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acourtofwhatthefuck · 7 months

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Practice On Me — Part Four — Azriel x Reader

Summary: It’s Solstice! Reader decides she should probably be honest with Azriel about some stuff. Things don’t quite go to plan.

Oof. Okay. This could be uncomfortable reading for some. There are some hints and depictions of domestic abuse and also of alcoholism, so if that’s something that might trigger you, please, please do not read this. The last thing I want is for my writing to be harmful to anybody. Read with caution. Take care and put yourself first. Lots of love.

Also, please don’t hate me for this 😭we know I’m a hoe for angst and it wouldn’t be one of my fics if there wasn’t some sprinkled in there lmao.

Word Count: 5k.

Warnings: Depiction of abusive behaviour. Heavy drinking. Some violence.

On a brisk winter morning, when the sun hasn’t yet graced the sky, the last place you wish to be is at the Windhaven crèche, watching over a group of tired, grouchy younglings. Every second thought that passes through your mind is a longing one, lamenting on how desperately you wish to be back in your bed.

But alas, you owe your friend, Vegha, a favour, making you the sole minder of ten restless little girls, all annoyed that their brothers get to join their fathers for training, while they have to stay back and be…girls. A downfall, according to most Illyrian males.

You’re supposed to be watching over them for a couple of hours while Vegha runs an errand. And that time is going very, very slowly.

You’re in the middle of reading a storybook — and, yes, doing all the voices — when the door opens behind you. You feel a glimmer of hope that perhaps Vegha is back earlier than planned, but when you swivel on the child-sized chair you’ve perched yourself on, it’s Azriel who looms in the doorway.

And you…your heart does a silly little thing in your chest.

“Don’t let me interrupt.” He says. “I can wait.”

Your eyebrows flick up in amusement. “Come take a seat, then. It’s story time.”

His lips twitch, and he goes to reach for one of those infant chairs — which you’re not at all sure can handle all his muscle — but this sparks a flurry of complaints from the girls, who all insist that they want to sit with Azriel the most, and within seconds, he’s cross-legged on the floor with the children somehow managing to settle around him without bickering, and they’re all able to command his attention at once.

Happy mediums, and all that.

Your gaze lingers on him as he does all the right things; leaning his head down so he can appear less…huge, while listening with rapt attention to one of the girl’s chattering; steadying another one as they climb over him to get themselves seated; gently telling them all that they have to be quiet if they want to hear the rest of the story. That, of course, achieves immediate near silence.

And thus begins an entire performance of you continuing the tale, and the girls — and Azriel — responding in all the right places. They howl when they’re supposed to make the sound of a wolf, and roar when it’s a mountain cat, and you don’t miss that Azriel helps the tiniest of the girls to remember which animals make what sounds.

Most males in this gods-forsaken place are an intimidating presence to these children, frightening them into silence whenever they’re around, because girls are supposed to be seen and not heard. But Azriel is always gentle, always kind, and they adore him for it.

It’s a combination of all these things that force you to face a truth that’s been rapidly snowballing inside your mind and heart for the past four days — something has changed. Shifted. Has been shifting and changing for a while.

You laid awake for hours that night in the dormitory, listening to Azriel’s breathing as he slept deeply, happily sated from the pleasure you’d given him. Your mind had been too much of a war zone for you to drift off.

Nine years, you’ve called this male your closest friend. Ever since the very first day you’d met him, when a group of males had pushed you to the floor and kicked mud at you, and he’d jumped in and defended you for no other reason than that he’s good to the bone. Nine years, you’ve been by each other’s sides, and it’s been comfortable and familiar and just…right.

But now — now, you think you may have jeopardised that all by going along with Azriel’s request for help. Help with kissing. Touching. Experiencing.

You’ll always want to help him in any way that you can, of course. But you didn’t quite anticipate the predicament you now find yourself in. That you want all of those things and more, not just under the ruse of building your friend’s confidence. You want to explore more with him, feel more with him. You’ve been able to think about nothing else for days.

And it might make you a total wretch, but you want Kaeda to be a distant memory. The thought of Azriel taking what you’ve shown him, shared with him, and putting his all into somebody else…it sours your stomach. Makes you feel sick.

Makes your heart hurt.

And, well, you’re fucked, really.

It’s a kind of hurt that won’t go away on its own. It isn’t avoidable nor ignorable. And so your only option is to confront it, be honest about it. Whatever the outcome may be.

The story comes to an end, and the girls are calmed and sleepy enough that they look ready to curl up on the floor and doze off. Azriel peels himself away from the cluster of clingy children and stands up, strolling over to you.

“Well that was fun.” He comments quietly, taking the book from your hands. “Who knew I was so adept at doing animal impressions?”

“One of your many talents, I suppose.” You smile, drinking in the sight of him. He looks tired this morning. Tired, but beautiful. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His expression sobers slightly, and he tells you, “We’re leaving this morning. For the training exercise.”

Immediately, your stomach churns. Being away from your friends sets you on edge. Windhaven is a lonely, lonely place to be without the love of Rhys, Cassian and Azriel to warm you. And not even Rhys’s mother is here to make it a little more bearable.

Az immediately recognises the bleakness that passes your face. He steps closer, his hand a gentle brush against yours. “I’ll be back for Solstice.” He reminds you yet again.

“I know.” You attempt to force an easy, breezing smile. “What’s the plan for Solstice, anyway?”

Normally, Rhysand’s mother would cook a meal in the cottage. You wouldn’t be able to attend, given that you’re always stuck at home with your father, but by the time he would pass out drunk, you’d sneak out and make it to the cottage just as the games were starting. Some of your happiest memories are of being curled up on one couch with Az, Rhys and his mother on the other, and Cassian stood in front of you, making a terrible attempt at playing charades.

But it’ll be different this year. With the High Lord keeping a tight leash on his pregnant mate in Velaris, there will be no meal, no charades. You, Azriel and Cassian would most certainly not be welcome at their intimate family celebration.

“Rhys will spend the day in Velaris.” Az tells you. “Cass and I will be getting drunk. There’s a celebration being held at the dormitories in the evening, so I suppose we’ll all end up there.”

You dip your chin. “I’ll come and find you there, then.”

His responding smile is a gentle one; one that says he sees right through you, right through to the panic that’s eating away at you, and he understands.

There’s no way he sees everything that you’re feeling, though. Perhaps that’s a good thing.

Your body goes slightly rigid as he dips down and presses a kiss to your forehead. His hand squeezes yours, and then he’s pulling away. “See you on Solstice.”

He bids a quiet goodbye to the dozing girls. It’s as he’s heading for the door that you find yourself stepping after him. “…Az?”

He turns, hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“There’s…something I need to talk to you about, when you get back. Something I need to tell you.”

Okay. Shit. You’re really doing this.

Azriel’s eyes rake over you, and then he smiles. “We’ll talk on Solstice.”

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Your head’s not all there today, as you stare out of the window of your father’s forge. Azriel and the others have been gone almost a week, and you’ve spent every one of those days thinking about how you’re going to tell him…whatever it is you’re going to tell him.

You’re not even certain, yourself.

Just that…that things are different. That you know, to begin with, that this was about him and Kaeda — but it’s shifted in your brain at an alarming rate, and now that you’ve shared something so…so meaningful, with him, you’re not sure you can go on acting as though it was all just a favour.

Yeah. That should do it.

And it’s a huge fucking risk, of course. There’s every chance he won’t return the sentiment, and then a giant wedge of unresolved feelings will exist between you.

But you need to — perhaps selfishly — confront this before things between him and Kaeda progress. In case there’s a slight chance that it’ll alter the path it’s heading down.

And you haven’t thought any further than that.

The snow has started again, and you watch the flurries sweep past the window and join the thick layer on the ground. You’ve become so accustomed to the noise of the forge that you hardly notice it anymore — not the constant clanking, nor the heat that the fires swathe the shop in. You used to beg your father to teach you his craft, to allow you to get stuck in and get your hands dirty, but he’s always stubbornly maintained that it’s a male’s job, and that he needs you for the bookkeeping. You’re surprised he trusts you with that.

You breathe a soft sigh, your thoughts once again flitting back to Az. To what he might be doing, thinking, feeling. Whether he misses you as much as you miss him.

But before those thoughts can take a hold of you and sink you deeper into your predicament, the door opens, the bell above it ringing and a gust of cold air momentarily biting you.

It’s rare for females to come to the forge. Very rare, indeed. Which is why, for a second or two, you just stare.

That — and because she’s incredibly beautiful.

Her eyes — the colour of emeralds — sweep the workshop, before landing on you, and she smiles. She has the telltale tanned skin of an Illyrian, but instead of the dark hair that’s so typical around here, hers is red — not orange, not auburn, but blood red. You’ve never seen a shade quite like it.

And if that’s not enough to completely bowl you over, your gaze rakes over her clothing, and you stop, stunned.

Females around here wear homespun dresses of simple brown shades. A few, like yourself, favour basic tunics and breeches. Clothing is just a necessity, not something you lend much thought to.

But this female wears Illyrian leathers. Never, in your life, have you seen females wear Illyrian leathers. It’s simply not a done thing.

But she looks resplendent in them.

They cling to supple curves and accentuate a figure that you don’t think you’d ever be able to achieve with any amount of training. And perhaps the most shocking thing of all — and the most enviable — is the presence of brilliant, beautiful wings at her back. Unclipped. Untouched. Unruined.

How your wings might have one day looked, had your father not destroyed them.

