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almondmilktargaryen · 9 months

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Duty & Sacrifice (Part One)

Summary: Aemond is married with two kids to Floris Baratheon, as it was his duty. But it's when he ventures into Flea Bottom in the night that he faces his sacrifices.

Couple: Aemond Targaryen/Fem!Reader

Category: Flangst

Content warnings: Cheating, mention of dead children

Word count: 2k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three ✍️ | Part four ✍️

The memory of Aemond’s mother holding a blade inches from Rhaenyra’s eye pops into his head whenever he plans to head into the city. His mother’s thirst for justice and balance, for the sake of him, is an image he has never shaken.

“Where is duty!” He remembers. “Where is sacrifice!”

And years later, with the Greens victorious and the Blacks slaughtered, sacrifice reveals its head here. As Aegon takes rule on the Iron Throne as the one true king (according to future history books, not the people), and Helaena’s ashes rest in the sept with Jaehaerys, Aemond takes on his own sacrifice.

Well aware of his brother’s ineptitude (and reliance on the milk of the poppy), their grandsire assigns Aemond responsibility for helping train the Royal Army with Ser Criston, as well as command the City Watch. As much as Otto claims not to care for it, Aemond and Daemon were shockingly similar. So there was no better person. Aemond agrees with his grandsire but knows he only won the dragonback fight against his uncle because he was more disciplined. He flew away on Vhagar unscathed in comparison because of his discipline.

Because Aemond understands duty and sacrifice.

And like his mother, he understands his role in the family and takes it seriously.

He wears his typical black leather attire whilst eyeing the hood in his wardrobe. He’s even just about to grab it before his chamber doors groan loudly, the force of his two boys clamoring through to see him. Baelon attacks his legs while little Daeron stumbles behind, forcing Aemond to submit and fall to his bed. Aemond’s laughter mixed with the squeals of joy. Before Baelon can sit on his chest again, he quickly sits up. “Is it almost that time?” He asks them.

“Yes,” Baelon says. Aemond rises further and the boy rests against his father’s arm. Aemond is sure that if he blinks, he’ll find his oldest suddenly tall enough to rest his head on his shoulder. “Mother says I still have to go to bed when Daeron does.”

Aemond shrugs with an amused sigh. He had learned through his oldest how much time children have to argue and dwell on their smallest of issues. “Your mother’s rules are your mother’s rules.” He simply says.

“But I’m much older than Daeron.” He has used this argument multiple times on his father, yet Aemond remained delighted as his lips curled. Aemond places a hand on his boy’s head and brushes over his matching Targaryen locks. He’s letting them grow past his ears now. Aemond has also learned his eight-year-old bends his will effortlessly, something powerful men with the most fearsome reputations and twice as many battle scars could not even dream of. Meanwhile, his son achieves it with his mother’s eyes and little effort.

“I will speak to your mother about it tomorrow.” He grabs Baelon by the waist and lifts him to let his feet land on the stony floor. “But for tonight, you must return to your chambers at the same time as your brother.”

“But Papa,” he drags out the last syllable.

“I will not hear it. Your mother--”

The doors echo again, and Princess Floris Baratheon steps in like she was summoned. Her belly has already started swelling with their third child. Despite what handmaidens and wet nurses have prepared her for, Floris has yet to discover any dreadfulness during her pregnancies. Bards have written songs about her and each birth so far, claiming the Baratheon strength eases the process, and the camaraderie between her and her sisters ensures strong sibling bonds for House Targaryen. Aemond cannot disagree with the first, holding her hand throughout each labor. Baelon took seven hours, and Daeron took four. Not a scream, but Aemond was sure he’d witness her clenched teeth reduce to dust before the babies took their first breaths. He brushed the hairs sticking to her brow and kissed her head and cheeks when she could finally sleep. She deserved those songs, every lyric.

He has reason to doubt potential bonds, though, considering his relationship with Aegon. His hope remains strong for his girls.

“Say goodnight to Papa, boys,” Floris says.

“But Papa thinks I should stay up late--”

“I said nothing of the sort.” He responds matter-of-factly. “Listen to your mother or lose your negotiation opportunities.”

Baelon groans while Daeron giggles, following him out into the hall.

“Stay with Ser Criston, boys,” Floris tells them. Her hands rest naturally on the bump as if her wrists missed it. “I will be out in a second.”

When they disappear, Aemond keeps his expression light. She still beams, and it helps. “Best to head to them before the handmaidens snatch them up.”

“Yes.” She replies. “Though I’ve told them time and again to leave bedtime for me.”

Aemond puts a hand on her forearm and the other on her belly. “You go on. I have a meeting concerning the City Watch. I won’t be back until later.”

Floris maintains a radiant expression while nodding, despite the noticeable swallow in her throat. When the door closes and he hears scampering pairs of feet grow farther in distance, he briefly questions going out, aware of his wife’s subtle yet looming suspicions. But by the time he finally reaches out for his hood, he has already pushed the thought back.

Aemond follows the hills and dips of the cobblestone roads whilst keeping his head down and royal roots securely hidden. He turns some corners sharply and holds his breath before advancing toward others. He knows his path through Flea Bottom well, but the odors of sweat, rotting meat, as well as discarded piss and shit (in buckets and sometimes small piles) are all elements he has yet to get used to. It would be a more straightforward path if he took the Street of Silk, but they both agreed they would never return there again if they had the choice.

The roads were dimly lit, and though dangerous men lurk more prominently at this late hour, one stare down from Aemond and a good view of his eyepatch gets the message across that he is not one to be trifled with. Not to mention his skills with a sword. He claims not to care for his appearance, but hot-tempered or drunk men hesitate to come close when they see him. It saves him time.

Aemond looks around for lingering faces in nearby windows before repeating the special rap at the door: three times, then two, then one. He opens it, unlocked to his dismay, but his arrival was expected. He enters anyway and moves the heavy metal bolt to secure it after an audible shut.

The small home is dimly lit, with barely room for a stewpot, let alone one bassinet. Aemond can see a single flame burn near the bedside. He follows it with the sound of his own name, as it’s spoken so sweetly from around the corner.

Radiance fills Aemond's sight: a mess of copper curls and a nightgown, and two swaddled babes in her arms. An exhale leaves his lungs and nose as he comprehends the familiar sight. “Welcome back.” She says softly, not to disturb the girls, or likely from her own lack of sleep.

“You know I hate it when you leave the door unlocked,” Aemond tells her.

“It’s too early in the night to worry about that. They are all at the taverns and whorehouses.”

One of the girls starts fussing.

“You cannot be too naïve. If I’m not here to protect you like what happened at--”

“Oh, hush and get over here. Hold your children.” She tries to sit up properly.

Aemond presses his lips together and takes a seat on the small cot, bumpy and unpleasant, nothing he’s been unfamiliar with in the past eighteen months. The comfort settles in him like a kindling fire when he gets to gaze upon his two girls. United since birth, it is hard for their mother to nestle one while Aemond cradles the other. But with every visit, they learn and adapt. Now is no different, as Aemond reaches for the one closest to him: Alisha. He’s studied the difference between them, staring at them still in the hours of the night, observing from the floor while their mother rested. Small strands of white peek through the auburn, already beginning to curl. Alyssa's hair is a blazing hue of ginger.

Aemond gives Alisha time to adjust in his arms. She fusses but eventually settles. Her eyes open gently, a dull brown. Nothing special. Nothing Targaryen. Alyssa is safe too. And her mother keeps her close with two arms now rather than one. “Are you staying the night?” She asks Aemond.

“I certainly can.” He scoots closer, meeting her hip. He brushes some strands behind her ear before cupping her face, bringing her in for a kiss. It was gentle, and the longing was the same as their first night together where nothing more happened other than this; sitting and kissing. They did not feel the need for anything else right away, understanding what the other had been through amidst long talks in the dead of night. When things escalated, she showed him patience and love, despite his fears and questions.

Now he’s more confident with movements, as his hand traveled to the back of her neck to keep her close. The brown eyes she blessed their daughters with stared back at him. Her breath smelled like bowls of brown, and he did not mind. “You know what I think you deserve?”

“Hmm.” She looks up toward the ceiling as she ponders. Brown seeps from the corners, and Aemond has hesitated to ask. She puts a hand to his face, just below the scar. “I’m sure you’re eager to show me.”

“A house.”

“Oh.” She pulls back as her brows quirk. “But I have a house, Aemond.”

“Not one you deserve, though. This was just temporary, to get you off the Street of Silk. You deserve comfort. A home where the girls can run around outside and fall asleep at night in proper beds. Where danger doesn’t loom just outside that door. No one would ever hurt them.” He kisses her again, and he feels her hesitate.

“How do you know no one will hurt them? Will you be there?”

“Not all the time. But more than I would be now. That I can promise.”

“Aemond--”

“I can assign guards to protect you when I’m not there. Servants that understand discretion. The girls will be happy and safe, well-provided for.” Prisoners in the black cells live more comfortably than she does, with space to move and leftovers from royal dinners served to them (that was Helaena’s biggest request as queen, and Aemond pushed it on Aegon as an attempt to honor his late wife). When he visits, Aemond sees how little she moves. She hurts from sharing such a horrible cot with twin babes, and Aemond cannot do anything about it here. “Please, my love. You’ve done so much for me. Taught me so much. Let me do this for you.”

“You know what will happen if they find out.”

“Nothing will happen.”

“The last war was about bastards taking the throne. People have been finding your brother’s bastards on the street. They butcher any boy or girl with silver hair like livestock, left to rot in dark corners alone. I know you’ve seen them.”

“And I would do everything in my power to make sure no one touches you. I have a lot of power. And will. I’ve protected you from horrid men before. You cannot doubt I won’t do it again.”

Water lines her eyes. It glistens painfully in the candlelight as her palm falls from his face, his shoulder, and then his chest. She keeps her voice steady. “You can’t have lost one eye, be so intelligent yet so blind,” she says. “People see. People talk. Even in the fields where nothing happens. It only gives them an excuse to be more vigilant. To see a whore just show up from the capital with guards, servants, and two girls. One with some silver in her hair and another with a purple eye. What else would they think?”

Aemond pulls back. “Purple?”

She gives Alyssa her full attention once more, coaxing her to open her eyes.

“No, last time I was here, they were both brown. Like Alisha’s. Yours.”

“This happens with babies sometimes, Aemond. This is only month three.” She tries to keep herself together. “The gods are in their right to punish us. For what we’ve done here. In here.”

“No,” he simply says. “The gods have tested me before we met. I’m used to their tests. And I’m used to prevailing, eventually. I will do it again.”

“You can’t--”

“I will.” A surge runs through him, nothing dissimilar to when he went to war. The simplistic instinct that comes with the will to survive. When he was at war, there was one he relied upon from beginning to end, and even years before that. Aemond is gentle as the surge flows through his veins. “I can’t stay tonight.” He tells her.

“Where are you going?” She doesn’t try to hide the stress.

He gives her time to take Alisha back. Alisha protests, but only momentarily. With a flat palm on each, he brushes over the heads of the twins. His gaze meets hers and he notices tears streaming halfway down her face. He brushes them away, planting a kiss on her lips again, holding her by the neck once more. He doesn’t speak a word until she looks him in the eye. “I love you.” He’d say it with more of a tender demeanor if time was not of the essence now. “With all my heart, I love you. You made the grave mistake of letting a royal war hero fall in love with you, my dear. The determination to keep you safe comes with that territory.”

Her head drops as tears finally do the same, dripping off the edge of her chin. Aemond kisses her nose.

“I want to make you a home and keep you safe. That’s not possible here. But it is possible. For you. For them. It is possible. I just need you to trust me.”

“I’m scared.” The whisper shakes from her, like dead leaves against the winter wind. “Don’t leave me yet.” She holds the babies. She can’t reach out to touch him, yet her arms try.

“I’m not leaving.” He kisses her lips again as if each one was a grant of safety from the gods. He gave each one to her willingly, frivolously, like he was a god himself who had the power to control such things. Because he did. He was a Targaryen. It was close enough. “I will be back, I promise you.”

She still cries as he stands. The babies too. And he cannot show how it breaks his heart, not now. If he gives in and does what he truly wants, it will only be a problem when he wakes up here the next morning. His eye stung with its own unshed tears, but he turned away regardless. He took a long, steadying breath before heading toward the exit. With a grip on the bolt, he commanded, “Lock this door.” He tried keeping his voice firm. “And do not open it unless you know it’s me or a man named Ser Criston Cole, you hear me?”

She nods, and he can feel a tear slide down his cheek, mirroring her own. He took in the image of the three before slipping out. The door closed and hearing the heavy bolt provided some relief.

Then he stood there, longer than what was safe, yes. The cold of Flea Bottom wrapped around him almost instantly, a biting chill of the desolate streets while the soft glow of candlelight shut out from him on the other side, as it was not his to bask in for too long.

But even in the nearly black darkness of the narrow streets, he could spot one of them; a tiny figure huddled in the corner of a nearby alley, a broken skull with hair shorter than Baelon’s. Royal blood left to soak into the cobblestone under his feet. Bones exposed and rotted in the dark, forever cold, soon forgotten.

Aemond made haste to vanish into the shroud of night, swallowed by the fog. Criston would be in his quarters at this hour, surely. It was a straightforward path back if he took the Street of Silk. And he didn’t have a choice.

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mayhemories · 2 years

Note

Hi could you possibly write Neteyam x reader?

- Reader is best friends with Kiri and has feelings for Neteyam

- Reader sees herself as ugly, undesirable and believes Neteyam sees her as a little sister

- Yet Neteyam loves her and respects her

- Sexual tension between Neteyam and reader. linger hands and sneaking glances

- Kiri notices and secretly sets them up one night

Best Friend's Brother

Oh Jesus Christ I loved writing every moment of this, but I kinda strayed away from your last point in the request, I'm sorry! I still hope it satisfies <3

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar)

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: Just fluff, some lowkey spice. No minors, get outta here! Reader is insecure and self-conscious, Neteyam puts a stop to that rather quickly.

Words: 3.7k

Author’s Notes:

Neteyam is 19, reader is 18 but only a few months older than Kiri. Lo’ak and Kiri are roughly 17, moving on to 18. Lil Tuk girl queen is the same age as the movie because I will protect her childhood. How old even is she? 8? Maybe im a fake fan.

Please note that the reader utilises she/her pronouns. If you’d prefer male or gender-neutral pronouns in fic I’m more than happy to repost a male or gn version of the story, otherwise include any pronoun preferences in the request box!

Read below the cut:

High Camp provided so much warmth, love and safety for its people. You were not old enough to remember Hometree or the destruction of it. But you could not imagine living anywhere else but in the densely protected cave systems of the Hallelujah Mountains.

Everyone knows everyone, all the kids play together, live together, laugh together. The community that Olo'eyktan Jake Sully, and his mate, Neytiri had fostered here was against all odds.

Your mother was one of the most talented hunters in the clan, this love of hunting easily transferred to warmongering, alongside the leadership (or maybe the leashing of your mother’s bloodlust) from Neytiri and Toruk Macto. Neytiri and your mother grew up together, so closely. Neytiri never forgets her friends and knows every name and face of the clan. You couldn’t help but admire her for this. Your father, on the other hand, was an irreplaceable healer and herbalist. He worked alongside T’sahik Mo’at, training younger Na’vi who showed promise in interpreting the ways of Eywa’s medicinal signs. With your family’s connection to the Sully’s, it was impossible to avoid them, even if you wanted to.

You grew up with the Sully kids, being a year younger than Neteyam, their eldest, and only a few months older than Kiri and Lo’ak, the four of you would always be playing. Running through the majestic forests of Pandora, swimming through creeks, lakes and rivers, kissing the dirt as you rolled down hills into meadows of wildflowers. The older you got the closer you got to Kiri. The sister you’ll never have.

You loved your parents, you did, but they made it clear that one child was enough for them. Your father loved the Sully’s as you did, he thought with his entire heart that Jake was the best for the clan. He was Toruk Macto, after all. Your mother, however, made things harder. She loved Neytiri like a sister, and always wished for her happiness.

“I remember when Jake was like a baby, you know.” She would say at mealtimes, your father would have a small smile. You could do nothing but roll her eyes. “He was trouble maker, still is.” She was grumpy. You knew that she trusted Jake and saw him as a good Olo’eyktan, but the disdain grew from your friendship with his kids.

“His boys are the same, no different.” She would always say the same thing, with the same pointed look.

You and Kiri had just finished your rituals of womanhood the week prior. For the both of you finding a mate was expected. For Kiri, nothing was ever expected in terms of mateship. In fact it was almost the opposite.

“You never have to do something you don’t wanna do, Babygirl” Jake said, smoothing down Kiri’s wild hair. The two of you sat in the middle of the floor in the Sully’s tented home. Braiding beads into your songchords to commemorate the recent transition from child to adult.

“What about you, (y/n)?” Neytiri asked, watching the two young girls weave their cords, reminiscing on her own bead.

You sighed, knowing your parents had been pushing the topic for a while:

“What about Tsu-wey? Or, Marek or Teyk’ah?” Your mother said, rattling off the names of warrior boys, flinging her arms around, exasperated. You shook your head, you weren’t really interested in anyone.

Your father, always taking the approachable, personal angle, sat next to you, tucking your shoulders under his arm.

“What about Aäna? She’s a lovely girl-”

“Dad!” You shot up, crossing your arms over your chest, the blood rushing to your cheeks. “It’s not that Dad, I just don’t like anyone like that yet really.”

“You’ve got to work it out, (y/n),” Your mother said harshly, “Soon.”

“Uh no, no I haven’t really got anyone in mind.” You replied quietly.

“Ugh come on, lets scram.” Kiri said grabbing your wrist and practically marching you out of her family home.

“Ughh Kiri, I only just finished my chord-oof” Your complaints were quickly cut off as Kiri stobbed abruptly, your whole body coming in contact with her back. “You skxwang! What are you doing-”

“Brother.” Kiri chirps, cutting you off. Neteyam stood in the doorway, leaning against the timber frame, smirking. His braids fell around his face, his high cheekbones and delicate features seemed to play with the soft golden lighting of High Camp, his tail flicked subtly from side to side, amused.

“Sister, (y/n),” Neteyam replied, sounding almost bored. “Where are you two running off to?” his fingers fiddled with his waistband, running down to his songchord. You knew you were staring, tracking the motion of his large hands, rubbing each bead, shell, and stone in between his thumb and pointer finger. It was embarrassing, you couldn’t look away, and why should you? There was nothing inappropriate about the action. Just his large, capable hands and skilled fingers…

Oh Eywa, that is enough.

“None of your business, big brother,” Kiri said, teasing as she often did. You swore she only knew how to convey her thoughts through sarcasm and hints.

Neteyam chuckled, his fingers resting on his crossed arms once, more. Your plain eyes found his warm, deep ones, as he said:

“I think it’s my business where my girls run off to, no?” You knew he did not mean it the way your stupid little brain heard it, you know he meant it as a brother. Nothing more, nothing less. But god, you wished you were his girl. You always had, since you were twelve. All of a sudden, you woke up one day and Neteyam was cute. Cute turned into cool, cool gave way into hot, and hot turned into so incredibly sexy as you got older. And you stayed, well awkward and plain and not much to behold.

