#am i just not finding the other Big Red playlists or am i the only person insane enough abt him to make a playlist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

c0la-queen · 2 months

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RAGHHHHHHHHH

Could you ever so kind and provide some general dating Headcannons for all the four boys?? 🥺👉👈

Maybe some extra with red leader or someone else if you’re fine with that??? 🥺💜

Mwah mwah you have amazing work <3 /p

Oh my gods I am SO sorry that this is so late!! For some reason, Mr. Tumblr decided not to notify me about your ask?? And then I was at my bestie's house this weekend, so I haven't checked my inbox until now. Begging for your forgiveness rn Anon!!

Also literally kissing you for asking for Red Leader!! Mwah, mwah!!

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Edd

If you are dating Edd... girlie I am so sorry for your sanity.

Don't get me wrong, I love Edd! He was my first Eddsworld love, my pookie bear for real! But he's the biggest bastard of the entire gang and I stand by that.

Calls you dumb pet names to try and make you laugh. Sugar Tits (regardless of gender or lack thereof, might I add), Baby Doll, Sexy.

He WILL grab/slap your ass all the time. Even in public. Only grins when you glare at him.

This man is a horrible influence. It will be so hard to get your shit done if he has decided that you need to be spending time with him. Why worry about work or chores when you could be all cuddled up with him and Ringo on the couch?

Will sulk if you reject his attempts.

If he's trying to get shit done and you're pestering him for attention? He will drop his basket of laundry or the dishes in his hands in a millisecond.

If he's working on a commission or animation, he'll let you sit in his lap in his chair, let you sit all pretty for him while he works. When he finishes, if you've fallen asleep by then -which you usually do - then he'll carefully move you both to his bed and snuggle up to you and take a nap with you.

Speaking of cuddling, he does naturally run hot. Comes with being a big boy <3 But if you don't enjoy that, then he'll use his powers to cool down his skin for you. Anything to keep cuddling!

He also uses his powers whenever possible. Will abuse them without shame. He puts things on the highest shelf, just so you have to him for help. He'll put patches of ice on the floor under your feet, just so he can catch you before you fall (he'll never let you actually get hurt), and uses his super strength to scoop you up randomly and carry you around.

You cannot show your text messages to ANYONE. He will say filthy things, just to fluster you. Horny Bastard. Finds ways to turn even the most mundane conversations into teasing.

He'd do cute couple things with you, like painting together and swapping canvases every 5 minutes. His favorite is going to cat cafes. The cats literally love him, its like he's made of catnip with how they swarm him.

Physical affection is a huge thing with him. Even little touches throughout the day, like ruffling your hair as he passes by, or a big hug from behind while you fix food.

Overall, big teddy bear that just likes to see his darling blush.

Tom

As I've stated in previous works, Tom is a secret romantic.

He's not a traditional romantic like Matt, but he's romantic in his own way.

Likes parallel play a lot. Finds it relaxing to just sit in his room, testing new songs on his bass while you lay on his bed reading a book. Or in your room, lounging on one of your plush beanbag and organizing his Spotify playlists while you fold your laundry.

Dates with him consist of record stores, concerts, and late night walks.

He'll sing for you if you ask him to.

Very down to earth, both as a person and as a boyfriend. If you have problems, he'll listen patiently until you're done, then help you brainstorm solutions. He doesn't downplay or ignore your feelings, but he doesn't jump to emotions like others might.

He tends to sleep in late on his nights off, since he's more of a night owl than anything. You know that, so you've made it a little tradition to fix him coffee around 11. You know exactly how he takes it, and he always thanks you with a kiss on the cheek and a sleepy, mumbled "you're the best."

Very caring. He'll make sure you've eaten and had water. Will usher you to bed if he can see that you're tired, or do your chores for you if you can't do them for whatever reason. If you can't sleep, he'll make you a mug of chamomile tea and sing you a little lullaby.

When it comes to his monster tendencies, he tries to keep you away from it all. He's bitter about what he is, and he thinks that you're better off separated from that side of him.

At the start of relationship, he'd get angry if you tried to push it. He'd snap at you, distance himself, not talk to you for maybe a couple of days. Further on in the relationship, though, if you push the issue and reassure him that you love every side of him, even the monstrous one, then he'd be more willing. Willing to let you in, to let you see that part of him. He'd be nervous about it, but he'd do it because he loves you.

