#it’d be nice if Five could talk to someone

[seokjinsonlyone]

this how i think bts would be if they was your husband

namjoon:

you’d have your own rooftop garden together; like he’d get someone to get it setup architecturally the way he has it envisioned in his head and to give like advice on the types of plants that are good for this set up but y’all would do all the seeding and watering and weed pulling yourselves

evening walks together around sunset through the park or around the river hand in hand where you just soak up nature and talk about any and everything

you both like the idea of having a pet but know that you're too busy to keep one regularly so you end up getting fish; he gets a cute little 20 gallon tank and like five fish but he actually does a lot of research on which fish live the best together, which food and treats they like best, the best plants and knick knacks to put inside, how to clean it, etc.; all in all takes the whole situation way more seriously than you'd thought he would; it was supposed to be sumn light for the summer time but you'd think he's filming an episode of tanked for all the time and effort he pours into it

sits side by side with you rubbing circles into your lower back whenever you need to rant about something

loves it when you get desperate for him so sometimes around the time you're ovulating he teases you; will walk around the house in nothing but his briefs with his glasses on talking in his deep voice; will invade your space like if you're in the kitchen making food or something he's gonna come up behind you and wrap that strong arm around your middle kissing up on you asking meaningless questions about what you're doing until you finally snap and drag him to the bedroom

consistently opens every door for you and pulls out your chair at restaurants even if it's five, ten years down the line

the type to never know where anything is; it's not even that you switch things up a lot it's just that he never forgot the muscle memory of where things were when he lived alone; so he's constantly calling out to you asking where something is; half the time what he looking for be in very obvious locations but his mind is just so all over the place that he overlooks it

uses you as his sounding board when he has a situation he needs handled; will just sit there and think out loud to you for minutes and hours; you don't even be saying that much really like occasionally he'll ask what you think but he appreciates having a listening ear more than anything and you're happy to be there for him even if his incessant rambling makes you wanna strangle yourself sometimes

would learn to help you take out your box braids; it makes you nervous when he first offers to help because he can be a bit rough sometimes but he's oddly gentle and diligent with the task; once he's gotten good with that you convince him to wash your hair too; and take down/wash day is less dreadful because of it

you two become a package deal; like it could be a boys night or a girl's night and you're always gonna try to bring the other with and most of the time y'alls friends don't mind like you're one of the boys and he's one of the girls so it's fine; even if he like invites some friends over the house and you stay in the room to give them some space at some point he's gonna go and check up on you; you'll just be laying in bed on your laptop or phone, watching tv or something and he's gonna lay beside you and ask what you doing make sure you're okay next thing you know 30 minutes gon go by and you'll have to remind him that he has guests over; then he's gonna convince you to come out with him and stay tucked up under his arm until his friends leave or pass out

seokjin:

draws you a bath when he knows you’ve had a long day; it’d be really nice too; he'd light your favorite candle and set it on the counter; add a fragrant moisturizing bath bomb and sprinkle in some flower petals; once you settle in he'll put down one of them over the tub trays and hand you a glass of wine and your laptop so you can watch whatever you want or stream music while you’re in the tub

loves referring to you as 'his wife'; like y'all will be with a group of your friends that knew you from the get go and they'll ask him where he got his jacket from and he'll be like "oh my wife bought it for me" and they'll be like "🥴 boi we knew her long before she was ever worried about you just say her name" aksksksk

every couple months y’all will go on cooking dates with his celebrity chef friends and their wives; which is basically them in the kitchen being loud cooking a meal he specifically chose for you and you and the wife not too far away watching them while being wined and dined

not particularly handy but he feels like as a man there’s just certain things he should be able to do; so if your sink is leaking or there’s a problem with your car battery or something he’s gonna hop on youtube and figure out how to solve it first; calls an actual repairman to deal with it if he can’t fix it without being moderately inconvenienced

insists on getting a pool installed even tho you tell him you would barely use it bc you hate having to redo your hair more than you like to swim; you actually do end up using it all the time bc he orders one of those giant canopy floats and y'all just lay up there and take naps or talk; the whole outdoor area is actually bomb tbh like there's an entire sheltered outdoor kitchen and grill patio area with fans on the ceiling for when it gets hot and a fully loaded bar; y'all honestly spend more time outside during the summer than inside and get scolded for not entertaining people more often

if you reeeaaalllyyy want him to go shopping with you he will but he’d rather just give you his card and you gather up some of your girls and y’all can go nuts together

tries to butter you up when he knows he's in trouble but it's never with anything good like he'll stop at the convenience store on the way home and pick up some things to try to sway you; he get home and you're waiting for him slightly ticked off and he's like "i know you're mad but look at what i got you and it's a cosmic brownie, sour gummy worms (his favorite candy mind you), some wet wipes, and an arizona tea

official driver of the relationship; lets you be the passenger princess of your dreams like whenever you need to get from point a to point b he’s getting you there all you gotta do is sit down and look pretty (and play decent music while he’s driving)

even if you’re not a certified Gamer Girl™️ when there’s like a new mario game or something along those lines that doesn’t require a ton of skill and know how to play you’ll no life it together; like will straight up play for like 16 hours a day until you beat it; you still force him to eat and shower however but you’re not allowed to touch the controller until he returns bc he’d be afraid you’ll lose all your lives

the type to get super close with your family; like you look over one day and see yo mama calling him and you listen to him and they're literally just catching up???; he goes out on bros days with your dad and brothers; all your cousins follow him on instagram and be sending him memes; and you just sit there tryna figure out how he singlehandedly replaced you in your family bc they be treating him better than they treat you

yoongi:

after hearing you talk about wanting a detached claw foot jacuzzi tub for the 1000th time he decides to just go ahead and get your dream house built from the ground up; gives his input in every step of the process since he has so many opinions on architecture, furniture, finishes, and overall aesthetics; sometimes there’s little disagreements when your design styles clash but in the end he makes sure that you definitely get everything you’ve ever wanted included

warms your car up for you in the morning during winter months; unimportant but i just know he would go out in a sweatshirt and some slides like barefoot toes out in 20° weather shuffling out to make sure your car is nice and cozy and the frost is off the windshield

every now and again you’ll just be chilling at home and then he’ll be like “yah go get dressed we’re going out” and then he’ll genuinely take you on one of the best dates ever; it may not be over the top every time but somehow it’s always exactly what you needed; acts nonchalant about it when you’re gushing over how great of a time you’re having; “ah it’s nothing” but he’s secretly super self satisfied bc he knows he’s killing it

sometimes he’ll be sprawled out on the couch watching basketball and you’ll be tryna tell him something but he’s so engrossed that he won’t hear a word you say so you gotta throw a pillow at him to get his attention

untangles your necklaces for you; sweeps the hair from the back of your neck and clasps it together once he's got it free

likes leaning on your shoulder when you’re in bed on the computer; not really nosy about what it is that you’re doing whether it’s work or whatever but just likes to listen to the sound of your typing as his own personal asmr; also loves it when you get your nails done like will happily pay for a new set every other week because of the tippity tapping that accompanies everything you do

sets up a joint bank account for you two like immediately bc he doesn't have anything to hide and what's his is yours; but also sets you up a separate savings account that he funnels money into biweekly bc he wants you to be okay always even if one day it has to be without him

if you're both up late and you're feeling peckish he'll whip up a quick late night snack for y'all to munch on

never really comments when your hormones throw your body system out of wack; like if you randomly had night sweats for a couple days and sweat through your clothes and blanket he'd just nudge you awake so you can dry off and turn the ac on

is extra physically affectionate whenever you start getting irritated even if he’s the source of your irritation; will grab your hand and pull you into him planting kisses on top of your head and rubbing up and down your back until you’re sufficiently pacified

hoseok:

all his numeric passcodes are related to you; like it’s either your birthday or your anniversary, the day y’all met, first date, etc.

sometimes he likes to sit on the toilet when you're in the shower and talk to you; will periodically poke his head in to check your progress depending on how long you're in there; ooos and aahs and waggles his eyebrows every time he does so

some people think you’re some kind of dictator bc his response to every proposal he receives is “let me check with my wife first”; you’re not tho he just likes running things by you bc he’s only ever okay if y’all are on the same page; sometimes you really are his scapegoat if he doesn’t wanna do something tho and you’re fine with being his excuse! you love spending time with your man!!

y’all draw lots over who has to kill the bugs in the house; he tries his best to overcome his fear for you he really does but sometimes he look at the bug and the bug look at him and his heart can’t take it; generally tho there’s less fear of y’all conquer it together

at least once a month he books a couples spa day appointment for you two; deep tissue massages, facials, manicures, pedicures, the works like you just get absolutely spoiled; his motto is that if you feel good and look good then you can be good and be good to each other; unrelated but he get a kick out of eating the cucumbers that are supposed to help soothe around your eyes

you get so used to the sound effects he makes all the time that when he’s not around you have to have some kind of background sounds whether it’s music or white noise just something to fill the air.

you both like plushies, funko pops, action figures and all that so there's a dedicated toy room in your home; all the toys that you actually care about are placed higher up and in cases to keep in good condition but things that you don't mind having some use are accessible; the whole room is carpeted and there are some fluffy rugs too; there's a 65 inch tv on one wall and a computer area for gaming as well; the whole room is illuminated via led lights; needless to say all the kids you know love when y'all babysit them; they stay in that one room the entire time except when they want a snack bc there's no eating in the toy room; jungkook also loves to randomly come and hangout in the toy room by himself

wouldn't tolerate any kind of disrespect toward you; say you went out to a restaurant and the server was being rude to you, he'd clock it so fast he'd be talking to a manager having your server swapped out and dessert on the house before you even realized what they said

y'all try new hobbies together; it's never anything you have experience or are good at which makes it even more fun as you're doing it; like you'll get one of those woobles crochet kits and spend like a month trying to figure it out in your free time and make whatever little creature you bought

never actually stops dating you; will still have an active folder with activities and restaurants he wants the both of you to go to; even if you both lack the time and energy to actually go out on a date he's lighting a candle and pulling out the fine china for you it doesn't matter that you're wearing loungewear and sitting on the floor in front of the tv; he wants you to feel special always

jimin:

intimacy between you two go crazy; you’re as close as close can be like if there were such a thing as soulmates you two would be it; you’re consistently trapped within your own bubble and even if you’re out and about it’s still almost as if no one else existed; like say y’all went out to a club music is thumping people are everywhere it’s a generally Loud environment if you softly called his name from beside him he would turn to you immediately; or someone could brush past him and it’d be whatever but if you ghosted your hand up his arm he would get goosebumps; you’re just insanely in tuned to each other

would love if you had a softer build bc he likes the way you feel like heaven when he lays on you; also he just likes squeezing at your squishy bits; he finds it equal parts amusing and satisfying; like he'll squeeze at your boob when you're half asleep in bed just to annoy you; you'll be turned on your side and his arm will be slung across your waist and he'll just inch his hand up until he reaches your boob and squeezes; giggles evilly every time you smack his hand away and won't stop until you're whining and kicking at him to leave you alone and let you sleep

sometimes you’ll build a giant fort in the living room when he’s getting overwhelmed by life complete with fairy lights strung up overhead and pillows and more blankets covering the floor to make it extra comfy; you spend all day together in there playing games and talking nonsense and eating snacks and end the night cuddled up his arm wrapped around your shoulders, your head tucked into his neck watching movies until you’re sure his head is free from all his worries

loves to be fed, literally; like when dinner time comes he will make one big plate and pull up with a fork and a knife and a waiting attitude; if you don't play along immediately he's gonna put his hands over yours and make you feed him bites until you take over; likes to feed you as well; just always sharing his food with you and expects you to do the same

he gets obsessive when you don't answer his calls; like if he knows you're not busy and he calls you and you don't answer it drives him up a wall and he will spam you with texts and at least a dozen more calls until you pick up; not even because he has anything urgent to tell you he just always craves your attention; bonus: ends every conversation by saying i love you like you could be on the phone for 15 seconds just confirming something really quickly and he's gonna make sure he's told you he loves you before you click end call

doesn’t say anything when he finds you crying just pulls you into him and lets you get it all out; once you start calming down a bit he’ll pull back slightly, gently cupping your face in his hands and swipe away all your tears; only when he’s sure the tears have come to a complete stop does he softly ask “what’s going on?”

still gets shy and flustered around you; it doesn’t stop him from being himself around you whatsoever but it’s very obvious when you have the upper hand in a situation

you can't just tell him you need an item from the store bc half the time he'll go and come back with the wrong thing; you gotta send him a picture of it and that don't even work all the time; most of his solo ventures to the store at your request end in him facetimeing you bc he swears up and down they don't have what you asked for but then you end up finding it for him and you not even there

knows you admire his art skills so he leaves little doodles on post it notes around the house; is really proud when you display the ones you find really cute in your phone case

the type to put his life in your hands; when y'all go out to eat he tells you to order for him bc "you know what i like"; will let you dress him/style his hair however bc "you know what looks good on me"; he just literally trusts and defers to your judgement as much as possible

taehyung:

the type to tighten all the jars when you’re upset with him so you’re forced to ask him for help and talk to him anyway

would try to set up a really romantic dinner for you complete with rose petals and candles and champagne on ice but he'd be so focused on creating the right ambience that he forgets to order the food and one thing bout tae is he ain't a chef and even if he was he wouldn't have enough time before you showed up so you'd end up having a pb&j and cup noodles

sometimes if he has a lot of energy but you’re asleep he’ll poke at you until you’re awake and then he’ll ask if you’re asleep and when you say yes he’ll keep messing with you until he’s able to drag you out to play with him

knows how to tie a tie but claims it looks better when you tie it so whenever he wears a suit he gets you to finish off his look; really he just likes to be manhandled by you and the grip you have around his neck does something for him

if you get him riled up in the morning he just lives there all day; partially aware of what's going on around him but undoubtedly distracted, thinking about you, wanting you; hands and eyes are glued to the phone at all times hoping you'll message him or something even if it is just you teasing him some more; he's putty in your hands and he knows it but when the day is over and y'all are both home you're his

you have to come to major compromises when it comes to decorations; like you let him have his accent wall that he puts his paintings of his basquiat-esque faces but the weird cyber bug and person shark statues and the butt chair have to go

you do majority of the cooking so he takes dish duty very seriously; will swat you away if you try to help most times; however there’s a special place in his heart for the times you ignore him and help anyway by drying the dishes and it’s you him and some music playing and you’re singing and dancing around the kitchen together

there's a legitimate argument about your use of a body pillow; he genuinely gets offended bc is he not enough for you? why can't you just cuddle him? why would you go and put the great wall of china in between you two? what's with the distance? was he too much for you? like the situation blows completely out of proportion for no reason skslklsks the argument ends when you force him to cuddle it and he instantly understands the hype behind it; that doesn't curb his jealousy towards the object however and you're only allowed to use it when he's not in bed with you

a whiny baby when he's sick; you'd think he had tuberculosis in the 12th century instead of a common cold the way he be acting; a piece of tissue stuck in his nose, piled under three blankets, shivering every five minutes on cue; you give him a good day of dealing with the dramatics after that you leave him in the room with a bottle of dayquil and a packet of vitamin c until he decides to get on with his life like a normal human being

loves planning weekend getaways for the two of you; like every other month you guys are out of town for like 3-4 days in the spirit of “rekindling”; he always rents a really nice and cozy cabin type joint and most of the trips are spent just enjoying each others company and the scenery, walking around the town latched onto his arm and eating good food; you come back from each outing refreshed and more in love than you already were

jungkook:

every sunday he checks your car to make sure it has a full tank and if it doesn’t he fills it up for you

you two have separate rooms bc you both like to have space to just exist as an individual from time to time (also it’s really nice to have a place to storm away to when you’re in a fight) but you end up cuddled up next to each other every night anyway

has a very strict laundry schedule and routine; gets annoyed if you don't do it how he likes when he's unable to

watches you while you’re getting ready; he’ll be sitting at the edge of the bed while you walk around from your closet to the dressers circling the room trying to find something to wear; you’ll be having a conversation with him the whole time and after you walk past him for the 4th time his clinginess gets the best of him and he catches you by the waist before you can fully bypass him; he pulls you in between his legs and just hugs you to him for a few moments while you run your hands through his hair

follows you around the house with his mic serenading you like three times a week

comes behind you when you’re cooking or washing dishes or something and just pats at your butt for a while and by a while i mean he won’t stop until you elbow him and threaten to cut his hands off; he just laughs and gets one more grope in before backing off

traces the contours of your face and murmurs all kinds of cute and lovely and cheesy stuff about you when you’re both in bed and he thinks you’re sleep

if you made him a good meal you’d hear about it constantly for the next week; like every other sentence is a “seriously, it was so good” and he won’t stop until you make it again; sometimes he’ll try making it himself to see if he could do better but it always tastes best coming from you

an absolute menace in the grocery store; will spend the first 15-20 minutes behaving as he grabs whatever he needs personally and once that's done he's acting a fool; doing that thing that kids do when they use the cart as a skateboard like push off on it and then hop on to ride out the wave; grabbing all kinds of junk that neither of you need; touching everything even when he has no intention of buying it; you have to grab his ear and threaten him with celibacy to get him to calm down

whenever you’re sitting next to each other could be on the couch out at dinner in bed etc he likes to play with your hand and fiddle with your ring; will often slide it off and try to fit the ring on his fingers; then he’ll put it back on and kiss your fingertips for safekeeping

a/n: i worked on this for months and months and now it’s finally here lemme know what u thought 😩🙏

[megamindsecretlair]

What You Deserve, Part 1

Pairing: Big Stunna x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Toxic filth. Infidelity. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female receiving) teasing/mocking, cum play, dirty talk, praise kink, Daddy kink, all consensual.

Summary: While out running errands for your family, sweet and handsome Stunna helps put the groceries in your car. A naughty, run-away thought leads you to invite him back to your house to thank him properly.

Word Count: 6,984k

Part 2

A/N: The brainrot is REAL. This is a hot ask from @planetblaque Everybody say thank you for this toxic hot fic! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @blackerthings @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @thecookiebratz @iv0rysoap @notapradagurl7 @sevikasblackgf @miyuhpapayuh @xo-goldengirl @kindofaintrovert @flydotty @judymfmoody @slippinninque @soufcakmistress @henneseyhoe @westside-rot @melaninpov @twocentuar @blackpinup22 @babybratzmaraj @theyscreamsannii @kiabialia

You walked down the grocery store aisle and the squeaky wheel on the cart was driving you nuts. You managed to get a lot on the list but you were still looking around for rice. You sighed. You hated when the store rearranged shit for no reason. How hard was it to keep things in the same place? 

You turned down the rice aisle and noticed a tall man wearing a black and white flannel shirt, dark jeans, and boots. Damn, he looked really good standing there picking out taco packets. You looked down at your wedding ring and curled your lip in disgust. 

Your husband would never be caught dead in the grocery store. And if he did, he’d only call you every two seconds because he didn’t pay attention to shit. He was a big picture man, staring ahead years into the future and what he needed to do to provide for the family.

Provide. That’s all he knew how to do. Your husband wasn’t a bad man…he was oblivious in a way that should have been a warning bell before you got married. As such, you were five years into the marriage with perfect five year old twins. When they weren’t being little demons.

You looked back towards the man and he was looking between two items, looking at the ingredients. You got a nice look at the length of his neck, his beard, and a cute little mumble he did while he debated. 

You shouldn’t be checking out another man but well, you weren’t dead. You saw something pretty, you were going to look at it. And in this case, the man was too pretty for words. Or maybe it was your libido talking. After the kids, your husband paid less attention to that aspect of the marriage, forcing you into a life of celibacy. 

Every blue moon, he’d look at you with something that could be called interest and then he’d get you just wet enough to get inside you. He’d get off, ask if you did, and then pass out in front of the TV. You started lying that you did just to get him out of the room. Who the hell wanted to be with someone that made sex feel like a chore? 

You picked up a small packet of rice and then thought about it. The bigger packet was more expensive but it’d last longer. And with the way your son, Noah, ate he’d eat you out of house and home by the time he’s a teenager. You picked up the bigger packet and scooted off down the aisle. 

You passed by the man. He looked up and gave you a double take, smiling as you passed showing off grills. You may have swayed your hips a little too hard as you turned the corner. Though, who were you fooling? 

While the kids were at school and your husband was at work, you barely put any effort into how you looked. You were a married stay at home mom and that meant lounge pants and a T-shirt were your best friend. Sometimes you even matched. You had joined the invisible legion of women whose world stopped as you took care of your family. You were happy to do so, but it was times like these that made you feel like you lost that spark. That sense of identity outside of your family. 

As you went down other aisles, somehow you managed to end up in the same ones with Mr. Sexy. It got to the point where’d notice first and smile at you. You smiled shyly back but avoided getting too close. He didn’t need any encouragement from you. If you were single though…

You sighed and made your way to the checkout lane. It was still early and there weren't a lot of people in the store. You checked out and pushed the cart to your truck, popping the trunk and starting to lift the bags inside.

“Excuse me! Miss!” A deep voice made you turn to the sound and there was Mr. Sexy waving over to you. 

“Yes?” You asked.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to help with your bags,” he said when he got closer to your truck. 

“Oh, that’s sweet but not necessary,” you said. 

“Please. My mama would turn in her grave if she knew I didn’t help a beautiful woman like you,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help a small smile. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” 

The small act of help touched you in ways that you weren’t expecting. As he lifted bags out of the cart, your eyes grew a little teary. When was the last time your own husband helped with groceries? 

“You look like you feeding an army here,” the man said.

You giggled. Well, he was bound to find out. “Ah, yeah. My husband and kids can eat a lot,” you said.

You watched his face to see what the news would do to him. Whether he was sad or disappointed that you were off the market. He only nodded. “Must be some slammin’ food if they eatin’ it like that,” he said. 

“I can throw down in the kitchen,” you bragged, preening a bit that you could do so. 

“Oh yeah? What you be makin’? And just know I’m already judging,” he said. He heaved bag after bag into your trunk and it made you a little sad thinking of bringing all that shit in the house by yourself. 

“Meatloaf, roast beef stew, enchiladas. In fact, I’m making that tonight,” you said. 

“Oh word? I be cookin’ sometimes too,” he said and then grinned like he was remembering a funny joke. “Enchiladas sound good as hell right now, too.” 

A naughty thought entered your mind. It was too brief and quick and you instantly kicked it to the back, hiding it in a tiny box and stepping on it. “You making anything special for your girl?” You asked.

He finished with the bags and then closed the trunk for you. “Naw, ain’t got a girl,” he said. He grinned at you. That smile could melt ice. You felt your pussy throb and your eyes widened. You about thought the damn thing was broken. 

“It’s just you?” You asked.

“Just me, unfortunately. But that’s alright. For now, I get to make whatever the hell I want and enjoy it,” he said. 

“Must be nice. My family loves my shit, but it’s not like they have an alternative,” you said and giggled. 

“Shame. I bet it’s delicious,” he said. Was he…flirting with you? Even knowing you had a family? 

“Thanks. I should probably get this home and start cooking. Thank you for helping me,” you said. 

He reached out his hand and you looked at it. Somehow, even shaking his hand felt naughty. Like he was going to see all the nasty things running through your mind. Thoughts of riding his thigh until you got off. Soaking his dick while he slammed inside of you. The thoughts were so vivid to you, you were worried that he’d read it all over your face. 

Another advantage to getting the house to yourself in the daytime was that you had plenty of toys to get the job done in peace. One thought about his face and you were sure you’d beat your personal record. 

You shook his hand so you weren’t rude and he held on. “I’m Stunna,” he said. He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss there. The back of your hand tingled and it moved all throughout your body until you were throbbing once more. Twice in a short amount of time? Calm down, girl. It wasn’t like you could do something with this man. 

You told him your name. “Would you mind if I gave you my number? If you’re out shopping, I can help you again,” he said.

You giggled. “You would come all the way to the store just to help me load groceries into my car?” 

“I’d unload them too if you let me,” he said. He was serious, not an ounce of humor on his face.

“You know I’m married, right? Like I didn’t bury that anywhere,” you said.

He laughed. “I heard that part, but I also don’t see the mu’fucka. Anyone letting you out of his sight must be ten kinds of stupid,” he said. He looked you over, making a show of turning his head one way and then another.

You laughed but didn’t let go of his hand. Found that you didn’t want to. Found that you were touch starved as hell and it was damn nice touching someone that looked as good as he did. “What, my husband supposed to have me on a leash?” You asked.

“Sheit, I would,” he said. “Yo sexy ass wouldn’t be able to breathe without me.”

“You better stop!” You said. Oh god, your cheeks were burning like hell and the whole thing was cute and weird and embarrassing. You did not get giggly because one man paid you a compliment. 

He wasn’t the first one to do so. Even though your husband was buried with work, he still called you beautiful. Raggedy men still tried to holler at you while you pumped gas and ran errands. None were so bold as Stunna though. There was something about that level of confidence that had you squeezing your thighs together. 

“Do you really want me to stop?” Stunna asked. 

No. Not even a little bit. But you couldn’t say that. “You probably should. Gonna get us both in trouble,” you said. 

“I don’t mind a little trouble. You never answered me about giving you my number. I was serious,” he said. “I don’t want anything in return, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d just like to see you again. Your husband don’t let you have friends?” He asked. 

You rolled your eyes playfully and finally dropped his hand. You were holding onto it entirely too long. “I can have friends,” you said. But you knew that he’d be anything but friendly. And why did that turn you on? 

“See, that’s that nigga’s first mistake. I wouldn’t let you have no friends neither,” he said. 

You laughed loudly and shook your head. “Life with you sounds restrictive as hell! What if I want alone time?” You asked.