But, you could pretend, that was something you were good at. Rolling your eyes, you broke the contact with Neteyam, shoving Kiri with your shoulder and righting the way of the world, again.

“The meadow.” You said flatly.

Kiri wasn’t as much of an airhead as you seemed to think she was. She knew her best friend, and she knew her big brother. Neteyam was a loser, a goody-goody with a desperate need to be the perfect son, the perfect soldier. Around you, he became this swaggering popular guy that Kiri knew him not to be, really. Maybe around his stupid Ikran Rider friends. But never around Kiri, or Lo’ak or Tuk. He never bought that facade into their home, save for when you were in it.

You, on the other hand, Kiri knew you like the back of her hand. You were shy, sweet and just so obviously and painfully in love with Neteyam. She watched you watch him, and him in turn trying to memorise every freckle, scar and nick on your body.

Neteyam cleared his throat, embarrassed that Kiri had caught him, once again, stealing glances at her best friend.

“Just be home for dinner, before eclipse, yeah?” He questioned, the muscle upon his brow bone tilting slightly upward.

“Of course!” Kiri yelled out as the two of you ran off, hand-in-hand, giggling as you did so. Neteyam watched your retreating figures flee High Camp. Pulling his attention towards his own songchord, his most recent bead was longer than the others, a hollowed-out green gemstone, mottled with white and silver patterning. The one he chose for himself the year prior at his own ceremony, welcoming him into manhood. Neteyam smiled to himself, remembering the bead you had obviously chosen for your own ceremony, made from the same little green stone.

Neteyam didn’t know how much longer he could go on going like this. He felt like he was walking in circles, orbiting you, waiting for his gamut to eventually crash him into you. Sighing he opened the flap to his tented family home. Maybe it was time to ask Toruk Macto for advice.

The long grass of the meadow was a deep shade of green, almost the colour of seagrass. Its long strands waved in the breeze, tickling your face as you lay on your back, watching the clouds, birds and everything that called the clearing it’s home. You felt connected to the place, like you were in the lungs of the world, simply floating in the breath of Eywa.

Kiri sat at your feet in the long grass, facing you, but with her knees drawn close to her chest, playing with the end of her face-framing braids. She was thinking hard, hyperfocused on a thought that was so deep-rooted it took you multiple attempts to get her attention.

“What’s wrong my Kiri?” You asked, finally catching her eye-line, sitting up to mirror her position.

“Nothing is wrong, why would anything be wrong?” Kiri responded, trying to act nonchalant.

“Do not bullshit me, you penis face.” You say, pulling a smile out of her distracted figure while nudging her leg with your foot.

“You would be my sister if you mated Neteyam, you know that right?” She asked, like she didn’t say the craziest fucking sentence you’ve ever heard in the world.

All the air left your lungs at once, she may as well have punched you in the stomach. You were going to retch.

“What are you talking about!” You felt the blood rush to your face, fanning itself over your nose, cheeks, ears and shoulders. Your whole chest felt like Kiri had taken a flare to it. You couldn’t bear it, you felt hot all over. You covered your face with your shaking hands.

Oh, mother Eywa I will die here, I will die here of embarrassment and pass through to you.

“Don’t be stupid, I know you loooooove him,” She said stretching out her o’s as she so often did when teasing, she poked you a few times too, for good measure. “He obviously is pining for you too, you skxwang.”

Kiri was a tease, she was sarcastic and blunt and hilarious. But she was not mean. Which, is why you couldn’t work out why she was being mean to you now. About something so personal, too. You felt the hot tears start to form.

“Why are you being mean?” You asked softly, pulling your hands away from your eyes, to try and read her face.

Kiri was taken aback by how upset you were. She did not mean it to be mean, she was serious. She quickly took you in her arms, all jokes aside.

“Ma (y/n) why are you crying?” Kiri asked softly. You sniffled, letting the tears fall freely now.

“You know I love Neteyam, why would you tease me like that knowing it is like stones in my heart.” You began to ramble, as you so often did when you were emotional. “Neteyam sees me as his little sister, nothing more, nothing less.” You said seriously, vehemently. Lip quivering, you felt stupid and pathetic crying about it. But now that ball of thoughts had started to be unwound in your mind you could not stop, all the words you could not say since you were twelve just fell out of your little mouth. “And besides, if Neteyam didn’t see me as just a little annoying sister, I am ugly Kiri.” Kiri started to shush you, but you did not listen.

“I am not unique in features like you, I am not as elegant as your mother, I’m not as alluring as Aäna, or as talented as Lor’ät. I’m so fucking boring.” Your tears fell so freely down your face and neck, you felt them fall behind the straps of your breast cover. You hated it. You hated everything about you and you would never be enough for Neteyam.

You would never be enough for anyone, really. When you thought critically about it.

Kiri held you close as you sobbed like her mother would, smoothing down your hair like her father would. She was beyond confused about how you could ever think this about yourself. Knowing fair well what a lot of the hunter boys Lo’ak was friends with say about you, what Neteyam’s Riders say in confidence, what the healer girls under Mo’at whisper about during Kiri’s training. Usually it makes her want to gag. But in this moment she wished she told you earlier. Maybe it would’ve given you more self-confidence in a perverse roundabout way. You were so wanted. If it wasn’t for Neteyam’s possessive nature of you, you could have anyone you wanted. Kiri reasoned, that if Neteyam wasn’t going to let anyone else have you, but not move on you himself, Kiri would have to set it up.

You and Kiri came back to High Camp, just before dinner and just after you finally stopped crying. You asked Kiri to never talk about the whole thing, preferring to just shove the whole thing into a little lockbox, throwing it away into the undercurrent of your consciousness.

You stopped dead in your tracks infront of Kiri’s home, hearing Jake’s laugh and Tuk’s squeals. Neteyam was in there. No, you couldnt it was way to fresh. To have dinner with them would be the last petal in your funerary basket.

“Come, lets eat.” Kiri whined, pulling on your arm. You stood firm like an island of stone against the tide.

“I think I will eat with my parents tonight, I’m sorry.” You said in a low voice. “I’ll be back to normal tomorrow I promise.” You quickly added, to appease your headstrong sister.

“Okay.” Kiri said softly, taking both of your hands into her five-fingered ones. “It’s all going to sort itself out, (y/n). I promise.”

The usually short walk across High Camp to your family home felt unusually long, cold and dark.

Kiri flopped down on the woven mats around the firepit with a huff. Next to Jake and Neteyam, Kiri was hungry and angry and sad for her friend.

“Hey , Babygirl.” Jake said, kissing Kiri on her forehead. Jake looked toward the door, confused. “Where’s my other beautiful girl?” Jake asked, confused. (y/n) always joined them for dinner, he couldn’t remember a night her presence had been missed since she was born.

Kiri sighed, big and deep. “She’s having dinner with her parents.”

“What has happened?” Neytiri asked, serving dinner on a leaf for little Tuk.

Kiri felt internally conflicted. It was not her business to share, not her secrets to lay bare. But her best friend was hurting, and the skxwang next to her was the only one who could fix it. But (y/n) never begs for anything, and she begged Kiri the whole walk home to say nothing.

She could not say nothing, but she did not have to say anything, either.

“(y/n) was sad, about finding a mate. Her parents are really hard on her about it.” Kiri was not one to lie, and this was not a lie she convinced herself. But not the whole truth either.

“Bro, that’s so stupid. Literally everyone is asking her mom for courting meetings.” Lo’ak piped up. His sentence muffled due to his full fucking face of food. Kiri screwed her face up.

“Courting meetings? What do you mean?” Neteyam looked panicked. The face he usually reserved for Lo’ak’s antics on the field.

“I don’t know man, some of the guys were talking about it today during lessons. But her Dad keeps turning them away for now.” Lo’ak answered, shrugging nonchalantly, stuffing his face still, despite the family’s disgust.

Kiri stared at Neteyam, reading every inch of his face as he calmed down. He was running out of time, she knew it. But, Neteyam looked at Jake. Jake raised his eyebrows at his eldest son, turning his head slightly and shrugging. It was a shared look, Neteyam knew exactly what Jake meant, though Kiri felt left in the lurch.

The Sully’s did not talk about it for the rest of dinner, thankfully.

Neytiri was putting Tuk to bed. Jake, in a rare moment was teaching Lo’ak how to properly clean a gun. Kiri sat, next to Neteyam, running her hands up and down her own songchord, anxiously. Neteyam was evidently anxious too, his legs pulled up close to his chest, he stared at the fire pit as if the answers were going to lash out and brand him.

“She is in love with you, Neteyam.” Kiri said softly. Neteyam felt like he was going to pass out and bleed from his nose.

“I don’t think so baby sister,” Neteyam ruffled her hair, trying to present himself in a lighthearted way, despite his creeping blush. Kiri smacked his hand away.

“Listen to me, you idiot.” Kiri’s serious voice felt like a hot knife running through Neteyam’s soul. She never sounded this way, this upset. “She loves you. And, and she thinks that you only think of her as a little sister.” Neteyam chuckled at that, he never treated her the way he treated Kiri and Tuk. Surely, that was obvious, no? “I know. I laughed too.” Kiri said with a small smile. She took Neteyam’s hands into her own, like she did with you only a few hours prior.

“Neteyam, she thinks that she’s ugly, that she will never be enough for you. She thinks she’s not talented.” Kiri’s round eyes filled with empathetic tears for her best friend, thinking back on your small frame sobbing in the long grass.

Neteyam’s blush soon turned to anger. His heart finding the possessive pit that he reserves only for his feelings for you. “I do not understand, does she not know that everyone wants her?” Neteyam hissed in a low voice, Eywa forbid, Neytiri heard him talk about how the other boys of the clan view (y/n). Neteyam hated how they spoke of her body, her face, her mind. Her beautiful voice and nimble hands. Only he was allowed to think of you like that. And the Great Mother only knows how they think of you at night, how they think of you when they-

Neteyam stopped himself before he went any further. He knew how he thought about you at night when he has a hand between his thighs.

“She does not know.” Kiri said, bringing Neteyam back to the forefront of his mind. “I have never told her.”

Neteyam’s heart swelled in a terrible way. You were so sweet, so innocent, you did not know that boys rutted into their own hands at the thought of the way your waist dips, or the mound of your breast. He needed to protect you, and Jesus, he thought he had by laying an unofficial possessive claim. But, it seems that the future Olo’eyktan has been ignored.

A growl fell out of Neteyam’s mouth. To Kiri it looked like a dark light fell over her brother’s features. A man possessed. He stood, cracking his neck and shoulders, like he always did, but this time Kiri flinched. She had never seen Neteyam so…scary.

“I will fix this tomorrow, sister.” Was all Neteyam said, as he retreated to the sleeping quarters of their home.

(y/n) did not sleep a wink. All she could see in her mind’s eye was Neteyam. Neteyam laughing with other girls, Neteyam riding with other girls. How they wave to him when he walks past.

Neteyam. Neteyam. Neteyam.

You felt so guilty, so, so guilty. As the night went on your thoughts went south, went dirty and wrong. You dreamt about kissing Neteyam; How soft his lips would feel against your own. His rough, calloused hands would hold your face in place and he would kiss you like he loved you, kissed you like he meant it.

Simply, you did not deserve to hold romantic thoughts about Neteyam in your heart like that. He was not yours. He would never be.

You quick hands made light work of the repair you were currently undertaking. You enjoyed your work as clan seamstress. Fixing, making loin cloths, beading breast covers and threading jewellery. You enjoyed the freedom to create things, but to also be useful to your clan. You could never offer them safety, food, medicine or freedom. But you could make sure they were warm in the cool rains, and protected from the glistening sun in the heat of the day.

You folded the repaired loincloth, placing it to the side. Ready for its owner to pick it up when they had a moment to spare.

The flap to the tent flew open, causing you to jump out of your skin. The last person you wanted to see stood in the entry way, ripped loincloth in hand.

“Good morning, Neteyam.” You said softly, casting your gaze downwards. He quickly sat across from you, legs crossed like a child.

“Well, it’s good now.” He smiled brightly. You felt all the blood run to your cheeks. “Do you uh, do you mind fixing this for me?” He said, stumbling over his own words, handing over the dark green textile.

“Of course, easy fix.” Your fingers brushed his and you felt like your hands had been set on fire. Shaking, you began stitching the fabric back together. You knitted your brows together as you worked, not wanting to see his face any longer, the more you stared at your hands, the worse they shook. This tear made no sense, it was cleanly cut with a knife. Neteyam had purposely ripped his own loincloth. “How did this even happen?” You asked.

“I needed an excuse to come and see you, my (y/n).” Neteyam spoke softly, reaching out to take one of your hands, distracting them from their job. His eyes caught yours, and you knew you were done. So warm, so full of life and love.

“Neteyam-” You started, but he cut you off. Something of which Neteyam had never done before.

“I know you do not see yourself how I see you.” He started, his stare holding you to the spot, you sent a brief prayer to Eywa, that this was not some cruel trick. “You are the most beautiful creature that has ever walked these lands. You care so deeply for the people, the forest.” His hand ran the length of your arm, goosebumps rising in his wake. “I see you. I love you. I want you.” Neteyam said vehemently.

You felt everything, everywhere, all at once. Everything you have ever wanted to hear had fallen out of his mouth like it was always meant to be. It sounded so right. It sounded natural and real. It was so out of character for Neteyam, to be so open, so raw and honest with his feelings.

So, under the guise of love, you acted out of character too. Like for like.

Taking his beautiful, soft face between your small, shaking hands, you kissed him. Pulling away for breath, you remembered what needed to be said.

“I have always seen you, Neteyam.”

#avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar 2022 #avatar twow #avatar domestic #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam #jake sully domestic #jake sully platonic #jake sully x neytiri #jake sully #jake sully x reader

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timmydraker · 14 days

Text

Tim vapes.

To his friends, namely the ones at school and not so much in Young Justice, this ain’t anything surprising. It’s popular for his age group and given how he has various roles in life that cause anxiety and his poorly concealed PTSD from being Red Robin, it makes sense he’d turn to something for comfort.

That comfort just happens to be an addiction to the ‘cancer usb’s his brother Dick once went on a two hour rant about.

Jason once got grounded and forced to watch a PowerPoint video made by Dick and Bruce after he was caught with a cigarette while still Robin. Jason still kept up the bad habits, but he normally turned to a drink or smoke when things were really bad. It was both recreational and a treat that he only had a few times a year, or month in the case of alcohol.

Tim doesn’t take breaks unless he’s on patrol.

It started when he was thirteen and was so tired from starting work with Wayne Enterprise and Robin that he didn’t give his usual response to his friends offer of a hit.

The passion fruit guava flavour settled easily in his chest, most likely due to how he had a lot of self control with his body. He coughed a storm afterwards but quickly found himself coming back for a hit or two during school breaks.

It only took a month for him to buy his first one after some research. He bought the least damaging one for his body even if he knew that lessening such damage didn’t fully remove it.

He started with grape.

Then once that died, he bought sour apple.

Then fairyfloss.

Then strawberry mango.

Then birthday cake, which he genuinely didn’t think could be real but alas.

It took almost four years for anyone in his family to notice and by pure luck it was his actual father who would end up dying a few months later. Tim remembers how guilty he felt when he realised his father would no longer be yelling at him for his ‘fruity fucking stink’ and that such a thing gave him genuine relief. He shouldn’t want his dad to be dead, yet…

It was then Tim realised that maybe he should try slow down his usage, and challenged himself to go a whole hour before a hit, then two and then finally three before he decided that would be enough for a while.

It’s on a particularly bad patrol when he saw a kid get hurt and wasn’t in time to save her from some likely permanent damage that he forwent his rule of vaping in the suit and took several hits while against a wall in his Red Robin attire.

He was just stating to feel the calm fully settle in his bones as his last puff of sour rainbow exited his lunged when he heard a voice just a few feet away.

“How dare you disgrace the name of Robin with that filth!”

Tim jumps up immediately but no training would prepare him for how quickly Damian comes over and snatches the vape from his hand.

Damian is gone quicker than he can get himself together and he only just managed to shout and run after him with his growing panic.

Tim watches his youngest brother vanish from sight and knows he’s doomed.

When he gets back to the cave a few hours later after trying to hide away from his problems, he’s finished his second vape (star fruit grape) from pure stress.

He’s met with the entire family sans Jason giving him the most disappointed and concerned look he’s seen since he confessed he lost his spleen and didn’t tell anyone.

Damian won’t meet his eye but even then Tim can tell from years of studying his younger that even Damian feels a little guilty for outing him, but as Dick looks close to tears with how upset he is the others resolve clearly strengthens.

Tim doesn’t blame him, even if he’s mentally going over all the symptoms of nicotine withdrawal.

#tim drake #batfam #bat family #dc comics #batfamily #tim drake is red robin #dc universe #tim drake is a menace #dc #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #bruce wayne #tim drake angst #addiction #Tim vapes #tim drake centric

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c4qwp · 8 months

Text

felix catton x fem!reader

| you understand.

📎 tags : angst, female reader, felix being older than you by a year, fanon of felix be i'm such a bad writer guys, bad orthography, felix being a bit annoying but also a cutie patootie, (y/n) not mentioned, angst asfff

📎 author's note : don't hesitate to comment to help me to progress! english isn't my first language, idk if felix is fanon but i tried my best to write him like i how i see him

you would have seen it coming.

"i think we should break up."

so faint and uncertain, barely more than a whisper.

he looked uncomfortably hunched over, his forearms resting on the table, his breakfast untouched, like he was trying to make himself smaller than you, which was ironic considering you envied his nerves of steel, and of course he was smaller than you shorter It was a very embarrassing moment for a handsome man, but not this kind of moment. Never this weakness.

although the winter sun shines through the windows, the kitchen is still dark and the unpleasant feeling of unusual transparency is almost suffocating. felix isn't the type to get flustered in public, which makes you even more nervous, just when you think you've had all the training you need to imagine scenarios and possible breakup possibilities in every direction.

he didn't dare look at you, shaking his head nervously, choking silently. "say something."

howfunny that he's the best thing you know and can lift you up with one arm effortlessly — his biceps are literally the size of your head, but he says if anyone touches him, he'll cry right now.