Matt

He is a traditional romantic! His Mama raised him right, and he drinks his Respect Juice.

Makes sure you two have date night at least once every week. Dressing up nice, going out to dinner or a play, taking a walk through the town to wind down the night. Heading back into the house, changing back into comfortable clothes. He'd wipe your makeup off for you, if you wear it.

Absolutely the kind of guy to get down on his knees in front of you and unbuckle/untie your shoes or high heels for you. He's just so devotional.

If, for whatever reason, you guys are unable to have your date night, he'll make it up to you in some way. A bouquet of your favorite flowers sitting on your bed with a little note. A passionate kiss before one of you has to leave the house. A heartfelt love letter sealed with wax.

Makes sure to text you throughout the day with sweet messages. Compliments, "I love you"s, selfies, updates on what is happening at work. Or just reminders that he's thinking of you. Misses you.

Likes to cook meals for you if its just the two of you at home. Breakfast is his forte, but he's not the worst at following a recipe.

Always amazing for advice. He'll let you talk to him while he hugs you from behind. If it's something sad, he might cry. Just the idea of you going through something negative makes him sad, too.

If he doesn't have advice for you, he'd do anything in his power to find someone who does. One of the other roommates, or even his mother, if you're comfortable with it.

Speaking of his mother, she absolutely adores you. Since Matt has such a good relationship with her, he's already told her so much about you. She thinks its wonderful that her baby has fallen in love. After a while, Matt will even bring you along to his lunches with his mother. You two hit it off instantly.

If you're okay with it, then Matt would love to show you off on his social media. He thinks you're so gorgeous, the entire world should know that he managed to land you. Its never anything invasive, and he always gets your permission before he posts things. Blocks any weird or gross comments.

Loves going on shopping dates with you. Most of the time, its at the mall or a mall in a different town, because he loves walking around and window shopping. Occasionally, he'll take you to more expensive stores. It doesn't bother him, he loves spoiling you. No matter where you two are, he'll buy you anything that you want. If you are adamant to spend your own money, he won't put up too much of a fuss, though he does prefer to pay for you.

He'll do that couples trend with you where you find nail polish that matches the other's eye color.

Gift giving is just one of his love languages in general. It makes him so happy to give his loved one things that he bought. For you specifically, he'll also throw in hand made gifts. He may not be the most talented artistically, but he'll stay awake late into the night, sitting on the floor with a YouTube tutorial playing, paper and cardboard scattered around, a pencil between his teeth, paint on his hands and smeared on his cheek. The end result may look a little crude, but he'll still present it to you with pride. And, of course, you always love it.

Tord

Tord is probably the most romantically stunted of the four. Its not that he doesn't love you, far from it really. He just grew up in an environment where love wasn't freely given, and was often limited for appearances.

His father, as the Red Leader, insisted that he keep a professional and feared image. So, Tord never saw him being affectionate with his mother.

It might be hard at first. You'll struggle. You two may fight. But you'll always make up in the end. He'll listen to you, try to understand your point of view.

He's not against physical affection, but he's able to live without it. Will indulge you whenever you ask. If he's busy, which he usually is, he'll let you drape yourself over him from behind while he sits in his chair, letting you rest your cheek on the top of his head and watch him work.

More than anything, his love language is words of affirmation. Despite being a man of few words, he'll always give you praise. He'll make sure you know that you are his, he is yours, and he loves you. Nothing will change that.

Scary dog privilege. He'll always walk just behind you in public, keeping a guiding hand on the small of your back. Stays alert of you surroundings and the people around, so that you don't have to. You don't even have to worry about people approaching you in public. One piercing glare from Tord is enough to deter anyone.

Not the best at giving advice to problems. He'll listen, but sometimes he can't quite understand why something is an issue. Doesn't invalidate your feelings on purpose, it just happens inadvertently at times. Always, ALWAYS apologizes and holds you close when he realizes what he did.

