has a 4/5-year-old daughter. One-sided pining that isn’t one sided at all, they’re both just kind of stupid and bad at communicating at first. They learn though, don’t worry. 🦆Summary: “Your daughter absolutely adores her nursery school teacher, Mr Lee, and it doesn’t take you long to understand why.”

Masterlist Read the sequel Thinking about: Nursery school teacher L.JH.

A/N- this was originally supposed to be a little under 3k fluff piece about reader’s daughter adoring her nursery teacher and reader quickly understanding why. But I got ever so slightly carried away :))

If you want to know more about a certain nanny featured in this, you can check out the connected story, Thinking about: Nanny K.MG.

It starts with a meltdown.

You’ve only been home twenty minutes and have barely started the prep for dinner when your daughter runs into the kitchen with tears streaming down her chubby, little cheeks and wails of despair falling from her wobbling lips.

“Oh, baby girl, what is it?” You immediately abandon the rice you’ve been rinsing, to wipe your hands on your work trousers, so that they’re mostly dry when you pluck up your distressed child to hold tight and soothe.

It takes almost ten minutes of rocking and murmuring calming words and sounds before your daughter can blubber out an explanation.

“Bubba lost!” She explains, and although it means nothing to pretty much anyone else, you know. Bubba is her comfort plushie, even if it is perhaps the ugliest looking duck plushie you’ve ever seen.

When your best friend had given it to you when you were pregnant with your daughter five years ago, it had really been a joke. But your strange little angel of a child seems to share her pseudo uncle’s sense of humour; the moment she found the duck shoved in your wardrobe at two-years-old, it was love at first sight. Maybe it’s your own fault for naming her after him.

“Oh, Juni,” you coo before pressing a kiss to each splotchy, tear-sticky cheek. “Bubba’s not in your bag?” You ask as you carry her through to the living room, where her school backpack is on the floor with the usual contents tipped out around it from her frantic search for the plushie for her usual post-nursery, unwind snuggle time.

“Lost!” She wails, a fresh set of tears starting up, so you return to bouncing her slightly as you start wandering around the apartment in search of the toy. Though, you know that she takes it to nursery every single day for the post-lunch nap, and you hadn’t received a call from the school about a tearful, tired daughter, so she clearly had it with her at school today.

Once you’ve confirmed that Bubba is not in the apartment, you go back to the kitchen and grab your phone.

“Okay, baby, I need you to calm down so that I can call your school and ask if Bubba is in the classroom, okay?” You say, and it’s something like a miracle how quickly Juni stops making loud noises, even if she’s still sniffling and crying. “Thank you.” You kiss her head then press the dial button beside the school’s number.

Honestly, you aren’t sure anyone will answer; most of the staff, if not all, will surely have already left the building by this point. But to your relief, the ringing cuts off and a friendly voice answers the call, greeting with the school’s name and asking how he can help you.

“Oh, hello, I’m calling to ask if someone could check my daughter’s classroom to see if she left her duck plushie behind?” You wonder politely, while mentally pleading this man to be as kind as he sounds.

“Ah, of course, of course, which class?”

“Little Lambs,” you answer with the cute name of your daughter’s class.

You’re pretty sure that every class in the whole school is named after an animal, though you do know the other two classes for the youngest children are named cutely too: Darling Ducklings for the younger class and Cutie Cubs for the older class.

Juni had been so upset to have missed the chance to be called a Duckling, but you had been working remotely until this school year and hadn’t wanted to be apart from her so soon. At least she’s excited to be in the tiger themed classroom next year, even if she keeps asking if Mr Lee can still be her teacher instead of Mr Kwon.

Not because she dislikes Mr Kwon; she’s said he’s fun and nice, but she adores Mr Lee and talks about him at the most random times. She’s even asked if he can attend her birthday party and you had to deal with a tantrum when you told her that no, her teacher cannot attend a birthday party for a five-year-old. She still asks though.

“Oh! That’s right next to mine! I was just heading that way to see if Mr Lee is heading home yet, so if you just hold on a sec, I’ll go talk to him and we can look.”

“Thank you so much,” you breathe out in relief.

“Of course! Uhh, I don’t know how to put the call on hold so uhm, just wait?”

You laugh softly. “That’s fine, thank you.”

“Okay, great, be right back!”  The phone clatters gently as it’s placed down before you hear the man running away. You find the irony of a teacher running through the school halls amusing; he no doubts spends a good chunk of his day telling the children to walk nicely down the halls.

“B-Bubba?” Juni questions, looking at you with big, red rimmed eyes.

“The teacher is going to ask Mr Lee.”

In an instant, Juni lights up at the mention of her third favourite human, behind only you and your best friend. “Mr Lee!”

It prompts her to start babbling on about her day with the man as if she hadn’t already told you everything on the drive home, but you don’t mind hearing it again. You love seeing her so animated and happy, even with tear stains on her cheeks.

The phone is still held near your ear so when a different voice greets you five minutes later, you’re ready. “Is this Juni’s mother?”

“It is,” you confirm.

“Oh, good. Hi, it’s Mr Lee, Juni’s teacher. I found Bubba amongst the class plushies, so I assume he got put there accidentally. I’m leaving to head home now, so I can drop him off on the way.”

“Oh, you don’t have to; I can come back, it’s not a long drive. I don’t want to bother you, Mr Lee.” Juni squeaks excitedly at the mention of her teacher, making you hold back a fond, little laugh so that the man doesn’t hear it.

“It’s no bother, I know how important Bubba is to her and that you’ve been at work all day yourself. I think it’s on my way anyway, you live near the park with the elephant slide, right? Juni mentions it a lot.”

“Ah, yeah, her uncle takes her there all the time.”

Mr Lee chuckles softly. “Yeah, she says. She really loves him a lot; talks about nothing but him, and you, of course.”

“Funny, she talks about nothing but you at home.”

There’s a moment of silence and you start to wonder if you should’ve kept that to yourself but then his soft, disbelieving voice comes back before you can backtrack and try to apologise for overstepping. “Really? She talks about me?”

“Yeah, she adores you.”

“Oh,” he says on a puff of an awed exhale. “That’s…I didn’t realise any of my students like me that much. That’s really…it means a lot to me to hear, thank you for telling me. I’ll be by in about twenty minutes with Bubba, if that’s okay?”

“Are you sure it’s not too much for you?”

“No, no, not at all. Really. I’m more than happy to do this, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

“Ah, okay, thank you, Mr Lee, we really appreciate your kindness.”

“You’re both welcome. I’ll see you soon.” The call ends and you lock your phone to place it back on the counter.

“Bubba?” Juni asks.

For a moment, you debate not telling her exactly what is happening because you know how she’ll react, but you also don’t like to hide things from you daughter unless entirely necessary.

So, you take a breath and put her down on the floor before answering. “Mr Lee is bringing him.”

As expected, Juni starts to yell and jump excitedly. You chuckle fondly and get back to preparing dinner, while hoping that she will calm soon enough.

Almost half an hour after ending the call, the doorbell rings and you practically have to tackle your daughter on the couch, so that she doesn’t run off to answer the door.

Usually, she never tries to answer the front door, or even touch it, though you still keep it locked with the chain across just in case; but she’s been bouncing and excitedly prattling on about Mr Lee visiting for half an hour now, so you’re not sure she’ll remember the safety rule.

“Okay, be calm. Remember, he’s just bringing Bubba,” you remind your daughter as you get up and walk to the door with her. Juni nods emphatically in understanding, though you’re not convinced she’s absorbed your words any of the times you’ve said them because she has already said multiple times that she’s going to show Mr Lee her favourite toys.

After peering through the spy hole and finding who you can only assume is Mr Lee when he’s bundled up so well with his scarf wrapped around the bottom of his face as his dark hair half obscuring his eyes as it sticks out from under his beanie, you unlock the door and open it.

“Mr Lee!” Juni shrieks as soon as the door is open enough to see the man in the hall. You notice his eyes curve, chill pinkened cheeks bunching up under his scarf before he pulls it down to tuck thickly under his chin so he can smile at your daughter.

“Hi, Nini, I brought you someone,” he greets, surprising you with the nickname you were unaware anyone, other than you, calls her, but you don’t mind. It somehow sounds even cuter from the man. He crouches down as he pulls his messenger bag around to his front and you spot Bubba’s head sticking out of one side.

“Bubba!” Juni gasps and bounces forward to pat the duck’s scruffy yet soft fur.

“We had a nice walk, and he had fun seeing all the sights on the way, but I think he’s more than ready to be back with you now,” Mr Lee says as he unzips his bag to gently pull out the duck to offer. Juni immediately takes it to hug tight and bury her face in its pale yellow and splotchy grey body.

“What do you say, Juni?” You prompt, tapping Juni’s head gently.

“Thank you, Mr Lee!” Juni all but yells, then launches herself forward to hug the man. Clearly, he’s already used to her abrupt and intense affection as he doesn’t falter in catching her and hugging her back.

The sight of this sweet man with his cute, pink tipped nose and cheeks embracing your daughter and looking genuinely happy to be here and accepting her enthusiastic love, makes your heart flutter.

The only man who has ever shown your daughter love is your best friend, but that’s entirely different; you and Junhui fooled around once as teens and decided it was gross and swore to never touch one another like that again.

Just as you manage to get your heart under control, by reminding yourself that this is your daughter’s teacher; someone who you can’t get involved with even if you wanted to, he looks at you and you’re pelted with the full force of his precious smile. Your stomach somersaults and your heart takes up breakdancing, or at least it feels like it by how it suddenly erratically thumps against your ribs.

“Thank you,” you say, forcing yourself to be normal, even if your voice comes out soft and a little breathy.

Something in Mr Lee’s expression changes, the smile lessens a little but not in an unhappy way, more like a thought is running through his mind as his head tilts ever so slightly. It takes him a second too long to respond. “You’re welcome.”

“Mr Lee, see my toys!” Juni encourages, grappling for the man’s glove clad hand as she backs towards the open door, trying to tug him, but she’s only a tiny four-year-old and he’s a grown adult; he doesn’t even wobble in his crouched form.

“Ah, baby, remember, Mr Lee is on his way home; he only came to drop off Bubba. He can’t come in and see your toys,” you explain.

Juni immediately pouts and looks at you with pleading eyes. “Peas, mama?”

“Please,” you correct gently. She pouts harder.

“How about we have a show and tell soon?” Mr Lee suggests, drawing your daughter’s attention back to him.

“What that?”

“Show and tell is where you bring something in to show the class. You can bring in your favourite toy and show the whole class, so long as your parents let you bring it, of course. You can only bring in something mama says is allowed to come to school, okay, Nini?”

“I bring Hector!”

“No!” You argue quickly, earning another pout from your troublesomely cute daughter. “Hector cannot go to school with you, Juni, that is a firm no.”

“But Hector best toy.”

“Hector is twice the size of you,” you remind.

“Now I’m curious about Hector, I won’t lie,” Mr Lee admits with a little chuckle.

“See Hector!” Juni enthuses, once again tugging the man.

“Juni,” you sigh. “Mr Lee needs to go home.”

“Well, I can spare five minutes to meet Hector, if that’s okay?” He replies, looking at you from where he’s still crouched with one hand in Juni’s and actually holding her instead of just letting her hold onto his much larger hand. Surprisingly, there’s a hint of pleading in his slightly rounded eyes and you’re too stunned by this man actively wanting to indulge your daughter that you just nod dumbly.

“Yay!” Juni squeals and scrambles to walk backward while tugging Mr Lee, who gets up now and lets her. He has to stop though when although Juni can fit past your body, the gap isn’t enough for him.

There’s a moment where you’re face to face and so close that you can feel the chill of the winter still clinging to his clothes, and you just hold eye contact with one another silently as a sudden tension fills the little gap between you.

It’s Juni that breaks the moment, even if she doesn’t realise. “Scusey, mama!” She nudges your leg, prompting you to blink back to reality and step aside to allow the man into the apartment. “Thank you!”

Mr Lee only stops when he realises that he’s wearing winter boots, which are a pain to undo. “Oh, uh, my shoes are a lot to get off,” he admits sheepishly. “I forgot I’m wearing these and not my work shoes, sorry, Nini, can you bring Hector out here, by any chance?”

You eye his boots as you lean against the front door and hear it click to a complete close under your weight.

“Otay, wait here!” Juni agrees and lets go of Mr Lee to scramble off to her bedroom.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, just loud enough for the man and not your daughter to hear.

He turns to look at you, blinking innocently from behind the strands of dark hair in front of his eyes. “Huh?”

“Indulge her; you must have to get home.”

He shrugs. “I’m in no rush. As I said on the phone; I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” He reaches up to try and move his hair out of his face, but between his beanie trapping it and his thick gloves making it hard for him to accurately touch his hair as he can’t really feel it, he just uselessly swipes over his face a few times. It’s oddly endearing.

“Do you want some help?” You offer, pushing off the door and motioning to his hair loosely without trying to get any closer.

“It’s okay-”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” you repeat his own words back at him.

He stares at you dumbly for a second, pink lips parted in surprise before they curl up at one edge as he laughs softly. “Touche. I uh, I’d appreciate the help, I don’t want to take my gloves off because they’re tucked in past my wrists and it’s a pain to tuck them without removing my coat.”

“Past your wrists?” You wonder as you move closer and lift your hands to carefully move the strands of his hair from out of his face, baring his eyes directly to you from only a few feet away. “Where did you get those? That sounds useful.”

“Oh, uhm, I got them abroad. My friend got married at a ski resort for some reason despite not knowing how to ski nor having ever been to a ski resort in his life, but yeah…I bought them in the town there.”

“Bet it was beautiful though.”

“Mm, yeah. Could’ve done without having to wear a suit in the snow for the sake of photos. They had to photoshop the pink from my face; it was very cold.”

You giggle at the thought of Mr Lee standing pink faced in a suit amongst beautiful, snowy mountains and part of you wants to see the original photos, but you know that would be weird to ask.

So instead, you simply finish tucking his hair neatly into his beanie to keep it in place without entirely exposing his forehead and temples to the cold. You’re entirely unaware of the way he’s staring at you in awe; blown away by how precious your giggle is and wondering if he can make you do it again.

“There,” you say when you’re done. “You can see clearly again, Mr Lee.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs as you lower your hands and step back while smiling at him. “You can call me Jihoon when it’s just us,” he blurts in offer.

You almost ask him if he plans to create situations where it’s just the two of you but the familiar sound of Hector’s wheels rolling on the laminate draws both of your attention away from one another and in the direction of Juni’s bedroom. Which is a good thing too, because you’re pretty sure your retort would’ve been an inappropriate flirtation.

“That’s Hector?” Jihoon mutters with wide eyes on the half mechanical, half plush creature on wheels.

To the best of your abilities, all you can describe it as is cyborg Godzilla in need of a better plastic surgeon because it truly is a monstrosity. Once again, it’s something that Junhui gifted to your daughter, and she loves wholeheartedly.

“My best friend is a menace, and he passed it on to her,” you deadpan and count it as a win when Jihoon snorts a laugh in response.

“Like Hector, Mr Lee?” Juni asks once she’s just about managed to stop the remote-controlled lizard creature before it collides with the man.

“He’s very impressive,” Jihoon replies diplomatically and now you’re the one barely catching a laugh in time and instead letting out an almost snort at his answer. He side-eyes you amusedly and presses his lips together to fight his laugh, as evident by the upturned corners of his mouth and crinkles next to his eyes before he looks back at Juni. “But your mama is right; Hector should definitely stay at home.”

“Otay, I shown tell ‘nother toy,” Juni declares simply.

“Show and tell,” Jihoon corrects gently before you get the chance. Juni just nods as if that’s exactly what she had said, making the pair of you smile fondly at her little figure focused on the large remote in her tiny hands to try and turn Hector around. “Hey, can I have a turn?” He requests.

Juni’s head jerks up to look at her teacher before nodding enthusiastically and bouncing over to offer the control while pointing out the joystick and buttons to tell him how to use it.

For a few minutes, you watch as Jihoon squats down in the entrance hall with Juni standing between his knees and her back to his chest in the circle of his arms as they both watch Hector roam around under Jihoon’s direction.

“Roar! Do the roar!” Juni says, in the exact same voice Junhui does to quote the little boy in the fourth Shrek movie.

Jihoon doesn’t manage to catch his laugh in time, and it comes out in a sudden bark before he manages to press his lips together, turning his laughter into strange, sputtered “pffts” that make you laugh silently.

Juni looks over her left shoulder at her teacher with the dirtiest side-eye you have ever seen, and you can’t help it; you burst into laughter, which sets Jihoon off laughing, making him turn his head so he’s not laughing in the child’s face. Now you’re also getting the side-eye from your four-year-old, but you’re doubled over with your hands on your knees and don’t even notice.

It takes the pair of you over a minute to stop laughing, though one look at the other’s laughter-teary eyes sets you both off again. Juni huffs in impatience and takes the controller from her teacher to press the button that makes Hector roar, while you and Jihoon continue to laugh away together.

The trill of your alarm going off in the kitchen is the only reason you manage to collect yourself. “Oh,” you sniffle, wiping under your eyes as you straighten up, a few giggles still slipping past.

“Dinner!” Juni exclaims eagerly and turns to look at Jihoon. “Dinner time, Mr Lee!”

“Ah, I suppose it is. You eat well, okay, and I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” he says as he gets up, wiping the wet marks from his own cheeks.

Juni frowns at him. “Stay dinner.”

“I can’t, that’s your family time. I’ll eat lunch with you tomorrow instead, okay?”

“Pomise?” She asks, lifting her hand, and almost dropping the controller in the process, so she holds it close to her chest, to extend her adorable, little pinkie finger to the man.

“I promise,” he agrees, linking his glove clad pinkie with her tiny one. It’s a precious sight, but not as precious as how your daughter glows with joy then hugs the man before rushing to the kitchen to turn the alarm off, yelling goodbye as she goes.

“I hope you’re a man of honour, Jihoon,” you comment as Jihoon turns to the front door while you open it.

He pauses mid step for a split second before exiting the apartment and turning to look at you with a shy smile. “I am. I’ve never gone back on a promise.”

“Ah, good; I’d hate to have to think badly on you for breaking my daughter’s trust and heart.”

“I won’t ever intentionally hurt her, I promise,” his words are entirely sincere, and you find yourself unable to doubt him, yet you still extend your pinkie to him without breaking eye contact. Jihoon glances at your offered hand and smiles a little before lifting his hand to link his pinkie around yours without hesitation as his gaze returns to your own. “She’s safe with me.”

“I know,” you assure and slowly unhook your pinkie, so he copies, and you both take your hands back.

“Mama!” Juni yells impatiently from the kitchen.

“Is she this loud at school?” You wonder amusedly.

“She’s certainly easy to hear, I can say that much,” Jihoon replies with a chuckle and starts adjusting his scarf to pull over his chin yet keeps his mouth free to talk. “Enjoy your dinner, I’ll uh, see you at drop off tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you then. Have a safe journey home, Jihoon.”

“Thanks.” He shoots you a smile and wavers, swaying in place before pulling his scarf up to cover his mouth, waving goodbye then walks down the hallway.

You wait until he’s out of sight before shutting and locking the door.

Even though Juni is once again calling you from the kitchen, you take a moment to will your fluttering heart to calm before going to join your daughter and hope that you’re not developing a crush on her teacher.

As it turns out; your hoping was in vain.

After that evening, every time you see Jihoon at drop off and pick up for the following two months, he smiles at you and wanders over if he’s not busy with another student or parent, to make small talk in the morning and tell you about Juni’s achievements and quirks of the day in the afternoon.

It’s the most you’ve ever conversed with the man in the handful of months he’s been Juni’s teacher, and as much as you truly love the attention that you’ve noticed he doesn’t go out of his way to other parents, you’ve also noticed something else. The silver band on his ring finger.

Once you notice the wedding ring, you try to not engage in conversation as much. You even send Junhui on pick-ups when you know your hormones are too excitable to remember that you can’t enjoy the attention of the man.

Though there’s only so much you can do when Jihoon approaches you one morning looking more awake than usual, with his eyes sparkling in the early spring sun and excitement stretching his smile wide on his pretty face.

He calls your name in a way that makes other parents look between you suspiciously, yet the man doesn’t notice. “Guess what!”

“Uhm, what?” You ask, awkwardly shuffling your weight from foot to foot and hoping he calms a little, as much as you love seeing him so animated, because it’s drawing attention. More attention than usual due to his clear favouritism towards you and your daughter every morning and afternoon.

“Are you okay?” He suddenly frowns in concern, noticing the way you’re trying to make yourself a little smaller as if that will stop the parents eyeing you. “Are you ill?”

“No, just…I should really get to work.”

“Oh, uhm, okay. Sorry, I probably keep you a lot, huh?” He reaches out towards Juni’s backpack in your hold, your daughter off somewhere with her friends on the playground until morning bell rings to tell them they must go into the class to get ready. “I won’t keep you; I can take Juni in so you can get to work on time.”

“Oh, right, yeah, thanks.” You hand over the bag then step back and look around for your daughter.

You hear her before you see her; squealing happily as she runs around with a little boy you can never remember the name of; you just know that his nanny always brings him to school and picks him up. Even if the nanny looks at him so adoringly you thought for the longest time that he’s the boy’s father, not full-time babysitter.

The pair are running circles around the tall man, who is moving his gaze between the two to watch over them, and the collection of mothers hovering and trying to flirt with him. It’s not an unusual sight at all, even when you know some of the women are married, but at least the nanny never seems to be interested and only replies politely.

“I’ll go say goodbye,” you say, motioning over to your daughter while looking back at Jihoon.

“Of course, I’ll see you at pick up.”

“Oh, uh, I think Junhui is picking her up today. Park trip,” you say, even though you’re very certain Junhui planned to get home on time to conveniently meet his cute neighbour in the car park and hit on her, and maybe even finally ask her on a date. But you know he’ll drop any plan for the sake of your daughter, though you make a mental note to pick up his favourite takeout on your way home from work tonight.

“Ah, I see. Well, have a nice weekend and I’ll see you Monday morning.”

“Yep, see you then,” you agree, then turn and approach your daughter. “Juni!” She immediately comes to a stop and looks at you, but the little boy doesn’t stop in time and collides with her, sending them both to the floor. “Oh, shit,” you whisper and rush over to kneel beside the nanny, who is already cooing over the pair and checking them over.

“We otay!” Juni assures and the little boy looks at her with tears in his eyes and a wobbling lip but noticing her smile, he sniffles, wipes his eyes then grins himself, making you and his nanny chuckle.

“We otay,” he agrees.

“Well, I’m glad you’re both otay,” the nanny says as you both help the children to their feet.

“Mama, can DanDan come my party?” Juni asks, looking at you with her trademark puppy dog eyes.

“Sunday is a bit close notice to ask someone to your party, most parents want more notice,” you point out softly. “I’d have to call his parents, and I don’t have their number.”

“You can take mine,” the nanny offers, drawing your attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a few of the mothers behind him baulk and you assume he’s avoided giving his number to any of them. You feel a little ping of pride in your chest at effortlessly getting the attractive man’s number, even if you truly don’t want it for the reasons they do.

“If you text me the details, I can talk to Danil’s mother about it and pass on your number when she gets home from work. Then she can call you herself. I don’t feel right giving her number to you without her consent.”

“No, no, that’s completely understandable. I’d really appreciate that,” you assure, taking your phone from your pocket to unlock and open a new contact. You hand him the device, so that he can input his details himself and not risk the too-nosey mothers overhearing the digits.

“Where bag, mama?” Juni asks, noticing the lack of her backpack in your grasp.

“Mr Lee took it, I’ve got to get to work now so he’s taking over from me,” you reply.

“Oh, otay. See you later.” She moves over to hug you tight and kiss your cheek noisily, which you return theatrically, making her giggle happily.

“Uncle Jun is going to pick you up today, Nini, okay?”

“Jun-Jun time!” She shrieks happily and starts bouncing around Danil, who watches her with giggles tumbling from his lips. “DanDan come park too?!”

“That’s really not my decision, baby,” you remind as you accept your phone back and notice that the man has saved his number as ‘Danil’s nanny’. You look at him funnily.

“Hm?” He wonders, noticing your expression.

“You didn’t put your name.”

“Oh, well, I just thought that would make more sense, because you only want my number because I’m Danil’s nanny.”

“Well, yeah but it’s a big derogatory, is it not? Just referring to you as nothing more than his nanny; you’re your own person, you know?”

“I know,” he chuckles and smiles at you softly. “I’m Mingyu, I don’t think we’ve ever actually talked before; you’re one of the only mothers who’s never approached me.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you draw a certain kind of attention,” you scoff amusedly and side-eye the lingering mothers, who abruptly look away and fail at playing innocent. Mingyu glances over and giggles quietly as he turns back around. “They don’t much like me. I’ve told them all off for various things; mostly trying to chat up my best friend when he picks up Juni and making him uncomfortable.”

“Best friend? Not partner?”

“Ew, gross!” You fake a gag that makes him laugh.

Suddenly, you realise you’re both still kneeling on the rubber tarmac, even if the kids are running off again, so you get to your feet, brushing off your knees as you go and Mingyu copies, extending to his full height and towering over you.

“Anyway, I’ll text you the details when I get the chance.”

“Mm, okay, I look forward to hearing from you. Between you and me, Danil’s never been invited to a party or anything before. Juni is really his only friend, he sings her praises, seriously, so I’m really happy she wants him there and you’re willing to accept him.”

“Of course, I’m not great with remembering who is who amongst these kids, but I know she’s mentioned him a bunch of times, especially lately, and he sounds like a great kid. I’ll be happy to have him at the party, and you and his parents, if you all want to come. It’s a picnic party, because apparently my child thinks the beginning of March is the perfect time to sit outside when it’s likely to rain. So maybe bring spare clothes and be prepared to abruptly move to my apartment if that happens.”

Mingyu chuckles. “We’ll bring raincoats and towels.”

“Perfect!” You beam and he laughs again. “Alright, I really should go, but nice to officially meet you, Mingyu, talk later.” You start walking backwards and hope you don’t crash into a parent or even worse, a child with your ass.

“You too! Wait, what’s your name?!” You call your name out and he smiles brightly. “Have a good day at work!” You give him a thumbs up then turn and jog off out of the school grounds to get to your car, where it’s parked down the street, and head to work.

In the midst of eating dinner, with Junhui and Juni seeming to silently compete in who can shove the most noodles in the mouths judging by their matching, bulging cheeks, the doorbell rings. You choke on your laughter at the way they both turn their heads towards the hallway with wide eyes and dangling noodles, like a pair of greedy, chubby cheeked dogs.

“I swear it’s like she takes after you more than me,” you comment as you get up after putting your cutlery down. “Never should’ve named her after you.” Junhui just grins at you, so you roll your eyes and leave the kitchen to approach the door.

When you peer through the spyhole, you’re genuinely surprised to find a familiar figure standing on the other side.

Confusedly, you unlock the door and open it just enough to look directly at Jihoon, who once again has his hair in his eyes; though at least now, thanks to the warmer weather, he’s no longer hiding half of his face in a thick scarf, even if his coat is done up all the way to his chin.

“Hi,” he greets a little awkwardly.

“Hi,” you reply and put the latch on the door to step outside and pull the door up so that Juni doesn’t hear her teacher’s voice and excitedly abandon her dinner. “Is something wrong? Did Juni forget Bubba again?”

“No, no, I just asked her to give you a note, but I found it on her desk after class, so I guess she forgot it.”

“A note?”

“Yeah, so uhm, as a teacher I sometimes get invitations to new child-friendly exhibits and stuff before they open to the public; so that I can try things out and give feedback from a teacher’s perspective. And it’s also like free publicity for them because then I can see if it’s worth booking a class trip or something.”

“Right?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard about the new interactive science museum opening like an hour’s drive away?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar.”

Jihoon’s tongue darts out to lick his lips quickly and you kind of hate yourself for tracking the movement with your eyes despite knowing he’s a married man. You rapidly lift your gaze back up and hope he hasn’t noticed.

“I received an invitation last night to the open day on Sunday; I can take up to two children so long as there’s another adult so that’s one adult per child for the open day. And well…I was wondering if you and Juni would like to go with me?”

“What?” You blink at him. “Me and Juni?”

“Yeah. I don’t have any children in my life, just my students, and I thought it’d be nice to get a child’s perspective; so I know if it’s fun and interesting enough for them. And well, I just…I thought of you. And Juni! I mean I thought of Juni and you. Her-her first, of course. As the child.”

“Of course,” you mumble, still looking at him with furrowed eyebrows from your surprise and confusion at the man turning up at your door to ask you and Juni to do something outside of school hours. “Is that something you usually do?”

“Huh?”

“Ask students and their parents to go to these events with you?”

Jihoon’s cheeks prickle a soft pink and his gaze flickers away quickly, then back at you. “No. I just…I don’t really like the other parents, honestly.”

“They’ve noticed.”

“What?”

“You really didn’t see the way they looked at us this morning?”

Jihoon’s expression turns down and pinches a little in confusion. “What do you mean, looked at us?”

“When you called me; multiple parents looked at us suspiciously and it’s not the first time. They often give me dirty looks; like I’m some kind of homewrecker just because you approach me and not anyone else, at least not smiling like you do me.”

“Oh.” Understanding dawns on his expression. “I didn’t realise; I didn’t even think of how it may seem. I just…”

“I think it would be inappropriate and only worsen their suspicions to be seen with you outside of the playground, Mr Lee.”

Jihoon winces. “You can still call me Jihoon.”

“It’s probably for the best I don’t. It’s too familiar to call my daughter’s teacher by his first name.”

“Right.” He chews on his lip as he nods slowly, eyes downcast to look at his own hands as he laces them together tightly in front of himself. “I understand. I’m sorry for overstepping, I didn’t mean to get too familiar and make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable, I’d just rather not have homewrecker pinned to me, you know?”

“You’re not, it’s not like that,” he lifts his head to look at you imploringly. “You’re not a homewrecker.”

“I know; nothing has happened, nor will it. We were just talking. But you probably shouldn’t turn up at my apartment unannounced like this.”

“Ah, yeah, I just…it’s on Sunday so I couldn’t wait until Monday, for obvious reasons.”

“I understand.”

“Well, uhm, I just like…it’s in another town and we can meet there if you want? It could be like coincidence. We don’t have to explore the museum together, just go in together because it’s under my name and all that. Nobody can say anything and it’s not inappropriate to just exist in the same building at other ends.”

“It’s Juni’s birthday party on Sunday.”

“Oh, right,” his eyes widen a little. “I forgot. She tried to invite me, but I said it’d be inappropriate.”

“Yeah, she asked me too, multiple times.” You chuckle a little. “I told you; she loves you.”

“I love her too, in a like…professional teacher way. I love all my students but she’s special. She just has so much love and joy in her that it’s impossible not to favour her, even though I shouldn’t. You’ve done a really good job raising her; I’d be proud if I ever have a child anything like her.”

“Ah, thank you,” you flush softly with the praise. “She’s a good kid.”

“The best.”

There’s a moment here, with your eyes locked and something hanging in the air; it feels anticipatory in a way that brings back the same tender violence as before in your chest.

You want to look away, but you’re stuck in place, unable to turn even though your mind is yelling at you that this is a married man, and you can’t have him the way you yearn to. But your heart beats louder than logic and your apparently fragile morals.

It gets louder still when he takes a half step forward, only stopped by the door pulling open behind you and Junhui’s tall figure looming over you concernedly. Jihoon shuffles back and glances away with something that looks like guilt on his face.

“Mr Lee, what are you doing here?” Junhui asks, putting his arm around your shoulders to pull you back to him.

Being your best friend, Junhui knows all about the feelings you’ve developed for your daughter’s teacher over the past two months of sparkly eyed attention and beautiful smiles. He had slapped your limbs a few times when you confessed to him that you can’t stop thinking about Jihoon, even once you noticed the ring on his finger. Which is half of the reason Junhui has been so willing to do school runs in your place; so that you don’t fall prey to your own heart and become the homewrecker the other parents clearly think you are.

“Just had to discuss something time sensitive but we’re done, so I’ll go now. Have a nice evening. I’ll see you on Monday,” Jihoon replies, giving Junhui a curt smile and one a little lingering to you, before he turns and rushes off down the hall.

“The fuck did he want?” Junhui grunts, tugging you into the apartment and flicking the latch off to securely push the door up and let you lock it back up.

“Just a thing; I’ll explain later, let’s just eat.”

“Mm, alright.”

Junhui is not impressed at all when he learns the information that Jihoon asked you to go with him to the museum, even if Juni was supposed to be the reason for the invitation in the first place.

Your best friend’s disapproval is made more obvious than his rant on Friday night, once Juni was in bed, when you go down to your car on Monday morning with Juni to take her to school and find Junhui sitting on the bonnet of your car chewing on a pastry, which he immediately shares with Juni.

Without him even explaining his presence, he gets in the car with you both to go to the school, munching away and spilling pastry flakes all over the interior, but you’re too silently glad for his presence to berate him. You know he’s only here as a tall, crumb covered buffer in case Jihoon tries to approach you, and you appreciate that a lot.

In the playground as you stand with Junhui and Mingyu, who seem to have become friends since the picnic less than 24 hours ago, you spot Jihoon glancing in your direction multiple times, yet he keeps his distance with a tiny, almost imperceptible frown.

When you leave work the same afternoon, you find Junhui once again sitting on your car, despite the fact he works across the city so had to have left early to get here. Neither of you say a word, even if you want to call him an idiot for ditching work early, but you appreciate your best friend far too much to even pretend to scold him for silently supporting you in your mission to not fall for a married man.

For two straight weeks, Junhui appears every morning and most afternoons for the school run. The only afternoons you don’t leave work to see him waiting are the afternoons where he picks up Juni alone to take for their after-school park trips.

It seems that Junhui is the perfect deterrent because Jihoon doesn’t approach you once in those two weeks.

The only time you talk is when you approached him first to tell him that another child had said things to Juni that makes you think their parents have said something nasty about you in front of the child. So, you wanted to warn Jihoon that Juni will hit the child if they say another bad thing about you, just as Junhui taught her to. “Once can be let go, but twice deserves punishment”, are his exact words and honestly, you don’t even mind that he’s trained her in such a way, with the baby fighting skills to match. It’s taught her to be understanding, while not letting others be endlessly cruel or walk all over her.

Junhui may give your daughter odd habits and interests, but he at least teaches her to have a backbone, and you will forever be grateful to him for that.

Although it’s weird for you to go from being blessed with Jihoon’s direct attention and precious face twice a day for almost two full months, it’s much better for your heart to yearn with the distance than up close.

You had hoped that it will continue and you can gradually get over Jihoon, but a little over two weeks since enforcing the break, your phone rings while you’re in the middle of cooking dinner and the school number appears on your screen.

Somehow, you know it’s Jihoon before even answering. “Hello,” you greet.

“Hi, it’s Ji- uh, Mr Lee,” Jihoon’s familiar voice responds.

“Is something wrong?”

“She hasn’t noticed yet?” He mumbles confusedly.

“Noticed what?”

“Bubba is with me; I found him under my desk, for some reason.”

“Oh,” your tone is confused and without thought, you walk through to the living room, expecting to find Juni on the couch watching her after school cartoons but they’re playing to an empty room.

“Mm, so I thought I should drop him off. Professionally. I know she can’t sleep without him.”

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

“Okay, I’ll uhm see you in twenty minutes then.”

“Yeah, see you then,” you agree distractedly and hang up before stepping into your daughter’s room to find her drawing a picture at her little table. “Nini?”

“Yes, mama?” She replies, looking up at you innocently.

“What are you doing?”

“Draw picture for Mr Lee.”

“You’re drawing a picture for Mr Lee?” She hums and nods her head as she looks back down to her paper and returns to colouring. You approach and peer suspiciously at the drawing of who you know is you, because she always draws you the same way, and what vaguely looks like Jihoon, smiling and holding hands. “Baby, what’s this drawing about?”

“You hold hands and be happy.”

“Right, okay and why are you drawing that?” You crouch down beside her and lean your arms on the table to watch her carefully work on her masterpiece.

“Mr Lee sad.”

“What?” Your face falls and you look at your daughter. “Mr Lee is sad?” She nods. “Why do you say that? Did he tell you he’s sad?”

“No. He smiles little bit now.”

“He smiles less?” She nods. “Oh…” You turn your focus to the picture, not sure what to say.

“Mr Lee smiles with you,” Juni states a few seconds later when she puts her crayon down, signalling she’s finished with her drawing. “So, I make picture to make Mr Lee happy and smile because you are hold hands and happy.”

“Oh.”

“I did good picture, mama?” She asks, looking at you with hope in her eyes. “Mr Lee will be happy?”

“It’s a very good drawing, well done, baby,” you answer, carefully avoiding responding to her second question, and kiss her head.

“Mr Lee be here soon?” She wonders as you get up, making you look at her in alarm. “With Bubba?”

Then, it suddenly makes sense; just why your daughter, who is usually so stuck to her post-nursery routine, isn’t sitting on the couch with Bubba or screaming the place down because her comfort plushie is lost. “Juni, did you hide Bubba under Mr Lee’s desk, so that he’ll have to come here?”

Juni’s eyes slowly widen in the way they always do when she realises that she’s done something wrong and is feeling guilty all of a sudden. Her cheeks pinken slightly and you sigh, knowing that you have your confirmation, even as she remains silent.