You’re not entirely convinced that an angel hasn’t just stepped into your father’s forge. Or perhaps this is the Mother that everyone worships. Part of you wants to worship her, too, and beg her to bestow upon you her blessings—

You snap yourself out of it before you can fall head-over-heels in love with her. She’s just a customer.

A very, very beautiful customer.

“Good day to you.” She says, approaching the counter. Her voice is like pure music.

You incline your head in greeting. “And to you. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m interested in having some gifts made for my father and brothers. For Solstice.”

Once again, you’re gawking.

Another thing that’s unheard of; females liking their family members enough to have gifts made for them.

You clear your throat, blinking out of your thoughts. “What…what kind of things were you looking for?”

“Personalised daggers.” She answers, and then she grins in a way that makes you want to tell her your life story, and leans closer. “A male can never have too many daggers, right?”

You breathe a laugh. It doesn’t sound natural. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll be needing three. One for my father, and one each for my two brothers. Can that be done in time for Solstice? I can pay extra…”

This female has beauty, leathers, wings, a relationship with her family members, money. She’s magnificent. A few exchanged words, and you’re awed by her.

Who is she? How have you never seen her before?

“It can be done.” You tell her with a flustered smile. “I’ll just need to sit with you and get some details of exactly what you want made, and then my father will get straight to it. I imagine they’ll be ready for collection by Solstice Eve.”

Her eyes light up in a way that reminds you of sunrise. “That’s perfect.”

There’s a second or two where you just…can’t help staring. Her beauty has knocked you speechless.

But once again, you snap yourself out of it and try to retain some semblance of professionalism.

“Can I take your name down?” You say, and clear your throat again. Gods, you hope you’re not blushing. “For the order.”

You grab a piece of parchment and a pen, hoping you’ll remember how the fuck to write.

“It’s Kaeda.” She says, and the pen nearly slips from your hand. “Kaeda Baralas.”

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Solstice morning sweeps in just as abruptly as the fresh onslaught of snow that once again batters the camp.

It’s going to be a rough one. You can feel it in your bones.

You dread it every year, but this year is made even worse by the constant stream of thoughts that have been plaguing you over the last week. About whether telling Az about your feelings is a good idea. Not just because of what it could do to your friendship, but because…

Because you can’t deny that since seeing Kaeda in the flesh, you’re doubting yourself more than ever.

Of course, you can see why Azriel would want her. And why he’d want to be good and experienced for her. And you…you’ve been facilitating that. You’re the practice dummy. Kaeda is the real thing.

At least the chaos of Solstice keeps you busy.

You wake early, and from the noise and foot traffic outside your bedroom window, you know Az’s unit has safely returned from their training exercise. Your relief is short-lived, replaced by the dread of your father hitting the bottle.

Every year is the same. You spend the day trying to focus on your preparation of the huge meal you’re expected to cook, while your father knocks back drink after drink and gradually gets rowdier. You tell yourself that the more he drinks, the better — he’ll fall asleep eventually, and you’ll be out of here.

But then the front door bursts open.

It’s four of your father’s friends who pile into your cramped home, singing at the tops of their voices and reeking of booze. You’re only just able to stop one of them knocking a pot of potatoes off the counter with a careless, wayward wing. They barely acknowledge you, filing through to the sitting room to greet your father. Their voices get louder, and an ache is building behind your eye.

Day bleeds into late afternoon. You try to ignore them, to focus on the task at hand. Cooking is usually enjoyable for you, but with an unwelcome party happening in the next room, you find yourself getting more and more stressed.

By the time your father bustles his way into the kitchen and begins sniffing around the food, you’re close to losing it.

“Isn’t it ready yet?” Your father rudely demands.

You stare out of the kitchen window, at the dwindling light of approaching evening, clenching your jaw. “It is. I’m waiting for your friends to leave.”

“They’ll be eating with us.”

You whirl on the spot. “We don’t have enough food for that.”

“I told you we’d have guests.”

No, he absolutely hadn’t. This is a power play. He does shit like this all the time. Backs you into corners.

“I bought food for two people.” You snap, unable to stop yourself. “Not six.”

Your father’s nostrils flare. You know that look on his face a little too well — the one where his cheeks redden and his eyes turn cold. It’s always, always made your stomach lurch.

He steps closer, and you press your back against the counter, trying your utmost not to look intimidated.

“You’d better rectify that, hadn’t you?” His tone is deceptively gentle. “Be a good girl and find a way to make the food go around six people. You wouldn’t want to ruin Solstice.”

It’s a veiled threat. One you’d be wise not to ignore.

So you stare at him and he stares at you. And when he eventually nods and leaves the room, you turn and try to work out how to make a meal for two a meal for six.

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The mountain of a male beside you jostles your chair so violently that you almost fall out of it.

His hand grabs a roast potato from your plate. He shoves it into his mouth, chews, and grins. “You weren’t going to eat that, were you?”

The entire meal has been like this.

Perhaps it’s your ice-thin temper that has you staring him right in the eye; a thing many Illyrian males consider a great disrespect from females. “Would it matter if I was?”

He swallows and swipes the lone, remaining potato you hadn’t planned to touch. “Not really, no.”

The dinner is usually the only part you enjoy of Solstice. A meal that you spend hours perfecting, of slow-cooked meat and roasted potatoes and a colourful array of different vegetables that are cooked to perfection. It’s the one part of the day where you can just sit and breathe, because even your father doesn’t usually have a bad word to say about the meal you’ve presented.

This one has been pure, unadulterated hell.

To accommodate your unwanted guests, you’ve skimped on your own food, barely affording yourself a couple of mouthfuls. Wine and ale has been spilled across the table, and the conversation around it has only grown more and more uncomfortable — and vile — as the night has worn on. You want nothing more than to get out of here and find your friends, but your father and his cronies show no signs of slowing down.

You sit, staring emptily at the plates, the little remaining morsels of the meal you spent all day cooking. You try to block out the laughter and jeering, the disgusting comments, the blatant disrespect, but it’s all getting to you, riling you up. You’re not sure how long you’ll last without snapping.

Your answer comes when your father looks at you. And he snaps his fucking fingers at the finished plates.

“Clear this up, Y/N.” He says.

You know your father. You know what he can be like, the damage he can do. Your ruined back is evidence enough. And you know the wisest and safest thing is for you to comply and rant about him to your friends later.

But you’re far beyond that point.

You meet his gaze, and your jaw ticks as you shoot back, “Why don’t you clear it up yourself?”

You regret it the second the room falls deathly silent. All the noise is gone in an instant. Every face is looking your way.

But it’s your father’s face you’re concerned with. The expression that tells you you’ve made a grave, grave mistake.

“What was that?” His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

You look away. Wish you could cram the words back down your throat. “Nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.” The male beside you sneers. “You speak to your father like that, girl? If you were my child, I’d string you up by the remains of those wings you never should have been born with.”

“I’d do a lot worse than that.” Another one remarks, a sickening laugh in his voice.

Throughout it all, your father is staring at you. Saying nothing.

“Did it hurt, anyway? Having them ripped off like that? I bet it did. I hope it did.”

Your final straw is when the pig at your side has the audacity to reach around and touch your back. You tense immediately, and you’re shooting up from your chair, knocking it over as you do.

“Don’t ever lay a finger on me again.” You will your voice to be stronger, firmer, but it won’t comply. You shake as you gather the plates up in your hand. “I’m cleaning this up.”

That’s met with a chorus of laughter, a pelting of comments. You tell yourself to block it out, block it the fuck out, balance as much as you reasonably can in your hands and book it into the kitchen. You dump the plates onto the counter and grip onto the sink basin, trying to draw in deep, slow breaths.

But then there are footsteps behind you. And the kitchen door closes. And you know that’s not good.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes shutter. You release one of those useless breaths before you dare to turn and face your father.

And when you do, his face is…soft. Eyes filled with concern.

But you’re not stupid enough to buy it.

You’re taut as a bowstring as he approaches you, stopping inches away. He drinks in the sight of you, tilting his head. You wait for him to tell you that you look just like your mother — a fact that only contributes to his vitriol. As if it’s your fault that she abandoned him, abandoned both of you.

He thinks it is.

His hand touches your cheek, his thumb sweeping the skin there. You swallow, hoping he can’t feel the way you tremble beneath him.

“What’s gotten into you, my girl?” He asks quietly. “What did I say about not ruining Solstice?”

You swallow. Lower your gaze. “I thought it would just be the two of us.”

“Do I not have the right to invite my friends into my home?”

“I’m just saying that a little bit of warning would have been appreciated. I didn’t spend hours cooking a meal just for your friends to come along and ruin it.”

“Your attitude has become insufferable. Perhaps it’s those three males you’ve been spreading your legs for. Giving you too much of an ego boost.”

You almost want to laugh in his face — laugh at his cluelessness. But your anger wins. Maybe you’re more like him than you ever thought.

“Or perhaps, father,” you snap, “it’s an accumulation of anger and desperation after twenty years of living with a repulsive, sanctimonious—”

He strikes you so hard that for a moment, you’re simply stunned as to why you’re suddenly on the floor. But the thwack of his hit rings in your ears, echoes through the kitchen.

And then the metallic taste of blood is coating the inside of your mouth. It’s streaming down your chin, and you’re not even sure where it’s all coming from, only that it hurts and your eyes are stinging.

Your father stares down at you. And in that moment, you realise that the eeriest thing of all is that he never glares at you. You think you’d prefer that.

He always stares with that emptiness. That icy vacancy. It makes his actions more unpredictable, more dangerous.