His preferred dates are nights in at home. Cuddled up on the couch with takeout watching shitty rom-coms. Cooking food that he ate growing up in Norway while you sit at the kitchen table watching. Going to the convenience store at midnight to get Ben and Jerry's in the middle of anime binges.

You become his crutch. When he's having bad paranoia on nights that are too quiet, he'll seek you out. Just having you lay in bed with him, warm and solid and breathing, always calms him down.

He will never let you meet his parents. You are one of the very few good things in his life, and he wants to keep that away from his fucked up home life. Might let you meet his little sister, but not for a long time.

Surprisingly, he does tend to talk more when its just the two of you. He allows you into his head, verbalizing his thoughts to you. He'll ramble about his projects, tell you about the history behind his culture, or rant about things that annoy him. Denies it vehemently in front of others.

He is a huge tease, second only to Edd. What's dangerous is how casual he is about it. Loves making you squirm, and he'll never even change his expression. Sometimes he won't even be looking at you, but rest assured that he is swimming in satisfaction over how flustered you are.

Red Leader

I have so many thoughts about him. Oh my lord.

This is going off the scenario where Reader is a Red Army soldier and met him through the army, after the events of The End.

I want to clarify that this is NOT following the events of TBATF!!! This is my own Red Army timeline, what I refer to in my Eddsworld bubble as "The Bad End"

There are two ways that you'd be able to catch Red Leader's attention. Either you are an extremely talented soldier that does well among your peers, enough to earn the praise of your superior officers and eventually Red Leader himself. Or, you were assigned as his personal assistant to help with paperwork and meetings, but you were so good at handling his temper and attitude that he found himself surprised.

The latter of the two is my favorite, so I'll be working under that one.

Before you, Red Leader had been through several assistants. None of them lasted more than a month. By nature, he was a moody, temperamental man. The stress of the army and oncoming war only made that worse. He saw those previous assistants as nuisances, only getting in his way. He would yell at them, berate them, drive them to the brink until they beg Paul and Pat to transfer them.

When they assigned you to him, they expected the same thing to happen. The two even made bets on how long you'd last. On your first day, Red Leader was nasty to you. Gruff and rude. But... you bit back. That took him by surprise. Instead of taking the insult and shuffling out like a puppy with its tail between its legs, you pursed your lips and gave him a stern look and talked to him in a way that nobody dared to. He should've been angry. Should have screamed at you, discharged you from the army in a heartbeat.

Instead, he found that he quite enjoyed it. He enjoyed your spitfire. Not that he'd let you know. He only gave you a noncommittal hum and dismissed you with a wave of his hand. But... he kept you around. Even found excuses for you to come into his office more than necessary. His penchant for teasing came back full force. He'd poke and prod, finding ways to make you react with that fire he so loved.

It takes a long time for him to finally make a move. Probably takes a near-death experience for him, or an injury to you for him to realize that he wants this. He wants a future with you.

At first, he may seem a little cold in public. Not to the degree that his father was - he promised himself that he would never be like his father. Simply a more... professional air about the entire thing. It was more out of anxiety than anything. He didn't want to make you a target, didn't want to cause you to get hurt. As his army grows more powerful and takes over more and more countries, he grows more comfortable with PDA. He knows that when he is the most powerful man in the world, he doesn't have to worry about anyone hurting you.

He would probably treat you more like a spouse than a girlfriend/boyfriend right off the bat. He's older now, thinking more about the future than the present. He already knows that he wants to be with you forever, so why go through the formalities and hassle of dating?

Always makes time for you whenever he can. If he's in a meeting with his generals or another world leader, he'll sneak text messages to you. Doesn't give a shit if he's caught. What are they going to do to him, Red Leader?

If he's cooped up in his office all day, his door is always open to you. Loves having you drop by unannounced to bring him food or coffee. He'll let you climb into his lap while he works, or sit behind him in his chair and cling to him. Even if you're just sitting in a separate chair nearby, working on your own stuff. He's happy.

If you want to continue being a soldier, or his assistant, he'll let you. But he's also perfectly happy to have you simply be his partner and not have a care in the world. You could sit all pretty in his quarters waiting for him to get off duty, or use the time to pursue your own hobbies and interests. As long as you're happy and cared for, it's okay with him.