It's also a hard pill to swallow, and it's not true that you did this to him, weakening him. you didn't know you had that much power over him yet; and he said he wanted to break, but if he actually said he did, he'd throw up. you shifted in your seat, the wood of the chair suddenly digging into your skin as your body became hyperaware of everything around you, turning your attention away from felix and crossing your hands in your lap.

the answer is on the tip of your tongue, where it has been hidden for months. of course you let him go, and what makes it easier is accepting his warning that half the things about him will be absent and secret, or knowing from the start that your time with him will be limited.

you just don't hesitate; completely overcome the first four stages of grief and begin to accept with ease.

felix catton was essentially ephemeral, either a dreamer or a visible absentee in the present moment of your life. you think of him as an outside cat who was never yours to begin with, appearing randomly and unwittingly when he wanted, a flighty, mysterious companion who was happy and eager to be around.

you don't know if he loves you so much. everyone loved felix. everyone wanted to be around him. the love was there, enough to last a long time, but you thought it was because you were secure and stable.

you were glad you gave him that, if only because you honestly weren't sure what he saw in you.

what was going on was easy enough to experience and because of that you didn't allow yourself to get too attached to him because you knew he didn't love you as much as you loved him. maybe you're kidding yourself, maybe you're sleepy and not as cool as you thought, but you're convinced that's the way it should be, the way it should be.

what's the point of realizing your name isn't at the top of his list?

are you even were you good enough for him? a feeling of insecurity has been itching you for a long time. you may have been beautiful and intelligent, but were you the first in his eyes?

you can't ever be mad at him. you wanted to be with him knowing the way he is, after all. felix is a mess despite trying not to show it, his messy straw-brown hair doesnt shine like it usually does. he hasn't gotten enough sleep in more than a couple days because of his family's issues. time whenever he has to be away for an unprecedented amount of time, or gets buried too long in his pub. wearing a white shirt, he looked very casual and didn't seem to beg to be singled out. feel sorry for him.

"alright."

he snapped his head up, his eyes immediately meeting yours, and they were no longer blank. he looked unsure if he had heard correctly and had a look of disbelief on his face. "wait what?"

your fingers traced the rim of your teacup, mimicking felix's eager movements. "you can start packing today, but if you want to stop today, i don't mind..."

"no, wait-"

"i said yes, felix."

he frowned at the name, his eyes looking away from you for a moment, and he had to blink, and you thought that not having your usual nickname had hurt him. He had to swallow before he could speak.

"and that's it?"

you don't know if this is an attempt to end your relationship or if you want to let him go easily. you do not get it. what can you say.

"what do you want me to say?"

he sighed, looked away, wiped his forehead with his hand and covered his eyes. yes, not that your hopes are in vain. you have to say no.

he's as handsome as ever, but of course he'll want to know how comfortable you are, and he won't appreciate it when he changes his design. "i heard and will agree so we co—"

"aren't you mad at me?"

this is really what he thought first?

"i don't want to get upset."

"why...?"

"well, ..." because you love him, but talking about him will make it harder.

"i'm not sure. but we are both adult and need to talk like one. i think you and i have been very good together all along. I'm not mad at you for anything. understand."

he had such a subtle, sarcastic look on his face that if you were a complete stranger you would have thought it was sarcasm, but you knew better. He insulted himself. you can read it. but you should think about it. you should be mad at him. why the fuck is he upset. things about felix seem too good to be true, his only flaw is that he is a literal playboy. but of course stopped all his relationships with other girls, right?

"don't you want to know the reason? i mean, my god, why are you taking it so passively?"

"what do you mean?"

it's hard for you too.

"how can you not be so affected?"

"It's not like that. If you want to break up, i can't make you stay, or do anything you don't want to do. that's not fair to any of us. you will be with someone you don't want, and i would know im with someone who doesn't want me."

he shook his head, brown hair framing his face, which floated gently in the air. when he strongly disagrees

with something you say, but decides to say no at the last minute, he'll furrow his brows in anger and you'll feel a little disappointed because he's not denying that he doesn't want you. "you're always doing that, you're always doing that..getting mad. you must be mad at me."

"felix. I'm just tired of all this. you want to beak up and i said yes."

he just said, "I'm sorry,"

he hated it, that was all he had to offer you, and it showed on his face. sit in the chair next to him, you both need some good communication privacy right now. "but i have plenty of time to cry, okay?

"it's not like i'm accepting it or being negative or anything... and"

"grieving?"

his eyes search yours for a moment, the realization making him gasp and his eyebrows raise, making him look younger and more innocent.

looking forward to it.

"yeah, i mean.." pressing your lips together.

"look at us. in the long run, this doesn't work. It's not real. i don't know how we got here."

his pupils swallowed all the blue in his eyes, and he had never looked at you with such hostility until the hair on your arms stood up. "did you just think about breaking up?"

"why are you mad at me now? what have I done? you're the one who broke up with me."

"you weren't happy at all. haven't you always been sure?"

"i was and i still am. it's just...you've changed, felix. you're not looking at me like before. i don't know if it's because of me that you've changed but i was here for you every single time. but no mister doesn't want to talk so go to the pub and come back all drunk and doesn't give a shit about me. so yeah i was confused about a time and wasn't sure."

his eyes were finally on you. he called your name, repeated it. "i'm so sorry, love. i'm so-"

"no felix. i'm tired. so please leave me alone for a time and let's talk an other time."

there was a blank of 2 minutes. as you wanted to say another word,

"i understand."

#jacob elordi x reader #nate jacobs x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn #felix catton #felix catton x fem! reader #angst

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justjensenanddean · 4 months

Text

Jensen Ackles | Purgatory Con, Düsseldorf, Germany, May 26, 2024, Panel Summary

Most creepy or annoying toy the kids ever had? Slime. It creeps him out. He has it all over his house now. He doesn’t like the texture or feel. But his kids love it. Creepiest? Danneel has an old antique doll. It is old cracked, has creepy eyes and is the devil. (x)

Demon Dean or Soldier Boy, who‘s more powerful? Demon Dean because SB has a traumatized little boy in him and demon Dean is just empty. He‘s more dangerous because he just doesn’t care. (x)

Funniest moment from set of The Boys? Someone yells Herogasm so Jensen says it was probably not the funniest moment but when he arrived on day 3 of the set, Jack Quaid asked if he‘s been on set yet and when it was a no, he said „whoo, good luck“ (x)

People kept mistaking the bottles of lube and the bottles of hand sanitizer. Jensen was not prepared for when filming started and everyone took their robes off. Jensen was not prepared. (x)

Jensen couldn’t not look. They called cut. Jensen was like „I‘m sorry, there’s 4 people over here doing a position I have never seen before.“ His shower was extra long that evening. „There may have been tears.“ (x)

“There’s four people over here in a position I have not seen before!!!” “My shower lasted extra long that evening. And there were tears.” Jensen retelling stories from Herogasm set on #TheBoys (x)

How long did it take him to learn the Arabic phrase for s14? Not long, he can parrot things quite easily. He just needs to hear it a few times, then he can repeat the sounds. It‘s how he learns accents. Tap dance worked like it too. If he can see or hear it, he can emulate it. (x)

Jensen: “I don’t think Cas’s confession is something that needs to be resolved. There is nothing to resolve. He said what he needed to say, it was a long time coming, it was heartfelt and beautiful. But there’s nothing to resolve.” (x) “Dean took it in and then lost one of his closest allies and friends. The accepting of that happened when Dean sat on the floor. He lost one of his brothers in arms and one of his closest people. When they come back, it’s just understood.” (x)

Are there situations where he accidentally or on purpose bring out Dean? Yes. Sometimes he thinks „it would be great to be Dean Winchester right now. He could have handled this.“ Dean is alive in him and comes out from time to time. (x)

Were there fake tears on SPN or did he ever cry? He wasn’t classically trained, so the emotion we see is real. He doesn’t know how to fake it. Compares it to a book or movie making you emotional. You know it’s not real, but it still gets you. (x)

After the s4 scene when Dean confesses to Sam about his 40 years and torturing in hell, he had to walk away because his body didn’t know it was fake. The barn scene was probably the most real, but for different reasons. He was saying goodbye to Dean, Jared, the crew. (x)

Crew members had to leave set because they were crying too. They were trying to dial it down, because it was too much emotion. (x)

When things get too serious? Laughter. It‘s his levee. When things get too heavy, he makes a joke to ease the situation. (x)

„Do you use Jared‘s conditioner?“ No he does not. That’s just what his hair does. (x)

Who inspires you? Jensen doesn’t idolize anyone, but he has a lot of respect for certain people and tries to absorb as much as he can when he meets them. Could be a brilliant scientist, an artist, an actor. (x)

Being cold on set? There was a scene with Bobby where they looked at a map over the hood of the car. Jensen told Bob Singer that it was ridiculous because they would look at the map in their car. But Bob wanted a specific job and told him to just get it done. (x) A few days after he got lasic surgery, he was supposed to wear sunglasses all the time. But he had to film in the sun with light shining in his face. Jensen was in so much pain that Serge covered the white surfaces in black. Didn’t help much. He took ibuprofen and powered through (x)

Dead in the Water when he had to hold the kid up and the diver pulled him under, it was the most eery feeling. He was terrified for the kid. But the kid actor had fun. / End of panel. (x)

(JMacLean)

#Jensen Ackles #Panel Summary #purgatory 8 #purcon 8 #*

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missmielyhoran · 1 year

Text

Denial

face calim- Lily James

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

[Warning- Angst, Cheating, smut but not written, crying, alcohol consumption, more crying, suicidal thoughts, people not knowing meaning of privacy, Hayden being a bitch]

Liked by Harryfan2, Y/Nfan3, Harryfan1 and 663,989 others

Y/Nupdates Y/N out with kids in London today getting ice cream.

View all comments.

Harryfan1 Milf fr

Harryfan2 Where are the kids?

Y/Nfan1 They're cropped out. Harry and Y/N didn't want their faces to be public yet.

Y/Nfan3 Is it just me, or have you guys also noticed that Harry has not seen with kids for a long time

Harryfan3 Maybe he's busy with new album and stuff

Y/Nfan1 No me too

Y/Nfan2 @/Harryfan3 he was seen with his friends at pub few days ago

Harryfan5 Aww she bought flowers for Harry

*****

They say that when someone dies, their whole life flashes before their eyes. The good, the bad, all moments move in front of their eyes like a movie, that's how you felt when you opened the door of your bedroom.

A movie of your marriage dying.

You were going through your day like normal. Your shooting had ended early, so you decided to pick up the kids from school and take them out for ice cream. They were now standing in the kitchen. You could hear their muffled giggles while you stood upstairs in front of your room like a mannequin watching your husband scramble and quickly put on clothes.

"Fuck- Baby I can explain-" Harry tried to approach you, but you couldn't look at him or react to his words. Your eyes remained trained on the woman lying on the bed, on your bed. Sheets up to her chest, her head perched up on her arm while she looked straight in your eyes without any shame or remorse. Oh no, she had a smirk on her lips.

"Kids are downstairs," You motioned with your thumb downstairs, "I- I'm going to drop them off, and then we will..." You couldn't complete the sentence. You felt like your body was on autopilot as you went downstairs and ushered the kids back to the car, your and Harry's four years old daughter asking why she couldn't see her dad and what could you say?

"He has some important work to do. Why don't you guys have a sleepover at Elliott's tonight?" You asked them, putting all your acting skills out there to hide the waver in your voice. Elliot was your ex-boyfriend and father of your eldest son Emiel.

"Yayyy" Amie clapped her hands, excited to hang out with her best friend. Meanwhile, Emiel stayed silent and looked at his mom from the passenger seat. You knew he knew something was wrong, considering he was older and much more aware of his surroundings than your little girl.

You just sighed and kept driving to Elliott's house. Soon enough, they arrived at the familiar small cottage-esc house. You got out of the car and then unstrapped Amie from the seat belt. As soon as you put her down, Amie ran towards the door and knocked on it, being too short to reach the doorbell. Emiel laughed and picked her up so she could ring the bell.

Soon enough, Elliot was opening the door with the biggest smile on his face. "If it isn't my two favorite people," He exclaimed and pulled both of them in hugs. Behind him, his Fiancé laughed at his antics, and she smiled a bit, too.

"Mom said we're having a sleepover!" Amie screamed near Em's ear, making him groan. It's then Elliot looked up, his blue eyes met her tired ones, and he knew something was wrong considering they were friends for a long time.

"Em, why don't you take her inside with Bran?" He smiled at his son, and Bran took them inside, talking about something.

"Are you okay?" Elliot immediately asked, and you shook your head. Your brain was still too jummbled to speak or to cry or to be angry or even comprehend what had happened.

"Why don't you come inside for a second and drink some water? I fear you might pass out from the way you're looking so pale." He looked at you concerned, and before you could protest, Elliott pulled you inside.

You sat on the dinner table and looked out to the garden, finding Em holding Amie in his arms, her head on his shoulder. The tiredness of school and excitement finally caughting up to her and knocked her out.

You took your phone out and clicked a picture, them being the only hope she could grasp on at the moment.

Elliot didn't ask any questions. He understood that if you wanted to talk, you would. He just stood there as emotional support staring at their kids as you drank the water.

"I might need them to be here for a few days before I sort things out. I hope you don't mind." You asked Elliott, looking up at him sadly. "You hurt me, sucre. Of course I don't mind." He shook his head and pulled you in a hug.

*****

Liked by Y/Nfan1, Annetwist, Harryfan4 and 1,987,456 others

Yourinstagram Mon chéri

View all comments.

User1 Omg babiess

User2 That's Emiel? He has gotten so big

User3 I mean he's 13 now

User2 the small Gucci bag🥺she's soo like harry

annetwist Oh my sweet babies...miss you so much

Yourinstagram miss you too mom🥺

User4 still can't get over that she calls Anne mom😭

User4 Harry didn't comment?

*****

When you arrived at you-Harry's house, the sun was setting. You was dreading the conversation that was bound to happen. Six years went down the drain in a few hours.

Your whole life felt like a lie.

Harry was sitting on the couch when you walked inside. A major part of you hoped he had some explanation, that it wasn't what it looked like or that it was just a mistake. But when you walked more inside and saw her there still after everything, your heart cracked a bit more.

"Y/N," Harry breathed out, his voice coming out in heaves as if he's out of breath, but you knew him. You knew he was just nervous.

He looked so young when he was sad, his eyes droopy yet shining, the mess of curls and clenched jaw reminded you of the early Harry who stole your heart.

Now, he reminded you of the one that broke it.

"Why is she still here?" was asked first thing first you asked. Harry looked behind him, and Hayden just shrugged and plopped down on the kitchen bar stool eating chips while scrolling through her phone.

"Emotional support for him after you leave" She said with a wink pointed at Harry.

"I just thought it would be better to talk with all of us here," he said, fiddling with his fingers, as if searching for a ring on his ring finger, but there wasn't one. Now that you think of it, you hadn't seen him wear it in so long.

You should have seen the signs.

All you could do was nod. You sat down far away from him on the loveseat, which was ironic cause there was no love in the atmosphere.

"I-" Harry started but couldn't. He closed his mouth again and opened it again, gaping like a goldfish. He looked at you, and you looked at him. Your husband, the person you loved the most after your kids, your first love, your everything.

"How long?" You asked, looking at Harry with dead eyes. It had nothing in them, no spark, nothing just lifeless saphire stones to see.

"Five months," Harry said, looking down at the rug, unable to look into your eyes.

Five months...

They were at your parents' house for Thanksgiving six months ago. The first time, he met Hayden after being with you for almost seven years. He never met your sister, and there was a reason for that.

"Thanksgiving," you mumbled out to herself more than to anyone. He fell out of love with you for so long, and you didn't even know.

"Why, Harry?" You finally asked. You still couldn't cry. No, you still had no expression on your face. You felt like a ghost, pale, feelingless, breathing ghost.

"I don't know," He said, his own lips wobbling.

"I'm going upstairs, babe. Come when you sort this out." Hayden said, walking towards the stairs like she owned the house, "See ya, sis!" She yelled from the top of stairs.

Awkward silence sat between them. The lovers who were laughing, kissing, and playing with their kids just this morning are now sitting in a souless house with a dead relationship.

How can things change so fast?

"Y/N" Harry called you softly. You looked up hopefully, thinking he would say it now, say anything to save whatever was left. You could make a home out of ashes, but for that you did need the ashes.

"I think it's better if you stay here. The kids will not be able to adjust somewhere els-" Harry spoke but stopped when he heard a sniffle.

For the first time since you walked in on them, tears flooded down your face. In just a moment, your eyes were blood red, glistening with tears.

"Where will you live?" You asked with your wobbling voice. A frown took over Harry's face watching you cry, but he was to blame for that.

"I didn't mean for it to happen this way Y/N" he said guiltily.

"Then which way did you want Harry?" You shouted at him, "Having one of our kids walk in on you two, or were you thinking of running away with her? or just wake up one day and throw divorce papers on my face?" You asked, your crying increased, making you choke on it and go into coughing fit.

Harry on instinct went to help you, but you raised your hand, stopping him. "Don't." You shook your head and stood up, calming down your coughing fit.

"I just thought I would talk to you," Harry mummbled his head down, looking at floor.

"You thought you would talk to me. Was this thought came before you stick your dick into my sister or after that?" You asked him clearly angry. You were still crying, your knees felt weak, and your head felt dizzy.

"Harry, we still have time. I- we can still be together just throw her out of house and never see her again. I will not go to my parents' house but please." You fell down to your knees sobbing. You wanted to save the only real thing you ever had, the only person you ever loved, who had been through her thick and thin. You needed him. You needed him for the kids.

Harry was looking down at you sympathetically, his own tears falling down. He felt too much shame to look in your eyes when you looked up at up for answers.

"I don't-" He choked a bit, "I love her Y/N" He whispered.

The final nail was in, the corpse was six feet under, there was no ashes to make home from.

You stilled on the ground, then a loud sob broke from you. You cried with your legs tucked to her chest in a fetal position on the floor. Harry came beside you and brought you to his chest. This time, you didn't move away or push him. You clutched onto his shirt, fully sobbing into it.

You digged your nose into his neck, and the shirt smelled like you. Even after everything, he still smelled like you, but it didn't matter now, did it?

The two lovers cried, holding each other, knowing that once they broke away. Everything else would also be broken.

You didn't know how long it had been. You just knew Harry's shirt was fully wet with your tears, and all you could hear was his heartbeat.

You pulled away from him and looked up in his glistening green eyes and after everything for some reason your eyes held hope.

Maybe it was denial after all they do say it's thr first stage of grief.

But you still knew you had to get out of this house. So, you got up and fixed your clothes to best of your knowledge, tears still falling from your eyes.

You didn't say anything just made your way towards the door concerning Harry. "Y/N were are you going?" He asked following behind you.

"Kids are wt Elliot's" Was all you said as you got into the car and drove off. You didn't know where you were going but you just wanted to go far away from all this.

You weren't a mother who knew her daughter didn't go to sleep until she told her a bedtime story or a wife who just got cheated on by her husband. No, you were just a broken soul who got betrayed by a person who vowed never to hurt her.

You drove in autopilot like you have been for the whole day, how you were alive you didn't know. How many cars and trucks you have doged you didn't know, you didn't even know where you were.

It was a bridge of some kind, you would thinking living in this place for so long would grant you the knowledge of where you are but you didn't know shit. Parking on the side of the road you turned off the car and pulled your windows down. The night cold air filled up the car, making your nose and ears red immediately.

You looked around the place, the small city lights twinkling in the diatance, people returning to their homes. Many who will return to a empty space many to someone waiting for them but you? You lost your home.

Having so much money and fame couldn't give you back your home.