He lunges down so suddenly that you flinch, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. Your legs don’t want to comply as he shoves you towards the door.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” He hisses at you, ripping the door open. “Go on. Fuck off, just like your mother did.”

And then he’s shoving you into the snow, a plume of it erupting around you. You hardly notice the cold. You’re too stunned.

Not stunned enough, though, to refrain from biting back at him. Just like a threatened animal would.

“Fuck you.” You sneer, the words contorted by a mouthful of blood that you spit onto the snow. “Fuck you, father.”

The bastard laughs in your face. Just as he’s always laughed in your face. And then he kicks snow at you because he can and steps back into the house.

When the door shuts behind him, you push to your feet. You’re trembling all over. It might be the cold. It might be the shock.

There’s only one person you want to see right now. So you wrap your arms around yourself and head towards the dormitories.

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Halfway through trudging across the camp, your shoes sodden with snow, your lip still bleeding, the emotions begin to hit.

You resent them. You resent feeling anything at all towards the male who is your only blood relative in this hollow, hollow place. The one who took your wings. The one who has tried to keep a firm grasp on the control he has over your life.

But you do feel things. Hurt and rage and humiliation and — bizarrely — betrayal. As if some small slither of hope had followed you from childhood into adulthood — that your father would one day miraculously awaken as a different person. A family member worth holding onto.

He never would.

No, your true family has always been the small, loving group that crams themselves into a cottage across the camp; a place of warmth and welcoming.

Rhysand and Cassian and Azriel. Rhysand’s mother, too. They are your family. They have always cared, since the moment you met them.

It’s for that reason that you persevere with your walk, even though you’re frozen to the bone. You think you might be crying. You’re not too sure anymore. Your friends will make it better. They always make it better.

The dormitories glow in the distance; a welcome sight, for once. You kick through the snow with desperation, and you’re definitely crying, definitely shaking all over, but the sounds of the celebrations coming from inside are a relief. Playful jeering and someone strumming a lute and off-kilter singing.

You push your way through the door. Inside is as crowded as you expect it to be, but you don’t even care. Anywhere is better than at home.

Your eyes — not really taking in much at all — scan the corridors, the common area, looking for any of your three closest friends. You see none of them, but a hand lands on your shoulder, and you turn to find Vegha there. Her eyes widen immediately at the state of you. You dread to think how bad you look.

“Y/N, what the fuck?” She blurts. “Why are you bleeding?”

“Fell over.” You know how stupid it sounds. “I…I need to find Azriel. Have you seen him?”

“Oh, I think he skulked off to his room a little while ago. Everyone knows he hates big parties like this—”

Perfect. You’ll hole up in his room together and block the rest of the world out. You’re already turning and pushing through people. You’ll apologise to Vegha for your rudeness later. Right now, you just need Azriel’s comfort, his love. The conversation you planned to have with him tonight is now a distant memory, an issue to confront later. You just…just want him. He always makes everything better.

You don’t notice the drink that gets spilled on you, or the disgruntled groups of people you have to shove through. None of that matters. Azriel is your family. He matters.

Finally, you make it to his room. The soft glow of faelights shine beneath the door — an indication he’s inside. You almost sob with relief as you grab the handle and burst in.

Two faces immediately look round at you.

Azriel’s.

Kaeda’s.

Kaeda lies on top of him, hands either side of his head. Her lips are swollen and inches from his. Azriel is palming at her waist, holding her against him. They’re both fully clothed, but…but you get the sense they wouldn’t have been for much longer, had it not been for your interruption.

Azriel drinks in the sight of you, his chest heaving. He blinks. You…you’re rooted to the spot.

And you fucking wince as Kaeda sits up slightly. Az’s hands fall back to his sides.

The beautiful female eyes you, tilting her head. And you want to get out of there, to fucking run, but you can’t do anything but stand and blink as something shatters inside of you.

“The shop hand from the forge.” Kaeda states in surprise, as if it’s ludicrous to consider that you might sometimes venture outside of your father’s workshop. “What happened to your face?”

Azriel is finally springing into action, then, sitting up and scooting out from beneath Kaeda. “Y/N…”

You cannot bear the gentleness of his voice. It may just finish you off.

All of this might. Staying here a second longer might.

So you, for some reason, shake your head and back slowly out of the room. Azriel lurches up, but you’re grabbing hold of the door handle firmly.

“Sorry for interrupting.” Your voice is all wrong and fractured. You quickly shut the door before it can morph into a sob.

You think Azriel might call after you, but it’s probably wishful thinking. You don’t know. Don’t know anything. Don’t know what to do next.

So you simply walk away.

You suppose you’ve taught Azriel everything he needs to know.

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radicallxser · 1 month

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pt 2 to this post, can be read as a standalone but makes more sense if you've read the first part. reader isn't wearing a suit but remains pretty androgynous (i think). also yes i included steph's baby fight me idc

not beta read pls don't make fun of me

Why had you agreed to this?

A coworker had invited you to a gala, something about representing the company. You weren't sure why you of all people were asked, or why the coworker, what's his name, was so insistint you attend with him. Especially after he ditched you the moment you both arrived.

You stand awkwardly, swirling the drink you had accepted earlier. A few straggling groups chatted nearby, gossiping about things you didn't care enough to pay attention to. You had better things to think about, like how were you getting home and when you could leave.

Even more important; how was the baby? Was she alright? The sitter you hired wasn't your usual one, but she had vanished without a trace and it was such short notice-

Something, someone, collided with yourself.

"I'm so sorry-" That's what you get for standing near the stairs!

You look up quickly, meeting the gaze of one of the boys you had met the other day. His lips twitch downwards, his eyes focused on the spot where your drink had collided with your clothing. Before you can react, he sets his suit jacket over your shoulders.

"I'm so sorry", he states quickly, opening his mouth to add something else before being cut off by you.

"It's alright, Jason."

His looks shocked for a moment, before his lips turn up into a grin.

"You remembered my name!" He speaks in a town that seems uncharacteristic for him. Pure delight coats his face and he opens his mouth again just to be cut off.

"Jay-Jay! Look what you did!" Another familiar face approaches, a grin adorning the young man's features. He slaps Jason on the back, then turns to you.

"Sorry about my brother." Your brows furrow at this.

"Brothers..?"

"Not by choice", Jason adds quickly, "Atleast, not our choice."

The urge to ask is immediately wiped away as another familiar face approaches, tailed by someone you hadn't met and who's attention was trained on their phone.

The shorter of the two, the one who you had encountered before, spoke up in a clear tone that didn't quite suit his age.

"Father says to quit harassing the guests, Richard, and he'd like to speak with you, Jason."

Jason rolled his eyes. The boy on his phone timidly glanced up, flashing a quick smile.

"Hello", he spoke, then looked back toward his phone.

The shortest of them stared at you, his expression indifferent.

"My name is Damian Wayne. I'd like to thank you for the other day." You smile softly at him, then the realization dons on you.

'Damian Wayne, as in Bruce Wayne's son...?' Your thoughts are yet again interrupted by a voice.

"Boys!"

His voice is clearer in real life, but unmistakably him. You turn, watching one Bruce Wayne approach your small group. His smile seems to light up the room.

He's more handsome in real life, slight crow's feets crinkling near his eyes when he laughs and a shock of gray through his hair.

His arm is looped with a young blonde woman, a baby only a bit older than your own settled in the crook of her other arm. They both smile, stopping in front of you and the boys. Jason's hand suddenly disappears from your shoulder and everyone seems to take a step back.

You smile politely, extending your hand to him.

He takes it, unlooping his arm with the gorgeous woman and bending to press a kiss to it. He feels a pang of anger when he feels the callouses and scars on your hands. Standing straight once again, he grins.

"It's a pleasure, Mx...", your eyes widen when he speaks your last name. How did...?

His eyes trail over your form, then scan the faces of the boys surrounding you. He shakes his head.

"I apologize for their lack of manners. Please, boys, introduce yourselves."

The blonde woman steps forward, smiling at you.

"I'm Stephanie", she adjusts the infant in her arms, taking your hand and giving it a tender squeeze.

You notice Jason taking up a spot directly behind you, standing over you, or atleast attempting to.

"We've been introduced", he speaks gruffly, more to his father than to you. This atmosphere suddenly becomes thick with tension, it makes you shift in unease.

Dick puts himself between Stephanie and Bruce, smiling sheepishly.

"It's Richard Grayson, everyone calls me Dick."

The boy that was previously on his phone snickers, Bruce shoots him a pointed look.

"It's Tim", the boy mutters, immediately piping back down.

Damian takes up the other other side of Bruce and you note thier similar features.

"Well, it's been wonderful meeting you all, but I should be leaving", You smile awkwardly, pulling Jason's jacket tighter around your shoulders.

"Let me treat you to dinner", Bruce speaks almost desperately, then clears his throat, "to make up for my sons' rudeness."

Suddenly you're sat in a limo, stuck between Jason and Bruce.

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spookydonutchild · 2 years

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#preschool keller tx #best preschools in keller #top preschools near me #best pre schools near me #best montessori preschool near me #best montessori daycare near me #best daycare and preschool near me #preschools in southlake #southlake daycare #daycares in southlake tx #preschools in fort worth #best preschool for infant #infant preschool in southlake #toddler preschool in southlake #toddler preschool in fortworth #day care keller

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cultofdixon · 3 months

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Please don’t take my sunshine away

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Saviors War ended. Doesn’t mean vendettas don’t exist. The archer just wished those who hated him would fuck with him and not someone as important as you • ANGST/SFW • TW: Major injuries / Blood loss / Concussion / Discomfort

Requested by: Anon

“You are one impatient man when it comes to your other half”

Daryl brought his attention toward the front door where Maggie stood with a tired expression on her face with an equally tired infant in her arms.