Spoils you rotten. You're Red Leader's, so of course you only deserve the best things. Anything in the world you want, you only have to ask for it. It's yours. He would raze entire cities just to see you smile.

He does enjoy taking you out on dates. While also spending time with you, he sees it as a way to show you off to the world. Dressing you up in the finest clothes that he got you, the prettiest jewelry that he bought. Taking you to restaurants and operas where everyone can see you hanging on his arm. It makes him puff up with pride.

When the two of you are alone, he's so adoring. Loves snuggling. It's a struggle to convince him to let you out of bed in the mornings, he'll just be clinging to you. If you do somehow manage to escape his grasp, he'll catch you around the waist and drag you back to bed. Won't stop until Paul or Pat message him to get his ass out of bed. He always grumbles about how "it's my damn army, I should get to sleep in as long as I want".

Sometimes, at night, he has pains in his right shoulder, the side where he's burned and amputated. It can range from a dull ache to excruciating pain. On nights that it hurts too much to move, you'll scramble out of bed and get his medication from his nightstand, gently coaxing him to take it. You'll hold him and comfort him until the pain subsides and he falls back asleep.

He doesn't like to talk about it, really. It feels weird, letting anyone see this part of his life. Letting you see his vulnerability. Letting you see him.

But he does.

#eddsworld #eddsworld x reader #eddsworld tom #eddsworld tord #eddsworld matt #eddsworld tom x reader #eddsworld tord x reader #eddsworld edd #eddsworld matt x reader #eddsworld edd x reader #requested #eddsworld red leader #eddsworld red leader x reader

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misshoneybee · 2 years

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˖ ࣪ 𖥔 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐇 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𖥔 ࣪ ˖

— ℳ𝒾𝓈𝓈ℋ𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓎ℬ𝑒𝑒'𝓈 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 —

Pairing: Daddy!Andy Barber x Nanny!Reader Content Warnings: Daddy kink, ddlg undertones, somnophilia, dubious/non consent, age gap (Reader is early twenties, Andy is mid-forties), fingering, oral sex (f-rec), dirty talk, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby), overstimulation, general smut bc this is kinktober so minors, dni!! Word Count: 4.7k A/N: Here we are!!! This is my first Kinktober and I am nervous to write all these new kinks and characterizations but also incredibly excited. I'm so sorry that this was so delayed, my loves! Work has been hell for the past week but I've finally had time to proofread this. As always, I do my best to keep my reader as inclusive as possible but please let me know if there's anything I can do to improve upon it! There's no use of Y/N or anything else where you need to insert information to read just because that's my personal preference! Anyway, please enjoy and I'd adore some feedback, if anyone feels so inclined! Navigation: Masterpost | Playlist | Divider Credit | Kinktober Masterpost | October Fifteenth Summary: Working as the Barber family's nanny is a piece of cake, but what happens when the dad you've been tip-toeing around all year comes home late one night to find you asleep in his bed, wearing his favorite sweater?

Although, you couldn’t exactly say that you loved your job, the accommodations and compensation made what little aggravation you faced in the course of a workday well worth it. While most students from your college town had picked up odd jobs in busy restaurants or quaint little shops, you’d become a live-in nanny for the Barber family. It was a perfect situation really—your tuition was covered by scholarships, you only worked in the afternoons and evenings, you didn’t have to pay for housing, the ‘work’ was a piece of cake, and your employer was the hottest man you'd ever fucking seen.

Jacob was a pretty quiet kid—and maybe a bit too old to have a nanny, at the age of thirteen—so you were essentially just paid to ensure he didn’t sneak out of the house and ate a somewhat balanced dinner on the nights that his dad got home late from work or other engagements. The family unit was small with only Jacob and his father and, now by extension, you.

District Attorney Andy Barber had quietly left his wife a year earlier and moved he and his son away from their small hometown to start over just as you’d arrived in the city to begin your third year of school. You’d met in the aisles of a dark liquor store as you stood in front of the vast selection of wine, teeth digging into your lower lip as your eyes scanned all the labels on the red varietals: merlot, cabernet sauvignon, Malbec, pinot noir, Sangiovese.