“You could have all the alone time you want. At home,” he said. 

You couldn’t help laughing again, leaning against your truck as you pictured life with him. Life where he was clingy and wrapped entirely with you and never chose you over his work. The type of life you always dreamed about when you were younger and thought love meant candy hearts, roses, and bubbly champagne. 

“You have issues, sir,” you said. 

“That’s aight. You just look too damn good to go to the store by yourself or run errands. These belong on a honey-do list,” he said. 

You smiled. Your husband would break out in hives if you gave him a honey-do list that involved the grocery store or runs to the clothing store for your twins. Your kids were active in every sense of the word. You made it a point that they stay off screens as much as possible and get out into the big backyard your husband paid for. 

They found every mud patch, mudslide, and dusty hill to play on. When they came back in, they looked like swamp monsters. Your husband in the store trying to find good, cute outfits? Yeah right. 

“You are crazy. But I want to thank you. How does enchiladas sound?” You asked.

“Word? I get to try some?” He asked.

“If you’re serious about helping me unpack these groceries, then yeah. I think that’s worth a meal being cooked for you for once,” you said. Intrusive thoughts won for the day. You liked talking to him and you were worried that if you gave him your number, you’d chicken out. You’d reason and logic this away until you were even more depressed about the state of your marriage. 

It’d be nice to cook for someone who’d genuinely appreciate it. Rather than eating to live. Stunna seemed like the type that lived to eat and it was nice to find a kindred spirit. 

He grinned wider, showing up a neat row of white teeth and those grills. “I’d love to try your food,” he said. 

“Alright, follow me,” you said.

He walked you to the driver side of your car and held the door open for you while you climbed in. “See you soon,” he said and closed the door when you were safely inside. You put on your seatbelt and watched him return the cart to the proper place.

Your heart thundered in your chest as he made it to his own car. You started yours up and pulled out of the parking spot. A moment later, he was pulling up behind you. You drove home, heart in your throat. What the hell were you doing? 

Stunna was a stranger and you were just letting this man follow you home. You watched his car in your rear view mirror and wondered what he was like. So far, he had been nothing but cordial but a tad forward. You knew he valued his mom and was a gentleman, even though he had silly ideas about how he’d treat his woman. 

You remembered your single days. Grabbing enough food for yourself and eating lonely meal after lonely meal. Stunna didn’t seem like he was hurting for female company. It seemed like he was interested in yours and well, what the hell? You were grown, you could protect yourself. 

Besides, you just really, really wanted to keep talking to him. 

You pulled into your driveway and Stunna parked on the street. You were in the quiet suburbs where Black folks were just trying to get by. They had nice houses and decent jobs, but people were more interested in faking the funk than admitting that they were struggling. 

Your husband was smart with money so you weren’t hurting. But buying two of everything was expensive. It seemed like Noah was always playing right out of the shoes you bought him and Naomi just had to have the latest baby doll. 

Stunna joined you at your car and you unlocked it for him. He grabbed a handful in each hand and you were sorry he was wearing long-sleeves. You wanted to see his muscles work. You wanted to see his shirt off. 

For now, you would settle with just watching him be considerate. You let him into your home and he whistled. “Nice ass house,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. You had it decorated to your specifications so it wasn’t stuffy and stiff. As if you lifted it from a magazine. Naw. Your house was lived in and full of love. 

You walked to the kitchen and showed him where to drop off the bags. “Naw, I wanna earn my meal. Point to where they go and I’ll do it,” he said. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you said. 

“I know. Let me help. Sit yo pretty ass down and get some water,” he said. 

“Fine,” you said with a grin. He grabbed the rest of the groceries from the car and closed your front door. You asked him to lock it. You may live in a nice neighborhood but that didn’t mean shit. Thieves would use any advantage to steal. Stunna could be a thief but he didn’t have to wait till he got here. Sure, he could steal the shit in your house but it was all insured. He’d have been better off stealing your wallet at the store. 

You told him which ingredients to leave out for the enchiladas while you grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. You downed at least half of it. Stunna made you feel like you were standing on top of a hot vent. 

He accepted his bottle and sat down at the bar stool, looking at you while you dug out pots and pans, cooking utensils, and your cutting board. 

You talked about light subjects like your family, friends, and what he does for a living. He was a bit cagey about that part, so you assumed it was something bad. You weren’t trying to be judgemental but you could not see his sexy ass saying, “Yes, Sir. No, Sir”, at an office job like your husband. 

You put the chicken on to boil and started prepping the veggies for the salad on the cutting board. Yes, he judged the hell out of how you sliced them. 

“I’m trying to make you a nice lunch,” you said.

“I know! I’m just saying, you could slice them faster and more evenly,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to help me with the meal too!” 

He chuckled. “I don’t mind. Can I show you?” He asked.

You gave him a playful look to know that you were mad at him but with no real heat. “Fine, since you know everything,” you said.

He got up from the stool and came around the kitchen island. He washed his hands in the sink and then took the knife from you. “Aight, so if you hold it like this and the tomato like this, boom,” he said. He focused on the task, blowing through the tomato like butter. 

“Wait, how’d you do that?” You asked. He chuckled and grabbed another one, going slower and showing you how to do what he did. He grabbed the last one and let you do it. You made one slice and he made a noise like a game buzzer.

“May I?” He asked. 

You really shouldn’t. But your head was nodding anyway. He stood behind you and you closed your eyes briefly. He was so strong and solid behind you. He leaned down so he could bring his hands on top of yours. He showed you how to hold the knife and tomato and how to make the same cuts he did. 

He helped you with the first few slices and then left you to make the next ones by yourself. He didn’t move from behind you as you moved through cutting it, chopping it up like a professional chef.

“I did it!” You said. You giggled and danced, shaking your ass on his crotch until you realized what you did and stopped.

“I am so sorry!” You said. You flipped around in his arms and he titled his head at you.

“I’m not,” he said with a slow grin. 

“Stunna, now you know…” 

“I know that you seem a little lonely. Forgive my bluntness, but shit, this whole house to yourself every day and all you do is cook and clean?”

“I take care of my family,” you said defensively. 

“I know. But who take care of you? Shit on the outside, it look like yo husband forgot what a baddie he got for a wife,” he said. “I wouldn’t ever forget.” 

He used his fingers to lift your chin up and forced you to look at him. “Stunna, I’m married,” you said. You said it like it was a piece of armor you drew around yourself. Those two words would stop even the most persistent of men. 

“Mhm, yet you here with me,” he said. 

“I got kids,” you said. 

“They little asses still in school, ain’t they? I’m great with kids,” he said. 

You giggled. “You are so bad.” 

He grinned, flashing you the grills. He was dangerous. Likely some type of criminal. A veritable hood rat that chased skirts and smoked all day. The complete opposite of your straight-laced husband who got pissy if his tie didn't match his shirt. 

“I can be worse,” he said. He put his hands on the countertop on either side of you. He placed a kiss against your neck, breathing in your scent. You wore your favorite lotion and were glad you did. 

“Let me be bad and take care of you for once,” he whispered against your skin. “Don’t you deserve it? Don’t you deserve to feel good?” He moved his lips to the other side of your neck. You leaned your head back, letting out a soft moan. 

If he kissed you, you’d cum on the spot. That’s how needy you were. How desperate and starved for affection. 

“Stunna, are you serious?” You asked.

“Hell yeah. See, the why I see it? This ain’t you, mama. You need some relief. I can be that,” he said.

“Even though…”

“Hear me when I say that I don’t give a flying fuck about your husband. I don’t give a shit that you’re a mom. I see a fine ass woman with a banging body that I wanna put on this table and taste her. Eat her for lunch,” he whispered in your ear. The force of his words were like tiny arrows shooting you with desire. 

You leaned back so that you could look him in the eyes. “Do it. I want that,” you said. 

Stunna turned and lowered the heat on the chicken. Then, he grabbed your hand and led you to the dining table. He intuitively moved to the head of the table. You went to loosen the tie at your waist, but he slapped your hand away.

He brought his lips to yours and you let him. You let him kiss you and opened your mouth to run your tongue against his. He moaned and kissed you deeper, rougher. He knew without you having to say what you needed. 

He pulled the tie at your waist, letting your lounge pants slip off of your hips and down to the floor. Shit! 

You pulled away from him and tried to hide your hideous granny panties. He pulled your hands away. “Think this scare me away?” He asked.

You nodded but you couldn’t look him in the eye. How the hell were you supposed to be sexy while wearing these atrocities? To be fair, you weren’t expecting sex today. Your husband was on a project that sucked up all of his time and attention. 

“Naw. Just makes you sexier to me. Move them hands,” he said.

You bit your lip and shook your head. There was no way you could continue after looking so gross.

Stunna leaned down and kissed your ear. “If I gotta move ‘em, you ain’t gon’ like it,” he said. 

Shit, that only turned you on. You lowered your hands and finally looked at him. “That’s right. Be a damn good girl for me and take them sexy panties off,” he said. 

Your fingers shook as you lowered your panties. Cool air brushed along your skin but did little to cool you off. There was a roaring fire of desire burning through your veins and you hadn’t even done anything. Hadn’t done more than kiss and take off your clothes. 

“Shirt too,” he said. He grabbed you by the waist and picked you up, sitting you down on the table. You yelped from the cold surface, making him grin. 

You plucked off the T-shirt. Your bra was just as plain and ratty. All the cute bra and panty sets in your drawer and this was what you wore when you finally got some. The situation would be funny if it weren’t so embarrassing. Stunna truly didn’t seem to mind as you took off your bra.

His eyes lit up as he looked at your titties. He sat down in your husband’s seat and palmed your breasts, running his fingers over your sensitive nipples. You moaned, arching your back so that he could get a better angle. 

He leaned forward and brought his lips to your left nipple, flicking his tongue over it. He latched on, suckling it into his mouth and you cried out from the pressure and bite of pain. Endorphins rushed through your system, making you squirm on the table. You were so wet. 

He massaged your titties as he suckled. He moved on to your right nipple, suckling on it and moaning as if he were getting pleasure from this too. It wasn’t a chore. He wanted to touch you, taste you. 

“Shit,” you moaned.

As he switched sides once more, he brought his hand down to cup your pussy. You jerked off of the table and he cooed. “Hmm, nice and creamy already. Love me a creamy girl. You got some more for me?” 

He slowly worked his fingers past your pussy lips. He gathered up your essence at your entrance and used it to circle and tease your clit. You brought one of your hands up to his shoulder to push at him. 

“What I tell you about them hands, gorgeous?” He asked.

“But…”

He bit your nipple and you cried out from the sting. “Uh-uh, do what Daddy tell you to.” 

Fuck. You came on his fingers already, thighs twitching and brain tingling. You moaned throughout it, that sweet relief everything you needed. Relief that didn’t come from your own two fingers or a sex toy was somehow more intense. More visceral. 

You bit your lip and looked at him. He watched you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Needed that shit, didn’t you?” He asked.

You didn’t trust your voice. You nodded shyly. Ugh! You hated this! You did not land your husband being this timid woman who was too afraid to even moan during sex. You enjoyed the hell out of it. You enjoyed the hell out of it with your husband. But once you got pregnant, he knew he needed to step up. Grinding for you became more important than grinding in you. 

A pang of shame hit you. You allowed another man to touch you. You swiftly kicked that bit of shame to the back of your mind. This wasn’t about emotions or starting anything. This was something nasty to get out of your system. The last hurrah you never got because you were pregnant when your husband proposed. You never got a wild bachelorette party with strippers and dick straws. 

“Spread them legs,” he commanded. 

You grinned slowly. You opened your legs and gave him a sultry look. The look of surprise on his face was priceless. You were just a little rusty. You knew how to throw down. 

“You so fuckin’ sexy. Spread open for me,” he said. He licked his fingers, licking away your arousal. He moaned and closed his eyes, savoring your taste. “Sweet, just like you.”

He grabbed your thighs and opened them wider. He rubbed his big nose in between your folds. His tongue lapped at your entrance. His moans got higher as he tasted you in earnest. 

“Oh shit! Oh fuck! Shit!” You moaned. His tongue felt like exactly how you pictured heaven. Eternal spring, warm sun, soft grass to sink your toes into. Your thighs pushed in ready to trap his face but his warm hands pushed them out. Pushed them away. Kept your legs open for him to lick and suck and tease your clit. 

He made out with your pussy. Licking you and then following behind by his lips to lap up whatever you leaked out. Your thighs quivered at the attention and care. At the total devotion to getting you off. You cried and whined until you were plunging head first into another orgasm. One that rocked you down to your core.

“Oue, shit,” you moaned. You looked down and he was still lapping at your juices. You glitched every time his tongue swiped your sensitive clit. He stopped and retreated from your pussy, a long spit chain still connecting you both. His beard was glistening with your arousal and you moaned, loving the picture before you. 

He licked his lips, breaking the chain. “Damn girl. Creamy as fuckin’ hell,” he said. 

You licked your own lips. Needing a double dose of him. You leaned forward and reached for his pants. He stopped you. “Use your words,” he said.

“I need you. I wanna taste you, too,” you said. 

He gripped your chin and brought you closer. And he wanted to kiss you after eating you out?! 

His lips were puckered and wet. His beard tickled your chin as he kissed you. This wasn’t just a kiss. It was like he wanted to share your essence with you. Like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue and get a glimpse of what he did when he was between your thighs. 

You did taste yourself and it was so damn hot. You smelled yourself all over him. His tongue explored your mouth. Your kisses were loud and sloppy. Lazy and slow, so at odds with how intense this man had been so far. 

Your hands pulled at his shirt, trying to unbutton his shirt or slip it over his head. You needed him naked too. You needed to see all of him. “There’s that little nasty freak. I knew she was in there,” he said against your lips.

“Pants. Off. Now,” you said. 

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He made quick work of his pants dropping them down just enough to expose his long, thick dick. Veins stood out against the shaft and drool threatened to spill out of your mouth. 

You wanted to see more. You pulled at his shirt and he laughed again. “Do I need to tie those hands up? ‘Cause you don’t know how to listen,” he said. 

“I wanna see all of you,” you said.

“Naw, today’s about you,” he said. He tilted his head and grabbed his dick, stroking a few times as he looked at your dripping pussy. 

“‘Bout you getting what you so obviously deserve.” He slapped his dick against your pussy. Your eyes rolled back. You lost track of how many orgasms he handed out. You should be tired. You should be too wrung out to do anything more. 

But you were hungry for him. Desperate for that long dick to deliver the strokes you sorely miss. Need. 

“Today’s about getting you back to normal. To remind you that you’re fuckin’ gorgeous. That you shouldn’t go a day without getting filled up and fucked,” he said. 

“Oh god. Fuck,” you moaned. 

He slowly worked his way into your pussy. You moaned, crying out at just how big he was. How deep he was already and he hadn’t bottomed out yet. 

“Ouue, shit. Hear this pussy talkin’?” He asked.

“Unf, yesss,” you moaned. 

“You hear it? You should be hearing that every night,” he said. He wet his dick with your arousal and your toes curled as he finally settled himself in your wet heat. 

“Fuck. Flip over ‘cause you don’t know how to behave,” he said. 

“I can behave,” you said and poked your bottom lip out. 

He grinned, those golds transforming him from hot to smoldering. He kissed you with a loud smack. “You can’t even listen when Daddy tell you do something. Flip that ass over,” he said. 

You whined playfully as he slipped out. You let your wobbly legs down onto the floor and then turned around. He moved your hips until he lined you up where he wanted you. He lifted your left leg to hug the table and pressed down on your back until you were flush against the surface. 

He smacked your ass. The loud sound and pain made you cry out. “Show me how you got them kids,” he said.

“Fuuuck,” you moaned. 

He rammed his dick back inside you and you gasped. He stayed there, buried inside you while you adjusted to his girth and length. “Oue, shit. Fuuuck, you’re so big Daddy,” you moaned. You shook your ass on his dick. 

He placed his hands on your hips but made no further movements. You began to move, rocking back on his dick, showing him exactly how you got your kids. You slammed down on him how you liked. Rough. Hard. It wasn’t difficult to do since his dick was so big. You had so much to work with. 

“Ohhh, you like this dick,” he said.

“Yes, Daddy, I like it,” you said. Hell, you had no room to lie. Even working yourself desperately on his dick like this, you were having the time of your fucking life. 

He chuckled and then started stroking. “Oh shit,” you said, a hint of panic creeping into your voice. You thought you were doing a little something. Arching your back and bouncing your ass on his dick.

But Stunna? Stunna was a different breed. He gave it to you exactly how you needed. He rutted inside of you, slamming you back on his dick with enough force to rob you of air. Rob you of thought. You were able to turn your brain off and enjoy getting filled up.

“You still like that shit?” He asked.

“Ahm,” you moaned. You couldn’t answer him. Couldn’t do anything but accept this deep, rough fucking. He moved his hands to your lower back and switched up his strokes. He moved deeper, his strokes longer. His thighs slapped against your ass loud enough to be mistaken for fireworks or a gunshot. 

You laid your cheek against the table and let your body take over for you. Your body knew exactly what to do. Your pussy gripped him and he moaned low in his throat. 

“I need that last one, mama. Gimme that last one,” he said.

“I…can’t…” You said.

“Sure you can. Gripping me so pretty. You almost there. You almost there, I can feel it. I can feel how much you need it. Let it go, mama. Let it go,” he said. His voice grew quieter as he talked. 

The pressure in your lower belly was unbearable. You whined, knowing you were on the edge. You didn’t know what you needed but you were too far gone to name it. Claim it. To let him know.

Stunna’s hands roamed up your back until one of his hands was gripping the back of your neck. He squeezed and you gasped at the new angle. He got deeper, the tip of him kissing the very heart of you.

You exploded with a loud shriek, squeezing him and cumming with the power of a thousand suns. You shook and twitched on the table, flopping around. You were too lost to consider how crazy you looked.

“Gahh damn,” he moaned. He moved his hips rougher and faster until he slammed into you and shouted, unloaded a huge load into you.

“Sheeeeit,” you moaned. His cum painted your insides. Some of him slipped out around his dick and dropped down to your clit and likely landed on the table. 

“Fuck, mama. That was fuckin’ sexy,” he said. He slowly pulled out and you felt the rush of his cum leak out. Good fucking thing you were still on birth control. The last thing, the absolute last thing you needed was to turn up pregnant with another man’s baby. Good luck explaining that to your husband. 

You were still glitching on the table. So thoroughly fucked out that you couldn’t move yet. Didn’t want to move. 

Stunna rubbed your back and then your booty. He gave you a booty massage while he watched his cum spill out of you. 

The smell of chicken finally invaded your senses. “Food,” you said. 

“Don’t worry, mama. You focus on getting your strength back,” he said. He zipped himself back up and then washed his hands. He turned off the stove and then heated up the pan. You listened and saw his back as he moved around your kitchen, cooking food for your family.

He fried up the shells, dipped it in the sauce and then rolled it on the pan with chicken and cheese. Done, he put some seasoning on top followed by more cheese. He put it in the oven and set a timer.

This. This was what you thought married life would be like. Getting your guts rearranged and cooking food together. Laughing together. Playing together. 

Stunna came back around to check on you. He grinned and leaned on the table to kiss you. You were still in the same position he left you in. Fucked out and blissed out. 

“Why don’t you go shower and I’ll watch the food. Should be done by the time you get out,” he said.

“How are you…” 

“I see somethin’ I want, I want it. Let a real nigga show you how to appreciate the mother to his kids,” he said. He kissed you again and rubbed on your booty. “Now get your sexy ass upstairs before you’re late picking up your kids,” he said.

He helped you to your feet, proud of himself. Bastard. You picked up your clothes but Stunna stopped you from putting them on. 

“I wanna see that ass jiggle up the stairs,” he said. 

“I can’t stand you!” You said and giggled, wiggling your ass for him. You swayed your hips. A new energy suffusing you as you did so. You walked up to your room and showered, feeling nasty and like a woman again. Like you were more than a glorified maid and cook. 

Done with your shower, you came downstairs. Stunna was on his phone, sitting at the table like he didn’t fuck you senseless thirty minutes ago. When you came back in with cuter panties this time, black leggings, and a red T-shirt, Stunna whistled like you were walking around in lingerie. 

“Sexy ass. Getting fucked look good on you,” he said.

“Shut up!” You giggled. The enchiladas were cooling on the counter top. It smelled divine. You grabbed a plate and handed it to him, sitting down next to him. “Not really mines since you ended up finishing it,” you said. 

“You not gon’ have none?” He asked. 

You shook your head. “I’ll have some later. My schedule kinda lines up with the twins. I eat when they do,” you said. 

Stunna pushed the plate towards you, holding out the fork. “Eat,” he said.

“I’m fine,” you said.

“Do I need to feed you?” He asked. 

You rolled your eyes and took the fork from him. Nasty ass. If he fed you, you’d be late to pick up your kids. You ate a bite and moaned at the taste. His style was similar to yours but food made by other people tasted so much better. 

You ate half and pushed the other half to him. He chuckled. “Aight, but next time you’re eating all of it. Gotta take care of yourself too,” he said.

“Oh, next time? That’s bold,” you said.

He ate and shrugged his shoulders. “You ain’t telling me no,” he said.

You rolled your eyes again. You laughed and giggled your way during his meal. He finished and you washed the plate. Dishes were your least favorite chore so you made sure to do it as soon as possible. To avoid it getting gross. And yes, a little bit of you wanted no reminder of him here. 

Stunna came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He dropped his head to your shoulder. “Give me your number. I won’t cause a scene. I just wanna be in your life,” he said.

“Stunna, we can’t. This was fun,” you said.

“More than fun.” He lifted your chin with his fingers and looked in your eyes. “You feel something here. We work well together. However you’ll have me,” he said. 

You bit your lip. You wrestled with the decision. He already knew where you lived. What was your number on top of that? 

Your alarm went off. Your first reminder that you needed to get going to arrive at pick up early. You jerked away from Stunna, grabbing your phone off of the counter and silencing it. Stunna watched you as you thought through your options. 

“Giving you my number is like…agreeing to keep doing this,” you said.

“I ain’t gon’ pressure you for nothin’ you don’t wanna give. This can be whatever you want. But I saw your face when I was in that pussy. And it’s obvious your husband been neglecting you. Use me,” he said. 

He slowly walked over to you. He took the phone from your hands and started tapping away. “Use me whenever your hands don’t do nearly as good a job as me,” he said. 

You sighed and grinned. “Nasty ass,” you said. 

“I’ma dip. But use that number.” He gave you a last, scorching kiss and then let himself out of your house. 

You stared at the door, long after he was gone until your second alarm went off. You silenced it and made sure the stove was off. You left the house to pick up Noah and Naomi, listened to their excited chatter about school and what they learned.

You descended into “mom mode” as you fell into your normal routine. Get them home, homework done, washed up, and ready for dinner. Your husband made a rare appearance for once kissing you on the cheek and the kids on the head. 

“Did you try something different?” 

“Huh?” You asked, looking up from your dinner. 

“Did you try something different with the enchiladas? It tastes different, but delicious like always, babe,” he said. 

You stared at the table, picturing all the nasty shit you did there. How Stunna not only handled you, he also handled dinner. You sipped your water since your mouth went dry. The flashbacks were vicious. 

“Saw something online that I wanted to try. You like it?” You asked.

“Mhm,” your husband said. 

You hid your smile by eating more of the food and wondered when you could get Stunna back over. 

The Secret Big Stunna Files...in case you needed a little more in your life.

Part 2

[netherfeildren]

Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them. 

-OR- 

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy. 

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end. 

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win. 

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger. 

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now. 

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be. 

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her. 

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop. 

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream. 

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going. 

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them. 

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid. 

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now. 

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria. 

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide. 

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns. 

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply. 

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

-

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot. 

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face. 

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her. 

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you. 

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial. 

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too. 

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to. 

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically. 

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively. 

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long. 

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–” 

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him. 

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself. 

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better. 

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed. 

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles. 

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him. 

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back. 

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off. 

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give. 

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into. 

-

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was. 

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well. 

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his. 

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy. 

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly. 

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man. 

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone. 

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him. 

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool. 

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high. 

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him. 

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly. 

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh. 

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously. 

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?” 

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere. 

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones. 

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now. 

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m… I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it.  There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail. 

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you. 

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking. 

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm. 

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut. 

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp. 

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps. 

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin. 

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant. 

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–” 

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix. 

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him. 

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you. 

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin. 

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again. 

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning. 

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper. 

-

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic. 

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another. 

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy. 

-

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[rosypenguins]

My last post didn’t do my thoughts justice. I have more to say regarding this.

First, I have to talk about this boy’s insecurities. Because my god does he have them. His egotistical and cocky attitude? It’s all a front.

Because whenever we see him brag about himself, it’s usually either about his money, his possessions, or his achievements. He never brags about his own qualities. Likely because he doesn’t view himself as anything worthwhile.

It is also confirmed Drew has issues at home, and just based on his controlling attitude and his atrocious comforting skills (“Whoever recorded you did you a favor.” DREW NO-) I believe his parents are either absent entirely or neglectful as hell. (They probably shoved a credit card in his face every time he cried.)

Anyways, this is all to say that Drew doesn’t really find happiness in himself or his family. So who does he turn to for emotional stability? His friends.

And when TMF started, Drew was at his high point. He was confident in his friendships, and had a sense of security, which is why he had the motivation to dress nicely. He felt good, so he wanted to look good.

But in episode five, his outfit changes. And the first thing we see him do is talk about how Zoey’s been acting odd. And only a minute or so later, he accuses Jake of preferring the company of others over him.