You cried, you cried until you couldn't. You cried until all the tears were drained and all there wad left was a ragining headache and heartache.

You got out of the car and stood near the bridge. Your hair blew in the cold air and somehow you knew you have caught cold. You hugged your coat closer to you searching for any type of warmth.

Putting your hands on the metal bridge you leaned into it more. The rings you were wearing clinked against the metal making you look down to your hands and there it was the pretty diamond he especially got made for you, the one that once held a promise, a promise of faithfulness, love and family and some how in just couple hours you lost all of that or maybe you lost it six months ago just didn't realize it.

You took it off. It didn't held any meaning now did it?

You started crying again. It felt like once the dam broke, it didn't want to stop, but maybe that was for the best. You had kids to be strong for.

Oh god the kids...

What were you going to tell them? Maybe Harry would come back for the kids? He didn't love you but kids? He would come for them, right?

You were soo consumed in you misery you didn't realize your phone was constantly ringing in car or the texts or that from cross the bridge couple of girls were taking your pics.

*****

Harry was getting scared.

When you left the house, he thought you would go to Elliot's house, but you weren't there, and now both of them were constantly blowing up your phone to get a hold of you.

You were in no shape of driving. He should have stopped you, but like most of his decisions, he had nothing to do but regret on them.

He walked back to the couch and plopped down. Hayden was still in the bedroom upstairs. The bedroom that was once yours and his. It felt wrong cause it was wrong, wasn't it? But he loved Hayden, so it has to be right? right?

He looked up from his lap, and his eyes went straight to the flowers sitting on the coffee table. It was a habit of yours to bring something home whenever you come back home early. Mostly, it was flowers or the sushi from the sushi place you both love and went to on your first date.

His heart grew heavy as he picked up the flowers, which might be the last one he ever receives from you. Before he could examine them more or cry over them, a pair of hands were taking them out of his hold.

"C'mon baby, let go to bed. I'm tired" Hayden pouted just like you used to, her same yet different eyes as yours looking back at him, and he couldn't resist. He gave her a somber nod and stood up, making his way upstairs. Once he was out of eyeshot, Hayden threw away the flowers in dustbin and happily made her way to the bedroom.

*****

Liked by Y/Nfan2, Y/Nfan4, Harryfan5 and 482,786 others

Y/Nnews Y/N spotted by some fans near the bridge.

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User1 Why she looks so sad?

User2 I met her..it was my friends who took the picture. I tried to tell them not to but they didn't listen.

User3 What happened?

User2 She looked sad and tired. I mean it's hard being mom but she her usual aura was down like she's usually so chirpy and happy but she looked like she didn't want to be disturbed so we didn'task for a picture.

User3 Yet you invaded her privacy and took her pictures

User4 Is it just me or did anyone else seeing that she's not wearing her wedding ring?

User3 Omg yes I didn't realize

*****

You didn't know when you got here. All you know is Elliot somehow found you and brought you back to his house. He left you in the guest room and asked you to call him if you needed something.

You tossed and turned for hours in bed, or maybe it had been a few minutes, time didn't exist for you anymore. You got up to go to the kitchen and get some water when you saw the wine bottle. The temptation was bad, your fingers were itching, and your mouth went dry.

If there was any time to get wasted, it was this. The evil little voice in your head said and you gave in.

You took the bottle out of the cellar and sat down on the floor with your back against the kitchen counter. You brought the bottle to your lips, your hands shaking so badly that you almost dropped it.

The first drop felt like heaven. Like an old friend, you meet after a long time who you cut off cause you knew they were toxic, but the feeling of sweet reconnection and nostalgia still felt like bliss.

You were so in your head thinking about wine that you didn't see Bran coming to the kitchen or watching you from the doorway. He wanted to stop you but knew it wasn't his place, so he went back to his bedroom where his soon to be husband was sleeping.

"Babe," He shook him lightly, "Babe, wake up" He said a bit loudly, making him whine and grumble. He felt bad for a bit cause Bran knew that things have been hard, the school wasn't doing so well so he had to work extra but right now you needed him and Bran knew Elliot will blame himself if something happened to you.

"What happened?" Elliot asked, "I think you should talk to Y/N. She's is in the kitchen.." Bran paused, "Drinking".

That woke Elliot up, "But she hadn't drunk ever since she got cl-" "I know that's why I said go talk to her before things get worse"

You were halfway done with the bottle when Elliot came back to the kitchen. You were hitting the back of your head against the counter, filling the silent kitchen with a thumping noise.

"Y/N" He called out softly and for a second he wished he didn't. You looked like a mess your already ruined makeup was now in shambles, your eyes blood red and your lips were adoring a drunk smile.

"Put the bottle down Y/N you're hurting yourself" Elliot said, sitting next to you. You rolled your eyes and took a big gulp of the wine again.

"My life is already ruined. What's the worst can happen now?" You said laughing, but there was no humor in it. It was hollow like you felt. A hollow shell.

"You want to tell me what happened?" He asked quietly, trying to take the bottle from you by distracting you.

You burst into tears hearing his question. You wanted to tell him, tell him everything that happened, but your brain was not letting you talk. Like keeping it to yourself will make it go away. It was still in denial that it really happened.

"I don't know how to," you said in between sobs. Elliot pulled you to his side, his hand rubbing up and down your back, trying to soothe your crying.

"Harry-" you said and sobbed harder. "You want me to call him?" He asked, but you just shook your head.

"C'mon sucre tell me what's going on." He urged you to tell him. As time went by, Eilliot became more and more concerned. It wasn't like you to cry so much over a fight. You were the one who mostly solved them. So, it had to be something big for you to be here and crying rather than with Harry.

You stared at him for a few seconds, contemplating if you should tell him, but who else would you tell? He was the only friend you had except your little brother who was miles away in Sydney.

So you told him. You told him how your shooting wrapped up early, how you picked up kids, and went home to surpirse your husband only to get your heart broken in the worst way possible. How your husband of five years and almost seven years of love was now in love with someone else and that someone else was none other than your sister.

"I'm going to break his face!" Elliot seethed and scrambled to get up from beside you, but you took his arm and pulled him down back beside you, having no doubt he actually would.

"It will do nothing but harm to you and to him." You sighed, wiping your tears. You started to hate the feeling of being sober after crying, so you took swing of your wine again.

"I just don't understand how and what went wrong." You said staring at the cupboard's golden handle, "We were so happy this morning. I went to shooting, and he dropped kids to school I-" You choked on the lump in your throat.

"Do you think maybe he's doing this to get back at me for leaving him to go to Venice last minute?" You asked Elliot, "Do you think it's just a elaborate prank, I mean you know how Hayden is, she's bitch I won't be surprised if she came up with the idea of this prank."

Elliot looked at you with sad eyes, his hands rubbing your arms affectionately. "If it's a prank then it's one fucked up prank sucre so no I don't think it's a prank" Elliot said sadly looking at your sleepy eyes.

"It has to be. I mean, we were talking about having another baby after my shooting ended. Why would he want to have another baby if he didn't love me?" You asked him, hoping to get any just any answer to soothe the ache in your heart.

"I think you should ask that to him once you get a bit better. For now lets get you to bed" He said, taking the bottle out of your hand amd you let him. The physical and mental exhaustion of day caught up to you, and pairing that with wine had you sleepy.

Elliot carefully placed you on the bed and then put a glass of water and painkillers on the bedside table, knowing you would have a bad hangover since you drank after a very long time.

Sleep engulfed you soon enough, and you dreamt of the time your life wasn't in distress.

*****

Harry woke up in the morning and smiled when he felt soft hands around his torso. It was the part of the relationship he didn't experience with Hayden, but now he could do it as much as he wanted.

He turned around and pulled her in a lazy kiss, which soon turned heated and led to his boxers flying off from bed and his hands trailing around naked her body earing soft sounds from her.

Both of them fell asleep again. Harry woke up around 10 am to a hungry stomach. For a second, he was about to yell for you cause you always brought him breakfast in bed on weekends. Only to realize his mistake, but before he could feel bad, his eyes fell on similar blonde hair, fanning your his pillow, and he forgot everything.

He took a quick shower and got ready to get some coffee and breakfast. He decided to wake up Hayden to ask what she wanted. "Babe, wake up. I'm going to get breakfast. Do you want anything? " He asked her, getting a grumble in reply.

But then Hayden woke up fully alert. "I want to go with you!" She said excitedly, "I can finally have all for me please" She said pleading and how could he resist her?

She went to ready while Harry sat on couch downstairs going through his phone, but when Hayden took too long, he went to look for her.

He heard hushed voices behind the closed door, "Babe, are you ready?" He called her and opened the door. She stood there with a bright smile, her hair side parted with a white t-shirt and blue jeans much like his outfit.

"C'mon, let's go!" She said and took his hand in hers. Harry smiled and went with her. They sat in the car, and Harry brought her hands to his lips and drove off.

They arrived the hidden cafe they went most of the time cause it was in small area where most people didn't recognize him and there were no chances of him getting caught.

He ordered his usual, and so did Hayden, but as soon as they got out of the cafe with their food, the flash of the camera went off and then another. Harry went into full panic mode cause not only this will go back to you but to the whole world and quickly took Hayden's hand running to his car, dodging questions, and camera flash both.

Liked by Harryfan2, Y/Nfan2, Harryfan4 and 1,002,789 others

StylesNews Harry Styles seen out with mystery woman at secret cafe.

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Y/Nfan2 That's Y/N's sister wtf

Harryfan1 I didn't know she had a sister

Y/Nfan2 they're not that close, Y/N told in an interview.

Harryfan3 He's hanging out with her family aww

Harryfan4 they look a lot closer for my taste🤨

Y/Nfan1 IKR like that hand holding is suspicious

Harryfan4 I hope it's not what I'm thinking it is after seeing Y/N's pictures from yesterday

*****

Meanwhile, you woke up with the worst headache of your life. Thankfully, there were medicines and water beside your bed cause your throat felt dry as a dessert.

You walked out of your room groaning at the amount of light filtering through. "Good morning, sleepyhead." You heard your son say laughing.

"Good morning, mum. We made pancakes!" Your daughter squealed and held up pancakes with both of her hands above her head. You laughed and kissed her cheek.

"It looks delicious, baby and good morning to everyone," you said with a smile, forgetting about your pain for quite some time until your daughter asked you when they would be going home.

"What you got bored of me so fast?!" Bran fake hurt while you stood their staring at her thinking when were you going and where were you going cause you could go anywhere you wanted other than your home.

You were in literal, psychological, and in every sense homeless.

"Let mum have her coffee Amie, you know how she's without it." Elliot joked, and Bran picked Amie up, taking her to the living room to keep her busy, and Em followed them.

You took a mug out of the cupboard to make coffee while Elliot sat there looking at you with pity.

"How did you find me yesterday?" You asked, wanting to change the look in his eyes.

"Oh some girl posted you on twitter" He said biting into his pancake while you made your coffee.

"Someone posted me?" You asked and groaned when he nodded, "My manager is going to kill me"

Great now, top of a cheating husband. You also had to deal with getting your crying pics off the internet and deal with an amgry manager.

You took out your phone out of your jeans, which were getting uncomfortable as time passed.

But nothing matched the uncomfortable and shattering hurt you felt when you saw the trending topic of twitter.

They were already parading out? It had hardly been a day, and he was already over you? Did he not think what will happen when tabloids will find it? which they already had found out making their own stories.

Did he not think what kids will think when they will see it? Em was 14 he knew everything and had a phone of his own. What were you supposed to tell him if he asked you? you didn't even know yourself what was going on.

Your head started pounding more than before, and you could feel the migrain coming in . Even though you knew you had to talk to him, you couldn't today in any shape or form.

Your sadness was slowly subsiding now, and as your headache grew, so did your anger, and you knew it was going to be shit show happening in front of everyone.

*****

Same day in evening-

Liked by Harryfan2, Harryfan5, Y/Nfan2 and 998,765 others

Duexmoi This fan favorite couple, an A list actress, and popstar are getting divorced according to an insider. Who do you think they are?

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Harryfan1 Harry and Y/N?

Y/Nfan2 Rumor has it one of them cheated

Y/Nfan4 Defo Harry remember the pictures

Harryfan2 Omg with her sister? that's fucked

Harryfan3 don't jump to any conclusion guys maybe it's someone else or maybe it's fake you know how these are.

Y/Nfan1 Fuck Harry and fuck Hayden

*****

Welll...tell me if you guys liked it pleaseeee i need to know!! here♡

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Taglist- @lilsiz @kaverichauhan @thechaoticjoy @samwilsonsgirl @lomlhstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @vmpellie @sunshinemoonsposts @jayde515

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hypewinter · 8 months

Text

So I've seen a lot of posts that use Danny Todd or Respawn in reincarnation ideas. Couple that with a severe lack of sleep and a desperation to not do any or the various assignments I have and I got a gloriously stupid idea. What if Danny were constantly reincarnating?

We begin with Thomas Wayne Jr. Older brother to Bruce Wayne and brain damaged serial killer turned acrobat? (Boy the 70s were wild) anyhow after Thomas Jr. heroically takes a bullet for his brother, the higher powers that be decide he was given a rotten hand in life and decide to let him reincarnate.

Enter Danny Todd who has yet another tragic life. He tries to shield his brother from the terrors of the world and give him a good life. He even joins a gang and dirties his hands so Jason doesn't have to. The unfortunately ends with Danny Todd losing his life with the fire escape he's on collapses. The powers that be cough awkwardly as they realize this new life was just as terrible as the first. Therefore they try again.

Bam! Daniel Fenton comes bursting onto the scene and his life is actually pretty good. Sure his parents are a little obsessed with their research but by no means are they neglectful. Plus Danny is smart, talented, and driven. What a great life, nothing could possibly go wrong with this one! Until Danny turns 14 and promptly gets zapped. Now this right here opens up a whole new can of worms as Danny's newfound half ghost status gives him access to his past lives. Nothing too grand. Just little memories or feelings here and there but these glimpses seem to be getting clearer as time goes on. Too bad there's no time to focus on that though with all of these new ghost baddies stream in. Speaking of ghost baddies, during the events of TUE, Danny ends up sacrificing his life to save his family and erase Dan from the time stream.

So.... he's dead. Again. Geez what is with this kid dying younger and younger? Why can't you just live a long happy and fulfilling life!? *Sigh* That's it. Maybe what your soul really needs is some peaceful eternal rest. Wait where did he go? What do you mean he fell into a reincarnation pool? Who did he reincarnate as?!?

Respawn, son of Slade Wilson and Talia Al Ghul, opens his eyes. He has four sets of memories competing for dominance in his mind. Which leads him to be very confused and given his parentage/training, very angry. The only times things ever seemed to calm were when he was stalking Damian around his new family. Is that what he needs? The Waynes? But they already have Damian. Respawn would just be the spare if he joined them. He didn't like that. Replacement however - though still mildly annoying - he could get behind it.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #winter's tales #is this idea crazy stupid and confusing?#oh absolutely #do i think it's going to get any remote bit of traction?#definitely not #did any of that stop me from posting?#clearly not or we wouldn't be here now would we?

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hellishjoel · 1 year

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slow shift

7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Next Chapter

series summary: Tommy’s Diner is where dreams go to die and burnouts clock-in for work. Waitressing would be boring without the flirtatious distractions of line cook Frankie Morales.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, talking about w33d, alcohol consumption (not by reader or frankie, but discussions of alcohol), oral (f! receiving), discussions of periods and Plan B, frankie having a fat d!ick, slightly public sex, unprotected p in v (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), you know how I roll

A/N: welcome to the first part in my linecook!frankie series! It's all just going to be chaos!! enjoy dirty dishes, cussing, and decent food made by the hot linecooks. I’ll have a title as soon as I stop putting it off <3 enjoy! let me know what you think! also how LIT is the banner

here's my masterlist!

**follow hellishfics and turn on notifications get updates on my fic postings**

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle. You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight.

Welcome to hell.

A makeshift building somehow still holding up four walls that housed a small restaurant inside.

This wasn’t some secret treasure that belonged on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives or a hidden hole-in-the-wall five-star Michelin Restaurant. This was Tommy’s Diner.

The locals had different names for the run-down dump you called your place of employment: the Hometown Heartburn Hut (true), American Pie ( ha-ha funny), the Rusty Spoon (some guy OD’s behind the place one time, and no one ever forgets), or Tumbleweed, your pothead coworkers liked to call it. It was a tumbleweed because the restaurant was barren, emphasis on the weed to accommodate the faded line cooks that lurked in the back of the restaurant.

Don’t let today’s slow shift fool you; there were times when Tumbleweed was cram-packed. Friday night football games were busy with tailgaters, bustling with teens after a championship game. Other times, it was when a Greyhound bus or a similar cross-country vehicle drove through and took a stop for the passengers.

The most popular time of year was in the summer. Tommy’s Diner hosted Saturday night Cruise Nights. The town would flood with classic cars and hot rods, and the diner would transform into a drive-in. Their engines revved through different cities from far and wide to be at Tommy’s. That’s when the place felt the most alive, bustling with people and their laughter, little kids running with their milkshakes and flipping quarters into the rigged claw machine.

But it wasn’t a Saturday in August. It was a Monday. You were stuck with the misfit motley crew that did everything from dishwashing, cooking, bussing, running the register, being half-ass managers, and, of course, the token pretty waitress. You.

You will admit that each character working at Tumbleweed had a unique story etched into their grubby hands or baggy-eyed faces. They’ve weathered years of late-night shifts and condiment, grease-stained aprons.

Tonight there was Lou, the jaded by heartbreak teenage busboy. He walked with a shuffle, always sniffling about an ex-girlfriend. He worked slow and god damn, did that piss you off.

Then there was Tina, the aspiring singer stuck in a small-town type. She was newer, still learning how things worked since she had never waited tables a day in her life. She had that fresh twinkle of stardom in her eye despite being in her late 30’s. You were training her and trying not to let her drive you up the wall whenever she started singing different songs on the jukebox. Note to self: Put a sticky note saying it’s busted every time you work together.

Paul was the do-it-all guy. Toilet clogged? Get Paul. Dishes piling up? Ask Paul to do it. The cashier on a bathroom break? Paul can run the till. He was useful, just complained and grumbled a lot.

Tommy of Tommy’s Diner hasn’t worked a day in years. He’s older, so it’s understandable. Last thing you heard was he was down in Florida, living out retirement in a cheap home with a gambling addiction. Sounded like he was doing well for himself. But now his idiot son Rudy ran the place. Tommy’s picture was still on dusty display, toothy smile and all at the front door that people huddled in and out of—speaking of.

Your head lifted to attention as the bell above the door chimed, sighing in annoyance as you leaned back onto the counter. It was just Frankie.

“It’s fifteen after. You were supposed to be here on time today because we have to set up for Carla’s thing.”

Frankie breezed past you, aviators and stupid ballcap on, his smile lifted in a sneer. He was smacking on pink bubble gum as he neared your part of the counter and purposely shuffled past you with his hips against yours in an attempt to get into the kitchen. You couldn’t help but lean into him with a little smirk.