Seeing your hesitation at making a selection, he’d easily swooped in and found you something sweet, saying it reminded him of you with a charming grin. It was an unassuming bottle with a minimalistic label—a vin santo that flooded your tongue with a sweetness that reminded you of warm summer days and cherry jam. It was perfect—and that was where it all began.

You’d crossed paths in your small college town several more times and now, more than a year later, you’d settled into the Barber’s lives seamlessly. The big colonial house, tucked away in the gated neighborhood, was quiet as the clock approached one in the morning. Andy had needed to attend some gala, to rub shoulders and grease palms and do all other sorts of lawyerly things, so after dinner, you had taken it upon yourself to clean up around the house after Jacob had gone to bed.

The kitchen had been cleaned from dinner you’d made, the dishes had been washed and put away, and you’d finished the laundry. All of the linens had been tucked away in the hall closet but you found yourself hesitating at the door of Andy’s empty bedroom as sleepiness began to sink into your bones. There were just a few shirts that needed to be hung in his closet. You rocked back and forth on your heels, deliberating silently as you propped the basket on your hip, looking up and down the silent, empty hall as if he’d appear and chastise you for even entertaining the idea. He’d never said his room was off-limits to you; in fact, Andy had always told you to make yourself at home.

It would only be for a few minutes anyway.

Stifling a yawn, you quietly opened the heavy, wooden door and slipped into the dark room. Flipping the light-switch turned on a lamp, dimly bathing the unfamiliar space in a warm, comforting light. It looked just like you’d imagined it—not that you’d spent a long time picturing your employer’s room.

No—never.

Certainly not when he came down to the kitchen on Saturday mornings in worn flannel pajama pants and made coffee for the two of you to share in silence as Jacob slept in, and definitely not when you lay in your bed, in the room just next door to his, with your fingers slipping beneath the silky fabric of your panties as you remembered the feeling of his eyes on you from across the dinner table.

Feeling your face grow warm as you shoved those thoughts away, you quickly opened the door to his closet. It was as organized as you’d have thought it to be. The hangers and collars were all turned in a uniform direction, the shirts organized by shade and hue from dark to light. Humming softly to yourself, you finished the chore quickly before something on the foot of his pristinely made bed caught your eye.

The fall air that had invaded the New England coast had brought a chill, and along with it, a shift in his wardrobe. It was a deep, forest green sweater of his that had silently become your favorite item in his closet. Cautiously, you picked up the article and bit your lip to stop a quiet sigh from escaping your lips. It was soft and you’d imagined yourself running your hands over his chest while he wore it dozens of times.

The clock on his bedside table read just after one; when Andy had left that afternoon, he’d mentioned that it would be close to two before he’d return home from Boston. You knew exactly what you wanted. Padding softly across the room, you closed the door with an almost silent ‘click’ of the latch. You couldn’t help it; you could feel your heart beating against your breastbone and the way your panties had grown damp at just the thought.

There was a bit of a thrill as you slipped out of your ratty collegiate sweatshirt and allowed it to fall on to the soft carpet without a sound, your short cheer shorts following suit. Bare to the cold room, you felt goosebumps prickle your skin and you weren’t sure if your nipples had grown hard from your admittedly overactive imagination, or the exposure.

Slipping the woven cashmere over your head, you let out a soft sigh as the fabric caressed your skin and enveloped you in a scent that was purely Andy. It was something expensive; you’d seen the bottle on his bureau. A sweet, smoky wood scent that clung to his skin and the fibers of his clothes—fuck, you wanted to be covered in it.

Crawling on to the king-sized bed that took up the center of his spacious room, you couldn’t help but giggle as you sank into the plush, white duvet that covered it. Your fingers and toes curled against the cotton, and, in the back of your mind, you knew you’d have to smooth it all out before you returned to your own room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care in the moment.

All you could think about was Andy in this bed, his hand working his hardened cock as quiet groans strained from his throat. You knew he did it every night before he fell asleep. You couldn’t help but wonder if he knew that, just separated by a single wall, you listened carefully and covered your mouth, fucking yourself along with him.

Allowing your eyes to drift shut, your fingers trailed down your body, rubbing the damp fabric that clung to the lips of your wet pussy, whimpering softly as you brushed against the hardened nub of your clit. God—you wished it was him. His fingers teasing your cunt, his tongue brushing over your nipple before grazing it with his teeth.