This interaction immediately shows Drew’s growing insecurities regarding his relationships, and as mentioned previously, without these relationships, he essentially has nothing. When Drew’s relationships feel unstable, he feels unstable. And he loses that motivation to put himself together, instead opting for something he can feel comfortable in.

As the series progresses, we don’t see too much of Drew and Zoey’s relationship, but it doesn’t exactly seem like it’s functioning well. Zoey seems more interested in spending time with Lia, and anytime Drew’s with them, he seems bored out of his mind.

I also believe Drew knows he’ll never be as close to Henry and Liam as they are to each other. Even though they’re all friends, we mostly see Liam and Henry stick to one another, and I’d imagine it’d leave Drew feeling almost like a third wheel. Especially knowing Liam and Henry went to middle school together, while Drew didn’t. (Due to the fact Henry didn’t recognize Hailey in the comic episode, meaning he didn’t go to middle school with her, and by extension, Drew.)

The relationship that seems to mean the most to Drew is his and Jake’s. Jake’s his best friend. Jake’s the one he sits next to in class. The one he whispers to and gossips with. The one he partners with for assignments. The one he’s the most protective of. It’s obvious that this relationship is the one that means the most to him. The one that gives him the most security. And from this point onwards, we see this relationship crumble. Jake continues to avoid him, and the more possessive Drew becomes, the further it pushes Jake away.

And I find it interesting how Drew is almost unable to fathom Jake leaving him for someone else. Specifically, for someone they both bullied. Instead of questioning Jake, or even himself, he villainizes the Music Club. He doesn’t want to believe Jake would leave on his own, and instead comes to the conclusion Jake is being manipulated. Until, of course, Jake accuses him of the recording and fails to apologize even AFTER finding out Drew was innocent. (Jake why?)

And after everything, Drew breaks things off with Zoey, and cuts Jake out of his life. Two people he thought he could trust, gone.

TLDR: Drew is co-dependent on his friends and his clothing reflects how slowly but surely, both his relationships and his own mental state crumble, until he’s left with nothing.

[lu-vin-it]

Hi! I couldn’t find a pomt list so sorry if this is over your boundaries but what about Ellie Williams finding out reader is bi and not straight like she thought?

So sorry if I missed spelled something or if it’s over your boundary! Hope you have a good day/night! :)

New Contact

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

Pairings: Ellie Williams x Reader

Pronouns Used: She/Her

Word Count: 808

Warnings: Alcohol consumption (Everyone is of age)

A/N: Ty to @stqrluvr for proofreading!! ily!!

“It doesn’t matter Dina, she’s straight.” Ellie said with a shake of her head as she took a hit off the blunt in her hand.

“There is no way that girl is straight! I saw her making out with a girl at that party yesterday.” Ellie’s eyes snap to Dina’s.

“Who?” The raven haired girl shrugs.

“All I know is that it happened. You should just ask her. What’s the worst she can say?” What was the worst you could say? Ellie wasn’t completely sure what she was afraid of. She wasn’t too close to you so if you did reject her, it’d be pretty easy to avoid you. So what was she afraid of?

“Why don’t you ask her, if it’s that easy?”

“Cause I’m not the one with a massive crush on her!” Dina throws her hands in the air.

“Okay, it’s not a massive crush! It’s just like.. there.”

“Ellie.” The brunette girl meets her best friend’s eyes and groans.

“Fine, is she going to be at the party at Jesse’s?” Dina shrugs, taking the blunt out of Ellie’s hand.

“Probably, her and Jesse are pretty close.”

The party was crowded, but what did you expect from Jesse? The man knew everyone. You found a drink and then propped yourself up against a wall, watching everyone pass you or talk to each other. You hoped that maybe someone, anyone, would notice you and approach you.

Ellie and Dina came to the party late after Ellie’s car broke down on the way. Dina was immediately corralled away by Jesse, and Ellie was soon by herself in the full room. She wandered for a while, keeping an eye out for you.

You had been there almost an hour now, and the only person you had talked to was some guy named Jack. Said guy named Jack wouldn’t leave you alone and you were now wishing you hadn’t even showed. You hadn’t even seen Ellie and she was the only reason you came anyways.

“And so afterwards we went to this super nice restaurant it was like, off the chain, dude!” You mindlessly nod and take a sip of your drink. “Maybe I could take you there sometime! It's really cool and underground. You’d like it.”

“I’m sure.” You give him a slight smile. “I’m gonna go get another drink.”

“Oh, I’ll come with you!” You internally groan.

“Great.” You start walking to the kitchen, Jack following as quickly as he could. When you finally made it, you noticed something. Ellie Williams was leaning against the counter holding a red solo cup and checking her phone. You gulp and walk past her, deciding it’d be weird to say anything.

“Oh, hey, Y/N!” Your heart stops. Ellie Williams just said hey to you and neither Jesse nor Dina were around to make her. You swiftly turn around with a big smile.

“Hey, Ellie! I didn’t see you!” She gives you a hug which you reciprocate immediately. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been goo—“

“Sorry, got blocked out by some guy!” You squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance before turning to face Jack.

“Hey, why don’t you go back out there, I’m gonna talk to Ellie for a bit.” You say with a smile.

“Oh it’s chill.” He extends his hand out to the brunette girl besides you. “I’m Jack.”

“She told you to leave, go.” Ellie nods to the door. Jack glances between you two.

“Fine, you’re not even that hot anyways.” He scoffs, turning around and leaving.

“God, thank you, he’s been chatting me up for the past forty-five minutes and I think my head was about to explode.” Ellie laughs and you smile.

“No problem… like I was saying, I’ve been good. What about you?” She hops up onto the counter. You shrug, walking over to the bowl of ‘punch’.

“I’ve been fine, school is beating my ass.” You pour yourself some. Ellie breathes a laugh and nods.

“Yeah, I get that.” She pauses for a moment. “Hey uh.. you’re straight, right?” You snort and turn around with an eyebrow raised.

“What gave you that idea?” Ellie’s cheeks turn bright red and she scratches the back of her neck.

“I.. uh..”

“It’s okay, chill! I’m bisexual.” You smile into your cup. “Why do you ask?” She averts her eyes from yours and for a moment the room is filled with an awkward silence.

“Uh.. well.. I was actually wondering if you wanted to go out with me sometime?” You grin.

“I’d love to, Ellie. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.” Ellie smiles and sits up straight. “Let me get your number, hold on.” You fish through your purse until your hands finally land on your phone. You open it and start creating a new contact titled “Ellie 💕” before handing it to the brunette.

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

[buckets-and-trees]

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, Bucky x gn!Reader, side Sam Wilson Word Count: 2k

Summary: He reluctantly agreed to this in the first place, but a nice afternoon turns into a darker night than Bucky ever could have anticipated. [Takes place after Wandavision and TFATWS but before Multiverse of Madness]

Content Warnings: DARK FIC, entrapment, somnophilia, dub-con, non-con, entrapment, non-graphic sexual situations (p in v), magic, sorcery, trickery… 

Additional Notes: Written for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor's Mini March Challenge (literally the Pacific Coast eleventh hour of March 31st, but we made it), featuring a wicker basket and honey jar, a touch of praise, and a flash of voyeurism. I listened to a lot of Lana Del Rey, and the fic takes its title from her song of the same name (and I let Wanda use that as a beat of dialogue).

“Listen, we’re not far from the farm where she’s been staying. I know you don’t know her that well, but in case you forgot, she’s one of the ones who stuck her neck out for you at the airport in Berlin, went to The Raft with me, then went on the run with me and Steve.”

Bucky looked up to the roof of the SUV they were trundling along in. “I know, fine. I know you trust her, I just–“ Bucky broke off and took a deep breath. “After not being in control of my own mind for most of a century, you can’t blame me for being a little wary of dropping by to visit someone whose powers include mind manipulation.”

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. A beat later, he said, “She’s on our side. I saw her a few weeks ago. I owe it to her to look in and see how she’s doing now and then, and it’d probably mean a lot to her if you came along with me.”

“You’re going to do that? Appeal to my redeveloping humanity?” Bucky rolled his eyes for show but smiled. “Fine. Do we need to pick up a pie or some cookies first?”

Sam grinned. “And you say you have no social skills.”

“What’s this?” Wanda asked, trying to hide a smirk.

“Buck here insisted we needed to bring something if we were going to drop in unannounced,” Sam said, clapping the super soldier on the shoulder and pushing him into the cabin.

“I – well – my ma always said it was the polite thing to do. Not my fault this one has no manners,” Bucky offered, holding out the wicker basket with two loaves of fresh bread and a jar of honey from a local bakery they’d found in the small town nearby.

“Plus, we eat a lot and didn’t want to wipe you out.”

Sam and Wanda both laugh.

Wanda reaches for the basket. “It’s appreciated. Go ahead and have a seat at the table. I’ll put the kettle on.”

When the afternoon sun is casting long shadows across the room as it fights to keep streaming through the windows and Bucky, Sam, and Wanda have demolished almost all the bread, the new Captain America and the Winter Soldier stand up to leave. Bucky had been nervous, but this has proven to be another normal thing, another connection he’s fostering and doesn’t have to worry about. This was good.

“It’s good to see you holding up so well,” Sam said, pulling his jacket back on.

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Thanks for putting up with our checkup intrusion,” Bucky added. “You know Sam can’t help dithering over us lost souls.”

“Always wanting to help,” Wanda agreed.

“You know what?” Sam interjected in protest. "There are people who appreciate my efforts."

Bucky and Wanda laughed. It felt nice.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, Bucky, there is something I was hoping to speak just with Sam about.”

“Oh,” Bucky hadn’t expected that, but he knew they had so much more history behind them. “Sure, I’ll just wait in the car.”

He really hadn’t minded leaving them to talk in private. Twenty minutes had been fine. He hadn’t even begrudged thirty minutes, but forty-five minutes seemed a bit too long. They could’ve told him, and he would have gone on a walk or something. Really the only annoyance was letting him think their conversation was going to be quick.

If they were talking for this long, maybe there was a real issue. Maybe he could help.

And now he did need to use the bathroom, so he had a reason to check in that wasn’t indicating the impatience he’d accumulated over nearly an hour.

He rapped lightly on the door with the knuckles of his right hand while opening it with the vibranium one – the reverse would’ve sounded a little more aggressive, even if it would’ve been more convenient.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I–“

Bucky looked around the open living and dining room of the main level. Sam was not here, and Wanda was sitting serenely on the couch, legs crossed, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. Music was playing from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner.

“I was waiting for you to come back inside,” she stated calmly, closing the book, and setting it aside on the end table with her tea.

Without thought, Bucky had already adopted a defensive and alert stance, looking around for any helpful cues and cocking his head to listen for–

A long groan drifted down from the upstairs, cutting across the music.

“Sam!” Bucky moved with his preternatural speed to the stairs before Wanda could stop him and ascended, easily taking them three at a time.

What he saw when he reached the top of the stairs brought him to a full stop, his brows furrowing and his jaw dropping.

“What the hell is–?”

Another deep groan from Sam interrupted him, and no wonder. Bucky needed to look away, he really did, but he couldn’t – nor could he believe what he was witnessing.

On the other side of the lofted room of the cabin, Sam was naked on his back, a dark, misty creature seated squarely over his hips. The creature had its hands planted on Sam’s chest and was pumping itself up and down with Sam’s hands on the creature’s own hips to guide it.

“He is a magnificent sight, isn’t he?” Wanda crooned softly at his shoulder.

It was the tone of her comment that pulled Bucky’s attention away from the spectacle. “Choose your words wisely, Wanda.”

The brainwashing of the Winter Soldier was gone, but the unbelievable levels of control, precision, and restraint that had been honed by the US Army, heightened by the super soldier serum, and finetuned by the Soviets remained and were all that kept Bucky from ripping her limb from limb that instant. The rage was simmering right below the surface.

“It’s little known, but it’s quite a simple enchantment with the result of harvesting power. Copulation, particularly a moment of sexual climax, can generate a great deal of energy. An incubus or succubus draws that energy to sustain themselves, but this creature is an umbrabus, or a shadow of a sexual demon which I can absorb once it’s collected the energy.”

“You’re harvesting energy?”

“Mhmm,” she hums. “There are witches who steal power from other witches. This seemed more elegant a solution, and practically harmless.”

“Not harmless.”

Wanda calmly side-stepped him to adjust the drapes over the window as she responded, “He doesn’t remember.”

Bucky’s mind whirred, rapidly piecing things together what he was seeing with what he already knew and reports he’d read about this woman – back in Wakanda when he wanted to know everything about the fugitives who had turned with Steve and then the recent reports he’d hacked into SWORD and FBI servers to read in the car on the way to the cabin today.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve done this to him.” His hands balled into fists.

“No, it’s not.”

“What do you need the power for?”

“Aw, you’re too inquisitive,” she cooed, and stepped closer to him, reaching out as if to stroke his cheek, but he jerked out of the way. She still kept the small, serene smile on her face. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about it – that’s what they told me so many times.”

Bucky couldn’t stop the open glare that formed on his face.

Wanda just laughed.

“I could tell you, but you won’t remember anyway. Like I said, he doesn’t remember. You won’t remember anything more than maybe a dream,” she said in a way he knew was trying to reassure him, but he was not naïve enough for that. “Let’s just say hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have.

“I can give you anyone you want,” she continued. “I gave Sam the woman he’s been dating and about to start introducing to people as his girlfriend back home. I always wondered… perhaps Steve?”

Without even thinking he had the redhead slammed up against the wall, lifting her by her throat in less than an instant. “Steve? You didn’t do this to him – to them, did you?” The rage that had been simmering now surged like fire through every vein of his body. Wanda had been with Steve, Sam, and Natasha for the better part of two years.

“No,” she eked out, “I did not know the breadth of my abilities then.”

She squeezed his forearm to get him to let her down, and he slowly acquiesced, lowering her to stand of her own volition again but kept enough pressure on her throat to keep her pinned. He might believe that she wasn’t practicing dark magic on his friends before Thanos. The report filed by a Monica Rambeau claimed Westview was grief with good intentions that were put right after Wanda realized the harm she’d caused – created. James Woo from the FBI had reported a similar view. But that was months ago…

Wanda licked her lips, then one of her hands moved up to draw patterns over his hand still on her throat. “Who do you want, James?”

Bucky shook his head. “No.”

Wanda tilted her head. “There’s certainly someone who must have caught the eye of a handsome soldier like you,” her voice lilted sweetly. Saccharine.

Bucky clenched his jaw as your face flashed in his mind, clear as day.

“Ah.” Her eyes gleam, and he feels the dread tighten in his stomach. “What a lovely creature.”

She began to whisper an incantation, and the words are far from the ten cursed Russian words that overruled his own agency for decades, but the dread it conjured was the same.

“No,” he plead.

Then there was the soft weight of a hand on his shoulder, and he whipped his head to see another dark, shadowy being. But as he grabbed the hand to remove it from his shoulder, the umbrabus transforms into a striking approximation of you.

He dropped his grip on Wanda, but otherwise he was now frozen, watching the shadow you. You weren’t naked, but nearly, in only too-tempting swaths of dark blue satin and lace. The being stepped forward and caressed his cheek, and he closed his eyes and didn’t jerk away as he had when Wanda reached for him, but he did try to turn his head and refuse the soft touch. He tried, but he couldn’t.

“Oh, James, there’s no harm in it,” Wanda said. “You can’t stop me from getting what I want, and this world has already taken so much from you, so why not get something you want?”

One hand of the umbrabus – he had to remember it wasn’t you, he had to – trailed delicately down his neck and along his shoulder while the other gently came to rest on his hip. It inclined its head toward him, then moved in and pressed hot lips against his throat. He groaned.

“It will hurt no one,” Wanda continued to speak, “no collateral damage, and you deserve a little happiness.”

The umbrabus’s fingers moved from resting on his hip to hook into the waistband of his jeans, and tugged him toward a bed Wanda conjured just a few steps away.

“Pleasure and happiness aren’t the same thing,” Bucky protested.

“Maybe not, but you will still feel it.”

Was he tumbling willingly onto the bed with you, no her, it?

Because he didn't want this. This isn’t you circling your legs around his waist and pulling his head down to kiss you. He'd only spoken with you a few times, and he didn’t want the falsification unfolding here to supplant the reality he had been looking to slowly build with you.

“And to think of all the strength and stamina you will give me as a super soldier,” Wanda whispered in his ear, trailing a finger down his spine. Where were his clothes? “The only one of your kind left, you will be such a good source of power it will be difficult to let you go, but I promise I will. I’m not the villain, after all.”

He sank into you

“Yes, doing so well for me,” she says softly.

And he was lost.

READ: writer's commentary for this piece for the Dark Forest Fest

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[kabie-whump]

✧･ﾟRipe, About to Fall - Part 9 ✧･ﾟ

This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance.

Title from ‘Liquid Smooth’ by Mitski

Series Description and Warnings

Masterlist, First, Previous

Chapter Summary: Athos has some guests over. Dramaaaa

Chapter Content: references to past child abuse, master/pet dynamics, betrayal, a lot of talk about whipping and branding but it doesn't happen onscreen, drug withdrawl/addiction

Onthyes does not belong to me. He was created by my wonderful gf @sapphicccici and I have kidnapped him.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“Have you learned your lesson?”

Ventis could barely understand what Athos was saying. The vial of nightspill - the one thing capable of ending his suffering - in his master’s hand captured all of his attention.

He rolled over to expose his arm, the sweat-damp covers twisting around him. He couldn’t remember when he’d been taken to bed. Probably some time after he started hallucinating and sobbing from pain in front of someone important. It’d been a while since then. A whole night, probably.  Athos smells like fresh coffee and a crack in the curtains lets in a sliver of orange light.

“Yes,” Ventis gasped. “Please, I’m sorry. Please make it stop.”

Athos’s expression softened, his hand going to stroke Ventis’s hair. “Oh, my poor little bird. You look a mess. Did you have a hard night without me next to you?”

Ventis nodded, not really aware of what he was agreeing with. “Please,” he whimpered. “It hurts. I need you.”

“Alright, darling. Only since you asked so nicely.”

Ventis sobbed with relief as Athos gently injected the nightspill into his veins. The pain drained away, replaced with a soothing numbness, and his world came back into focus. 

“Thank you, master,” Ventis gasped.

Athos just smiled as he unlocked and removed the cuff from Ventis’s wrist. A wave of static electricity escaped him with a buzzing sound, making the blankets stick to Ventis’s skin.

“I need you to be on your best behavior today, pet,” Athos said as Ventis found a glass of water on his bedside table and chugged it, soothing his painfully dry mouth. “I will be having some guests over for dinner. They are nobles from a kingdom north of here, and it is important to me that we impress them.”

Ventis nodded his understanding, wiping excess water from his mouth with his sleeve. “I’ll be good,” he assured Athos.

“I know you will do your best, darling. However, due to your lapse in behavior a few days ago I will have to enact some preventive measures. First, I expect complete silence from you. Tomorrow you will receive five lashes for every word I hear from you tonight. Understand?”

“Yes, master.”

“Second, you will be bound tonight. Not tightly enough to interfere with your duties, of course, but enough to serve as a reminder of your place here. I know you are not accustomed to working this way, but nonetheless I expect nothing but grace from you at all times.”

“I understand, master.”

“Good. I have some preparations to attend to, so I will leave you to gather yourself. The next time we see each other I expect silence.”

Ventis allows himself to sit quietly and enjoy the relief provided by the nightspill, a heavy weight squashing down his rebellious emotions. He had spent the last day and night in turmoil; hating Athos, mourning Onthyes, longing for freedom. But everything felt okay again now. He had been silly and irrational for wanting to run away with the first big strong guard to treat him like a person. He didn’t need any of that. He had everything he needed right here with Athos.

Ventis was able to relax into the long process of being prepared for the evening’s events. His hair was styled, his teeth, horns, and scales polished, his clothing carefully selected from a closet that took up an entire room of its own. 

The bindings that were put on him were more for show than anything else. A long, delicate golden chain spilled down from his collar and split to loop around each wrist, which were loosely bound together in front of his body in a similar fashion. His ankles were linked together as well by a chain that left enough room for him to walk slowly but not so much room that he could break into a run. He could probably break the chains if he really wanted to. 

“The master’s guests are here,” a maid poked her head into Ventis’s room to announce. “They’re in the sitting room.”

Ventis took one last look at himself in the mirror, unable to stop himself from smiling at the wave of pride in his beauty. The garment he wore left very little to the imagination as always. This one in particular was open in the back in a way that very clearly showed off the brand Athos had given him. It still looked bad, but not as bad as it had yesterday. 

The symbol had made a clean impression on his skin, clearly announcing exactly who Ventis belonged to.

“Alright. I’m going,” he said, savoring the last words he would speak that night. 

As Ventis made his way down to the main sitting room he could hear voices that made an uncomfortable itch tingle at his spine. He pushed the feeling aside. They sounded familiar, sure, but he was just being paranoid. 

Then he entered the sitting room. His eyes locked on to the two men sitting across from Athos instantly.

No. Gods no.

It had only been three years, but Theodore looked older. His form was bulkier, his horns were longer, and he appeared to be cultivating a beard that Ventis would love to tease him for in any other situation. 

Their shared father looked exactly the same. Tall. Powerful. Stone cold. 

Ventis had rarely seen the man express any emotion other than disappointment and the occasional flash of rage, but the moment that their eyes met something crossed his face that Ventis didn’t recognize.

“What is the meaning of this?” Father’s voice was carefully controlled, but it was echoed by an audible crack of thunder from outside - unusual considering that it was meant to be a completely clear day. The room dropped ten degrees in an instant. Suddenly Ventis was a little kid again, suppressing the urge to run and hide from his father’s wrath.

Athos turned around to look at Ventis and the grin on his face said everything. He’d planned this. This was a punishment. He’d called Ventis’s father and brother here just to humiliate him, and now he was basking in the chaos he’d caused. 

“I-”

“Five.”

Right. Five lashes per word. That conniving bastard.

Ventis shut his mouth but he couldn’t bring himself to move. His feet were rooted to the floor. He’d gotten to the point that he didn’t mind being exposed in front of others, but now that he stood in front of his father and his brother he was hyper-aware of every inch of bare skin. 

At least they seemed equally shocked and horrified. Theodore’s eyes were wide, his face bright red as he seemed unsure of where to look. Father was still struggling to contain himself. Raindrops began to thump against the windows.

“Don’t be shy, pet,” Athos said flippantly, turning back around to face his guests. “You know your place.”

Ventis wondered if he’d be able to break the window and throw himself out before someone stopped him. He might just be able to manage it. But instead he let his feet carry him to Athos, where he settled on the cushion on the floor in front of the man.

More thunder. Theodore failed at suppressing a strangled sound. Father had gone completely stone-faced.

Part of Ventis was glad that his father was seeing what he had become. I’m here because of you, he wanted to scream. I’m like this because you banished me. Now sit there and fucking face it.

Athos rested a hand on Ventis’s head, playing with his hair. “This is Ventis, my treasured companion,” he said proudly, pretending to be unaware of the tension that had fallen over the room. “Please, pay him no mind. You were telling me about your efforts to combat piracy on the northern coast?”

Ventis winced, seeing Father’s eyes widen at the use of his name. He hadn’t been going by Ventis before he was banished. 

Father took a single deep breath, composing himself. “Yes, I have put certain countermeasures in place to discourage piracy-”

“I apologize,” Theodore cut in. “Are we supposed to just ignore this?” He gestured towards Ventis.

“Theodore,” Father warned under his breath.

“Oh? Is there an issue here? Do people not have pets in your kingdom?” Athos was lying. There was no way he didn’t know what he was doing when he invited them here.

“This boy,” Father said disdainfully, “used to be my son and Theodore’s half-brother. But there is no issue, because he is no longer a member of our family. He is nothing to us.”

Ventis traced the intricate patterns on the carpet with his eyes.

“Ah, well, you know what they say. One man’s trash is another’s treasure.”

The topic was turned away from Ventis after that. He could almost tune them out and pretend like the two men in front of him were any other guests of Athos’s. 

Almost, but every time Father hummed in that one way he did when he was trying to pretend his conversation partner wasn’t boring him he had to suppress the urge to flinch. And every time Theodore gave in to his nervous compulsion to pick at his fingernails Ventis had to keep himself from reaching out and stopping him with a teasing, “You’ll ruin your manicure, brother.”

Dinner was ready not much later. Ventis took his usual place standing against the wall, a pitcher of wine in hand.

His stomach growled. He hadn’t been able to eat yesterday, the withdrawals tearing at his stomach with a ferocity that pushed him to turn down any food offered to him. A maid had brought him breakfast this morning, but he hadn’t eaten since then and he knew that he wouldn’t eat again unless Athos thought to offer him something. Dinners like this always made him feel like a dog waiting for its owner to drop table scraps.

Athos held up his empty glass, just slightly higher than would be considered casual, and Ventis rushed forward to fill it in an instant. He didn’t even have to pay attention to the man’s signals anymore. Serving him was second nature.

"I have never seen him so obedient before,” Father said, watching Ventis over his own glass.

Ventis tensed, but he finished filling Athos’s cup and stepped back silently. 

“Oh? Did he behave differently as a child?”

“There was a period of time in which I was convinced he was deaf. He never listened. What is your secret?”

Athos barked out a laugh. “It’s simple, really. Ventis serves me because he loves me. I give him everything he may ever want and he gives me his entire self. He belongs to me - body and mind - and he does so willingly because he knows no one else will ever treat him as well as I do. That combined with a heavy hand in punishment when the need arises does well at keeping him in line.”