“That’s not good, baby; you can’t do things like that, okay?”

“But Mr Lee sad!”

“I know you care about Mr Lee, but he is an adult, and it isn’t anyone’s business but his own. You can’t trick him to come here to give him a picture.”

“And see you.”

“What?”

“You make Mr Lee happy, mama. You no talk anymore, only talk to Mingoo and Uncle Jun and not Mr Lee.”

“Wait, is this why you don’t like Mingyu lately?” You baulk, only now having an explanation to your daughter no longer liking to be near the kind man and always dragging Danil off in the mornings, while you and Junhui talk to Mingyu as you all wait for the doors to open for the children to be let in for the day.

“He steal you tenshun.”

“My attention?” She nods. “Baby, Mingyu hasn’t stolen anything; he’s mine and Uncle Jun’s new friend.”

“Mr Lee friend too! Have to be equal to all friends!” She repeats words that you and Junhui have both told her multiple times in gentle reminder when she talks about one child more than others, just so that she doesn’t leave any of her friends out unintentionally.

“Mr Lee isn’t my friend,” you inform. “He’s your teacher, not my friend.”

The way Juni frowns at you can only be described as painfully lost. “But you smile together. You make him happy; he make you happy. Like friends.”

“Mr Lee doesn’t make me happy.”

“Not now, you no talk because Mingoo,” she huffs.

“It’s not because of Mingyu. Mr Lee is your teacher and has other parents and students to give attention to; I’ve stepped back to let him do that.”

“Well don’t!” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Step not back.”

“Forward is opposite to back.”

“I know! I’m not stupid.”

“I never said-”

“You stupid,” her grumbled words cut you off mid-sentence to gawp at her in astonishment. Never before has your daughter called you stupid.

Even though you shouldn’t take it to heart, knowing she’s just upset and still learning, it stings.

“Excuse me?” You ask, putting your hands on your hips when you manage to gather your wits to retort. She looks at you and upon taking in your firm expression, she immediately looks away again. “You do not talk to me or anyone like that, Juni. That is not a nice thing to say.”

“Mr Lee your friend.”

“Don’t change the subject. This is about you calling me stupid.”

“You be stupid for saying not friend. He is.”

“Juni-”

“No! You be stupid! Mr Lee your friend, and he need you! You make him happy, but you ditch for stupid, stupid, stupid Mingoo!”

“Alright, that’s enough, you need calm down time,” you declare, packing up her art supplies quickly to put back on the shelf, while she watches you with rapidly saddening eyes. “When you’ve calmed down and are ready to apologise for being mean, you can come to me, and we will talk properly.”

“You being mean!” She doubles down and abruptly gets up to storm over to her bed and throw herself on top of, where she start to cry.

As much as you want to soothe your distressed child, you know she needs time alone, and frankly so do you, so you turn and leave her room without another word.

It breaks your heart to return to making dinner as if you can’t hear Juni’s crying turn from angry wails to unhappy sobbing down the hall, but you stay firm and wait for her to be ready and come to you.

By the time the doorbell rings, you can only hear the occasional hiccupped inhale and sniffles when you listen carefully over the noises of making dinner.

When you open the door to Jihoon already standing with Bubba in arms against his chest as if he’s been using the toy as his own comfort plushie, you suddenly see why Juni thinks she needs to trick Jihoon to stop by in an attempt to cheer him up.

The man looks paler than usual, with dark smears under his eyes badly hidden with concealer, which isn’t even his shade, and his lips look bitten half raw. He looks like he needs a hug.

“Oh,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

“Oh? Were-were you expecting someone else?” He asks, looking down the hall with widened eyes as if he expects this mystery visitor to suddenly appear.

“No just…you uh…is it rude to say you don’t look good?” You wince at your own words, but he doesn’t.

Jihoon looks back at you and sighs a little. “It’s the truth.”

“You look like you need a hug, or a strong drink.”

“I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Oh…” He hums vaguely in response and awkwardly looks at the floor between you while tightening his hold on Bubba. “Do…Do you want a hug?” You offer.

Jihoon’s head snaps up to look at you with bulging eyes and a slightly dropped jaw. “Wh-what?”

“A hug? Do you want one?”

“Yes,” he blurts, then shakes his head and steps backwards before you can even try to move closer. “I mean no, no, that’s inappropriate. You’ve made it very clear that you want a strict teacher-parent relationship with me, and I will respect that.”

“I’m offering as a parent, for the sake of my child.”

“Why would hugging me benefit Juni in anyway?” He looks utterly bewildered.

“She hid him under your desk, so you’d have to come here,” you inform, pointing at his chest, where he’s hugging Bubba tight.

Jihoon looks down at the creepy duck, then up at you even more puzzled than previously. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s noticed that you’re sad and apparently, I make you happy.”

“Oh…” he mutters and shrinks into himself a little further while no longer making eye contact with you, focusing on Bubba again as he mindlessly strokes his fingers over the fluff. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be obvious.”

“Wait, she’s right?” You baulk. “I thought she was just being a kid.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m the reason you look like this?” You motion to him vaguely, though he doesn’t look away from the duck and just nods in confirmation. “Fuck. Why? This isn’t right, Jihoon. You can’t look this pitiful because I put boundaries that should remain in place so that our lives don’t get fucked up.”

“I wasn’t aware being my friend would fuck up your life but thanks for letting me know,” he grunts and thrusts the duck towards you one handed. “I’ll leave and stop being a bother.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” you assure, naturally taking the toy ready to give back to your daughter. When he tries to lower his empty hand as he turns to leave, you grab it. “This is why. You-” you cut off when you realise that although it’s his left hand you’re grasping, there isn’t a single piece of jewellery under your touch.

Confusedly, you tuck Bubba under your arm to free your own left hand to take his wrist to prevent him from walking away, like you fear he will, when you let go with your right hand to reveal his bare fingers to your sight.

“Where’s your ring?” You mutter and look up to find Jihoon staring at you with wide eyes and frozen in place. “Jihoon?” You prompt when he continues to stare with parted lips.

“H-Huh?” He blinks a few times to try and bring himself back to reality.

“Where’s your ring?”

“Ring? What ring?”

“Your wedding ring.”

“I’m not married,” he mutters, eyebrows pulling together as he too looks at his hand.

“No, no, you are,” you insist while dropping his hand to move Bubba from under your arm to your chest to squeeze slightly as you mind starts to whirl. “You wear a fucking wedding band every day, I saw it earlier. I know you wear one. Jun’s seen it and Juni drew it on her picture! You’re married, Jihoon!”

“Oh,” his eyes slowly widen in understanding. “That’s just a trick.”

“What?”

“Last year, a lot of parents were really inappropriate towards me, so I faked an engagement and came back this year wearing the ring; to stop them bothering me for reasons that aren’t about their children.”

“What?”

“I’m not married, I’m not even seeing anyone. I’m single, like really single,” he emphasises. “I haven’t even been on a date in years.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

An awkward, slightly tense silence comes over the pair of you as you try to stop your mind from spinning and heart racing with hope and a brand-new dance routine.

“That’s why you stopped talking to me?” Jihoon manages to get out in such a quiet voice that you barely hear him over your pulse thudding in your ears. But you hear and look up at him. “You stopped talking to me because you thought I’m married?”

“You wear a ring,” you reason.

“Yeah, but I thought…I just thought that you don’t want to be friends with me, not that you’re…fuck,” he exhales and lifts his hands to put his face in them. “The one person I didn’t want it to work on,” he groans into his palms, making your stomach flip with fresh hope that he means that he might possibly feel the same way you do.

You watch with anticipation dancing amongst your internal organs, while he scrubs his hands over his face with a few strange groans, then abruptly pushes them up into his hair despite his beanie, resulting in knocking it off to the floor, yet he either doesn’t notice somehow, or simply does not care.

Jihoon looks directly at you with his fingers in his hair before dropping his arms and taking a step closer while opening his mouth to say something with a painfully sincere expression on his face, but a sniffled voice from behind you stops him in his tracks.

“Mama?” Immediately, you turn to look at Juni, where she’s standing down the hall looking miserable with her precious little face swollen with sadness. “I-I’m sorry for call you stupid,” she apologises, lip wobbling.

As soon as you lower to your knees, Juni runs over to throw herself into your open arms and clings to you tightly. “I know, baby, I know. Thank you for apologising; I appreciate it a lot.”

“Never call you stupid again,” she promises, even if you know she likely will forget that promise as she grows, especially as a hormonal teenager. Though you won’t hold it against her.

“Thank you.” You kiss her head and hold her tighter as you get to your feet, stuffing Bubba between your chests for her to immediately grab, while you turn to look at Jihoon.

He’s got something tender in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you and your daughter, and you realise that it’s not the first time that he’s looked at you two like this; like the sight of you settles his very soul.

“Do you like lasagne?” You blurt.

Jihoon slowly looks at you instead of watching Juni rub her face into the almost bald patch on Bubba’s belly, where fur is missing from all the times that she’s done exactly this after an emotionally exhausting cry. “What?” He mutters dumbly.

“Lasagne, do you like it? And garlic bread.”

“Uh, ye-yeah,” he confirms with a nod and shuffles on his feet as both of his hands grip the strap of his bag, where it’s crossed over his chest.

“Do you maybe want to join us for dinner? I made too much for just us because I thought Jun would be here, but he went home with an upset stomach from once again eating out of date yogurt because he doesn’t want to waste it. It wasn’t even his yogurt. I don’t know where he got it from.” Admittedly, you’re rambling with sudden nerves at the thought of Jihoon rejecting your invitation, but you can’t stop yourself. “Only if you don’t have plans. Not that I’m assuming you don’t, because you could be very busy and-”

Hearing your name on his tongue for the first time in two weeks cuts you off immediately, lips pressing together as you blink at him with widened eyes. “I don’t have plans. I’d love to have dinner with both of you.”

Juni perks up as your tense posture deflates a little with relief. “Mr Lee eat dinner too?!” She shrieks, then squeaks and leans towards him when he nods in confirmation.

Jihoon smiles, lighting up in that truly precious smile you haven’t seen in weeks as he steps forward to take your daughter from your arms. Juni immediately cuddles up to him and leans her head contently on his shoulder.

You can only watch as you step back to let him into the apartment and shut the door after him. He’s not wearing winter boots now, just trainers, which he easily slips off beside the shoe rack without putting Juni down or removing his caring hold on her.

“I show Mr Lee picture now?” Juni asks and you just nod so she wiggles, prompting the man to put her down.

Jihoon takes the chance to remove his bag and coat to hang on the hooks, then accept her offered hand to toddle after her down the hall to her bedroom as she rabbits on, about you have no idea what, you’re too focused on the sight of the man happily going along with your daughter as if there’s nowhere that he’d rather be.

Though before he disappears into her bedroom, he looks over at you and smiles in a way that makes you believe that perhaps, there’s one other place he’d be just as happy to be.

Although you had assumed Jihoon would make excuses to leave after dinner is over, he doesn’t. He stays to help clean up. He stays to sit on the couch with Juni on his lap to watch far too much TV for a school night. He stays to read Juni a bedtime story with you, both of you sitting either side of her on her double bed that dwarfs her but fits the three of you perfectly. And he stays to return to the couch with you and look at you with a soft, content smile that hasn’t left his features all evening.

“I think she might’ve been right,” you comment after you’ve both just been sitting for a couple of quiet, peaceful minutes curled up facing one another, knees almost touching with the sides of your heads on the back rest.

“About what?”

“I’m stupid.”

Jihoon chokes out a surprised laugh at your words, making you smile. “I think you’re far from stupid but I’m clearly missing something here, so please do elaborate.”

“You look happy now.”

“I feel happy now.”

“Because of me?” You ask, hope tilting your words upwards.

“Yeah, but also your precious daughter. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d want any child I have to be like her.”

“You want children?”

“I never used to.” He shrugs a little.

“When did that change?”

“September, when a ball of love and energy spilled half a cup of dirty water over her own painting and proceeded to laugh like a maniac while splashing her tiny hands in the mess.”

You can’t help but laugh, knowing that he’s talking about Juni’s very first day at nursery, when she came out covered in dried paint and Jihoon had repeatedly apologised to you about the mess.

“Then I met her mother,” he continues, making your gentle laughter trickle away, hearing the softness in his tone. “And instead of getting angry at me or blaming me for the lack of spare clothes in her child’s backpack like other parents have before, she just laughed and said she’d try to remember to pack spare clothes for the next day. And she did. I had to change her daughter the next day when she tripped and fell in a muddy puddle, and when I told her mother, she only asked if her daughter made the most of being in the puddle. Which, she did; that child always makes the most of being a mess and has taught her friends to do the same.”

“Oops,” you offer with a sheepish smile.

Jihoon chuckles and shakes his head. “Even though it means I have to change and dry at least one child a day now, I wouldn’t ever change it. That little girl is the most amazing child. She’s allowed to be a child while still being emotionally intelligent enough to be the most caring and supportive five-year-old I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching. I’m dreading the day I have to watch her move on at the end of the year. I don’t want to let her go.”

“She has that effect,” you confirm with a pleased smile at the thought of how much love there is directed at your daughter, which you hope only grows as she does.

“She gets it from her mother.” Jihoon looks between your bodies to where your hands are clasped together around your knees before he reaches out to touch your hand. His lips twitch up a little further when you release your hold to allow him to take one of your hands into his. “Do you think that perhaps, maybe her mother will give me the chance to prove myself to her? That I’m worthy to be by her side and maybe one day, not any day soon; I know it’ll take a long time to get to that point, but maybe one day, I can perhaps have the honour of being a part of her daughter’s life too outside of school?”

“You really want that?” You whisper. Jihoon nods, still looking at your hand as he traces his thumb over your knuckles, entranced by the divots and bumps. “Please look at me, Jihoon,” you plead as you lift your head. He pauses, takes a breath, then looks up at you slowly. Noticing that you’re no longer leaning against the backrest entirely, he straightens up a little too, to match your position. “I think that she already adores you.”

“The mother or daughter?” He replies and swallows thickly.

“Both of us.”

Jihoon’s eyes start to shimmer with joy. “Really? Y-you mean that?”

“Yeah.”

“I fucking adore you both too,” he replies with a sudden heavy exhale. “I like you so much, more than I ever thought I could like someone and that says something because I was convinced that I was in love with my last girlfriend and wanted to marry her.”

“Are you saying that you like me more than the woman you wanted to marry?” You deadpan.

Jihoon opens and closes his mouth a few times in the perfect fish imitation before his cheeks bloom a beautiful, precious pink and he smiles sheepishly at you. “I guess so?”

“Sounds serious,” you tease.

He chuckles and nods. “It does, huh? At least you know that this isn’t something casual or inconsequential to me. If you’d give me the chance, I’d devote myself to you for the rest of my life. You really are my happiness.”

“That’s…I don’t want to be someone’s only reason for being happy, Jihoon. I want you to have joy outside of me too. I already have one person who is dependent on me, and I refuse to accept another, unless I birth them so-” Jihoon suddenly making a strange, choking type sound, cuts you off, causing you to look at his rapidly reddening cheeks with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, yep. Great! I’m great!” He almost wheezes.

“Liar. What is it?”

“Nothing,” he squeaks and squeezes your hand a little. “So uh, is-is that like…something you’d want?”

“You?”

“Another baby,” he blurts, before hiding his blushing face in his hands. “Ignore me, please.”

“No,” you snort a laugh and shuffle closer to pull his hands down from his face. He lets you, but tilts his head downwards to try and hide, though looks at you through his lashes. You’re pretty sure he isn’t intentionally making himself look so cute, yet he looks utterly adorable. “Let’s just start with a date first, yeah?”

“A date?” You nod. Although he’s still very pink, he lifts his head. “I’d really like that.”

“Me too. But I think we should take it slow; you’re still Juni’s teacher and I don’t want to complicate anything. I know you favour her and I’m not going to stop that, but I don’t want anyone to make assumptions that it’s just because you’re fucking me.”

“Fucking you,” he whispers, eyes going a little dazed, up until you laugh, and then he’s groaning and hiding his face in the cushion of the backrest. “I’m so fucking lame. Please pretend you haven’t seen me being so pathetic, so you don’t lose interest.”

“I don’t think you’re lame or pathetic,” you giggle and reach out to gently wiggle your fingers between his cheek and the fabric until he lets you lead him back upright and facing you. You take a moment to focus on curving your palm against his cheek and then soften as he tilts into your hold as if it’s already nothing more than instinctual to seek out your touch. “I think you’re precious, Lee Jihoon.”

Jihoon takes a stuttered breath in before he curls his hand around your wrist to hold onto you as if he’s afraid you’ll cease to exist if he doesn’t. “Is asking to kiss you going too fast?”

You don’t answer, not verbally at least. You extend your thumb to brush against the edge of his bottom lip, smiling as they part softly before you lean in, and he eagerly mirrors your position to meet you halfway with a simple, yet oh so sweet, kiss.

“I really hope you’ll always think I’m precious enough to remain with you,” he admits in a whisper, lips almost brushing yours as his free hand lifts to cup your face adoringly.

“I’m not worried about that at all,” you assure confidently then tug him back in for another soft kiss.

It’s not a lie either, you’re not at all worried that Jihoon will ever be anything but precious to you; you truly can’t imagine him ever doing a thing to change that particular opinion of yours.

What you are worried about, however, is how your daughter will react to you dating for the first time in her life, especially when it’s Jihoon who you’re dating. You hope that she thinks of him as equally as precious as you do, and she’ll be happy about it.

Though you can’t think of that now; you have a precious man to kiss until your lips are swollen and the pink of his cheeks threatens to become permanent. You’ll let your daughter’s reaction to the news be a problem for future you. You have more immediate matters to focus on, after all.

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[austinbutlerslovers]

Obsession

Label Mature 18+

Summary Betrothed to Feyd-Rautha, the dark and terrifyingly handsome Na-Baron of Giedi Prime, you should be filled with fear, instead you are obsessed with him.

Harkonnen wedding traditions are brutal and cruel, a series of tests meant to prove your undying obedience yet you find yourself giving everything on your wedding night to ensure you are his one true Baroness.

🚨 Depraved Smut 🚨 foreplay•Dune style stimulation devices•temporary restraints •ovulation stimulator •breeding kink•multiple interchanged sex positions•multiple orgasms

🔗 Masterlist

📖 Proof Reader @purejasmine 🫦 Smut Consult @burnthheparaphilia 🩸slight mention of blood, Feyds from a chalice for the wedding

Yes 🤤 the unnatural obsession with Feyd is so real

Obsession

Your heart raced as the shuttle descended through the thick, polluted clouds of Geidi Prime, the dark, industrial planet that would soon be your new home. The vast, mechanical landscape stretched below, black and gray, a dystopian sprawl where nothing grew naturally. It was stark, oppressive, and utterly foreign to you, just like the man you were about to marry.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen. The name alone made your pulse quicken. He was dark, enigmatic, and dangerous, whispered about in terror. The nephew of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, Feyd was next in line to become the Baron himself, a title that would grant him dominion over the cruel, shadowed world of Geidi Prime and all who lived under his rule.

You had heard of him long before you ever saw him in person. The stories reached your ears like venom, laced with fear and awe. Even on your distant homeworld, far from the brutal politics of Giedi Prime, Feyd’s reputation preceded him.

He was a figure of dark fascination, a Harkonnen prince known for his ruthlessness in the gladiatorial arena and his cunning in the shadows of the political court. But it wasn’t until the day you saw him with your own eyes that the name took on a new, enticing meaning.

The Harkonnens had come to broker a deal with your ruling family, a subtle tightening of their grip over your people. Your father, proud and stern, had never been one to show emotion, but even he couldn’t mask the strain this decision was putting on him.

The meeting was held in the grand hall of your father’s palace. You were present but only as an observer, careful not to draw attention to yourself.

The Baron sat smugly in his chair, Feyd standing just behind him, a dark figure of quiet menace. Every so often, your eyes would dart to Feyd, stealing glances at the way he held himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

His sharp features, the cold intensity in his eyes, but that alone had been enough to stir something dangerous within you.

This was the final and longest of several negotiations, and you could see the tension simmering beneath the surface, the unsaid truths weighing heavily on your father.

He was prepared to give you away as part of this dark, political bargain. The deal had been struck weeks ago, an agreement to cement an alliance with the Harkonnens in exchange for protection and resources…at the cost of your hand in marriage.

Your father’s voice wavered as the meeting wore on. “She is my daughter,” he said, his tone strained. “I want assurances—more than just words.”

The Baron’s smile was a twisted thing, devoid of warmth. “You’ll get what was promised,” he replied, his voice heavy with the weight of unspoken threats. “The bargain is set. There’s no going back now.”

That’s when your father’s voice began to escalate torn between the weight of his obligations no longer able to contain his frustration.

“We made the bargain between our planets, yes,” he said, his voice rising, sharp with anger. “But my daughter is a princess—my daughter—and I will not stand by and watch her be treated like some pawn in your twisted games! I want assurances—real assurances—that she will be unharmed!”

The Baron’s smile deepened with a steely coldness as he clasped his hands together. “This is no place for sentiment,” he interrupted. “You’ve already sold her future. You would do well to remember that.”

That is when the discussion escalated, voices from your father and his advisors rising with every point of contention, their frustration growing louder in the face of the now cackling Baron, and then something shifted. The air grew charged, dangerous, and you could feel it coming before anyone else did.

One of your father’s personal guards, a man known for his loyalty, yet prone to impulsiveness, had stepped too close to Feyd, perhaps provoked by the tension in the room. His words had been a sharp insult against the Harkonnens.

You watched, heart pounding, as Feyd moved faster than anyone expected.

With a fluidity that defied his size, Feyd was upon the guard before anyone could blink.

The guard didn’t even have time to react Feyd’s movements were a blur, brutal, efficient, and terrifyingly precise.

In a heartbeat, he slammed the guards head against the table, his knife pressed to the man’s throat, his eyes alight with a cold controlled fury.

There was no hesitation, no moment of indecision. Feyd had claimed dominance in an instant, the guard left shocked he was now under the threat of death.

Feyds control over the situation was absolute. The room held its breath, waiting for him to make the kill, and for a moment, you thought he would.

The room was silent, the only sound the faint rasps of the guard’s breathing under Feyd’s blade.

But Feyd didn’t kill him. Instead, he leaned in close, his voice low and dangerous as he whispered something in the guard’s ear. Whatever it was, you couldn’t hear it, but the look of sheer terror on the guard’s face told you enough.

Feyd withdrew the blade slowly, deliberately, as though savoring the moment. Then, just as quickly as he had attacked, he stepped back, his face returning to a mask of cold indifference.

You had felt your pulse quicken, excitement rushing through you. There was something about him, his precision, his control, the way he could command a room with nothing more than a glance and a blade.

You had heard tales of his brutality, but seeing it in person was different. It was intoxicating. Where others might have felt fear, you felt something else—something far more dangerous.

It was in that moment, as Feyd stepped away from the trembling guard, his gaze sweeping across the room, that his eyes met yours for the first time. The connection was brief, just a flicker, but it was enough. His lips curved ever so slightly, as he stared at you as if he had already claimed you.

There was no warmth in his gaze, no affection—only the cold certainty that he saw you as his inevitable prize. And yet, the intensity of his focus made it impossible for you to think of anything else. It was almost maddening the way he could make you feel like he already owned you, without ever laying a hand on you and it was the beginning of something darkly inevitable.

He had seen you watching him, and you had seen him for what he truly was, a force of control, of power, of dominance. You had always heard the Harkonnens were dangerous, but it wasn’t until you saw Feyd that day you realized how deeply you craved that danger. And from that moment on, your obsession with him began to grow.

You hadn’t been given a choice in the matter; the day of the marriage ceremony had already been arranged on Giedi Prime.

It was assumed you would be an unwilling captive, terrified of this unhinged manipulative Harkonnen. Everyone warned you to be prepared for the worst, to expect coldness, cruelty—maybe even pain.

But they didn’t know you.

As the shuttle landed, your anticipation only grew, a thrill sparking deep inside you. You were completely obsessed with him now, this future Baron whose reputation was so dark, so cruel. You craved what others feared. And tomorrow, on your wedding night, you would finally be his.

The wedding was a cold, efficient ceremony. The Harkonnen traditions were harsh, foreign to you, but strangely exhilarating.

The current Baron watched carefully, his calculating gaze never leaving you as the guards led you forward to Feyd-Rautha.

The Baron had anticipated seeing you recoil at the sight of his nephew, his cruel sneer already forming as you placed your hand in Feyd’s.

But the excitement that rushed through you as you laid eyes on the tall, imposing Feyd-Rautha was hidden behind a mask of composer. You kept your expression calm, but inside, the thrill of standing next to him, of touching him, surged through you.

You couldn’t wait to be his, your obsession for him building from the moment you laid eyes on him. He was powerful and irresistible, your desire for him deepening with every glance you stole in his direction.

He had barely spoken a word to before the ceremony but his presence sent waves of anticipation through you. He was strong, and intelligent, his angular features making him impossibly attractive in a sinister way.

His blue eyes gleamed with something dark, something dangerous, and you knew instantly you wanted him, all of him, no matter how twisted or cruel he might be.

The procession began at dawn, the sky a sickly red as the first light filtered through the grimy atmosphere of the planet. The ceremonial gown they had chosen for you was unlike any wedding attire you had ever imagined, an artifact of Harkonnen cruelty.

It was not designed for beauty or grace, but to impose dominance, to encase you in the rigid structure of their traditions.

You were sewn into the gown, the black fabric clinging so tightly to your body that it was suffocating in its embrace, your chest the only thing free from the bodice.

The garment was designed to restrain you—to remind you of the life you were about to enter, one ruled by dominance and power.

Feyd, standing at the altar, wore a regal garment, black with crimson accents, the Harkonnen emblem across his chest.

His presence was commanding, his expression cold and unreadable, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze, his claim laid into to you long before the ritual even began.

The ceremony itself was a test, not just of loyalty, but of strength, a series of grueling customs meant to solidify the union between you and the Harkonnen House.

The first was a Blood Oath, an ancient Harkonnen tradition that required both partners to spill their blood as a symbol of their commitment, not just to each other, but to the house itself.

A ceremonial blade was presented to Feyd, its edge gleaming dangerously in the low light of the grand hall.

Feyds blood was the first to be offered,a symbol of his dominance and control, and you felt your breath quicken as you watched.

Feyd sliced a shallow cut across his palm, the dark blood pooling in his hand. There was no hesitation in his gaze, no sign of pain—just the cold, calculated determination you had come to expect from him.

You had known this moment was coming, had steeled yourself for it, and yet when he reached for your hand, the weight of the ritual suddenly became far more real.

Feyd’s grip on your hand was firm, his fingers wrapping around yours pulling your hand over the chalice. The cold steel of the blade brushed against your skin, and Feyds eyes searched yours for any hint of fear or hesitation, but you held his gaze, refusing to look away.

The blade hovered just above your palm, the sharp edge gleaming as Feyd pressed it gently against your skin. You could feel the pressure, the promise of pain, and then, with one swift motion, the blade sliced through the delicate skin of your hand.

The sting was immediate, sharp and precise, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to narrow down to that single point of contact.

You gasped softly, the sound barely audible in the silence of the hall, as warm blood began to trickle from the cut. It slid down your fingers in slow, deliberate streams, mingling with Feyd’s blood as it dripped into the chalice below. The crimson liquid swirled together, yours bright red, his dark and thick, a tangible symbol of the bond you had just forged.

Your heart raced, the steady thrum of it loud in your ears as you locked eyes with Feyd again.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The weight of what had just transpired settled heavily over you, as though the air itself had thickened.

You were no longer two individuals. You were bound by blood, by ritual, by something far deeper than any wedding ceremony could signify.

Feyd held your gaze a moment longer, the intensity between you almost suffocating, before he finally let go of your hand. The cut still throbbed, the blood still trickled down your skin, but the pain was secondary now— your fate had just been sealed.

The chalice, filled with the mingling blood, was lifted by the Baron as your hands were mended, a cold twisted grin of satisfaction playing at the corners of his lips as he inspected the contents. He swirled the blood together, indistinguishable now, just as your fates had become.

“You are one now,” the Baron rasped, his voice carrying a note of finality. “Bound in blood, as it should be.”

He offered the chalice to Feyd, who drank from it readily, his throat moving as he swallowed. You watched intently, your heartbeat quickening, knowing you were next.

Feyd offered the chalice to you held in both hands. His eyes bore into yours, filled with expectation and a dark intensity, silently urging you to drink. There was something in his gaze—commanding, almost daring—as if he needed to see you do it, to watch you take part in this ritual that bound you to him.

Determined to honor his custom, you took the chalice from his hands into your own and did not look at what you drank, only swiftly bringing the edge to your lips.

Just a swallow—and immediately, you knew Feyd’s blood was different, like ink spreading along your tongue, the metallic taste thick and lingering, refusing to dissipate just like this moment, you would never soon forget.

But it wasn’t enough to simply give your blood.

The next custom was known as the Trial of Chains, an ordeal designed to test your endurance and your willingness to submit to the will of House Harkonnen.

You were led to the center of the hall, where an iron structure loomed—a symbolic relic of Harkonnen dominance. Heavy, dark chains were draped over your arms and shoulders. You were forced to stand, unmoving, while the Baron himself recited a list of oaths you would take.

The weight of the chains grew unbearable with each passing moment, your muscles straining under the pressure, but you knew that showing weakness was not an option.

Every Harkonnen wedding had this trial, a display to prove the new spouse’s fortitude. Failure meant dishonor, and in some cases, death.

As the trial continued, Feyd watched you closely, his eyes scanning your every movement, gauging whether you would falter.

But you did not. Despite the heaviness of the chains, despite the cold sweat that began to form on your brow, you stood still, the weight nothing compared to the determination to please him.

By the time the Baron finished the oaths, you felt as though the chains had become a part of you—symbols of the power and control you had willingly accepted.

The last and most chilling custom was The Binding of the Will, a psychological test unique to the Harkonnen lineage.

A dark room was prepared beneath the Grand Hall, filled with a hypnotic scent that that made your lungs feel heavy with every breath.

A veil was placed upon your head, its fabric heavy and oppressive. It was made from a black intricate fabric that seemed to shimmer faintly in the low light. It was woven with delicate, sinister patterns—symbols of submission, of ancient power.

The weight of the veil was almost suffocating, obscuring your vision slightly, casting everything around you in a dim, distorted haze.

You could feel its texture against your skin, cold and unyielding, a physical reminder of the role you were about to play.

You were made to kneel on a white cold stone altar, your knees resting on the unyielding surface as you felt the weight of the veil draped over your head.

Feyd took his place in front of you and you were left alone together in the dimly lit room.

In the heavy silence, you could hear your own shallow breathing, loud and uneven beneath the heavy veil.

Each breath felt more labored, the weight of the ritual and the veil combining to stir a slight panic in your chest.

For a brief moment, it felt overwhelming—the room, the ritual, the weight of the fabric that seemed to trap you in place. But then, through the haze of the veil, you caught sight of Feyd’s eyes.

He was watching you, his gaze almost reverent for what you had endured, and that look alone—anchored you to him.

His hand reached for yours, lightly tracing his finger along your outstretched palm.

It was something you somehow knew was against tradition, against his customs, and yet you couldn’t help but smile at him, utterly enamored.

He met your eyes, and there was a flicker of satisfaction in them, a possessive gleam that held you in place. Then, just as quickly, his hand slipped away, clasped behind his back.

The doors to the room slowly opened as an ancient Harkonnen master entered draped in a cloak of shadows.

In his hands he held a metal prism. His movements were slow and paced, his form almost blending into the darkness that surrounded him.

He approached Feyd offering him the prism without a word which Feyd accepted with reverence bringing it to his forehead before lowering it to his chest.

It was an old relic ancient even, passed down through generations of Harkonnens, The dark, polished surface gleamed under the low light.

Feyd then brought the prism toward you and under your veil. His hand was steady as he pressed a hidden mechanism. With a soft click, the panels unfolded and a cloud of smoke plumed from it.

You tried not to inhale it, but the smoke found its way into your lungs thick and sweet with every shallow breath.

Slowly a warmth began to seep into your veins, spreading inch by inch through your body, a creeping sensation, as though something dark was settling inside you, rooting itself deep within.

You softly gasped as everything around you blurred, the room seeming to shift and warp before your eyes, becoming both infinite and claustrophobic all at once.

Your limbs grew heavy, but your mind floated away, detached from the physical weight of your body.

The air was no longer suffocating but welcoming, each breath drawing you deeper into a dreamlike haze.

Feyd watched you closely until your head lulled your eyes fluttering, then he closed the lid removing the prism.

The master began speaking a series of words in a language you didn’t recognize, words that held a strange, almost hypnotic power.

The words, when spoken, worked deep into your mind, attempting to root out your fears, your weaknesses, and plant a binding suggestion that you would never defy the will of your husband, nor the Harkonnen family.

This binding wasn’t meant to break your spirit completely, but rather to tether it—making sure that, while you might fight or resist, you would always come back, always remain under his control.

The master’s voice was a low, droning chant, and with every word, you felt an eerie surge of calm settle over you, as though the very air was wrapping around your mind, coaxing it to bend.

By the end of the ritual, you felt a strange sense of liberation and captivity.

You had passed every test, met every challenge. You had shown them that you were worthy to stand beside Feyd Rautha, but in doing so, you had also surrendered a part of yourself to the darkness that was the Harkonnen legacy.

As the ceremony concluded, Feyd stepped toward you, the cold, calculating look in his eyes replaced with something deeper, more genuine. He took your hands in his, and though the touch was possessive, you felt a connection, a burning energy between you.

The Baron watched from the shadows as Feyd removed the veil, his lips curling into a twisted smile. You had passed the tests and now you belonged to Feyd-Rautha, bound by blood, chains, and will.

As you walked together from the hall, the dark traditions of the Harkonnen now coursing through your veins, you realized you had entered their world, and you would never leave it.

The moment the heavy doors of the ceremonial mating chambers closed behind you, the air between you shifted, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken tension.

Feyd’s eyes bore into you, calculating what he do with you now that you were alone.

His dark gaze made your pulse quicken, and you could feel the anticipation thrumming through your veins.

“You enjoyed the ceremony, didn’t you?” Feyd’s voice asks with a low rasp, as he took a slow step toward you, his strong frame towering over yours.

“You are the first bride to complete it,” he reveals, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

You meet his gaze without flinching, though a strange haze clouds your thoughts, a light sweat dampening your skin.

Whatever they had given you during the ceremony still lingers in your body, making everything feel distant and sharp all at once.

Your heart races with your limbs feeling heavy and light at the same time but a dangerous, daring look flickers in your eyes.

“Maybe I am not like most brides.” You respond the words slipping from your lips.

A wicked smile tugs at the corner of Feyds lips with intrigue. “No, I suppose you’re not,” he says, his eyes dark with something unspoken as he watches you, his gaze lingering on the subtle glisten of your skin.

He moves closer, his hand suddenly gripping your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

His touch is firm, possessive, his fingers cold against your skin, but it only makes you crave more.

“Do you know what’s expected of you tonight?” he asks, his voice low and dark, watching the way your eyes flutter slightly under the heavy weight of opium coursing through your veins from the ritual.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat. “Yes.”

Something flickers in Feyd’s eyes—interest, surprise—and a slight grin forms at the corner of his lips.

“On your knees,” he says, his voice low and commanding. His tone leaves no room for hesitation, and your legs move of their own accord, sinking into the cold black stone floor beneath you.

Feyd takes his time, circling you , assessing you. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, as the anticipation increases within you, your skin prickling with both fear and excitement.

“You think you understand what tonight is,” he muses, stopping behind you. His fingers sliding into your hair, pulling gently at first, then sharply enough to yank your head back making you cry out.

“Pleasure and pain” he says softly releasing your hair. “Because only through one can you fully experience the other.”

Your heart races as he leaves your side, pressing a button that makes a sleek ledge rise from the floor. When it reaches the desired height, a lid slides back, revealing several items on its surface.

You can’t see what he’s selecting, but the soft clink of metal makes your breath catch in your throat, sending a wave of anticipation coursing through you.

He returns, standing before you once more, and in his hands, he holds two items—one, a smooth handled device with a phallic tip that that glints menacingly in the dim light, and the other, a small, polished stone that pulses with a faint, white inner glow.

His lips curl into a smirk as he crouches down to meet your eye level.

“Do you know what these are?” he asks the question rhetorical as you look at each object.

“No” you breathe looking up to him.

“These will show me everything I need to know about you—how much you can take before you break.” He grins.

He manipulates the handled phallic device turning it on with a quiet hum that makes your nerves tingle. Without warning, he lifts your gown pressing the phallic tip between your legs against your clit, its vibrations intense and immediate.

Your body jerks at the sensation, your muscles tightening against the onslaught of stimulation. Feyd’s eyes darken as he watches you struggle to maintain control, your hips rocking as you begin to give in.

“You will stay still,” he commands, his voice laced with authority. “No matter how much you want to move, you will stay right here until I say otherwise.”

You stifle yourself as the device steadily hums against you, its pulsing rhythm sending waves of pleasure through your body teasing the edges of your desire, leaving you aching for more.

Feyd watches every twitch of your body, every slight movement of your hips as you try, unsuccessfully, to remain still, enduring the pleasure. His eyes gleam with sadistic delight, savoring your frustration as your arousal drips from the device onto the floor.