“Tommy said it was fine I was late.” He joked once he ducked into the back, your arms crossed as you followed him aimlessly.

You sigh and lean back against the locker next to his, watching him shuffle off his jacket.

“You disappoint me, Frankie.” Your face held a teasing pout.

“Never meet your heroes, baby.” That stupid fucking cocky smirk painted his face.

You opted to roll your eyes and look away as a defense tactic against Frankie’s flirty moves. Frankie calling you baby made your guts twist.

He was an ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but you two were hired the same summer a few years back and were the only ones who stayed once summer had run its course. You supposed it was bonded trauma after that.

New workers had come and gone, but you and Frankie were still at Tommy’s, still working crappy shifts on crappy hourly pay. Despite Frankie being a douchebag, he made the place bearable. He was comfortable. You knew each other.

“Can you just meet me on the floor like you were supposed to fifteen minutes ago and help with the banner? Carla’s going to be here at five, and you still have to make her special-”

“Jesus fuckin’- yes, I’ll be out in a few.” Frankie playfully groaned, shoving the brim of his hat into his mouth to hold it, his hands busy as he tied a tattered red bandana around his forehead before he replaced the cap back on. Okay… hot.

He took a deep breath once he finished, and leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed, mimicking you as your shoulder brushed his bicep. You looked up at him, so many inches taller than you, as he looked down. Maybe too far down. He started at your eyes, but those eyes of his tended to wander right down to the cut of your shirt.

“Ugh- Frankie!” You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, readjusting your top as he playfully threw his hands up on the defense.

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous today, by the way!” He shouted as you exited the locker room, smiling and shaking your head with your back to him and throwing up your middle finger before the door swung closed with your exit.

---

You stood on the top of a dining table in your sneakers, attempting to hang a shitty banner you had painted for Carla’s birthday. You glanced down at the table and made a little face about the scuff you put in it. Oops. You can try and scrub it later.

There was no other person you or Frankie would do this stuff for. But it was Carla’s birthday and she was a diamond in the rough at this dump.

Carla's position at Tumbleweed is a mixture of human resources, accounting, decent management, and a mother figure to not just you but the entire staff. Besides Carla, we could all care less about everyone else's birthday. You were burning this ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner as soon as the clock struck midnight.

You let out an exhausted huff as you attempted to tack the final hanging string into the wall, but it was just out of reach. That’s when you heard the smacking of his stupid pink bubble gum. You didn’t even have to look.

“Are you gonna help me or not, Morales?” Your voice seethed in annoyance, not only to Frankie but also cursing your short legs and your just not long enough arms.

He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the differential space between you and took the tack and string into his meaty fingers.

You glanced down, watching his teeth capture his lower lip in concentration, checking to see if it was straight. Pushing the pin in, he backed up to where you stood on the dining table and crossed his arms in observance.

It was incredibly crooked. But it was the thought that counts, right?

“Good enough for me. You?” You glanced down at Frankie, and he was biting back a smile.

“What?” You pushed, narrowing your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” Distracted by something else. “D’you paint this?” The warmth of his hand slowly crept onto the back of your calf, your chest tightening as he slowly skated it higher with no interference from you.

You gently nod, avoiding his eye contact as you look at the sign. Now, his hand was on the back of your thigh, and you had to take a breath. A mhm was all you could muster up.

His fingers delicately skimmed the skirt of your uniform, knuckles brushing against your backside. You used to hate these 50’s style waitress uniforms, but now they didn’t seem so damn bad because Frankie’s movements were making you lightheaded. Snap out of it!

“Need help down?” Frankie asked, hand at the ready on your hip.

You shook your head despite using his assistance anyway. You squatted on the table, black lace panties peeking out as you used Frankie’s broad shoulders as leverage. You put one foot down onto the linoleum and then the other, wiping your hands cleanly down your uniform as you both returned to look at the lopsided sign.

You hoped it was enough. You hoped she appreciated it, especially all that she’s done for you over the years. Covering your shifts, leveling out the register when you accidentally gave someone the wrong change, tucking extra tips into your apron when she knew your rent was coming up. Everyone needed a Carla, not everyone was lucky to have one.

“She’s gonna love it,” Frankie seemed to sense your nerves as he lifted his cap to bring some air to his sweaty dark curls before putting it back into place. “I’ll start workin’ on her special. Mushroom Swiss patty melt?” He said before disappearing into the kitchen again, only leaving once you gave him your little nod of assurance. You liked that he remembered.

---

“Happy birthday, Carla!” Uncoordinated voices cheered as Carla entered Tumbleweed right on time for her shift.

Her face lit up, and she looked beautiful. She packed a little extra blush and eyeshadow to commemorate the special occasion.

“Oh, shit- oh my- You guys! Thank you!” Carla made special eye contact with you, knowing you were the only one caring enough to orchestrate this shindig.

Carla has this soulful charm about her. Raised in Louisiana, she loved to cook family recipes and bring the leftovers to work for you and Frankie to fight over. You remember she had three kids at home, so she had this curvy mom's body that put a proud sway in her walk. A playful and confident woman at heart, she was all the regular’s favorite to see. And she knew everyone. And she knew everything. She put Tommy’s back in business during the slower seasons. People would come to see her face on Sunday mornings over their coffee and runny eggs.

“Oh, baby, thank you.” She cooed as she cupped your cheek and squeezed, making your face tick. “This the red velvet?” Her voice hummed as she observed the cake in your hands, pushing her finger lightly into the frosting to taste it.

You had pulled one of the cakes from the display case and shitily piped it with chocolate sauce ‘HBD!’.

“Of course, your favorite... Right?” You pursed your lips and snuck a nervous glance at Frankie before you set the cake down on the countertop.

Carla looked beyond touched for something you’d consider a bit lackluster. “It’s my favorite ‘cause you made it. Thank you, baby.”

You glanced around for the cake cutter, watching as Tina pushed a quarter into the jukebox and got the party started. Everyone was doing shitty dance moves, even the one or two customers that had filtered in for a cheap dinner.

You sighed as you looked behind the counter for the cake cutter, grabbing the cake and its stand to haul it to the back.

You thrust your shoulder blades into the swinging door, setting the cake stand on the counter as you started sifting through the different drawers to find the serving knife.

Half a carton filled with cigarettes; Frankie’s. Matches from an old jazzy gentleman’s club; Rudy’s. Hair ties; yours. Where’s the fuckin’ cake cutter?!

The music from the jukebox was more faded in the kitchen. The serving window, professionally called the pass, was just big enough to see faces and hand plates through from the kitchen to the front.

You made a face when you found the cake server inside a large pot-- how, no, why? Jesus Christ. Fucking idiots.

The swinging door to the kitchen wooshed in before slowly creaking closed, seeing Frankie coming to stand beside you in your peripheral.

You carefully plunged the slicer into the soft sponge of the cake, carving a piece for Carla and setting it on a plate. You reached forward across the counter for another small plate, the short skirt of your uniform revealing the curve of your ass to an overly curious Frankie. You could feel his heat burning through his chest.

“Could you be less obvious?” Your voice held teasing notes, putting another piece of cake on a plate and pushing them away to make space for more.

He had tried this a handful of times with you, and he had yet to be successful besides that one time when you both drunkenly made out at the last December holiday party. You were pretty sure he had been hung up on you ever since. You enjoyed watching him try.

Your eyes flitted over to his, observing his body and facial features.

He looked gross, honestly. The two meals he cooked including Carla’s special before she came in for her shift made his face and neck sweaty and his hands greasy, his apron to match. It was white at one time, a long, long time ago. His stupid red bandana was still tied around his forehead, catching the spare sweat droplets, as the kitchen became unbearably hot in the middle of August.

You probably didn’t look much better. Hair all over the place with makeup you put on in the morning probably half smudged off by now. Your hands were checkered in pen ink, a spare papercut from snagging a receipt from the register. But still decent. He was still decent.

His hand was back in dangerous territory, lingering low on your waist. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. You could feel warmth flooding your body, heat from the heart of his hand burning into your hip. He was admiring your body, slow and appreciative as he cupped the curve of your ass. And then he squeezed.

Your shaky hands barely got the fourth slice you cut onto a small serving plate. The cake cutter clattered onto the metal counter as Frankie shifted his body behind yours, his watchful eyes on the pass. No one was watching, stupid and oblivious. You swallowed a lump down your throat, your small hands clenching the rim of the counter. His hips were flushed against yours. Worst of all was that you really fucking liked it.

“This okay?” You’re flattered he asked after the fact.

You leaned back into his touch, quietly humming on the brink of a little moan. You were a little desperate for touch, maybe you’d be on your period soon. “Mhmm..”.

Frankie was a douchebag, but you two have been flirting back and forth with one another for years like an ongoing tennis match. He was older, he had years on you. Not an obscenely amount, but enough to make people raise an eyebrow. You were surprised he had the balls to actually make a move on you like he was right now.

“Like you in black.” Frankie’s voice was cut down to a murmur, low and all-enveloping. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the black in your waitress uniform or your black panties. Probably the latter.

His fingers brushed past your goosebump-covered ass and slipped between your legs to your clothed pussy. You softly gasped, eyes shifting closed as your hips involuntarily leaned into Frankie’s touch. You didn’t look subtle at all. You looked like you wanted to be touched, manhandled, kissed, fucked…

“Open your eyes, baby girl.” He purred, your chest already heaving. “Act normal.” You forced your eyes open, looking back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Needy pupils connected with his blown-out ones. The back of your head brushed his shoulder, setting it there for just a moment before he looked straight ahead.

Frankie nodded back to the pass, your eyes following his eye line to everyone distractedly dancing and sipping coffee mixed with bourbon on the floor.

You bit down on your lower lip, knuckles cast over in a milky white with the iron grip you held on the metal rim of the counter. Frankie’s body heat had disappeared from your back, and now you felt it cast against the back of your legs. You glanced around, seeing him on his knees behind you with his mouth now latched to the back of your thighs. Oh, fuck. His kisses sponged up higher, towards your heat.

Your eyelashes fluttered, Frankie’s act normal echoing through your hollow head. With distracted hands, you resumed cutting the cake. You probably looked slow and stupid, but feeling his patchy beard hair nestle between the sweet skin of your inner thighs had you in a haze.

Frankie’s big hands reached under your skirt, lining the black panties that sat snugly on your hips with his forefingers. He slowly peeled them down, feeling the material roll as he stopped them to rest halfway down on your thighs.

Your shoulders shuddered as your warm pussy met the slight chill of the outside world, panties adorning a little soaked spot.

“Frankie,” Mm? “Someone’s gonna see.” But you weren’t stopping him. You weren’t telling him to fuck off. You weren’t kicking him right in the gut like you probably could. In fact, you were leaning into him.

“Such a pretty pussy... Can’t stop, baby.”

A helpless whimper left your lips, thighs shaking at his affectionate, warm kisses.

Frankie’s hand swatted at the inside of your right ankle and then the other, hinting for you to spread yourself for him. You pursed your lips and shakily sighed, parting your legs as your sneakers lightly squeaked on the checkered floor. Fuck me, Frankie.

You didn’t know how much longer you could be patient. The waiting was tantric, hypnotizing you into seduction.

Spread for him and dripping, Frankie’s mouth finally attached to your slit. Your knee lightly jerked up and smacked a bus tub filled with dirty dishes, a few eyes on you through the pass as you nervously laughed. “S-Sorry!”

Frankie couldn’t help but let out a warm puff of laughter against your cunt, and you swore your insides were twisting at the sensation.

“Easy pretty girl… Don’t need us gettin’ caught. You want me to stop?” Frankie’s voice was husky, warm palms spreading your thighs, your body lightly bending over to lean on the counter. You tried to look busy with something, stupidly polishing a random fork. With the extra exposure, he had full access to your sex.

“Does it look like I want you to stop?” You finally punched out through air-abducted lungs, anxiously chewing on the skin of your lip. “Frankie.” You said in a hushed warning tone, wanting more and not knowing how to ask nicely for it. But that’s what he liked about you. You weren’t nice.

His lips finally attached properly to your pussy, his devilish tongue lining the center of your cunt and flicking off your clit. Your head dropped, ears ringing at the sensation.

You wondered how good he would feel if he could take his time instead of giving you head quick while all your coworkers were distracted. Maybe he could run his thumb over the front of your panties, trace the seam of your pussy, and feel how soaked you were for him and his attentive fingers. You thought Frankie had always been so down bad for you. He probably dreamed about getting this opportunity. He finally got you when you were just as horny for someone with a pulse. But this wasn’t all the time in the world; this was a slow shift at Tommy’s.

You rut your hips back into Frankie’s face, hot pants fanning fog onto the cool metal of the counter.

Frankie put his mouth where you needed him most, his tongue dedicating a poem to you. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide, wet strip up through your core, taking in all your juices. His tongue lapped at your weeping hole, thighs shaking against his head as you stifled a moan into the counter.

He was good, manipulative, a fucking menace.

Frankie’s tongue made precision flicks against your bundle of nerves, a gasp a bit too loud leaving the kitchen as you whimpered broken fragments of his name.

You weakly looked up, seeing Tina pluck another quarter in the jukebox, cranking the volume to some seventies soul music. Fuck being quiet.

Concealed by the groove of Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work It Out, your moans were hidden by the shake of a tambourine and plucks to an electric guitar.

“Goddammit, Frankie, mmm, so fucking good,” a gasp and a moan followed suit, lazily smirking with your eyes closed. “So fucking… hot.” You murmured.

Frankie’s mouth was a welcome wonder, dedicated to making you cum. He was swirling his tongue around your clit, weakly flattening your front over the counter again and pressing your cheek against the cool metal. Don’t be a douche right now, Francisco Morales. Make me fuckin’ cum.

The kitchen door swiftly swung open, and your body flew up to stand straight as Carla waited in the doorway.

“What’s taking you so long to cut my cake, baby? I know that bitch is stale as hell, but that don’t mean I don’t want it.”

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Frankie’s movements didn’t cease despite Carla’s unexpected intrusion. You bit back a whimper as he lined his tongue just barely into the tight entrance of your walls, his greedy fingers piercing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you spread. Thank god the counter covered your waist down.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.”

Carla looked you up and down, curious but ultimately not giving a damn. You could feel Frankie’s dirty smirk against your thighs.

“Alright... Hurry up. I’m tryna get my dessert.”

And with that, the door swished closed, and your back slumped at the relief.

Frankie’s unexpected voice made you jump lightly, his words echoing against you. “Gotta make ya finish fast, princess. Want my dessert, too.”

You whimpered but willed yourself to stand up straight and turn around to face him. He looked like a mess. Lust-filled black eyes and a cocky smirk to match. Your juices glistened on his lips and chin. Frankie would be incredibly hot if he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

“Taste as good as you look, princess.” Frankie stood up, tall and broad body making a white hot spot form in your stomach. Fuck, you couldn’t do this right now. Not right here.

He could tell. He took a few cautious steps away, you watched him carefully like a rattlesnake. He knew when not to push you and when to let you make the decisions. He also knew how to give you orders when you were too pussy fucked to think straight.

“Serve that cake and meet me out back.” He was looking over you, enjoying the few times you looked totally fucked like you did right now. He stepped back into your space and pulled your panties back into place, a sobby whimper leaving your lips as he gently cupped your aching mound with a smirk. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?”

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, fixing the bottom half of your uniform.

You watch as Frankie grabs the beer bottle you all used as a makeshift door prop and his half-carton of cigarettes you had brought out of a drawer in an attempt to find the cake cutter. He disappears out back into the alley. Shit, the cake.

You hurriedly sliced the remainder of the cake, placing a few stray candles into the slices. You lit them once you greeted the group waiting on the floor, singing a shitty rendition of Happy Birthday. Paul lights his cigarette from one of the candles, puffing smoke across the frosting.

The crowd hastily grabbed one of the small plates and a fork. Most of you only tried a bite or two. The cake had been in the display case for far too long.

---

Anxious and impatient, you slip into the back with everyone’s dirty dishes and sneak back into the kitchen. You do nothing more with them than chuck them into the sink for Lou to wash up at some point or another. Your eyes stare at the beer bottle keeping the back kitchen door ajar. You take in a deep breath, leaving a shaky sigh before following Frankie out into the alley.

The air was warm, a welcome breeze passing over you. The alley was everyone’s hideaway, littered with crushed beer and soda cans, two large garbage dumpsters, and a large one for recycling. You could see the highway in the distance. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning purple and blue. You’d watch those cars drive right past your little town, paying no mind, probably off going to somewhere bigger and better. The only people from the highway who stopped to visit Tommy’s were people who didn’t know any better.

A flick of a lighter crackled, dividing your attention. Frankie was smoking his cigarette, his back leaning against the brick wall of the diner. He was trying not to smirk. Seeing you out here was way too much power for him. He took a drag, the end of his cigarette lighting up in a glowing orange haze before he pulled it from his mouth. The smoke he exhaled was taken by the breeze.

“Happy to see me?” His goading tone asked.

“No.” A challenge. A pause.

“So, you want me to go back inside?”

“No.” Another beat. A step closer to him, arms crossed. He’s smart enough to let his cigarette land on the ground.

“So, you want me to stay out here?”

Silence. Staring. Gauging each other’s reactions. Your tight jaw meets his cocky smirk. Too stubborn to ask meeting too stubborn to give without begging. Fuck.

Maybe it’s because you’re both desperate. Maybe because Frankie knows you. Knows you’re too stubborn to ask for him to fulfill your needs. Your inaction meets his unwillingness to waste another moment that he could be inside of you.

Stomping on his cigarette before closing the distance between you two, he envelopes you in a kiss that robs you of your breath. He tastes musky and bitter. The smoke that recently captured his lungs was hot on your lips.

Your heart was beating with excitement, happy to lose control for a moment as Frankie walked you blindly backward into the brick wall. Ouch.

Your tongues danced in a rhythmic motion, seducing you into letting him take the power as the kiss deepened. The flavor was subtle but distinct. The Marlboro’s held an acrid undertone, an unexpected layer of the kiss you sort of liked. If he tasted like spearmint gum, it might have turned you off.

It was like you were his cigarette now, breathing you in and clinging to you in addiction. It was his bad habit, but who were you to judge. You had a closet full of skeletons you weren’t open to anyone seeing. Maybe this was one of his.

His hands were a welcome guest, feeling his warm palms explore a body he had probably fantasized about.

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle.

You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight.

Frankie guided you further from the backdoor, hearing voices enter the kitchen. Probably Paul and Lou to start working on closing chores. He took you behind the dumpsters and hiked up your dress. You decided to be useful and push your panties down. He rounded up the material that was tying you up at your ankles and shoved them into his pocket. You were not letting him keep those.

You pushed his apron aside, fingers fussing over his belt buckle. He watched, amused, unwilling to help. He liked seeing you so desperate for his cock. Unbuttoned. Unzippered. Black boxer trim peaking out now. You made slight eye contact with him before you shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Your heart clenches at how girthy he was. Fuckkk, this was gonna feel good.