An amused smirk pulls at the corner of Father’s lips. He knocked back the last sip of his wine, then gestured Ventis over. 

Ventis felt his heart sink with every step he took around the table to his father’s side. He studiously avoided eye contact as he filled the glass. 

Father’s hand shot out as Ventis began to step away, taking his wrist in a tight grip. 

Ventis gasped. He was eight and thirteen and sixteen and twenty all at once. He couldn’t meet his father’s eyes, but he could feel them boring into his face, picking out every single weakness.

“How does he punish you?” Father asked, his voice filled with a detached curiosity. 

Ventis glanced at Athos. He’d been ordered not to speak.

Athos waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be rude, pet. Answer him.”

Satisfied with the permission, Ventis returned his attention to his father. “Lashes, mostly,” he admitted. “He has an enchanted whip. It doesn’t leave marks.”

Father released his grip on Ventis’s wrist and Ventis stepped back immediately, his heart pounding. 

“Sixty,” Athos muttered between bites of food.

No.

Ventis whipped his head around to look at him. “But you said-”

“Seventy-five.”

That shut him up. He should’ve known Athos would do this. The man had given him permission to speak, but he had not revoked the looming threat of punishment for it. 

The rest of the night went by without issue. Dinner was consumed and cleared away, drinks were poured in the parlor, and then Father and Theodore were saying their goodbyes. Ventis didn’t miss the long, loaded look Theodore sent him as they left, but he couldn’t ackowledge it. 

The air was tense as Ventis and Athos retired to the bedroom that night. Ventis had never felt so deeply betrayed by anyone before. He couldn’t even bear to look at Athos as he undressed and joined him under the thick blankets. 

“You may speak now,” Athos said, opening his arms for Ventis to lay on his chest.

Ventis settled against him but did not speak. It was probably another trick. Athos had said before that he shouldn’t speak for the entire night.

“It was an astounding coincidence - your father and brother being my guests tonight. Were you surprised?”

Ventis nodded.

“Words please, darling.”

It had to be a trick. He wasn’t falling for it.

“Ventis.” Athos gripped his chin, forcing eye contact. Ventis barely suppressed a whimper. “Why won’t you speak?”

It took a long moment of silence before realization dawned across Athos’s face. “I am being genuine. Your evening of silence is over now.”

Ventis just stared at him, wide eyed and confused.

“Speak, or I’ll double the number of lashes I owe you tomorrow.”

That did the trick. Ventis would much rather take an extra five or ten lashes than another seventy-five. “Yes, master,” he whispered. “I am sorry.”

“One hundred,” Athos said with a satisfied grin. 

--- Theodore’s POV ---

It had been satisfying to Theodore at first, finally seeing where his brother had ended up after all these years. It made sense that a dramatic attention whore like him would find himself on the arm of some rich narcissist. 

And it quelled any inkling of worry he may have had, any small fear that Jasper had ended up dead on the streets. No, he was fine - dressed up in gold and jewels and lounging at the feet of someone who would never see him suffer. It was a degrading position to be in, of course, but there are much worse fates to be had.

Theodore had never been as smart as Jasper (as Ventis? Athos had called him Ventis. Did he change his name?). But he was still smart enough to pick up the ever growing clues as the night went on. The golden chains on his throat, wrists, and ankles weren’t just jewlery. They were shackles. An angry burn in the shape of Athos’s personal crest stood out starkly against Ventis’s skin. And then there was the way Athos and Father had talked so casually about flogging him.

It made Theodore’s skin crawl, the blatant display of abuse coming from Athos. He and Jasper had always been rivals but they were never enemies. The hatred was there but it was impure, laced with jealousy and begrudging respect and the tiniest moments of adoration. How could father look into the face of what Athos was doing to Jasper with so little care?

Theodore tried to banish the evening from his mind as they said their goodbyes and boarded a carriage to their next destination. Father would be leaving in the morning, but Theodore was to spend the next month studying in Nimbria, living under the roof of the city’s captain of guard, Richard Ventura. He had a son, apparently. A man named Onthyes who was a few years older than Theodore and undoubtedly a good influence. 

He couldn’t let the revelation of what was happening to Jasper distract him from his duties here. After returning home he would be expected to finally take on a real political role in his kingdom. He needed to be ready. He couldn’t disappoint his father.

Onthyes was said to be disciplined and focused, a picture perfect eldest son and shoo-in for his father’s position someday. A man like him will surely help keep Theodore’s mind off of Jasper.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump @sleepyiswhumping

[silversweetpea]

Stitched Up

Word Count: 4422

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: The Devil get cold too sometimes, and it seems a shame to toss out perfectly good fabric...

Warnings: Offscreen violence heavily implied, Reader has a panic attack at one point in the story but Matt talks them through it. 

Author’s Note: Hello, welcome back to Petal being self indulgent with their writing again lmao. I’m a sucker for five and one stories and that’s pretty evident from the structure of this guy (although technically it’d be better called three and one but semantics). I also have no idea how fashion college degrees work so please excuse that I just wanted an excuse to write about giving our guy a gift.

❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿

“I’m not afraid of you,” Your voice doesn’t shake, which is the part that scares you more than the man in front of you.

“You should be,” The devil of hells kitchen responds.

He’s beaten and bloody and bruised beneath the suit. you can see cuts in the fabric from whatever the beginning of the night held for him. Still, despite his presentation. you know him as much as any other resident does. There's a reason the man who had tried to corner you had dropped his gun and ran when the horned shadow stretched over the alleyway and there's a reason you stayed besides the shock.

Daredevil doesn’t hold back against criminals, but you’re just a civilian on their way home from your friend’s house.

“Thank you," Your hands tremble but you try to convince yourself its from the biting autumn wind. The Devil barely nodded before moving to leave. There’s an interesting dichotomy in your head as the part of you that remembers your test in the morning and stranger danger rules screams at the top of its lungs to hurry home where you can hide under the blankets and call your friends. It had been a while since you caught up with each other’s lives, hadn’t it? Wouldn’t a friendly voice be good to hear right now?

“You can thank me by getting off the street,” it’s a gruff response but not particularly unkind and it only fuels the whispering voice that urges you after him. 

You can’t help but blame that whisper for the fleeting idea that he has a nice voice as well as the way that your feet follow him. Your eyes drifted to the red suit and the nasty gashes in the fabric as he walked along the sidewalk. You wondered for just a second what the pair of you must look like, you laden with bags of fabric and shoes to repair and the devil of hell's kitchen desperately trying to speed walk away from you.

“Do you have someone who can stitch up your suit?” The vigilante didn’t stop  but he did visibly roll his shoulders in frustration at your continued presence. You couldn’t be sure why he didn’t just scale another building like the one that he had dropped down from, but if you were a gambler you would put money on the gashes along his back and arms.

“What?” 

“Your suit. It doesn’t look like it’s made of the best material,” Words spill out like an unmanned faucet left to run, nerves had always made you more chatty. “I mean it looks good on you don’t get me wrong but I was just going to say that I could stitch it up for you, if you wanted.”

Your face feels warm when he finally does stop and the gruffness has more bite this time. 

“Go home.”

Your feet feel rooted to the cement as you watch him go. It only takes a minute or two for him to disppear down an alley way but it feels longer given how much time you spend standing in the dim lighting of the street lamps. 

The shock of the night lingers long enough to make it hard to remember how you got home, and you blame the paranoia you experience the rest of the night on being shaken up as well. You had no reason to believe that there were eyes on your back the whole way home, after all. 

And the next morning, finding yourself on the couch surrounded by sketches of hypothetical potential winter appropriate superhero suits for hypothetical heroes and your favorite show on the telelvision where you had left the reruns the night before, you tried to put it out of your mind. You had known the risks of living alone in Hell’s Kitchen, and it had been just another day hadn’t it?

The whisper doesn’t agree. Your classes push forward but your free time is spent prototyping jackets. Fashion had always meant to be fun, it was your passion and your way of expression, so focusing on practicality was a bit harder than you were expecting. The Devil is still active, you hear the reports in the morning on the news just as loudly as the rumors on the street. Your friends ask if you want to move in with them and you think of a man’s back covered in gashes and rips when you say no.

Early fall grows late by the time you see him next. Leaves that had just barely been dusted with color now dripped with it in piles on the ground beneath the empty trees. One of which was where you had caught sight of him, perched in the bare branches like a strange bird native only to the kitchen. His black suit had been swapped out for a simpler black you recognized from blurry photos online. It’s not as flashing and the material looks worse for the wear but you know its him nonetheless. 

Not only because of the wrappings on his hands or the way he held so eerily still, but because you knew by now that no other hero was brave enough to stick their nose into his territory.

Your backpack feels heavier than it had when you left this morning as you stood there. You had packed it for a reason, just like you had spent all that time on prototypes for a reason, but the thought of handing over your work to someone never became less daunting.

“Go home,” You jump nearly a foot in the air at the words. The night had been so quiet - or at least as quiet as Hells Kitchen ever was - that the sudden noise felt deafening. In between your thundering heartbeat though you can hear that his voice is thick with annoyance, but thicker still with exhaustion. 

“You said that last time too,” Daredevil sighs but doesn’t leave when you take your bag off and begin to root through it. “Why did you switch your suit?”

“Do you expect me to answer that?”

“I was kinda hoping you would, yeah.” The man doesn't respond verbally this time, just drops from the tree with a solid thud and begins walking off. It takes all of two seconds before you’re able to swallow your nerves and chase after but the distance between the two of you feels like it’s been way longer than that. “Wait, wait I’m sorry. I’m not good small talk.”

“If I wanted small talk I’d head to queens.” The lights of the neon signs and smoke make him look like someone out of a comic book. You wonder what you look like to him but you can’t focus too much on that train of thought without loosing your nerve completely. 

“Right, sorry. I just,” There’s bile rising at the back of your throat from the way that he’s looking at you. Or you assumed he was at least, his eyes were still just as covered as they were in his usual suit. “well I have something for you.”

He finally stops and you nearly run into him given that you’re so focused on trying to catch up. The jacket in your hands suddenly feels littered with mistakes and there’s a distinct screaming to try and shove it back in the bag and tell him it was all a lie. Daredevil doesn’t move from his spot but he does turn around and even in the dark and the limitations of his suit you can read his confusion clearly.

“Its getting cold out and I don’t know how thick the fabric of your suit is so I made you a coat. There’s no tracking or anything in it if you’re worried about that, I’m not good enough with tech for that sort of thing.” It had occurred to you as you were working on it that he may have said no to you repairing his suit because he was worried about his secret identity. Your hand shakes thinking that he may not accept this offering due to similar reasons.

“You made me a coat.” The Devil’s voice isn’t as harsh as it has been, almost like you’d surprised him enough to break his version of a customer service voice. It fills you with just enough warmth to take another step forward and force the jacket into his hand before you can back out and run home.

“Yeah. It’s not the most fashionable but it’s pretty streamline because that seemed kind of important to being able to fight and there’s lots of pockets because those seemed handy. I don’t know how well you can see in there but it’s just black with red detailing. I didn’t want to get the wrong shade of red and have it clash too much and-” You hadn’t realized that you were speaking as fast as you were until you had to stop to take a breath. His posture is just as stiff but his hands are gently exploring the feel of the fabric in a way that makes you feel like you did something right. “I’m sorry. You don’t really need to know all that it’s just that, uhm, well I talk when I’m nervous.”

Daredevil doesn’t comment on why you would be nervous and that alone makes you think that he has more mercy than many would consider. The silence lingers for a moment or two longer before he clears his throat and speaks again.

“Thank you.” For the first time he sounds kind, his lips don’t quite reach a smile but there isn’t the harsh set to them that there was at the beginning of your conversation. 

“No problem.” The words sound breathless because they are. Your lungs suddenly can’t quite fill all the way up with the smoke heavy air and when he slowly slips into the jacket they loose all their air completely. “It looks good on you.”

That one gets a smile and it’s brighter than any of the signs around you. 

“It’s late. You should get going.” He’s still smiling, still wearing a jacket with your label on the inside collar, even as he ushers you off into the night again. The weeks of sewing and scrapped patterns and pricked finger tips suddenly doesn’t seem like that bad of a price to pay to burn the image of his mouth into your brain.

“Yeah, Goodnight.”

You leave first this time, giddy in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. The walk is shorter than it’s ever been and you all but fall into your bed when you reach you apartment. 

When you check twitter the next morning there’s a single, dark photo of him mid jump from someone trying to ask about his ‘new costume’ and you’re quick to save it to your phone. 

It’s still there the next time you see him. It’s later than you’d like but three run ins with the devil of hells kitchen is three more than most people would get. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” His hand is on your arm but you can barely feel it. Everything around you is spinning, your fist clenched tightly around the taser that you had sworn you would never need to use. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

You can hear him, you know you can, but it’s hard to focus on what he’s actually saying. 

“Of course,” the words are as solid as any other you could have said but the grip on your arm tightens just barely. You’re not looking at him though, eyes still locked on the brick wall across the alley from you. You hadn’t picked this alley to hide in while Daredevil took care of the would be assaulters, whatever that had meant when he left you here to catch your breath. If you had, you’re not sure if you would have picked one that had a graffiti work of an angel and a devil looming over you.

“You should sit down, you’re in shock.” There’s a pull, not hard enough that you can’t pull away from it yourself, but enough that you know the Devil is trying to get you to sit. Your eyes still don’t leave the mural on the bricks, you know the ground is wet though with this morning’s rain. 

“I’d rather not. New pants. Dirty alley way.” Was it normal to feel guilty for self preservation? You didn’t know what would have happened had you not lashed out to protect yourself, you could say that with certainty, but the way the man had dropped to the ground-

“I’ll pay the dry cleaning bill, sit down.” When he pulls you this time, you allow yourself to sit. There’s cars in the distance that you can hear honking from and somewhere nearby there’s the sound of music. Daredevil is crouched next to you, arm still in his grasp, when you realize that he’s in the same position of the winged being behind him. His colors are different and the angel doesn’t have horns, but the hold and the concern in the way they both lean towards their companion are identical.

“Did the coat work?” You ask after a minute. Anything to stop the line of thought in your head. 

“Yeah, it’s great. My friends keep asking me where I got it so they can get one.” Your smile feels watery and weak but its there and he must see it through his mask given the way that his hold loosens on your arm before finally dropping. As if he’s no longer afraid that you’re going to drift away without something to ground you.

“I’m really glad. I hadn’t seen photos of you wearing it in a while so I just kinda assumed it wasn’t warm enough.” The mention of photos should make you embarrassed, and surely when you think back on the situation tomorrow you’re sure it will. Right now though you’re just focused on the way that he smiles again, almost laughs, like the thought of you looking for paparazzi photos of him is funny to him. 

“I was in a bit of a rush to get to work one day and grabbed it without thinking. Figured it might raise too many eyebrows if I kept wearing it on patrol after that.” It’s more information than he’d ever given you before and for good reason. Still, having that sliver of information feels like finding your favorite hoodie fresh from the wash. It’s something to clutch to your chest and carry with you. 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” This time he does laugh, a short sound but one that you think would make a wonderful ringtone for your phone. It makes you finally understand why artists sample their loved ones’ voices in songs, you want the whole world to hear Daredevil’s laugh and know that he’s not all that bad. 

“You’re a bit odd,” It’s not wrong exactly but something about the way he says it makes you want to bury your head in your hands and scream out laughing at the same time. You settle for something in between and rest your head on your arms which rest on top of your knees. Face not quite hidden yet but only a moment away from doing so if the need arises. 

“You’re the one in a costume.” Daredevil doesn’t laugh again but his smile is still so bright it makes your eyes water. 

“You’ve got me there.” His voice is quiet, soothing. Your pants are wet from the pavement and you can feel the chill seeping in through the fabric but you can’t quit bare the thought of getting up yet. 

“Thank you for staying.” If you asked to hold his hand would he laugh at you? Would that be crossing a line?

“Yeah, well, I figured if I left you’d make me another coat.” It’s nice to be teased, taser heavy in your pocket but not your hand. It’s nice to have someone talk with you as if you hadn’t just hurt someone else for the first time.

“You’re right and now I’m gong to have to make you two new coats.” It’s nice to tease him back as if he’s just another friend and not a vigilante. It’s nice to pretend that you’re arguing over how many christmas presents to get each other this year.

“How about just a hat, hard to find ones with holes for the horns.” You’re pretty sure he’s trying to make you laugh again but you’re too focused thinking on how silly that must look. 

“Two hats and a scarf?” He could make christmas cards out of the papparazi photos, especially if you went with a green color scheme. 

“One hat and a set of mittens.” The devil holds out his hand and you hum for just a moment, letting it stand before taking his hand in yours again. It’s warm and you try not to think about how well the two of you fit together. 

“Deal.” Even after a gentle shake you don’t let go and your friend, you think at least, pulls you to your feet. 

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

That’s the last time you see him for a while. Your fault, you know, you don’t walk much after dark anymore and Daredevil never seems to be active during the day. Weeks go by and finals begin to loom just as snow begins to fall. The approved hat and mittens and unapproved scarf you decided to make with the leftover fabric sit untouched in tissue paper in your bag.

You think, most days, that perhaps that would be the last of it. That you had had your three times to befriend him or learn more about him and you had blown it with panic attacks and nervous rambling. And then one of your friends asked you to deliver a package for her on a day off. 

The building was small and definitely had seen some better days, but at least it was shelter from the bitterly cold wind. All you wanted was to drop the suit off, call Jasmine to remind her to bring the doughnuts you liked from the campus bakery when she finished classes for the day, and curl up with a silly feel good movie and your phone. 

In fact you’re so busy mentally picking out what pajamas you’re going to change into when you get home that you almost miss it completely when you walk in.

“Hi I’m looking fo-” your voice catches in your throat when you see it. There’s a woman at the desk, probably the one you’ve been sent to find, but there’s also a man standing next to her. 

It’s not his neat shirt and pants that catch your attention or his dark hair and indoor sunglasses. It’s not the white cane he’s leaning on or the familiar tilt of his lips as he talks to the woman next to him. It’s the fact that he’s wearing the jacket you stitched together.

“Hello?” It takes far too long to realize the greeting is directed towards you and when you do you can feel the warmth that gathers in your face as you clear your throat.

“Hi, sorry, uhm, I have a package for Ms. Page? It’s from Jasmine if that helps jog your memory at all.”

“Oh! I wasn’t expecting you until later! Thank you!” Her smile is warm and friendly, and you feel bad that you don’t want to look at it. Not when the man is suddenly standing stock still and the smile has slipped from his lips. 

“It’s no problem, really. She wanted me to let you know that if there’s any issue with the inseam to just give her a call she couldn’t remember whether you two had decided to round up or down on the decimal.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, thank you. I’m Karen,”

“(Y/n),” she blinked and looked at the man behind her briefly before shaking her head with a polite laugh.

“You wouldn’t happen to make jackets would you?”

“I’m back and I bring coffee!”

“I should go, I have a couple other things to drop off before I can head home and that cold is killer.” You don’t linger long enough to even introduce yourself to new man in the doorway or say goodbye to Karen, too afraid of tipping your hand too much. 

You weren’t lying about one thing at least, the cold is killer especially as you sit on a bench half a block away trying to adjust to the potential bombshell you just had dropped in your lap.

“You never sent me your dry cleaning bill.” You know who it is before you turn around. Your heartrate doubles, the organ working overtime at the thought that you had messed up somehow.

He's smiling when you turn around. It's the same one he gave you in the alley and yet it feels brand new. There's snow landing in his hair and spotting his coat, your coat.

“You didn’t need to follow me I’m not going to tell anyone.” It takes longer than you would have liked to answer and for the first time when talking to Daredevil you sound afraid. You are though, not of him, never of him, but of the embaressment of being scared of the dark? Or the potential questioning of how you found him? Hell even the idea of having slipped up and spilled too many clues somehow and Karen had been able to grill him for information afterwards was a nightmare.

The man's brow furrows just a touch, head tilted ever so slightly as the smile slips into something more confused.

“That’s-” He cuts himself off with a small clearing of his throat. Daredevil's posture shifts slightly and you notice the cane in his hands again. It looks startlingly similar to the cane you had seen people with visual imparements use. “Good to know.”

“Really. I couldn’t tell people if I wanted to, I don’t know if you’re Nelson or Murdock or just some random client that walked in looking for counsel.” The smile is gone completely now, even as he nods. Still he raises a hand to gesture to the bench you're on.

“Can I?”

“Oh, yeah, of course!" It's almost a certainty that you sound incompetent as you shuffle sideways on the bench. You almost wished he was in costume again, at least that way while you would be nervous you wouldn't have to know he was cute while you embaressed yourself.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” His voice is soft around the edges, a verbal olive branch woven into a basket in which you can put as much trust as you'd like.

Unfortunately you'd already placed all your trust in the pockets of the jacket he wore, had it sewn into the lining.

“What?” Daredevil sighs, his fingers tapping on the cane in front of him.

“I can tell you're nervous," The man's voice is still carefully slow. Each word sounds purposeful and careful as it leaves his lips.

"Yeah, I'm nervous but not because i think you'll hurt me! I would never think that!" He seems unconvinced, but more so there's a sense of uncertainty. It sounds silly, everyone feared the Devil even other heroes. When you thought of him there should be a shiver down your spine and a quicker beat to your steps. You can't bring yourself to be afraid though, at least not more so than you are of any other hero. In fact if you had to choose between talking with him and talking with any of the other locals you'd choose Daredevil in an instant. None of the others had helped you or your loved ones in the dark corner of the city they pretended didnt exist. None of them had laughed with you or walked you home when you were scared. "Really, I'm just nervous because I didn't want you to think I was stalking you or anything."

It's true enough for some of the tension to leave his posture though and that feels like a victory worth celebrating regardless of the unspoken parts of your confession. The pair of you sit in quiet for a moment and you try not to stare at him too hard.

You're pretty sure you're failing though. It's too hard to look away when his expressions are so emotive. You didn't think that seeing his cheeks or forehead would influence how easy it is to read him but it's like looking at a whole new person.

“It’s Murdock.” There's a pretty good chance you jump when he speaks, especially since the smile comes back to him so fast.

“I'm sorry?"

“You said you didn’t know if I was Nelson or Murdock. I’m Murdock. Most people call me Matt though.” Matt. It fits him nicely. “Nelson was the guy with coffee you brushed past who is, by the way, now convinced you’re an ex I never told him about.”

The nervous laughter comes before you can stop it, but when you bury your face in your hands you can hear him give a small laugh of his own.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” the laughter doesn't stop when you look at him, face burning with heat you're trying desperately to hide despite being equally as desperate to see him and know what he's thinking about the matter.

“Admitting guilt isn’t usually something people do with lawyers.” The tease is enough to force your gaze back into your fingers. It was strange how open he was without the suit, how much kinder he was. "You should probably be heading home.”

“You’re always trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?” it's hard to tease Matt back when you're still flustered yourself but it's worth the effort to see the boyish grin.

“It’s cold out," There's a pause and in it you can hear an almost laugh slip out again. "And now that you know where to find me maybe you’ll come back with my mittens.”

Your heart skips at the proposition.

“Would you be okay with that?” it's hard to talk around the frog in your throat, almost convinced he's just joking still.

“Well, it might be easier to convince Foggy that you’re not my ex if you’re also there.” Matt hasn't turned towards you but you still feel like the center of the world when he tips his head in your direction. “Maybe not though.”