You want to scream in pleasure, and just when you think you can’t handle any more, Feyd reaches for the glowing stone. The warmth radiating from it as he places it against your chest where it remains in place without his touch.

A sudden, electric current emits from the stone, shooting through your chest, igniting every nerve ending in your body. It is unlike anything you have ever felt before —and the dual stimulation of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm your senses.

The vibrations from the device meld with the energy from the stone, sending jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through your body. Your muscles tense and weaken under the unrelenting stimulation, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as each wave of sensation builds, layer upon layer, until you’re trembling in desperation.

“Not yet,” Feyd whispers as his hands finally began to roam over your body. His fingers grazing your constricting gown with approval, amplifying the sensation of the two forces at work within you. He is testing you, pushing you to the edge, but will not allow you to fall.

His hand grasps your chin tilting your face upwards to meet his eyes. “You’re mine, and tonight, you’ll learn what that means.” He says looking at you with a grin, his black smile so seductive you involuntarily moan for him.

He twists the handled device between your legs, forcing the phallus inside of you. The onslaught of pleasure is relentless, its rhythm changing every time you think you might get used to the intensity.

The stone on your chest begins sending sharper pulses of pain through you, alternating with the vibrations, each shock more intense than the last.

You try to stay still, try to obey, but your body starts betraying you. Your hips move involuntarily with the device, and a low tsk from Feyd tells you he has noticed and is displeased.

His hand is suddenly in your hair, yanking your head back, his other hand pressing the stone harder against your chest, making the sensation intolerable as you wince in pain.

“If you come you will be punished ” he rasps darkly, his voice sharp in the silence of the room.

“But if you last I will please you greatly.” He says releasing the stones intensity. “But until then, you will endure” he commands.

His words send a fresh wave of desire coursing through you, the challenge in his tone igniting something deep within. His test pushing you, daring you to prove yourself to him.

His hand begins to stroke your chin as you look up to him tears brimming your eyes faint cries rolling from your lips as you endure.

He revels in your torment, the way your body does not react to what he knows is agonizing you in the most pleasurable way.

The sensations start to become too much, your entire body feels as if it’s on fire, each pulse from the stone, each vibration from the device driving you closer and closer to the edge of madness as a startling sound rips from your throat.

And then, as if knowing you are breaking, Feyd yanks the stone from your chest, now intensely glowing red as you fall to the floor gasping and trembling.

The metallic device still pulses inside of you, amplifying only the pleasure which now floods your body and the intensity is unlike anything you’ve ever felt—so extreme it feels like it’s tearing through you.

Unable to hold back any longer, you feel your body finally give in. Every muscle tightens as your thighs tremble uncontrollably and a shudder runs through as you gasp against the floor.

Feyd watches you closely, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction as you come, your body quivering until you finally go limp, completely spent.

He waits for a moment, savoring the sight of you laid before him, your chest rising and falling as you pant, utterly drained.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he reaches for the handle of the device, gripping it firmly.

His movements are controlled and methodical, as he pulls it out of you, the sound of it leaving your body echoes in the stillness of the room, the slick, drenched surface glistening under the low light.

You lie there, weak and breathless, every nerve in your body still on fire from the intensity of what you’ve just experienced.

Feyd slowly grabs a blade from the table, his eyes never leaving yours as he kneels over you, the cold steel gleaming menacingly in his grasp.

The sight of the blade sends a shiver of anticipation through you as Feyd brings it closer to your body, his smile dark and dangerous. His hand traces the lines of the dress, sewn tightly against you, a symbol of the Harkonnen dominance.

“This dress was made to bind you,” he rasps, the blade gleaming in his hand. “When I cut you free, you are mine entirely.” He reveals as he lowers the blade.

His movements are deliberate, calculated, and when the sharp edge of the blade touches the fabric of your gown, you can feel your heart beat quicken.

With a slow, precise motion, he drags the blade through the fabric, the sound of tearing cloth echoing in the stillness of the room.

The gown gives way easily under the sharp edge, the fabric splitting open in precise lines that expose your skin inch by inch. He carves through the material with deliberate precision, freeing you from its confines.

As the last of the gown falls away, you inhale deeply, no longer constricted by the fabric that bound you, the cool air of the room inviting against your bare skin.

Every inch of you is exposed to Feyd, the sensation sharp and invigorating, heightening the awareness of your vulnerability beneath him.

Feyd smirks as he looks down at you, his blade in hand, fully aware of the power he holds over you.

His eyes linger on your nakedness, and you can see the way his desire intensifies, the subtle shift in his expression betraying how aroused he is.

His gaze travels over you with an almost possessive satisfaction, taking in every inch of you knowing you are his to command.

“I will breed you now,” he says, his fingers brushing your skin, just lightly enough to drive you mad. “And you will come for me many times before dawn.”

He stands over you, his dominance absolute, his eyes never leaving yours as he places the blade upon the table.

He removes his ceremonial garments, pulling and unclasping each piece from his body until he’s fully revealed. Beneath the dim light, the chiseled lines of his physique are striking—each muscle sharply defined, his body sculpted with raw strength and power.

His broad shoulders and chest taper down to a trim waist, the smooth, hairless perfection of his skin highlighting the contours of his abs and the hard lines of his arms.

His pale skin gleams under the dim light, his presence is overwhelming, his body a masterpiece of raw strength and dominance.

Your gaze travels down his body, exploring every inch with growing anticipation. When your eyes settle on the impressive size of his cock, you are filled with awe. The pink tip stands proudly from the thick, veined length of his shaft, and you can’t help but feel a surge of reverence, even honor, knowing that he intends to claim you.

Feyd is a force—ruthless, calculating, powerful and the knowledge that you now belong to him fills you with anticipation and desire.

He takes your arms, pulling you from the floor with a firm grip, and presses you down onto the cold, smooth surface of the mating altar.

The slick texture beneath your back sends a shiver through you, amplifying your sense of submission and vulnerability.

Without a word, he grasps your ankle, guiding it into a stirrup, securing it firmly before doing the same with the other.

Your legs are spread apart, knees bent, leaving you completely vulnerable to him. The air feels heavy as Feyd stands before you, his gaze dark and possessive, ready to take what is his.

His hand trails down your body, possessive and slow. “Tonight, you’ll know exactly what it means to belong to me,” he muses, his voice laced with dark promise.

Without breaking his gaze from yours, he presses a button, opening a small compartment on the panel at the foot of the alter pulling out a sleek syringe.

It faintly glows as he dispenses a translucent gel onto his fingers, the substance shimmering slightly in the dim light.

Feyds eyes are dark and calculating, as he slowly reaches between your legs, his fingers moving with deliberate precision.

His touch is cold at first, the gel slick as it coats his fingers, and with a slow, measured motion, he begins to slick it along your folds, his fingers tracing with meticulous care.

Feyd smirks as he softly spreads the gel between your legs, his eyes dark and calculating. “A special preparation, designed to ensure the legacy.” He says pressing his fingers against your entrance.

Then without hesitation he pushes his fingers inside of you, the gel cool and slick heightening every sensation.

“The Harkonnen lineage demands results,” he says, his tone filled with authority, “and I will make sure you fulfill that role.”

He slowly glides them deeper into you, the gel’s slickness easing their penetration. He watches you closely, his expression unreadable as his fingers move with a precision that makes you fully aware this is only the beginning of what he has planned.

His fingers reach a depth that makes you instinctively tighten around him, then he pushes slightly further, finding that perfect place as sudden a gentle ache begins pulsing on both sides of your core.

He pulls his fingers back possessively, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Another night, I will waste you entirely this way,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “But tonight is ensuring you belong to me, body, mind, and future.” He reveals his gaze deep with determination at the thought of owning every part of you.

The wedding night has only just begun, and already, you are his—completely and utterly his to control.

He runs his hands affectionately down your trapped legs, the touch unexpectedly soft, savoring the moment. His fingers trail along your skin, leaving a path of warmth in their wake, before he grips your legs firmly, holding them in place.

“You will fulfill your role as Baroness” he says with a slow, deliberate motion as he settles between your legs his weight pressing down on you.

“Your body will serve me in ways that will bind you to me forever.” he says almost to himself as his fingertips slowly trail along your cheek.

His gaze is deep, penetrating, as if he’s looking into your very soul, claiming you before a single word is spoken.

You reach up, grabbing hold of Feyd’s neck pulling him down, your lips pressing against his in a heated desperate kiss.

The boldness of your action surprises him, a low sound of approval escaping his throat as your body presses against his, your breaths mingling together.

You kiss him harder, your fingers digging into his neck, your desperation undeniable. “Now,” you whisper between breaths, “I want—I want all of you, now Feyd”

Feyd pulls back slightly, a wicked grin spreading across his face, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

“You will have all of me, and more than you know how to handle.” he rasps, his voice certain.

Then, without another word, he positions himself, his cock hard and heavy in his hand as he strokes it, squeezing to the tip until pre-cum beads at the slit.

The intensity in his gaze never leaves yours as he takes his time pressing his large cock into you. He’s agonizingly slow, making sure you feel every ridge, every vein as your body stretches around him.

You moan in pleasure your grasp tightening onto his neck “Yes,” you breathe out, your voice trembling as he pushes deeper, “yes, yes,” the words slipping from your lips as he begins to thrust into you, the fullness of his cock overwhelming in its size exactly what you craved.

His grin only deepens as he takes you, savoring the moment, “I thought you’d resist…—fight against your new role…—but here you are, begging for it.” He says on every push of his hips.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely able to contain the rush of sensation. “Yes, I want it.”

His smirk deepens, black teeth gleaming as he sets a relentless pace into you.

Your vision blurs, the room spinning as your mind struggles to process the sheer intensity of what’s happening.

The wedding night is unlike anything you had imagined, and yet, it was everything you craved.

Feyd was unhinged, just as they had warned you: possessive, controlling, his thrusts rough and intoxicating, every part of your body fulfilled, pushing you to your limits.

Your moans of his name are so loud he thinks he is breaking you, pushing you too far, but he didn’t know you.

Every time he pushes harder, you revel it, moaning his name, craving more. The harder he breeds you, the more you respond, your body meeting his every thrust, your breathless gasps filling the room.

Feyd’s eyes widen as he realizes what is happening—that you are in pleasure, as unhinged as he is, that you crave the same intensity he does. A grin spreads across his face, wild and dangerous and he leans in, pressing his lips to your ear.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice rough with desire.

“Yes,” you gasp, your nails digging into his back, pulling him closer. “I want more Feyd.”

Something shifts in him hearing those words, his expression darkening with pleasure. He grips your wrists, pinning them above your head as he looms above you, his breath hot and heavy.

“You’re more resilient than I thought,” he reveals with a grin his voice filled with both awe and approval.

“I will give you what you desire” he says his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction, as if this unexpected strength only fuels his desire to push you further.

He watches you with a heated, intense gaze, his eyes dark with hunger as his hips snap forward, driving his deepest inside you.

The world narrows to just that moment—the raw, intensifying pleasure that feels too much, too good.

Each thrust after sends shockwaves through your body, and you can feel yourself unraveling, the sensation in your veins too powerful to contain.

Your breaths catch as your mouth opens in desperate moan, your eyes locking with Feyd, the way he takes you wracking your body in ways you never thought possible.

The sensation is dizzying, overwhelming, pushing you right to the edge of sanity. You can barely think, your mind clouded, altered, willing to surrender everything just to have more of him, more of this.

He continues to thrust his hardest, the force of his cock sending a tidal wave of ecstasy that crashes through, leaving you trembling, breathless.

Your body can no longer keep up with the intensity, and every nerve is on fire as you fall, completely undone, spiraling into bliss as everything inside you clenches tight, then releases in a flood of sensation that leaves you gasping.

Feyd feels you clenching on him as he stares into your eyes watching a strangled moan escape your lips, your body shaking as you come.

As your walls tighten around him, his control wavers, his face softening with a raw, unguarded intensity. His hands grip you tighter, fingers digging into your skin as if anchoring himself to keep from completely falling apart. A low, primal sound emits from his throat, rough and strained, as he fights to maintain control.

You look up into his eyes, meeting that fierce, possessive gaze, and in that instant, something shifts. The warmth of his come spreads deep inside you, filling you with a sense of completeness that takes your breath away. You gasp, the moment overwhelming, binding you to him in a way words could never convey.

His hold tightens further, a silent claim, sealing the connection between you, leaving no doubt that you are his—now and always.

Before the aftershocks have even faded, you already crave him again, desperate for more, for him to fill you and take you over and over again until there’s nothing left but pleasure.

“-Please…” you beg him feeling the heat in your body remain.

Feyd chuckles, low and dark, his voice heavy with satisfaction as his lips brush against your ear, “I’ve completely wrecked you… and you still want more.” His hand cups your face, forcing your eyes to meet his, the smirk on his lips wicked.

“You’d do anything, for me wouldn’t you?” He asks pulling his cock back, just enough to make you feel the loss. “And I’m just getting started.”

The night continues, a blur of pleasure and pain, of control and surrender. Feyd pushes you further than you thought possible your obsession with him deepening with every new position.

He releases you from your restraints flipping onto your front and taking you again, his hands pinning your arms to the mat. The tension between his grip and the rhythm of his thrusts building until you come, trembling beneath him.

He pulls you back on your hands and knees his hand firmly at the back of your neck pressing your face into the mat. His hips driving into you from behind, each thrust harder than the last, until he finally comes satisfied with his release deep within you.

He brings you on all fours his fingers teasing your clit to work you faster as you push back against him until you come together.

He pulls you into his lap, hands cupping your breasts his mouth drawing new waves of pleasure from your core as he leans in to suck on each one. You ride him hard, feeling the heat between you growing until you shatter in his arms.

And as the night goes on, position after position you realize he is just as obsessed with you as you are with him.

He has found someone who can match his intimacy, someone who craves the same things he does, and it thrills him to no end.

By the time dawn breaks over the cold, industrial landscape of Geidi Prime, you lay together, your bodies spent, his arm draped possessively over you. His eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he looks down at you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

“You surprised me,” he says, his voice softer now more affectionate. “I didn’t think you could handle me. But you did… and more.”

You smile, feeling a sense of victory, of pride. “I told you… I am not like most brides.”

Feyd chuckles, his lips brushing against your temple. “You will make a fine Baroness for me.” He says, with a deep sense of satisfaction.

“I will have you as my Baron many times,” you whisper, the words sending a thrill through you. You had craved him, all of him—his strength, his control, his darkness. And now, you had it.

Feyd smiles down at you, his fingers brushing along your hair. “Good.” He says his voice a dark satisfied rasp. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

⚔️END ⚔️

🔗 Master List

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⚔️ Feyd Rautha Tag List

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[yailtsv]

Someone To Stay - j.w

💌 Syn: we all need someone to stay

»»— warnings: mention of death (a lot), depression, mention of y/n (only once i think), probably more too

»»— notes: this was originally a paige fic butttt….yeah

»»— word count: 2.5k

»»— pair: Juju Watkins x gf!reader

it’s been 2 weeks.

2 miserable, painful, sleepless, weeks.

2 weeks of not being on your phone, 2 weeks of ignoring all of your teammates, 2 weeks since you quit basketball, 2 weeks since your world fell apart - with no one even knowing.

you grew up in minnesota, and went to usc for college. you moved away from home for college. you went miles away from your baby siblings for college - only seeing them on breaks or when your parents were able to put enough money together to take the trip. you left all you knew for college.

and now? everything’s gone

2 weeks ago you received a phone call from an unknown minnesota number - saying that your parents had gotten hit by a drunk driver with your siblings in the car. there was only one survivor - the drunk driver.

the first week - you were in denial and angry, leading to you starting a argument with juju and her storming out after endless yelling back and forth. that happened on tuesday.

on wednesday of the first week, you packed your bags and flew to minnesota - refusing to believe your family was gone.

you didn’t tell anyone about you leaving, although you did send coach lindsay a email saying that you needed a break and that you didn’t want to play basketball anymore - and then you left, just like that. didn’t wait for a response, didn’t text juju, didn’t text any of your teammates, you just left.

although you were informed about your family - the media has no idea who was in the car yet as nobody that was trying to help could tell who they were because of the injury’s and blood. so no one knows the battles your facing right now. not juju, not coach lindsay, not your teammates, and not your fans, everyone just thinks your being moody for no reason- that is not the case.

the only reason the morgue was able to find out who they were was because they had a doctor do a blood test to find any living relatives - you.

Your were alone, left out in the cold

by the time you got to your house on wednesday, it was dark outside, it was raining - hard, and your brain was on autopilot - trying to find your family all around the small one story house.

only to come up empty handed. your family was no where to be found.

your neighbor saw you walk in and then heard you shortly after calling out for your family - she new you heard the news about them, so she was worried….and called the police. she was one of the only other people that know of the identification right now, as she is your guys neighbor and was an extremely close friend to your mom.

she wanted to go over and comfort you but with giving a 19 year old news that her whole family’s gone - there’s a 100% chance that that said girl will have a mental breakdown eventually, it’s bound to happen. you just never know when, that’s why she decided to call for help.

by the time help got there, you were sitting on the floor by the fireplace looking at the scrapbooks that your mom spent her whole life making. you had left the front door open when you were in your rush to find your family so the two officers were able to see you on the floor.

“ma’am? are you the surviving daughter?” he knew the answer but he had to ask. it was protocol, but to you? it felt like he was rubbing it in your face ‘haha your here alone. they left you cause they hated you. you shouldn’t have moved miles away from them! they needed you and you left to play basketball?’

so you didn’t answer.

you kept looking at the scrapbooks ignoring both of them. they slowly entered the house - not knowing if you were a danger yet.

“ma’am?” still you ignored them, “ma’am, i’m officer morgan this is my partner officer reid. we got a call about the surviving daughter of the family in the car crash calling out for the family. you’re her correct? you’re the daughter?”

“obviously. do you think i’m a random that just broke in?” you rasped out in a angry tone

“no ma’am, it’s protocol to ask these questions.” officer reid said making you hum before looking back at the scrap book in your lap

“can we get your name?”

“no.” you reply back making both the officers look at each other “why?” reid asks stepping a few steps closer

“because you obviously already know the answer. leave me alone.”

“we can’t do that. your neighbors are concerned for you, and so are we.” morgan said

“well i’m fine so you can leave.”

“you left the front door wide open, do you realize how bad that could’ve ended up? your neighbors also said that you were shouting for your family.”

“boohoo i was calling out for my family so what? you’re trespassing!”

the officers sighed cause you technically were right. you never gave them confirmation to walk in - they just did.

“okay, we will leave alright? but here’s our numbers - call if you ever need help ok?” reid says putting his and morgan’s business cards on the table and both of the officers slowly walking out of the house.

Clinging to the ruin of your broken home

after that the days blended in together. you didn’t leave the house, you didn’t eat, you didn’t sleep, you didn’t check your phone.

on thursday of the second week, the police were able to get enough information of the identities and the accident itself to finally release a statement - one that you were named in.

after the statement it took an hour tops for the articles to be posted and somehow made its way to california in that time period too.

“juju, you might want to see this.” kiki said walking up to juju in the locker room after practice “what is it?” juju asked facing her cubby and not kiki.

“just look” kiki said putting her phone in jujus face, making ju grab the phone and sit down on her chair to look at whatever kiki’s trying to show her

USC star gone off the grid as news about her family in a drunk driving incident comes out.

“what is this kiki?” juju says while scrolling through more articles

minnesotan family of 5 tragically died in car accident.

USC star has yet to make a statement on recent events.

Where is the USC star? Does she know of her family’s death?

Family of 5 was actually a Family of 6? Where’s the surviving kid?

“you know how we all thought y/n was just being moody?” kiki hesitantly says

juju doesn’t answer and just gives kiki her phone back, grabs her stuff, and runs out of the locker room with the girls calling out for her

juju impulsively buys a plane ticket to minnesota before going back to her dorm packing stuff to last however long. when she was done she drove to the airport while calling you over and over again - getting sent to voicemail every time

“cmon baby, pick up” juju mumbles to herself before once again hearing your voicemail making her sigh

Too lost and hurting to carry your load

landing in minnesota after the articles being released was a nightmare. everyone was coming up to juju asking if she knew anything about you or the accident. the amount of times she said “no comment” in the last 15 minutes was absolutely ridiculous - but she made it out of the air port.

calling and waiting for a uber was a whole other mission. fans were coming up to juju wanting pictures and autographs, they were all recording too. they were all shocked for juju to be in minnesota but they were loving every second - juju wasn’t.

you and juju aren’t public like neither of you guys are even out to the public, but it’s rumored. you and juju stared dating your guys freshman year, freshman year is also how you guys met in the first place.

you and juju have just said you guys are really close best friends, some people believe that lie and some people are pushing the dating agenda. that’s why so many fans are going crazy on the internet after all those videos and pictures of juju at the minneapolis airport come out.

“THEY’RE DATING!!!! JUJUS IN MINNESOTA AFTER THE ARTICLES CAME OUT 🤭🤭”

“NOBODY CAN CONVINCE ME THEY’RE ‘just best friends’ LOOK HOW SAD JUJU LOOKS! LOOK HOW WORRIED SHE IS! THEY ARE DATING RAHHH👺”

“Juju outing in minnesota for y/n wasn’t on my 2025 bingo card”

that was only some of the tweets/comments, there was a lot more - mostly non pg ones.

when jujus uber finally got there she rushed inside telling them a block near your address - not wanting to let the uber driver know the exact address, just in case

when arrived to the destination she gave she payed the guy and went on her phone pretending to text somebody until the guy drove away, and when he did she started walking to your house. the house she visited over summer this year.

when she reached the house the vibe felt extremely different from this summer. this summer the vibe felt warm, friendly…lively, now it felt cold, unwelcoming….dead. juju took a deep breath in before walking to the front door and knocking a few times - only to receive no answer

“baby come open the door please.” juju pleads only to still get no response she huffs before turning the knob to see if it was unlocked - it was.

“baby?” juju says walking into the house hesitantly before her eye caught you laying next to the fireplace with an unsafe amount of distance between you and the fire “ baby! baby! hey! what are you doing? why are you laying so close to the fireplace? do you know how unsafe laying that close to a fire is?” juju says while running over to where you are and pulling you to a safe distance away from the raging fire.

you didn’t respond shocker, you stayed staring at the fire, bundled up in one of the blankets that were on the couch.

juju got the hint that you didn’t want to talk and got down on the ground right behind you as you were laying on your side. she put one of her arms under your head and put the other on your waist - pulling you closer to her

“i’m sorry” she mumbles into your ear “i’m sorry for the fight, i’m sorry for storming out, i’m sorry about your family, i’m sorry for not realizing something was wrong. i’m so so sorry baby. i love you so much, i would really like to be here for you if you’ll let me.”

you just slowly move your hands to grab both of her hands - holding them.

juju let’s you do just that, she understands that you don’t want to talk or get up or literally do anything, so she’s gonna stay right beside you holding you and comforting you with no questions or complaints even if the fire is burning her face.

We all need someone to hold

it’s been two days since juju got to minnesota. she’s somehow talked you into a lot of things in that time period too.

she talked you into moving to the couch, so you guys are no longer laying on the floor.

she’s talked you into eating a few things, which you never even realized you weren’t eating. you’ve just been so stuck in your head that taking care of yourself went out the window.

and now currently, she’s talked you into taking a bath seeing as you haven’t done so yourself in a while.

“hey baby, i need you to lift your head up for me. i need to wash your hair.” juju said while you were resting your head on your knees, that you brought up to your chest

you slowly lifted your head letting her wash and scrub your hair “you know-“ she started

“you could have told me what happened. you didn’t have to go through this alone. “

“i didn’t want to burden you.” you whisper out - your voice raspy from not using it for a few days

her hands stop scrubbing your hair for a minute while she turns her face to look at you “baby. baby look at me”

you slowly turn your head “you are not a burden. do you hear me? you’re not.” juju says sternly “we are in a relationship, there’s no such thing as ‘being a burden’ we communicate, we support, and we love each other, none of that changes during a life changing journey. i love you ok? i’m here for you!”

“i’m sorry” you say tearing up feeling guilty for causing all of these feelings and problems in your relationship

“baby, it’s ok! i promise” but that doesn’t help you - only makes you cry harder because you feel like you don’t deserve juju and her caring-ness.

jujus stands up and takes her slides, socks, and hoodie off, climbing into the tub behind you wearing a sports bra and basketball shorts. she sits down with you between her legs and pulls you into her.

“shh shhh you’re ok. i’m here.” juju mumbles to you as you have now turned so your on your side in the tub, gripping onto her waist, crying into her chest

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to cause problems between us. i’m sorry” you sob out into her chest

“i’m not mad at you baby. there’s no reason to apologize ok? i’m not mad”

you don’t respond - only grip her waist more and hide your face into her chest “it’s my fault. it’s all my fault” you sob out again

“what? baby what are you talking about?” juju says

Hear the fallen and lonely, cry out

“i moved away from them! i wasn’t here for them because i went away to play stupid fucking basketball!” you cry out once again

“no! baby, i’m not gonna let you do this. none of this is your fault at all ok? you went away to follow your dreams and your family is more than proud of you. nobody’s to blame except for the person that decided to get in a car and drive while knowing they were drunk. it. is. not. your. fault. got it?”

you don’t answer, you don’t even move. it’s like her confirming that there was actually a drunk driver made you have to accept that. this whole time you’ve been denying that your family’s gone, that they were killed in a drunk driving incident, that you would never actually see them again, and juju just confirmed everything you’ve been denying.

and now your just numb, but at least your not crying anymore right? right?

🏷️ @authentic-girl03 @evry1luvzzae @bethsleftnip @rebecca-woso

[spideyjimin]

Adieu mon amour | jjk

⤷ adieu mon amour, french for goodbye my love

—  pairing: jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: angst 

—  summary: jungkook released two days ago a song about saying goodbye to a loved one.

—  words: 894

—  warnings: crying, mention of dead, heartbreak, and grief

—  author’s note: sooo this extremely sad drabble was written a while ago, but i never felt confident to post it. but a french artist released a song called “adieu mon amour”, and somehow, i felt like i could post this. i lost two dear people not a long time ago and writing this helped me putting into words my grief. this is not perfect and might contain mistakes, but i don’t want this to be perfect because pain isn’t.

MASTERLIST

The crowd fills the concert hall with the soft glow of their phone lights. Jungkook sits at the piano, his fingers resting on the keys as he performs the song he just released. It’s a heartbreaking ballad. A ballad that tells the story of two people that never got their happy ending. A ballad that tells his story with you.

A week ago, he found out that you passed away. The pain he felt that moment was something he never felt before. It’s the kind of pain that eats you alive. His heart aches so much and sometimes he feels like he’d be able to rip it out from his chest. This pain is simply overwhelming.

Three days ago, he assisted to your funeral with an aching heart, shaky legs, swollen eyes, and tears streaming down his face. He never imagined saying goodbye to his first love. He never imagined you’d no longer be a part of his life at 27. He never imagined a life without you.

His sweet voice sings the first notes of the song, his mind brought back to the many memories he cherishes. He closes his eyes and let your smile irritate his world one more time. A smile he’ll never see again. Without realizing it, tears run down his face, but he doesn’t hold them back.

After your funeral, he received a letter. A letter you wrote right before dying. A letter he never imagined receiving. It’s a love letter you wrote months ago, one where you told him just how much you love him. In the entire page, you kept telling him how lucky you felt to have him by your side all these years. And you also kept mentioning how proud you were of him.

He never leaves without the letter. He carries it with him everywhere. It’s all he has left of you. Your final words, the love you left behind, something to hold onto in a world without you. It’s a symbolic way to carry you with him as you are no longer here. The mere thought that you won’t be home when he finishes his show breaks his heart in ways he can even express.

His voice breaks. Then he hears you. ‘I love you.’ The words cut through him. His heart bleeds, and he doesn’t know if he can finish the song. His manager told him earlier that he didn’t need to sing the song if it was too hard for him, but Jungkook wanted it. Jungkook wanted to do it for you. For the only woman he ever loved.

Even though there’s a knot in his throat, he keeps singing. He wants to finish the song for you. For the love of his life. For the only person that ever made his heart truly beat. It seems like it’s the only thing he can do right now. For you, he can find the strength to finish this song.

He never imagined himself writing and singing this type of song. He never imagined writing a song about losing someone, and that’s the most heartbreaking thing. But music is the one of the few things that keeps him going. If he stops for a second, he just falls apart. He could have taken a break, put this world tour on hold, but for his own sanity, he can’t. And he knows that the second the show ends, he’ll just cry his heart out.

‘How is he supposed to live without you?’ is the question that constantly echoes in his mind. Time seems to move so slow without you by his side, and he doesn’t know if he can bear all of this any longer. There’s only been a week, and he still has a lifetime to live.

But there’s the little Arya. Your daughter. She’s the reason why Jungkook keeps going. She’s the reason why he bears this pain. She’s only four and doesn’t deserve to lose her mother. She doesn’t deserve any of this, just like Jungkook.

Jungkook opens his eyes and finally looks at the crowd. The view is breathtaking. This is so beautiful. On top of it, he’s surprised to notice that some fans already know the lyrics to the song he released two days ago.

The other heartbreaking thing is the fact that nobody knows what and who this song refers to. Nobody knows it’s about losing a loved one. Nobody will ever know Jungkook just lost you and how much he loved you. People don’t even know about Arya because he always protected you and will forever do it.

“I hear your laughter everywhere,” he sings. “In my souvenirs of you.”

From wherever you are, he hopes you can hear his words and see this crowd, his fans. If you were still here, you would most probably shed a tear. Whenever there was a sad song, the beauty of the moment would made you cry. It was something he loved about you.

The last harmonies of the song echo in the room. Jungkook is already sad to finish this song. He doesn’t want it. He wants this song to last forever, but he knows he can’t. He engraves in his soul this painfully beautiful moment, and he knows he’ll hold it dearly in his heart.

And he finally says the last words of the song.

“Goodbye my love.”

[cameronsbabydoll]

More angst more angst

SCC reader and Rafe get into a fight, probably about something small like she forgot to iron his work shirt so he had to do it himself. He’s yelling at her, making all these snide and mean comments trying to provoke her and she just looks at him with big teary eyes but doesn’t say anything back, she’s too exhausted.

She’s in her first trimester with their last kid and she’s probably in the worst mental state at this point, forgetting things, sleeping all day, being distant with Rafe, just sitting outside staring at the water.

After their fight she just hides out in her daughters room until bed time, she’s playing dolls, tea party, or watching a movie that reader used to like with her daughter, maybe their son comes in to join them watching the movie (her only refuge at this point)

But her little girl is smart and maybe asks her “momma why you sad?” Idk how old she is that this point but in my mind she’s maybe like 5-7. Reader just softly says that she’s just tired bc of the baby. Maybe her daughter gives her one of her stuffed animals to help her sleep better bc she’s a sweetheart like that.

After bedtime, reader locks herself in her and rafes bathroom sobbing with the stuffed bunny in her clutches. Rafe is in their room and he hears her entire breakdown, it’s eating him alive. He didn’t have to be so mean to her, she already gave him 2 kids, so what she forgot to iron a shirt? She’s growing a baby. His baby.

Reader comes out with tears down her face and starts prepping everyone’s clothes for the week, it’s 11 pm at this point, the house is quiet, but rafes mind is going a mile per minute. He tells her that she doesn’t need to do the laundry rn, that it’s late and she should get some sleep, he just casually says that he’ll hire a housekeeper/maid to help her with the house now bc she’s got bigger things to worry abt than his stupid clothes.

“Money can’t fix all our problems Rafe”

Reader is just baffled at how quick he tries to throw money at the problem. Just hire a maid, hire a housekeeper, hire a chef, hire a babysitter. He can’t throw money at this problem tho, she’s unhappy and he sees that. It’s hard to pretend now. The reality is staring him in the face.

He tries to hug her bc she’s still crying maybe she just rejects it fully and she just says “I don’t know if I can live like this anymore”

Now he’s freaking out. Is she trying to leave him? Is there another man? Are their children actually his?

She just stares outside to the ocean. “ maybe I’ll just walk into the sea and let it take me, anywhere is better than here right now.”

Rafe literally stops in his tracks once he understands the gravity of what she’s saying. He gets her a therapist that next morning.

stuffed bunnies & silence

content warnings (cw): emotional neglect, verbal argument, pregnancy-related depression, implied prenatal anxiety, crying breakdown, child emotional awareness, emotional vulnerability, themes of exhaustion and isolation in motherhood

you forgot to iron his shirt.

it wasn’t on purpose. you’d meant to. you always did. but this morning your head was heavy and your back hurt and the second your eyes opened, the nausea rolled in like a wave. so no, you didn’t iron the shirt. and now rafe’s standing in the doorway, holding it up like some kind of trophy in a screaming match you didn’t want to be a part of.

“you don’t do anything anymore,” he snaps. “you just fucking lay around all day. i have to do everything myself.”

you don’t say anything.

you just look at him with wet eyes, lip trembling, shoulders drawn in tight. your hand instinctively covers your belly, not even showing yet, but already wrecking you. your body, your mind, your heart. everything hurts, and he’s acting like a wrinkled shirt is the end of the goddamn world.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, yanking it on and brushing past you. “don’t just fucking stand there like a kicked puppy. say something.”

but you can’t.

so you hide.

you find yourself in your daughter’s room, the softest place in the house. she’s on the floor with her dolls, her legs tangled in a blanket, humming to herself. you sit with her, quiet, letting her hand you teacups and glittery plastic spoons. at some point your son wanders in and settles beside you, and they start playing a movie — one you used to love when you were a kid. you stare at the screen but you’re not really watching.

your daughter notices. she always does.

“mommy?” she asks gently.

you hum in response, too tired to speak.

“why you sad?”

your throat tightens. you force a smile, stroking her hair.

“just tired, baby. the baby’s makin’ mommy real sleepy.”

she nods like she understands. then disappears and returns with her favorite stuffed bunny — soft and worn down, with one floppy ear and a stitched-up leg. she sets it in your lap.

“she helps me sleep when i’m sad. you can borrow her.”

that’s when your chest breaks. you hug her tight and thank her, barely holding it together.

bedtime comes. the house goes still. you slip into the bathroom and lock the door behind you. you sit on the cold tile and cry into that bunny until your chest aches and your face is blotchy. deep, ugly sobs. it’s not just the pregnancy. it’s everything. you’re drowning, and no one sees it but you.

except rafe hears.

he’s on the other side of the door, sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. his shirt is wrinkled and suddenly he feels like the biggest asshole in the world. you’re growing his third kid, and he made you cry over a goddamn shirt.

when you come out, your face is swollen and your nose is red, but you keep moving. you head straight to the laundry room and start folding clothes. it’s past 11. you haven’t eaten. your legs shake a little.

“you don’t have to do that right now,” rafe says quietly. “it’s late. come to bed. i’ll hire someone. a maid. a housekeeper. whatever you need. you shouldn’t have to do all this.”

you pause.

and then, with that same quiet voice you’ve had all day, you look at him and say:

“money can’t fix all our problems, rafe.”

and for once, he doesn’t have anything to say. because you’re right. and this time, he can’t throw money at the wreckage and pretend it’s fine. not when you’re standing there, holding a child’s stuffed bunny like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart

[novaursa]

The North Remembers

- Summary: You return to Dragonstone, where you mourn with your family as you receive the message from Cregan.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. These events happen right after The Union of Ice and Fire. To read all parts in chronological order visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 6 357

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

The dawn breaks cold over the snows of Winterfell, the grey skies above washed with the soft glow of morning light. The wind bites as it always does here, the chill sinking into your bones, but the cold is a familiar thing now—a companion as much as the warm hearths of the castle.

You stand in the courtyard, fingers brushing the fur-lined cloak clasped around your throat, its rich purple hue a striking contrast against the white and grey that surround you. Before you, Thraxata rests on the rocky grounds, her dark form like a living shadow, the light catching the violet tinge of her wings and eyes. The Midnight Fury lets out a low rumble, sensing your turmoil beneath the surface of your calm. 

You’ve only been in Winterfell for little over a few months, barely enough time to know the castle’s halls as well as you know the sea air of Driftmark or the windswept cliffs of Dragonstone. The banners of House Stark flutter above you, their direwolf sigil snapping sharply in the wind. And it is there, beneath those banners, that Cregan stands, his usual stern expression softened, just for you.

It is an expression reserved solely for you now—a tenderness that you’ve learned is a rarity in the Lord of Winterfell. He has been a quiet husband, brooding, and with a presence like the mountains of the North, immovable and imposing. But the bond forged in this marriage, though brief, has grown into something more than alliance, more than duty. In those rare moments away from watchful eyes, you’ve seen the warmth that hides beneath his solemn exterior.

Cregan’s hand lingers on yours, rough from sword work and the cold, but it’s a warmth you’ve come to crave. He steps closer, his breath visible in the chill air, as he speaks, voice low and rumbling, like the deep growl of a direwolf. “Must you go so soon, Y/N? It was only a few weeks ago that you came into my hall as my wife, and now the sky calls you away.”

You look up at him, the violet of your eyes meeting the ice-grey of his. In that moment, you feel the weight of duty pressing down upon you—the call of blood, of family, and the loss that tears at your heart. “I must,” you reply, your voice steady, though beneath it, grief stirs. “Luke was my brother, and I cannot be absent when my family gathers in mourning.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a gesture so gentle it belies the fierce warrior he is. “I understand, but it doesn’t sit right, you flying into war’s shadow. The storm is coming, and it would see you harmed. There’s no peace at Dragonstone.”