He didn’t take his apron off, merely shoved it to the side as it haphazardly swayed on his hip. He closed the distance between you again, a greedy kiss, a kiss to mark you with. You pulled away to spit into your hand, taking him by his base and squeezing.

Frankie’s eyes shuddered closed, his head dropping as you took his manhood in the small of your hand. He was.. more than a handful. He was so meaty, not even able to wrap your fist fully around him.

You purred out a little moan as you worked your hand over him, feeling him grow heavy in your hand as you lubed up his tip, slowly circling your thumb teasingly around the pulsing head.

“Enough.” He muttered. He didn’t like you toying with him.

Frankie hiked up your leg by the underside of your calf, hooking around his hip as you leaned your back against the cold brick wall. It wasn’t comfy, but when you fuck against a run-down diner, you don’t get many options.

Your chest shuddered as you felt his cock heavy against your folds, erect and brushing up against where you needed him most. He was running his hand up and down himself now. You watched as he put down another line of spit from his mouth to his cock before his knuckles shuffled up and down his shaft a few more times.

The sight made you reel your head back and stare up at the sky. As eager as you are, you’re worried about feeling how thick he is. He knows.

“M’gonna go real slow.” He punches out, setting his forehead down against yours, and you shakily nod. Please don’t fucking split me in two, Frankie Morales. You still have a shift to finish, after all. You’re thankful he at least acknowledges his girth. It’s sort of the elephant in the room.

You both look down at your centers, your dripping one and his angry, pink head meeting in unison. It’s sort of fucked up the way that you’re two horrible people. But you knew horrible people always seemed to find each other.

You wet your lips and bite down. Hard. You weren’t a fresh spring virgin, but this wasn’t any other half-decent dick.

You lay your head back against the wall as Frankie guides himself into your welcoming entrance. Your wetness lubes him up well, but he’s still large.

You clench your eyes close and smile. The pain is always pleasure. “Fuck,” you mutter, your head wanting to come back down and watch.

Frankie’s being gentle, an odd word you’d never describe him as. He’s grunting and impatient, but patient for you. He fills you up to the brim and your head is flooded with clouds. You’re in the sky, lightheaded, but so fucking horny.

His hips meeting yours are a gentle greeting, both of your lips brushing as you shared pants of desperation as well as relief. Your stomach was tight, recoiling with the pressure he was providing to the inside of your walls.

“God-

“Jesus-

“-fucking damn.”

“Christ.”

The two of you moaned in unison.

Your nails are piercing into his shirt, bunching around the tops of his shoulders. You move to grip his apron for some sort of control. There is none.

One of his hands is still supporting your leg wrapped around his hip, the other flattened against the brick wall beside your head. You took solace in his arm, resting your forehead against it weakly.

He was cocky for a reason. His length in inches was his amount of reasons.

“Fuck me.” You finally mustered up enough strength to demand. He shakes his head against yours.

“Give it a minute.” He mutters, barely coherent. You’re scrumptiously tight around him, and you know it. You both do.

“We don’t have a minute.” You feverishly bite back, attempting to shift your hips against his. He retaliates by planting his hips against you, fucking the final few inches of his dick into you as you both fell deeper into the wall.

A hot moan rolled off your tongue, hiding your face away in his forearm and shuddering your eyes closed. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg, cupping the globe of your ass in his warm hand. He squeezed and it made you smile as he reeled his hips slowly back.

He grumbles something.

“What?” You asked with a dopey grin. He pushes back inside you and wipes the smirk clear off your face.

“I said… you’re so fuckin’ impatient.” His voice was tattered with grunts, your tight little pussy making it hard for him to breath.

Now he was creating a rhythm, fucking you into the wall in steady thrusts. You were already feeling your insides tug eagerly in excitement, the hot pool he had created in your guts simmering to a boil.

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm,” you moaned in silent begs, moans you had to read between the lines to understand. Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck you feel good, I-I can’t think of anything other than fuck! Fuck me, Frankie!

He filled you up to a brim you had yet to discover you had. His tip tickled your cervix with each snap of his hips. He was getting greedy, a little sloppy. You’d judge him on this short-lived fuck later, for now, it was perfectly timed to get back into work without anyone noticing.

Your eyes widened and met his murky brown ones as he moved the hand he had against the wall nudged between your thighs, circling your clit. It was messy at first, but he found what made you tick and adjusted. Now he was running tight circles around you, and you were finding it hard to stay silent.

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing motion. You actually wanted to taste him again, so you leaned into it, your tongue lining his mouth and tasting his old cigarette with a moan.

Now he was filling you up, no hesitancy in his hips as he snapped the full extent of his length into your cunt. Your head flew back against the orange and red brick, a fucked moan leaving your mouth. Neither of you cared. Frankie’s face was nuzzled against your jawline and neck, sloppy kisses tasting old perfume as the circles on your clit intensified your impending orgasm.

“F-Fuck, Frankie, shit, I’m gonna-” You gasped and closed your eyes, clutching your arms weakly around his shoulders and holding him to you. His body enveloped you like a shield protecting you from anything in your surroundings.

Your orgasm crashed over you, coursing through your body like a million volts of electricity as you whimpered and moaned into his neck. Your eyes were clamped closed, your walls clenching and fluttering around his sensitive cock.

His moans were heavenly, guttural and deep, a little shaky even as he puffed them into your neck and shoulder. His hips twitched against the inside of your thighs as he came undone inside of you. It felt like he was cumming for days, filling you up with white rope after white rope of his semen and painting your insides with only remnants of him.

You couldn’t think. You just focused on the distant sound of the highway, creating a bustling amount of white noise for you. You gently held his head to keep him close, your shaky hand winding into his hair as the two of you reconciled over your orgasms.

He was the first one to move. He slipped himself from you and gave you a few lazy kisses. Your stomach fluttered before you shook your head.

Stop it, Frankie.

‘M not doin’ anything.

Teasing smiles. Hands softening their holds on each other’s bodies. Fixing hair. Fixing undergarments.

He would have held onto your panties. He probably hoped you forgot about them. You tugged them from his pocket and attempted to slip into them with ease, but you ended up having to use the brick wall as a support to lean into.

You steadied his apron straight, and he pulled the skirt of your uniform down. Teamwork.

You don’t really talk, just clean yourselves up, nod, and dart back inside before anyone can really notice or give a damn that you were missing in action. You kept having to excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling Frankie still seeping from you. It made your chest hot, an embarrassed smile on your face.

Fuck it. That’s what Plan B is for. Or you can just wait to see if you get your period in a few days time.

---

You and Frankie danced around one another during the closing shift. Carla went home and took the cake in a to-go container to give to her kids. It was shitty that she had to work on her birthday, but she said that getting to see your gorgeous face was a present of its own.

You tiredly yawned, seeing it was a few minutes past ten. You helped Tina even out the cash register, putting today’s earnings in an envelope, then putting it in the safe for Rudy to take to the bank at the end of the week.

“You sure you don’t mind cleaning up on your own?” Tina asked, giving her a tired smile and a soft shrug.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Wednesday.” Despite her annoying singing, Tina wasn’t that bad. She gave you a big grin before she hopped off the stool and left out the front door. Lou and Paul had already left at the start of closing. You didn’t know if Frankie snuck out the back early.

You did a double take to the jukebox, watching Frankie flip his baseball hat backward and push a quarter into the machine. Your face softened, seeing him flip between the different records before landing on one.

Something by Fleetwood Mac started playing. You watched him reach up and untack your banner from the wall easily. You nodded softly before grabbing the spray bottle filled with disinfectant and began wiping down the counters, seats, and tables.

He walked up to you once you finished cleaning, handing you your folded-up banner. You twisted your lips in thought, rolling the banner around in your hands.

“Wanna help me burn this in the burn barrel out back?”

Frankie sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Fuck it. Got nothin’ better to do.”

---

With Frankie’s lighter, both of you watched with glassy eyes as the Happy Birthday! banner burnt to ashes. His face was lit up in orange and yellow hues. He haphazardly tried to lean into the flames with a cigarette dangling between his lips, a stupid laugh leaving you. He shrugged and put the cigarette behind his ear.

“Fuck it.” He huffed, both of your eyes transfixed on the fading flames.

There was a beat of silence.

Frankie’s eyes met yours. “We should do that again sometime.”

Half of your mouth quirked up into a smirk. “Do what?”

He cocked his head to the side in annoyance. “You know what.”

You shrugged and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. The hum of the highway in the distance made you flashback to just a few hours ago with Frankie railing you against Tumbleweed. A black and purple-streaked night sky submerged the two of you, making you feel tiny. You sigh and shift on your feet, keeping your eyes on the flames that licked up the ay! in Birthday!

“Maybe.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe?”

“Mhm.”

Frankie teetered on your half-ass decision. Even the notion of having an open door left for him to sneak in was enough to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll take a maybe.”

God, you were bluffing so hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be sooo bad to throw him a bone every once in a while.

Your fantasizing was cut short as ashes of the banner spewed up from the depths of the barrel and fluttered up into the air between you and Frankie, both of you taking a preemptive step away.

His lighter clicked again; he had to do it a few times before the end of his cigarette caught a flame. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmured. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was trying to walk you to your car, wanting to leave, but not until you started heading home, too.

He swung his body into the driver seat of his beaten-up pickup truck. You decided to follow suit, sliding into your car. You saw Tommy’s fade away from the rearview mirror in the distance. But the thoughts of Frankie between your legs, fucking you into oblivion, and begging to serve your aching center would sit with you until your next shift at Tumbleweed. Sorry. Tommy’s Diner.

---

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steveshairychest · 1 year

Text

Eddie moves away from Hawkins and opens a tattoo/coffee shop with Robin and Steve. There's a small apartment above their cozy shop that the four of them live in; Nancy moved away with them too but she's in college and only stays a couple nights a week, to Robin's dismay.

Steve runs the coffee side of things at the front of the shop, sometimes with the help of Robin, but she's in the process of learning how to become a professional piercer so she spends a lot of her days at another shop a few blocks down. Eddie's promised her that once she's fully trained, she can turn the spare back room into her piercing studio and decorate it however she likes.

Eddie spends all day tattooing. He loves it. He loves that people are willing to wear his art forever and he makes sure to take pictures of everything he does to add to the wall of tattoos (instgram isn't a thing yet, he has to show off his clients' tattoos somehow). The whole front wall of the shop is covered in polaroids of his art on people's bodies. It's a collage of his life's work. There's a few photos of Steve and Robin in there showing off their matching bff tattoos and one of Steve shyly standing there with no shirt on, the bat tattoos on his ribs on full display.

Eddie isn't supposed to have favourites, he's supposed to love and appreciate all his works of art equally, but that one is secretly his favourite. He runs his fingers over the ink on Steve's ribs every night.

They got a surprise visitor in 1990; Will Byers. Normally, the kids ring in advance to let them know they're coming so that they can organise the spare room upstairs and save a booth in the cafe for them to sit and chat to Steve while he works. But Will came unannounced and he looks oddly nervous standing in front of Eddie's desk in the back of the shop with a folder clutched to his chest.

"What can I do for you, baby Byers?" Eddie's wearing his thick rimmed glasses and organising paperwork as it's the one day he doesn't take clients. But if Will's come in for a tattoo, then he'd drop everything and set up. He's been waiting for the day the kids come in and ask for a tattoo from him.

"Uhm, I'm sorry I didn't call first -"

"Psh, it's fine. You're always welcome here." Eddie says with a wave of his ring clad hand. Will eyes the fresh ink on the top of his hand, and Eddie grins. "Are you here for a tattoo?"

Will looks over his shoulder at Steve, who had spoken to Will quietly when he first came in, and he is met with an encouraging nod from the older man. Steve makes a shooing motion with his hand as if to say, 'Go on. You can do it.'

Eddie waits patiently and watches closely as Will sets the folder in his arms down on the desk. "I was actually wondering if you were looking for an apprentice. I-I want to be a tattoo artist like you."

Steve watches anxiously from behind the coffee counter as Eddie flicks through Will's portfolio without saying anything. He's the one that encouraged Will to bring his art in and if Eddie said no, which Steve doubts, Steve would feel so bad. He'd even paid for Will's bus tickets because the kid still doesn't know how to drive.

Eddie gently closes the folder and levels Will with a blank stare, "You're hired." And then he breaks out into the biggest smile ever and runs around his desk to crush a very stunned Will into a hug. "How long can you stay? I've always wanted an apprentice! Ah! I have so much to show you!"

All the nervousness and tension in Will's body disappears and he hugs Eddie back just as tight. He meets Steve's gaze over Eddie's shoulder and feels like crying when he sees the proud smile on his former babysitters face. He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Steve's encouragement. He'd stayed on the phone to Will the night before for hours comforting him and reassuring him it'd all be fine.

And it is fine, it's more than fine.

They turn the spare room upstairs into a bedroom for Will; they no longer need the extra room for Nancy as her and Robin have finally sorted their shit out and spend nearly every night together. Steve sometimes has to bang on their shared wall to tell them to stop giggling so loud.

By the end of the year, nearly everyone in the party has made their way through the doors of the shop to get a tattoo from both Eddie and Will. Steve's also been training Mike in the coffee shop because, "If you're gonna be in here all day, you may as well help out."

The photo collage is now overflowing with new photos from both Eddie and Will, who has been dubbed Eddie's successor.

#steve and eddie go on a little vacation and leave will and mike in charge of their little business #this came out of nowhere #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #st4 vol2 #steveddie #stranger things s4 #robin buckley #will byers

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moriwood · 1 month

Text

Mi Sei Mancato — p.sh

park sunghoon x male reader light angst 1.7k words

There’s no place in your small snowy village for a promising figure skater like Sunghoon. With his family’s increased visits to the city, it comes as no surprise when they announce their plan to send him overseas for professional training. What does he want to tell his closest friend before he leaves?

includes: written with a male mc but is actually gender neutral! and a lot of things happening in rapid succession woops warning: n/a

A thick layer of snow blankets the village, the serene winter stillness a familiar presence for most of the year. The rhythm of life in this tight-knit community is usually unhurried and undemanding, but today, everyone is out and about for the annual winter festival. In the heart of the village, next to the bonfire, a makeshift skating rink stands, where Sunghoon is one with the tunes of the tavern musicians, gliding across the ice with effortless grace.

Knowing Sunghoon since childhood, you’ve seen him outgrow the fringes of your small village. It feels like yesterday when you were kids, back when you would both slip and stumble on the ice, giggling as you kept losing your footing. But the years have certainly gone by, and his clumsy steps have now become effortlessly delicate. He’s gonna be a figure skater, he exclaimed, the first time he showed you a blade screwed into some boots that he bought in the city.

“Sunghoon-ie’s so talented, isn’t he?” you hear your mom gush, elbowing Sunghoon’s mom. “He should be competing overseas instead of indulging us here.”

The spark in Sunghoon’s eyes was always conspicuous, the way his face lit up talking about the Olympics, the applause, the medals, all that. You laughed it off then, thinking it was just some pipe dream of his; though watching him perform now, his spark seems to only grow brighter and hotter. Sunghoon is reaching for something bigger, an ambition that cannot be fulfilled in the confines of your village. He’s already a seasoned amateur champion, and with his family’s increasingly frequent travels to the city, you reckon that they’ve been meeting people who could further propel Sunghoon’s career as a budding athlete.

“We’ve been talking to some coaches in the city, actually,” Sunghoon’s mom reveals. “If all goes well, we might be sending him abroad to train for a while.”

Your mom gasps, pulling you closer to the two of them. “Has Sunghoon-ie told you about this?” she asks you.

You shake your head, making Sunghoon’s mom chuckle. “He’s too scared to say goodbye, I guess.”

As Sunghoon ends his performance and skates back to the sidelines, you meet his gaze. You silently agree with his mom. Other than his calculated movements on the ice is his calculated ambiguity recently, dodging questions on where he thinks his future lies. He gives you a tired smile, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “What y’all talking about?” he asks, huffing from exhaustion.

“Oh, I’ve told them about our plans,” Sunghoon’s mom replies.

Sunghoon’s grip on your shoulder tightens. “What plans?” he clarifies.

“You know what I’m talking about,” she waves her hand. “The offer, Sunghoon-ie.”

The warmth of the bonfire does little to ease the sudden chill brought by the winter breeze. You watch as Sunghoon’s gaze shifts between the four of you, a brief flicker of surprise before being replaced by something you can’t quite place. His grip on your shoulder loosens.

“Mom,” he searches for the right words, voice steady despite the tension. “We haven’t made any final decision yet. You shouldn’t have told them already.”

“We’re just waiting for the visa,” his mother insists, tone encouraging. “You’ve worked so hard for this. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

Your mom lightly punches Sunghoon’s arm. “Aigoo, it’s a great opportunity, Sunghoon-ie. Don’t waste it!”

Sunghoon goes back to smiling, one that you certainly know is uncomfortably strained. “It is. It is a great opportunity,” he nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ice beneath his feet. “Can we talk later?” he whispers to you.

—

As the night seeps in, the bonfire is down to its last embers. The lively chatter has toned down to ambient noise, with families returning to their homes to clean up. You find yourself near the frozen lake with Sunghoon. The silence between you is heavy. You walk in silence, the crunch of snow beneath your boots keeping you grounded.

This was where you two used to play around in. Surrounded by a small grove of trees at the edge of the village, it seems like this is now where you two will soon separate. For a long moment, neither of you says anything, both of you taking in the landscape that used to be the background to many of your stories together.

“Congrats,” you mumble, disrupting the silence.

“I’m sorry,” Sunghoon replies, voice barely above a whisper. “I should have told you earlier.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “I get it. You’re trying to figure out how to break it to us.”

“I won’t leave,” he declares. He’s bluffing. His parents would not go this far if their plans were anything but final.

You turn your head to him in incredulity. Sunghoon’s gaze is fixed to the ice beneath his feet. “That’s a stupid choice, Sunghoon, and you know that.”

“But I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of failing everyone.”

You let out a laugh, reaching to his gloved hand and gripping it gently. “Why’d you be scared of that? We’ll always be here rooting for you. You can’t stay here felling and bucking trees with the rest of us.”

“But what if everything changes?” his voice cracks, revealing a vulnerability you’ve never seen so openly before. “What if when I come back, nothing’s the same? What if I’m not the same?”

You sigh. “Whether you stay here or not, we’ll change. But we’ll always be here to welcome you with open arms.”

Sunghoon looks up at you, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s just… this place, these memories…”

He puts an arm behind your back and pulls you into an embrace. Your heart aches, the sincerity of it all making it hard to breathe. The weight of his impending departure looming over you only makes you more confused. He nestles his head on your shoulder.

“You’ll always have a place here,” you continue, “I mean, in my heart at least, you’ll always have a place.”

“Do I really?” he mumbles. You don’t reply, only tightening the embrace. “Why are you making it so hard for me to leave?” he whines.

“Why are you blaming me?” you chuckle. “I don’t want you to leave, but I also don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dream.”

“You’re not,” he raises his head and says firmly, pulling back to meet your eyes again. “You’re one of the reasons why I’m still chasing this dream. You’re a part of my dream now too, don’t you know?”