[lolawassad]

Flora

Ben hargreeves x female!reader

this is kinda bad sorryyy kinda went off request sorry :((

Based in season 3 so spoilers! same tw as TUA reader cries

Hi 🥹 Could I request Ben Hargreeves x Reader where reader used to be in a relationship with the old Ben before he moved on into the afterlife and sparrow Ben catches on to their trauma and falls for reader and does everything he can to be good for them, I know it’s weirdly specific but I just thought it’d be cute 🥺

Luther has you thrown over his shoulder while Diego Lila and Five follow behind "Lila dont let him do this to me! i thought we where in love" you yell out making Lila "oh baby we are in love thats why im letting him do this"

Diego scoffs "why are you so nice to my little sister and not to me what is this?" he asks making Lila scoff back "look at her" she says poiting at your pouty face "I DONT WANNA SEE BEN" you yell out making Sloane look at you

"Y/n i dont know why you dont like Ben but you need to get over it-" she goes to say but is cut off by the door opening to the house "finally you oafs are here" Ben says

"Put y/n down" Allison scolds making Luther glare at her before putting you down, you quickly walk over to Allison ignoring Ben and let her lead you to the living room

When everyone is in the living room you walk over to Five before sitting down on the floor in front of him and putting your head on his thigh "i dont wanna be here" you whisper softly

Ben is talking to Fei and every once in a while his eyes shoot towards you, before he sends a glare to Five who is now playing with your hair "lover boy keeps glaring at me" Five tells you with a chuckle

You open your mouth to reply but are interupted by a "where is he?" "Viktor" someone says

An argument breaks out and Ben plops down on the couch next to Five "20 on the little one" Ben says "Ill take that action" Five replies before leaning down and placing a kiss to the top of your head and sending a smirk to Ben

The latter scoffs making your head turn to him before it quickly turns back around, hand squeezing your dress tightly "i know Harlan killed all our mothers"

You let out a gasp, free hand reaching for the first thing it can hold, which happens to be Ben's knee, his eyes shoot to your hand in shock before he reaches and holds onto your hand, squeezing softly with a soft look on his face "Viktor you didnt tell us, hes the reason we are in this and you lied to us.. to me about it" you ask, face filled with hurt

"y/n look thi-" Viktor starts but is cut off but you raising your hand that was squeezing your dress "just please dont Viktor"

Five looks from Viktor to you before seeing Ben holding your hand, Five sends a glare to Ben before he peels your hand out of Ben's and holds it in his own, he leans over to Ben and starts whispering "dont touch my sister, a version of you hurt her before im not gonna let you hurt her aswell" Five sneers before pulling you onto his lap, arms wrapping around you protectivly

You squeeze his hand softly and let him hold you "SHUT YOUR MOUTH" you hear Allison yell making you flinch in Fives arms "how are you doing this without saying i heard a rumor?" Five asks shocked

"just a little residual gift from Harlan" Allison replies

"Allison you need to stop" you gasp out looking at your sister choking your brother "ALLISON" you yell out when she doesnt stop, you jump up and throw your arm in the air, a vine shoots out and softly hits Allison making her lose focus and release Viktor

Five grabs onto your waist and pulls you inbetween him and Ben and when they notices Allison glaring at you they glare right back

Small time skip

You look at the kugelblitz "i could just make a box, no need to endanger Christopher i mean what if it goes wrong" you ramble "its like if it explodes the vines ill only feel a small burning in my veins, if its inside big C HE WILL DIE" you yell the last part, you start pacing "i mean we already lost so many people to this fuck fuck, we dont need to lose more"

Ben grabs your arm and his other hand grabs your face softly "Hey dollface calm the fuck down, everything is gonna work out just fine" he whispers and you melt into his touch, his face turns into shock, ever since you have gotten here you have barely even looked at him and now your melting in his touch

"Have you ever moves a nest of bees?" Sloane asks Lila scoffs "No because thats weird"

You step away from Ben "Lila you have remember when i summoned all those flowers and bee nests n you just threw one at me its probably like that" "its not like that at all dont give her ideas please" Sloane is quick to shut your idea down "kinda rude" you mutter before walking over to Diego, you manhandle his arms so he is holding you against his chest

"you couldve just asked me to move my arms you know that right? why are you and Lila like this?" Diego asks making you snort "its because Lila and i are soulmates, when this is over she and i shall marry"

"Thats true!" Lila says "Okay lets do this thing, i got a girl to wife up"

Diego lets go of you, he presses a quick kiss to your forehead and pushes you into Ben "she gets hurt im fucking killing you" Diego spits to Ben before he walks up to Grace who has just appeared

You burry your head into Ben's chest who holds onto you tightly "Look" he says while walking backwards until he hits the wall and is out of Grace's sight "I dont know what that other Ben did to you, but im not like him okay? Please give me a chance, i mean its the end of the fucking world, please give me chance" he begs softly "i can see that he hurt you but i would never hurt you" he confesses

Grace shoots fire in your direction and Ben goes to spin you around so his back is towards Grace but you break out of his grip, you put your arms to your side before pulling roots from the ground and wrapping her up fully in the roots, you throw her to Five who blinks them away

Ben grabs onto your wrist and spins you around "she couldve fucking hurt you" he scolds "but she didnt, see i can do things, im useful!" you beam making Lila yell "HELL YEAH YOU ARE" making Sloane scold her "focus!"

Christopher closes the Kugelblitz inside of him and Lila falls to the ground, you rush out of Ben's grip and run to Lila putting her head on your chest "fuck yeah love boobs in my face" Lila says with a smirk making you snort "OKAY YEAH ENOUGH THATS MY SISTER LILA" Diego yells "stop hitting on my sister why are you like this?" he asks her

Another small time skip

Everyone is now in the living room, people are dancing, Viktor is on the couch, Allison in the doorway, and y/n is laying on the floor surrounded by flowers and holding a bottle of soda, bees and butterflies flying around her

Footsteps approach her before someone lays down next to her "you not drinking?" Five asks her "no one of us idiots should stay sober" you tell him making him hum in agreement, he puts his arm around your shoulder "i love you, thank you for being here for me" Five says his words slurring a little

"i love you too little man" "I AM NOT LITTLE" Five yells out making you laugh "sure Five sure" you say before getting up, placing a kiss on his forehead

You walk outside the living room into a hallway and outside the door, you lay down in an empty field, the field fills with colorful flowers immediately

Its then a shockwave hits "I FUCKING TOLD THEM" you yell before running back towards the building, you run into Diego and Lila "Hotel hotel hotel" they yell out while pointing towards it the three of you run towards the hotel

"im done" you yell out when you enter the hotel, you throw yourself on the hard floor "leave me here to die!" you dramatically exlaim Ben walks up to you and sits down pulling your head onto his lap "so what now genius" he sarcastically asks Five "Paws off my sister, knock off, also that was your plan so its your fault" he fights

"NO FIGHTING" you yell "you guys shouldve just let me used my vines but nooo nobody ever listens to y/n because people cant be pretty and smart acording to you, you guys are all just.. just y/nphobic?" you ask "yeah y/nphobic" you say before getting up and sitting at the bar

You listen to everyone and when Ben and Diego start fighting in another language you turn around "thats kinda hot" you loudly say making Lila agree

Ben turns to look at you with a smirk and he walks up to you "yeah no" he is quickly stopped by Luther "not my sister" he says "SAYS THE GUY WHO IS DATING MY SISTER" Ben yells out

"can you guys stop" you say before walking over to Ben and put your head on his chest, he softly holds onto you and places a kiss on the top of your head

"can we all just be nice to eachother? we are all gonna die" you ask them "please" you beg softly, voice cracking tears filling your eyes, Ben softly rocks you "dont cry flora" he whispers

Ben walks backwards and sits down on a chair pulling you to straddle his lap, you put your head in the crook of his neck

Luther clears his throat "we've uh got a little announcement to make" "we are engaged!" they finish together, you giggle against Ben's neck "the world is ending lets get married!" you mock softly making Ben smirk

Its then Klaus walks up "KLAUS!" you yell getting up from Ben's lap and jumping onto your brother "I thought you died!" you say making klaus laugh "IM IMMORTAL" he yells spinning you around "Okay nathan young" you say making Klaus laugh

"yeah not to interupt the reunion but can i have my girl back?" Ben asks looking at you and Klaus "yeah ofcourse benerino!" Klaus says carrying you over to Ben "WAIT YOUR GIRL?" Klaus asks dropping you "OUCHIE" you yell out with a pout "Klausie why do you hate me?" you ask

Ben walks up to you and holds his hand out for you before pulling you up and dragging you back to the chair and onto his lap again "touch her again and ill kill you okay?" Ben says to Klaus making you slap his shoulder "be nice thats my favorite kinda gay sibling" you tell Ben making him lift his hands in the air "sorry doll"

"you gotta be nice to my family" you say before letting yourself fall from Ben's lap "wait why did you bring dad?" you ask klaus with a pout "We dont like that guy"

Ben goes to reach out for you but Five sends him a glare and blinks to you before blinking you both to a chair

Time skip to the buffalo room on the other side

When you get separated from Diego and Lila you go to find them, you end up in the lobby where you fall to your knees and you start crying, you hear loud footsteps run into your direction before you are pulled into someones arms "I got you doll, let it all out" Ben whispers

"Its too much Ben its too much" you sob out holding onto him "i know angel i know" he says holding onto you tighter "its almost over, i promise you, my love, and when this is over i hope you will let me show you how good we would be together"

Diego walks up behind Ben "y/n whats wrong?" he asks, you go to reply but only sobs come out "shes overwhelmed" Ben tells him "Its fine i got her" he continues making Diego nod at him before he walks back to Lila

Its then the ceiling smashes, Ben pushes you so you slide and land next to Allison, Five starts yelling about stars and they all get on one, when the life starts draining from everyone you get up, tears still rolling down your cheeks "im not losing him again" you whisper before using your powers to find a apple seed inside reginalds stomach, you focus on it growing

Reginald falls to the ground with a tree growing from his mouth, you rush over to Ben and pull his head to your chest "are you okay?" you ask him, Ben just smiles before he pushes his head up and just as his lips are about to hit yours you are all teleported

You frown and walk out of the elevator only to be pulled in someones arms "IM ALIVE!" Luther yells while squeezing you, you sniffle tears dried to your cheek, you slap Luther "how dare YOU DIE ON ME" you ask before bursting into tears again "i thought i lost you you dumb oaf"

Luther looks around shocked, Ben walks up and gets me out of Luther's arms "Hey flora its okay" Ben says while stroking your hair, Diego and Lila walk up to you "we are leaving, you wanna come with us?" Lila asks "we can finally get married!" she beams making you giggle "no you guys go ahead" you say

Diego frowns "you gonna go with Viktor or Five?" he asks making you shake your head "i would like to go with Ben if he is okay with that?" you ask looking up at Ben whose face breaks into a smile "really? course im fucking okay with that my little angel" he says before lowering his head and pressing his lips on yours

"NO THATS MY WIFE" Lila yells "y/n your cheating on me now?" you hear Lila's voice fade and Diego scoff

"stop sucking faces with my sister" Five says making you pull away from Ben "oops" you softly say making ben chuckle

"Listen Ben, you hurt my sister and i will personally be the cause of your death okay? and ill make it look like an accident" Viktor threatens making you shiver in Ben's hold "Im not gonna hurt her, she means the world to me" he says before he starts pulling you with him

"Lets get started on our new life Flora"

[idolatrybarbie]

the world tipped on its side

chapter five - satellite

series masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

word count: 5.1k

rating & summary: explicit | you reflect on the concept of love.

warnings: smut, swallowing like a champ, references to past physical injury, reference to frigid parent dynamics, dead parents, reader has a disability, angst, hurt/comfort, pining, emotionssss, pathetic!frankie moments.

notes: @wannab-urs gin hurt my feelings so now everyone must suffer next chapter but enjoy this while we're here. i kind of think this is trash garbo but (at the time of queuing this) i'm in a weird headspace coming back home for the first time. also it's late and i've been traveling all day so i'm choosing to ignore myself. goodnight and enjoy.

Friendship. That’s what this is.

Friendship with a man who called you the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Said that you’re so beautiful it’s scary. Who you had just sex with. 

You don’t see much of Frankie on set, except for the few chaste and directive conversations between you, himself, and Ashton. In those moments, the very last thought on your mind is whatever is going on with you and him. It’s work, that’s the priority. Not that you give a shit about the movie, but it’d be nice if everyone wrapped and returned home in one piece.

Every time you try and talk to him, someone else pulls you away. This goes on for the first two days of filming in the woods. You don’t know what this is—this pull that keeps you circling him, even if you never quite seem to gain on Frankie in the chase. The sun and moon, bouncing light between each other at all times. You’re trying to figure out which role you are playing.

You catch him in a personal moment on day four, just getting off the phone with someone behind a production trailer. He looks momentarily startled, but not deterred by your presence. A good sign.

“Hey,” Frankie says. He sounds exactly like he did over the phone.

“Hi,” you return. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Yeah. I figured,” he says. “I mean, me too. Just with the—” He’s motioning vaguely at the helicopter parked thirty feet from you.

“Yeah,” you nod.  “I don’t want to do it here. Maybe you could come over, or…”

“I’ve got my daughter this week,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Oh, shit. Right. I’m sorry,” you say.

“Don’t be. Things are just really…tight right now. Time-wise.”

The pager at your hip buzzes. Ashton calling everyone back to set.

“I’ll call, okay? I promise,” Frankie says. The words make your chest cold and you hate it. This is selfish, surely. The man has a kid, for crying out loud. Who are you to deny or resent dad duty?

But you do. At this moment, you really do, wishing that the small being he has called his pride and joy would cease to exist for an evening. It’s horrible, so you nod and that's that. Back to work you go.

You wait until the end of the week. Frankie does not call. You hate, hate that you’ve been reduced to the girl in movies that would pine over the phone and wait for that special boy to call. Because really, are any of them all that special? Is Frankie?

Sure, he touched you and it felt like a match to your insides, but does that mean anything? You’re out of practice. He’s the first person to pay you any mind in that way since you became disabled. The more you think about it, really think about it, the more the argument for Frankie Morales falls apart.

Mia comes over on a night where missing Sam makes her heart ache a little too much to be alone, bringing with her a shitty bottle of rosé. You’re half a glass deep when she starts to ask that needling question, What’s wrong? And finishing the bottle by the time you sigh as an answer to her asking for the millionth time. You agreed to be open after the—spat? Blowup? Long overdue reuniting best friend fight?—but it still takes some time. She is prying open a mussel to find a very shitty prize.

“It’s stupid,” you say. “I’m stupid.”

“You’re not, and it isn’t,” Mia says, a frown on her face. Your lips stay sealed in a pout and she turns on those evil, adorable eyes. “Tell me.”

You hold out for about five minutes, some action flick moving quietly across your flat screen before you finally give in.

“Jesus! Fine,” you relent. “It’s like being waterboarded.”

Mia grins with satisfaction before her face snaps back to sober (as much as one can be after a whole bottle of wine) seriousness. “Spill.”

“You’re going to say it’s dumb,” you say.

“You’re projecting.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I slept with Frankie.” A bomb explodes on screen, illustrating what is most certainly happening inside Mia’s skull at this very moment. “Yeah…”

“Was it good?”

“Mia!” you scold, swatting at her knee.

“Hey! You can’t blame me for asking. I love Sam but I have eyes,” she says. “He reminds me of all the guys we went to school with that have photos with fish on their Tinder profiles.”

“You’re terrible,” you sigh.

“You know it, baby,” she smiles. “So you slept together. What next?”

“We haven’t talked about it.”

Mia holds her tongue for a moment, trying to formulate this sentence in the least explosive way possible. “Do you want to?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say.

“I have to ask. You’re not exactly the talk it out type of person anymore,” Mia says.

Ignoring that, you say, “He’s busy. I’m busy. I hate it.”

“Call him,” Mia tries.

“Did that. Not really an over-the-phone kind of conversation,” you say.

Mia hums thoughtfully. “Okay, well. Try it out with me first.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re going to say to him, say it to me. I know exactly where your mind is going with this—oh no, he has no time for me. Is it even worth discussing this matter that is very important to me if I project unimportance from the other party onto my feelings?"

You don’t say anything, willing another bottle of wine to appear next to the empty one on the coffee table.

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong. It’s what you do,” Mia says, confidence in the way she straightens up against the couch. And she isn’t wrong, but maybe you aren’t either. Frankie isn’t her. Frankie isn’t your best friend. He’s friendly, and you fucked.

“Okay, fine,” you say. You focus in on Mia’s eyes, imagining a different pair of them staring back at you. “I just—I want to tell you that what happened…was a first. In a long while. And I don’t know how to say it like a normal goddamn person, but—”

You can’t focus, words flying out of your mouth too fast for your tipsy brain to keep up. Your feelings are a jumble in your head, a vintage game of Scrabble lost to time. Mia’s not Frankie either. You’d have to explain it and provide all this context that you can’t even put words to for her to understand. For this to feel any ounce of real. Frankie would simply get it. But he won’t, because at this rate you’ll never get to tell him.

“I don’t know,” you sigh.

“Well I can’t make you do anything. I know you, and you’ll do what you think is best. Even if you know the alternative might be better,” Mia says. You can’t help but laugh. “I kind of get it, how your dad felt? When we were at school.”

The mood turns. Not sour, not quite the same. Your living room has a palpable edge ebbing through it now, carried through the occasional waft of alcohol between you, Mia, and the open, empty bottle.

“Do you remember him when we were in college?” you ask, voice quiet.

“Your dad? Of course. He was so, I don’t know—hands-on? He was around way more than my parents were,” Mia says.

He showed up every third weekend of the month with a few containers of leftovers; macaroni pie, frozen meatloaf and mashed potatoes, fresh tomatoes from his garden.

A man who only softened when you elected to up and leave. A man you resented until the day he died. A man you still resent, deep down in your soul. Yet you miss him.

The first time your heart’s been activated in years to throw you off assured feet and your first instinct is to run home to Dad. He lingers in your car, in the way you hold the gravy boat at Mia’s Thanksgiving dinners; his gloves are what you wore in the months of a tiresome film shoot amid an unending New York blizzard.

You hate him. He loved you. For the sixth time this week, you ponder driving home to clean up his grave. You can’t right now, because of work. Maybe when the summer’s over. The leaves will have started to fall. The headstone could use a good power wash.

“Where’d you go?” Mia asks.

“Hm?”

“You disappeared on me for a second,” she says.

“Thinking,” you say.

“Mm, don’t do too much of that. You’ll break your brain.”

“Already broken.”

“That’s too bad,” Mia smiles. “Had some pretty great thoughts sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“All the time,” she corrects. Mia gets off the couch, taking a minute to steady herself. “I’m calling a ride.”

“Excellent idea,” you nod. “See? Look at you. Responsible, quick-witted. You can do the thinking for the both of us.”

“Slow your roll, Romeo,” Mia cautions, staring into her phone. She looks up at you. “The night is still young. I’m only going home because you’re dry.”

“There’s a reason you keep alcohol at your place and I don’t,” you say. There have been some days, far behind you now, where you might’ve just drank the pain away. Certainly not the way to go.

She leaves you with another laugh and a smile, promising to text you when she gets home. The apartment stills as soon as the door shuts. You almost open it again, reaching for the knob to lean out into the hall and call Mia back. You don’t, instead letting the quiet envelope you. This doesn’t feel the same as the loneliness that would lurk in the shadowy corners of the room. Your lamps finally feel tall enough to reach those spots, dawning light on them and banishing the feeling.

You let yourself sit with it. Not lonely but alone. This isn’t permanent and it’s not a death sentence, as uncomfortable as it feels right now. Mia is there, along with an assortment of friends whose names you’ll have to dust the cobwebs off of soon. Even if Frankie never calls, you’ll be okay. A bittersweet realization for this dull and itching moment.

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you pass the bathroom, you pause. You watch yourself, not in judgment like the last time. Plain observation. You blink three times in one minute before moving on.

It’s odd, looking without really looking. You’ve oscillated between dissection and avoidance of yourself for the last handful of years. This is a new skill to build. Look, there she is. A blink in passing.

Wherever you go, there you are. Get used to it.

-

Back on the studio lot for the rest of the week, you don’t see Frankie. The occurrence becomes less and less significant as the days pass. You almost delete his number from your phone altogether. Almost.

At lunch, you go through your phone to his contact, finger hovering over the trash button. In the end, you decide against it. It’s a number you might need for work. It’d be a pain in the ass to have to go down to payroll for his contact information—like you don’t have the digits memorized. Mia joins you at some point, minutes blurring together as you eat in pleasant silence.

Shooting goes over almost two hours because of rain leaking through the roof onto a set piece. You get home close to midnight. The street lamps bathe everything in a warm glow. Puddles have collected in the divets of the road, water reflecting the artificial light alongside the cold moon.

The elevator ride up to your floor should be like any other. Your instincts know better. Watching the digital numbers change as the metal box ascends, your stomach flips in your gut. You’ve always been acutely aware of the environments you found yourself in, bullshit meter finely tuned to warn you when shit was about to hit the fan.

It’s an instinct your father grew and nurtured in childhood. Because of him, all hard edges and unreachable wells of emotion. He was iced over solid. You found yourself carefully skating over that surface, around and around again for years until you left.

When the elevator doors open, you half-expect to see him standing there. Risen from the grave like a corpse from your dreams. The wall of shiny metal parts into two, and you see someone. Not your father. The breath caught in your throat flashes from crisp to boiling, a tube of Icy Hot slathered across your lungs.

You’ve never told Frankie where you live. So what is he doing here?

Before you’ve even made it to your door, you ask him.

“Thought I’d missed you,” he supplies as an explanation. “Or that you were ignoring me from inside.”

“I can ignore you from outside, too,” you say, setting your bag down. Taking keys from your back pocket, you avert your eyes as you get a grasp on the one for your front door.

“Listen,” he begins, watching as you turn the lock. “I—”

“Look, Frankie. I don’t have time for this. Or you, or your games.” Turning the handle of the door and pushing it open, you grab your things and step inside your apartment. “You said you’d call. You didn’t. End of story.”

“The phone works both ways,” he says. You try not to be shocked at the audacity.

“Well this,” you say, pointing between the two of you, “doesn’t.”

You’re shutting the door when he gently rests a hand on the reinforced wood.

“Please just—let me explain?” Frankie asks. You don’t close the door but don’t open it any wider for him. At that, he says, “Thank you.”

Glancing behind you to find the living room clock, you say, “You’ve got two minutes.” Two minutes to midnight.

“I wanted to call, but I—” Frankie cuts himself off. “I was a coward and that’s not fair to you. I’m sorry. I don’t usually feel this way about people. Not in a long time.”

His words are scratching at your heart. You hold your steely gaze against him, ignoring your insides slowly melting behind the door.

“I really like you. More than I’ve liked anybody. More than I like myself most days. That night in Florida was confusing for me. You wanted me there, and I wanted you. And then you said it was scary and I realized just how terrifying it is. This is.” Frankie takes a breath. “I didn’t want this to be weird. Didn’t want to box you into a corner with all of this shit I’m feeling because that isn’t fair and—”

He’s been avoiding focusing on you, instead staring at the nice tile scuff between the doorway and his boot. Frankie looks up, words playing straight on his face. He looks like he’s seen a ghost when all he’s looking at is you.

“And now I’m some fucker on your doorstep begging you to listen to me tell my sob story.” From the sounds of it, that’s the last thing he wants.

“Sometimes things don’t work out. That’s life,” you say. You’re telling yourself that this is the smart decision. Ice him out and your heart stays safely in your chest. Close the door and he’ll forget all about you. 

Frankie’s eyes are wide, expression raw. He isn’t observing or puzzling over you, he’s barely hiding anything on that face of his. Frankie is bleeding emotion all over your door. You want to take him in your hands and kiss it better. Lick the gore from his mouth, words crimson and dripping off his chin.

So you do.

Setting your bag down in the corner, you open the door wider to see all of him. He stands tall, all broad shoulders under his slubby blue button-down. You’re kissing Frankie before you can consider anything else. He takes ahold of the frilly sleeves of your blouse to pull you closer.

Licking at your teeth, Frankie walks you backward into the apartment. The door is still open. You maneuver around and press your back against it, closing with a thud. He breaks the kiss to murmur another apology against your cheek. You let him, pushing your tongue back into his mouth again.

Gripping the hair that sticks out at the nape of his neck, Frankie moans into the kiss.

“Are you—? Can we?” he asks, whisper-quiet. “Should we?”

No. Yes? You aren’t sure that it matters much anymore. “Do you want to?”

“Always.”

“Okay.”

The kiss is gentler from there on, moving through the front hall and living room with Frankie attached to your face. He almost trips himself taking his boots off. You both make it to the bed, thighs catching at the edge of the mattress. Lying down, he joins you. This is immediately better than that shitty motel, and you haven’t done anything yet.

Frankie moves onto his side, distracted by your lips as he works at the front zipper of your pants. You move your hand to join his, pulling the silver tab down over metal teeth like you’ve done a couple hundred times by now. He huffs in a wordless thanks, pushing your pants down until they are bunched at your ankles. You toe them off along with your socks, leaving you in nothing but underwear from the waist down.

He’s looking at you like an eclipse, utterly fascinated. You begin to shrink in on yourself under his gaze, but he gently runs the pads of his fingers over your cheek. You lean into the warm touch, three matches dragging against your skin to set your face alight.

Frankie kisses down your body, undoing a few of the buttons that sit over your chest. He doesn’t take the shirt off of you, instead pushing it up as his lips kiss over your stomach. You jerk, the soft feeling sending a jolt through your body.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please touch me.” You hate that you’re begging, but love to hear yourself do it.

Frankie does too, moving his mouth over you as he keeps your underwear on. He licks at you over the lycra material, soaking the already damp fabric where your clit sits beneath it. Dipping his tongue low against the gusset, he slips two fingers under your waistband and tugs it away from your skin. The panties peel off of you.

Frankie bunches them in his hand, leaving them beside him on the bed. Without warning, he’s on you again—really this time. He licks at your cunt fervently, like this is the last chance he’ll get to give head. You close your eyes and pull his head closer to your body, small moans slipping past your lips.

This is still a bit of an apology. The thought comes to you amidst your fuzzy haze as you drip onto his tongue. Frankie groans below you, taking your right thigh in one hand and hoisting it onto his shoulder. He’s attached to you again, a different set of lips.

Most of his attention is focused on your clit, his tongue swirling at it between moments when he presses it flat against the whole of you.

“You’re always so sweet for me,” Frankie mumbles. “Wet and pretty. D’you like it when I fuck you with my mouth?”

“Yes, fuck—always,” you sigh.

Dragging him up by the hair, you kiss him again. You need to before you say something stupid. One hand is held softly at your jaw while Frankie’s other hand works you over, pressing hard against your clit.

“God.” Your heart is racing underneath your skin, beating too fast to be quite comfortable.

Frankie’s so close and everything smells like him. Frankie and sex; two things this room has never been exposed to in your tenure here. You should make a candle.

You scratch at his chest, half-hoping to draw a bit of blood as you whine his name.

“Yeah honey? That good? Nice and slow, or—?”

You nod and he slips a finger inside of you, pressing against the front wall of your pelvis. This returns you to begging for more, for anything. For him.

At the edge of an orgasm, Frankie’s fingers leave you in search of a condom. You reach out to the drawer of your bedside table, yanking it forward. Amongst a stash of pens, sticky notes, and batteries is a handful of them. Frankie takes one and opens it up, sliding the latex over his cock. One day, you’ll get your mouth on that thing. Right now you both have other plans.

He works his hand over himself a couple of times before sinking onto the mattress with you. His arms cage you in at either side as he slides in slowly. He’s only halfway inside you when you nod to yourself, a hum barely audible.