You shake your head softly, lips curving into a small, bittersweet smile. “Thraxata and I have faced storms before. But I promise, I will return. This is not a farewell of uncertainty, Cregan. It’s but a temporary parting.”

Cregan’s jaw tightens, but you see the conflict in his eyes—the clash between the duty that binds him as Lord of Winterfell and the worry that gnaws at him as your husband. He’s never voiced it openly, but you’ve come to know his unspoken thoughts in the lines that deepen between his brows and the way his hand hovers close when you speak of leaving. You reach up, cupping his face with your free hand, your thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. He leans into your touch, and there’s a softness in his gaze, something raw and open that he only shows in these moments alone with you.

“I would not be parted from you if the choice was mine,” he murmurs, his voice low, a rumble that echoes in your chest. “But you are who you are—a dragon, a daughter of Rhaenyra. The North will be colder without you.”

The words hang between you, heavy with the weight of unsaid things. But you do not shy away from the truth of them. You were born of fire, bound to flame and fury as much as blood and bone. Yet here in the cold, you’ve found something unexpected—a hearth that’s begun to feel like home.

You close the distance, pressing your forehead against his, drawing in the scent of pine and frost that clings to him. “And I’ll return to it,” you whisper, your voice carrying the promise that neither distance nor war will break what has begun to grow between you. “To you.”

He kisses you then, slow and deliberate, a kiss that is both a plea and a vow. His hand tightens around your waist, holding you close, as if trying to memorize the feel of you in his arms before you’re gone. You let yourself be lost in it for a moment, savoring the warmth that lingers in the cold air.

When you part, there’s something in Cregan’s eyes—a mixture of pride and sadness. He steps back, letting his hand slip from yours, but not before he speaks one last time. “When you return, you’ll find the hearth burning for you. Winterfell will wait. I’ll wait.”

With a final look, you nod, feeling the sting of tears that you refuse to let fall. “Keep it burning,” you say softly, before turning to Thraxata, who watches the exchange with the keen intelligence of dragons. She lowers her head, allowing you to mount, her scales like polished obsidian beneath your fingers.

As Thraxata’s wings unfurl, casting a dark shadow over the courtyard, you glance back one last time. Cregan stands there, his dark cloak billowing in the wind, a solitary figure against the snow. His expression is unreadable, but you carry the memory of his touch, his words, with you as the dragon’s powerful wings lift you into the sky.

The cold air rushes past you, but it’s the warmth of Winterfell—and of the man who waits there—that you hold close to your heart as you soar southward to meet the darkness ahead.

The hall of Winterfell is filled with the murmuring voices of the gathered lords and bannermen, their breath visible in the cold air. Torches line the walls, casting flickering light upon fur-clad figures as they gather around the long oak table. The banners of the Stark direwolf hang heavy above, swaying slightly in the draft. Cregan Stark stands at the head of the table, his expression carved from stone, his eyes hard and glacial as he looks upon the assembled men.

You are absent from this gathering—still on your way south to Dragonstone to mourn your brother, Prince Lucerys, whose death now looms over all like a shadow. But your presence is keenly felt, your name on every tongue, your sorrow a silent echo in the hall. The news of Aemond Targaryen’s treachery has reached the North, and it is received as bitterly as the cold winds that howl outside. A child, a prince of the realm, slain in cold blood by his own kin. Kinslaying—an act so vile that even the hardiest northern lord recoils at its mention.

Cregan grips the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening. His mind is torn between the duty he owes to the North and the fury that burns within him for what has been done to you, his wife. He remembers the strength in your eyes when you left, the unspoken grief beneath your calm facade. And though he must focus on the matters of his own realm, his thoughts stray constantly to the hurt you must be carrying.

“Lord Stark,” booms Lord Manderly, his ample form casting a broad shadow as he leans forward. “This act is more than just a family quarrel among the dragons. A kinslayer has been made, and that is a curse not easily forgotten. If the Targaryens devour each other, what hope is there for the realm?”

A murmur of agreement runs through the gathered lords. Lord Glover, always stern, nods. “The kinslaying is grievous enough, but it is also an assault against the Queen herself. It is an attack on your Lady’s family, my lord. An insult to Winterfell, by extension.”

Cregan’s eyes flash at those words, his temper barely kept in check. “I am well aware, Lord Glover,” he says in a low, controlled voice, “of what this means. Blood calls for blood. But the North has always moved with caution and purpose. We are not so hasty to spill our own sons’ lives without cause.”

“Yet the cause is here,” interrupts Lord Umber, his rough voice a growl. “Your lady wife’s kin have been murdered. If we are to send men to fight, let it be known that we do so not just for Rhaenyra’s claim, but for vengeance.”

Cregan straightens, his gaze sweeping over his bannermen. “Vengeance, aye. But not just vengeance. The North remembers, and it will act, but not recklessly. The long night draws near, and the Wall needs our attention. Yet, the bonds forged in this marriage cannot be ignored.”

There is a pause, the hall falling silent as the implications of his words settle in. It is clear that while Cregan’s loyalty to you is unshakable, he is not a man who would send his forces south in blind rage. His duty is first to the North—to the defense against what lies beyond the Wall, to the people who have looked to House Stark for protection for generations.

Still, it is not just caution that guides him. His heart burns with compassion for you—a quiet, smoldering fury that those close to him can sense. He would see your pain avenged, but he must tread carefully.

Finally, it is Lord Flint who speaks, his voice steady and measured. “Winter comes, Lord Stark. And we know that our strength must be held here. But perhaps there is a middle ground. If some of us were to march south—those with the numbers to spare, with Greybeards among them—we could lend strength to the Queen’s cause while Winterfell maintains its vigil.”

Cregan considers this, his gaze far away as he weighs the options. He knows that you would not ask him to risk all of Winterfell’s forces for the sake of your vengeance alone. You would be pragmatic, as he must be. Yet the thought of standing idle while you suffer is galling to him.

He nods slowly. “Aye, Lord Flint speaks wisely. Winterfell will not abandon its duty to the Wall, but those who wish to march south may do so, under their own banners. I will send word to my wife—to your lady—and let her know that the North remembers. That even in her sorrow, she is not without allies.”

There are murmurs of approval among the lords, and a few already begin to speak among themselves, calculating how many men they might spare without weakening their own holds.

Lord Manderly speaks again, his tone firm. “House Manderly will send a contingent south. The sea may be in our blood, but this crime cannot be ignored. The Queen’s cause is righteous, and so is the fury of House Tagaryen.”

Lord Umber pounds a fist on the table, nodding in agreement. “The Last Hearth will send men as well. We’ve no love for treachery, and even less for kinslayers. This is about more than crowns—it’s about honor.”

Cregan’s eyes meet those of each lord who pledges their men. There is a grim satisfaction in seeing that, even in the cold North, the bonds of family and justice still hold strong.

“Then it’s settled,” he declares. “Let those who march south do so with the blessings of House Stark. But remember this—Winterfell stands prepared for what comes from beyond the Wall. If the shadows of war reach us here, we will be ready.”

The lords nod in agreement, though the tension lingers in the air. They know the risks—they know that winter is coming, and with it, dangers far beyond the ambitions of men and crowns. But they also know that the North cannot forget the bonds it has forged, nor the blood that has been spilled.

As the meeting concludes, Cregan allows himself a moment of solitude, stepping away from the table to stare out at the snow-covered landscape beyond the walls. The wind howls, a distant wolf’s cry echoing in the cold. His heart aches with the knowledge that, despite all his power and influence, he cannot be at your side in your time of need. But he takes comfort in one thing—he has not left you without support. The North may not march as a united host, but its fury will be felt in the South.

And when you return, he will be here, ready to embrace you in the warmth of Winterfell’s hearth once more.

The skies over Dragonstone are a brooding grey, heavy with the promise of rain. The sea crashes against the cliffs below, its restless fury echoing the turmoil within your heart. Two weeks have passed since you arrived, and the sorrow that clings to the ancient castle is a weight you can’t shake off. The empty funeral pyre stands as a cruel reminder—no body was found, only the wing of Arrax, torn and bloodied from the storm and the jaws of Vhagar. The flames of mourning have burned out, leaving only ashes, but the grief remains, raw and relentless.

You’ve spent these days in close company with your family. The halls are filled with the whispered laments of your brothers, the silent agony of your mother, and the grim determination of those still loyal to her cause. The loss of Luke, your sweet brother, is like an open wound for all of you. He was more than a prince; he was a boy who brought laughter to darkened halls, a boy who carried innocence even in these dark times.

After dinner in the great hall, where the silence is thick and every shared glance carries the weight of unspoken grief, your grandmother, Rhaenys, catches your eye. The Queen Who Never Was stands with the posture of a warrior and the gaze of someone who’s known too much loss. She gestures subtly with a nod, beckoning you to follow her down one of Dragonstone’s many winding corridors.

The stones beneath your feet are cold as you walk beside her, the torchlight flickering across the walls, casting shadows that dance like memories. Rhaenys is quiet at first, as if considering how to broach the subject. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft, but there’s a steel edge to it.

“How fares the North, child? Does it suit you as your new home?”

You swallow, thinking of Winterfell’s harsh beauty, the endless snowdrifts, the quiet strength of its people. “It is…different from what I’ve known,” you admit. “The cold never truly leaves, but it’s a place of honor and loyalty. The people are as strong as the land itself.”

Rhaenys nods, her violet eyes assessing you, searching for more than just the surface of your words. “And Cregan Stark? Is he the man they say he is?”

There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of your lips as you think of your husband—the Lord of Winterfell, who stands like a mountain against all storms. “He is as the North itself, unyielding and fierce. But with me…he’s been kind. Patient, even. There is warmth beneath all that ice.”

A flicker of approval crosses Rhaenys’ face. “Good. You’ll need that warmth in the days to come. You may find that love, when forged in fire and ice, is the strongest bond of all.” Her expression grows more solemn as she continues. “But be wary, Y/N. The North remembers its own ways, its own needs. You are a daughter of House Velaryon, of House Targaryen. Never forget where your blood runs from. Loyalty can be a fickle thing in times of war.”

You meet her gaze, the weight of her words sinking in. “I haven’t forgotten,” you say softly. “But Cregan’s loyalty is something even Aegon’s throne cannot easily sway. He knows what it means to be bound by honor.”

Before Rhaenys can respond, Maester Gerardys approaches, the hem of his robe sweeping the floor. He bows his head respectfully, though his eyes dart between you and your grandmother with urgency. “Princess Y/N, Princess Rhaenys—there is a message. A raven has arrived from Winterfell.”

Your breath catches. You excuse yourself from Rhaenys’ side, following the maester back to the main hall where your mother stands by the hearth. Rhaenyra’s silver hair gleams in the firelight, her face gaunt with grief, yet there is a fierceness in her eyes that has not dimmed. She holds the message in one hand, the seal of House Stark already broken. When she sees you approach, she reaches out, pressing the parchment into your hands.

“Read it, daughter,” she says, her voice steady but laced with both concern and curiosity.

Your fingers tremble as you unroll the parchment, the familiar script of your husband’s hand meeting your eyes. The message is concise, yet filled with the careful words that only someone like Cregan would choose.

Y/N,

The North stirs with news of the South’s turmoil. I have gathered my bannermen and consulted with those who would act in your family’s interest. We cannot forget the crime done to Prince Lucerys—nor can we ignore what it means for the realm. My duty to the Wall remains my first concern, but know this: the North remembers, and those who march south do so with the fire of retribution in their hearts. Men loyal to House Stark, and thus to you, will fight in your name and the name of your kin. They may march under banners of their own, but their cause is now bound to yours. You are not alone in this war, Y/N.

Winter awaits your return, as do I. Until then, keep your heart strong and your resolve firm. The fire you carry is your strength.

Cregan Stark.

You feel Rhaenyra’s presence beside you as she reads over your shoulder. When you finish, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Your mother’s hand rests on your arm, a rare show of tenderness from a woman whose heart has been hardened by betrayal and loss.

“He stands with us, then,” she says softly, and there’s a glimmer of relief in her tone. “This is more than we could have hoped for. The North’s support may be scattered, but it is unwavering.”

You nod, your eyes still fixed on the words. “He would be here himself if he could, but he’s bound by his duties. Still, he’s sent men. Greybeards, like he first promised. It’s more than I expected.”

Rhaenyra turns to face you fully, her expression serious yet tinged with something that almost resembles pride. “You’ve done well, Y/N. You’ve secured the loyalty of the North in a way few could have. Your marriage to Cregan was not just a political move—it has borne fruit in ways that will serve us well in the coming storm.”

But beneath her praise, you can sense her worry. She knows, as you do, that even with the North’s aid, the path ahead is treacherous. War is on your doorstep, and the bonds you’ve forged, however strong, will be tested by fire and blood.

For a moment, the two of you stand in silence, the weight of the message sinking in. You clutch the parchment tightly, drawing strength from the thought of Cregan’s words—the thought of his presence, waiting for you in the cold, far away.

“Mother,” you begin, breaking the silence, “what of the others? What news from King’s Landing, from Aemond and Vhagar?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardens at the mention of your uncle’s name, her hand tightening on the mantle draped over her shoulders. “The time for that reckoning is near. We will strike when the time is right, but not without careful planning. The North is readying itself, and so must we.”

You nod, but in your heart, you know this war is as much personal as it is political. Aemond’s cruelty took your brother from you, and though your rage is tempered by grief, it burns no less fiercely. Yet you also carry the strength of the North within you now—the resilience of Winterfell, of Cregan. It gives you a sense of purpose, a resolve that steadies you even as the world seems to be falling apart.

You fold the letter carefully, tucking it close to your heart. “Then let us be ready,” you say quietly, lifting your gaze to meet your mother’s determined eyes. “For Lucerys. For what was taken from us.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softens briefly as she places a hand on your cheek. “For him,” she echoes, her voice filled with a quiet, shared pain. “And for you, Y/N. We will not let his death be in vain.”

In that moment, you stand together not just as mother and daughter, but as two women who know that fire and blood are the legacies you must uphold. And as you stare into the flames of the hearth, you feel the cold resolve of the North settling within your soul, steel mingling with the fire that has always burned there. Winter may come, but you will meet it with the fury of both ice and flame.

The walls of Winterfell loom high and ancient as you approach, the familiar grey stones standing steadfast against the biting winds. Snowflakes dance in the air, swirling in graceful arcs as they settle upon the battlements and courtyards below. Thraxata’s wings beat powerfully as she circles above the castle, her obsidian-black scales almost indistinguishable from the sky darkening with twilight. Despite the cold, a warmth stirs within your chest—a feeling you never thought you’d associate with this harsh and unforgiving place. You’re home, in a sense. 

As Thraxata lands, sending gusts of snow swirling around her massive form, you see Cregan waiting in the courtyard, flanked by several Stark men, their heavy furs braced against the chill. Even from this distance, you can see the tension ease from his posture as his eyes meet yours. He steps forward as you dismount, the snow crunching under his boots. His usual stoic expression softens into a small, almost imperceptible smile—one reserved only for you.

You approach him, your boots leaving prints in the snow, and his hand extends toward yours. When your fingers meet, it’s like the ice and fire within you blend—opposites that somehow, in some strange way, feel whole together.

“Welcome home,” he murmurs, his deep voice rumbling with genuine warmth. His grey eyes search yours, as if making sure that the burden of grief has not completely consumed you. There is a depth to his gaze that reassures you more than any words could.

You squeeze his hand in return, feeling the roughness of calluses beneath your fingers. “It’s good to be back, truly,” you reply, and you mean it. “Winterfell has become a comfort I did not expect to miss.”

Cregan’s brow lifts, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “A comfort? The North must truly have claimed you if you find solace in snow and stone.”

You laugh softly, a sound that seems almost out of place in the cold, but it’s genuine. “It’s more than the snow and stone,” you say, your gaze lingering on his face, and you see the understanding dawn in his eyes. 

His smile widens ever so slightly before he steps aside, gesturing toward the main hall. “Come, we’ve prepared a small feast in your honor. The hall is warmer than it’s been in days—something special for the Lady of Winterfell’s return.”

You let him guide you inside, where the air is indeed warmer, thick with the scent of roasting meat, fresh bread, and spiced wine. The long tables are laden with hearty dishes—steaming stews, roasted game, platters of fruit, and loaves of dark bread. The torches burn brighter tonight, their light reflecting off the stone walls, giving the usually solemn hall an unexpected coziness.

The Stark banners hang proudly from the rafters, and though the gathering is modest by southern standards, there is a sincerity in it that touches you. The lords and ladies of Winterfell, those sworn to the Stark name, rise to greet you as you enter. Cregan remains at your side, his presence steady, a quiet strength that grounds you amidst the swirling emotions of being home.

As you take your place beside him at the high table, a chorus of toasts begins—voices raised in welcome, in honor of your return. It’s clear that Cregan has gone to great lengths to make this night special for you, despite the shadow of grief that lingers from your time in Dragonstone.

You find yourself smiling as you listen to the familiar voices around you, but it’s when the first course is served that you lean closer to Cregan, your voice low so only he can hear. “Thank you, Cregan,” you say earnestly, the words weighted with more than just gratitude for the feast. “For everything. For the support you gave my family in the face of such loss, and for the care you’ve shown me through all of this. I know the North has its own burdens, yet you still chose to act.”

Cregan’s expression softens, and he takes a moment before responding, as if carefully choosing his words. “You are my wife, Y/N. My loyalty is to the North, but it is also to you. The loss of your brother is something no one should bear alone, least of all you. I swore to stand with you, and that means more than just words. It means action when needed.”

You feel a swell of affection in your chest—a warmth that pushes back against the cold edges of grief that have clung to you since Lucerys’ death. “Still,” you continue, your voice softer, “it’s more than duty, isn’t it? You’ve done more than your role requires, and I don’t take that lightly.”

Cregan’s gaze holds yours, and for a moment, you see the vulnerability beneath his icy exterior—the man who, despite his formidable reputation, is not immune to the complexities of what has grown between you. “It is more than duty,” he agrees, his voice equally quiet. “It is…respect. And perhaps more, though I’m not a man skilled in speaking of such things.” There’s a hint of self-deprecation in his tone, a rare touch of humor that only surfaces in these private moments.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “I’ve come to appreciate that about you, Cregan. You may not say much, but when you do, it matters.”

Before he can respond, the doors to the hall open again, and more guests arrive, bringing with them fresh conversation and distraction. You settle into the evening, sharing in the food and drink, but always returning your attention to Cregan, who seems just as content to let the feast unfold around you while keeping you within his orbit.

Later, as the night deepens and the feasting turns more boisterous, songs rise from the tables. The lords and ladies of the North sing in rough but hearty voices, the tunes woven with tales of battles and the harsh beauty of winter. You watch as Cregan joins in, his deep voice carrying through the hall with surprising resonance. There is a joy in him tonight, a rare and unguarded happiness that spreads to those around him.

You lean back in your seat, a goblet of mulled wine in your hand, and watch the scene before you—Winterfell’s great hall alive with laughter, warmth, and the camaraderie of people who have long understood that even in the face of cold and hardship, there is room for celebration.

At one point, Cregan’s gaze finds yours across the table, and you exchange a wordless understanding—a recognition that despite the differences in where you were raised and the paths that brought you here, you are bound not just by duty, but by something deeper. Something that grows in the spaces between shared glances, quiet conversations, and the trust you’ve built, forged stronger by every test you’ve faced together.

As the feast winds down and guests begin to retire for the night, Cregan turns to you, offering his hand. “Walk with me?” he asks, his voice still carrying the rumble of warmth from the night’s merriment.

You take his hand without hesitation, and he leads you out of the hall, into the cold embrace of the night. The snow crunches beneath your boots as you walk side by side through the courtyard. The stars above are sharp and clear, untouched by southern clouds, and the wind sings softly through the trees beyond the walls.

“I’ve missed this,” you admit, breathing in the crisp air. “The quiet moments. The North may be cold, but there’s a certain peace here.”

Cregan’s grip tightens on your hand, and when he speaks, there is a hint of vulnerability in his voice, as if admitting something long held close. “I’ve missed it too—having you here. The castle hasn’t felt the same without you. Even the wild animals seemed restless. They grew accustomed to your dragon. Thraxata keeps other dangers at bay.”

You smile at that, imagining wolves and deers pacing in your absence somewhere in the forest. “Then it’s a good thing I’m back. Winterfell doesn’t seem so forbidding when you have people who care.”

He stops, turning to face you fully, the snow swirling gently around you both. “And you, Y/N? Do you feel the same?”

You reach up, cupping his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch despite the chill in the air. “I do, Cregan. I truly do.”

In that moment, with the snow falling around you and the distant sounds of Winterfell settling for the night, you realize that what you’ve found here is more than just an alliance—it’s a place where you can find strength, solace, and, perhaps most importantly, love. You lean in and kiss him, your lips brushing softly against his, and he returns it with a tenderness that speaks of everything words cannot convey.

When you pull back, his eyes hold yours with a promise—unspoken but understood—that whatever the future holds, whether it’s war, loss, or winter’s deepest cold, you will face it as one.

Hand in hand, you return to the warmth of Winterfell, the night closing in around you, but the fire you’ve both kindled together burning ever brighter.

As you and Cregan enter your chambers, the warmth from the hearth greets you, a shivering contrast to the icy air outside. The soft glow of firelight dances across the stone walls, casting shadows that sway and flicker. The door closes behind you with a heavy thud, sealing off the world beyond these intimate quarters. The quiet hum of the castle fades away, leaving only the crackling of the fire and the sound of your breaths, which seem louder now, filled with anticipation.

Cregan’s hand remains in yours, but there’s an urgency in the way his fingers tighten around yours. He steps closer, towering over you with that rugged strength that you’ve grown so accustomed to. Yet, there’s something different tonight—a hunger, a need that’s been simmering since the moment you returned. His eyes lock onto yours, filled with a deep intensity, and before either of you can say a word, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is fierce, demanding, filled with the pent-up longing of weeks spent apart. You respond in kind, matching his eagerness as your fingers tangle in the fur lining his cloak. The taste of spiced wine lingers on his lips, and his scent—earthy, tinged with pine and smoke—envelops you, grounding you in the moment. Your movements grow more frantic as the kiss deepens, your bodies pressing closer together, as if trying to make up for every second lost in separation.

Cregan’s hands move to your waist, tugging at the layers of your attire with an impatience that’s both surprising and thrilling. “I missed this,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and strained with desire. “Missed you—missed your warmth.”

A soft gasp escapes you as his hands slip beneath your furs, finding the fastenings of your gown and working quickly to undo them. You feel the cool air brush against your skin as your dress loosens, sliding down your shoulders. “Then take it, Cregan,” you breathe, your own fingers deftly working to undo the ties of his tunic, eager to feel the heat of his skin against yours. “I’m here now.”

Your clothes fall away in a hurried tangle, your hands roaming over each other’s bodies with a desperate need. There’s no gentleness in your touches tonight, only the shared hunger that’s been building ever since you parted. Cregan’s tunic drops to the floor, revealing the hard lines of his chest, muscles honed by the rigors of the North. You let your hands trace over him, savoring the feeling of his strength, the way he shudders slightly under your touch.

With a growl low in his throat, he lifts you effortlessly, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you toward the bed. Your lips never leave his, and the kiss grows more frantic, more heated, until he lowers you onto the furs. The bed is soft beneath you, the familiar scent of wolf pelts mingling with the crisp scent of winter air that still clings to him.

Cregan pauses for just a moment, his eyes raking over you, darkened with desire. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need. There’s an almost reverent quality to his gaze, but it’s quickly consumed by hunger as he lowers himself over you, capturing your lips again with a fervor that sends heat pooling low in your belly.

Your hands slide up his back, pulling him closer, and you feel the weight of him pressing down on you—a delicious pressure that makes you arch up against him. His lips leave yours to trail down your neck, leaving a path of burning kisses along your collarbone, each one sending sparks of pleasure through you. You tilt your head back, giving him more access as your fingers curl in his dark hair, tugging gently as he nips at your skin.

But you don’t want slow tonight. You want him—all of him, now.

“Cregan,” you whisper, your voice thick with desire as you tug him closer, your hips pressing up against his in invitation. “Please.”

He answers your plea without hesitation. His hands slide down to grip your hips, positioning you beneath him as he moves between your thighs. The anticipation sends a shiver through you, but it’s quickly drowned out by the rush of pleasure as he finally enters you. Both of you gasp at the sensation—the familiar stretch, the way your bodies seem to fit together as if they were made for this.

The pace is quick, urgent, driven by the need to feel each other, to reclaim what was lost in your time apart. His movements are powerful, his thrusts deep and unrelenting, but there’s a tenderness woven into the raw passion—a care that reminds you this is more than just desire. It’s need, yes, but it’s also comfort, affection, something deeper that you’ve both come to rely on.

Your breaths mingle in the space between you as you find your rhythm together, your bodies moving in perfect sync. Each thrust sends a wave of pleasure coursing through you, building with every movement, every gasp and moan that escapes your lips. The heat coils tighter in your core, fueled by the rough sound of Cregan’s breath in your ear, the low growl in his throat as he murmurs your name, over and over, like a prayer.

“Y/N,” he groans, his voice ragged as his movements quicken, his grip on your hips tightening. “Gods, I missed this—missed you. No one else, nothing else, could ever feel like this.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding him closer as the pleasure crests, your own voice breaking as you whisper, “I missed you too. Needed this—needed you.”

The words hang between you, a confession that means more than just the physical connection. It’s the bond you’ve forged, stronger now for everything you’ve faced. You cling to each other as the tension builds, the pleasure reaching a fever pitch. The room is filled with nothing but the sounds of your shared need—skin on skin, the rough gasps of breath, the whispered names.

And then it shatters.

Your release crashes over you, drawing a cry from your lips as your body trembles beneath him, the pleasure overwhelming in its intensity. Cregan follows moments later, his groan deep and guttural as he buries himself in you, his body tensing before he finally surrenders to the waves of bliss that take him.

For a few moments, the world is nothing but warmth and satisfaction, the tension ebbing away like the last breath of a dying storm. Cregan remains above you, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath. His weight is a comfort, grounding you, reminding you that despite everything—despite the grief, the war looming on the horizon—you have this.

You have him.

Eventually, he rolls to the side, pulling you with him, his arms wrapping around you as you settle against his chest. The fire crackles in the hearth, its light casting a soft glow over the room, but it’s the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek that lulls you into a peaceful calm.

He presses a kiss to your temple, his voice a quiet rumble in the darkness. “You’re home now,” he says, and there’s something so tender in the way he says it that your heart swells.

You look up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest. “Yes, I am,” you reply softly, and you mean it. For all the cold and the hardship, there is warmth here—warmth in his arms, in the way he looks at you, in the life you’ve begun to build together.

[astars-things]

Mascot

Jack Hughes x Daughte!reader

reader is 3 

I adjust Y/N’s tiny Devils jersey, making sure it’s not too bunched up under her puffy jacket. She’s clutching my pant leg, her small fingers tightening as we step into the arena. I glance down, and she peeks up at me with big, nervous eyes. My shy little girl.

“Hey, bug, remember what I told you?” I crouch down to her level, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “We’re gonna meet NJ Devil today. He’s really cool, I promise.”

She frowns, her lower lip jutting out slightly. “Dada…” she mumbles, pressing her face against my knee.

I chuckle, smoothing a hand over her back. “I’m right here, baby. He’s not scary, I promise.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

A few minutes later, we’re in the tunnel, waiting. The sound of skates scraping the ice echoes in the distance, but Y/N is too focused on whatever’s happening behind my legs to care. I can feel her gripping the fabric of my jeans as if she’s ready to run at any second.

Then, a pair of big, red, furry feet step into view.

“Hey there, Y/N!” NJ Devil’s voice is warm, and he waves enthusiastically.

I feel Y/N flinch. She buries herself against my leg so fast it nearly knocks me off balance. I sigh, scooping her up into my arms, her tiny hands clutching the collar of my jacket.

“Bug, it’s okay,” I murmur, rubbing circles on her back. “Look, see? He’s just waving.”

She peeks out hesitantly, her cheek still pressed against my chest. NJ waves again, this time slower, less overwhelming.

“Hi, Y/N,” NJ tries again, his voice soft despite the costume. He holds out his hand for a high five, but Y/N quickly tucks her face into my shoulder.

I laugh, feeling her tiny body tense against me. “I think she’s a little shy,” I tell him.

“That’s okay! We can take it slow,” NJ responds with a thumbs-up.

I keep talking to her, gently swaying back and forth. “Bug, he’s my friend. He’s at all my games. He even cheers for me when I score.”

Y/N lifts her head slightly, her eyes flickering between me and the big red mascot.

“You wanna try a high five?” I ask, holding out my own hand as a demonstration.

She hesitates but doesn’t hide this time. Slowly—so, so slowly—she lifts her tiny hand, resting it on top of mine. Then, I guide it towards NJ’s waiting palm.

Tap.

It’s the softest high five in history, but it counts.

NJ gasps dramatically, acting like it was the best high five he’s ever received. “Whoa! That was awesome!”

Y/N blinks, her grip on my jacket loosening. A hint of a smile tugs at her lips.

“Again?” I ask.

She thinks about it, then nods.

This time, she high-fives NJ all on her own.

From that day on, Y/N and NJ are inseparable. Every time I bring her to the rink, she runs straight to him, giggling and throwing herself into his arms. She even starts calling him “Mr. Devil,” which cracks everyone up. 

When her birthday rolled around a few months later, I asked, “What do you want, bug?” thinking she’d say something like a new doll or maybe a stuffed animal.

Instead, she beamed up at me. “I want Mr. Devil to come to my birthday!”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Out of everything in the world, you want NJ Devil?”

She nodded eagerly.

So, of course, I made it happen.

When NJ walked into her birthday party, Y/N squealed louder than I’d ever heard before, running straight into his arms.

I watched with a smile as she danced around with him, holding his hand and giggling.

[thecloudsaremyhome]

Expanding more on the Calypso idea,

What if the reader was a kid he found during the war that he took in and decided to raise?

Anon you read my mind I officially name you 🧚‍♂️ anon if that's alright with you!

Headcanons

Yandere Odysseus x child reader

Odysseus found you while he was searching the castle of Trojan. But while he was fighting off most of the guards he came across your room and the dead body of your so called mother who was shot in the neck leaving you hidden in the closet crying and sniffling.

His heart wrenches at the scene clearly your mother wa of no importance a lowely maid at that but hearing your wimpers and crys breaks his harden heart. He doesn't wan to hurt you even if you were present on the enemy's side. Your a child in the middle of a bloody war you don't deserve the same fate as your mother.

So he took you into his arms and promised you safety. And you believed him snuggling into him for comfort. This melts his heart a he carries you out of the room past the blood shed and gore. Away from the fire burning th kingdom towards the ship where the rest of his men are gathering on. Surprised that their captain is bringing a child with him but they don't question it they know better than to.

He promises he will take care of you and he keeps that promise throughout his journey even with the loss of do. Many of his friends and men he keeps you by his side through it all.

Even when he arrives on Calypso island he keeps you far away from her by that time your a teen fully able to comprehend and understand more of what's going in which of. Course scares him. He wants to keep you naive and innocent and it's hard to when he has Calypso constantly on his back trying to seduce him.

But one day you had enough you told Calypso off right to her face but of course she didn't listen not did she care. This of course annoyed you even more but you decided to let it go.

But when you found your father an Calypso near the cliff this surprised you. Your father is so close to th edge so you rush towards him and hug him from behind which causes him to stop in hisbtracks an look towards you with tears in his eyes. You the murmured

𝓦𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓸𝓾 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓭 𝓘 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓢𝓮 this of course breaks his heart because he doesn't want you to be worried at all for him. This is why you so prescious to him because you can always ground him even in thendarkets of times. That's wht he needs to get you back to ithica an when he does let's just say you won't be leaving his and Penelope's room for. Few months because he's sure she's going to be exited to have. Daughte no matter how old you are you'll always be his baby always

[couchlovers]

Hii! I was wondering if you could do Clarisse la rue x reader. Like readers the daughter of Zeus and he gifted her the power that her emotions control the weather?

sorry if this doesn’t make any sense lol. Changing it up however you’d like

Storm’s embrace

masterlist pjo masterlist my rules

YN -> your name YLN -> your last name

6,9k words! hope that you’ll like it!

Camp Half-Blood buzzed with tension after the news broke: Zeus’s master bolt had been stolen. The gods were furious, and the campers whispered of war brewing on Olympus. Y/N YLN, daughter of Zeus, felt every pair of eyes on her. The unspoken suspicion was heavy, lingering in every corner of camp. As the only child of Zeus currently at Camp Half-Blood, she was an obvious suspect.

Clarisse LaRue made no effort to hide her opinion. “You know, it’d be convenient if the thief were the one who can summon lightning at will,” she said, crossing her arms during a heated conversation in the training arena.

Y/N glared at her, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance. “You think I’d steal my own father’s bolt? Get a grip, Clarisse. I don’t need his powers to deal with you.”

The campers around them murmured, sensing a confrontation brewing. Clarisse stepped closer, her tone sharp. “Maybe you’re just tired of living in his shadow. Or maybe you don’t have as much control as you pretend to.”

The sky darkened, and Y/N’s hands clenched into fists. “Say that again, LaRue. I dare you.”

Before the situation could escalate further, Chiron’s voice boomed from across the field. “Enough!” The centaur strode toward them, his expression stern. “Both of you, my office. Now.”

In Chiron’s office, the atmosphere was tense. Y/N stood by the window, arms crossed, while Clarisse leaned against the wall, still fuming.

“You two are among the strongest demigods at camp,” Chiron began, his voice calm but firm. “Which is why I’m assigning you to the quest to retrieve Zeus’s bolt. The Oracle has spoken, and it’s clear you’ll need to work together.”

“What?!” both girls exclaimed in unison.

“This isn’t negotiable,” Chiron said, his gaze steady. “The fate of Olympus depends on this quest. You’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples. “Great. Babysitting Ares’s favorite brute while trying to save the world. Can’t wait.”

Clarisse shot her a glare. “As if I want to be stuck with a walking thunderstorm. Try not to fry me when you lose your temper, princess.”

Chiron sighed, clearly unamused. “If you two don’t learn to work together, this quest will fail. And if that happens, war between the gods is inevitable.”

That sobered them both. Y/N glanced at Clarisse, her jaw tightening. “Fine. I’ll do it—for Olympus. Not for her.”

Clarisse smirked. “Likewise.”

The next morning, the quest began. Alongside Grover and Annabeth, Y/N and Clarisse set off into the mortal world, tensions high and patience low. Their first stop was a seemingly harmless roadside diner, where their bickering resumed almost immediately.

“You can’t just charge into every situation swinging your spear,” Y/N said, her tone exasperated.

“And you can’t just summon a storm every time you get moody,” Clarisse shot back, leaning over the table.

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can you two save this for later? We’re supposed to be tracking down leads, not arguing over breakfast.”

Grover nodded, nervously glancing at the sky. “Yeah, uh, maybe keep the thunderclouds to a minimum? People are starting to notice.”

Y/N glared at Clarisse but relented, taking a deep breath to calm herself. The sky lightened slightly, and the air felt less charged.

For the rest of the day, they managed to keep their bickering to a minimum, but the tension between them remained. Every glance, every word, felt like a challenge waiting to be met.

That night, as they set up camp by the side of a quiet road, Y/N found herself staring at the stars, lost in thought. She hadn’t asked for this quest, or for the pressure of being Zeus’s daughter. She just wanted to prove she was more than the god she came from.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clarisse’s voice broke through her reverie.

Y/N glanced at her, surprised. “Didn’t think you cared.”

Clarisse shrugged, sitting down beside her. “I don’t. But if we’re going to survive this, we can’t spend the whole time at each other’s throats.”

Y/N hesitated before nodding. “Fair enough.” She glanced at Clarisse. “You’re not as terrible as I thought.”

Clarisse smirked. “Don’t get used to it, princess.”

For the first time, they shared a small, tentative smile. It wasn’t peace, but it was a start.

______________________________________________________________________

The morning after their reluctant truce, the group prepared to leave their makeshift campsite. Percy Jackson, who had joined their team at Chiron’s insistence, was already up and pacing. The son of Poseidon had his own reasons for being on this quest: proving himself, protecting his friends, and figuring out his connection to the stolen bolt.

“Ready to save the world, or are you two gonna keep bickering the whole way?” Percy teased as he adjusted Riptide at his side, glancing between Y/N and Clarisse.

“Save it, Seaweed Brain,” Y/N shot back, rolling her eyes. “Unlike you, some of us actually know how to work under pressure.”

“Right,” Percy quipped with a grin. “Because yelling at each other is totally productive.”

Clarisse snorted, shouldering her spear. “At least I don’t need a magical pen to fight.”

Annabeth groaned, pulling her Yankees cap lower over her eyes. “Can we all focus? We’ve got a long way to go and not a lot of time.”

The group’s next stop was an abandoned warehouse where, according to Grover’s tracking, a minor god associated with Hermes might have information on the bolt. The warehouse was quiet—too quiet.