“You’re making it seem like you’re gonna wed me when you come back,” you grin.

“Oh, I will,” he replies, cupping your face in his hands. “I’ll visit here as much as I can. I’ll call you as much as I can. And when I get that gold medal, I’m running to you with a wedding ring.”

You search his face for any sign of humor or doubt, but all you see is that same determination that you’ve always admired in him. He’s serious about this confession, as much as it seems like a joke between best friends. And as you stand there, with snow falling softly around you and Sunghoon’s warm hands against your skin, you’re not against the idea.

“Then I’ll be here, waiting for you, cheering you on, no matter where you go,” you reply.

Sunghoon’s eyes light up and then, he leans in and presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet, even with your chapped lips. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmurs.

—

“Sunghoon Park!” the arena’s speakers echo, calling the final figure skater.

The crowd grows loud as Sunghoon steps onto the ice, expression calm and focused. This is the moment he’s been dreaming for years, after leaving his hometown and trading it for countless hours of training and perseverance. Despite his growth and maturity, you still see that young rural Sunghoon in the glint in his eyes. He is as nervous as he is excited to prove his talent on an Olympic scale.

The music starts, a jovial melody filling the arena. It’s a rendition of the village tunes, as if his performance is an homage to the youth he spent in that small town up in the mountains. Sunghoon begins his routine, immediately proving that he has become flawless. He is artistic yet mathematical, his skates carving perfect arcs into the ice. His spins are heavy and powerful, yet he goes back to floating across the ice like it’s nothing. Tears blur your vision as you clap for him, proud of what he has become.

He finishes heaving, face flushed with fatigue. But when he looks up into the stands, his eyes find yours immediately, and the smile that spreads across his face is enough to pay back the years he had spent without you.

Sunghoon lands on the top of the scoreboard, earning the gold medal. As the medal is draped around his neck, he looks so ready to leave. The national anthem plays, and as the flag is raised, he looks straight at you. As it ends, he steps down from the podium and runs straight towards you, medal still hanging around his neck and blades to his boots still attached. He reaches the barrier separating the ice from the stands and pulls a velvet box from his pocket. It seems like he hasn’t forgotten a promise from years ago.

“Come here,” he shouts, voice barely audible over the noise of the audience.

Without hesitation, you stand up and make your way down the stairs, glancing at the staff who seem more interested in the stunt than in the tons of security protocols that Sunghoon must be breaking right now. He reaches for your hand and pulls you close.

“Do you still remember?” he asks, voice loud and filled with emotion.

You nod, tears already flowing. “You said you’d win the gold and run to me with a wedding ring.”

“So will you marry me?”

“Yes, I will.”

He slips the ring onto your finger and the arena erupts to an even louder volume. His lips crash down on yours in a kiss that’s long been overdue. He then wraps his arms tightly around you, laughing.

“I’ve missed you,” he huffs, his breath misting in the cold air.

author's note: this one's for you @haocovr ! thank u for the compliments, sorry i took quite a while 🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️

the paris olympics is over but hey! the next winter olympics will be held in italy, so that’s why my title is that. :]

— moriwood.

#enhypen x male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #kpop fanfiction #enhypen x reader #park sunghoon x male reader #light angst #angst #fluff #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x male reader #mori fics

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riskyraiker · 7 months

Note

Hello!!! I hope you're doing well!! I would like to request cybertronian! Reader with like four arms and that's like the Queen or King of the battlefield in ancient Cybertron history (example: reader was the strongest Autobot ever in history and there's ancient data about reader and photos too ykyk what I'm getting👍🙏😭) and the reader then got summoned by Megatron or idk at that point but you can choose what happens!! :33 I hope this isn't too much😭

OH MY!!! I LOVE THIS!!! but reader is an autobot in this, please tell me if you want to see an decepticon version. You are a head taller than Megatron in this.

---------------------------------

You remembered everything about how you got killed, the crying before you lost your hearing, the optics looking in horror how the strongest autobot is about to die. Now? Nobody has any idea what happened, your body vanished before they started looking for it. Optimus carried your legacy as the one and last prime. He was your friend, but you didn't get to be friends that long. Since he was made so late and you met 10 years before the war started. It felt like you woke up immediately you fell down. Where am I? you think, but soon enough you hear a voice you recongize. Megatron. "The legend is real! Y/N! I have summoned you to help us decepticons to bring Cybertron back to life and rise as the Queen/King of the battlefields like you used to be!" used to? Used to?! "Since when I wasn't the Queen/King of the battlefields? And what do you mean summoned?" I put my upper hands on my waist and lower ones crossed. "You have been offline for quite a while, Y/N. Join us since I don't want to destroy such a fighter." What is he talking about? Before you could answer a spacebridge appeared. Well it's a groundbridge but you don't need to know that yet. Through the groundbridge walks Optimus Prime himself! "Orion?!" "OPTIMUS!" Both you and Megatron yelled. "Y/N DESTROY HIM!" Did he just order me around, used-to-be-low-level mech just ordered me around?! "Are you! GIVING ME! THE QUEEN/KING OF THE BATTLEFIELDS, ORDERS?" I jumped to attack Megatron, he dodged. Another swing and a hit aswell. Punching again, Megatron catched my servo, but is definitely struggling against all my strength. I almost forgot! I have four hands! You thought as you go and punch Megatron into his 'stomach'. You pick him up and throw him to the nearest cliff you see. "Y/n? It can't be." That low voice..turning around you look at the red n' blue mech. "Optimus?"

Optimus Prime

He missed you so much! So so so so much! No matter how emotionless he can be he definitely hugged you either at the spot where you two reunited or back at the base.

Before you were summoned and revived he used to look through your files. He always stared at the picture, trying to remember how you looked when he would do something smart or help them with something.

He would try (keyword! try) to spar with you as training, but he lost usually. (Much to his shock, he did think he was good at fighting.)

Would let you go alone to a mission (HOW) and lets you have fun with the kids every now and then.

He need help? You're there. He's losing to Megs? You're there to beat some decepticon aft.

He loves your four hands, anytime he would be hurt or just needs support all your hands would around him hugging him gently.

But in the battlefield? Oh oh I'm glad you asked. He doesn't know if he should be scared or proud to see you back in action. He is glad about that you would save him no matter what comes against.

Ratchet

He had heard about you when Cybertron still had life on it's surface.

He never believed you're real, until the moment he sees you.

Four arms!? He had to check them out (for science research of course) and see how they work, because he's a medic!

Anytime you would get wounded he's rushing over to you.

He would be against it that you would go on the battlefield. You ALWAYS have to confront him that you hold the title queen/king of the battlefield.

He does like how nice and helpful you are. Since you're the queen/king of the battlefield he didn't think you would be nice and help him around the lab.

If he needs an substitute for work when he needs rest you would take his place immediately for his sake.

Bumblebee

He would be a little scared of you since you beat Megatron so easily.

The moment you prove you wouldn't hurt any of the team he would be your son from now on.

You two always had each others backs.

He would love clinging on to one of your four arms.

He has any form of a problem? Don't worry you already know about it and you'll solve it.

If he would ever get hurt you would show the enemy why you hold the title as the queen/king of the battlefield

Before you arrived he used to read some datapads about you which he got from Optimus.

He would ask you to teach him how to fight.

Arcee

She would be amazed by the amount of arms you have, but won't show it until she trusts you.

Would trust you the moment you beat Megatrons aft in front of her optics, because none of the cons would dare to even poke him.

She would be grateful that you saved her and others in the Battlefield.

Would be surprised to find some old files of you and would be more shocked to read them.

You both are badass in Jack's opinion.

Since you know how awful it's to lose a partner in the team you won't question her or how untrusting she is.

If she would get hurt in the middle of a fight you would carry her with one of your hands and fight others.

Bulkhead

He would admire you and your strength. You just beat Megatron with ease!

He had heard rumours about someone like you when he was a wrecker back in Cybertron, but never believed them until now.

He always wants to go in battles with you to see how ruthless is the queen/king of the battlefields.

He was in trouble and cornered by vehicons in a energon mine? Those vehicons looked like they belonged in a scrapyard after you attacked them.

He would be a fanboy with wheeljack and praise the ground you walk on.

Training? Hell yea he would be in. Until he loses every single time.

Wheeljack

Oh oh don't even get me started!

Would hate you, but love your fighting style at the same time.

"pshh, show off." Could be heard anytime you and him were in the battlefield the same time.

You did start to grow on him. Suddenly you weren't so bad in fighting, suddenly you weren't such a show off, suddenly he seemed to like your presence.

Now? You two are the destructive duo.

Ratchet would be worried about you more than wheeljack.

"ouch, that just broke my spark docbot." He was definitely kicked in his aft after that.

He would go on drives with you so he could get to know you better. (Surprisingly since he's such a loner)

Smokescreen

He would run over to you the moment you walk into the base.

"YOU'RE REAL?!" apparently he has read about you before.

You wouldn't have any privacy for a week since he's like a golden retriever who clings to you 24/7

He would be flabbergasped how somebots in the team didn't trust you yet. "They're the strongest Autobot in history! Let's keep them, pleeeease!"

Like I said already. He's such a golden retriever. He needs your attention, he needs you to teach him fighting etc.

Now you're his new mom too! You got two new sons! Yippee i guess?

When he sees you in action, he has star eyes. You know when he talks about it when optimus first uses the star saber? He talks like that but even more excited!

Ultra Magnus

Has high respect for you, but would hate how reckless you can be with wheeljack.

He would give you a lecture, but it falls through deaf audio receptors.

The moment he sees you in action he would doubt you less.

He knew that you used to exist, well now that you're actually alive he can't help but feel a little bit relieved that the autobots have the upperhand.

If you would call him Sir he would let you off easier.

Was surprised when he lost his hand that you supported him best you can. He didn't think that the queen/king of the battlefields could be so soft.

Denied it when you suggested that he's your adopted grumpy son, since he's always so worried about you. (He is your son now, but doesn't let the team know)

-------------------------------------------

AN: I HOPE YOU LIKED IT AND I APOLOGIZE THAT IT TOOK SO LONG. I HAD A CAMP AND NOW SCHOOL IS STARTING SO I WAS BUSY😭😭🫶

#tfp x reader #bumblebee x reader #optimus prime x reader #ratchet x reader #tfp arcee #ultra magnus x reader #autobots x reader #smokescreen x reader #bulkhead x reader #wheeljack x reader

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sports-on-sundays · 6 months

Note

hii <3 i have a request for an hector fort one shot. basically he has a crush/is in love with reader but shes few years older than him… she doesnt want to admit her feelings for him because she doesnt date younger boys and thinks it isn’t right. in then end hector makes her realize her feelings or sth like that . thank you if youre going to write this, take Your time anyway <3 have a nice day/evening idk whats Your time zone lol !!

it isn't right / Héctor Fort

Summary: Héctor x adult!female!Barcelona videographer!reader - Description above.

Warnings: blood

Requested?: Yes.

Author's Note: I decided at the end, his birthday passes, just because that felt like it should happen, so that they're both adults. Other than that, thank you.

Héctor kind of refuses to call it a crush.

Because a crush sounds too immature. It sounds like just a little kid crush, that doesn't really matter.

But it does matter, and it's more than just a crush.

Héctor is sure he really does love you.

"Mate, but there's no way," Marc comments, crossing his arms as he walks onto the training pitch with Héctor. "She's, like, so much older than you."

"Not really," Héctor comments in annoyance.

"Do you know how old she is?"

"Yeah!"

"How?"

Héctor glares, embarrassed. "I asked her."

"You did? When? And what did she say?" Marc asks, eyebrows shooting up.

"I don't know... A couple weeks ago. She just told me, and said she just had her birthday."

"Oh. So...? How old is she?"

Héctor glances at his football boots. "Twenty-one."

"Pwoah! Yeah, and you're seventeen!"

"Four years! It's only four years!"

"What year would that be? She was born in 2002? At least she's not from the 90's... Then she'd be really old."

"Yeah, because twenty-five or twenty-six is really old, right?" Héctor comments in disbelief at his teammate.

"Just saying," Marc shrugs. "Either way, you should go for girls your age. You've got no chance with her. She's too pretty, anyway."

"You're saying I'm not good looking?!"

Marc grins. "You're putting words in my mouth!"

"Well, I'll prove you wrong. I'll make her like me. You'll see. I'm going to go talk to her right now."

"Alright. If you say so," Marc comments with an eye roll as he continues walking.

So you look up from your camera to see Héctor approaching you. You smile. You've had a few short conversations with him, and you have to admit, he's sweet. "Hey, Héctor."

He smiles back, blushing a little.

You're not stupid. You've picked up that he's got a little crush on you.

"Hey, Y/n," he says, putting his hand on your shoulder. You glance to it, but pay that no mind as he continues, "How are you?"

"Good, and you?"

"Good... I... can I ask you something?"

You chuckle. "Shoot, Héctor."

"Do you.. Would you say I'm, like, good looking?"

You grin a little. "I think most football players are."

"But, like, me. Specifically...?" he pushes.

You smile. "You're alright." You really do like Héctor. You think he's sweet, and if he were a bit older, he's definitely the type of guy you could see yourself falling for.

But he's just...

He's still so young. You don't even let yourself consider those feelings, because you know that would be wrong. He's not even an adult yet.

"Just alright?" he leans closer.

"Do you want me to tell you you're handsome?"

"I want you to be honest," he grins.

"Why do you think I'm not being honest?" you inquire, turning back to your camera. His hand remains on your shoulder.

"I don't know..."

"Alright, Héctor. You're handsome."

"You're not just saying that?"

"No, I'm not," you respond casually. He remains there awkwardly, just standing there, so you look up at him, meeting his eyes, and say, "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Uh, date me?" he suddenly blurts.

You snort, but feel your face heat a bit. "You're basically twelve. Ew."

"I'm seventeen! And you just turned twenty-one, anyway! You're not that much older."

"So someone is just a little stuck on me," you state.

"So what?" he says in annoyance.

You sigh, your eyes softening. "Listen, Héctor. I like you a lot. You're sweet, and kind. But I simply can't date a seventeen-year-old. That goes against my conscience. It's not right. We can be friends, but that's it."

He grins, but there's still a bit of disappointment in his eyes. "I mean, hey. Friends is better than nothing... right?"

"Right," you smile. "Now, you better get to training. You're not paid to talk to me."

He rolls his eyes but runs off to do just that.

"Wow, Héctor... This is so nice..." you say softly as you look around the restaurant you sit in. You and Héctor have been hanging out more, going out places, but every single time, you're sure to remind him it's not a date.

"I figured you'd like it here," Héctor says with pride, crossing his arms across his chest.

You're aware of how much he tries to impress you.

And sometimes it works, but you try not to let him know.

As you eat, he slowly inches his hand towards yours, and slips it on top. But you slip it out, saying, "I reckon friends don't typically do that for no reason, huh, Héctor?" You grin teasingly, rolling your eyes.

He laughs, his cheeks reddening a bit. "Whatever."

You continue eating, and talking, just about life. There's a lot of teasing between you two that you're not ready to admit is flirting.

You've trained your mind to only think about Héctor when he's in front of you, because otherwise, you'd find yourself falling for a seventeen-year-old, and you simply will not let that happen.

You and some of Héctor's other friends are on the beach, playing an epic sand volleyball tournament by the lovely expanse of cool light blue water.

Of course, Héctor made sure to be on the same team as you.

Your long hair has grains of sand in it, and your knees are a little red, but you don't care. You're having the time of your life.

When you take off your tank top in the heat so you're just wearing your swim top, you catch Héctor's eye and snap. "Hey, buddy! Keep your focus! It's your serve!"

He blushes and looks away, before serving.

It's quite a bad serve, and goes straight into the grass on the other end of the net.

You catch his eyes and teasingly stick out your tongue as he argues, "We're on the same team!" with a little laugh.

But then, you run for the ball a few volleys later, slide, hit it up, but have a little tumble, gently hit your head on the pole that holds up the volleyball net, and up laying on your back, staring up at the blue sky, eyes glazed over in confusion.

But only for a moment, before Hector's concerned eyes come into view. Immediately he's there, kneeling by you. "Are you okay?" he asks, putting his hand on your arm.

"Yeah... yeah, I am. I think so..." You feel a bit of a sting below your hairline on your forehead, so you drag your hand over it, and stare in horror when you bring your hand back down to see it covered in blood.

You scream.

"Hey, hey... Looks just like a gash," Héctor says immediately in a soothing tone, giving your arm a little rub. "Come on." He hold his hand out to you to help you up. "I'll help you clean it up in the bathroom."

"Should we keep playing without you guys?" one of Héctor's friends calls as you walk with him toward the bathroom slowly, kind of in a daze.

"Yeah!" Héctor calls back. "We'll be back in a few."

When in the bathroom, you immediately rinse your hand as Héctor begins gently wiping up your forehead, asking gently, "Does it hurt a lot...?"

"No..." you say softly, looking at yourself in the mirror. "Just a little sting... It was just the blood, I think..."

He nods. "The shock of seeing all that blood."

"Right. Exactly," you say with a shaky sigh.

"Just looks like a cut that's bleeding a lot. You'll be a okay," he reassures, and although you could have just told yourself that, it's nice to have someone else saying it. "Just need it to stop bleeding as much, and then we can go back, and I'll get you a Band-Aid for it."

"You thought to bring Band-Aids?" you ask, surprised.

"I somehow remembered, yeah," he chuckles. But then his cheeks redden as he adds, "I mean, it's good I did, in the end. That way, I can take care of you..." His hand gently strokes your arm.

"Shut up, Héctor," you respond, looking away from him in the mirror to shield him from seeing the stupid pinkness on your cheeks. "You realize I could have taken care of myself just fine. I don't need a seventeen-year-old taking care of me."

"Sure," he grins, "but one did, regardless."

You sigh and roll your eyes as he continues to dab at your cut. Once the bleeding has stopped enough to not be dripping blood, he takes your hand and leads you out of the bathroom, saying, "I'll seal this up with a Band-Aid now."

You almost forget to slip your hand back out of his.

When you reach the beach chairs, where the Band-Aids Héctor brought will be, he gently urges you to sit down. You do so, and he kneels in front of you, looking into your eyes. He brushes some hair off your forehead gently, away from the wound, before putting the Band-Aid on it, saying, "There you go! All better." He gives your bare thigh a little pat, which makes your face heat up.

"Héctor, keep your hands to yourself," you say rudely, but he doesn't take offense, and just continues, "Feel better enough to keep playing?"

You nod and stand up with him, walking toward the volleyball court again.

Héctor had a bunch of friends over for his birthday.

Eighteen.

It leaves you with some questions.

He's older, now.

Legally, an adult.

And clearly Héctor has some questions, too, because for a moment, he whispers in your ear, "Will you be able to stay a little longer? After everyone else has left?"

You blink a few times, and can't help but blush. "That's fine. We can do that."

He nods, looking relieved. "Alright. Good. Let's do that."

So later, after a fun couple of hours, you watch the last of Héctor's friends leave.

So only the two of you remain.

He gently takes your hand, and you sit down on the couch together. "So," he begins. "I'm eighteen. I'm an adult now."