“What?” he asks.

“Noting that you’re a missionary type of guy,” you say.

That pulls a laugh from him, morphing into a squeezed moan as you hook one leg over Frankie’s hip. He’s pushed the rest of the way inside of you, breathing heavily at the surprise.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Would that be so bad this way?” you ask. It’s hard to keep up the sarcastic banter when you’re so full of him.

Frankie sighs. “No.” The word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips, the force moving you up the bed half an inch.

What you would give to have him fuck you into the headboard; pound you into the mattress. He can’t, shouldn’t, and seems to know it already. Frankie grants you your wish of laying on you though. Just lightly, a feather of a man on top.

Frankie’s cock kisses the end of your cunt before he pulls out again. You hold onto him, pressing him closer as you keep your face in the shadow of his neck. Picturing the scene, pants off and shirts on, almost makes you laugh. Another punch of his hips fucks the thought from your head as you sink your teeth into his skin. Frankie hisses, losing his rhythm with a slight stutter.

“Do that again,” he says, waiting. You do, kissing at the tender skin of his throat this time before you bite him. The flesh between your teeth is soft and elastic, pulling away from his body.

In Frankie’s absence, your appetite has grown. Maybe that’s what it is: starvation. Waiting for days to get your fill once again. You need him inside you—in your cunt, under your skin, between your teeth. You would devour him if he’d let you.

“You feel so fucking good.” His words come slow, contrasting the small gasps he pulls from you on every thrust, leaving you breathless. Frankie is holding you in almost a cradle now. Claustrophobia settles between your bodies deliciously, the world shrinking down to a pinhole as he fucks you.

It doesn’t quite feel like fucking, though. The way Frankie touches you is too soft in some places, and the way he’s looking at you is killer. His eyes flash with that unexplainable thing, stirring your stomach as you feel your peak again. This is a murder. He’s returning the favour.

The next kiss Frankie gives you is bruising. The heat of your skin against his boils over, the oxygen blur caused by your faulty lungs and the slap of his hips against yours doing you in. You come with a groan, panting into his mouth as he continues to thrust into you.

“So pretty when you come,” he says beside your ear. “So pretty always, sweet thing.”

He pulls out of you, jerking himself off through the condom over your body. You shake your head, removing the thin piece of rubber. You pick up where he left off, spitting on him and stroking Frankie’s cock with the tight circle of your hand.

“Fuck,” he moans, long and loud. “Honey, slow down. Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth.” Testing, you give him a kitten lick at the tip of his dick.

“Oh god.”

You shake your head. “Just me.”

He comes with a few more strokes, striping your tongue, your lips, your chin. You let him go to gather it from your skin onto your fingers. It’s only a little shiny here in the half-dark. You can feel Frankie watching when you press your index past your lips, tasting more of him.

He groans. Again, he says, “You’re gonna kill me.”

Frankie lays down on the empty side of the bed. You brace for his after-sex questionnaire, but the conversation never comes. He rolls onto his side to face you, slipping his arms around your torso as you face away from him.

Eventually he asks, “You still like me being here? Now that it’s here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Florida, it’s a vacation. This is a little more…” Permanent. Memorable.

Whenever you went home for the summer, your childhood bedroom plagued you with thoughts and memories long buried of your amateur firsts. Your brain still sort of worked like that—you’re sure that if you went back to your old unit in California, the handful of PAs and dolly grips you spent nights with would be one of the first things on your mind.

“Yeah,” you say, answering the question. “This is better.”

“Better?”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you mumble into the pillow.

“Too late,” Frankie says.

You sigh. “How can you be the coolest guy ever and an absolute donut at the same time?”

“You think I’m cool?” he asks.

Unlike him, you’re honest. “Unfortunately.”

Frankie hums, the rumble of his chest sinking into the bones in your spine easily.

This is all easy. Listening to him breathe, letting him in your space, falling asleep against him. If you weren’t so thoroughly fucked and tired, the simplicity would freeze you, desperate to scramble away. All you can do is lay there, falling asleep in his arms.

When you wake up, Frankie’s gone. Again.

Something painful seizes your chest, an icy claw poking razor-sharp fingers through the slats in your ribs. The sheets on the empty side of the bed still have the faint glow of body heat. He must’ve left recently, or maybe he’s still up. You can catch him before he puts his boots on and walks out your front door—out of your apartment, out of your life.

Franke interrupts your thoughts when he returns to your room, a mug in his hand.

“Did I wake you?” he asks. His morning voice is low and gravelly. A feast for the ears.

“No,” you shake your head. “I thought you left.”

“Moved my boots. They were getting dirt on your nice carpet.” Right. You remember him leaving them somewhere in your apartment. “I made coffee.”

“I’m okay.” You let your breathing even out as he sits back down on the bed with you. “We should…talk.”

“That’s all we ever do,” Frankie says. “Well, that and…” The other thing you two are so proficient at these days.

“I mean really talk. About this,” you say.

“Right,” he nods. Frankie sets his mug down, steam rising from the top. “I guess I do owe you a secret.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“It doesn’t,” he agrees. “I want to tell you.”

When you told him about the accident, about everything that changed, you’d handed him this soft and precious thing of yours that no one else had ever seen. With the roles reversed, your palms itch. You can’t help but think that you’ll drop his.

“But you have to promise me something first,” Frankie says. “Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay? Please.”

“Okay.”

A long moment of silence draws on between the two of you as he stares at your bed sheets. Frankie’s mouth twitches, filtering through his vocabulary to find the right words. Then finally, he speaks.

He tells you about a region in South America called Tres Fronteras. About a phone call, a decision, a heist. The money, most of it lost to the unforgiving land and sea. Frankie lost a friend, a wife, and a life he was trying to carve out for himself. All for riches that were never going to be his.

“I killed people. I was good at it—that and flying planes. And then all of that ended with the service. For a while there I was…a bit of a trigger-happy coke head,” he says, almost rolling his eyes. Frankie can’t seem to look at you, the same way he couldn’t in the hall. “Took a long time to clean up my act.”

You understand what he meant on that beach, an apology waiting behind your teeth as you keep your eyes on him. You don’t verbalize it. Instead, you take his hand into yours. Gently, you squeeze.

“I guess you aren’t the only one squirrely about secrets,” Frankie whispers.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Frankie surrenders, face drawn when he meets your eyes.

“That’s not the person you’ve shown me. It’s not the guy that I see. We change. For worse or for better.”

You would be lying if you said that his admissions don’t unsettle you; that this is an easy pill to swallow. But you know him. You want him. He and you are cut from the same cloth in the end. This changes nothing.

“Which one do you think you are?” he asks.

“Worse.” But that can change. Is changing, even as you sit here.

“And me?”

At that, you smile. “Better.”

You want to tell him that the promise of seeing him had been one of the only things getting you through the slow, thick haze of summer. That the thought of him never calling was a little devastating, no matter how sad that sounds. You miss his touch and want his eyes on you always. You’ve never had such a quick turnaround in opinion about anything. It’s selfish, really.

“I’m kind of a bad person,” he says slowly. It’s half warning, half realization.

“Good and bad are concepts from make-believe. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“So what do you worry about?” Frankie asks.

“Reality,” you say. “My whole life is centered around making other people believe in something fake. Concentrating on what’s real? That’s been keeping me sane lately.”

Mia’s words. Frankie’s attention. That tangible feeling of warmth, different but the same, when you are around both of them.

“And you’re real,” you say before he can ask. “A bit of a fuck up, but so am I.”

“That must be why we get along,” Frankie says.

“Must be.”

You want to add you’ll be okay to that list of real things. You need it. You’d kill for it. Silently, with your head against the pillow, you make a decision.

tags: @wannab-urs / @anoverwhelmingdin / @iamskyereads / @for-a-longlongtime

[whatsupsonnyboy]

Joseph Quinn || always you

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Joe and you met years ago during the Les Mis filming, you two start a really nice friendship and like spending time together whenever work lets you but his constant intentions to get you on dates doesn’t end exactly as any of you expected.

wc: 2.9K

warnings: friends to lovers, swearing, smoking, little angst (sory, I can’t help it), Joseph being a complete mess

a/n: I’m a friends to lovers trash, sorry not sorry. Prob gonna do a second part bc why not, I enjoy messy Joseph way too much and absolutely love writing this lovely man

                                requests are closed | masterlist

It'd been almost four years since Joe and you started your friendship, you could still remember quite vividly when the two of you started talking on the set of Les Mis, gosh that day was fucking freezing and Joe, Archie and you would be having a coffee backstage while you wait for your call during one of the coldest night of 2018 winter. Joseph and you clicked almost immediately, he was a pretty easy going on guy plus you had a lot of common interests, so it was really nice to hang out with him during the filming and even once after the series was wrapped. Despite how difficult it could be for you two to meet considering how tricky both of your schedules could be, either of you always ended up making time to see each other from time to time.

However, you had to reckon that since he came back from Atlanta after wrapping up Stranger Thing 4 you two had had the chance to see each other more. Both having more free time in London and getting to spend some time together, growing closer and closer to the point you could call him you best friend and you were pretty sure he thought of you the same way. It didn’t matter if it was you and Joe alone or if your friends come along, or his, lately almost all your plans would include him.

And being honest, you really enjoyed it a lot. Joseph was the greatest of the companies, you loved how he could make you laugh uncontrollably with his goofiness or by telling you witty jokes with stupid accents but at the same time he was always so understanding and supportive. It just amazed you how he constantly made you feel confident and fulfilled. It was funny to you how he had made himself a space in your life and in your heart that seemed it was made specifically for him.  He was, for sure, the best friend anyone could ask for.

That was why you couldn’t really understand how he could still be single. Specially since he was incredibly determinate to be with someone. He would go out with one million different girls but none of them seem to be the perfect match for him. You would, almost always, be understanding whenever he came to you to rant about how terrible his last date went or how disappointed he had felt when he found out that, the latest woman he had idealized, was nothing close to what he had thought. But some other times you just couldn’t resist yourself and you would pick on him a little about how picky and overcritical he could be. He’d go nuts and you loved to tease him.

“Relax, love you know I just love to mess around with you” you joked.

Joe glared at you but ended up laughing as he walked around you place.

“Maybe I’m just not meant to be with anyone” he said as he had a puff of his cig. “Maybe my fate is to be forever single”.

“Joe, stop it. I think you take it too seriously”.

“Maybe” he admitted. “Or maybe you don’t take it seriously enough”.

“Oh, please don’t” you whined.

He had lately started to point out how lonely you were, apart from him of course, but «I don’t count as we are platonicand we’re like never going to happen in that way». You had listened to him on the matter at least the last five times.

“Take care about your love life, I’ll take care of mine, love” you smirked and he stared harshly at you. “Stop it!” you claimed and threw one of your cushions at him making him burst into a laugh.

“How about this guy Aaron?”

“Joe…”

“I don’t think you two are a match but maybe…” you sighed loudly but he ignored you. “Martin maybe… you know this guy of production you told me about last week”.

You frowned; you couldn’t remember telling him about any Martin… how could he even remembered that.  

“Just drop it, Joe. Tell me more about this Sally of your”.

Joe remained silence for a second and you genuinely thought that he was thinking about his last date until he let out his smoke before speaking again.

“I got it” he exclaimed happily and reached for his phone. “You’re going to love this one, I’m absolutely certain about it”.

“For fuck’s sakes Joe!” you complained but again, he didn’t listen.

He stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray and sat next to you so you could check his phone.

“His name is Nicholas, he’s the best”. Joe kept scrolling through this guy Instagram profile. “I meet him a few months ago during a Netflix party, he’s British” he pointed out as if it was a crucial fact. “I think you could really have a nice time and you know maybe…” he winked, and you laughed helplessly.

But truth to be told, this Nicholas guy was really good looking and if Joseph already knew him and said he was a nice guy you could give it a try.

“Maybe” you hissed.

“Brilliant!” he looked delighted. “I’ll set you up, he’s going to go mental about you”.

-

Nick was indeed, really great. He was caring, funny and really chatty, not to mention his beautiful green eyes and the smile, he was without a doubt a real catch. So when he asked you out on a date after endless late nights talking and quick coffee meetings, like on a proper date, you said yes. Nick had told you to choose «you’re nicest clothes» so you were assuming he was taking you to a fancy place. You had the feeling he was going to ask you out, officially.

Getting to meet Nicholas had meant you hadn’t seen Joe as much as you were used to, which was quite odd, but you blamed the lack of time. Joe was starting promo season for Stranger Things and you were busy preparing your new role. Though you had informed him with every detail about Nick. Joe had seemed triumphant at first, bragging about how such a good matchmaker he was. But as you made progress with Nicholas, running to tell Joe how nice, attentive and charming he was started to feel awkward. He wouldn’t even let you tell him a lot, cutting you off with poor excuses that you didn’t buy. The thought of him not being that delighted about his matchmaker skills reinforcing on your mind little by little. It didn’t make any sense for you though, why would he be bothered about it? He had been the one to set the two of you together, and now that you liked the guy and were kind of excited about it… he was acting like that. But you preferred the idea of him just being so damn busy with work, tired too. Maybe he missed you as much as you missed him and was also kind of angry about how little time you had to be around each other. You liked Nicholas, sure you did, but you didn’t want that to get in the middle of Joe and you, he was your best friend and wanted it to keep it that way.

-

“Landing at 12.30. You pick me up. I buy you lunch 😝”

His offer sounded nice, mostly because you hadn’t seen each other since last month, a few days before he had gave Nicholas your number, so spending time with him was something you were really looking to. Yet, you knew Nicholas would be picking you up at half past seven in the evening but that didn’t mean you could not pass a couple of hours with Joe.

The way Joe embraced you the moment he was you just remembered how much you loved him, the meaningful person he was for you. He was looking so good, curls licked all back, his sunglasses on top to hold them still, big sparkling eyes looking deep into yours and that bright smile that never failed to get you smiling immediately as well.

Joe told you everything about his trip to the states as you drove to his apartment. He explained you every single detail about the premiere, the interviews, the promo he had to do… all of it. You were sure he didn’t forget a single thing. You loved it. You felt incredibly happy to see him getting this far, to being involved in something that big, he absolutely deserved it and you were pleased as punch to be there to support him and watch him shine.

You were almost done with desert when he had finished and started to ask about you, wanting to hear it all about the new role you had just got. You were happy to share that with him but you also wanted to talk to him about Nicholas. So when he suggested you could have Moroccan food at his place for dinner and then start the last season of Succession you decided to bring him up.

“It sounds really great”

“But…” he said before you could even start. He knew you so well he had anticipated your words.

“But we’ll have to wait till tomorrow night, maybe” you suggested.

“Because…” he insisted. You didn’t know why all of a sudden you weren’t feeling really confident about the whole Nicholas thing.

“I’m going out with Nick” you simply said and Joe didn’t even bother to hide the annoyance in his face.

“So you two are like official” he snapped as he lit up his cigarette.

“Not exactly. Not yet” you whispered. His silence made you keep going. “I think he’s going to ask me out tonight, officially. He had booked a table in a fancy place and told me to dress up and all so… yeah”.

“I see” he said as he had a big puff. “You like him?”

Joe question caught you off guard. But the expression on his face was what really made you feel puzzled.

“What… I mean. I-“ unexplainably it seemed as you couldn’t put two words together.

“If you really like him, great. I’m happy for you” he smiled afterwards.

You stared at him for a few seconds, as if looking into his eyes would let you into his mind. Yet, you still feel helpless about the whole situation and ended up pulling a small smile too.  

“Come on” he said getting up from his chair “Maybe we can hang out a bit at yours, you show me your script and then I’ll choose your dress” he said with a playful tone this time, the smirk on his face felt authentic and you said yes without hesitation. Refusing to Joe’s plans was generally a lost battle, only God knew how difficult had already been saying no to a shared Tubule.

-

Joe was glad you had agreed to you two spending the afternoon at your place, that you hadn’t find weird the fact that he wanted to spend with you the few hours you had left before your date nor that he had offered to help you to choose the outfit. He actually didn’t want to do that, but it was the best thing he had come up with so that you wouldn’t kick him out after a reading of your new script.

So, there he was. Staring at you as you walked around your room with a white bathrobe and your hair wrapped up in a towel, trying to figure out what to wear so you could do your hair and your make up according to your clothes.

“You’re being not very helpful Joe” you complained and the bubble he was in exploded then.

“I was thinking!” he defended himself. “I think-” he stood up from your bed and walked to your wardrobe. “This is the one” he stated as he took a strapless red satin dress, split tight and criss cross tied on the lower back. The mere thought of you in that dress made his heartbeat speed and for a second he was afraid the look on his face would give him away, but you were so deep in your thoughts, imagining the whole outfit, that you didn’t realize.

“I think it’ll do it” you said contently and looked into Joe’s eyes.

His gaze was so intense, you thought for a second his eyes could see into your bare soul. The ground shaking under your feet.

“I-” Joe started.

“I’m going to go and do my hair, okay?” you said before he could pronounce a word.

You disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and leaving Joe standing there, feeling hopeless and, kind of, like an idiot. He had to leave. He knew he had to, but he felt petrified, as if he had completely lost the control of his own body.

What was he doing? Why was he feeling like if he couldn’t contain himself anymore? Why was he acting like it? He could not do that to you. He knew it. He couldn’t be acting all of a sudden as if he had just realized you were the love of his life, even if he felt exactly like that. But it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that after years being friends, after millions of chances he had maybe had and that you had apparently met the right guy, a guy he had set you up whith… he’d had declared to you. Not then, not that day.

“Y/n” he hissed but you didn’t hear him, so he got closer to your restroom and raised his voice. “I- I think I’m going to go…”  he said when you put her head out the door.

Your puzzled and at the same time relieved facial expression was like a stab in his chest. Somehow, he was expecting that you’d beg him to stay.

“I’ll call you tomorrow” you said in a low voice and Joe just nodded. He was starting to walk out of the room when you called him. The look on his face when he turned back to face you kind of break your heart. You didn’t fully understand what was going on, not the way he was acting nor your heart aching at the idea of him leaving. A part of you was determinate about him leaving right now, the other, which you were ferociously fighting, was about to ask him to never leave your side again. Your head was about to explode.

“Would you- like” his doe eyes made it impossible for you to talk. “Help me tie it” you whispered and pointed the red dress laying on the bed.

Joe couldn’t say a word, he nodded his head and waited still for you to put it on and help you as you had asked. His heartbeat was already unsteady, but when you appeared again into the room, it shot up. The delicate fabric of the dress clinging perfectly to every inch of your body, the split revealing the soft skin of your tight. You avoided eye contact for the first time, lowering your head as you turned around quickly but he was quite sure he had seen your cheeks go red. Joe came closer to you and took the lace to tighten it a little and tie it perfectly. He had tried to avoid touching your skin just so the situation wouldn’t get more awkward, but it was ridiculous. The contact of his long fingers with the skin of your lower back make you shiver, and you were certain about the sigh that had left his mouth. The heat of your skin against his fingers made him lose any piece of self-control he had restrained.

"Don't go on that date" he snapped with a real low voice, for a second you thought that it had been your imagination, that he hadn’t just asked you to cancel your date.  

"Why?"

"You know why" he replied in a hiss.

"Say it" you insisted.

It wasn’t your intention to be cruel or to play around, but you needed to hear him saying it, you wanted to be sure that he was not the one messing with you because you liked Nicholas and the million thoughts running through your mind at 100 miles per hour didn’t make easy to comprehend what was actually happening.

Joe didn’t say a thing, you could almost sense the way his Adam’s apple moved harshly when he gulped, you needed to hear but he didn’t say it out loud. Instead, he walked out of the room and stormed out of your apartment, you hadn’t been able to see his face and not a single word had left his mouth, but the way his feet had stumped the floor and the door slamming loudly left no room for doubt about how pissed off he was.

He left you there, petrified, confused, and absolutely outraged. Anything made sense but you weren’t feeling strong enough to solve it then. As much as doubt had grown inside you then, Nicholas was waiting for you.

[magswrite]

the flat

prompt: champagne (july 30th). 949 words. @jegulus-microfic. ft. roommates james and regulus and a lot of overthinking.

It was three years ago that Regulus first moved in with James Potter, when they found a little flat in the heart of London and moved in out of what James called convenience.

“After all,” he’d said, “We both need a place, now.”

For three years, it’d been perfect—James, really, was an ideal flatmate. Didn’t make too much noise, kept the common areas perfectly clean (though his room was another story), always texted when he was picking up groceries. All things considered, he should’ve been the perfect flatmate, except that Regulus had the problem of being irrevocably in love with him.

James was, for all intents and purposes, a playboy. He didn’t bring his hookups back to the flat often, but when he did, he was annoyingly respectful about it. He’d stumbled upon James making breakfast for his guests more than once, and for all he knew, Regulus never heard a thing when they were fucking.

(He did—of course. The walls were thin.)

Recently, it’d been better. Not that Regulus was counting (he was), but James hadn’t brought anyone home in five months, and he’d been anticipating the other ball to drop—and Regulus was convinced that it was because he was moving out. Maybe even, because he’d found a partner—someone he could move in with, like Sirius and Remus had.

It was the only explanation for why he kept disappearing, particularly the past week, dodging Regulus with excuse after excuse. It’d been over three days since they’d had a conversation. It was also why Regulus was dreading heading back to the flat—it was a Friday night and he would no doubt be spending it alone, unlike James.

(James, certainly, would be at this mystery partner’s apartment. Honestly, he’d probably be moving out, sometime soon, it wasn’t as though this was supposed to be a permanent situation, anyhow.)

Which was why it was such a surprise for him, when their old flat door swung open, and he found James standing at the kitchen island with an ice-bucket, two elegant champagne glasses, and a bottle of Moët.

“Surprise!” James said, and for once, Regulus was actually, truly, surprised.

“What’s,” he said, glancing around, “all this for?”

James drew his eyebrows together. “Our anniversary,” he said, casually, and Regulus bit back the choking noise in the back of his throat. “We moved in three years ago—don’t you remember?”

He had a very forlorn look on his face, and Regulus was beginning to feel like he’d been misinterpreting…some things.

“Of course but—well, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Why not?” He asked, voice airy.

“It’s—James. We haven’t seen each other in like, a week. This is very nice, and all, but if you have something to tell me, you didn’t have to do all this.”

There was a pause as a confused expression fell upon James’ face. And then: “Oh. You already knew then, that I was going to ask you tonight.”

He sounded almost…nervous. Dread settled in Regulus’ stomach—of course, James must’ve been planning to tell him he was moving out. The champagne was a consolation prize, at best.

“I didn’t know,” he clarified. “But I think we both figured that this wasn’t sustainable in the long run. I mean, we’re two adults living together, one of us was bound to move at some point.”

Regulus tried very hard to not sound too disappointed at the fact that, well, he’d probably be seeing far less of James at all.

James’ face, on the other hand, lit up, a smile overtaking it, “Perfect—then it’s a yes?”

“I mean, it’s not like you need to ask my permission,” Regulus said, slightly confused.

“No…I really think I do? What are you talking about?”

“…The fact that you’re moving out? What are you talking about?”

“Regulus, I’m asking you out.”

Oh…that was definitely not what he’d been expecting.

“What?” Regulus said, brain sort-of short circuiting.

“I’m asking you out. On a date—will you go out with me?”

Regulus’ first thought was: this doesn’t make any sense.

“But you’ve been…avoiding me.”

James’ expression fell, “Oh. I didn’t realize it was—I’m sorry. I just wanted it to be perfect, and I knew you weren’t doing anything tonight, and I guess I got ahead of myself a bit—“

And suddenly, everything fell into place.

“Yes,” he finally said, cutting him off. James, clearly, was nervous, and when he got nervous, he sort-of started rambling in nonsense, “of course I’ll go out with you, James. I just thought—well, I thought you were going to tell me you were moving out.”

James’ eyebrows wrinkled together again, “Moving out? I’ve practically been in love with you for the past five months. Why would I want to move out?”

Regulus’ next thought was: oh. Everything makes a whole lot more sense, now.

“I guess I don’t really know,” he replied. “I mean, it explains why the hookups stopped.”

(It was past time he stopped doubting himself, after all.)

“Perfect,” James said, “Because I have so much planned—you’ll probably want to change outfits, we’re going to the park first, with the Moët, and I know how you hate wearing work clothes outside the office. After that, I thought we could catch that movie you’d mentioned, a while back…”

Regulus started tuning him out, a bit. All he could think about was the way James had said in love, and later that night, when they went back to their apartment, settling in Regulus’ room (it’d always been the bigger one), he whispered it too, a low mumble onto James’ chest: love you too.

[katcoquette]

Rooftop Dreamin'

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x f!Reader

part of my cabin in the woods collection happening throughout the month of october- a collection of stand-alone* stories (cute fall & spooky) set in the same cabin in the woods, read them all if you dare uncover the full mystery...

summary: after spending the first evening in the cabin catching up with old friends, your husband thoughtfully plans one of his notorious surprises for you

✧ word count: 3k

✧ tw/tags: wife!reader, wine ! drunk !, fluffy, bradley being considerate and thoughtful ugh

✧ author's note: at the end when he shrugs about the wine I'm picturing the little shrug he does to Hangman at the end of the movie okay? okay? picture that.

You’re grateful for the monotonous task of cutting up fruit after the chaos of twenty-something people arriving to the cabin at the same time, bringing in bags, and settling into rooms. It’d only taken twenty-five minutes for everything to get put away, and ten more for dinner to be prepped- another perk of having a big group, along with the great company.