Inside, the air was thick with tension as they searched for clues. Y/N’s nerves hummed, her emotions sparking faint static electricity in the air.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered, her hand hovering near the dagger she carried at her hip.

“Relax, Princess,” Clarisse said, scanning the room. “Not every empty building is a death trap.”

“I wouldn’t speak so soon,” Percy muttered, drawing Riptide as shadows moved in the corners.

The attack was sudden. A group of empousai—vampire-like creatures—emerged from the darkness, their glowing eyes fixed on the demigods.

“Great,” Y/N grumbled, summoning a small bolt of lightning into her hand. “Just what we needed.”

The group fought hard, their teamwork shaky but effective. Y/N and Clarisse found themselves back-to-back at one point, their weapons slicing through the air in perfect sync.

“Not bad,” Clarisse admitted begrudgingly as she slammed the butt of her spear into an empousa’s chest, sending it flying.

“Right back at you,” Y/N replied, the faintest smile on her lips as she hurled a bolt of lightning into another creature.

Percy, not far away, raised an eyebrow at the exchange. “Are you two… getting along? Should I be concerned?”

“Shut up, Jackson,” they said in unison, making Grover laugh despite the chaos.

Once the fight ended, the group regrouped outside the warehouse. Everyone was exhausted, but the tension between Y/N and Clarisse seemed to have eased—if only slightly.

“You’re a decent fighter,” Y/N said to Clarisse as they walked side by side toward the road.

Clarisse smirked, twirling her spear. “Don’t sound so surprised. Maybe you’re finally realizing I’m not as bad as you thought.”

“Don’t push it,” Y/N shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

Percy watched the exchange with a knowing look, leaning toward Annabeth. “Is it just me, or are those two actually flirting now?”

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Percy, not everything is about romance. Focus.”

As night fell, the group set up camp again, this time in a quiet forest clearing. The stars were bright, and the crackling of the campfire filled the silence.

Y/N sat slightly apart from the group, staring up at the sky. Her emotions had been running high all day, and she needed a moment to clear her mind.

Clarisse, after some hesitation, walked over and plopped down beside her. “You good?”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the question. “Yeah. Why?”

Clarisse shrugged, poking the fire with a stick. “You’ve been quiet. It’s weird. Usually, you’re all lightning and sass.”

Y/N smirked. “Lightning and sass? That’s a new one.”

Clarisse rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Whatever. Just… don’t lose your head, okay? We need you to keep it together.”

There was an unexpected softness in her voice that caught Y/N off guard. For a moment, she saw past the tough exterior to the person underneath.

“I’ll try,” Y/N said quietly. “Thanks, Clarisse.”

Clarisse glanced at her, her smirk returning. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Y/N laughed, and the sound was warm and genuine, making Clarisse’s chest tighten just a little.

From across the fire, Percy and Annabeth exchanged looks. Percy leaned closer to Grover, whispering, “I’m calling it now. Those two are totally into each other.”

Grover nodded sagely. “Oh, 100%. The tension is electric.”

Annabeth groaned again. “Focus, boys. We’ve got bigger problems.”

______________________________________________________________________

The group’s journey led them into the heart of the desert, chasing the latest lead on Zeus’s stolen bolt. The Oracle’s prophecy was vague, but Annabeth’s sharp mind and Grover’s tracking skills had pointed them toward a small, seemingly abandoned roadside gas station.

The heat was unbearable, the sun blazing overhead, and tensions ran high as the group bickered over their next move.

“I’m telling you, this place screams trap,” Percy said, squinting at the gas station.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Everything screams trap to you.”

“That’s because it usually is!” Percy shot back.

While the two argued, Y/N stood to the side, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The oppressive heat made her emotions sluggish, but she could feel a storm brewing in the back of her mind. Something about this place felt off.

Clarisse walked over, breaking the silence. “You zoning out again, Thunder Girl? We don’t have time for you to daydream.”

Y/N sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’m not zoning out. I’m trying to figure out why this place feels so… wrong.”

Clarisse raised an eyebrow, her grip tightening on her spear. “Your gut telling you something?”

“Something like that,” Y/N admitted, glancing at her. “You trust me on this?”

Clarisse hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. You’ve been right so far.”

The unexpected admission caught Y/N off guard, and for a moment, she forgot the heat, the quest, and the danger.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Clarisse shrugged, looking away. “Don’t get used to it.”

The group cautiously entered the gas station, weapons at the ready. Inside, the air was stale, and the fluorescent lights flickered ominously. It didn’t take long for the trap to spring—two monstrous automatons emerged from hidden panels, their glowing eyes locking onto the demigods.

“Of course,” Percy muttered, drawing Riptide.

The battle was chaotic. Annabeth and Grover worked to disable the machines’ weak points while Percy engaged one head-on. Y/N and Clarisse, naturally, ended up back-to-back again, their movements almost instinctively in sync.

“Left!” Clarisse shouted as one of the automatons lunged. Y/N reacted instantly, sending a bolt of lightning crackling through its metal body.

“Nice call,” Y/N said, a grin tugging at her lips as the machine collapsed in a smoking heap.

“Keep your head in the game, YLN,” Clarisse replied, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

The second automaton charged at them, forcing Clarisse to parry with her spear while Y/N summoned a gust of wind to throw it off balance. Together, they overwhelmed it, Clarisse delivering the final blow with a triumphant yell.

When the dust settled, Percy clapped his hands together. “Well, that was fun. Can we not do that again?”

Annabeth ignored him, crouching to examine the remains of the automatons. “These were definitely sent by someone. They weren’t random.”

“Great,” Clarisse muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. “More people trying to kill us. Just what we needed.”

“Welcome to the club,” Y/N said with a smirk.

Clarisse glanced at her, and for a moment, the tension between them softened.

Later that evening, the group set up camp in a nearby canyon. The desert sky was breathtaking, stars scattered like diamonds across a velvet backdrop. Y/N sat by the campfire, absently tracing patterns in the dirt while the others talked quietly nearby.

Clarisse approached, dropping down beside her without a word.

“You keep sneaking up on me,” Y/N said, glancing at her with a small smile.

Clarisse smirked, leaning her spear against her shoulder. “Not my fault you’re easy to sneak up on.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the crackling fire filling the space between them.

“You were good back there,” Clarisse said suddenly, her tone uncharacteristically soft.

Y/N blinked, surprised. “What?”

Clarisse looked away, fidgeting with the edge of her armor. “I said you were good. Don’t make me repeat it.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a grin. “Is this your way of being nice?”

“Don’t push it,” Clarisse muttered, though her cheeks reddened faintly.

Y/N chuckled, her heart lighter than it had been in days. “Thanks, Clarisse. You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Clarisse smirked, her confidence returning. “Of course not. I’m always amazing.”

Their laughter drew curious glances from the others, but neither of them seemed to care. For the first time, the storm between them felt less like a battle and more like the calm before something new.

______________________________________________________________________

The group continued their journey, now following a lead from Annabeth that pointed them toward a forest on the outskirts of a small town. The air was thick with tension as they trudged through the dense underbrush. Despite their shared victories, the group’s patience was wearing thin after days of close quarters and constant danger.

For Y/N and Clarisse, the fragile truce they had formed was starting to feel less like a reluctant necessity and more like a natural rhythm. But neither of them dared to voice it—especially not with Percy’s constant teasing.

“Let me guess,” Percy quipped as they stopped for a break. “Y/N and Clarisse were totally in sync during the last fight again? Should we just start calling you the Storm and Spear Duo?”

Y/N groaned, tossing a small pebble at him. “Don’t you have better things to do, Percy?”

Clarisse snorted, crossing her arms. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous we’re better fighters.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Percy replied, feigning offense.

Annabeth stepped between them, exasperated. “Can we focus? There’s something weird about this forest.”

As if on cue, a deep growl echoed through the trees, sending a chill down Y/N’s spine. The group immediately drew their weapons, forming a defensive circle.

“What now?” Grover whimpered, clutching his reed pipes.

Out of the shadows emerged a massive drakon, its scales shimmering ominously in the dappled light. The creature roared, its golden eyes locking onto the demigods.

“Okay, this one’s mine,” Clarisse said, stepping forward with her spear raised.

“Not alone, it’s not,” Y/N replied, summoning a crackling orb of lightning in her hand.

“Great,” Percy muttered. “More teamwork.”

The battle was intense, the drakon’s sheer size and strength making it a formidable opponent. Clarisse fought fearlessly, her spear striking true, while Y/N’s lightning crackled through the air, disorienting the creature.

At one point, the drakon lunged toward Clarisse, its jaws snapping dangerously close. Without thinking, Y/N threw herself in front of her, summoning a massive bolt of lightning that sent the creature reeling.

Clarisse stared at her, wide-eyed. “What the Hades was that?”

“Saving your life, obviously” Y/N shot back, though her voice was breathless from exertion.

Clarisse smirked, regaining her composure. “Don’t get used to being my hero, Thunder Girl.”

“Noted,” Y/N replied with a grin, their gazes locking for a split second longer than necessary.

With Percy and Annabeth’s help, they managed to bring the drakon down. As it dissolved into golden dust, the group slumped against nearby trees, exhausted but triumphant.

That evening, as the group rested in a small clearing, the atmosphere was lighter than it had been in days. Percy and Grover played a clumsy game of hacky sack with a pinecone, while Annabeth sketched battle strategies in the dirt.

Y/N sat apart from the others, her back against a tree, gazing up at the stars. The adrenaline from the fight still buzzed faintly in her veins, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Clarisse.

“Deep in thought again?” Clarisse’s voice broke through the quiet.

Y/N turned to see her approaching, spear resting casually against her shoulder.

“Starting to think you’re stalking me,” Y/N teased, earning a smirk from the daughter of Ares.

“Not my style,” Clarisse replied, sitting down beside her. “But you’ve got a habit of wandering off into your own head.”

“Just thinking,” Y/N said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “About the fight. About… everything.”

Clarisse tilted her head, studying her. “You’re not bad in a fight. For a daughter of Zeus, I mean.”

Y/N snorted. “Thanks, I think.”

There was a beat of silence before Clarisse added, almost hesitantly, “And… thanks for earlier. For stepping in like that.”

Y/N smiled softly. “You’d do the same for me.”

Clarisse hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I would.”

For a moment, the air between them felt charged, not with tension but with something deeper. Before either of them could say anything more, Percy’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Hey, lovebirds!” he called, grinning. “Are you gonna help with dinner, or should we assume you’re too busy having a moment?”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m going to kill him.”

Clarisse laughed, standing up and offering her hand. “Come on, Thunder Girl. Let’s get back before he decides to make it worse.”

Y/N took her hand, and as their fingers briefly touched, a small spark passed between them—whether from her powers or something else, neither of them could say.

______________________________________________________________________

The journey grew more perilous as the group approached their next destination—an ancient temple hidden deep in a swamp. According to Annabeth, it housed an artifact that could point them closer to the lightning bolt’s location. The air was thick with humidity, and the murky waters seemed to ripple with unseen dangers.

“Great,” Percy muttered, poking at the swampy ground with his sword. “Another creepy location. Why can’t quests ever take us to, like, a beach or something?”

“Stop whining, Jackson,” Clarisse snapped, adjusting her armor. “You’re not the one carrying a spear through a swamp.”

“Yeah, because carrying a magical pen is so much harder,” Y/N quipped, earning a chuckle from Clarisse.

“Nice one, Thunder Girl,” Clarisse said with a smirk, making Percy roll his eyes.

Grover’s ears twitched as he scanned the area nervously. “Uh, guys? Can we not taunt the swamp? I’m pretty sure something’s watching us.”

The group immediately tensed, weapons ready, as ripples spread across the water. A massive swamp serpent emerged, its scales glistening like oil and its fangs bared.

“Because, of course, there’s a monster,” Annabeth muttered, readying her knife.

The fight was brutal. The serpent was fast, its body coiling and striking with terrifying precision. Percy’s water abilities gave him an edge, but the creature was relentless.

Y/N and Clarisse once again found themselves working as a team. Y/N summoned gusts of wind and bolts of lightning, forcing the serpent to rear back, while Clarisse struck at its exposed underbelly with her spear.

“Keep it distracted!” Clarisse shouted, narrowly dodging a strike from the serpent’s tail.

“I’m trying!” Y/N replied, hurling another bolt of lightning. The creature roared, the electricity momentarily stunning it.

Clarisse took the opportunity to lunge forward, driving her spear into the serpent’s throat. It let out a final, ear-splitting screech before collapsing into the swamp, its body dissolving into mist.

Panting, Y/N and Clarisse stood side by side, their weapons lowered.

“Not bad,” Clarisse said, giving Y/N a once-over. “You’re getting better at this.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You weren’t too shabby yourself.”

Percy, pulling himself out of the water, groaned. “Can we all agree that swamps are the worst?”

“Agreed” Annabeth said, wringing out her damp clothes.

That evening, the group set up camp on drier ground. The swamp was eerily quiet now, and the only sounds were the crackling fire and the distant chirping of insects.

Y/N sat near the fire, tending to a few scratches she’d gotten during the fight. Clarisse approached, carrying a small pouch of ambrosia.

“Here,” she said, tossing it to Y/N. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, catching it and unwrapping a small piece of the godly food. “I’m surprised you’re being so nice.”

“Don’t get used to it” Clarisse replied with a smirk, sitting down beside her.

Y/N chuckled, the tension of the day easing slightly. “You know, we make a pretty good team.”

Clarisse raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Does that mean you’re finally admitting I’m not the worst?”

“Don’t push it” Y/N said, grinning.

Clarisse laughed, her usual tough exterior softening for a moment. “You’re not so bad yourself, Thunder Girl.”

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the rest of the world faded away. The crackling fire reflected in Clarisse’s dark eyes, and Y/N felt her heart skip a beat.

Before either of them could say anything, Percy’s voice broke the silence.

“You two getting all cozy again?” he called, his tone teasing.

Clarisse groaned, throwing a small rock in his direction. “Shut up, Jackson!”

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can we focus for five minutes without someone starting something?”

As the night deepened, the group took turns keeping watch. During her shift, Y/N found herself staring up at the stars, her mind racing with everything that had happened.

She didn’t hear Clarisse approach until the other girl sat down beside her, her presence grounding Y/N’s scattered thoughts.

“Can’t sleep?” Clarisse asked, her voice unusually soft.

“Something like that,” Y/N replied, glancing at her. “What about you?”

“Couldn’t either,” Clarisse admitted, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Too much going on in my head.”

Y/N hesitated before speaking. “You ever feel like… this whole quest is testing us more than it’s supposed to?”

Clarisse snorted. “Every damn day. But that’s what we do, right? Prove we’re tougher than whatever the gods throw at us.”

Y/N nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “I guess so.”

They sat in silence for a while, the night air cool against their skin. Y/N felt a strange sense of peace, even amidst the chaos of their journey.

“Thanks for having my back today” Clarisse said suddenly, her tone serious.

Y/N looked at her, surprised. “You don’t have to thank me for that. We’re a team.”

Clarisse’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Yeah. We are.”

For a moment, it felt like Clarisse might say more, but the words hung unspoken between them. Instead, she reached out and gave Y/N’s shoulder a quick squeeze before standing up.

“Get some rest,” she said, her usual edge creeping back into her voice. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Y/N watched her walk away, her heart a mix of emotions she wasn’t ready to untangle.

______________________________________________________________________

The final leg of their journey was in sight. After days of battling monsters, navigating treacherous lands, and dealing with their own personal struggles, the group had finally arrived at the Underworld’s entrance.

But something was off. Y/N could feel it—the tension in the air, the sense of impending doom that seemed to press against her chest like an invisible weight. Clarisse, too, had grown more quiet over the past few days, her sharp eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, as if waiting for something—or someone—to strike.

As the group made their way deeper into the dark, ominous caves, Annabeth’s voice cut through the silence. “It doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, glancing at Y/N. “If Hades didn’t take the bolt, who would? And why would they want it?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She knew the answer to that question, though she didn’t want to believe it.

“I don’t know,” Y/N replied, voice tight. “But we’re getting closer.”

Suddenly, a figure stepped out from the shadows. Y/N’s breath caught as she recognized him immediately—Luke.

“You,” Percy said, his voice low, laced with fury. “You’re the one who took it.”

Luke smirked, his eyes cold. “I didn’t take anything. I’m just… helping the gods fulfill their prophecy. Don’t you see? You’re all just pawns in their game. I’m doing what they couldn’t.”

The tension was palpable, a storm of anger and betrayal swirling in the air. Clarisse stepped forward, her expression dark with suspicion. “Why are you really here, Luke? You were supposed to be one of us. You promised to fight for the gods, not against them.”

Luke’s eyes flickered with something almost like regret, but it was quickly masked by a cynical grin. “I realized the truth a long time ago. The gods don’t care about us. They use us until we’re no longer useful.”

Y/N’s heart sank, but she stood tall, her emotions churning. “So you’re willing to risk everything—everyone—just to make a point?”

Luke’s eyes met hers, and in that moment, the storm that raged inside of Y/N erupted. She summoned the power of the skies, a crackling bolt of lightning striking from her fingertips.

But Luke was faster. With a quick, almost mocking motion, he deflected the bolt with a wave of his hand, sending it spiraling off into the cavern.

“You think you can beat me?” Luke sneered. “You’re nothing but a weak little demigod.”

Before Y/N could react, Luke lunged at her, his hands crackling with dark energy. He struck out, slamming her into the cave wall with a force that sent a shockwave through her body. She gasped as pain shot through her chest, her ribs screaming in protest.

Clarisse’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. “Get away from her!”

But Luke wasn’t done. He sent a blast of energy toward Clarisse, knocking her back. Y/N’s vision blurred as she struggled to stand, but the pain in her ribs and arm was unbearable. Her arm hung limply at her side, and she could feel the bone grinding against itself.

Luke turned back to Y/N, a cruel smirk on his face. “What’s the matter, Thunder Girl? Can’t handle the heat?”

With a force that surprised even her, Y/N summoned the last of her strength, calling on a surge of lightning that cracked the air around her. The bolt shot toward Luke, but before it could hit him, he deflected it with a dark shield of energy.

“Is that the best you can do?” Luke mocked. “You’re pathetic.”

But before he could make another move, a sudden, enraged shout cut through the chaos.

“No!” Clarisse cried, charging at Luke with all the fury of a storm. Her spear gleamed in the dim light as she swung it at Luke, narrowly missing his chest. But Luke dodged, and with a swift motion, he sent a blast of dark energy straight at Clarisse.

Y/N’s heart dropped. She wasn’t about to let that happen.

With every ounce of strength she had left, Y/N reached out, using the power of the storm to summon a massive bolt of lightning that struck Luke square in the chest. The force of it sent him flying back, his body crashing against the cavern walls with a sickening thud.

Y/N collapsed to the ground, the world spinning around her. Her arm was broken, and she could feel the sharp, agonizing pain of her ribs. Blood dripped down her face from a deep gash on her forehead. She was barely conscious, her vision fading in and out.

Clarisse rushed to her side, her face pale with panic. “Y/N? Y/N, stay with me. Come on, talk to me!”

Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m… fine.”

Clarisse’s hands shook as she examined her wounds, her expression torn with fear and helplessness. “You’re not fine. You’re hurt… so badly.”

Y/N managed a weak smile, her breath ragged. “It’s just a scratch.”

Clarisse’s eyes filled with emotion. “Don’t joke, Y/N. You could’ve… could’ve died!”

“I’m… still here,” Y/N whispered, reaching out with her good arm to grip Clarisse’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But Clarisse wasn’t listening. Her jaw clenched, her hands shaking with barely controlled rage. “I’m going to make him pay. I swear to the gods, Luke will regret this.”

Y/N barely had the energy to protest, her body shutting down as the pain began to overwhelm her. “Clarisse… I just… need to rest… please…”

Clarisse’s expression softened for a moment, her hand gently brushing Y/N’s hair away from her face. “Don’t you dare give up on me, Y/N. We’re in this together.”

Despite her best efforts, Y/N couldn’t hold on any longer. As the darkness crept in, she could feel Clarisse’s hand still tightly gripping hers, a lifeline that kept her tethered to the world.

When Y/N awoke, the first thing she saw was Clarisse, sitting by her side, her face a mix of exhaustion and relief.

“Hey,” Clarisse whispered, her voice hoarse. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Y/N smiled weakly. “I’m… sorry.”

Clarisse shook her head, brushing a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face. “No. Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re still here.”

The group had managed to escape the Underworld with the lightning bolt, and Luke was gone—vanished for now. But the cost had been high, and Y/N’s wounds were far from healed.

Clarisse stayed by her side as the group made their way back, and the storm that had once raged inside them both seemed to have calmed, replaced by a quiet understanding—a bond that had been forged in the fires of battle.

They weren’t just surviving anymore. They were stronger, together.

______________________________________________________________________

The journey back to Camp Half-Blood had been tense. Y/N was still recovering from her injuries—her broken arm in a sling, ribs wrapped tightly, and a few stitches from the gash across her forehead. Yet, the mission wasn’t over. She had one final task to complete: to return the stolen lightning bolt to her father, Zeus.

The moment they arrived at the camp, Clarisse was by her side, her fierce protectiveness evident in her every movement. Even though the rest of the group was exhausted and covered in dirt and blood from their encounter with Luke, Clarisse’s gaze never wavered from Y/N.

“Y/N, you’re not going to the gods like this,” Clarisse said, her voice low but firm. She was standing beside Y/N as they prepared for the trip to Olympus. “You’re still hurt.”

Y/N, who had been sitting quietly by the campfire, glanced up at her with a tired but determined expression. “Clarisse, I have to do this. I can handle it.”

“You’re injured!” Clarisse’s voice rose slightly, her frustration clear. “What if something happens to you? You can barely stand up without wincing, and you want to go face your father—alone?”

Y/N stood up, wincing from the pain in her ribs but not letting it show. “I’m not some fragile little thing that needs constant babysitting, Clarisse.” Her voice was sharp, though there was no malice behind it. “I’m a big girl, okay? I’ll be fine.”

Clarisse’s eyes flashed with hurt, and for a moment, she said nothing. Y/N turned away, her heart pounding in her chest. She understood why Clarisse was so worried. After all, Clarisse had been by her side through every battle, every near-death experience. But this? This was something she had to do on her own.

“I don’t care how strong you are, Y/N,” Clarisse finally said, her voice quieter but no less intense. “I can’t just sit here and let you go alone. I… I care about you. More than you probably even realize.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at the admission. She turned back to face Clarisse, her eyes searching her face for any sign of insincerity, but there was none.

“Clarisse…”

Before she could say anything else, Clarisse closed the distance between them, her movements swift and sure. In one fluid motion, she cupped Y/N’s face in her hands and kissed her—soft, urgent, and all-consuming.

Y/N’s world tilted as the kiss deepened, her body pressing instinctively closer to Clarisse’s. It was everything Y/N hadn’t realized she wanted—a surge of heat and tenderness all at once. It was more than just a kiss. It was a promise.

When they pulled away, both of them were breathing heavily, their faces flushed. Clarisse rested her forehead against Y/N’s, their noses almost touching.

“You think you can do this alone?” Clarisse whispered, her voice hushed, but full of an emotion Y/N couldn’t ignore. “You think I can just stand by and watch you risk your life?”

Y/N smiled softly, her heart fluttering. “Clarisse, I don’t need saving. I’m strong. But I don’t mind if you want to be by my side.”

Clarisse chuckled, the tension easing between them. “I’ll be by your side,” she said quietly. “But you’re not doing this alone, Y/N. I care about you too much.”

Y/N reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Clarisse’s face, her heart swelling with affection. “I care about you, too. But I’m going. Whether you like it or not.”

Clarisse sighed, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Fine. But I’m going with you. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Y/N shook her head in mock exasperation, though the warmth in her chest was undeniable. “You’re impossible.”

“Only when I’m fighting for what’s mine,” Clarisse retorted, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

As they made their way to the entrance of Camp Half-Blood, preparing to head to Olympus, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude. Despite everything that had happened—despite the dangers, the pain, and the uncertainty—she wasn’t facing it alone. Clarisse was with her, and in that moment, it felt like nothing could tear them apart.

The journey to Olympus was a blur, the sounds of the mortal world fading as they ascended to the realm of the gods. Y/N stood before the throne of Zeus, Clarisse at her side, and she could feel the weight of her father’s gaze upon her.

“Daughter,” Zeus said, his voice booming, “you have done well to retrieve my bolt.”

Y/N stood tall, despite her injuries, and offered her father the stolen bolt. “It was a team effort,” she said, glancing at Clarisse with a small, knowing smile.

Zeus nodded, though his gaze flickered briefly to Clarisse. “It seems you have gained not just the power of the storm, but the strength of loyalty and trust.” He paused, a faint smirk crossing his face. “And perhaps a little more.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away from her father’s piercing eyes. “I’ll always stand by my friends and my family. No matter what.”

Clarisse stepped forward, her posture proud. “And I’ll always be here, no matter what happens next.”

Zeus’s expression softened, though he didn’t offer much more than a knowing nod. “Very well. You’ve proven yourself worthy. You may go.”

As they turned to leave, Y/N glanced at Clarisse, her heart swelling with affection. She didn’t need Zeus’s approval to know what she had found in Clarisse was real.

They walked side by side as they descended from Olympus, Y/N’s arm around Clarisse’s shoulders as they made their way back to the mortal world. There was still much to do, many dangers yet to face. But for now, with the storm of their emotions finally settled, they walked together—strong, and ready for whatever came next.

______________________________________________________________________

The days that followed their return from Olympus were filled with a quiet sense of relief and rest. Y/N was still healing from her injuries, her broken arm in a cast and her ribs slowly mending with the help of the camp’s healer, but there was something more significant happening as well—her relationship with Clarisse was growing, shifting from quiet moments of tension to an open, loving bond.

Clarisse, ever the fierce warrior, had softened in ways that Y/N had never expected. She stayed by Y/N’s side constantly, her presence a comforting constant. Whether they were in the infirmary or walking around the camp, Clarisse was always there, her hand always finding its way to Y/N’s—protective, possessive, and gentle all at once.

One afternoon, after another long session with the healer, Y/N was sitting by the fire, the warmth of the flames kissing her skin as she leaned against the stone wall. Clarisse sat beside her, watching over her like a hawk, always making sure Y/N was comfortable, always offering a hand to help when needed.

“You know,” Y/N said softly, her gaze fixed on the fire, “I never thought I’d end up like this—injured, resting, relying on others to help me.”

Clarisse nudged her gently with her shoulder, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’ve always been a bit too independent for your own good. Maybe this is a lesson in letting others take care of you for once.”

Y/N grinned, glancing at her. “I suppose I can get used to it, as long as you’re the one taking care of me.”

Clarisse’s eyes softened, and she leaned in, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Y/N’s ear. “Of course. I’ll always be here, Y/N. Always.”

The words were simple, but they carried a depth that made Y/N’s heart swell. She reached up, gently pulling Clarisse into a kiss, slow and tender, savoring the closeness between them. It wasn’t a kiss filled with urgency or desire—it was the kind of kiss that spoke volumes without needing words. It was about the trust they had built, the understanding that they were in this together, no matter what came next.

As they pulled away, Y/N rested her forehead against Clarisse’s, both of them breathing softly in the quiet of the night. “You really don’t have to stay with me all the time, you know.”

Clarisse chuckled, her thumb brushing across Y/N’s knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere. If anything, you’ll have to chase me away.”

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering in her chest. “I think I’m okay with that.”

Clarisse’s grin grew wider, a playful glint in her eyes. “You better be. Because I’m not leaving your side.”

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N’s healing progressed. She was no longer confined to bedrest, though she still moved cautiously, her body not quite back to its usual strength. But each step she took, Clarisse was there—offering her a hand when needed, walking beside her through the camp as they shared quiet moments, stolen kisses, and laughter.

One afternoon, after Y/N had finished a light training session with Percy and Annabeth, she found herself sitting in a secluded part of the camp, watching the sunset. Clarisse joined her soon after, sitting beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist.

“I can’t believe we made it through all of that,” Y/N said, her voice soft but full of gratitude. “We actually survived.”

Clarisse kissed the top of her head, her lips lingering there. “We did more than survive, Y/N. We made it through together. That’s what matters.”

Y/N leaned into her, resting her head on Clarisse’s shoulder as they watched the sky turn shades of orange and pink. It was peaceful here—far away from the chaos of the quest, the battles, and the dangers they had faced.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” Y/N murmured, her fingers tracing the outline of Clarisse’s hand.

Clarisse chuckled softly. “You’d have probably gotten yourself into even more trouble.”

Y/N looked up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re probably right. But I think I’d always want you by my side, no matter what.”

Clarisse’s expression softened, and she leaned in to kiss Y/N again—this time a little more passionately. As they pulled apart, Clarisse’s eyes held a quiet intensity. “You’ve always had me, Y/N. No matter what happens next, I’m here. For good.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling in her chest. “Then let’s face everything together, Clarisse.”

They sat there for a long time, watching the sunset, wrapped in each other’s arms. The journey had been difficult—there had been pain, loss, and betrayal. But now, with Clarisse by her side, Y/N knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together.

Their love, like the storm within Y/N, had been tested—but now it was calm, steady, and unwavering. And for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt truly at peace.

[smilocity]

Family Reunion

I’m back! Sorry for not posting! School is starting again and I haven’t had the time to write some stories.

Anyway, I had this amazing idea! It’s about seeing your family members who are soldiers back from deployment!

Note: I saw this one video about a child running to his father after he appeared at the airport gate and it was so cute!

Pairings: Fem!Reader x 141 (individually, alongside with your children.)

Synopsis: Task Force 141 has just finished a long deployment of 3 whole months. Eager to see their families or loved ones, they decided to head home early in the morning. What they didn’t know was that their families were too eager to wait at home!

Warning: There is none! Just watch out for the cutest moments ever!!

Genre: Fluff, SFW.

John Price

John was tired. Exhausted even. Actually, exhausted was an understatement. He was on the brink of passing out.

3 months before wasn’t that much or a deal, but now that he has a son and a wife waiting at home. All he thinks about is his family and it pisses him off that he had his flight delayed over the wind picking up.

So when he could finally make it to his flight and ensure that the rest of his Task Force members were accounted for properly, he could finally sit down and take a breather.

It was a grueling 6-hour and 45-minute flight. Price did not know if he was going crazy but could swear that he took at least a 3-4 hour nap but saw that there were STILL 4 hours left to the flight. "Bloody hell..." To say the least, he was relieved to be back in London and on land. Getting through security and going to the luggage area to pick up his belongings felt like a blur.

He remembered walking through the gate to welcome the arrivals before hearing a familiar giggle. "I'm coming, papa!"

John's eyes widened when seeing his son running towards him, he didn't expect this but he sure damn is happy it happened.

Without thinking, he knelt down to welcome his son into his arms, picked him up, and continued walking while reuniting with his son.

"Hey, kiddo. Missed you lots," John smiled kissing the boy's head who squealed in delight.

You smiled when seeing the moment happen, having it on film to go back on this memory in the future, "Surprise! We wanted to see you first thing in the morning." "I would've told you to wait fo' me back at home. But I'm glad you came 'ere instead," John for once showed a genuine smile when speaking and hugging his wife.

Oh. How he missed his family.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gaz was eager to get back home as his wife had told him about being in labour during his deployment.

He was saddened he couldn't be there physically but sent letters and messages to show his support for his ever-so-strong wife for pulling through with a healthy baby and birth.

"Hells fuckin' bells, Gaz. You've been pacing 'round for 20 minutes straight," Soap commented, looking at his teammate moving around in the airport gate waiting area they're in.

The said sergeant sighed, groaning as he sat next to Price, "Sorry. Just a bit restless." "A bit?" The captain huffed out a small laugh, "Looks more than that to me, eh?" "He's just eager to meet his new addition to his family," Ghost spoke, scrolling through his burner phone.

And they were right, Gaz was eager to meet his baby girl as he couldn't be there for her birth. It made him nervous when thinking about his family.

Once they were called to board their flight, Gaz booked it towards the counter and was first to sit down.

Price blinked in amusement but didn't pry as he understood the emotions the young male was going through.

The flight lasted 5 hours, but it was like a whole day according to the tan-skinned male. (He was getting tired of aircraft after his series of falling out of them twice with Price during a mission.)

Once landing in London and saying goodbye to Soap as he was heading to Scotland, Glasgow to reunite with his family.

Gaz immediately went to talk things out with his in-laws about how to get to his wife and daughter.

But to his surprise, he didn’t know you gave birth a little in advance while he was in early deployment.

"Yeah. So sorry to bother you. Is it possible that one of my brothers could pick me up from the airport? It’s 7 in the morning, and I know it’s not ideal, but if you could at least ask one of them, that would be much appreciated."

While speaking on the phone with his mother-in-law. You were seen trying to wrangle your first born son while your newborn daughter was in a baby stroller as the rest of both you and Kyle’s family were all gathered to the greeting area of new arrivals.

"Hurry up, everyone!" Kyle’s mother whisper-yelled, seeing a glimpse of her son made her signal to everyone to get into their positions.

Price notified the sergeant on his phone earlier, "You okay, Gaz?"

"Yeah, Cap." He replied calmly, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Everything’s fine. Just trying to find my brother-in-law. Apparently Roy he was supposed to pick me up."

Price and Ghost have offered to drop him off but Kyle insisted on not disturbing them when they just returned from their deployment.

While walking to exit, a group of people suddenly yelled, "Welcome back!!" It was Kyle’s family and yours, greeting him back.

This made the sergeant stop in his tracks before a large grin appeared over his face as he walked over to his family and greeted them all.

"There’s someone else who wants to meet you!" His mother added after being able to hug her son.

"Papa!"

A young boy, no older than 3 years old ran towards his father making his heart flutter out of joy to see him.

"Oh, hey, bud," Kyle smiled, picking him up.

You walked over to your husband, "They were eager to see you."

Kyle was surprised to see their newborn daughter in your arms. He almost cried when seeing the fragile baby girl, "Oh, love, she’s beautiful."

The family hugged it out, "I’m home," he mumbled in his wife’s hair.

This was one of the best surprises he’s ever had in his lifetime.

John "Soap" MacTavish

(We all knew that Johnny would probably win when it comes to the biggest family reward. I mean, he’s a Scot, of course he’d have at least two or three older sisters waiting for him back home.)

The moment where he was allowed to head back to Glasgow was the time where he really was able to be just John MacTavish instead of Soap.

He’s just happy to be home and see his family. Especially his adorable triplets that his missus gave him in a healthy birth.

While getting his luggage, he felt someone wrap their around his shoulders, he instinctively tried to push the person off, military instincts kicking in.

But he knew that laugh…He knew who just tackled him.

"You troublemaker! I thought someone tried to tackle me," he laughed, hugging his older sister.

"Ha! You wish! Still haven’t beaten me yet, Johnny!" The ginger grinned, hugging her younger sibling tightly.

The two other sisters ran and lunged at John practically almost making everyone tumble to the ground.

But he couldn’t care less, he missed his family, his siblings. The people who supported him throughout his childhood and adulthood.

"Johnny!/JJ!” His other sisters, who are twins, also with ginger hair greeted him happily.

He laughed heartedly, for the first time in months he was able to laugh like he meant it. It felt nice to see his family again.

"Our golden baby brother is finally back," ever since his childhood, John could remember about his elder siblings shower him in gifts and love.

"Come on, you three. I’m not a baby anymore. I’m married and have kids," John dismissed their awes.

"Adult or not, you’re still our baby brother," his elder sister smiled before calling out to a group of people to join them.

"Papa!/Daddy!"

Huh…? He could have sworn he heard his children but couldn’t find them. He swerved his head to try and find the source of the sound.

And there they were, his adorable children running to greet him after being separated for so long.

John didn’t waste them to embrace them in a tight hug, “Aw! I missed you guys so much!"

Simon "Ghost" Riley

3 months…

3 months…!

3 months!

"Bloody hell…"

It wasn’t unusual for Ghost to be gone for long periods of time. But for some reason, he felt extremely tired and unable to think straight since his deployment ended.

All he could think about is you.

His wife.

His family.

His children.

The long flight towards Manchester was gruelling for him.

The checking in, signing the papers and getting his passport back while getting his luggage felt like an eternity for him.

He was about to call you that he’s heading out of the airport before seeing a banner at the exit.

It said: "Welcome home, Dad!"

To anyone, they would’ve thought it could any person, but Simon knew that that banner was meant for him.

"Daddy!" His eldest son smiled, running up to him, too eager to wait for him to walk towards them.

Without missing a beat, the tall man picked up his son, "I missed you!" The 8 year old grinned.

"Same ‘ere, kiddo."

You were seen holding your 4 year old daughter, "Welcome home, Si!"

The young girl squealed when seeing her father, "Papa!"

Ghost was no longer when he was with his family.

In their eyes, he was Simon Riley, your husband, the kids’ father and role model.

Simon picked up his daughter from your arms, happy to see his children after so long.

Both kids were seen in the big man’s arms, excited to have their father back after his long deployment.

"Did you wait long?" Simon asked, turning towards you.

You just waved him off, "Not at all. In fact, we got here half an hour before you got here."

"That’s good," He murmured before giving you a side hug, not wanting to squish the children still in his arms.

"Welcome home, Si," you said making him smile under the balaclava.

"I’m finally home."