You nod slowly. "You are. Look at how much you've grown up," you tease, grinning.

He squeezes your hand. You stare at the two hands, connected. He smiles a bit, saying, "You've had all these months, of really getting to know me."

"I know," you smile. "And I think I like you."

He nods. "Enough...?"

"Enough for what?"

"I know I'm so much younger than you. But think about it. Now I'm eighteen. Eighteen and twenty-one is fine. I mean, Vitor's wife is older than him! He's eighteen!"

You smile softly. "Yeah, that's a good point."

"So?"

"So what?" you grin.

"Would you date me now?"

"Maybe I would," you say softly, feeling butterflies a little.

He grins wider. "Come on. Just say it. I know you like me back."

"Sure, Héctor," you roll your eyes. "I like you back."

He grins, and suddenly hugs you tightly- not what you were expecting, but you didn't know what to expect. "Oh, thank goodness," he mutters. "I've been waiting to hear you say that for months..."

You grin and hug him tighter back, "Yeah, yeah," you say, ruffling his hair. "I'm sure you have been."

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seeingivy · 1 year

Text

rule breaker

satoru gojo x f!reader

**read the other one’s here

in which, you, megumi, and tsumiki reunite with satoru after nineteen days, remembering your old family rules

content warning: JJK MANGA SPOILERS!!

You, Tsumiki, and Megumi have dinner together every night. While it had been years since you all still lived together - with Tsumiki and Megumi living at Jujutsu Tech - the three of you had been spending more time together as of late. While the occasion that brought you all together like this was horrible, you relish in their presence, your kids back in your home. You feel the need to keep them close, so you don’t lose them too.

Satoru has been locked up for nineteen days. You’re not sure when he’ll come back. You’re not sure if he’ll come back. You’ll wait anyways.

You shake the thought from your head, zoning back into the conversation Megumi and Tsumiki were having. They were talking about taking down the Halloween decorations that you and Satoru had put up before he left for Shibuya.

The four of you were supposed to spend that night together, watching a scary movie and pranking the trick or treaters in the neighborhood. You and Tsumiki waited all night for him and Megumi to burst in, with a stash of Halloween candy they swiped from a kid and a corny DVD in hand.

That day didn’t come. Instead, Megumi came empty handed and alone, tears streaming down his eyes as he told you Satoru would not be returning that night. Or at all for that matter. For the first time since he was a kid, Megumi cried. You hardened at the sight of him, pushing your own feelings away to rise to the occasion of taking care of the both of them once again.

Everyone was trying their best to be there for the three of you. The second years came by often, bringing desserts Satoru had mentioned he loved. Shoko slept in your bed with you every night, so you didn’t have to feel his absence. Nanami took to training Megumi, continuing the work Satoru had started. But, you were fine. In fact, you hadn’t even cried yet. You had to be there for Megumi and Tsumiki first. They can’t come to you if you’re the one crumbling at the seams.

This made everyone more concerned than anything. It seemed like everyone was waiting for you to explode, a ticking time bomb to when you’ll finally cry. You could feel Tsumiki and Megumi behind you, whispering behind your back. But said moment has not come. And it wasn’t going to.

As you pick up the empty plates on the table, Tsumiki and Megumi start taking out the dessert they picked out from earlier. They had opted for a plain, white frosted cake for today. In Satoru’s absence, the three of you realized the only person who brought sweets into the house for everyone was him. If someone didn’t bring the three of you dessert, the three of you went out of your way to get some. You were eating for him.

Megumi knocks the fridge close, balancing the pink box and the plates in his hand. In his force - you’re not sure when he became so strong - he knocks all the magnets off of the fridge.

You nod him off, reaching to pick up the papers that were pinned to the fridge. You freeze at the sight of one of the pictures lying on the floor. From years past, the picture is of you, Satoru, Tsumiki, and Megumi in your kitchen, a white sheet cake with congratulations megumi written in pale blue frosting.

You stay frozen on the ground, clutching the picture between your hands. You can hear your blood rushing through your ears, your heart pounding in panic. You’re brought back to that night, the first time the four of you set down your family rules.

Megumi and Tsumiki join you, their voices not reaching your ears. They take the picture from your hands as your tears start to fall on the floor. You’re sobbing. He’s really gone. He’s not coming back. He’s breaking the promise he made you.

“Do you guys remember the rules?” you whisper, turning to both of them.

They both nod, Tsumiki’s eyes welling up at the sight of you on the floor. Megumi’s expression is stone cold, his throat straining.

“First, Tsumiki has to do whatever I say.” whispers Megumi, clutching the photo in his fingertips.

You and Tsumiki laugh in response, your tears flowing even harder.

“First real rule is no more fighting for Megumi. You can’t punch someone every time you’re mad at them.” Tsumiki responds, wiping her salty tears off her face with the back of her hand.

“Second, we all stay together, no matter what.” you whisper.

Megumi finally breaks, the words getting to him at these words. The three of you are clutching each other on the ground of the kitchen floor, holding one another close. Any feelings you had been building up, holding down in the past nineteen days, come to the surface at this moment.

“Asshole. He broke his promise.”

You reach for him, wiping the tears off the side of his cheek. You can tell he’s angry, livid even but not at Satoru. It’s not hard to tell that he blames himself for not bringing Satoru home to you.

“Third rule, no one leaves without saying goodbye.” responds Tsumiki.

“You left a part out.” you say, lightly laughing amongst your tears.

“Shut up, Mom.”

In a way, it felt wrong that Satoru wasn’t here for you to stick it to him. He needs to know Megumi has called you Mom more times than he’s called Satoru Dad. You have to laugh at him, wait for him to pout about how you were the kids favorite and it wasn’t fair.

“Mama’s boy, through and through.” says Tsumiki, mimicking Satoru’s whining voice.

The three of you clip the photo back into its respective magnet, huddling together to stare at the photo. They both wrap their arms around you, their heads leaning on to yours.

“You forgot one.”

The three of you turn around, eyes still wet from the tears. You blink a few times, making sure your tearful eyes aren’t deceiving. Satoru Gojo is standing in your kitchen, alive and intact. Free from his prison. Smiling at you.

“Fifth rule, everyone calls me daddy from now on.” he says, a tired smile plastered on his face.

The three of you laugh, shocked at the sight of him your kitchen. He’s really here. He’s here and he’s making his stupid immature jokes. You move forward, apprehensively and rest your hand against the side of his cheek. He’s here. He’s back. You can see him, touch him, feel him. He’s really back.

He pushes you into his embrace, crushing you in his arms. You feel his heart thumping against your ear, welcoming his familiar musky smell again. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, before letting you go to do the same to Megumi and Tsumiki.

“Will you guys always laugh at my jokes now?” he says, holding the three of you in his arms, looking down at you with his bluer than blue eyes.

“Yeah, yeah old man.” responds Megumi, resting his head against Satoru’s shirt. You remember the last time he did it, when his arm was all stitched up in that Emergency Room.

“You better. I’ll get myself trapped in a box again if you don’t.” he responds.

The three of you frown up at him, angry faces plastered across your faces. You smack the backside of his head for even saying something that stupid.

“I’m kidding, obviously. You guys wound me.”

Your heart glows at the familiarity of his words. The four of you settle onto the table, pulling out the dessert that Megumi had retrieved earlier that day. You fix the plain white sheet cake, muster out some frosting to write welcome back satoru on the cake in pale blue frosting. You set your phone up across the counter, snapping another picture. The four of you are teary eyed and pink in the face, but you decide it’ll make another great addition to your fridge.

When you hand Megumi a piece, he takes it and immediately smashes it into the side of Satoru’s face. The three of you feign shock, confused as to why he just squashed a perfectly good into Satoru’s hair.

“Is this how you treat your father? After I raised you? Carried you in my own two hands?” he scoffs, feigning hurt.

“You got me when I was five. I could already walk at that point, Satoru.” deadpans Megumi, wiping the excess frosting off his hands.

“What gives, Megs? He just got back.” you ask him, handing him a new slice.

“He broke a rule. Punishment. Retribution. Discipline.”

You see Satoru’s narrow his eyes at Megumi, prodding his fingers into his cheek. Megumi swats him away, which only goads Satoru on more. He gets up from his chair, attempting to hug (attack) Megumi in his arms.

“Dad, get off.” responds Megumi, finally pushing Satoru’s swatting hands away.

The four of you pause, turning up to face Megumi. He swallows, looking nervously at the three of you. You swear the tips of his ears are pink. He just called Satoru Dad. He hasn't called him Dad in years. You see a smile grow across Satoru’s face, feeling bad for how much Megumi is about to be teased about this But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Satoru has tears falling out of his eyes. Actual tears. The three of you face him, dumbfounded by his reaction. In all his days, you had never seen him cry. It didn’t suit him, looking wrong on his permanent smiley face.

“I’m sorry, kid. I’ll try not to break the rules again. You’re the only family I have.” he whispers, clearing the tears with the back of his hand.

You and Tsumiki move towards him, crushing him into a hug. While you had been focusing on how hard this entire ordeal had been for the three of you, you never thought once to what Satoru had been thinking in that box. You think back to the guilt you felt when Satoru and Megumi crashed when they were coming back to get you, your heart crushing at the thought of him feeling the same.

Megumi moves to join your hug, the three of you making space for him.

“Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“Okay, kid. I promise.”

#gojou satoru x you #gojo satoru #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satorou #jujutsu gojo #jjk #jjk gojo #jjk x y/n #jjk x #jjk x reader #jujutsu megumi #megumi #fushiguro tsumiki #seeingivywrites!

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pearlsinmyhair · 1 year

Text

₊ ⊹ the price of the name.

synopsis: reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

warnings: some calm before the storm. miguel won’t compromise his morals. diet angst. cursing.

platonic!miguel x daughter-like!reader. no seriously, reader is eighteen and young. this is found family, not romantic. training begins, and with miguel it is anything but easy. but sometimes he softens.

part i

word count: 2k

part ii: star girl

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　

“there are a lot of things you’re going to have to keep up with.” miguel said to you as you both walked through the halls of the spider society. you didn’t miss the glances and stares as you passed, and it made you shift closer to him.

he glanced down at you before glaring at a spider who stared a bit too hard, and they scrambled away.

“excuse their attention, i don’t usually take on apprentices.” he said simply as he continued walking. you had to practically run to keep up with his long legs.

“rule number one, keep up. i don’t need a kid dragging me down on missions or runs around the base. you’re eighteen, you can handle that.” he said without looking at you. you had to fight the urge to scoff at that. did he even realize how fast he was walking?

“rule number two, you have to protect your universe just as much as others. you are the only spider woman of universe 348, so you need to be vigilant.”

he glanced back at you again before saying.

“rule number three, you have to keep your grades up.”

you paused at that, your step faltering. “excuse me?”

“you heard me. you need to stay sharp, and not just in your training.” he hovered his hand over the key reader to the training area, and the doors opened with a soft hiss.

she had figured that he was insanely smart in some subject, as all spider people were, but she hadn’t figured it out quite yet. she’d only known him for a week.

“okay, fine. i’ll keep my grades up. anything else?” she asked as she looked around at the various equipment around the gym, all high tech and sparkly.

“yep. rule number four, when i say jump, you say…” he looked at you pointedly.

“how…high?”

“good job, you understand one of the most universal phrases. now run a lap.” he said, putting his hands on his hips and nodding to the track.

you stood still, not quite used to miguel’s pentient for sarcasm. he snapped his fingers in front of your face.

“c’mon kid, out of the clouds. jump.”

you rolled your shoulders, letting out a sigh as you began to jog.

this was going to be so much fun.

₊ ⊹

as weeks passed, you were beginning to realize just how much of an oddity yours and miguel’s partnership was.

the spider society had begun to call you ‘star girl’. the name laced both awe and envy.

it was loosely based on your suit, you were sure. it was blue with a few little stars trailing down it to add ambiance. but it was also linked to rarity.

the looks did not fade as time passed. and some looks of curiosity hardened into ones of jealously.

miguel was the unofficial leader of the spider society, and he was a hard man to please. many spiders gunned for your position, wanting even just a nod from him. but they got nothing. most of them were lucky if they ever got a single word out of him at all.

you would argue that their idea of miguel was tainted by rose colored glasses.

getting morsels of praise from him was great, partially because you knew he meant it when he said it. but every thing else?

“you need to be quicker. one day you might need that second to sling a web to safety or save a civilian. you can never afford to be slow, y/n.”

“again. your right hook is still too weak. you can’t always rely on webs.”

“kick your leg higher.”

“your webbing aim is still lacking, kid.”

“again.”

you had never been worked so hard.

it all piled into one training session of hand to hand combat.

there was always one rule when they were on the mat: no hitting faces.

no kicks. no punches. no slaps. no webs.

so instead, miguel would catch your blows with his hands, allowing you to throw punch after punch into his palms, correcting your positioning and your power everytime.

“it’s still really weak, kid. again.” he said, taking a step back, widening his stance once more in preparation for your punch.

but you didn’t move. you had been getting worse and worse as the lesson went, completly lost and confused as miguel kept dismissing each of your attempts.

“i don’t know how.” you murmured.

“quit pouting and try again. if you give up this quickly in an actual fight, you’ll fail. do. it. again.” he demanded, unaware of how tears pricked your eyes in frustration.

“i said i don’t know how!” you yelled, voice cracking pathetically halfway through.

miguel actually took a step back at your outburst, eyes widening slightly. for a moment, you expected him to bite back, or send you home. but when he didn’t reply, you kept going.

“i don’t know how, miguel. you tell me again, but i don’t know how to correct it. i need you to show me, not just tell me.” you said softly, suddenly embarrassed and a little frightened at his silence.

he swallowed, and his expression softened.

“go…go get a drink of water, then i’ll show you.” he said, blinking as he glanced away from you.

you had to fight off the urge to raise your own brows, instead using this rare moment of mercy to chug down water from one of the bottles on the side.

when you stepped back on the mat, miguel stood beside you, showing you exactly how to hold your fist, then how to move your arm.

when he stood in front of you again, holding his hand up in preparation, you threw your fist with as much force as you could muster.

the resounding slap made you cringe, and you opened one eye to check miguel’s expression.

the asshole looked bored.

“still didn’t hurt.” he deadpanned, and you responded by shoving him. he took a step back, a move that would not be possible unless he allowed it.

“you didn’t let me finish. it didn’t hurt, but it was better.” he said, pushing your forehead with his pointer finger.

you smiled, happy that at least you were improving.

and to your surprise, miguel gave you a small smile of his own.

₊ ⊹

after that practice, miguel’s whole training model changed.

now four months later, he met you at the entrance to his office, fiddling with his watch until a glowing portal opened up. when you raised a brow at him, he simply stepped into the portal, not bothering to tell you to follow.

when you exited the in-between of the universes, you were surprised to find that you were in a massive forest full of trees as tall as buildings.

without so much as an introduction, miguel shot a web and swung away from you.

“hey! what the hell, mig?” you shouted, struggling to swing beside him.

he glared at you. “never, ever, call me that. and we’re working on your swinging today.”

you glared right back, fumbling to keep your balance in the new setting. “no shit. but did you have to leave me?”

he smirked, flashing his canines at you when you almost fell. “expect the unexpected, y/n. i thought i taught you better.”

you scoffed, before once again nearly dropping.

miguel reached a hand out to you on instinct, but you recovered your balance.

“okay, let’s start easy. swing and fwip.” he said, murmuring the words as you mimicked his actions.

you smiled at him as you got the hang of your new surroundings. “did you get pointers from peter b?”

his face became grim. “do not dare mention that mans name. it summons him.”

you chuckled at that, before you pulled your web hard and swung your body into a backflip.

“see, i’m not entirely incompetent.” you told miguel, continuing to swing with him as he gave you small pointers.

“i’m aware. but i need you to be in top shape for when you go on a mission soon.”

you stopped shooting webs, pausing and dropping to the leaf-covered ground.

miguel circled and landed before you.

“are you telling me i’m ready?” you asked, looking up at him in disbelief.

“i’m telling you that i think you can handle slight anomalies. nothing big yet, just little disturbances.” he said, keeping his expression blank.

you bounced on your toes, chewing at your lip in excitement.

four months of training, and you’d be in the field.

you fought down the urge to whoop in celebration, or jump, or something. this was miguel after all. he didn’t appreciate sudden expressions of joy in his general vicinity.

so instead you settled for a sincere “thank you.”

he nodded sagely, fwipping back up to the trees.

and you followed, shooting webs and flipping, eager to sharpen your technique.

because of this, you missed the proud smile across miguel’s face.

₊ ⊹

you opened the door to your bedroom, eager to get your suit off and shower when you spotted the white box on your bed.

it was unassuming, plain except for a small message written in absurdly neat handwriting.

‘star girl’

you glanced around your room, even going so far as to ask lyla to scan it. calling on her was something you didn’t do too often. even though she was an a.i., it still felt like she was a person and that you were annoying her.

the projected woman granted your wishes, turning to you to tell you that all was well. she wore a secretive smile across her digital lips as she looked at you, then the box.

you glanced at the cardboard.

“you know something.” you said, tone suspicious as you tried to study lyla for answers.

she shrugged. “best way to know is to open it.” she replied before disappearing into a cloud of pixels.

you shuffled over to the box, tracing the edge of it before lifting one corner. you glanced inside and promptly slammed the top shut.

no fucking way.

there was absolutely no way.

you took a step back, turning your back to the box.

you couldn’t accept that.

but it was left on your bed. with your nickname on it.

you sucked your teeth as you turned back and fully opened the box.

inside it sat a beautiful midnight-blue spider suit with flecks of white stars all along it. you lifted the body of the suit up by the armpits, studying the way that the webs along it became geometric like constellations.

the white lines around the sides and waist glittered and flickered.

nanotechnology.

only one person had the materials to do this. and only one would have the courage to give it to you.

miguel.

you clutched the suit to your chest, fighting the raw emotion that caught in your throat.

you told him how much you loved the stars, explaining each and every constellation you had included on your suit.

you flipped the fabric in your hands to check.

cassiopeia on the ribs. canis major on the base of your foot. orion tangled in the spider symbol on the chest.

he would never give it to you in person. no, that would be far too informal, far to unprofessional.

so you sat in your room, biting your lip to fight back tears as you stood in your empty house, holding the glittering gift to your body like a vice.

you wondered how many nights he had spent making this. he had told you how hard his suit was to make, how tedious the process was. and he had done it all again.

for you.

fuck being unprofessional. you wished that he had given it to you in person anyway.

“lyla?”

“yes, y/n? are you alright, hun?”

“can you tell miguel-” you swallowed as a tear trailed down your cheek. “can you tell miguel thank you? like, really thank you?”

“…of course, hun. get some rest.”

you sank to your knees in the quiet of your dead house and sobbed, wishing for all the world that someone was here.

masterlists | part iii

yeah it seems pretty wholesome rn, huh?

would be a shame if someone…changed that.

tag list:

@ladyfairenvale

#miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #daughter!reader #dad!miguel o’hara #miguel ohara x reader

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