Now you, Natasha, Bob, Hangman, their partners, and Rooster were waiting in the kitchen for everything to finish cooking. When you’re done with the fruit, you put the knife down and wipe your hands on a nearby towel, turning around to lean against the counter.

“I’m so glad everyone was able to come this week.” You say, pouting slightly as you pull the two women on both sides of you, Natasha and Hangman’s girlfriend, into your arms. “I missed you all.”

You and Rooster had stayed in California for as long as he could following the mission, but eventually he was called back to Oceana. Fanboy, Harvard, and Yale were also restationed there, but it was still hard to leave the others, especially the two you were currently hugging.

You’d clicked instantly, and even though Rooster and Hangman didn’t get along for the majority of your time there, you’d gotten really close. You celebrated the day your boys finally became friends.

“We missed you too.”

There were some new faces among the group- Coyote, Bob, Omaha, and Fritz had all been single the last time you’d been in North Island, but they all brought special someones with them for the week.

Payback was too, but you’d met up with them for drinks a couple of months ago on a trip back to California to see Maverick.

Before long the timer on the oven is ringing, and the rest of dinner is ready.

You all decide to eat together in the dining room, at the biggest wooden table you’ve ever seen. It’s one of the most fun meals you’ve had in a while- it’s nice to see everyone from the October mission two years ago. You didn’t know all the details of what happened, but you’d never seen your husband closer with a group of people, especially his supposed rival, Jake Seresin.

When the meal is finished, the group splits up- some people go to the kitchen to clean up, and others- you included, move to the living room to catch up on what everyone had been doing in the months, or years, since they’d last seen each other.

You all tried your best to keep in touch, visiting whenever you happened to be in the same cities, but this trip is the first time all twelve pilots have been together since the mission.

You’re not sure where Rooster has wandered off to until you feel him lean over the back of the couch and wrap his arms around your shoulders twenty minutes later. “There you are.” You put your hands on his forearms and tilt your head back against the couch to look up at him.

He smiles and gives you a sweet kiss, before you turn back to the conversation you were half tuned into. You aren’t meaning to be rude, but people had been walking in and out of the room the entire time, so everyone just keeps chatting even after Rooster takes away your attention.

His head settles onto your shoulder, and he listens to the conversation for a few moments before talking into your ear low enough that only you’re able to hear him.

“I’m stealing you away tonight.” You bite back a smile, still looking forward. “Oh, are you? What happens if I want to stay and catch up with everyone else?”

“Unfortunately, you don’t get a choice, that’s what stealing means. Besides, aren’t we ‘catching up’ right now?”

“We’re barely participating in any of these conversations.”

“But we’re still on the edge of them.” To emphasize his point, he walks around the back of the couch and sits down next to you, pulling you into his side. You shift so you’re more comfortable under the arm he’s put around you as he addresses the rest of the room. “So, what’re we talking about?”

“We’re thinking of something to do tonight. I think we should try out the pool- it’s supposed to be heated.”

“It better be heated, or else we’ll freeze.”

“It’s not that cold outside-“

They continue to discuss the relationship between the pool and the weather, and Rooster glances down at you with a smirk at the conversation he’s spurred. “See? I participated.”

You roll your eyes, amused, and push on his chest. He catches your wrist and tucks it over his side, pulling you further into his arms, resting his chin on the top of your head. You realize he’s settling into the couch, intending on staying there for the next little while, so you relax into him, content with the easy talking and joking you know comes with the group of aviators.

Soon most of the group has wandered back to the main living room, and the idea of trying out the heated pool is brought up again. Most everyone agrees to it, but Rooster sees an opportunity when Fanboy announces to the group that they’re heading to bed instead, “Yeah, us too.”

Hangman tuts, “Booo, the married people are spoiling alll the fun.” His girlfriend takes the half-full glass of wine from where it’s swaying precariously over the couch in his hand and moves it to the side table next to her.

You smile at the interaction.

“Sorry buddy, but Y/N really hasn’t been feeling good today. I think the only thing that will help is some alone time with me.” Rooster jokes, but Hangman doesn’t catch on like everyone else does.

“She seems fine to me.” He retorts, earning him a nudge to his side. Rooster looks down at you and raises an eyebrow, communicating with just a look that he needs backup from you.

You’re so caught off-guard by his grand excuse of throwing you under the bus that all you can muster is a weak, obviously fake, cough. He raises an eyebrow and tries not to laugh.

“You four go- and anyone else who’s feeling ‘under the weather’.” Phoenix winks. “The rest of us will be outside.”

With that, everyone starts to move.

Bradley takes your hand and helps you up, leading you, surprisingly, back to the kitchen. “I thought we were going upstairs.”

He opens the fridge, “We are, I’m just grabbing this first.” When he steps back from behind the refrigerator door, he has a basket in his hands.

You gasp softly, lifting the towel covering the opening to peek inside. “When did you get this ready?”

“Right before I came and found you.” Your eyes light up with a thought as you inspect the contents and you press a finger to his lips excitedly. “Wait one second- we’re missing something.”

Bradley watches you disappear into the pantry and reemerge a few minutes later holding a bottle of wine. You lift it to show him, a proud smile on your face.

He puts the basket on the counter. “Now where did you find that?”

You point to the room you’d just exited. “There’s stairs to a secret wine cellar in there. It’s actually kind of creepy.”

He’s smirking now, “And you just helped yourself?” You shrug, a playful smile on your lips. “It was unlocked…and I didn’t see any instructions telling me not to…”

His hands grab your hips and pull you to him, and then he’s cupping your face and kissing you softly. “You’re a bad influence..” He says against your lips. You hum in disagreement, “Besides-“ You kiss him again, “-it’s like super cheap wine, I’ll just pay the owners back for it.”

He laughs, turning around to grab the basket and start walking to your shared room. “Okay, maybe you’re not as naughty as I thought.”

You shift the wine bottle into your arm to make sure it doesn’t fall, going over to one of the cupboards to find two wine glasses. “No wait, I can be naughty. Bradley- wait!”

He chuckles, pauses long enough for you to catch up to him, and then he’s putting his hand gently on your back to guide you up the stairs to the room you’d picked out earlier. You put the glasses down on the dresser and watch as Bradley walks over to the window and opens it.

After removing the screen, he climbs out with the basket. “Bradley!” You turn and pick the glasses back up and walk over to the window, completely confused. He pops his head back in and offers you his hand. “Come on.”

He helps you onto the roof just outside your window. It’s not as steep as you would’ve assumed it to be, and it faces out toward the driveway. He keeps one hand steadily on your back as you make your way to a blanket and pillows set up toward the middle.

“Ta da!” He holds his hands out to the setup, and you can’t help but smile at how cute his behavior is.

You wrap your arms tightly around him, and despite the awkwardness of your full hands, it’s still completely comforting to you.

He gives the best hugs.

“Bradleyy-” You pull away for a moment to put the wine and glasses down. “This is so sweet. You’re so sweet.”

When you look back at him your eyes are a little teary. “You never cease to surprise me, Bradshaw.”

Although him surprising you isn’t anything new, he did it often, but it never failed to make you emotional every time.

You absentmindedly stroke the hairs on the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you. He smiles afterwards, “That’s the idea, baby.” He gives you another quick kiss, then takes a step back and holds out his hand to you. “Shall we?”

You take his hand and sit down, readjusting the pillows behind your back. “I thought it would be fun to take advantage of the clear skies and lack of light pollution.”

He pulls the basket in front of the two of you, taking the cover off and pulling out the snacks he’d put together. “And of course- we needed snacks.”

You smile, “Of course.”

He hands you a glass and uncorks the bottle, leaning back a little when it pops. “Cheers.” You say once he has his own, clinking your glasses gently. “To us.”

You both take a sip, and then you grab a couple of grapes and try to throw them into your mouth. He lays back on his side, propping himself up to watch you on one elbow. “Careful! We’re literally sitting on a roof.”

“Babe, I’m a pro.” You toss another grape up in the air, blinking when it hits the corner of your mouth and then the roof. You both watch it roll off the edge. “Pfft.” He scoffs, taking another gulp.

“That didn’t count.”

He watches you try three more times until you finally get one in your mouth. You put both arms up the air, cheering through your closed mouth.

“Ayyy!” You high five the hand he holds up, and then grab your glass, mirroring his position. You both take another sip, keeping your eyes on each other, smiling.

“So… what should we talk about?” You laugh at his question, flipping onto your back. “Have we already run out of things to talk about?” You turn your head to stare at him.

The moon is bright tonight- it gives off enough light to illuminate your husband’s face. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was glowing. You’re not drunk enough for that thought yet.

When you turn your head to look at him for the umpteenth time tonight, your eyes roam over his face, first his hair, then his mouth- his eyes, nose…back to his mouth.. You notice his mustache twitch above his lip, so you look back to his eyes again.

“What?” He asks.

A soft smile is on your lips as you take another sip. “Nothing…” You trail off, reaching out to touch his cheek. “I just love you a lot.”

“I love you too. So much.” He reaches for the bottle again, topping off your glass. “But yes, I can’t think of any other topics of conversations to have with you.” A wink accompanies his statement. “Are you trying to get me drunk, lieutenant?”

He quirks up the corner of his mouth, giving you a little shrug.

Soon enough, you’re sitting up and holding out the wine bottle to show him that it was now empty.

“We drank the whole bottle.” You say straight-faced. He rolls over to look at you, then point accusingly. “Noo, I think you drank the whole bottle, sweetheart. I only had a couple of glasses.”

You poke his cheek, “I know you’re feeling it.”

He holds up his fingers. “Maybe a little bit.” You put the empty bottle into the basket, and then lay down closer to him, resting your head in the crook of his arm. “I don’t think we should move for at least an hour. We’ll go tumbling off the roof.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” You fall into a comfortable silence- just existing on the roof of a cabin in the woods with him for...you don’t even know how long.

You can’t think of anywhere you’d rather be.

You’re sure at least an hour or two has passed, based solely on the now absent noises from the backyard where the pool was, and the way the stars have shifted. You’d been pointing them out to each other in between other random thoughts, and the silence.

Now, you break it again.

“You’re my best friend.” You say toward the sky. “Do you know that?” He rubs your shoulder. “I know. You’re my best friend too. That’s why I married you. Did you know that?”

You sniff, partly because of the cold, and partly because the wine bottle had caught up to you somewhere between hearing Coyote get pushed into the pool and pointing out a shooting star.

Bradley had missed it- and didn’t believe you for a solid five minutes, until he finally saw one himself. That had started a contest- who could spot the most shooting stars. You’d settled on it being a tie.

“Yeah, I know.”

A shiver goes down your spine at the breeze that picks up around you. Bradley tightens his arm around you, then pulls another blanket over the both of you, tucking your side in under you.

You stay like this, in his arms, looking up at the sky, until headlights flash up from below you. When you sit up, you see the gate at the end of the driveway closing behind a car. “Looks like Payback’s here.”

Bradley sits up too, whining slightly at the cold that hit his side without you lying next to him. “That’s not his car though- ooh!” He looks at you excitedly. “Must be his secret guest’s.”

You look at your husband. “It’s not a secret. They’ve been together for, like, months.”

“You’ve met who he’s bringing?”

“Uhh- yeah. We ran into them when we were visiting Mav this summer.”

“I have no memory of that.” He says with a deadpan look on his face, and you know exactly why.

You rub his back, comforting him as if him forgetting was some tragedy. “That’s because you and Payback were drunk off your asses. It’s one of the first things we bonded over- our drunk men.”

“I’ve never gotten that drunk, especially not around other people!”

The corner of your mouth quirks up as you purse your lips, just staring at each other for a few moments, both of you aware that both parts of that sentence are a complete lie.

“We should go say hi.” You say finally, gesturing nonchalantly toward the window you’d climbed through earlier.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

He helps you up, and you slightly stumble into him. He catches you easily, always attentive to your actions- and you giggle, still slightly buzzed. You gather the items you’d brought out and head back inside. On your way down the stairs to the front door, you fill him in on the details of the night he’d missed, purely for entertainment purposes.

After talking with them for a few minutes and pointing them in the direction of a room you know is empty, you’re heading back upstairs. “Not the stairs again.” Rooster groans. “I swear I’ve walked up and down these stairs a hundred times today.”

It’s not wholly an exaggeration, he had insisted on taking your bags up, and then ever the gentleman, ended up taking several other people’s bags up as well. You giggle at his whining, “That was your own fault.” but you hold out a hand to soothe his antics anyway.

You’re not much help, and he ends up supporting you up the wooden stairs to make sure you don’t slip. He shushes you multiple times, and at one point you even have to pause and sit down part way up- you’re laughing so hard.

As you walk back to your room, you lean closer to your husband and lower your voice, “I think we played that off reallyyyy well.” He giggles with you, despite being much more sober than you. “They definitely couldn’t tell.”

Soon enough, you’re crawling into bed and your husband’s arms for the night.

“Thanks for bringing us here. I didn’t realize how much I missed ‘Tash and the Seres until I saw them.” ‘The Seres’ meaning Jake and his girlfriend, who’d been together so long they may as well be the same person by now.

“’Course, baby.” He brushes his fingers through your hair. It’s something he did often before you went to bed, and it’d become therapeutic for both of you in the years you’d been married. “It was a good day, wasn’t it?”

You snuggle into his chest, “Yeah, it was.” He keeps brushing your hair, and soon enough you’re close to falling asleep.

He notices- he always did, so he reaches over the best he can without disturbing you and flips off the light. “Goodnight sweetheart.” He kisses the top of you head softly, “I love you.”

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[caplanbuckybarnes]

Five times Draco Sees You

Summary; you harbor a crush on the Slytherin

Warnings: student au, fluff

The first time Draco sees you, your sitting in the library, History of Magic book placed in front of you, quill between your lips as you read the textbook deep in thought. He wants to greet you, or find some reason to speak to you. But, he’s oddly terrified. It’s unusual for him to feel this way. He’s usually confident in what he wants. But this time, it’s different. Your alone at the table, no other bag around you that indicates you’re saving a seat for someone. But he chickens out before the nerve becomes too much to bear for him.

He grabs the necessary Potion’s book from the shelf before walking back down to his table with Pansy and Blaise. Before he had the chance to take his seat again, Pansy perks up, “Draco, you’re red. What were you doing?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders to try and rid away the blush on his body. He knew his friends saw through him. But they wouldn’t dare press on about it. They'd know better than to rile him up with something silly as that.

The second time he’d caught sight of you, you were hanging out in the sunlight on a warm spring day. You were leaning against an old oak tree trunk, alone as far as he could see. He’d wanted to come chat with you, but once again, he stopped himself. It wouldn’t do him good to take the first step. There were too many eyes around him.

He couldn’t understand what was stopping him. He was once so confident in himself. He never had an issue with going up to a beautiful girl such as you.

But he left you alone, once again. Little did he know, you had seen him standing on top of that small hill, gazing down at you. You’d thought it a bit odd that Draco Malfoy of all people had been watching you. At first, you’d thought it was only your imagination playing tricks on you in the library all those weeks ago.

Of course, you’d never talked to him! He was in a year higher than yourself. You’d never share a class with him. So it’d be nearly impossible to catch him in the classroom watching you. It made you feel triumphant in a way, really. He was known as a ladies’ man, sure. But the fact that he could possibly be checking you out, well, it made your tummy do flips inside.

It was a few more weeks before Draco had caught sight of you again. You were walking down the hall, books held tightly between your arms, crossed tightly over your chest. You looked nervous, perhaps, causing Draco to almost take a step closer to you. He couldn’t imagine what had caused the intense look on your face, and it had him worried slightly.

Once again, his friends had knowing looks on their faces. “Was that the reason you were flustered in the library?” Pansy asked, looking at the girl’s backside as she continued on down the hallway.

“Shut your mouth, Pansy,” Draco grimaced, peering around, making sure nobody had overheard the conversation as they waited for the professor to open the classroom door.

Not another mention of you was spoken for another few weeks, just as Draco and Pansy were walking up to the Owlery to send an owl to Draco’s parents, demanding more ink for class.

There you stood, seemingly lost in your thought as you ran a finger down your owl’s beak. You were mumbling to it, probably giving it some words of love. Draco wouldn’t know.

“Hello,” Pansy greeted, scaring you out of your thoughts.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you’d apologized quietly before meeting Draco’s gaze, quieting you down.

He smiled softly at you, slightly alarming you. Never in your school career have you imagined Draco Malfoy throwing you a smile like that. You’d seen him laughing and smiling in the Great Hall plenty of times, of course. But never in your imagination did you think he’d stand in front of you with a genuine smile.

“Hi,” you waved lamely before ducking your head until your owl nudged you for attention.

“You’ve got a nice barn owl,” he commented lamely as he strolled over to his eagle owl and attached his letter while Pansy watched on.

“Thank you,” you threw him a smile.

Draco left you in the owlery soon after that, Pansy trailing behind him, whispering teasing words in his ear, giggling softly.

The fourth time Draco had seen you, you were in the presence of Professor Flitwick discussing your Charms homework. He was walking down the hall, with Pansy and Blaise walking on either side of him. This time, he’d caught your eyes and sent a secret smile your way, causing you to giggle slightly before turning your attention back to the professor.

“You’ve got it bad, mate,” Blaise observed, knocking his shoulder with his own.

“I do,” Draco finally admitted out loud. “She’s an attractive one, I’ll admit.”

The last time Draco saw you, you had been leaning against a wall, a book held in your hands, open to a random page.

“The Tales of Beedle and the Bard?” He spoke up gently so as to not startle you too much.

You looked up at the sound of the angelic voice, sending him a smile. “Yes. My sister owled it to me this morning.”

“That’s a children’s book though.” He noted.

She nodded. “I’m aware of that, actually. You see-” you had cut off, fearing his rejection once he found out your bloodline.

“What?” He pressed lightly, sliding down to the wall to sit on the floor, pulling on your sleeve until you sat next to him, cross legged.

“I’m not a pureblood, Draco.” She admitted carefully, hurriedly looking down at the book in her lap. “I’m what wizards call muggleborn.”

He didn’t know what to say. He liked her, regardless of his blood status. He cared for her. He wanted to be with her. Damn the consequences of what his father would think. “I don’t care what you are, you’re beautiful. Regardless of what kind of family you were born into.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up at his acceptance.

“Of course,” he nodded, standing up, dusting off his trousers. He reached a hand out to help her back on her feet. Even when you were back on your feet, still, he held his hand firmly with her own.

“If you have a free period, maybe I could take you down to the lake?” He asked.

“I’d very much like that, Draco.”

[aidengallangerfan]

Run Boy Run (Number 5 x reader)

:)

Context: You and Five were best friends, the night before he ran away he admitted his feelings to you, you went to school together and protected you from bullying. But now he’s gone.

words: 1318

Warning: Suicide, just sad really, bullying, swearing. 

GIF by robdowneyjr

Polaroids filled your wall, it reminded you of a happier time, a time that seemed so long ago. The pictures couldn’t keep you going anymore, it’d gotten too much and he wasn’t there anymore, he’d left you. You look at the photos while writing a letter with shaking hands, ink running on the page where your tears hit, the sound of them sounding like beating drums on a parade. You couldn’t wait for him, not anymore. 

You remember the night before it happened, even though it was almost two years ago, since he left, gone without a trace. A flash of blue and he was in your room, breathing heavily as he gently shook you awake.

“Five? What are you doing here?” He took a seat at the end of your bed, you sat up and rubbed your eyes. “Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know.” You say in a soft voice, placing a comforting hand on his back.

“y/n...” Five sighed, he was almost searching for the words to say, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth. He looked down at the ground, tears filling his eyes. “I’m going to do something really stupid tomorrow, I can’t tell you what, or why I’m going to do it.” He looked at you, his green eyes filled with sorrow.

“What do you mean Five?” You were confused, it was too early for this and you just didn’t understand what he was talking about, in hindsight, you should of known what he was going to do, you should of talked him out of it but you were naïve, stupid almost. Five was too smart for his own good, to wise for his age.

He looked at the floor again. “Y/n, please, just remember to wait for me.” he grabbed your hand. “Promise me you’ll wait.” He was begging you, pleading with you.

Without knowing what me meant you agreed, you agreed to wait for him from whatever he was doing. You watched as the boy you almost love push his hair out of his face with shaking hands. He grabbed your hands, almost trying to calm himself down, without a second though he leant over and pressed his lips to yours, it lasted mere seconds but felt like it was infinite, you were flying and didn’t want to land. 

“don’t forget me.”

And just like that he was gone, a flash of blue never to be seen again. How could you ever forget him, you never thought he’d be gone for long, maybe a week tops. But no, every nice thing must come to an end.

Five was your protector at school, thats how you met him, someone in the corridor had gone to punch you but as you braced yourself nothing hit you, you opened your eyes to see the bully in question on the floor and Five asking if you were ok and after that he never left your side. It only took a week after he ran away for the bullies to start again, pushing and shoving to mean comments and with no one to protect you anymore you just endured it, day in day out. Until finally, you shut down, after two years without him you couldn’t wait any longer.

You closed the letter, writing on the front as best you could with your shaking hand ‘for Five, when he comes back x’. You had left another note for your family, explaining on basic terms that you simply couldn’t do it anymore. Putting on your cheapest clothes you snuck out your window and made your way towards the Academy, you didn’t want to wear anything too expensive just incase your family had a hard time with money and needed to sell some stuff.

You approached the Academy’s doors, remembering the numerous times you had snuck in there with Five, or the time when pogo found you two giggling in Fives room and promised he’d keep it a secret, you smile at the fond memories. Quietly, you pushed the gates open and gently pushed the letter through the post box, and then you walked away, and you didn’t stop walking, not until you reached the cliffs at the shore. You took a breath of fresh air, dangerously close to the edge, the words of the bullies echoing in your head like a lone singer in an empty stadium ‘Five left because he couldn’t stand the sight of you’ and deep down you think its true, he hasn’t came back for you yet, but you could never forget him. You wanted to feel like you were flying again, like how you did with Five that night, the night he kissed you, you wanted to soar through the air again. So you did.

All Five could think about during the apocalypse was y/n, the thought of them was what kept him going through it all, through the wasteland, through the commission. He had finally done it, he’d got the equation, he didn’t care if he broke his contract he needed to see her smile again, hear her laugh. 

He fell though the portal, and looked up to see the rest of his siblings but y/n was no where to be seen. “Shit.” He looked round at their shocked faces. “Wheres y/n?” It took them a second to think about what they asked, little did he know they hadn’t heard of y/n since what happened.

“You’ve been gone for all that time and that’s the first thing you ask?” Luther stated, boy had he gotten big, but obviously his brain had shrunk since Five had left.

“Where is y/n.” Five asked again, louder this time. He watched their faces drop, how could they tell him.

“She’s dead Five.” Fives heart almost stopped, she couldn’t be, she promised she’d wait.

“Stop fucking lying. She can’t be, she promised me she’d wait!” He almost shouted at them. They were lying and he knew it, they were all lying.

“Five, y/n killed herself, two years after you left.” Allison jumped in before any of her brothers could talk. “She left you a letter, it’s in your room on your desk.” A flash of blue and he was gone, his chest was tight with the news, he couldn’t believe it, he wouldn’t.

There it was, a dusty letter sat neatly on his desk, untouched and preserved, y/n writing clear as day on the front ‘for Five, when he comes back x’ his hands begin to shake, there were tear droplets over the front of the letter. The more he read, the more his heart sank, the letter was rushed explaining every question he would of had on why you did it. Without even realising, his eyes stung, lifting a hand to his face he could feel the damp of his tears on his face but his body was numb with grief and his heart aching loss. At the end of the letter there was a polaroid of the two of you at Griddy’s, you’d ask one of the waitresses to take it for you, the waitress before taking the photo had mentioned about you being a cute couple and it made you both laugh right before she snapped the photo.

Fives vision was becoming blurred, he wanted to scream but no noise was coming out, a stabbing pain wracked through his whole body and he collapsed into a heap onto the floor clutching the photo of you both close to his chest, hoping it would ease the pain. He couldn’t help but blame himself for what you did, he shouldn’t of left. All he could do is silently cry, he couldn’t even think of what to do but he knew one thing, he had to stop the apocalypse and go back, go back to save you, to see your smile again. He would do anything to be back with you, even if it killed him.

[bratshaws]

goodness gracious 19. brb x oc

a/n: HEH hi, hi guys......um........im...going through it! Going through it but I managed to finish chapter 19!! hope you guys like it, I missed writing and Im glad my mental health allowed me to finish it. also, I tried get as much info as I could in Little Italy ( again remember im not amurican ok tha nk )

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: no rooster :(, bea avoiding talking to the last heads of the Hydra, overprotective parents.

chapters:

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18

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@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey

-

“So, you called your brother and your sisters.” Shells asked Bea while watching her friend hold herself upside down on the pole, her thighs clenching on the iron bar. The blonde stood by with her hands on her waist, keeping an eye on Beatrice and keeping alert if she needed to help her come down quickly.

“Yeah,” Beatrice, the upside down view of Shells’ face was weird but she got used to it quickly, holding herself as straight as possible “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.” she begins, “Marina honestly said that it was about time and she almost asked Derek to see if any of his doctor friends would be interested in me. Michael got a bit…I don’t know, he was a bit surprised, but he said he was happy for me.”

“Did he?”

“I mean,” she furrowed her eyebrows, “He spat out his coffee, which was what I thought Sabrina would do when I told her about it. But he wasn’t angry or anything.” she slowly dangles her body forward to slide down the pole, wiping the sweat forming on her temple, “So…it’s been going well so far.”

Shells hums, going to her own pole with Bea close behind, assuming the position her friend was just seconds before - albeit with a lot more grunting and cursing - “Now there’s only Guillermo and your parents.”