Thanks for reading! :)

[fluentmoviequoter]

Reassurances

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!reader

Summary: Luca's fellow S.W.A.T. members tease him for dating someone who is younger and out of his league. Though he knows they mean well, sometimes he needs your reassurances.

Warnings: brief angst, insecurities, teasing, fluffy comfort!!

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

A/N: Luca deserves all the love!!! He gives the best hugs in the world, I just know it. (Sorry if he's OOC, this is my first time writing for him, but I will be adding him to my character list if anyone has more requests for him!)

“Luca! Your daught- sorry, your girlfriend’s here, cradle robber!” Rocker calls when he sees you.

“Knock it off, Rocker,” Hondo replies, turning to Luca to add, “The brainwashed model is here.”

“Guys,” Deacon chides. “Take it easy.”

“Thank you, Deac,” you say, waving as you walk past them to the situation room.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” Luca asks, pulling you into a hug.

“Just wanted to see you. I was in the neighborhood,” you answer, practically melting at Luca's touch.

“You’re sure everything’s okay?” he checks, pulling back to look at your face.

Smiling as you look into his icy blue eyes, you nod.

“Oh, I got you something while I was out this morning,” you remember. “Want it now or later?”

Luca’s gaze flits over your shoulder, looking at his team and a few members of 50-David not so inconspicuously watching you. “Later sounds good.”

“Luca,” you say quietly, “you know they’re just teasing.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Forcing a smile back on his face, Luca returns his full attention to you. “What else do you have planned today?”

“Not much. I’m probably gonna go sit at your house and wait for you to get home.”

Luca chews the inside of his bottom lip, debating if he should tell you that you can do whatever you want and that you don’t have to make special trips to see him.

“Hey,” you say, tapping his chest. “I want to see you. But if you’re busy, that’s fine.”

“No, ‘s not that, just…”

“Luca, I want to.”

Luca nods, his eyes and smile dropping as you approach him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you squeeze him tightly.

“Okay, I get it,” he says through a laugh, tapping your back.

 “I’ll see you tonight, then?” you ask, tilting your chin to catch his eyes.

“See you tonight,” he assures, rubbing between your shoulder blades.

As you exit S.W.A.T. HQ, you’re glad Rocker left already. 20-David’s teasing is clearly all in good fun, but Rocker always takes it too far, instilling doubts in Luca. You will never grow tired of reminding him that you love him, want him, and will choose him over and over for the rest of your life, but sometimes you want to put the other S.W.A.T. members in their place.

✯✯✯✯✯

While you get comfortable at Luca’s house, he counts the minutes until he can pull you into his arms again.

“Big plans tonight?” Deacon asks.

“Just a night in,” Luca answers.

“Only option at your age, isn’t it?” Street jokes.

Luca doesn’t reply, and Street looks at Tan. The rest of 20-David shake their heads at each other, acknowledging that they took it a step too far.

“Luca, I didn’t-“ Street begins.

“It’s good,” Luca answers, closing his locker. “See you tomorrow, guys.”

“Bye, Luca,” Deacon calls. He turns toward Hondo, who shrugs.

“We may need to lay off him for a few days,” Hondo suggests.

“Trouble in paradise?” Rocker asks as he enters the locker room. “She remember there’s guys who don’t need to early bird discount?”

When no one replies, Rocker raises his head and asks, “Is he okay?”

“We don’t know,” Street answers, looking at Luca’s locker. “But he has to be. If he’s not, it’s our fault.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The door opens, and you rush to greet Luca, wrapping your arms around him as he closes the door. You know something is wrong when his arms don’t immediately circle you. 

“Luca,” you say softly, pushing your fingers through his hair, disturbing the gel he put in it this morning. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head, his shoulders lowered and drawn toward each other.

“Do you want to sit with me for a while? I, for one, could use some good company.”

“You could get better company,” Luca whispers.

Sighing, you wrap your hands around Luca’s arm, leading him to the couch. After you push him to sit, you turn toward the kitchen to get him a drink, but his hand leaps up and catches your wrist. The questioning look in his eye, like he thinks you are leaving him, is enough to break your heart. Kneeling before the couch, you raise your hands to Luca’s cheeks.

“Look at me?” you request.

When he lifts his tired, glassy eyes to you, you silence. You’re not immune to insecurities - no one really is - but seeing Luca questioning you and your relationship like this is especially painful.

“You’re all I’ll ever want,” you promise. “I will choose you, Luca, every single day.”

Luca shakes his head, and you gently press your hands against his cheeks as you comfort him.

“You wanna know something about me?” Luca’s gaze raises back to your face, and you say, “I could marry you right now.”

Sniffling, Luca leans closer to you. Moving your hands down to either side of his neck, you lean between his knees, pressing your weight into the couch.

“The guys,” Luca begins, taking a shaky breath. “I know they’re just teasing, but they’re right about so much, you know?”

“No, I don’t. Tell me what you think they’re right about.”

“You’re too young for me, way out of my league… You could do better than me.”

“Can I ask a question, and promise not to take it the wrong way?”

Luca shrugs, and you crack a small smile. 

“You have to at least say you’ll try,” you add.

“I’ll try.”

“Why’s it bothering you so much today? Some days you roll with the punches, and joke with them. Today was different, though. Did something change?”

Dropping his chin, Luca presses his face against your arm beside his jaw.

“It’s me, right?” you ask. “You realized you’re in way better shape than me, that this whole time you’ve been out of my league.”

“What?” Luca mumbles against your forearm.

“I mean, you work out all the time for work, chasing down bad guys and jumping out of helicopters. You got tired of my joints cracking every time I stand up, right?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Luca says with a chuckle.

“Exactly.”

Luca shakes his head, and you wipe a stray tear from his cheek. You stand, keeping your hands on him as a tangible promise that you’re not going anywhere. Luca looks up at you from the couch, following your movement.

“I mean it,” you reiterate, “I could marry you right now. Dressed like this, and that’s saying a lot.”

Dressed in a stretched-out t-shirt that once belonged to Luca and your favorite, comfiest bottoms, you hope you’re getting your point across.

“How are you not tired of me yet?” Luca asks. “We have this conversation too often.”

“I don’t mind telling you how I feel. Luca, I love you, and I will scream it from the rooftops… maybe not this rooftop because you moved to a neighborhood filled with known gangs.”

You sigh as Luca finally returns your hug, wrapping his arms around your waist and pushing a hand under your shirt to press against your back.

“Tell me,” you murmur.

“I know you love me,” he answers. Moving his hand further up your spine, he adds, “And I love you.”

You smile, turning to sit beside Luca. He leans against you, his eyes stuck to yours as he smiles.

“Don’t ever listen to Rocker, he’s an idiot. I don’t know how he got married before you.”

“Maybe he’s the one that brainwashed somebody.”

Chuckling, you agree with Luca before remembering the surprise you got him. Moving out from underneath him, you disappear into the guest bedroom, and when you reemerge, Luca is watching for you.

“It’s not much,” you begin, “but I got you this.”

Luca pulls you back onto the couch before extending his hand. You lay the small package in his palm, turning to watch him open it.

As Luca removes the paper hiding the gift, you realize you are the lucky one in this relationship regardless of what he thinks about who is out of whose league.

Luca moves his hand to catch the two toys that fall toward his lap. Turning them over, he smiles as he looks at the diecast cars.

“Is this supposed to be Black Betty?” he asks, raising the vintage Hot Wheels S.W.A.T. van.

“I saw it and thought of you. Like I said it’s not much, but-“

“It’s perfect,” Luca interjects. “You’re perfect.”

Leaning toward him, you take the van from his hand so he can examine the matching police car.

“You deserve nice things, Luca,” you remind him. “And you deserve to be happy with whoever you want, no matter what your team says.”

Luca nods, setting the cars on the table before pulling you into his arms. He doesn’t always have the words to say, but his actions and everything he does for you show you that he loves you and wants you, even when thinking he doesn’t deserve you.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you walk into S.W.A.T. HQ the next week, after receiving a less-than-informative text from Luca, you cross your fingers that any teasing he encounters won’t push him as far as last time.

“Somebody get a chair lift for Luca! He needs to get to another level before she realizes she left him behind!” Street yells when he sees you.

Luca hears the commotion as Tan and Hondo join in on the teasing and rushes out to meet you. He hugs you, keeping an arm around your shoulders as he leads you toward the situation room.

“What’s it like dating someone who’s so far out of your league?” Rocker asks, a teasing smile on his face.

“At least we have standards and didn’t scrape the bottom of the dating barrel,” Luca replies, “but that’s more of your thing, right?”

Rocker’s jaw drops, and you press your lips together to stifle a laugh. 20-David, however, doesn’t try to hide their amusement, turning their teasing to Rocker as they follow him out of the ring.

“That was unexpected,” you say, smiling as Luca continues walking again.

“Still want to marry me?”

“Of course,” you answer without hesitation. “Wait, right now?”

Luca raises his brows, smiling as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Not what I meant, but why not? You’re all I’ll ever want.”

Luca cups your jaw, and you whisper, “Reassurances are my job.”

[justabigassnerd]

Protected

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x daughter!reader

Word count - 1,654

Warnings - creepy guys, protective Jake & Mickey, being made uncomfortable, angst, fluff

Summary - when you get bothered by customers at work, Jake and Mickey can't just stand by and watch

A/N - hey y'all! sorry it's taken me so long to get a new fic out, I swear I'm trying to write faster but I be struggling. this was a request sent in by @stupendousnightmaretrash so here's a formal apology for taking so long. anyways I won't ramble, as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

Growing up it had always just been you and your dad, and you were perfectly fine with that arrangement. There would be a small number of people that would come in and out of your life, but your dad stuck around no matter what and he was all you needed.

Then he got called back to Top Gun.

After completing the mission he was called back for, Jake and his squad were offered a permanent position at Top Gun so they could all remain together which brought a new array of people into your life. You knew Javy of course; he and your dad had formed a close friendship early on so having him back in your life was a welcome surprise. Then there was the likes of Bradley, Bob, Ruben, and Natasha who became your honorary uncles and aunt. Then there was Mickey who somehow became like a second father to you. He was the youngest of the Daggers and so everyone had assumed he’d take more of an older brother role towards you, but he showed his complex maturity when he helped you solve a problem you were having, and you often found yourself going to him with problems you weren’t ready to talk to your own dad about yet to get advice from him.

A couple of years down the line, your dad and the Daggers were still based in Miramar and life was just as good as it was when the team first became an official squadron. You had recently turned sixteen and gotten a job working at a little restaurant along the beachfront for a little extra cash. It wasn’t the best job in the world, but it was something.

One evening, after a long day of work at Top Gun, the Daggers decided that they’d visit the restaurant you worked at to grab some dinner and to also surprise you while you were working.

The squadron turned up and waited excitedly to be seated and Jake couldn’t help but smile when he saw your eyes light up upon seeing the team gathered. You found them a table and handed out menus to everyone. The smile never leaves your face as you talk to them, getting their drinks orders before heading off to go and get their drinks. When you returned with their drinks you took their food orders and took them to the kitchen before returning to your section and seating two middle-aged men at a table near the Daggers. At first, they were polite, thanking you as they initially sat down and gave you their drinks orders with kind smiles but as the evening progressed their behaviour shifted. When you brought them their meals after the Daggers were just about halfway through their own dinners, the two men started looking you up and down, making uncomfortable flirty comments and one of the men even tried to run his hand along yours as you placed his food down in front of him. None of the men’s comments or actions went unnoticed by Mickey, who nudged Jake and pointed out how uncomfortable you clearly looked while serving the two men. When you moved away from the table to grab more drinks for the two men, Mickey and Jake exchanged a look and pushed their chairs away from the table, rising in sync and crossing to the two men.

“Can we help you?” One of the men asks, raising an eyebrow as they stare up at the two aviators who fold their arms across their chest in tandem, glaring down at the two men.

“You can stop bothering my daughter, that’s how you can help me.” Jake says, jaw set as his gaze grows colder by the second. The two men share a brief glance before letting out small chuckles.

“With all due respect. Your daughter is very beautiful.” One of the men has the gall to say, making Jake almost shift to land a punch on that man’s cocky smile, but Mickey was quicker, grabbing Jake’s shoulder and pulling him back a couple of paces to reduce the fight risk.

“She’s also sixteen years old. She’s just a kid!” Mickey has to hold himself back from screaming it in the man’s face as his friend shrugs.

“Well, she looks older.”

“And you still think that makes it okay?” Mickey says as Jake shrugs Mickey’s hand off his shoulder and approaches the two men, bracing his hands on the table, and leaning down so he’s in their faces.

“You two have about five minutes to pay your bill, give my kid a good tip and get your sorry asses out of here.” Jake’s voice was low and threatening, but the two men chuckled once again.

“What exactly are you going to do if we don’t do that?” The man asks, smirking cockily as he leant back in his seat, arms folding over his chest.

“I’ve got an entire team of naval aviators behind me, and they will not hesitate to get involved on my kid’s behalf.” Jake is seconds away from throwing a punch when the men laugh in his face.

“I have your- what’s going on?” Your return should’ve been expected yet in the moment all four men had forgotten you had gone off to get drinks.

“Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart.” Jake says, straightening up and flashing a smile in your direction as Mickey drops his defensive stance to make everything seem more natural.

“Exactly, sweetheart. Are those our drinks?” One of the men says, condescension in his tone as he looks you up and down, frowning when you begin to look uncomfortable at his words.

“Oh come on, you can’t serve us with a smile?” He then says, and Mickey immediately walks over to you and takes the drinks off the tray.

“Mickey, what are you doing?” You ask in a hushed whisper as Mickey winks quickly, refusing to answer before turning around and slapping the biggest grin on his face and approaching the table.

“Here’s your drinks.” Mickey says, placing both drinks down making sure he spilt a bit over each man as he put them down.

“What are you doing?” One man says, standing up and attempting to brush the drink off his trousers.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to be served with a smile. I must’ve gotten a bit carried away.” Mickey says, the grin never leaving his face as both men grab napkins to wipe at their clothes while Jake crosses to you.

“Why don’t you grab the bill for these two? I have a feeling they’ll be leaving soon.” Jake whispers, watching as you nod lightly and head back to get the bill for the two men. Jake and Mickey return to the table with the Daggers, telling them that the situation appears to be defused and that since they had finished up all their meals, they’d get the bill and pay after the two men left. Jake kept glancing over at the two men as you brought over their bill and thankfully their mouths remained shut and they paid for their food and drinks silently before finishing their drinks and leaving the restaurant. When they left, you went over to the Daggers table and got them their bill and took the payments. You said goodbye to each Dagger in turn as they left but Jake and Mickey stopped in front of you.

“We’re going to wait outside for you, I know you don’t have much longer of your shift, and we want to make sure those assholes don’t come back.” Jake says, both he and Mickey smiling softly at you as you nod, thanking them before rushing off to finish off the rest of your shift.

Mickey and Jake sit outside the restaurant on a bench just by the beachfront and watch people taking evening strolls along the beach and listen to the sounds of seagulls calling and waves crashing against the sand. The two men found themselves talking about how work was going for them to pass the time until they heard you calling out for them, and they both turned and looked over their shoulders, a smile coming to their faces as they got to their feet and crossed to meet you halfway. Jake reached you first and trapped you in a strong but gentle hug.

“Was the rest of your shift, okay?” Was the first thing he asked as he hugged you, feeling you nod against his chest.

“Yeah.” You say as you pull away from the hug, moving to hug Mickey who embraces you happily.

“No one else bothered you?” Mickey checks in as he releases you from the hug.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Thank you, by the way. Those guys really gave me the creeps.” You admit, briefly casting your gaze to the floor before looking back up at the two men.

“No need to thank us, sweetheart. We’ll always look out for you.” Jake says with a soft smile.

“Honestly, if you two weren’t in the Navy I would’ve asked my manager to hire you guys. We could do with some people to help us handle the creepy guys. And I think Mickey would be an excellent waiter, he’s got the customer service smile down.” You say with a slight laugh, making both your dad and Mickey let out laughs of their own as they imagine Mickey being a waiter.

“Come on you, let’s get home.” Jake then says, the laughter dying down as Mickey slings an arm over your shoulders and tugs you into his side as the three of you begin to walk away from the restaurant, chatting and laughing the whole way as you enjoy each other’s company. The events of the evening are now behind you as you cherish getting to spend time with two of your favourite people. And you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

[marwritesgood]

Come Back to Me | S. Harrington

Pairing: Steve x Hopper!Reader

Timeframe: Season 4

Summary: A long anticipated reunion, but nothing was going to plan.

previous part

series masterlist // main masterlist

a/n: its good to be back :) adding a lil author’s note in the comment section regarding this pt x

December, 1978

Y/n couldn't sleep.

She wasn't sure what time it was. She wasn't sure how long it had been since her mom told her it was lights out, or how long she had been staring at the ceiling since, haunted by the silence. Time moved much differently now. Everything was different without Sara.

Knowing there was no chance she would be sleeping anytime soon, Y/n sat up shifted out from beneath her comforter, and carefully opened her bedroom door. As she crept closer to the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise to wake her parents, she realised her dad had already beaten her to the freezer.

“Y/n?" Hopper squinted and switched the kitchen light on to be sure. She looked a tired mess, but then again, so did he. “Bug, what are you still doing up?”

Y/n sighed, doubling back, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Explaining herself to either one of her parents had become something she dreaded. It was the very reason she tried to limit her conversations with them altogether, not that they made it all that difficult.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

To her surprise, Hopper smiled. It was faint and hidden behind a sigh of his own, but it was there. Y/n wasn't sure why she was expecting a lecture followed by an order to go back to her room, but she knew she was grateful such a reaction was nowhere in sight.

“Me neither," Hopper replied, his eyes dancing between the floor and the door to the freezer. He looked back to his eldest daughter, now his only daughter, and pursed his lips. “I know it’s more of you and your mom’s thing but… I could really go for some ice cream right about now.”

Y/n smiled weakly, a quiet chuckle slipping out from between her lips.

“Me too.”

She took her seat at the dinner table and Hopper followed suit shortly after with a tub of ice cream and two spoons. They ate together in silence, each stealing quick glances at the other from time to time, both grateful for the precious moment in time where there was no expectation of them to do or be anything other than a father and his daughter eating ice cream in the middle of the night.

***

March, 1979

Y/n couldn't sleep.

She couldn't remember the last time she was able to, but she knew there was no chance of her being able to for a hell of a long time now. Every time she came close to drifting off, all she could see was her mom and Sara, two faces she would never be able to see again.

However, this time was different. This time, she drifted off for only a moment before waking up abruptly, a panicked mess. Her chest moved rapidly as she heaved, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to calm herself down, but to no avail.

Desperate for something, anything, to soothe her, she sprinted to the kitchen barefoot, too numb to feel anything much less the ground beneath her. Instinctively, she opened the freezer, hoping a few spoonfuls of ice cream would be enough to bring some sense back to her body, only to be met with emptiness.

It seemed three weeks of avoiding the groceries had finally caught up to the Hopper household.

As she shut the freezer close, the front door swung open. Hopper came stumbling in, barely bothering to close the door shut behind him, much less look where he was going. Y/n realised that this was routine for him as she watched him navigate his way through the clutter and rubbish and into his bedroom. He didn't even notice her standing in the kitchen, still hyperventilating, still a panicked mess.

This was how it was, she realised, and this was how it would be for a hell of a long time. With half of their family gone, it seemed only inevitable. Y/n stood frozen in the dark for a while, haunted and paralysed by the silence. She didn't feel like she was anyone's daughter, and it didn't feel like Hopper was anyone's dad anymore.

It appeared that they were nothing more than two ghosts tethered to a house, they no longer wanted to be in, but in no way tethered to each other anymore.

***

April, 1980

After listening to him fumble with his keys for a solid ten minutes, Y/n watched from the kitchen as Hopper came stumbling into their home. She cleared her throat.

“Where have you been?”

Hopper stumbled back, startled that Y/n was still awake. His breath hitched when he realised the look she had on her face. He knew this was an all-time low for him, but he felt too far-gone to abandon the habits he had developed over the past year, however bad they were.

“There was a holdup at the-“

“Are you drunk again?” Y/n's voice was loud and angry, sobering Hopper up completely for a split second. She kissed her teeth and shook her head. “Dad, come on, you promised me.”

This was not the first time Hopper had been called out on having too much to drink, and at the rate he was going at, Y/n knew it would not be the last. She hated the person he was turning into and hated herself for giving him the benefit of the doubt so many times.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, trying to stand straight and still, but failing miserably to do so. As he continued to sway, struggling to keep his balance, Y/n's brows drew closer together as she remembered the hellish evening she had to endure on her own.

“You know everyone was asking where you were.”

And naturally so, Y/n told herself. It was his wife's and his daughter's memorial and he was nowhere to be seen. Their friends and family came from all across the Midwest, but he couldn’t despite being in the same town.

“I’m sor—“

“Aunt Jenna kept telling me I was always welcome to go to her place in Michigan," Y/n interrupted him, her voice growing louder as she grew angrier just recounting the conversation.

Telling her she was welcome to come over anytime meant they had no faith in her dad’s ability to look after her, which Y/n resented and refused to play into.

"I had to lie to everyone, just to keep them from asking questions ab—“

“Dammit, Y/n, I said I was sorry!”

She gulped, taken aback by his outburst, but willing herself not to flinch or let it go. He had gone too far that night, and she was done giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Hopper's shoulders slumped and he drew in a sharp breath, regret seeping in almost instantly. He hated what his habits did to his temper, but not enough to resist what it did to his grief.

“I really am…" Hopper whispered, his feet finally steadying. "I’m sorry, bug.”

Usually that would be enough. A short apology and a half-hearted promise not to do it again and she would be off to her room and he'd be free to sleep the night off. This time, however, Y/n crossed her arms and clenched her jaw, giving Hopper the impression it wasn't enough. Far from it.

“You know, I wish you’d stop apologising and just be better, dad."

Her voice was as cold and piercing as the stony glare she unmistakably targeted at him. He lost her faith in him bit by bit over the course of the past year. Now, she was sick to death of his empty words.

Hopper winced. It was fair, part of him knew that. However, at the same time, an overwhelming part of him continued to scream that it was unfair. All of it.

He went to speak but found a quiet so escaping his lips.

“I just... I miss them so much.”

“I know, I miss them too," Y/n whispered softly, giving Hopper the impression that she was finally letting it go.

But, instead, her glare grew more piercing.

“That’s why I showed up to their fucking memorial," she hissed before going to her room and slamming the door shut.

Hopper collapsed onto the couch, but he couldn't sleep the night off. Instead, he laid awake, staring at the ceiling as it continued to spin, the sound of Y/n's voice echoing all night in his head. It was all unfair.

***

November, 1982

Y/n’s eyes closed and she was hoping to get even a few minutes of shut-eye but her father was not going to let that happened. It was bad enough she had to endure a lecture from him at the station, in front of her friends from school.

“You’re lucky officer Robinson recognised you and told me, otherwise you’d be spending the night at station with everyone else.”

Hopper gripped the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were beginning to turn pale. He gave his daughter a quick sideways glance before ultimately deciding it was in both of their best interest he kept his eyes on the road.

“Lucky me,” Y/n muttered, not even bothering to open her eyes, her head still rested against her window. She desperately hoped he would just move on already, but from the audible huff he let out, Y/n knew he still had much to say to her.

“What were you even thinking? Anything could have happened to you.”

Hopper's heart sank when he got the dispatch call from Robinson. The entire drive back to the station, all he could think of was all the sorts of trouble his daughter could have been in had she not been taken in.

Y/n was quiet for a moment. Letting out a sigh, she opened her eyes and looked at Hopper momentarily before turning back to the view outside her window. Maybe it wasn't the wisest choice, but underage drinking at a house party definitely beat sitting at home alone on a Saturday night for the millionth time in a row.

“…You’re never home,” she mumbled quietly.

“That’s no excuse, Y/n.”

He was right. It was no excuse. Not for her at least. Him not being home never stopped her from keeping the house in somewhat order, keeping her grades up at school and staying out of trouble. There was no doubt Y/n had it in her to do everything expected of her, but it wasn’t fair that for all she did for her dad, the favour was never paid back.

Y/n bursted into a fit of quiet cries.

"Bug?" Hopper's voice and expression softened completely. "Bug what’s going on?"

The fact that he didn't know made Y/n's tears multiply. Usually the lonely Saturday nights didn't bother her quite as much, but it was the anticipating sitting alone at home again the following week that really tore her up.

"It’s my birthday next week."

"Oh."

She wiped her tears and looked down at her fingers, too upset to look at her dad but too prideful to continue to cry in front of him. Things were so different now, and she hated it. More than anything, Y/n wanted things to be how they were before when there were four of them and not just two.

"Mom used to make my favourite for dinner and bake my favourite cake and we’d all eat together. But you’re never home and mom and Sara are…" Y/n couldn't bring herself to say it aloud, knowing if she did the waterworks would return. She sighed, leaning her head back and squeezing her eyes shut. "I’m just so sick of being alone."

Hopper was quiet. His grip on the steering wheel loosened. Suddenly, he felt like the biggest jerk for scolding Y/n instead of realising she was hurting. He hoped it was not too late to make things right.

"Let’s do dinner."

Y/n glance at him for a second and then let out a scoff. She had heard enough empty promises from him to know better than to trust anything that came out of his mouth.

"I’m serious, bug," he added, knowing what that scoff meant. "I’ll get off early and pick you up from work and we’ll have dinner together here. Just like we used to."

Y/n studied him closely, unsure what to make of his proposal.

"You promise?"

"I promise, bug." Hopper didn't miss a beat. "I’ll make it happen."

Y/n felt her worries ease.

"Ok. But I’ll make dinner for us," she insisted, knowing if it was one less thing her dad had to worry about, it was all the more easier for him to follow through. "You just have to pick me up, ok?"

"Ok," Hopper spoke softly, smiling when Y/n closed her eyes and leaned against her window again. It seemed easy enough to do.

***

April 6th, 1986

Joyce’s weird demeanour made Y/n nervous to open the door to her bedroom, but when she did, that feeling vanished instantly. He was half his weight, bald and beard-less, but there was no mistaking it. It was him, and he was standing up from the edge of her bed and smiling at her. Y/n’s eyes watered and she inhaled a shaky breath, her voice a croaky hushed whisper as she spoke in disbelief.

“Dad?”

She closed the door behind her and stepped in cautiously. The last time she saw her dad was through the vision Vecna showed to her. Y/n felt her chest tighten as mind struggled to decipher whether this necessitated her flight or fight response. Before she could make her mind up, Hopper had pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, quickly becoming choked up by it all.

Seeing her again and hugging her again, it made the previous 8 months of hell worth every excruciating second.

Y/n didn’t know whether to scream or burst out crying. It didn’t make sense. For that reason, she couldn’t bring herself to trust it just yet. Pulling away gently, she placed her hands on the side of his face, revelling in the fact that it was him. It was her dad.

“I-I thought you were…” Y/n shook her head, tears rolling down her face. “Is it really you?”

After everything at Starcourt, part of her did humour the idea that maybe her father didn’t die, but she quickly dismissed that trail of thought as a coping mechanism. She knew holding out for a miracle would do her no good.

“I’m right here, bug,” Hopper smiled.

Y/n’s tears were free falling the second he called her bug, something she had accepted no one would ever call her again. She shook her head and hugged her dad tightly, savouring the feeling of his embrace but also revelling in the fact that she didn’t need to. He was not dead.

After they pulled away, the two of them sat on the edge of Y/n’s bed and found themselves crying the laughing then sniffling then doing it all again, all while briefly going over the obvious changes.

Y/n joked about her dad’s hair and he brought up the way she rearranged her room. Y/n asked what happened to him and he muttered something about a prison and Russia and how he would bore her with the finer details later. Y/n’s heart swelled at the reminder that there was a later. That he was no going anywhere. That he was not dead.

“So… you and Steve?”

“Yeah,” Y/n chuckled. That was another reminder that made her heart swell. She had Steve as well as her dad now. They both came back her. “He’s done a lot of growing up, and he’s never left my side.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hopper smiled.

Whatever reservations he once had about the Harrington kid, none of it mattered to him anymore. Y/n confirmation that he stuck by her, that counted for everything to Hopper.

Y/n studied her father closely, her concern growing tenfold as she noticed remnats of cuts and brusises across his face and along his arms. She hated to think about what it took for him to get out of the Russian prison or what the effects would do to him.

“Dad, are you ok? Are you… are you gonna be ok?”

Hopper reached for hand and squeezed it three times.

“Yeah, bug,” he assured her. “I mean… it was rough, obviously, but… I made it home.”

He hoped that was enough to cast her worries at bay, but by her unchanging expression, he knew there was something else bother her.

“Dad, I’m so sorry for what I said,” Y/n wept. It was the one thing she had spent the past few months desperately wanting to tell him. “I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

At least not in any way that made it ok to say to him, she reconciled.

Hopper squeezed her hand again and shook his head dismissively.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He kissed the top of her head and gave her a reassuring smile which she returned only without the sincerity. Something about his response did not sit right with her. While Y/n couldn't quite put her finger on it, she knew part of it was her hope that in being the first to say sorry, he would finally come around to saying it back.

Before more could be said, the sound of another vehicle pulling into the driveway travelled through Y/n’s open window. Hopper’s eyes lit up.

“I think that’s El and the others.”

He shifted to stand up, but Y/n kept him from doing so.

“Stay here, dad. I’ll get her for you.”

Part of her wanted a break from talking to Hopper, while the other desperately wanted for El to have her own time with their dad. Y/n knew that if seeing her dad alive and well made her heart swell the way it did, El’s reaction would only be bigger.

The van they drove in on was what Y/n recognised as Argyle’s ride. She barely made it off the front porch before being enguled by the all too familiar embrace of her littler sister.

“Y/n!” El was beaming, unable to keep stil as she hugged her big sister firmly. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you so much,” Y/n replied, running her hand over El’s shaven head and the squeezing her tightly. Nothing compared to the real deal.

“I’m so happy you’re ok,” El exclaimed after pulling apart from Y/n.

She hoped her sister had made it out ok, but there was no way of knowing for sure until they made it home. The entire drive to Hawkins, El’s stomach was in knots as she kept remembering the sight of Y/n laying unconscious in Steve’s arms.

“Yeah, I owe you one.” Thought parts of that night were still hazy to Y/n, she remembered El saving her clearly and vividly. “… I owe you a massive one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” El replied instantly.

It was nothing Y/n wouldn’t have done for her had the roles been reversed. It was a nice change saving her for once when, for the last few years of El’s life, Y/n had been saving her.

“I have so much to tell you.”

“Me too,” Y/n smiled inconspicuously. “But first, you need to go to my room.”

“What?”

Her confusion made Y/n chuckle. Suddenly, Joyce’s demeanour earlier made a lot of sense.

“Just… trust me,” Y/n grinned, gently pushing El up the front porch steps. “We’ll catch up after.”

“Promise?” The younger girl turned around and held her pinky up. Y/n rolled her eyes playfully and looped her pinky with El’s, prompting her to turn back around and follow her sister’s instructions.

Watching El walk into the room where Hopper waited with illuminated eyes, a familiar knot began to form in Y/n’s stomach and she hated it fiercely.

***

April 9th, 1986

There was never a conversation about all the changes that would be made to the living arrangements at the cabin. When Steve, the Wheelers and Dustin went home, the Byers stayed and set up camp in the living room.

Y/n didn’t mind, at least not at first. However, the more Hopper, El and the Byers began to settle in, the more she found herself becoming irritated at the little disruptions it made to her usual routine.

She didn’t like having to constantly remind her dad she kept the mugs in a different cabinet now. She didn’t like waking up to a messy kitchen because Will and El raided the fridge at midnight. She didn’t like having to wait for the bathroom to be vacant to have a shower, only to realise her favourite shampoo was already empty because everyone assumed it was free for all.

Y/n hated feeling so annoyed by the people she cared so much for so, as much as the little disruptions irritated her, she tried her very best not to let her feelings surface. She told herself she just needed time to adjust and that, as overwhelming as the change could be, a full house was better than an empty one.

After a few days of much needed rest and settling in, Hopper announced to everyone that it was time to clean and declutter the cabin to make more room. Y/n reluctantly went along with it, even though watching Joyce and her boys move her stuff around the house made her skin crawl.

"Oh, hey Joyce, you cant throw that away," Y/n said hurriedly, recognising the box she was carrying outside to the 'trash' pile. Joyce stopped in her tracks, and sheepishly walked back in.

"Oh, I’m sorry. Hopper said he looked through and it was just old documents."

Y/n winced. Perhaps if her dad had spent less time reorganising her life and more time listening to her, they would be on the same page. Perhaps it wasn't fair of her to feel so irritated by Joyce and the boys when her annoyance should have been aimed at Hopper.

"Yeah, it is," Y/n began, softening her expression, "- but it’s also records of when the cabin came under my name."

It was sure to be important when it became time to sort through the nightmare of legal paperwork her dad's return from the dead caused.

"Oh, ok," Joyce nodded. "You want me to put it in your room for you?"

"Yes please."

The older woman obliged without another word, which Y/n appreciated more than she could say. It was nice to feel heard, especially after feeling like she was on the outside looking in for the past few days.

After a couple hours of decluttering and cleaning the living room with El, Y/n went to her room for a much needed break. By the time she mustered enough will to go back outside, she saw Joyce and El going through her box of all the polaroids and photographs Y/n came across when she cleaned the cabin 8 months ago.

“You guys found the old photos," Y/n beamed, picking up one of the pictures from the pile and grinning. It was of her and Sara.

“I was telling El it might be nice to put some up, make the cabin a little homier," Joyce suggested, smiling nervously. "Would you be ok with that, Y/n?”

She drew in a deep breath and smiled.

“Yeah, that sounds nice."

More than nice, Y/n thought to herself. She wondered if that was what made her so irritated about the Byers moving in: the lingering fear that the more Joyce and her sons settled into the cabin, the less space there would be for any memory of her mom and Sara.

This was a nice way of ensuring that didn't happen.

Joyce's eyes lit up when she pulled out another photograph. From the writing on the back, Y/n knew it was a photo Jonathan took of her, Steve and the kids after high school graduation.

“Oh my god, Hopper look at this one," Joyce beamed.

He stopped what he was doing in the kitchen and come to have a look. Joyce handed him the photo and he drew his brows together, smiling nervously as she glanced between the photo in his hand and the others in the box. Aside from the pictures with Sara and his wife, the rest were new to him.

“How come I’ve never seen these photos?”

Y/n didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or scream.

“You weren’t there," she muttered harshly. "I didn’t see a point in showing them to you.”

Hopper's demeanour turned sheepish almost immediately. Between Y/n's cold expression and Joyce's widened eyes, he found himself flustered and in desperate search for an exit.

“I’ll move them into your room.”

He didn't wait for her to say anything before putting the photos back into the box, then lifting it and taking it away, with it any chance of him letting her and Joyce put the photos up around the house.

Y/n's blood boiled watching him scurry, and then it dawned on her, surely and swiftly. The reason her stomach was in constant knots for the past few days had nothing to do with the Byers and everything to do with her dad, and the fact that just as he was not dead, so too were his old ways.

***

April 10th, 1986

Y/n lifted the glass of water in front of her and held it out, fully extending her arm. Nurse Jackson studied her closely, looking for any sign of discomfort, just as she did every time Y/n came in for her routine check up for her injuries.

“Any pain?” Nurse asked, to which Y/n promptly shook her head. “Good. I’ll get you some extra bandages just in case, but I think you should be in the clear now.”

The nurse wheeled her desk chair to the medical supply shelf behind her and came back with a handful of bandages for Y/n. She turned back to her and sighed. The young girl stared blankly at her shoes and nervously tugged at the hem of her t-shirt, not noticing nurse Jackson inquisitive eye.

“Is there anything else that’s been bothering you?”

The older woman's voice appeared to jolt the younger one back to reality. Her head shot up and without a moment of thought, she shook her head. Nurse Jackson narrowed her eyes.

“Y/n.”

The young woman sighed shakily, turning her attention to restless fingers. After a brief moment of silence, she cleared her throat and spoke quietly.

“I’ve actually been having a lot of trouble sleeping… for a while, but especially this past week," she began. “I wake up either in cold sweats or hyperventilating or both. Sometimes its like... I-I feel like I'm going crazy.”

Y/n half expected a look of concern from Nurse Jackson, but the older inched closer and gripped her hands, grounding her worries if only for a second.

“Honey, our town just had a record-breaking earthquake and your dad is back after being presumed dead for nearly a year…”

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut. She had heard that spiel a million times, to the point where it had lost most of its consolation. Nurse Jackson continued.

“Frankly, I’d be concerned if you were getting a good night’s rest.”

“I know," Y/n answered shortly, her patience growing thin. She shook her frustratedly. "I just… I’m sick of feeling like this. All I want is to move forward from all this. How do I do that?”

She wanted a quick fix. She wanted Nurse Jackson to have all the answers, write her a prescription for something and for that something to make her normal again. To make her feel like she had some semblance of control over her life despite the past year proving otherwise.

“There are a lot of ways of moving forward, and the best route is going to be different for everyone." Nurse Jackson tried to give a comforting answer, but knowing Y/n, she knew it would be met less than kindly. "- But the main thing is that you don’t do it alone.”

“I’m not alone," Y/n quipped defensively.

Nurse Jackson pursed her lips.

“The other main thing is that you let yourself process everything that’s happened."