“Sorry if me leavin’ woke you both”

“No no. Hershel was the one to wake me but that’s what you sign up for with babies” Maggie smiles at her son who finally relaxed in her embrace. “Now why are you up? Y/N is going to be here in the morning”

“That. That’s exactly why”

“Again, impatient” She laughs bringing herself to sit on the steps as Daryl pushes himself off the pillar to sit beside his friend. “She’ll get here when she’ll get here”

Nothing could go wrong.

It was starting to become unbearable. The waiting for his partner even if he was occupied for most of the day.

Daryl decided to take his bike out of the community for his break, thinking Y/N’s car must have run out of gas on the way over so he would bring one over. But before he even left, Siddiq stepped through the gates with Enid who’s shadowing him to become a medic. They were coming from Oceanside after doing check ups and the route from that community and Alexandra merge at a point when heading toward the Hilltop. So he could’ve seen anything on his way over.

“No, we didn’t see a car on the way over”

“There were a lot of walkers in a single spot that we took care of and it was just a dead deer.”

“So you really shouldn’t worry about Y/N” Siddiq instantly went to where Daryl was thinking as Enid nodded nervously.

“Yeah well she hasn’t turned up. I gotta head out there and see what’s happenin’.” Daryl got on his bike about to start it when Siddiq laid a hand on his shoulder giving him a worried look.

“I’ll get Maggie’s radio. Just in case”

Daryl nodded, gripping onto his radio subconsciously.

This isn’t right?

Eugene told me this car had its maintenance done. Why is it being like this?

Fuck—-FUCK, where are the breaks?!

Who messed with the brea——

Y/N flinched awake after the initial crash as she slowly lifted her head off the steering wheel feeling the throbbing stiff pain in her chest. Her ribs were broken. The pain wasn’t only there. Her whole body ached and given the shaking from the shock, so much more happened. The blood loss was getting to her, how long has she been out? She went to reach for her pack in the passengers only to notice the glass shards embedded in her right arm. Staring at what caused pain on one side of her resulted in a realization that she couldn’t feel her other arm. Before she could even try and touch it, her lungs constricted causing her to cough into her hand noticing the blood and that’s when the tears started.

She’s going to die out here.

Then it clicked to her. Where she crashed and how far she was from the Hilltop, it shouldn’t go unnoticed if Y/N pressed down on the horn. She tested it at first to make sure that the horn was still connected but then she remembered it’s not the old world. Walkers littered the earth and just from testing it could’ve triggered one over.

But the smallest test caught the archer’s attention as he drove near the sound and took out walkers nearby.

The honk was only once, and then suddenly consistent.

Daryl followed and killed the walkers near the sound as it came clear what happened…or at least why she didn’t show up…

Fuck fuck fuck Daryl quickly ran to the driver’s door after dropping his bike. He forced the door open seeing the damage for himself as he struggled to keep his composure.

She felt him gently bring herself against the seat to check her pulse and thankfully it was there for him.

The sound of the radio buzz caught Enid’s attention from their inventory re-check as she quickly grabs it.

“Hello? Daryl?” She says watching Siddiq turn around to face her and eye the radio.

“It’s bad. It’s really fucking bad”

“We’ll see you soon” Enid stopped pressing their radio tossing it onto the counter and quickly cleaning up what they were doing.

“Once you put that box away, go inform Maggie and Jesus. Maybe someone can shorten the walk over here and drive Y/N the rest of the way back. Then come back and help me set up for anything” Siddiq states watching Enid not even wait another moment and sprint out of the infirmary.

They managed to connect to somebody who was on their way to the Sanctuary. The quick detour to pick up the two was the only easy part. The driving with a pretty much broken person in the vehicle was one of the first few difficult things to handle.

“Maybe drive fucking smoother?!” Daryl snaps at the driver who was already trying his best not to hit any bumps along the way but it is a dirt road to Hilltop compared to the others.

The gates opened the second they heard the car pulling up. Jesus accompanied Siddiq and Enid with helping Y/N get to the medical trailer but Jesus was mainly there to block Daryl the second the two medics got their patient.

“You seriously gonna keep me from her?!”

“Do you even see yourself? She’s going to feel worse seeing all of her blood on your person”

“How the fuck would you know that?! She’s not even awa—-“ Both Daryl and Jesus turned toward the shout coming from the medical trailer as the archer didn’t hesitate to shove the skilled fighter out of his way.

When he entered, Y/N was awake and trying to get Siddiq’s assessing hands away from touching her injuries. Her hands shook when trying to shove him away as he couldn’t stop paying attention to her left arm that was barely moving. He directed Enid to pin her as he gently—as best as he could, grab her shoulder watching her retract her entire body resulting in another shout of pain to escape her. Daryl noticed they cut her shirt to access the injured better and saw the deep blue and purple bruising from her ribs breaking. He was frozen in place, everyone expected him to try and intervene but how could he? He doesn’t know how to handle these things.

Siddiq noticed his presence after a while and glared at the man along with it directed to Jesus. “Get him out of here!” He barked as Jesus quickly grabbed Daryl.

“Come on. Let them work” He struggled to pull Daryl away as he instantly broke out of his grasp stepping over to the situation.

“Jesus I told you—-“

“If I grabbed him now, who knows what you’ll need to fix next” Jesus snaps back only to turn his attention to the doorway when Maggie called out for him needing his assistance.

Daryl gently rest his hand on Y/N’s head causing her to turn her attention onto him. Tears spilled from her bruised blooded face as she couldn’t think of anything to say but she instantly relaxed the best she could given her body ached when Daryl started to shush her in a calming manner. When her body finally relaxed, Siddiq gave Enid a nod for the okay to start working on her while he got an IV in her arm.

“You’re doing great, sunshine…you’re doing great” Daryl whispers brushing away the hair in her face. He glances up noticing Siddiq’s hesitation in popping her shoulder back in place, but once they agreed through the silence. Daryl stood up holding her carefully but also pinning her.

“It will only last a few seconds. I’ll be quick”

“It’s gonna be alright” Daryl reassures Y/N as she watches Siddiq get to work with fixing the dislocation.

After popping her shoulder back into place, she passed out. It scared the few working on her but Siddiq reassured that it was from the shock subsiding and the blood loss of course. Which led Daryl to reveal he’s a universal donor to Siddiq when Enid went to give Maggie an update.

“Are you sure she’ll be okay with this?”

“No, but she needs it” Daryl sat down in the offered seat as Siddiq went ahead with preparing his arm.

“I won’t tell anyone else. I know why you’re doing it now but again—“

“Yeah I get it, Siddiq. Just…yeah hurry up” The archer looked away when he put the needle in, not because he’s squeamish but because this brought weird memories.

After doing the blood transfusion, Daryl stepped out for a moment applying pressure to his arm giving them time to stitch the deep gashes and finish with cleaning and bandaging. He noticed the truck that Rick normally drives being by the Barrington house and when he brought himself into the vicinity there was more than just Rick in the building.

“Daryl, just…the man we needed right now” Rick clears his throat avoiding his eyes as Maggie and Michonne’s worried expressions caught the archer’s attention.

“What happened?”

“We investigated further on what happened to your partner” Jesus started the conversation but no one wanted to say it.

Which easily drove Daryl nuts.

“Spit it out”

“Someone cut the brake wires to the vehicle Y/N was driving” Michonne stated watching him tense. “then when we asked around Alexandria—more specifically the recent Saviors we took in. One of them threatened Y/N before she left”

“And the Saviors aren’t all too bright. They didn’t want her to crash the car” Rick finishes handing Daryl the list of Saviors they are shipping out of Alexandria.

“They did that…expecting me to fucking drive the car and crash?”

“Knowing you, you would’ve been able to crash…safely. Regardless. We are moving those Saviors back to the Sanctuary and—-“

“That’s all you’re ever gonna do. My fucking partner, my WIFE, almost died because some fucking Saviors are still out for me. Or hell they wanted her dead so I would finish the fucking job that y’all didn’t do that night on the hill” Daryl scoffs stepping away from the conversation as Maggie cut through the group letting them take care of the situation for themselves.

“Daryl—-“

“Mags I’m sorry for bringin’ it up again. But I can’t listen to—-“

“You’re right” Maggie grabbed his shoulder making him stop and turn to her. “You didn’t say it but you’re right that their decision for handling this situation is wrong. They should’ve exiled them or worse. But can we at least focus on right now? Y/N is alive. Doing alright. And I’m recommending you both to live here until she’s well enough or hell. Permanently.”

“Y/N wouldn’t agree to the permanently thing. She spent too much time rebuilding our house…it’s just gonna take a while”

“I know and you both can spend that while, here. Or the Kingdom with Carol and Ezekiel. Literally anywhere until she’s ready to go back.”

Daryl didn’t have anymore words on the matter while his anxiety had a chokehold on him. Unexpectedly, the tears spilled as his thoughts raced and while Maggie had too many thoughts herself on the matter…she pushed them aside and brought her arms around her friend keeping him close as he latched onto her.

“She could’ve died…and left me all alone”

“You know she’s a fighter…you’re going to be stuck with her forever” Maggie laughs softly holding him for as long as he wanted.