Beatrice lowered her eyes, “Yeah…I’m not…really confident about the three.” Was she probably overthinking? Maybe, but she knew her parents and Guillermo way too well, especially considering her oldest brother took a five hours flight just because her parents asked him to check on her. Not to mention her dad. God her father. Beatrice sighed, looking up at Shells’ upside down pose in silence, choosing to change the subject “Did Bob…message you yet?”

The blonde looked at her friend with her eyes stilling, then she looked away. “No. Did Rooster?” the brunette shook her head negatively, “Yeah, well, they did say they’d be outta contact for a while right?”

“Yeah…” Beatrice looks down at her thumb where her ring used to be, rubbing the slight discoloration on the skin there, “I hope they are okay.'' He has to be, he has to be okay. Which he is, he is okay, he’s safe. God she missed him so much already, three days and she’s already missing him. She only relaxed whenever she inhaled his scent on the Navy hoodie she took home from Sunday, it helped her sleep. 

“But you know what?” Shells’ voice snaps her out of her thoughts, “I’m going to prepare him a feast for when he comes back.” her friend has that specific smirk on her face, the one that always screamed ‘i am up to no good’ . “I’m going to go to that nice sex shop downtown, buy myself an arsenal of sexy stuff and prepare something that he will never forget.”

Beatrice widened her eyes, looking around the studio in fear someone else heard their conversation, but they were too busy with their own training and the music pumping prevented them from hearing anything but the song. However…that genuinely made something in Bea’s head spring up “...you and Bob…already did it?”

“Oh yeah,” Shells chuckles, “That sweet face of his hides a lot of delicious secrets.” she says, rolling off the pole to land on her feet, “Not to mention, I have a whole gallery of nudes I’ll send him.”

“Nudes?” Bea questioned quietly, looking down at her hands with her lips parted. She…could do that, right? She could send some to Rooster…but she didn’t want it to be just a simple nude, she wanted it to be a lot more…sensual? Some mood lighting, perhaps? She looks up only to see Shells leaning an arm on the pole with the same smirk still on her face, one eyebrow going up, “I-I was just thinking!”

“Hmhm, about giving Rooster a nice gift he could unwrap back home huh?” Bea blushed a bright red, “Girl, why are you blushing? You think I didn’t see those bites on your neck? Or the way you two left the club? Or how you didn’t come back home on Sunday?”

“I–I never…” she lowered her voice, biting her lower lip, “I never sent anyone a nude, I don’t know what to do.”

Shells smiled, tilting her head then sweeping a hand over her body, “That's why you got me, I’m going to guide you in this journey young grasshopper.” she leans closer, “We should go to the sex shop after this, get you settled for him. What do you say?”

Beatrice hesitates for a bit,running her fingers through her ponytail as she thinks on it, but then she nods with her cheeks burning so bright she’d be used to signal planes. She tried to ignore the huge smile that split across Shells’ face, focusing back on finishing the class instead. Honestly it was a nice distraction from talking to her parents and final brother too, buying lingerie and other stuff? Yes, absolutely.

The class finished without issues, just Shells complaining about her muscles being sore but that was a common occurrence every time, with Tiff telling them she’d see them next week. Shells hooked her arm on Bea’s elbow, guiding the two to her Buick with a pep on her step. Beatrice didn’t know about the sex shop she talked about, mostly because she hasn’t been in one since she was twenty years old and was curious about…things…she couldn’t really talk about with her parents or siblings. Not because she was a girl, but because she was the youngest and they felt it wouldn’t be good for her innocent mind. 

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the memory, she had sex ed at school. She wasn’t innocent at all, she knew things…maybe not hands on learning, but she knew the basics! Most of the stuff she ended up knowing she read online in fanfictions about her favorite shows, while she was safe from her family’s eyes in her room. Her first time was with Eric unfortunately, it wasn’t great, it was actually very quick and unimpressive, but for someone so young she thought it’d get better and that they were both nervous about it.

Her thoughts stopped when Shells parked the car in front of a black storefront, with the word ‘Silence… pleasure shop’ on dark letterings standing above the door. She looked around the street, noticing they were a bit farther from the common shopping center area. There was nothing that screamed sex shop besides the use of colors and the pleasure shop, the windows showed parts of the shop where honestly you couldn’t see much besides a few mannequins wearing negligees or short camisoles.

Shells was the first to enter, with Beatrice going right behind, her green eyes widening once she was inside. Well, it was a sex shop because what the windows didn’t showed was the amount of different apparatuses and clothing inside, especially the ones on the wall where the glass from the window couldn’t reach. There was the sound of heels approaching them, with Bea looking ahead to see a woman about their age with short platinum blonde hair and a vinyl styled dress, “Hello! Welcome to Silence!I’m Sydney,how can I help you two today?”

“Hi! So,” Shells looked around while rubbing her hands together, “We are trying to find something for our boyfriends, they were deployed on Monday and will be gone for two months. We need something to…make ‘em feel at home, you know?” Sydney lets out a knowing ‘ah’, then looks at the two of them for a while, squinting her eyes playfully.

She takes the two women to the back of the shop, where a staircase leads to the biggest area in the building, storage size almost, with things from floor to ceiling. Beatrice is so amazed by her surroundings she doesn’t hear what Shells is telling Sydney, only looking back when they reach the bottom of the stairs and the platinum haired woman is looking at her expectantly, “Oh, um…I…I dunno really what I’m looking for.” they had sex once, it was amazing, but she started to doubt herself on what he’d be into.

“Well, that’s what I’m here for!” Sydney smiles, “We can figure some stuff out, how about…let’s start with your favorite colors.”

“Oh, um…I like lilacs, teals, pinks, maybe something like light orange too?” She could see Sydney making notes in her head, all the while listening to her.

“What about your boyfriend? What does he like about you?”

What did Bradley like about her? She immediately blushed, looking at her hands, “Um…if he was here he’d probably say everything.” Sydney’s face softened, her hand touching her chest as she looked absolutely melted by that statement.

“That is so sweet.”Sydney said, “You are a very lucky girl. I think I have the perfect ones for you. Why don’t you follow me?” Beatrice blinked in surprise, how did she already figure something out for her? But she nodded, looking to where Shells was.Her blonde friend was holding up a nurse outfit in front of her body, then changing it to a police officer one, while there were several types of lingerie on the crook of her arms.

She wasn’t too far from her, so she just decided to follow Sydney to the other part of the store, watching the platinum blonde pick certain items from the clothing racks. It was so fast she couldn’t see much of what the outfits looked like, until they reached another counter where Sydney stood behind, putting everything on display.

She had never seen such pretty lingerie in her whole life: most of them were the colors she said, but Sydney told her that red was a great color for her skin tone. That made a shiver run through her, because those were Bradley’s words for her, so she agreed on getting something red. She didn’t get any outfits, because she didn’t know if he’d be…into that, he seemed to prefer her wearing his clothes more than anything else. Beatrice liked three of the ten options Sydney brought up, she had no idea how she figured out her size without asking her, but she liked the options she brought up. 

She was never one who got a lot of lingerie in her life, most things weren't her size and if they were, they looked like only someone over seventy could wear it. She was very thankful of how the world changed when it came to plus size people, it wasn’t a lot of progress but it was enough for them to get more options in outfits. 

Since she only had lingerie her purchase was a lot lighter than Shells’ was, her eyes widening when she saw her friend holding boxes of things she didn’t really want to know what it was. She was just happy with her purchase and she hoped Rooster would be as well, holding the black and red bag close to her chest, with a little smile.

There wasn’t much they could do once they got out of the shop, going back to Shells’ car once they completed their shopping, with the blonde taking Bea home with a grin that could probably rip her face in half at how wide it was.

Beatrice greeted Jolene before going up into the loft to put the newly purchased undergarments inside her armoire’s drawers, her smile faltering for a second as she checked her phone, unlocking to see that Rooster still hadn’t replied.

She shouldn’t be obsessed with that. He’s doing his job and she understood, no matter what her anxious thoughts would tell her, she believed him and his talent, she believed his team, she believed they’d all come back soon. So,with a deep breath she finished setting her new clothing aside to stand to her feet.

Nevermind she was also ignoring how she had to contact the final three. The so called last heads of the Hydra. She sighed, tsking in annoyance before standing to her feet, “I better get this over with,” she muttered to herself, thumbing down her contacts until she found Guillermo’s number.

Settling herself on her couch, with Jojo by her feet snoozing happily on the floor, Beatrice waited with baited breath for Guillermo to pick up. She knew her oldest brother hated video calls, so it was just going to be a simple talk by phone, a call she just couldn’t help but be nervous about.

The phone was picked up and he spoke before she could, “I was wondering when you’d call me.” his deep voice said from the other line, “Considering the topic you wanted to share.”

Beatrice blinked in surprise, then furrowed her eyebrows. How did he know? Oh…wait, Michael. Michael definitively told him already, “Do you have to be so ominous and cryptic?...you know what, don’t answer–”

“You have a boyfriend now.” he cuts her again, “Someone you met at the bar.” he didn’t sounded as disgusted as she thought he’d be when mentioning the Hard Deck, she hoped it was because their last conversation opened his eyes a bit more, “You’ve been together a month and hadn’t told anyone.”

“For good reason, don’t you think?” she retorted, narrowing her eyes at the open space of her living room, “You’d just scare him off.”

“If you think that then he isn't that brave of a pilot as you say he is.”

“Don’t talk about him like that, you don’t know him.” she even straightened herself on the couch, “This is the exact reason why I hesitated so much, you’d think there’s something wrong with him or that he’s not good enough and that’s not true! Bradley is the sweetest, kindest guy I’ve ever met, he cares about me.”

“We are yet to meet him.” he replied and she groaned in annoyance, tossing her head back against the couch, “We should come to our own conclusions, don’t you think?”

Beatrice bit her lip hard enough she was sure she tasted blood, but she just frowned even more, “You will meet him, when he comes back from deployment.” she explains in a huffe breath, bringing one of her fingers to her mouth to bite a cuticle out of nerves “But when I decide it too, just telling you guys about him is enough for now.”

“Is he coming to the wedding?” Guillermo asks suddenly, which makes his sister pause the chewing on her finger. He must’ve noticed her confused silence because he then added, “...aunt Martha’s wedding. In November.”

“No!No, absolutely not!” she said quickly once her memory wracked back in recognition, “There’s no way I’m taking Brad to the wedding. I want him to meet you guys, not the whole gang.”

“Dad will ask about it.” Guillermo says, “You know he will.”

Shit…he had a point. Her father, once he knows about Brad, would question if he’d join the celebration. It’s more of a test than cordiality, he’d make him meet all the other members , then he’d develop a strategy on how to get answers out of him. The wedding completely slipped her mind and now she had to figure out how to prevent Bradley from being thrown to the wolves, “I-I’ll figure something out, talk to dad.” her brother just hums, “I will talk to dad, not you.”

There’s an awkward pause, that Beatrice chooses to break with a sigh, “I like him, Gui. I like him so much…I just…want you guys to like him too. I don’t want to lose him.”

“You liked Eric too.”

“He’s not Eric. He’s anything but Eric.” she snarled, clenching her hand into a fist on top of her thigh, “Don’t you dare compare him and Eric. Brad is more than Eric ever thought he’d be.” Guillermo is silent after that, she could only hear his breathing from the other line, the sound of traffic mixing in the background meaning her brother was out around Manhattan if she wasn’t wrong.

“...you like him a lot.”

“I do,” the L word popped in her brain again, “I like him a whole lot, Guillermo.”

“...I won’t be cruel and say I’m not happy for you Bea. I want you to be happy and you know that, no matter how much you disagree with certain things I say.” she makes a noise of disapproval but says nothing else, “I want to meet him, whenever you plan on sharing him with us.”

She parted her lips, her eyes slipping shut as she let out a sigh of relief, “I will…I promise.” she whispers, “...thank you, Guillermo.”

“You are welcome, Bea…but you better get to mom and dad fast. You know they’ll figure out something is up soon enough…” his voice distances from the speaker, “I gotta go, I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.” she replies back her own goodbye before he finishes the call. Her phone drops down to her lap and her hands come up to rub her face, keeping her palms against her eyes in complete silence as she digested everything that had just happened.

Guillermo, while sounding displeased, didn’t stop her from going off about Bradley, even keeping his mouth shut when she defended him from his questioning and accusations. He was right in cutting the final heads before they get bigger, about dealing with their parents before, god forbid, they heard from someone else - Leo or Michael - that she was dating someone for a month.

She checked the time on her phone, chewing the inside of her lower lip in thought, meeting Jolene’s eyes as if the pittie would have answers to her torment. Shockingly, the auburn haired dog just stretched herself on the floor and fell asleep with her pink tummy up, alas giving her owner no answers.

So then, Beatrice thought with her eyebrows furrowed, there was only one thing left to do.

-

Little Italy was where she grew up, where they all grew up and where her parents remained in their golden years. Driving up the streets she knew from childhood, she couldn’t help but feel a mix of apprehension and nostalgia every time she turned a corner and saw a store that was there from the time she was just a young girl.

The colors, the smell, everything reminded her of a more innocent time in her life - innocent and sheltered- where she’d go with her mother or her nonna to the mercato on Saturdays to get fresh produce for the weekend lunches or when there would be the Little Italy Carnevale and she’d hide behind her father in fear of the Venetian masks parading around the street, with her face so pressed against the back of his linen pants it’d mark her skin.

God she hadn’t returned in months. Ever since she moved out. 

She clenched her hands on the wheel, sucking in a breath of bravery as she neared her parents’ street, trying to keep her mind clean and eyes focused until she saw their house. It didn’t take long for the army green two story home to appear in her view, the tree in front still full and starting to brown while her mother’s red rose shrubs adorned the front, some of the leaves climbing up to the white steps railing. “It’s fine.” she whispered to herself, “I’ll be fine, there’s nothing to be worried about.” she licked her lips, her arms shaking with nerves, “It’s all…fine…just talk, you can talk to them.”

She parked the Subaru a bit farther from the entrance, not ready if her mother came slamming the door open. She wanted to think of how she’d act, “Hi mama, hi papa.” she whispered to herself, slowly sliding out of the car, “It’s been a while, yes I’m sorry for not calling I’ve been busy.” she rehearsed in her mind, her eyes moving up to the house “I just wanted to stop by and talk to you two, there’s something you should know…”

Beatrice clenched her hands around her bag strap, her steps weighing down on the wooden boards making them creak in complaint. She made it to the front door, the stained glass flower hid most of the inside from her view, but she could hear the sound of a piano being played. 

So, she took another breath for courage, then pressed the doorbell. She heard the piano stop and then her father called her mother’s name, which in return she said she’d get it. The ‘thunk thunk’ of her heels only got closer, her mother opening the door just a fraction before a noise made out of her throat, “Oh my god!!” her mother, her sweet 5’4” mother - 5’6” in heels- with dark brown hair and perfect skin for her age yanked the door open. 

You would think Beatrice was returning from war by the way she reacted: tears immediately falling down her eyes, her arms wrapping around her daughter’s neck and pulling her down to her height. Beatrice made a noise of complaint, coughing when her mother’s arms just squeezed, “Mom, mom, it’s fine–”

“My baby!OH my baby!!” Claudia shouted, pressing a series of wet kisses to her youngest daughter’s cheeks, cupping them to look up at her, “Oh it’s been so long! So long! Oh, I– Rafael! Rafael, Beatrice is home!!” her mother just tugs her inside before Bea could stop her, closing the door in behind her with a kick.

The two pitbulls, Jolene’s parents, immediately rose from their spots in the floral patterned couch to greet the brunette with the same excitement. Pomodoro and Marinara were their names, something her father made a tradition to all their pets: name them after food. The large dogs tumbled over each other, trying to get and give attention “Oh hey, hey guys!” Beatrice cooed, crouching down to let the pitbulls lick her face, “Enough! Enooough!” she tries to push them away while laughing, Pomodoro making sure his tongue licked even parts of her hair.

“Oh bambina,” Claudia smiled, gently shushing the dogs away, “Oh what a wonderful surprise, oh! Oh, are you hungry?”

“Um, no mama, I–”

“I’ll reheat the lasagna,” Claudia announces, already backing into the kitchen.

“But I already ate–”

“Nonsense! Nonsense! Go greet your father! I’ll call you when it’s done.”

Beatrice sighed, dropping her bag on the couch when she figured out her mother wouldn’t take a no, “Like always,” she murmured under her breath, looking up to the hallway next to the staircase that led to her father’s study, the piano still being played.  She sighed, wiping her face from dog drool the best she could before she walked forward, her head tilting at the several pictures of her family members - and her own family- adorning the striped wallpaper, smiling when she saw the younger picture of her nonna and nonno on their wedding day.

Strange, she never noticed her nonno had a mustache. 

She shook her head then, walking faster until she reached the open door to her father’s study.Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata was being played when she stopped by the doorframe, a smile spreading over her lips when she figured out the song. Her father had his back to her, the large black console piano in front of him, while around him were bookcases, four on each wall of the room. The large window that overlooked his garden shone with the afternoon sunlight, painting the room in a light yellow.

Beatrice stood there, silent, while her father’s hand moved speedily across the ivory keys, his light blue shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, where she could see his old watch moving every time he pressed a key. His hair, once deep black, was now streaked with gray and was a bit longer below his nape. Even in his age, her father still had the thick voluminous mane of hair from when he was younger.

“Hi papa.” she finally whispered, noticing her father stopped playing, straightening himself on the seat, slowly turning his head to face her.

His glasses were low on his nose and the beard he had for so long was painted gray just like his hair, with the thick mustache over his lips. His light brown eyes warmed up before he smiled, pushing himself upwards away from the bench to step closer to his youngest daughter. Her father was just as tall as Bradley was, shorter than Guillermo but with a presence she was sure it’d make an admiral shake in his boots, “Beatrice,” his smile warmed underneath his facial whiskers and he opened his arms, bringing his daughter to a bear hug, “Bambina, how good it is to see you.”

Beatrice smiled, wrapping her arms back around her father’s torso, pressing her cheek to his chest to hear his heartbeat, “It’s good to see you too, papa.” she whispered, smiling when she felt him kiss the top of her head, “I’m sorry for showing up like this.”

“No, no no,” he chuckled, “There’s nothing wrong in visiting your parents.” While her father lived his whole life in Little Italy, he still had a thick Italian accent from being raised by his Sicilian parents. Something that also added to his whole intimidating aura. “We were wondering when you’d come.”

Beatrice smiled up at him guiltily, “I’m sorry, I’ve been…very busy.” her father’s eyes lost a bit of their shine and his smile faltered for a second.

“Yes, I know…the bar.” he pulls back from her, pulling his glasses off to wipe the lens with a wine colored handkerchief. “Guillermo told me.”

Of course he did, she thought bitterly, but she kept her eyes on her father, “It’s not so bad, papa. I have friends there,” she tried to say, only frowning when her father’s thick eyebrows crinkled in displeasure, “Like…Michelle, you remember her right?” he hums a response, still cleaning his glasses, “I work with her, and her aunt…and everyone there is very nice.”

“Men.”

“Huh?”

Rafael Schiavoni shakes his head with disgust, “Too many men in a small space, dangerous.”

“Dangerous– papa…” she lowers her eyebrows, “It’s not dangerous, I’m fine. See? I’m completely fine.” But her father just sent her a look by the corner of his eye, “Papa…”

“You should’ve stayed with your uncle, you know I do not like you working at a bar.” His voice is quiet, but weighs tons just like Guillermo’s words often did. She sighed, this was already going great wasn’t it? “So close to a naval base too. It’s not safe.”

“It’s not bad. I like it there.” she closed her mouth at the sudden look her father gave her,but she held her ground “I do…I like it a lot. I know a lot of people there, I have friends there….a-and I have,” it was stuck in her throat, the words just clung to her vocal cords like a sloth to a tree, “I-I have…u-um…”  she had the best man she could ever ask for, the sweetest, kindest, funniest man she had ever met, “I have…someone…”

Rafael brought his glasses back to his eyes, narrowing them at her, “You have what?”

“S-Someone…” she moved her gaze away, looking at the Divine Comedy collection in one of the bookcases, “I have a boyfriend.”

Silence. It’s complete silence. Her father freezes up immediately, his shoulders locking in a surprised position, his own eyes widening, “You have a what?”

Beatrice bites her lower lip nervously, rubbing her hands together just trying to keep herself occupied, “I have a boyfriend.” she said, louder this time, meeting her father’s shocked gaze, “H-His name is Bradley. He’s… an aviator.” she clenched her eyes, waiting for her Sicilian father’s outburst, coiling a bit into herself. When nothing was heard, she peeked one eye open, looking up to see her father in the same position, only this time his mouth was parted, with his hands clenched into fists. 

Rafael just blinked, looking at his feet, then back at Beatrice, with his hands on his hips “...an aviator.” He almost spat it out, “He’s– did you meet him at the bar?”

“I-I…yes but–”

“What type of bar is this?” he snarls, anger slowly morphing his features, “What type of bar-Claudia!” he steps around Beatrice to leave the study, his daughter’s panicked steps not far behind, “Claudia!” her mother looks up from the stove where she is reheating the lasagna, a sweet smile on her face, oblivious to her husband’s sudden anger.

Rafael stops between the two women, “Tell your mother what you just told me.” Claudia’s eyebrows furrowed, her green eyes meeting her daughter’s, her smile losing its force in confusion.

“...mama I have a boyfriend, he’s an aviator, his name is Bradley and I met him at work.” she says in one breath, her whole body shuddering with nerves, her eyes stinging with tears she couldn’t free yet. She would not cry. She’d be strong and defend him, defend her, defend their relationship. 

Her mother’s lips parted in a silent gasp, her own eyes widening as she leaned against the kitchen counter, “You–but…Beatrice…Beatrice you– a boyfriend?” her mother’s voice rose a few octaves in surprise, her saliva going down the wrong hole and she coughed, patting her chest in surprise, “Oh…oh Dio Santo, an aviator boyfriend??”

“You two are acting like he’s a drug dealer–”

Her mother’s gasp only got louder, “He’s a drug dealer??”

“No!” Beatrice said quickly, “No!Oh my god! He’s not a drug dealer! But you two are acting like he’s…some sort of criminal! He’s not! He’s the best man I’ve ever met.” her father scoffed, crossing his arms.”I– you guys don’t even know him! Why the hell would you act like this? It’s so unfair for him, he’s—he’s sweet, he’s caring, he brings me flowers, flowers mama! He likes me…I-I just wanted to let you guys know.”

“You are still in the young love–”

“Oh my god!” she cut her father’s words, slamming her hands on the wooden kitchen table, “I’m not young,I am not a child, I am twenty nine! Twenty nine! I am no longer the little girl with pigtails, I am grown, I pay my bills,” she unfurls her fingers to prove her point, “I have a house, I have a job, I have a car, I pay for my own things without asking for permission! I–” her voice drops to a shaky tone, “I like him…and he likes me…why can’t you–why can’t either of you understand that…why is it hard?”

Her parents only stared in stunned silence, the pitties coming over to comfort the brunette by rubbing against her legs. The only sound in the kitchen was the crackling sound of the lasagna being reheated, the cheese popping inside the oven while the three of them stood there staring at each other. It was Claudia who finally said something, “Bambina… we just–” she sent a look to her husband, placing a hand on his arm, “We just worry about you…you know? Ever since you left home—it’s been so quiet.”

Beatrice’s eyebrows curved downwards, but her mother continued, “With you working with your uncle…there was at least the certainty you’d come home every day and we wouldn’t have to worry.” she looks up at her husband again, Rafael sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“We never liked you working at a bar,” he says, “When you told us…we just thought it wouldn’t be for too long, a couple months maybe, then you’d find something better. But one month went by, then two, then three and you never told us about stopping…then came the tattoos, then you moved out and now, now you are telling us you have a boyfriend.”

But Beatrice just frowned more, “It’s life.” she says, “It’s what you did, what mama did. You didn’t stay at home when you found your way,” neither of her parents replied, “Neither did Guillermo,Sabrina,Michael,Marina,Leo…why would I be any different? I know, I know you two worry, but I told Gui this and I’ll tell you: you can’t protect me all the time. I can’t…live life while being sheltered and covered from harm like this, nor will I let you guys talk ill about Bradley without meeting him.”

Her father met her mother’s gaze in a silent conversation, with Claudia sighing but nodding her head, “...yes, yes I suppose, you are right.” he says with his teeth gritted just a bit, “...when will we…meet him then? This Bradley.” 

She blinked in surprise, her body relaxing when the conversation was finally going on the way she wanted, “When he comes back from deployment, in two months.” she licked her lips, “I’ll just have to talk to him, he already said yes on meeting you.”

Rafael hummed, running his fingers through his beard, “Is he coming to the wedding?” she shakes her head negatively without even thinking, “I think he should.”

“No!”

“I think it’d be a good idea, bambina,” her mother began, “He could meet the whole family that way–”

“No! No!” Beatrice moves her hands with her eyes wide, “No, no way! I won’t put Brad under that much pressure! Not like that!” not to mention it’d be too soon. When her parents say nothing else, she just sighs, “Please, just let me do this my way?” while they didn’t reply, she saw her mother nod once, her father only stayed with his arms crossed and looking at his feet.

She let out a breath of relief, closing her eyes for a second before she looked up at her father “He…he plays the piano,papa.” that catches his attention, his left eyebrow lifting with interest.

“...does he?” he questions, approaching the table only to pull a chair back, taking a seat while looking at his youngest daughter, “...tell me about it then.”

Beatrice’s mouth upturned into a smile right away.