Y/n let out a defeated huff. The past few weeks felt like a juggling act, with each day seemingly burdening her with one more thing to deal with. Now on top of it all, she had to find the time and the energy to reflect on everything that happened to her.

“I’m processing everything as best I can."

The older woman knew that, for the most part, she was telling the truth. But Nurse Jackson could also spot an avoidant patient from a mile away. This one, in particular, was a patient she had grown incredibly fond of.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Y/n.”

Her words caught the young girl by surprise. She didn't know whether to be apologetic, offended or defensive.

“All I’m saying is…" Nurse Jackson pursed her lips once more and drew in a deep breath as she tried to find the right words. "-As long as you keep burying your feelings and putting on a brave face, you’re never gonna move forward.”

Y/n hung her head, bashful that in the little time they knew each other, Nurse Jackson saw her so clearly, which was more than she could say for many of the people who knew her for much longer.

"You know, I think Ms Kelley is still offering free sessions." Nurse Jackson's voice was quiet and cautious. The last time she brought up the sessions to Y/n, she just about cursed her for suggesting it and stormed out of the room. "If you ever want to take her up on it, you just let me know and I'll sort that out for you."

The young girl didn't give her a definitive answer. She merely nodded her head and left quietly, discreetly wiping her teary eyes once her back was turned. However, Nurse Jackson was confident Y/n would take her up on her offer soon.

***

April 16th, 1986

Y/n's night was the same as it had been for what felt like an eternity. She woke up gasping for air, completely overcome by fear of impending danger despite being safe, sitting among Steve and the kids who were all passed out from movie night. She clung her fist to her chest and tried to steady and quiet her breathing.

Not wanting to wake anyone, she shifted Steve's comforter off her legs and left him sleeping on the ground by himself so she could sneak into the kitchen. She tried to shift her attention away from her frustrations, but as tears began to form in her eyes, it was hard to focus on the pot of coffee she was trying to make. Defeated, she dropped pot down abruptly on the counter and held her head in her hands.

"Still can’t sleep, huh?"

Steve's arms wrapped around her, his hands turning her around until she faced him. Y/n shook her head and dropped her hands, revealing her teary tired eyes to the only person she trusted enough to see them. Steve kissed her temple, just as he did the countless times he stayed awake with her.

He looked past her shoulder and spotted the coffee pot and grounds, and smiled playfully.

"Call me crazy, but I think having coffee in the middle of the night might not be helping."

Y/n rolled her eyes, nudging him gently.

"You don’t have any cocoa."

Steve chuckled, before pulling away and turning back to the pantry which Y/n had searched every inch of, for almost half an hour. He crouched down and moved a stack of canned soup to reveal a tin of cocoa. Y/n smirked weakly, her brow quipped.

“You’re hiding your cocoa now?”

“Just when the kids are here,” he explained sheepishly.

After the boys, under Dustin's leadership, got hot chocolate everywhere and gave themselves a sugar rush, Steve decided cocoa was not something he could leave unattended during movie nights.

Y/n sat at the kitchen table, mindlessly tapping her fingers against the surface as she waited for Steve to finish making their hot chocolates. Once he returned, he placed his hand atop hers to cease the tapping.

“What’s on your mind?”

She sighed. So much, that was the simple answer. There was so much on her mind, too much to unpack over one mug of hot chocolate.

“It’s weird seeing my dad again,” Y/n began. “- Having him around again.”

He nodded silently, sipping taking a sip from his mug.

“Everything is supposed to just be ok now because we all made it out alive, and I want things to be ok, but… it just doesn’t feel right. It doesnt feel fair.”

It should have been enough for her. She wanted it to be enough for her that everyone was ok and everyone was back home, but no amount of pretending made it so.

“It feels like I’m supposed to just forgive him? I’m supposed to just move on?… without even an apology?”

Steve’s brows rose and then knitted together.

“No one’s expecting you to do that, Y/n.”

She knew he was trying to comfort her, but she could name one person that was. She sighed and opted to squeeze Steve’s hand since he was keeping her from tapping.

“He asked me to go back home tomorrow night for dinner,” Y/n mumbled, unsure how she felt about the proposition.

She had been actively avoiding him and though it took him nearly week, it seemed Hopper was finally catching on. At least, that’s what Y/n told herself when he pulled her aside the last time she helped out at the shelter.

Steve squeezed her hand once, offering a small smile.

“That’s a good sign, right? Maybe he’s ready to talk.”

Y/n stared blankly at her mug.

“Maybe,” she huffed, though deep down she still was not sure.

***

April 17th, 1986

Dinner at home was not what Y/n expected. For one, it was only her, her dad and Joyce. While Jonathan was with Nancy, El and Will had plans with the rest of the kids. Walking in to a table set for only three left Y/n feeling uneasy, and yet hopeful that maybe her dad wanted time with her.

However, this hope dwindled as the night went on, because all they talked about over Joyce’s spaghetti was getting the cabin back in order. Y/n could hardly make sense of it, that was until her dad brought up meeting with an attorney before sliding a pen and a document across the table to her.

“What’s this?”

Startled, Y/n turned the document over and skimmed through it. While it was saturated with a lot of legal jargon she was unfamiliar with, she saw the words “title” and “transfer” then put two and two together. A red sticker flagged the place where she was to sign her name. She noticed that her dad had already signed his.

“Oh.”

Her face fell the very instant she pieced it together. A familiar knot began to form in her stomach. Hopper looked at her concernedly. When she met his gaze, she felt almost nothing.

“Bug, are you ok?”

Y/n wanted to laugh.

“You’re… so fucking priceless, dad.”

Hopper drew his brows together, taken aback at his daughter’s change in demeanour.

“What?”

“This is why you asked me to come home?”

She gestured towards the documents. There she was hoping that dinner at home meant finally having a proper conversation with her dad, when all it was was a ploy so he could get what he wanted. Hopper scrambled for a coherent response, words to keep things from escalating, but his mouth ran dry.

“When did you organise all this?” Y/n questioned, her cold glare going back and forth between the document and her dad. He sighed and ran his hand over his mouth.

“A week ago,” Hopper admitted sheepishly. As he suspected that escalated the tension in the room. “I sent the deed to the cabin to an attorney’s office.”

Y/n laughed coldly, remembering all too well the day he came close to throwing that very deed away. She felt a painful sense of clarity wash over her. This had little to do with the cabin and everything to do with controlling everything, Y/n felt certain of it.

“Of course,” she spat. “I should have fucking known.”

Hopper frowned, feeling an all too familiar sense of guilt settle in his stomach. He suspected that she might have some reservations about giving up ownership, but never expected this.

“I can understand if you’re upset.”

“Oh cut the bullshit, dad.”

He slammed his fist against the dinner table, prompting Joyce to come sprinting in from the kitchen.

“You don’t need to talk to me like that,” Hopper fired back.

“No, you know what? I will talk to you this. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You sure about that?”

Y/n did not take notice of the fact that they were both standing, leaning over the table, glaring at each other with the exact same expression. Nor did she take notice of Joyce, who stood at the end of the table, at a loss for how to de-escalate the situation, and if de-escalation was even possible.

“Y/n, maybe-“

Before the woman could finish speaking, Y/n kissed her teeth and shook her head, her tempermant getting the better of her.

“Joyce, this is between me and my dad.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.”

His words came with no delay, no hesitation, Joyce could see the way that upset Y/n.

“It’s ok,” the older woman told Hopper, before turning to his daughter and shaking her head reassuring. “It’s ok.”

Joyce excused herself and went to hers and Hopper’s shared bedroom. It was not until she closed the door shut that the argument resumed.

“What’s gotten into you?” Hopper asked, dumbfounded.

“You!” Y/n shouted, frustrated that she had to spell it out. “It’s bad enough you’re being accommodating to everyone but me, but you’re forcing your way back into everything on your terms and I’m really fucking sick of it.”

“Oh you’re sick of it?”

“Yes, because this is you! This is who you are! This is who you’ve always been and I feel like an idiot for expecting anything to be different with you.”

How could it be, she realised. While she was hoping her dad had changed for the better, he was hoping she remained the same. It was no wonder he was so nonchalant about everything, from moving in the Byers to stripping her of ownership of the cabin.

“Maybe a couple years ago, I would have let it all slide without kicking up a fuss, but I’m not doing that anymore,” Y/n argued.

She needed him to understand that while it was clear he wanted things back to how they were, she was far from the girl she was a year ago, and for a good reason.

“I can’t go back to doing that, dad. And it’s really shitty that you’re expecting me to.”

Hopper sighed, relieved that they were talking as opposed to yelling, but gutted all the same by what he was being accused of. He shook his head.

“I’m not expecting you to do anything, bug.”

“Yeah, you are,” Y/n argued. “You want me to be ok with you changing everything without a heads up. First you rearrange everything, then you move a whole family in, now this… You want me put up with everything, like I always did, but I’m not going to do that.”

She could not do that to herself again. Not after reliving it with Vecna. Y/n desperately wanted better for herself, and she wanted him to understand that and to want the same.

“I had no idea owning the cabin meant this much-“

“Oh my god, this isn’t just about the cabin!” Y/n shouted, frustrated that he was taking everything at surface level when there was much more to it.

Hopper winced, baffled as to how everything he says always ends up being the wrong thing.

“It’s about you and me, dad. All of it is about you and me and the fact that… you just don’t care about anything that’s important to me.”

“That’s not true,” Hopper argued, certain that while there was a lot he did not know about Y/n, especially after a year apart, he still knew the things that mattered most. She, on the other hand, was not so sure.

“You don’t even know what’s important to me.”

Hopper scrunche his brows together, offended that she thought so little of him. He knew her, he told himself. He had to.

“Looking after the people you care about,” he began, “protecting El and the kids… that’s important to you.”

Y/n scoffed and shook her head, leaving her dad to wonder how that was the wrong thing to say.

“Not the obvious stuff, or the stuff that we both care about.”

Those were a given, Y/n deemed. Those required no real effort on his end, which only proved her point further. Frustrated and partly defeated, Hopper tossed his hands up in the air.

“Then what are you getting at, bug?”

She swallowed thickly, but the lump in her throat persisted. It mattered less to Y/n that her dad did not understand her, and moreso that he never seemed to try to.

“Dad you were gone for almost a year. And El was gone and Steve and I weren’t together,” Y/n wept. “This cabin and everything I kept inside here… it was all I had for the last 8 months. It was all I had when you were still shitfaced drunk and were barely home. And you just come back and take it all away like its nothing.”

Hopper huffed, his gaze dropping down to the floorboards, too ashamed to look her in the eye. When he finally did look up, she wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands, sniffling quietly.

“Bug… I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she scoffed.

He never asked her. He never really spoke to her. For all she knew, he never even thought of her or what she went through. How could he expect to know anything about how she was feeling?

Y/n caught a glimpse of herself in her reflection in the window, and a sense of fatigue began to linger.

“Look, I get that you’re ok and you’re fine and you’re past it all, but I’m not. I’m still stuck in the middle of it. I’m still hurting.”

“Is that what you think?” Hopper questioned, bewildered. “You think I’m ok? You think I’m past everything?”

“What else am I supposed to think when you’re too busy playing happy family with your girlfriend to consider my feelings in all of this?”

“Y/n, c’mon,” Hopper pleaded. “That’s not fair.”

She shook her head. Who was he to talk to her about unfair?

“If it wasn’t your addiction, it was El Now, if it’s not El, it’s Joyce and every other person in Hawkins. You’re always so preoccupied with everything and everyone else and I’m always just an afterthought. I’m not an idiot, dad, I can read between the lines.”

Hopper knew, now, what she was getting at, and he hated it. He resented the accusation he knew she was about to make.

“Bug-“

“I know when I’m not wanted.”

There it was. Hopper shook his head and went to reach for his daughter’s arm.

“Y/n, stop it.”

“I can’t!” Her voice snapped before she reached the end of her sentence, sending the worst kind of chills down Hopper’s spine. She shook her arm out of his grasp and moved away. “This has literally haunted me for years. It’s haunted me. You’ve haunted me.”

Long before Vecna got the chance to.

Hopper felt his lips tremble. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words could form.

His blank expression only pained Y/n more.

“I mean, honestly… Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt me? Any recollection at all?”

She looked at him pleadingly, hoping for something. For any kind of confirmation that he knew all the things he had done. If he knew, she could have hope of him having remorse, of him apologizing and him making amends. But, if he didn’t, Y/n couldn’t see how having any hope would be possible.

Hopper blinked, still at a loss for words. He remembered some arguments, but the rest were a blur, and he knew no memory he could muster up would be one that Y/n was referencing.

She knew, at this point, she was grasping at straws, but Y/n couldn’t help herself. She needed to know.

“Do you remember my 16th birthday?”

Hopper said and did nothing.

A sob escaped Y/n’s lips. Alone, again; that was how she felt. That was a night so painful and so deeply etched into her memory because of him, but he could not recall any part of it. Hopper stumbled forward, terrified of what Y/n’s sobs meant and where their conversation was headed.

“Bug, please, I don’t wanna fight with you. I don’t wanna go back to doing that,” he started, his voice shaky, alongside his hands. “But, believe me, I also don’t want to pretend like things are ok. I want it to actually be ok. I wanna fix things, I wanna make things right with you.”

He should have done that first. He should have said that first, before anything else. Hopper hated himself for taking so long to realise that. He placed his hands on the side of his daughter’s shoulder, only to be met with silence.

Y/n had a blank expression, one which Hopper still studied profusely, hoping for some indication that things would be ok. She felt defeated. She felt fatigued. This was an argument she felt like she had had with her dad a million times before, and they all ended the same. Maybe it was finally time they cut their losses.

“And what if you can’t?”

Hopper flinched.

“Don’t say that.”

She couldn’t possibly think that, Hopper told himself. After everything that kept them apart, he could not accept that an argument would be the thing to sever their relationship. Y/n sighed.

“If the last 8 months couldn’t fix things between us, what are the chances that anything will?” She had no more tears. That was the part that terrified Hopper the most. That, and the fact that she was refusing to look him in the eye. “And… after everything that’s happened, I’m just… I’m so tired, Dad.”

“I know,” Hopper whispered.

Y/n finally looked at him, but nothing in her expression changed.

“No. You don’t.”

She knew that now, better than she ever had before. He could never know what she went through. He could never understand her now. And, for as long as that remained true, they would never truly see eye-to-eye on anything.

Y/n pushed past her dad and approached the dinner table. Hopper turned around and watched, puzzled by what she was doing until he saw her pick up the pen and sign the document.

If that was what he wanted from her, it would be the last thing she would ever give him, Y/n decided. He would have the cabin, but only she would have all the memories made in it. Time would move on, just as he so deperately wants, but she would always remain stuck reliving the pain on her own.

After signing the document, Y/n silently grabbed her jacket and headed towards the front door. Hopper stepped forward.

“Y/n-“

“Don’t,” she warned, turning around and facing him before he could get any closer to her. “I really don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

Y/n slammed the front door behind her as she left. The sound exhoed in Hopper’s head as he struggle to come to grips with everything. He saw so much of himself in her when they argued, but when she walked away from him, he saw so much of her mother. He had done it, he realised. He lost another one of his girls.

***

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[absurdthirst]

A Bumpy Road {Frankie Morales x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6k

Warnings: Fake marriages, mentions of emotional alienation/affairs, fighting, drunk driving, death, feelings, injuries, mentions of surgeries, confessions, oral sex, vaginal sex, mentions of family planning

Comments: In order to stay on his team and keep his toxic ex in-laws from gaining custody of his daughter, Frankie does something crazy. He marries you, his friend. You need insurance and he needs someone to care for his daughter, ignoring how he feels about you until he ends up hurt on his deployment.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You have an idea, it’s outrageous, outlandish and completely insane but it might just actually work. You bite your lip nervously as Frankie paces in front of you, swiping his hands through his hair and it’s unusual to not hear the rasp of the shorter military high and tight he used to wear. Since being accepted into Delta, he had been allowed to grow his hair out past normal regulation, the need to look less like the soldier necessary for the ops he would be running. Unless he has to give up his entire career because of the three year old little girl currently napping in her room upstairs. 

“How could they do this?” Frankie hisses, angry and frustrated. Scared that they actually could take his daughter from him, terrified they would. “They can’t do this. I just- I asked for help while I was deployed! Not to take her from me!” It had been a mistake to reach out, to talk about his upcoming deployment. The papers had been delivered by a court server today. He was being sued for full custody of his little girl by his late wife’s family. 

Your mind races, trying to talk yourself out of the crazy idea but you can’t. It would work. Better yet, people who knew you would believe it. And Frankie could prove that he had care in place for his daughter, stability. The military would get off his back and his former in-laws would have no case. The bonus would be that you would have health insurance for the first time in years. “Frank.” You murmur quietly, following his frantic pacing. “Frankie!” You call louder, getting his attention this time as he stops mid-turn to look at you. “Marry me.”

His eyes widen, absorbing your words, and he thinks back on how damn long he’s been in love with you. It’s hard to think about but he nods, knowing that this is smart. You need your meds and the insurance will get them for you. He needs a caretaker for his daughter that isn’t his toxic former in-laws. “You’re a genius.” He declares and cups your cheek to kiss your forehead. “God, how - you are a goddamn angel, baby. That’s perfect. We can - we can get married before I deploy and then Ana can have someone - are you sure you want to take over caring for her? I know you babysit and when I’m away but - full time? It’s a lot of work.” He says, lowering his hands from your cheeks.

“I won’t lie and say that I’m not nervous.” You chuckle and melt at the soft, grateful expression in his warm eyes. “But she’s a good kid. And there’s the daycare, so I can still work.” The more you think about it, the more that you know it’s the right thing to do. “Ana loves me, and I know you don’t want to lose her or give up your spot on the team. The boys need you.” The fact that you have very strong feelings for Frankie doesn’t need to factor into this. “I say we get married quickly so you can let your in-laws know that it’s a losing case.”

Frankie can’t believe you’ve agreed to do this and he knows he will owe you for the rest of his life. He can’t lose his daughter but he also can’t leave his friends, his brothers, to go into danger without him. “I want you to pick a dress. I’ll pay for everything. Rings too. I- I want it to be us and Ana. No one else. She loves you already and I- are you sure you want to do this?” He asks, reaching for your hands to squeeze them.

“It’s not completely altruistic.” You remind him, knowing that he is aware of your need for health insurance. “I want to do this. I know we need to take care of things, power of attorney and things like that, but I want to help you, Francisco.” You promise quietly, imagining a small courthouse wedding with the handsome soldier. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t sure. We’re friends. It’ll be easy.” 

Frankie nods, knowing you know him inside out, even the dark things he hides from the outside world. The dark sins he has committed. He leans in to kiss your forehead, “I think so too, I- I can’t believe I’m saying this but - but I can’t wait to marry you.” He smiles as he pulls back. You are his best friend and as much as he tries to deny it, he’s in love with you. He knows you’re better off in the dark on that particular sin. It wouldn’t benefit you to know that. His late wife knew and that’s what killed her. 

**** 

“Janet, please. Just calm down, sweetheart.” Frankie pleads, following his wife down the hall. Ana is crying, woken up by the screaming, and Frankie is desperate to deny what Janet is accusing him of. 

“You’re fucking in love with her! Just say it. I- you didn’t love me. Did you? It’s always been her.” Janet screams down the hall and Frankie shakes his head, unable to answer. When Janet got pregnant, he was just about to be called up for a deployment and he knew he had to do the right thing and marry her. He loved her, he did. In his own way. He can’t love her like he does you, though. You are the sun, the moon, the stars. Everything to him. He had done the right thing and married Janet but she was never you. When Ana came along, she became his world and he stayed for her, fought for her. 

When Frankie doesn’t answer again, Janet shakes her head. “I knew it. You bastard! You shouldn’t - you shouldn’t have married me. It’s over Frank. It’s done. I- fuck. I gotta - I gotta go.” Janet says, rushing towards the front door. 

“Wait. Don’t. You can’t fucking drive. You’ve had three glasses of wine.” Frankie growls, having long accepted that his wife became an alcoholic in his absence, drinking when the nights were lonely and Ana wouldn’t stop crying. He didn’t realize it until he came home from that first tour. 

“I’m fucking leaving otherwise if I stay in this house, I’m gonna kill Ana.” She threatens and Frankie growls, grabbing her purse. 

“You fucking - threatening the life of our daughter? You- I know you’re hurt but you’re a - get the fuck out. Go kill yourself on the goddamn road for all I care.” He growls, shoving her purse at her. She doesn’t say a word as she leaves and Frankie watches her drive down the street. 

Little did he know that he’d be getting a call an hour later to tell him that his wife had died in an accident, driven into a tree. He was upset, mostly for Ana, for the mother she’d never get to have. Janet looked after her well-being but was never affectionate or caring. Now she has no mother at all. “I’ll be right there.” He promises the cop and the next number he dials is yours. “Hey. Yeah, um, I know it’s late but can you come over? I need someone to watch Ana for me. I’ll explain when you get here.” He says and hangs up after you agree. His wife just died but his heart still beats at the sound of your voice. He’s committed many sins but tonight might just be the worst of all. 

****

“You don’t need to be nervous.” You remind yourself as you look in the mirror, hands trembling as you lean towards the glass and smudge a little more of your eyeliner into place. “It’s Frankie, he’s not- he doesn’t actually love you.” That stings more than you thought it would as you wear the white tea dress you had picked out to get married in. Feeling like a bride and yet not one all at the same time. It’s going to be just ten minutes before Frankie will be here to drive you to the courthouse to exchange vows. The marriage certificate is ready to be signed by the magistrate that will officially declare you Mrs. Francisco Javier Morales. The knock on the door startles you, and you look towards it before glancing back in the mirror. “It’s time.” 

When you answer the door, Frankie’s breath is taken away from him. You look devastatingly beautiful. “You look so pwetty.” Ana grins up at you and you look at her in her little white flower girl dress that is similar to yours, her hair done in what looks like an attempt to style it by Frankie. 

“She’s right. You look - you look incredible.” He says, his dark eyes meeting yours and he offers you a boyish grin.

Frankie is wearing his uniform, you had asked him to but it’s impossible to think of anything but how handsome he is wearing his medals. “Not nearly as incredible as you.” You reach out and your finger strokes his jaw. “You shaved.” Your finger grazes his lip and you pull back, aware that if you keep touching him, you will want to kiss him for real. “Every single woman in town is pissed at me today.” You promise. 

Frankie suppresses the shiver that runs through him at the way you caress his face and he knows it’s going to be hard not confessing how he feels. He knows you only think of him as a dear friend and even if, by some miracle, you didn’t, you wouldn’t be able to look past his sins. He’s not good enough for you. He blushes and clears his throat, “alongside every man.” He counters and Ana tugs on your hand, “daddy got me petals.” She holds up the basket that she insisted Frankie get her. She had heard about flower girls from her friends in pre-school and she insisted Frankie let her throw the petals down before you walk down the aisle. “I know it’s only a courthouse wedding but Ana wanted to make it special.”

“Thank you, Ana.” You bend down to look the little girl in the eyes, knowing how excited that she is. For her, this is exciting and fun, something that she will play with her friends the next time she sees them in school. “You are the prettiest little flower girl I have ever seen.” You promise, making her smile and you reach out to cup her little cheek. “Now I know your daddy talked to you about it, but how would you like me to come stay with you and daddy? Help him make breakfast and do your hair? Would you like that?” 

Ana nods, her eyes wide, “yes! Daddy never gets my hair right.” She says with a pout, “are you my new mommy?” She asks and Frankie had spoken to her about this. How you were going to come live with them, how you were going to be his new friend and that her mommy was still with her. He hates how selfish Janet was to drink and drive and the guilt he felt when she died after he all but forced her into the car, but there was something in her eyes. He’s seen that look before. She would’ve hurt Ana and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

“I-” You frown slightly, unsure of what to say to the young girl. “I would like to be your friend. A good friend. But I also don’t want you to feel like I am trying to become your mommy unless you would like that.” It might be a little more than a three year old understands, but you don’t want her to feel like she has to forget Janet. 

Frankie kneels beside his daughter, “your mommy is your angel, remember? She’s gonna look after you.” Frankie smiles and says your name, “she’s gonna be your friend when daddy is gone fighting the bad guys, okay? You are safe with her and she loves you as much as daddy does.” Frankie knows his job is much more complicated than good guys and bad guys but it’s how he can explain to a three year old that he’s gonna be gone for so long. He hates missing huge parts of her life but he can’t let his team down. 

“Okay daddy.” She hands him the basket and steps closer to wrap her small arms around your neck.

You smile at the two of them together and you know that you are doing the right thing. You are giving Frankie the opportunity to keep his daughter here with him so he can come home to her when he can. “Are you ready to go throw the petals down, sweetheart?” You ask softly. “I bet daddy will take us out for ice cream after.” 

Ana grins and nods, squealing “lets go!” 

Frankie chuckles and stands up, holding his hand out to his daughter and he winks at you, “lets go get hitched, baby.” You smile and he holds his arm out to you, guiding his girls to his truck. 

****

Ana beams as she tosses the flowers on the floor, Frankie would say in heaps more than scattered but he chuckles and she comes to stand beside him. When you walk down the small aisle, Frankie exhales shakily, his heart pounding and he’s certain you can tell he’s sweating. When you stand in front of him, you beckon Ana to stand between you and Frankie knows he’s made the right choice for his daughter. It’s always been you.

The magistrates ceremony is brief and you barely remember any of it, grinning like an idiot as you stand there with Frankie, imagining if this were actually real. “Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?” He asks, making you swallow harshly before you squeeze his hands. “I do.” You promise clearly.

Frankie nearly yells “I do” but manages to control himself, staring into your eyes as the officiant declares you husband and wife. “You may now kiss the bride.” Frankie knows this could be the only chance he gets to kiss you so he leans in to cup your cheek, pressing his lips to yours and he is firm but not demanding. It’s not brief but it doesn’t drag, despite Frankie wanting to pull you against him and slide his tongue into your mouth. This is an agreement between friends and nothing more. He pulls back and smiles, looking down at Ana between you who looks happy. This feels right. After signing the marriage certificate, Frankie takes your hand to guide you and Ana back to his truck. “I - I hope you don’t mind…it was supposed to be a surprise but the guys put together some food and drinks at Tom and Molly’s.

“Really?” Your mouth drops open in shock and you smile when he nods. “Oh my god, that’s so sweet.” You gush before you frown. “Wait.” Twisting in your seat, you watch as Frankie buckles Ana into her car seat. “Do they- uh, know what the situation is?” You ask softly, unsure of what you can say around them. 

Frankie shakes his head. “No.” He finishes pulling the strap up Ana’s chest and looks over at you. “I wanted them to be able to truthfully say they believe it is real.” He explains, making you nod in understanding. There’s the possibility that Frankie’s in-laws could still come for custody or challenge the validity of the marriage and it’s better if everyone thought this was real. “Got it. Happy newlyweds.”

Frankie is grateful that you’re going along with this. He knows it benefits you too but it’s a lot to ask, to pretend to be married to him. The drive to Tom’s house is quiet and when you knock on the front door, Molly opens it with a “congratulations!” You grin and Frankie holds your hand and Ana’s as he walks inside. All of his team are there, several of your mutual friends, and Frankie is blushing when they shout “congratulations.”

“Hot damn!” Benny bellows, making you automatically grin as the younger Miller brother bounds into view. “Fish got married! You son of a bitch, you hid it from us!” He tackles Frankie in a bear hug while Molly pulls you in for a  hug. “What? Afraid she’d see me in my dress uniform and run off with me?” Ben teases, pulling back to grin at his friend before he scoops you up in a hug. “She wouldn’t have done that? Would you, sweetheart? You’ve been in love with ole Fish for years.” Benny teases.

Frankie picks Ana up, not wanting her to be excluded and he tries to ignore the comment, aware that people have thought you and him have been in love with each other for years. It’s true on his side but he doesn’t fool himself into thinking you love him as more than a friend. “Shut up Benny, my wife has good taste.” He jokes and Pope walks over. 

“Couldn’t pick a best man so you decided to do it solo?” Pope jokes and Frankie gives him a one armed hug. 

“Uncle Pope!” Ana cheers as Santi takes her into his arms, “hey chiquita.” He kisses the cheek of his goddaughter. 

Frankie smiles, turning towards Will. “You finally did it, huh? You convinced her to marry you, you son of a bitch.” He chuckles and Frankie hugs his friend. 

“Guess so.” He grins as you greet your friends and they admire the ring Frankie had bought you. He had spent quite a bit of money on it, wanting to make something about this situation real.

The party is fantastic but after a few hours you are ready to leave. Not because anyone is rude, but the jokes about you being pregnant before Frankie leaves for deployment and giving Ana a sibling just curl in your stomach. Knowing that you are never going to have that with your husband because he didn’t marry you for love. He married you for Ana and to fight off his in-laws. With the little girl passed out against her father’s shoulder, you use that as an excuse. “We need to get her home. Today was a big day for her.” You tell Molly when she offers to keep Ana overnight so you and Frankie can have some time alone. “I think we will settle in better if she’s there with us.”

Frankie nods, aware that he won’t be getting a wedding night. He’s not that stupid. He would never ever ask it of you. “She’s right. I want Ana to feel settled since we are leaving soon.” He says and rubs your back with his free hand. “Let’s go, sweetheart.” He murmurs and he keeps Ana in his arms while he says goodbye to his friends, knowing he will see them soon.

In his truck, you look over after he’s pulled away from Tom and Molly’s. “We didn’t discuss sleeping arrangements.” You realize, rolling your eyes at yourself. “I can stay at my apartment until you leave, but I would rather Ana get used to me being there.” You admit. “Or I can stay in the guest room if you prefer? When Ana notices that we aren’t sleeping in the same bed, you can say that you don’t sleep well beside me? Or….” you bite your lip, imagining curling up next to him. “We are both adults. We can sleep next to each other, right? You have a king sized bed.” 

“We can share a bed. We are adults. Not like we haven’t before.” He reminds you of when he used to get drunk and end up in your tiny one bed apartment, seeking solace and a late meal after a night out with the boys. “Besides, I think it would be best if Ana thinks this is real. I want her to think that this is real so she is happy with you. Not that I don’t think you’re not - you know what I’m saying, right?” He asks as he drives to his house.

“I know what you mean.” Reaching out, you pat his hand and give him a smile when he looks over at you. “It’s a good thing we’ve started carting some of my things over, right?” You have every intention of selling most of your things, since Frankie’s is already established and your furniture holds no sentimental attachment for you. “We can go get my ID and everything tomorrow. Get me set up in the system as your wife?”

Frankie nods, “yeah. We will sort everything out tomorrow.” His heart pounds in his chest at hearing you call yourself his wife and he swallows harshly, knowing that nothing can be done. For your sake and Ana’s. He can’t fuck this up by letting his feelings get involved. He sighs and pulls into his driveway, killing the engine and he’s careful as he takes Ana out of her car seat.

As Frankie takes Ana to lay her down, you take the bag that Frankie had brought over into the master bathroom so you can change out of your wedding dress into some comfortable pajamas. They aren’t fancy or sexy but you had bought some new, cute sleeping clothes since you would be sharing a house with Frankie. Washing the makeup off and taking your hair out of the careful style you had put it in for the ceremony. Looking more like your normal self when you open the door to find your new husband in the bedroom you will share. 

Frankie is carefully hanging up his uniform when he sees you and his heart clenches at how fucking beautiful you look. He feels guilty that he’s got you in this situation, in a marriage of convenience when you deserve all the love in the world. He strips down to his boxers, pulling a plain shirt out to pull on. “You want some water?” He asks, clearing his throat and you nod so he ventures into the kitchen, exhaling shakily to force himself to calm down. This isn’t a real wedding night. “Here you go, sweetheart.” He says and hands you the glass.

“Thank you.” You sit on the end of the bed and take a sip of the water, trying to calm your nerves and you sigh. “I know that this is- that we aren’t actually together, but I want you to know that I’m not going to embarrass you while you are deployed.” You tell him. It's been a long time since you’ve dated but just because you aren’t really Frankie’s wife in all senses doesn’t mean you are going to mess around with anyone. “You don’t have to worry about that.” 

Frankie comes to sit down beside you, reaching for your hand. “I- I know this isn’t easy but if you do meet someone…you need to tell me and we end this. I shouldn’t - I don’t want to get in the way of the rest of your life. I love you - for - for doing this for me, and I will never be able to repay you. You’ve helped me keep Ana and I’ll forever be in your debt. I can’t - I can’t hold you back if you find someone and want to live your own life.” It kills him to say it, hating the thought of you with anyone else but he can’t be selfish, not when you’ve done so much for him.

It’s hard not to immediately assure him that you would never meet anyone else. Not when you are in love with him and no one has ever stood up against Frankie in your heart. Instead, you nod. “And I want you to do the same thing. You deserve to be happy, Frankie and when you meet someone that does that for you….” You give him a weak smile and go for a joke. “It will be the easiest divorce in the history of divorces.”

Frankie chuckles softly, his heart sinking but he ignores that and leans in to kiss your cheek. “Let’s get some sleep. It’s been a long day and I know Ana will be waking us up with excitement to have our first day together. I want to do as much as I can with her before I leave. Tomorrow, let’s go get you in the system and go for breakfast.” He says and lets go of your hand so he can slide under the covers.

Frankie has his side of the bed established, so you climb in on the other side. Knowing that you don’t mind it and you are thankful that his bed is comfortable. “It was a good wedding, Frankie.” You murmur as you lay down beside him. “Thank you. For not thinking that I was crazy.” You grin at him, knowing that he is also thankful you are willing to do this. “Goodnight hubby.”

“Goodnight wifey.” Frankie chuckles, leaning over to turn the lamp off and you curl up, falling asleep pretty quickly. He doesn’t. Staying awake and listening to your soft snores, murmurs, and breathing. His heart aches for you, to curl around you and breathe you in. He can’t ruin this. You don’t feel the same way, you want the insurance and to help him out. It takes a while but eventually he falls asleep, unaware that he had ended up doing the thing he was trying to avoid: curling around you.

Waking up in Frankie’s arms is a special kind of hell. Because you know that this is only because he’s asleep and not because he’s decided that he wants you in the middle of the night. Even if the very prominent hardness pressed against your ass makes you want to pretend that he does. The good thing is that Frankie is a heavy sleeper when he’s home so you manage to wiggle away from him before you wake him up. “Morning.” You huff when he starts to stir. “I have to pee, go back to sleep.” You urge softly.

He grumbles, hugging the pillow you were sleeping on, inhaling your scent from it, and he falls asleep again, wanting to make the most of this time at home. When you walk into the kitchen, you decide to get a start on making some coffee and eventually, Frankie wakes up, rolling onto his back and willing his morning wood to disappear. When the mental attempt is fruitless, he gets into the shower. Groaning as he wraps his hand around his cock, he remembers the dream he was having of you underneath him, celebrating your wedding night for real.

In the kitchen, you are reminding yourself that Frankie is just a man who wakes up with a hardon. It doesn’t mean that he wants to throw you up on the counter and fuck you. Deciding that you will make a small breakfast for Ana, giving Frankie some space and allowing you to cool down.

“Fuck. Oh fuck.” Frankie groans, jerking himself as his cum paints the shower wall. He’s lost track of how many times he’s imagined fucking you while in this shower. After cleaning off the shower and himself, Frankie brushes his teeth and shaves, getting dressed just in time for you to finish Ana’s breakfast. “Thank you for doing that.” Frankie says and fixes himself a cup of coffee after he sees you already have a cup.

“Of course.” Ana squawks over the baby monitor, obviously just waking up and you smile. “Do you want to get her or do you want me to start getting into a routine?” You ask, before you answer your own question. “Let me get her. I’ll be right back.”

Frankie watches you go, sipping his coffee and smiling as he listens to Ana sleepily say good morning on the monitor before she realizes you’re still there and she is excited, telling you how she wants to make cupcakes and show you all her dolls. It makes Frankie feel comforted that his little girl will be looked after while he’s gone. “Morning baby girl.” He greets her when she walks into the kitchen, eyes still sleepy and he picks her up to kiss her cheek. 

“Daddy. I want pancakes.” She demands and Frankie chuckles, “we will get pancakes later baby.” He says your name, “she made you some eggs for now.”

Ana frowns slightly and shakes her little head. “I no want eggs.” She pouts, crossing her arms and you try not to smile at the ferocious little look on her face. 

“Oh, well..” you sigh softly, “I guess you don’t have to eat the eggs. Even though they give you lots of energy to play.” You tell her softly. “Especially since this is just supposed to be first breakfast.”

“First breakfast?” She pipes up and Frankie nods, “yeah. Pancakes are second breakfast. But only if you eat the first breakfast. You wanna show off all your dolls, right baby girl? You gotta have energy to do that and eggs give you that.” Frankie explains to his daughter who lowers her arms. 

“With ketchup.” She insists, walking over to you.

Laughing, you turn back towards the refrigerator. “Eggs with ketchup, got it.” You don’t miss the way Frankie winces and you wonder if it’s something that she had learned from Janet. Frankie’s first wife had never hidden the fact that she hadn’t liked you, so you had tried to give her the distance she wanted, though you weren’t going to stop being friends with the guys or Frankie for her. “After you eat, I’ll help you get dressed and we will do your hair, how does that sound?” 