Soon Daryl found himself seated beside Y/N’s gurney staring at every bandage, every bruise, her swollen face, and her arm strapped to her chest. He next focused on the rise and fall of her chest, afraid of the possible stop. But that never came and she was going to be okay…

“Hey…” Daryl smiles warmly gently kissing Y/N’s forehead as she had been asleep for three days since the accident. He stuck by her side the entire time for the moment she opened her eyes.

“Hi…” Y/N gave him a tired smile even with the bit of pain coursing through her, thank god the drugs helped with it. “You’re dumb”

“For?” He scoffs feeling her hand touch the bruise he got from the IV. “Yeah well, I ain’t losing yea so”

“Mm. Would’ve been out longer if you didn’t.” Y/N kept her hold on him for him to get the hint to sit on the edge of the bed letting her non-strapped arm rest in his lap feeling his hand rub up and down her arm gently. “Gonna take a lot to keep me out”

“Good” Daryl leaned over kissing her lips before pulling away to get one good look at her. “I love you…so much”

“Mm getting sappy, Dixon” She teases patting his leg as he took her hand into his squeezing it and bringing it up to his lips. “I love you, and I’m here. I’m alive. So stop worrying for right now…”

“Okay…”

“Okay?”

“Yes. For now” Daryl mumbles to himself as Y/N gave him a certain look that lead him to lifting her up enough for him to slip in beside her bringing her into his embrace.

She’s okay

She’s alive

And they are going to pay.

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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wifey-badalee · 2 months

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Clearly you’d rather be with her

Part 4

Alexia had sat by your bed the entire time not wanting to move until her sister had to force her out to go and change and take a shower. You still hadn’t woken up from your coma and this made alexia feel so much more guilty. The police had come to interview Alexia and the family to try and find out who had done this to you. Alexia had barely spoken she felt so bad that her last time she was with you was her fighting and he making you feel bad, yes she finally sat down and thought about all her actions and her feeling towards you and Olga and she saw exactly what you had meant. She felt disgusted that she could have treated you like that, you were the love of her life and she never thought of loving anyone other than you…..until Olga. She realized that her feeling towards Olga aren’t friendly and that’s what you had been seeing, she know understood why you were so insecure and annoyed at Olga. She needed to fix things with you and apologize but she didn’t now what to do with her feelings towards Olga.

The police went back to your house and went through all the evidence to try and find fingerprints and they did, it led them back to a gang that has been doing these crimes since a long time but they just didn’t see how that and connected to you. It went on for 3 days trying to locate the gang and they finally did. The police managed to arrest 3 out of the 5 but it was perfect because they were the ones who did it.

“ Can you tell us why you did that to the girl?”, asked the police officer.

“ I did it because u felt like it!”, the one guy answered

“ You know that’s not true , you have no involvement with that girl or any sort of contact, so I’ll asked you again why did you do that, and if you don’t answer we’ll beat the answer out of you!”, said the police officer

They went back and forth until finally they started to beat the up and one of the guys finally gave up.

“MY cousin, she came to me saying that that girl was causing trouble for her in her relationship with alexia and she was trying to steal alexia away from and started bullying her, and I wasn’t gonna let that slide , so I just wanted to threaten her but things got out of control when she tried to fight back and everything just went downhill from there, she was never suppose to get hurt ,just threatening her.”, he confessed.

“And who is this cousin?”, asked the officer

At the hospital you had finally regained consciousness and Alexis couldn’t be more happy. Her family was a little nice to you considering your position. Although you weren’t, you were tired of being nice and everybody taking that for granted and taking advantage of you especially Alexia, you were beyond pissed at her , you didn’t even want to see her face. Oh and not mention another face that made you lose control Olga that girl you knew what she did and you were beyond furious you wanted to kill her infant but you were in no condition to fight. As soon as you saw her face you threw a tantrum and asked the nurse to kick her out.

“ Get her out of here , I don’t want to see her face and I don’t want her near me , get her our immediately!” , you screamed.

The nurses escorted Olga out , and Alexia’s family was shocked at you behavior. You then turned to Alexia and asked her to leave as well.

“ You should follow her and leave to , you should check up on her like you always do, leave now!”, you yelled.

“Please just give me time to talk to you, just us two I need to explain myself and apologize, I really need to talk to you!”, she asked desperately.

But you could care less, the nurse escorted them all out especially since you shouldn’t be put under any stress. A few minutes later Alexia got a call from the police officer saying they were heading there to discuss what happened and that they had found the guys.

Alexia was happy that they did and she was furious she wanted to kill them, for putting you through all of that.

The officers arrived and told them everything

“We caught the guys, they told us they were sent by someone, and that someone is you miss Olga Rios. Your gonna have to come down to the station with us.”, the officer said.

Olga’s face completely changed colour, infant she lost all of it she started stuttering and didn’t know what to say, by them the police had her in cuffs.

“What are you’ll doing are you’ll insane let her go , this is crazy she would never harm anyone or even think of harming anyone , those men are lying!”, Alexia defended her.

“Let go off her, go question Y/n inside and get proper proof you can’t just arrest her they are lying , why would Olga do that.”, Eli yelled.

The one officer went in and got your statement and came out and told everyone that indeed the guys were sent by Olga they had told you everything and they came there to threaten you and tell you to stay away from Alexia. Alexia was confused why were you lying she knew you didn’t like Olga but this was too far, this was getting someone charged and possibly going to jail why were you like this, all her thinking of your reasoning went down the drain and she was back to being mad at you. She stormed in your room and banged the railings on the side of your bed and hovered over you.

“ What is wrong with you, have you lost your mind, has your hatred for Olga gotten so bad you want to accuse her of such a malicious thing. How disgusting of you, since when did you do such malicious things!”, she yelled at you.

Too be honest you were dumbstruck how could she even think you were capable of saying such lies, you were never that person and never even showed that side , did Alexia even know who you were, why did Olga matter so much more than you that she would believe that you would make up things like this. You finally realized that you had officially lost Alexi.

You were in no headspace to argue with her, you were also in pain and didn’t want to fight so all you did was turn you body to the other side nd ignore her , if she didn’t believe you that’s on she would see what a fool she was being in the end when it’s too late.

“Answer me don’t ignore what is wrong with you , how could you!”, she kept screaming.

The nurses then came and intervined and took Alexia out of the room and told her too leave the hospital and that she couldn’t come back, she was creating chaos and putting you under stress which was very bad for you. Your condition was still critical. The officers took Olga to the station and Alexia and her family followed they called Olga’s mom and Alexia Called her manager to get a lot of money ready so that she could pay bail for Olga if she was arrested.

“I told you this girl was no good , she would set you up for destruction and now she’s destroying your friends lives too, she’s disgusting and shameless , I’m telling you know that you will break up with her and never see her or speak to her again.”, Eli said.

Alexia just looked at her mom and nodded , she just kept thinking of how scared Olga must be and hoe she would make it up to her.

P.S hecticcc there will be more parts tmr or the following day,but now writing this I’m starting to think they may not have a happy ending.

#alexia putellas fic #alexia putellas angst #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics

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colourstreakgryffin · 2 months

Note

I read your fic where Alastor and reader had a baby and it was so cute! Can I request a scenario where Alastor and reader went out cause they haven't gone on a date in a while, so Husk was in charge of babysitting? (cause Alastor cased him to)

Awww! I almost forgot I wrote that fic for real! I mean… I can try this out. Thank you, let’s just pretend Sinners can reproduce and Al is a demisexual!— Hope you guys are okay with the name and gender I gave the baby of this fic-scenario! And also, kinda short!

Alastor- Three Glowing Candles

After you and Alastor’s precious son, Isidore, was born. Your relationship with your beloved husband… it got different. It definitely didn’t get rocky or loveless. No, no! No! You two are an effective parenting team. Getting up together, going to Isidore together, putting him back to bed together

As you rock the crying Isidore in your arms, Alastor is right there snuggling you and forcing himself to stay awake. He needs to be there for both of you, his wife and his son

Of course, you both focus so much on Isidore that there is only little pieces of time you two can spend together. But then again, you two are nowhere near on tense terms. Anytime Alastor is caring for or playing with Isidore, the moment you come over. Alastor is pulling you down to join in and it’s a family play together

But trust me, even a healthy strong marriage like yours and Alastor’s crave the old times where you were both just spending all the day with one another and going out on nice cute dates together. So, after maybe a few months with Isidore, you two begin discussing arranging a number amounts of dates

And this plan you two discussed is arranged very quickly. Alastor was on the case right away, so excited at being able to go date his wifey again and as soon as he gets the call back, he is calling his most reliable… acquaintance to handle their son and he may or may not have both threatened and bribed the poor sinner to be the on-call babysitter for his and his wife’s son

You two even got dressed up together for this important date night and you both had Isidore right next to you two whilst doing so. As soon as the babysitter arrives, Alastor tries to gently beckon you to come with him to make it to the restaurant in time. His heart breaks to leave his son but he also wants more time with you

The dear husband is struggling a bit to pry you off your son…

“Goodbye, Issy. Me and Daddy love you so so so much—“ You didn’t even get a chance to finish your goodbye to your adorable hybrid sinner demon few month old son, Isidore. Looking into his gorgeous crimson red eyes and playing with his little hands, the tiny fingers clutching your own

Isidore‘s adorable and content coos and babbles out, anytime it’s silent, whilst comfortably laid in his new babysitter’s firm arms, Husk. Before your beloved husband, Alastor, begun dragging you away from both yours and his baby son. He didn’t want to leave his son either but he needed to be the stronger one here

“Come, darling. Issy is in safe hands” Alastor speaks soothingly and comfortingly with his transatlantic accent ringing through, rubbing hands over your shoulders to try ease you. You’re both brand new parents, you having given birth to both of yours’ son just five months ago, and after discussing with your longtime husband, Alastor. You two decided to go out on a date, to relive the days of just dating with no stress of a child. At least, for just one night

You definitely trust Husk, Alastor had used his power over the poor ex-Overlord to ensure he won’t mess up with Isidore in any way or style but you’re naturally protective over the infant. He won’t have his parents for a whole night!