Frankie is reminded of Janet, who he used to make fun of for having eggs with ketchup and she used to make it for Ana when she started eating solids. “Can I have braids?” She asks, wanting to have her hair different from the styles Frankie just about manages to put together. “Of course, sweetheart.” You say and Frankie smiles as he watches Ana hug your leg.

Breakfast goes easy for Ana and you leave Frankie to clean up the kitchen while you and Ana go to get ready. The young girl sitting extremely still for a three year old, excited for her braids. You don’t blame her. The dolly she had introduced you two had braids and she wanted to look like her. Making her gasp in the mirror when she looks at her reflection.

When Ana comes out, squealing happily about her braids, Frankie ooohs and awws and tells her how pretty she looks. He winks at you, “you did a good job, baby.” He says and he doesn’t even think about the nickname he calls you and Ana admires the braids. “You wanna get ready and I’ll entertain the little lady?” Frankie suggests.

“Thanks.” You nod and try not to take his nickname to heart. It’s just practice for when you are in public and around others. “I’ll try not to be too long,” you promise, turning and heading towards the bedroom where your bag is. You need to shower and plan on doing just basic makeup for your ID photo.

****

Frankie glances over at you while he drives, admiring your profile in the sun and his gaze drops down to his ring on your finger. It makes his heart twist that he didn’t propose to you properly but again, he’s reminded that this isn’t real. “You got everything?” He asks while looking in the mirror at Ana who is admiring her Barbie.

“Social security, birth certificate, marriage certificate, driver’s license.” You go through all your documents and grin. “Yep. Although now I need to change all of that too. To reflect the last name Morales.” Your stomach twists pleasantly and you remind yourself that you are a Morales in name only. “Plus a passport change. That’s the one I dread.”

“It’ll be fine. You’ll have the insurance soon. Do you have enough meds to last?” He asks, knowing you have been halving the dose and he hates that, seeing how it has taken a toll on you. You aren’t your usual self and he wants to see you’re okay before he leaves.

“Yes.” You bite your lip and reach for his hand on the gear shifter. “Thank you Frankie. This is- I am grateful. I hated choosing between my medications and eating sometimes.” You hate how expensive it is to live when you don’t have health insurance and your job does not provide employer insurance since you are technically a contractor.

Frankie exhales, hating that you have to even choose. “Fucking country.” He huffs under his breath, knowing that he fights for freedom but those freedoms don’t allow you to have what you need when you desperately need it. He pulls into the parking lot of the administration building and comes around to open your door, helping you out before he moves to unbuckle Ana.

“Thank you.” You feel your cheeks heat up from Frankie’s attention to manners. You grab the diaper bag just in case and the three of you make your way to the first office to have you officially added to Frankie’s record as his wife and dependent. You will have to memorize his social security number because that is how they will give you the services you need from now on.

Frankie remembers adding Janet to his file when she was newly pregnant before he was first deployed and he squeezes your hand as you walk out, officially added as his dependent. He will call his lawyer later to tell them about the wedding so he can get Janet’s parents to drop their custody case. For now, he’s going to take his family to breakfast. 

****

“Silly daddy!” Ana giggles when he puts the empty glass to his eye and pretends to look at her through it. Pancakes eaten and bellies full, he hasn’t been this happy in a long time, glancing at you when he lowers the glass from his face.

Frankie is such a good father and it makes your heart pound. Imagining that you are a real family and wishing that you could be looking forward to giving Ana a little brother or sister. “Daddy is silly.” You tease, sending him a smile.

He chuckles, reaching for your hand so he can caress the ring with his thumb. “Daddy is silly!” Ana giggles and leans into Frankie’s side. He cuddles her with his free arm, knowing it’s going to be hard to leave but he has to, he can’t abandon his brothers. 

**** 

“Is she asleep?” You ask as Frankie walks into the kitchen. 

“Out like a light.” He tells you and groans in appreciation when you hand him the bottle of beer. He leaves in a few days and tomorrow he begins to prep for his departure. He has one last night to spend with you in relaxation. 

“You wanna finish that show?” You ask and he nods, watching you dish up the pasta that you’ve been cooking after giving Ana her simple buttered noodles earlier. 

“Sure baby.” The nickname comes naturally now and it slips off of his tongue without thought.

Your evenings have been so natural, perfect together. The friendship between the two of you had made it easy to be around each other and the only thing that you are struggling with is to not try to jump Frankie. He’s so sexy, especially when he comes home in his uniform. Waiting until he’s asleep to touch yourself while you are laying next to him at night or using your toy in the shower before Ana gets up is the only relief that you are getting. Bringing the pasta over to the couch, you sit down beside him and hand him his bowl. “Hopefully we figure out if they are going to get together this episode. I don’t want to wait until next season to find out.” 

“Probably not. It’s the waiting that makes the end result sweeter, don’t you think?” He asks, thanking you for the food and he hits play on the show. “Fuck, this is good.” He groans after swallowing the first bite. You are a damn good cook and he is going to miss your food when he’s got MREs on the menu. You eat in companionable silence, it’s comfortable and he loves that he can just be himself around you. Janet’s parents were furious to hear Frankie had married you, having heard from their daughter about how she thought he loved you more than her. Still, they didn’t have a case anymore so it was dropped

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind.” You start as you turn towards him. “I told Ana that we will drop you off together. She wants to see you off and I couldn’t say no. I think it will help her understand why daddy has to be gone for a long time.” You know this will be the first deployment that she will remember and you want it to be as good as it can for her. “I also got you one of those recordable books. You know? The ones that we saw in the toy store? That way you can read her bedtime story anytime she’s missing daddy.” 

Frankie swears he falls in love with you even more in that moment. Watching you with his daughter, how caring you are, how much you love her, it makes him want to stay and just spend the rest of his life with you, not missing a moment. When you were in the kitchen baking cookies with Ana last weekend, he imagined you pregnant with his child and it’s almost too easy to envision. “Yeah? That’s a great idea. I’ll do that tomorrow when she’s napping. I-I’m worried that she’s gonna forget all about me.” He admits his deepest fear, knowing he could potentially leave his daughter an orphan if he were to die on this deployment. It keeps him awake at night.

“I’m not going to let that happen.” You promise him softly, reaching over and taking his hand. “You have your will set up, you know I will make sure that if something happens, she knows all about her wonderful father, Francisco Morales.” You bite your lip. “Maybe you can record some videos for her? Send them to my phone to show her when she’s needing to see your face?” You know that video chatting will be sparse, sometimes impossible, but you want to make sure that she remembers him. “And we are going to be making you care packages.”

He smiles, unshed tears stinging in his eyes as he squeezes your hand. “You are amazing. I- I know this is - this is hard but I want you to know that I love you. You’re my best friend and I couldn’t do any of this without you.” He admits, “I owe you everything, baby.” He blinks and a tear escapes, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability, knowing that you’d never think of him as weak or not enough. He trusts you implicitly.

Your heart aches because you know that he doesn’t mean ‘love’ like you wish that he would. Still, you swallow down your feelings and lean over to kiss his cheek. “I love you too, Frankie.” You promise him quietly. You do, you love him with everything that you are and you always will. “I promise you that I will hold down the fort until you can get back home.”

**** 

It’s early and Frankie knows Ana is sleepy but she insists she comes to say goodbye to her daddy. The enormous hangar is full of families saying goodbye to their soldiers, some for the first time, others are well practiced in this. Frankie adjusts his pack over his shoulder when he sees his team. Tom saying goodbye to Molly and the girls, Will and Benny saying goodbye to their mom. Pope saying goodbye to his current girlfriend. “Come here, baby girl.” Frankie says, bending down to pick Ana up after setting his pack down once he’s standing with the team, not wanting to tear up in case it upsets his daughter more than it should.

“Daddy, I don’t want you to go.” Ana sniffles and you reach over to rub her little back. She had been very brave while Frankie was packing and had even stuffed a picture she had drawn for him in one of the pockets. “I want you to stay with mommy and me.” 

Frankie has mixed feelings, so happy that Ana is comfortable enough to call you mommy but he’s sad that she doesn’t remember Janet. As much as he resented her mother for what she became, he wants Ana to know her mother. Your eyes widen slightly and he knows he will email you to discuss this when he can. Now isn’t the time or place. “I know, baby girl.” He kisses her hair, “but I can’t stay. I gotta go fight bad guys, remember? You’ll be safe here with mommy and I promise you, I’ll come home as soon as I can. I will call you as many times as I can. I love you. So much.” He chokes a little and swallows the lump in his throat.

You know that it’s important for you to kiss Frankie goodbye, everyone around would expect it. You lean in and kiss his cheek. “I’m going to miss you. We are going to miss you. Take care of yourself please.” You beg him quietly. “Come home to us.” 

Frankie doesn’t know if he will come back and he nudges his nose against yours, “I- can I kiss you goodbye? Properly?” He asks, knowing it’s important for him to show you are his wife to anyone watching. You nod, unable to speak, and he cups your cheek, pressing his lips against yours. It’s brief but he tries to pour as much into it as possible. Ana clings to him as he nudges his nose against yours again before he pulls back. “I’m going to miss you, baby.” He tells you, adjusting Ana on his hip and he gets the minute warning to say goodbye.

Taking Ana, both you and she give Frankie a tearful goodbye, another fierce hug before he is walking away. His daughter is clinging to you as you both wave frantically as he boards a bus to take them to the plane. “Okay, baby girl.” You murmur softly, stroking her back as the little girl tucks her face against your neck. “We’re going to be okay. We’ll talk to daddy soon.” 

Frankie looks back at you before he boards the bus. Walking away is the hardest thing he has to do but he does it because he cannot turn back. He has to be there with his team. With a sigh, he steps onto the bus and takes a seat, unable to tear his eyes away from you and Ana as the bus pulls away. Pope slaps his shoulder, “they will be okay, hermano.” He promises and Frankie silently prays he’s right.

****

“Hello?” You quickly answer the phone, hoping that it is Frankie, letting you know that he’s gotten to his base overseas. “Frank, is that you?” You fumble for the light beside the bed and sit up. It’s late, or early but you don’t care. Ana groans next to you, having slept in the same bed for the last couple of nights since Frankie had left. “Hello?”

“Hey baby.” Frankie smiles against the phone when he hears your voice. He’s aware of how late it is there but he wants to hear your voice. He’s going to his op brief in the morning, diving straight into it, and he doesn’t know how long he will be dark for. 

“Hey.” You reply sleepily and Frankie’s heart twists, remembering how you’d curl into his chest during the night. 

“Just wanted to let you know I’m safe. Fucking cold here right now. How are you? How’s Ana?”

“She’s good.” You look over at his spot to see his daughter sprawled across his pillow and taking up even more room than he does if that's possible. “She’s sleeping in your spot. Wanted to cuddle daddy’s pillow.” You murmur quietly so you don’t disturb her. “I won’t let her get used to it, but she needs some comfort right now.”

“I miss her already. So much. I, uh, I want you to give her the bear tomorrow.” He says. He’d gone to the mall to Build A Bear and recorded his voice, telling Ana how much he loves her, and he wants her to have it now that he’s gone. The bear is wearing a uniform like daddy does. “How are you doing? I know it’s a lot to look after her alone.”

“Taking it one day at a time, baby.” You tell him. Thank god for her pre-school, allowing for you to work without having to entertain her. “Molly promised to come over and help out, we will get along just fine.” Reaching over, you pull up her covers and smile when she frowns just like Frankie does. “The bear will be the first thing she sees when she wakes up, I promise.”

“Good. I- I’m heading out any day now. Not sure when, but I’ll be dark for a while until we come back to base. I- I don’t know what’s gonna happen out there but I want you to know that you and Ana mean everything to me.” He confesses, wanting to leave you with that as his time is nearly up.

“We’ll be waiting to hear from you and putting together your first care package.” You hate how your stomach twists but you put on a brave front for him. 

“Sounds good. I gotta go now, sweetheart. I- I’ll talk to you soon.” He promises, aware of how much he wants to say to you but he can’t. He has to stay strong and not drag you into his stupid emotions. “Bye Frankie.” You murmur and he smiles, “bye baby.” He says and hangs up, closing his eyes and he knows this is going to be harder than ever.

**

You knew that this wasn’t going to be easy. Living in his house, raising his daughter. But it has moments where you can’t imagine anything else. Packing up care packages with his favorite things inside for him to have a bit of home and shipping them off faithfully. Living with your phone nearby at all times, because you don’t want to miss his calls. They are few and far between, but emails are regular, making you create a file folder to keep them all in. It’s been three months and you are finally settled into being Frankie’s dependent.

Frankie devours every email, every photo, every damn video you send of Ana. He wishes you’d include photos of you - not sexual, he just misses your smile. “Baby girl, daddy misses you.” He tells Ana on the video chat, back on base after a few hard hitting missions and he’s glad to see his daughter’s face. “Mommy. Give daddy a kiss!” Ana demands, having been kissing the phone to Frankie herself making his heart yearn for his family.

“Hey!” You light up when you see Frankie on the screen. Your hand automatically goes to your hair. You haven’t done it and you are wearing leggings and one of his t-shirts while you clean. Not your best look. “It’s good to see you, baby. How are you?” You think he looks tired but you don’t want to say that. You know he’s been out of communication so he’s been outside the wire.

God, you’re gorgeous. Frankie inhales sharply and bites his lip, “I’m good. Exhausted. We think we are gonna be sent out again. It’s - it’s rough.” He admits, running his hand through his hair. He realizes you are wearing his shirt and his cock twitches, knowing he’s gonna imagine you wearing just that when he goes to shower. “I miss you.” Frankie says softly.

“I miss you too.” Admitting that is easy. You miss your friend. The man you have fallen in love with. “Ana has a playdate on Saturday. We are going to Chuck E Cheese with one of the little girls from her preschool and her mom. Her dad is on the deployment with you.” You ramble, filling him in on all the small things about the time he’s been out of communication. “And we started a countdown for your tentative return.” You grin and angle the camera towards the calendar, showing where you’ve been marking off days.

Frankie hates that you’re waiting on him but he loves it at the same time, having a family to come home to. It keeps him going. It allows him to put his entire being into making sure he flies the team out of danger. It motivates him. “Hopefully I won’t be a day late coming back to you.” He says, asking you how your work is. Menial conversation but it means the world to him, he loves how simple it is to hear about your day but compared to the horrors he sees, he appreciates it.

You know that the call will have to end soon. Plenty of others want to talk to their loved ones. “We are planning on mailing you another package since Benny ate all your Oreos.” You laugh. “I put in a package for him so he doesn’t steal yours .”

Frankie grins, “thanks baby. I could’ve killed him when he bragged about stealing my cookies with the goddamn crumbs in his teeth.” Frankie shakes his head and Ana rushes up to the phone. “Daddy! Mommy got me a Barbie!” She holds her new doll up and Frankie admires it, reminded of how good you are with her. He’s not sure what will happen in the long run. When you meet someone and want to divorce. It will kill him but he will do it. “Okay my loves. I gotta go. Ana, sweetheart, I love you.” He says and she blows him a kiss, “love you daddy.” He looks at you, “I love you too. I’ll call when I can.” He promises and you nod, “bye Frank.” You blow him a kiss and he knows he will be thinking of that all afternoon.

****

“Coming!” Drying your hands on a dish towel, you rush towards the door, wondering who it can be. Maybe Molly, she had said she would drop by. Your friendly smile freezes the second that you open the door and see uniforms. Heart sinking, you feel like you’re going to be sick. You’ve seen this scene in a movie way too many times. “No-“ you gasp out, making the one with the silver leaf on his lapels remove his hat- or cover as Frankie called it. 

“Mrs. Morales?” You can’t breathe, you can’t speak as you imagine the next words, praying that you are finding yourself in the middle of a nightmare. “I am sorry to report that your husband has been injured in combat. He was shot multiple times and is currently being flown to Germany. You are his medical power of attorney and we need you to consent to surgery for when he arrives.” His words almost sound like you’re underwater. “Mrs. Morales, do you understand?” He asks you with a frown.

You blink stupidly at him for several moments before his words sink in. “He’s alive?” You whisper, reaching out for his arm desperately. “Frankie’s alive? Yes, yes whatever they need.” You rush out, tears streaming down your face. “Oh god, Germany?” You swallow. “I need to be there. I need to go be with him.”

“We have already arranged for you to go to Germany. Pack your bag now and we will wait. There’s no time to waste.” He says and you nod, rushing into the house to the bedroom to frantically pack a bag, grabbing your passport, and you go into Ana’s room, grabbing things for her, and you are grateful that Frankie got her a passport in hopes of taking her to Chile to see his distant cousins one day. “Mommy? What’s wrong?” She asks with a frown after she stops playing.

“Honey.” Bending down, you brush Ana’s hair back. “Daddy - daddy got hurt. He’s going to be okay, but we have to go visit him. Cheer him up.” You don’t want to scare her, but how do you explain to a three year old that her dad was in surgery after getting shot. “Can you be a big girl and come with me now? We have to be good because it’s a long trip.”

“Daddy’s hurt?” She asks, her lower lip trembling and you nod, “yes but we are going to kiss his boo boos better, okay? Can you be a good girl and pick out some toys for us to take?” You ask, grabbing her backpack and she nods, picking up her favorite dolls to take on the trip. Once you’re all packed up, you alarm the house and lock it, stepping out to the men waiting for you.

It’s surreal, being driven to a plane that is scheduled to take off in just a few hours. Apparently they had delayed it and you’ll never know if it was them or providence that had you up in the air so quickly and on your way to Germany. Praying the entire time that Frankie would be okay as you tried to entertain Ana, worried what you might learn when you land.

****

“Morning baby.” Frankie smiles, kissing along your neck. 

“Hmmm. Morning.” You grind back against his hard cock and smile, “someone is eager to start the day.” 

Frankie chuckles, sliding his hand under the t-shirt you’re wearing to cup your tit. “Always when it involves you.” He rasps, pinching your nipple and you whimper when he slides his hand down your belly after letting go of your breast. It’s starting to round, you’ll have to announce that you’re pregnant soon and Frankie knows you won’t be able to wait long after you both tell Ana. She will spill the beans within hours. His hand slides lower to disappear into your panties and he wastes no time rubbing your clit. Your soft moan has him biting down on your shoulder, grinding against you. 

“Fuck, Frankie.” You whine softly and he smiles against your skin, “mmm love it when you moan my name. My beautiful wife.” He sighs and pushes two fingers inside of your wet cunt, making you turn your head to find his lips. His tongue slides into your mouth as he pumps his fingers, loving the way you push your pleasured sounds into his mouth to muffle them. It doesn’t take you long to cum, sensitive from the hormones, and he pushes you over the edge by twisting his wrist to press his thumb to your clit. “Cum for me.” He begs against your lips and you fall apart with a cry of his name. He kisses along your jaw, working you through it until he’s pulling his fingers out of you. 

There’s a beeping noise and he frowns, looking over at the nightstand. “Did you get a new alarm clock?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“No. Frankie? Frankie?” Your face blurs and he’s back into the void.

**

“Frankie.” You carry Ana, rushing through the hospital behind the nurse who is bringing you to his room. He’s out of surgery but he hasn’t woken up yet. The danger is still there but he’s stable. Tears stream down your face when you see him looking grey and still in the hospital bed, hooked up to the heart monitor. “Oh god, Frankie, we’re here.” You promise, rubbing Ava’s back. “It’s okay baby,” the little girl has turned away from the sight of her daddy in the bed and tucked her face into the crook of your neck. “He’s okay, he’s sleeping. Trying to feel better.” The doctor had explained his injuries and the surgery and you are so damn thankful he survived.

Ana whimpers, “is daddy okay?” She asks and your heart breaks at the fearful tone to the voice. 

“Yeah, baby girl. Daddy is gonna be fine.” You try to be positive, hoping that he’s going to be okay. 

**

You’re not sure how many hours have passed. Ana is asleep on the chair, curled up after the hospital staff brought her and you some food. Time will tell if Frankie wakes up, his head and chest bandaged and you can’t seem to look away from the rise and fall of his chest, the beeping of the heart monitor reminding you that he’s still here.  When he does wake up, he blinks, wincing at the bright light above, and he tries to remember what happened.

“Oh thank god.” You sigh breathlessly when you feel him shift, looking up to find his eyes slowly opening. “Frankie. It’s okay, take it easy.” You don’t want him to be startled or scared. Squeezing his hand gently. “It’s me. You’re in the hospital in Germany.” Trying to keep your voice soothing until he turns to head to look at you.

His throat is so dry. Like he has been stranded in the desert for days without water. He swallows, trying to speak, and he tries to remember what happened but all he can say is “love you.” His dreams were lucid, showing him what life could be like. A life spent with you and Ana. You as his wife, his actual wife, not some paper so you can get healthcare. He closes his eyes again, feeling exhausted.

“I love you too.” You cry, relieved that he’s okay. That he’s awake. The fear and the anxiety make you sob as you lean forward and kiss his hand. “I’m so- god, I’m so - god I was so worried.”

The nurse comes in to check on you at that moment and you turn towards her, “he’s awake.” The nurse nods and comes over to Frankie, ushering you away and pushing the button to summon the rest of the medical team to assess Frankie who is still half drugged up but aware of his surroundings.

You move over towards Ana, leaning over and checking on her while the doctors and nurses come into the room. Smiling as she cuddles the beat that had his voice recorded in it while she sleeps. You have to talk to him. You can’t do this. Not when you really love him. You can’t pretend you don’t want a real future with him while playing as his wife.

The medical team eventually filters out and the doctor approaches to tell you that Frankie’s vitals all look good. He was shot in the head but it was just scraped and didn’t go in. He had a bullet to the chest which punctured his lung but didn’t go near his heart, and a bullet to the shoulder. He’s lucky to be alive but he should make a recovery as long as he’s stable.

Listening to the doctor, you are so damn thankful for the fact that Frankie pulled through as well as he has, hugging yourself as you hear the prognosis and what will happen going forward with rehab for him. “Thank you.” You murmur as the doctor leaves, letting you move back towards Frankie. You can tell that he’s about to fall asleep as you take his hand again. “Baby, I-” you choke out the words, new tears falling and you just squeeze his hand again, unable to get the words out. Frankie’s eyes flutter closed again and his breathing evens out as he falls asleep again. 

****

“Daddy! Mommy wants pancakes.” Ana declares and Frankie chuckles, “oh she does? I guess it is Mother’s Day after all.” Frankie says as he slides the pancakes he was already making onto the plate. “Come on then. Let’s go.” Frankie says once he’s got everything and Ana opens the door for him to find you holding the baby, breastfeeding him. 

“Happy Mommy Day!” Ana declares and you smile, looking up at Frankie as he holds the tray. 

“Happy Mother’s Day.” He says and kisses your cheek even though he showed you how much he loves you this morning before the kids woke up. “I’ll hold him while you eat.” Frankie offers after his son pulls off of your breast. You nod and Frankie takes the baby into his arms, certain that this is a dream. The life he’s always wanted with the woman he’s always wanted.

“I’ve been thinking.” You smile sweetly at the picture Frankie paints holding your son. 

“Yeah baby? What have you been thinking about?” He asks, looking up from Miguel to find you grinning at him. His heart flutters every time he sees that smile. 

“I think that once the doctor clears me, we should try for another.” You admit, chuckling when his eyes widen. “Have a set of Irish twins. What do you think?” You had cursed him while you were pushing Miguel out, but immediately apologized once the pain had passed and your son was in your arms.

Frankie’s eyes widen, “really? You want another one so soon?” He asks and you nod, “yes. Yes. I don’t want to waste time. It’s precious.” He agrees, knowing how quick time flies. “Let’s do it.” He says and he is leaning in to kiss you. “I love you baby.” He murmurs and you hum into his mouth, making him smile.

****

Frankie squeezes your hand while he continues to rest. Letting you cry in solitude while Ana still sleeps curled up in the chair. “I love you Frankie.” You admit quietly. “I’ve always loved you. It’s why it was so easy to offer to marry you. I- I want you to recover for Ana, but for me too.” Leaning down, you kiss his hand again, wondering if he’s dreaming. If he is, you hope that it's a good dream.

Frankie blinks against the bright light again, annoyed that he’s been dragged away from his dream of making another baby with you. The dreams were so real he mourns the life he had in those dreams and he opens his eyes to find you crying while holding his hand. “Wha- baby?” He croaks, throat still so dry and he wonders why you are crying.

Looking up, you press your lips together as you hold back a sob. Leaning forward and pressing your lips to his cheek and forehead, taking care to keep away from his bandages. “Oh god baby, you're awake. I - I’m so glad.” You pull back, knowing he is probably confused. “You were- you were shot.” You explain quietly. “You’re in a hospital in Germany. I- Ana and I flew out as soon as possible. I have been so worried about you.” 

He frowns, finally getting his focus, and he looks at you. “Shot? Germany? The- the others?” He asks, suddenly worried about his team. Are they okay? Is anyone else hurt or dead? His heart monitor starts to beep rapidly and he squeezes your hand.

“Everyone else is fine.” You promise, having heard what happened from the officer who had taken you to the airfield to fly out. “You took fire while you were trying to get soldiers out of a heavy fire situation. You were shot, but managed to get them back to the base before you passed out right after you set down your chopper.” Your heart had stopped when you heard how he had barely made it back to base, but you could only be strong for him. 

He’s still fuzzy but he understands what you are saying. He nearly died. He remembers the panic in his mind when he was shot, thinking about leaving you and Ana behind. Fuck, he nearly died. Fuck. “I love you.” He tells you breathlessly. 

“I love you.” You murmur, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“No. No. You don’t understand. I’m in love with you. I love you. I love you. I can’t - I can’t live without you. You’re my best friend. You’re my everything.” He chokes, needing you to understand him.

“You’re my best friend too.” You promise him, thinking that he’s just telling you needing you as a friend. 

But Frankie frowns. “No baby, I don’t- I want to be married to you for real. Forever.” He manages, squeezing your hand. 

“For real?” You frown and then lean forward. “Baby, I want- if this is just some kind of reaction to being shot-“ 

“it’s not,” he insists. “I love you.” 

You lunge forward and press your lips to his. “I love you.” You tell him breathlessly.

He wishes he could reach up and cup your cheek, keep you pressed against him, but all he can do is kiss you back. “I’m so fucking in love with you. Always have been. Even with - even when I was with Janet. It’s why she left that night. We were arguing and I- shit. I’ve made so many mistakes but marrying you ain’t one of them. I love you. I love you.” He says when you lean back to look into his eyes.

Your heart breaks, knowing that you were the cause of what could be the reason that Janet was driving that night, although you know her actions were her own. You know that she and Frankie weren’t good together and you can’t blame him for the past. “I love you, Francisco.” You promise him softly with a smile, kissing him once more. “Will you stay married to me?” You ask quietly, not wanting anyone to over hear. “Make this a real marriage with me?” 

Frankie nuzzles into your cheek, unable to believe how lucky he is to have you. “I love you. It’s always been you. I- I don’t want to waste any more time. I want to start the rest of our lives.”

You smile and giggle happily, reaching up and brushing his hair back from his face. “I love you too baby. Now you just need to heal so you can come home to us.” Frankie’s deployment is officially over and as soon as he is recovered enough to go home, you would be headed back to the states so he could recover fully. 

****

“Frankie!” You huff, pushing at his wandering hands and pushing them away from your ass. “You need to stop. You could pull a stitch.” You chide, finding it harder and harder to push him as the weeks go by.

Frankie grunts, “don’t care. It’s been torture seeing you and not being able to be inside of you.” He admits, and he knows you’ve done stuff. You have sucked his cock and he let you sit on his face, but the doctor told him no strenuous activity. He hasn’t been cleared yet but every day it’s getting harder to not fuck you. He honestly wants to make love to you, something slow and sweet to consummate your marriage…finally.

You bite your lip and you know that he is just as eager as you are to finally have sex. Leaning in, you press your lips to his. “If - and I mean if - you can be good and be still, how about we compromise and I sit on your cock?” You know that Frankie wants to be in charge but he can’t. No with the bandage on his side. But if he could be still, you could ride him. “But you have to be still. Not trying to take over.”

Frankie pouts, aware that he can’t ruin you the way he wants to but he has the rest of your lives to make love to you, to make you cum on his cock while he fucks you. “I can be good.” He promises, sliding his hands down to squeeze your ass. Ana is in bed and he’s so grateful for it so he can push his hard cock into your hip. “I won’t take over.”

You smirk, absolutely aware of the fact that he will try to take over. “Then what are you waiting for, soldier?” You tease. “Get undressed so I can fuck my husband.” You are already getting out of the bed so you can strip out of the t-shirt and panties that you had taken to sleeping in. Enjoying the way Frankie’s eyes wander over your body every night.

He loves seeing you like this. His beautiful wife. The love of his life. He swallows, throat suddenly dries, and he is grateful he isn’t wearing a shirt. His boxers are able to be shoved down and he pushes the sheets down the bed before settling against the pillows. “Baby. Come here. Are you wet? You wanna sit on my face?” He asks, “there’s lube in the nightstand.” He wants you to be comfortable. “And condoms…if you want.” He adds, knowing you haven’t been on birth control and he doesn’t want to push you in case you change your mind and don’t want to get pregnant yet.

He pants, fingers twitching to grab you. He desperately wants you, he wants to make you feel good. “I can’t wait to see you pregnant.” He admits, knowing that the experience will be different than Janet who was a nightmare when she was pregnant. She was demanding and accused him of cheating, and then cried and begged for sex in the same breath. He had whiplash and tried to be there for her but it was hard at times. His hands caress your back and he leans in to kiss your shoulder, just breathing you in while you grind against him.

“Lean back, baby.” You chide, pushing his shoulder back gently. “I’m going to come to you. Give you what we’ve both wanted.” He feels so good against your clit that you can’t help but roll your hips, slicking up his cock with how wet you are and enjoying when his cock flexes against your folds. Leaning in, you press your lips to his in a soft kiss.

“Fuck. Don’t tease me baby. It’s been torture.” He groans when you kiss him slowly, his hands squeezing your hips to encourage you. “Come on baby. I need you to fuck me.” He begs, rocking his hips to grind against you.

Taking mercy on him and yourself, you reach down and wrap your fingers around his thick cock and lift your hips. Eager to have him inside you now and feel his cum filling you up. The first inch makes you gasp, carefully bracing your hands on his chest but not putting any pressure on him. Wanting to make sure you don’t hurt him as you sink down on him.

Frankie whimpers, actually whimpers, when you take his cock inside of you. “Fuck baby. You- Jesus fucking Christ - you feel so good.” He pants, “I- oh God. Wanted this for so long.” He grips your waist, wishing he could slide inside of you on your back and make love to you.

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his and slide your tongue into his mouth as you grind back onto him. Wanting to make sure that you get used to the thick heft of him inside you. “Me too baby, wanted you for so long.” You promise, your walls clenching around him.

Frankie almost feels like he can't breathe. His heart beats out of his chest and he pants when you clench around him. "Fuck, sweetheart. Feel so good. Can't - can't wait to feel this for the rest of our lives. So damn lucky." He kisses along your jaw and down your neck, wanting to worship you as much as possible.

“I’m lucky.” You start to slowly roll your hips, in no hurry to cum. You want this time to be soft and sweet. Not only for him, but so you can feel every inch of him scrubbing through your walls. “Love you.” You close your eyes as he kisses you, absorbing the groans and loving how his hands wander as you slowly ride him.

“Love you too.” He vows, knowing he’s going to ask you to marry him again. He wants a big wedding, the boys to be there and your friends. He wants to show off how much he loves you. After nearly dying, it’s put everything into perspective and he knows he is grateful for what he has. Others have fared far worse than him. His hands squeeze your breasts and his cock twitching inside of you, imagining them full of milk for his baby. The thought nearly sends him over the edge but he controls himself.

“Ohhh someone thought of something they like.” You tease, seeing the look on his face as he twitches inside you. You wonder if it’s the same as him. Imagining him knocking you up tonight. Your hips roll a little faster and you moan his name softly, reaching up and combing through his hair as your nose touches his and you look in his dark eyes

He chuckles softly, “was thinking about you full of our baby. When your tits get bigger.” He confesses and nudges your nose with his. “I can’t wait. I can’t wait to begin our family with Ana and another child. It’s gonna - fuck - it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.” He murmurs, caressing your back.

You moan, imaging how possessive, how loving he will be when you are showing. Frankie seems like the type to worship you when you are pregnant. “I want that too.” You promise. “Have your baby, share that with you. Raising our kids.” Ana isn’t yours by blood but you love her like your own.

He nods, knowing he wants to ask you to formally adopt Ana and be her mom. He will preserve Janet’s legacy with her daughter but Ana deserves all the love in the world. “Fuck.” Frankie groans when you rock a little faster, his shoulder aches but he ignores it, trying to rock his hips up into you as you grind on top of him.

“Frankie.” You gasp out, clenching down around him when his cock nudges against your g-spot wonderfully. “There.” You pant, knowing that if he keeps hitting that spot just like that, you will cum quickly.

He hisses, concentrating on thrusting up into you at that angle. “Baby. Cum for me baby.” He begs, “come on, be a good girl. Cum for me.” He demands, needing to feel you clamp down on his cock.

You whine out his name, holding onto him as he takes control. 

He wasn’t supposed to do that, but you are beyond caring. As long as he doesn’t rip his stitches, he can take the reins and thrust up into you. “I’m gonna cum baby, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum on your cock.”

“That’s it. That’s it.” He groans when he thrusts up into you, his hands gripping your ass, and you clamp down on his cock. “Fuck yes baby. That’s it. Oh shit. I’m gonna-” Frankie usually prides himself on his stamina but the emotional connection combined with wanting you for years and the added ecstasy of you possibly getting pregnant and his near demise has him sent over the edge. “Fuck.” He moans your name as he cums, cock twitching inside of you.

It’s Heaven, the molten heat of his seed filling you. Making you gasp in pleasure as you grind down on him as he rides out his high, pushing up into you with short thrusts. “Oh god, oh god.” You collapse against him and kiss along his jaw. “I love you so much.”

“Love you.” Frankie pants, his entire body lost in the feel of his orgasm. It’s more than he could’ve ever imagined. He feels complete. His wife in his arms, hopefully pregnant soon with his second child. It’s his dream come true. He just wishes it wasn’t such a bumpy road to get to this point but that’s life. Twists and turns…Frankie still got his happy ending.

[marymary-diva17]

overprotective mates

Jake x reader x neytiri

when you had become pregnant your mates had become overprotective of you, as they were very worried about your safety and health. As anything could do go wrong, for you as you were just human a few days ago and now you are pregnant. They were not the only ones who were overprotective and worried about you health, as your had a 50/50 chance of getting pregnant. They were not the only ones worried as your friends and moat were worried as well, for you safety and wellbeing.

Y/n “ I know you are there neytiri” you were out collect some materials, when you felt someone was watching you and it was neytiri. She soon came out of hiding and made her way towards you.

Neytiri “ I came to see how you were doing, when I came home to check up on your my mother was there with the kids she told me you went out alone”

y/n “ yes I came out here to collect some materials I feel like crafting so stuff, for the unborn baby”

Neytiri “ then let me or Jake do that you you should be out here alone”

y/n “ I will be fine ma tiri”

neytiri “ I know but I’m can still worry norm and my mother said this pregnancy is well but we don’t know what will happen, when the baby comes I and Jake have to worry”

y/n “ ma tiri okay you can worry but not much okay”

???? “What about I’m what I’m chop liver”

neytiri “ chop liver what is that”

Jake “ don’t worry honey to a old human saying and food I will explain later, so I see you found our wondering wife”

Neytiri “ yes I found her here it was not that hard when you know her so well”

Jake “ how are you feeling today love how are you and the baby”Jake had placed his hand on your pregnant belly, while Neytiri had her hands on your shoulders.

y/n “ we are doing well moat and norm predict that the baby will be born this month or next month”

Y/n “ so baby names have you to decide to stop fighting on names, for the baby or will I be picking the baby name”

neytiri “ well if this fool can pick the perfect name we will be fine”

Jake “ oh come on im not bad at naming”

neytiri “ you named your ikran bob, what type of name is that”

Jake “ hey it not a bad name”

y/n “ fine what your idea of perfect name for our unborn baby”

Jake “ sounds that sounds amazing and will for perfect for our son or daughte, a name that will represent them well”

Neytiri “ so you have nothing”

Jake “ what do you have tiri tell us”

neytiri “ I have noting as well”

Jake “ seems like I’m not the only one who doesn’t have a name for a baby”you had rolled your eyes at your husband and wife fighting over a babies name you soon laugh getting their attention.

Jake " what so funny"

y/n " even when I'm the one that pregnant you and neytiri still debate about babies names, this was the same stunt for Neteyam and kiri both of you havant changed yet"

neytiri " well our idiot of our husband rather give our kid some stupid human name, I trying to save our baby from embarrassment"

Jake " oh come on I'm not that bad"

neytiri " yes you are still acting like a baby I see"

y/n " come on you two we can debate more about this later, we need to get home for the kids" Jake and neytiri soon stop fight and soon started walking towards home with you.

Jake " next time you decide to wonder away tell us so we know where you are"

y/n " I swear on my hearts and soul I will tell you next time when I leave home and the village"

neytiri " good and we will come up with a name for the baby soon I know" you had noted your head it will take until the day you went into labor when you finally came up with a name your baby boy loa'k, this event was a story you will share with the kids and it will make them laugh. As they heard stories of their mom and dad acting like foolish children.