That’s making your heart crack but you trust both your husband and your new babysitter so you willingly follow your husband, smaller arms wrapping around one of his bigger arms

As both of you leave the room, leaving your newborn with the patient child-handling expert. It hurt your heart, it hurt your husband’s heart but you both want some time together. It’s been way too long now and as soon as you’re pass your protective concern over little Isidore

You’re snuggling into Alastor’s bicep, whilst both of you two’s arms are linked together in a cute lace style, you’re more upbeat and excited to attend such a lavish dinner with your man, a wonderful private date Alastor had booked to be empty and peaceful, where you both forgot you were married to one another and forgot you even had a son

It was just like when you were dating the Radio Demon. No responsibilities, no wedding band, no little deer-featured boy in his cot

“Are you having enjoying our night, my dear? I am quite enjoying my time. You look so beautiful, this restaurant is wonderful. Is the dinner nice?”

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kobb4ni2 · 4 months

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[ FEM SEA SERPENT! READER + YANDERE KING DRABBLE ]

TW: Alot of blood mentioned, and drunk kissing (not sober so that's bad >:v), SPOILERS FOR KING'S REAL NAME, and implied s3x

I feel like King would be incredibly touchy only to you. King has been deprived of physical touch or any kind of affection, how can he? When he spend most of his days being a lab rat for Vegapunk. King can't even imagine touching someone so affectionately yet when you slowly broke down his walls and how you capture his heart raw, and the many days (aka everyday) he wanted you only to his side, how he wants to hold you close, skin pressed against him tight, he knows the goo goo eyes he notices from other people whenever both of you are hanging out (aka stalking).

Oh how he despise it. If every dead body he had killed because of his fires he could be making a forest a burning one to be exact, but he dares to never even let a single drop of blood be in his rugged up hands when he caress your tail, or your hands.

You've always taught that King only liked to be near you and even touch your tail because he wants you to talk more about his extinct race and if you want stop talking he will make you you by using the fires of his back but how wrong you were. You carefully unravelled him, like a tightly tuned shamisen, your words, touches, voice are like your hand carefully playing with heart like a talented maestro yet when you keep on strumming his feelings you failed to realized the blood dripping out of your fingers when doing so. King's swords is not only covered in the blood of his enemies, or even thinks to be near you but your name also carved in his sword.

He doesn't care about the height difference you guys have, even if your are in your smallest from (16'9) he will always find a way to feel you whole.

May it's the way you make him feel small when you look at him, or how your tail wrap around his waist, maybe the times he allowed you to touch his wings and how much he tried his best not to kiss you when you get near his face, he wants to taste your colored lips and let his face be full of your lipstick stain.

Depravity makes a man or any creature kind, and was that true for Alber when he was under you drunkingly kiss his neck while you hold him up, Alber wants you you maybe one day he can kiss you deeply and passionately after a wild hunt of sheading blood in your name as a infant baby with brown skin, with black feathers that were on your arms as Alber holds the other infant baby that has the same brown skin as his but a tail longer then it's entire body just like their mother.

How I make the yandere character act at my fanfics :3 (NO ONE CAN STOP ME)

(Random tiktok of the day:3)

#making this while listening to tear me apary by she wants revenge was the best thing EVER.#hehe. smex. (anya face)#katakuri punching the air rn SORRY KATAKURI UR NEXT I PROMISE U #KING IS JUST TAKING OVER MY NUTRONS #Sea Serpent! Reader #READ THE FIRST SEA SERPENT READER FIRST TO GET SOME CONTEXT!#one piece #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #one piece x reader #yandere one piece #yandere op #yandere one piece x reader #king the wildfire #king x reader #king #king the congregation

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moombakiearlylearning · 23 days

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Crucial Role of Early Childhood Education

Early childhood education lays the foundation for lifelong learning and development. It encompasses a range of crucial aspects, including early childcare and education, nurturing early learning, and providing a safe and stimulating environment for children.

Importance of Early Childhood Education:

1. Developmental Milestones: Early childhood education supports infants and toddlers in reaching critical developmental milestones.

It fosters cognitive, social, emotional, and physical development during the formative years.

Children learn essential skills such as communication, problem solving, and creativity.

2. Qualified Early Childcare Educators: Trained early childcare educators play a vital role in providing quality care and education.

They create enriching learning experiences tailored to each child's needs.

Educators promote positive behavior, social interactions, and emotional wellbeing.

3. Early Learning Opportunities: Early childhood education offers diverse learning activities that stimulate curiosity and exploration.

Activities include storytelling, art, music, and play based learning.

These experiences enhance language development, motor skills, and critical thinking.

4. Safe and Nurturing Environments: Daycare centers and kindergartens provide safe and supportive environments for children.

They adhere to safety protocols and standards to ensure child protection.

Children thrive in environments that promote security, trust, and positive relationships.

5. Afterschool Care and Vacation Programs: After School care and vacation care programs extend the benefits of early childhood education beyond regular hours.

They offer structured activities, homework support, and recreational opportunities.

These programs contribute to a balanced approach to learning and leisure.

6. Preschool Readiness: Early childhood education prepares children for the transition to formal schooling.

It introduces foundational literacy, numeracy, and social skills.

Children develop confidence, independence, and a love for learning.

7. Holistic Development: Early childhood education focuses on holistic development, addressing physical, cognitive, social, and emotional aspects.

Children learn to express themselves, manage emotions, and interact positively with peers.

This holistic approach lays the groundwork for academic success and lifelong wellbeing.

Conclusion:

Early childhood education is a cornerstone of a child's growth and future success. By investing in quality early childcare and education, we empower children to reach their full potential and contribute meaningfully to society.

#family day care centre dayton #early learning centre in brabham wa #early learning daycare near me #childcare centre in bennett spring #best daycare for infants near me #family day care service morley #family day care service near me #family day care in bennett spring

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partnerlesspansexual · 7 months

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Hobie Brown bf headcanons (❁´◡`❁)🧷🖤🎸 Use of Y/N: none Warnings: none Genre: Fluff 🌸 (BTW, happy October everyone 🎃)

• Taller or shorter S/O: I feel like Hobie is the type of guy that couldn't care less about the height of his S/O. You could be as tall as lady D or as short as Napoleon; but as long as you can carry him around like the princess he is, he doesn't mind 👑❤️ • Preferred gender: Doesn't have one 😊 In my opinion, Hobie is more attracted to personality than physical appearance. He likes hes, shes, theys, thems, everyone! If you have a good vibe and hate the government, he's all over you, babes • His love language: Hobie's love languages are definitely gift giving and physical affection. Like, you could just be sat on the sofa doing whatever, and he'll just come in and climb onto you like an infant; and you'll be like "ummm, excuse m-" and he'll just shush you with his fingers. And then you'll just stay there. Forever. And as for gift giving, he'll just come back from his daily spooderman activities with a bunch of random bullshit he found, dump it on the desk that you're currently working at and say "You're welcome 😌" as if he's just given you the key to the universe • Pet names (for him): pretty boy, handsome, hot stuff, baby boy, gremlin lord, etc. • Pet names (for you): sugar-tits, thicko, babes, ducks, love/lovey, sweetie, dumbass, etc. • Tickling: You need to understand something. If you initiate a tickle fight with Hobart Brown, it is no longer a tickle fight; it's a tickle WAR. And he has no mercy, he'll go for your tummy, your sides, your feet, your EVERYTHING. And when you've had enough he'll just scream "DO YOU YIELD?! DO YOU YIELD?!" • Sharing food: NO, absoloutely not. Look, he loves you, but if you so much as put a finger near his precious fish and chips, you will pay the price. He'll smack your hands away like a fly and scold you like an angry mother "get your grubby mits off my food, cheeky bugger". And then five minute later he'll crumble and give you a piece cuz he just loves u that much ❤️ • His favourite couple activity: He likes the simple things in life. Going down to the pub for a drink with his baby is all he needs to keep him happy. He has to keep his eye on you at every moment, because you have the tendency to wander off; like, he'll turn around for 1 second to order your drinks and he'll turn round and you're just GONE, and he's stood there like "This bitch 😒" but in a loving way ❤️. Or just chilling at home listening to his records with his head in your lap as you play with his hair. • Pets: This man would deadass just bring home any animal he finds on the street. Like, you'll come home after a long day at work, go to the bathroom to take a shit and you just open the door to see Hobie in the bath tub with a whole possum like "😶..... I can explain"

(Why does the world keep torturing me with beautiful men that don't exist? WHY? 🥲)

#hobie brown x reader #atsv #atsv hobie #x male reader #x female reader #x gn reader #across the spiderverse #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown headcanons

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findafight · 2 years

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Oh my god!!! That Steve/baby sister fic!!! If you ever want to build it out more I’d be obsessed (ie the party + extended party’s reactions, hop + Joyce and how everyone pitches in)

╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯ awwww anon!!!!!

Honestly I have been thinking about it and I know I put in the tags of the original post, buuuut. Robin called Steve Bud or Buddy which morphed into Bubba when they are being particularly soft with each other, and the baby (who I am possibly leaning towards calling Tina so her nickname can be Tintin because it's cute idk) picks up on it so calls Steve her Bubba. Also because "he's my big brother" can sort of become "he's my Bubba!" If words are smushed together by baby babble

But before all that, Steve (who walked to work that day because he didn't have a baby car seat yet and wasn't going to leave his baby sister whom he always wanted and loves so dearly already ALONE or worse. With their FATHER.) goes to, of all people, Mrs. Wheeler for help. He'd go to Joyce but she's working and Karen Wheeler has the youngest kid he knows so is the best bet for maybe getting some tips and also maybe a carrier because the bjorn isn't going to cut it for long. So he goes and Mr. Wheeler immediately thinks Steve's Accidental Baby Acquisition is due to Steve's own recklessness. (Steve is a prolific lover, sure, but he's smart and safe about it! When he was thirteen his dad sat him down for a talk about not wanting the disgrace of a shotgun wedding and his grandpa gave him a run down of venereal diseases he saw (didn't mention having but. Well.) His pals have in WWII that put the fear of God in him regarding unsafe sex. Moreso than the potential babies. So. He's always very careful. For this very reason!! Except apparently his dad didn't use his own advice but Steve isn't complaining because, once again, he always wanted a little sibling.)

Anyways the wheelers are like ohhhh a Harrington Scandal not involving the boy our daughter dated? Okay sure here's Holly's old baby carseat. Hopper is just. He's like. I thought Steve and that kid I kept giving warnings to about selling dope to were a thing and Steve is like "will people stop assuming she's mine!! I know I am a bit of a slut but I am terrified of chlamydia!!! And even if this WAS my fault (which it is not and also she's a gift I love you little baby sister you're the light of my life) I am taking responsibility for it so maybe we all need to be a little less judgy hmmm??"

Joyce and Karen give him some hand me down baby clothes and books, some good tips about feeding and burping and things like that, and Claudia and Sue offer to come passive aggressively congratulate Steve's dad.

Dustin is a little jealous because this Steve Time is going to be encroached upon by This Literal Infant but Steve is like Dustin... you are my Little Brother... My silly pal...Now you have a sister too!! 🥰 And Dustin is like Oh Shit That's Right and proceeds to try to teach this Literal Infant, it cannot be stressed enough that she is a few months old and cannot stay sitting up by herself, how to build a radio.

Eddie is just trying to not have a heart attack from the concentration of Pure Longing activated by seeing Steve With A Baby and has also been forbidden from playing anything loud near them. He is fine and deals with this by writing ballads that make Gareth gag from their sweetness and Jeff have a very knowingly indulgent look when he sees the lyrics. But Gareth lets he hit his drums with he baby hands and Jeff pretends she stole his nose so they aren't that put out by it.

El is Fascinated by the tiny human and asks lots of questions and wants to play with her, give her experiences of softness and kindness right off the bat she knew she herself was denied, so she's often the official baby holder when Steve needs to do something when the Party is around.

The rest of the party is pretty meh on the baby. Sure it's exciting at first but she just kinda becomes part of regular life. They take turns doing actual babysitting for Steve so he can work or run errands or even, gasp, have some normal early adult fun times, but it's all pretty regular. Erica is glad she's not the party baby anymore.

They do however probably secretly fight over who gets to be baby's godparent. Steve isn't allowed to know.

#anonasaurus #steve harrington #big brother steve #the party #stranger things #steddie #platonic stobin #dustin and steve #findaanswers #finda's rambles #finda writes stuff

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rustedhearts · 7 months

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but i love him to death (steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: steve harrington is only known for one thing around this part of town: being a low-life piece of shit. but you love him, and there's no coming back from a love as bruised as this.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ main masterlist ✶ hunger

tags: insanely toxic relationship (these people should not be together!); mention of suicide; oral (m!receiving); talk of stab wounds and other cruelty; steve is deeply deeply troubled; depraved behavior honestly; reckless behavior; actually a whole lot of knives.

“white trash dick, but i love him to death. he’s so good to me, and to nobody else, so you can fuck yourself.”

—inbred, ethel cain

rural midwest. winter, 2007.

Steve Harrington knew what a cell looked like by the time he was twelve. How to handle a switchblade, how to gut a buck, how to step on another boy’s chest and hold a lighter to his cheek until he was squealing and whining like an infant. His first trip to juvie came the day after he turned twelve. The second came at fourteen. “That Harrington kid” could’ve been stamped across his headstone.

The big house came when he was eighteen. A six month sentence spent like a small town prince in iron bars. He reappeared with a cross tattoo on his left knuckle. God’s justice, he’d say. As if God would ever grant such power to a boy the likes of him.

The second stint at twenty-one was nine months and a year probation. The inked serpent slithering the inside of his forearm served as another parting gift. By the time you came to know him at twenty-four, he was a blackened, scarred version of the boy he used to be. You never knew that bare-skinned, freckled, lanky kid his mama talked about.

You only ever knew the man with the buzzed head, and a fistful of justice.

Twenty years old and still clinging to girlhood naivety, you walked into his world thinking it would be a short trip. You thought the date at the diner with an apple pie dessert and a kiss against the truck bed would be just another diary entry. Hearts around his name and a lipstick kiss across lined paper, you wound your diary up, tucked it under your head, and waited for his call the next day.

But by the time you were twenty-two, you had bookshelves full of diaries, all branded with Steve’s name.

September 2005

Steve picked me up in his truck. It’s old and beat up. I imagined it might’ve been a nice green color back in the day, like the color of the pine trees in his backyard near the property line. He held my hand the whole way to the diner. He’s so warm and rough. You can tell he’s not like those other boys I went to high school with, all soft and lotioned and cushioned with office life. He’s a working man. He’s not afraid to get dirty.

I guess I slammed the door when we were getting out. He said: “hey, don’t slam the truck.” I thought he was joking. But he just stared at me. He kinda does that a lot. Under a set of furrowed brows, eyes all serpent like. Matches his tattoo. Something about that look makes my insides skitter around. I know it’s wrong to get a thrill out of being afraid, but I think I do.

I don’t really care that he’s been to jail. I don’t care about the talk that follows him like a fly to shit. I only care about the way he kissed me tonight. Like being devoured whole. The way he holds me makes me feel so small.

God, I think I love him.

✶ ✶

April 2006

All he ever does is yell these days. At me, at his crew, at anybody that looks his way. It’s blown past cranky and stumbled straight into crazy. Mama says she doesn’t know what I see in a “piece of shit” like him. She said if Daddy were around to see that “low life white trash I walk around with” that he’d blow his head off all over again. I think he’s turning in his grave just hearing her say that kind of stuff.

And I do hate the way Steve gets mad like that. How he yells at me for slamming the truck even when I don’t, and how he pulls me a little too hard and fucks a little too mean. But he loves me. And I love him. More than I’ve ever loved anybody. We’re getting a place together this summer. Nobody’s ever asked me to move in with them before. Hell, nobody’s ever asked me to be their girlfriend before Steve.

But Steve wants me. He wants me to be his and all his and nothing more. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Those other people just don’t know him like I do. They don’t know how sweet he can be. How on Thursday nights he brings me sunflowers. How on Fridays we rent a movie and order takeout, and he kisses me and kisses me until he’s tired. He’d do anything for me.

✶ ✶

December 2006

If Steve keeps up like this, he’ll go right back to jail. My mama said it, the sheriff said it, even Steve’s fucked up daddy said it, and that man hasn’t had a single brain cell to fry sunny-side up and eat for breakfast since Desert Storm. But anyone can tell Steve is heading down a dark road again.

He loses wads of cash, only to show up with a heap more a few days later. Things are going missing. He comes home late. Sometimes I swear his hands smell like the burn of gunfire. I try not to get too curious because I know he hates when I pry, but I can’t help it.

I just hope whatever he’s doing, he doesn’t get in over his head.

✶ ✶

August 2007

Steve and I had a terrible fight. I think that’s all we do these days. Fight and break things and scream at each other until I feel like I can’t even breathe. Sometimes I swear he’s gonna pop a vein. Sometimes I wish he would, just to watch him bleed all over the fucking house. Sometimes I hate him so much I think about killing him with my bare hands, and sometimes he says he hates me so much he wants to do the same.

But then he comes back from wherever he runs off to, softer and quieter and soaked in Menthol smoke. And he kisses me. So sweetly, like how he did outside the diner on our first date when his lips tasted like brown sugar apple and pie crust. And he traces my body with his mouth and those rough, hot-plate hands, and I feel like nothing bad has ever happened to us. Like we didn’t just smash the kitchen up, and he didn’t just break my favorite vase. Like he didn’t tell he me he fucking hated me and wished I was dead, and I didn’t just tell him he was a no good son of a bitch.

I know this can’t be good. But I love him.

✶ ✶

When winter came, the cops were knocking almost every weekend. Huffing and rolling their eyes about another noise complaint, a call for a welfare check, or more “domestic disturbance” calls. Steve would shove the door open and roll his eyes, motioning toward the familiar-faced officers leaning in the doorway scoping out the mess.

“It’s for you again, sweetheart. Wasting everyone’s time.”

And you sent them off with a promise of wellness, assuring the officers that knew all too well the kind of man “that Harrington kid” was, that you were perfectly happy.

“I didn’t call them, Steve,” you muttered, following the stomp of Steve’s work boots toward the bedroom.

He flopped down on the end of the bed, reaching for the muddied laces. “Yeah, whatever.”

The room was freezing. You only used the heat when absolutely necessary—nose about to fall off necessary. But right now, you could manage through the frigidity with one of Steve’s old flannel coats and a sweater, feet bundled in thick wool socks. You gazed down at them as you leaned in the doorway, arms crossed tight to capture heat. Steve’s huffed breaths shuddered white phantoms against the old bed quilt, colors faded and torn from time. It belonged to your grandmother.

The house you shared with Steve, tiny and rundown and something your mother pursed her lips at when she came around, sat on the edge of town. The highway was a shout away. Sometimes you hated the sound of cars whooshing and semis blaring. But when the house grew lonely on long, cold nights without Steve—the noise was all you had.

“C’mon,” you whispered, fiddling with the frayed cuff on your wrist. “Let’s just go for a drive. Clear our heads. Like we used to, you know?”

Steve set his boot on the floor, shoulders hunched over his lap. He steadied one hand on his thigh, inhaling sharply. You peeked up to watch him stare off at the wood paneled wall, fixing on the cross above your shared bed. You glanced at the matching one scrawled on his fist in black ink. Shuffling a little closer, you watched his throat bob with a steadying swallow. Your finger reached out to touch it, running down the blue vein throbbing through the side of his neck. His skin was so warm. You brushed your other hand over his head, a little sweaty from its confines in a black beanie all day. But you loved the feel of the short, wiry hair fibers against your nails. The buzzing sound it made when you scratched.

“C’mon, Steve.” You kissed his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

You slid to your knees when you got to his throat, nose slipping through the grooves, feeling every breath he swallowed. Inhaling a highway cigarette, a whip of cold air and how it sharpened his skin, a spritz of cologne, a hint of gasoline. Hands gliding over the stiff canvas on his thighs, into the tough interior of his starched camo jacket. The outline of his pocketknife nudged your knuckles as they traveled to his ribs. You knew there was another tucked somewhere in his boot, one more in the pocket on his left calf.

The thought of his body's sharp silver blades had you trembling with hunger.

Steve eased back onto the mattress, eyes sinking closed. The utility pant zipper needed a little tug to come loose. His belt, sturdy leather recently purchased to replace one worn and cracked from wear, became a frustrating task to undo. But he didn't help you. He barely moved, stoically stagnant on the center of the quilt with shallow breaths.

Dipping your hand into the opening made by the release of his belt and zipper, your fingers closed around the length of his cock. He shuddered, a low groan echoed from his mouth with another puff of white cloud across stained ceiling tiles. His brows pinched together when you closed your lips over the pulsing head, welcoming in the warmth of his blood rushing all to one spot. The hot, wet cavern of your mouth had his hips shifting, shimmying against the bed until the springs yipped where iron rusted. They dug into your chest when you pressed into the bed, bookended by his thick, sturdy thighs against your shoulders—caging you in.

But you loved to be trapped. By his body, by his hands, by his kiss. Captured against him, knowing no other warmth but his, throbbing in your mouth.

Steve grunted and groaned like a boorish beast, fists curling and slamming into the bed as he swelled in your mouth and pushed your lips apart. And your hands roamed his thighs, nails scratching up the muddied canvas, clawing for more of him under the thin cotton of his t-shirt. The skin there was warm, too, and you sought every inch of it with greed in those wandering palms. You took special care of caressing the scar sliced across his right rib—a gash once nasty and bloody healed into something jagged and crude.

A parting gift from prison, a cellmate's final well wish.

With a sharp gasp, Steve spilled into your mouth. Hotness burst like a bad pipe, leaking down your throat and slipping past your lips onto his lap. When you had it all down, sliding its way to your stomach, you scooped your tongue over the wet spot on his crotch until it was gone.

And Steve lied there, heaving for air and squeezing his eyes closed, waiting for your final apology.

You tucked him back into his pants, zipper and belt secured, and climbed over his body on the bed. One kiss, two, three, pressed firmly over his eyes, his cheeks, his jaw. Every inch of him coated in your mouth and the aftertaste of his seed, teeth carefully scraped across his throat.

He pulled his eyes open when you were done, hazel boring into the heat of your face. His fingers smelled like the cold when they swept over your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You could feel every piece of skin breaking away from his hand, unmoisturized and overworked.

"I love you," he mused. He said it with the sugar coating of a piece of candy.

This was the sweetest he ever was.

"I love you, too."

"Let's go for that drive."

✶ ✶

He rolled the windows half down in the truck. You slipped a cigarette from the pack squished between the seats and lit the end off his, sucking in the taste of his tongue with one drag. You never knew what the true taste of Steve was like—only Menthols and whatever else lingered on him. Never him alone, never just Steve.

He rubbed warmth into your denim thigh with his wide palm, mindlessly caressing and squeezing through whitened roads. It hadn't stopped snowing for days. The roads, though recently plowed, were gritty with blue salt and rough to roll over. The truck's monstrous tires rumbled through town with the same difficulty as the little Honda chugging behind. Whatever song he had groaning on the radio sounded like gravel in a blender.

Glancing between your wind-blown cheeks and the blinding white world in the windshield, Steve silently tapped his ashes toward the snow and pulled drags with stiff lips. He licked them before tugging you by the collar of his coat, still buttoned around your body, until you toppled into his seat.

"Gimme a kiss."

You planted a sweet one on his mouth, inching away when you were done. But he kept you close, fist squeezed around the coat, chasing after your mouth with sharp teeth and tough lips. You giggled, careful of where you held your cigarette as you gave into his demands. He was driving blind now.

A few more pecks and licks and you tried again, nudging back toward your own seat near the frigid window. His hold was iron.

"Mm—Steve—"

The sound of a horn blaring had you rearing back, his grip loosened with surprise. Steve quickly veered back into the right lane, acutely missing the clip of another truck's bumper as it sped toward you in the oncoming traffic.

"Jesus, Steve!" you gasped, a cold sweat settling in your bones as the truck jostled on the snowy asphalt.

But Steve just laughed, carelessly reaching for his cigarette as it sizzled on the rubber mat near the brake pedal. You swiped your hand over your face, rubbing at the itch in your skin from the blood rush of near-death adrenaline.

"What the fuck?"

"What?" he muttered, mouthing at the butt for what was left of the cigarette.

Huffing, you squished yourself against the window and gazed out of it at the empty cornfield to your right. All it appeared as in the death season was barren land. Tufts of blanched grass poked through mounds of ice. A tire turned over on the side of the road where shattered glass exploded. The splintered wood fence of someone's farm abandoned by time. The water tower a few miles out, an unbelievable figure in the grey sky, stamped with the town name and bruised with decades of rust.

The cold that settled in your body numbed.

"What?" he pressed, tone tighter now. "You gonna fuckin' cry now? Jesus."

You swiped at your cheeks with your sleeve, ignoring the sting of broken skin where the weather broke it open. "Whatever, Steve."

His tongue clicked against the back of his teeth, withered cigarette chucked out the window. You shoved your fingers under your thighs to keep them breathing.

"I gotta make a stop."

You pressed your head to the window, ignoring the rattle of glass with every rotation of the tires and the icy chill it gave you. "Fine."

The stop was the gas station up the road from town. The first inkling of civilization in a stretch of void land, owned by a no good daddy that passed it down to a no good son. It was something of a tradition in this part of the country, you supposed. To keep businesses rotted with the cavities of crime in the family. To pass the sins of the father down to the son.

Steve whipped the truck into the lot and parked behind the ice chest, giving perfect view of the neon window and the liquor aisle.

"Can you roll the windows up while you go?" you murmured meekly, watching him reach for the ignition.

He rolled his eyes, but cranked his side up without word. He leaned over your lap to do yours, breath coated in Menthols and rage. He didn't kiss you before he pulled away, and you tried not to let the sting settle for too long.

"Stay here," he barked, the truck rocking momentarily when he stepped down.

He slammed the door, effectively trapping what semblance of heat you could manage with your own breath inside and giving you some sort of relief. Short-lived relief, of course.

Steve's hand disappeared into his camo jacket as he yanked the door open, only to come away with a blade. You straightened in the passenger seat, every nerve ending and vein boiling in anticipation for the first scream. They came, however, in muffled shouts. Shattering, smashing, the familiar sharp crack of bone on bone. You hunched your shoulders close to your ears and shut your eyes, holding your breath in your throat.

The world always stopped when Steve got in a knife fight.

It came rushing back in bleached colors and white sounds when the truck teetered violently. Steve flopped into the driver's seat, slamming the truck door with a cool ease. Peeking your eyes open, you gauged the extremity of the assault by the state of his knuckles. Swollen indigo where flesh split apart and cried red across the steering wheel. Shaking a little as they swept his hat off his head, revealing pink ears and a flushed neck. Steve wiped at his face and cleaned away the sweat.

You watched him sigh and shove the keys into the ignition, shuffling in his seat to get comfortable for the ride back. In a matter of minutes, sirens would start wailing. And Steve's wallet would sit a little thicker on the nightstand nonetheless, waiting for his return.

"Let's go home," he said, passing you a tight grin.

He kept the windows rolled up, and let them fog with the whir of heat from uncleaned vents.

These little affections, you took as I love you's.

#rolly!#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington au #joe keery #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve harrington x fem #stranger things #stranger things au #steve stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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