Clenching the duvet, that was covered in the musky, heavy scent of him, with white knuckles, it didn’t take long for you to reach the precipice. Biting your lip, almost painfully, you stifled a cry. The way your walls fluttered around your fingers, as your thighs clenched hard, and your toes curled into the soft sheets made you feel like you were flying. Writhing against the now too-warm bed, you felt that fuzzy, pleasurable feeling wash over you like the sun’s rays as you came back down. Touching yourself had never felt so good before—how could you go back to your normal nightly activities?

Slipping your hand from the sodden fabric, it was like your body was on autopilot. Your breathing slowed as your post-orgasm brain returned from the stratosphere. It wouldn’t hurt to close your eyes for just a minute. One minute, then you’d take off his too-soft sweater and get rid of any evidence that you’d even been here. One minute, then you’d go to your own room and lay down and go to sleep with your little secret.

Just one minute, then…

The lights were off in the silent house. Andy carefully allowed the heavy front door to close behind him, turning the deadbolt as he shut out the rest of the night. Running a hand over his scruff-covered chin, he let out an uninhibited yawn. The day had been long, the night even longer, and he longed for sleep. Leaving his briefcase in his office, and his rumpled jacket folded over his arm, he quietly padded up the stairs and down the hall.

With a gentle knock on Jacob’s door, and no answer in response, he quietly peered inside. A muss of brown hair rested on his pillow, barely visible under the plaid quilt that covered the bed. Jacob hadn’t snuck out since you’d taken on the task of nannying him, but Andy always liked to be certain, not quite trusting the little shit—and for good reason. Quietly closing the door, he continued down the hall before coming to rest in front of your room. He frowned, looking at the floor for that telltale strip of light that usually spilled from beneath the door and tattled to him that you were still awake, usually reading or listening to music or watching something on your laptop.

You were a night owl, and it wasn’t even two in the morning; you never fell asleep this early unless you had an exam the next day and he knew that wasn’t the case. It was the weekend. He’d gotten to know your schedule intimately, getting a copy of your class and assignment schedule from you under the guise of staying in the loop. Truth be-told, he just wanted to know how your days went and where you were. Erring on the side of caution, he gently rapped a knuckle against your door, quietly murmuring your name just inches away from the wooden barrier, knowing you’d hear, if you were actually awake.

Met with silence, he felt a tug in his chest. He knew you weren’t the lightest sleeper; once when he’d apologized for doing lawn work on an early Saturday morning, you’d told him, with a sheepish blush, that you hadn’t even noticed the loud mower outside your window. Knocking once more, louder this time, he called your name with no response. Resting a hand on your doorknob, he hesitated.

Though it was unspoken, he’d deemed your room off-limits…but what if you were hurt? Or sick? What if something had happened to you after Jacob went to bed? Talking himself out of walking away, he turned the cold, metal knob. The door opened silently and he hesitated before taking a step inside, his eyes searching the pitch black for your form.

Adjusting to the dark, his eyes could make out the frilly pink sheets of your still-made bed. With a frown, he flicked on the light and took in the space that he’d only ever caught occasional glimpses of. Through the worry, there was a pique of intrigue. Everything was shades of pastel, a little stuffed bunny propped up against your pillow. It was all so innocent and girly. Sweet and saccharine, just like you.

A light on your nightstand got his attention; a lump in his throat, and the bulge in his tight slacks, grew as the shape registered. Nope, it wasn’t your phone. Fuck. A little vibrator rested on your bedside table, and he had to bite his lip to stifle a groan. He’d heard the quiet vibrations through your shared wall before but seeing the culprit and everything else was something new entirely.

He always knew you were girly, loving cute things and being just as sweet, but you—

You were missing.

He didn’t have time to jerk off as he tried to remedy all of the new things he’d learned about your bedroom. Muttering a curse under his breath, he adjusted his rapidly hardening cock before taking a step back and taking a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he gathered himself. He had to get a fucking grip—he argued against murderers for a living, for Christ’s sake. Would your vibrator and sweet little bedroom really be his downfall?

Your car was still in the driveway—you weren’t in the living room and the den had been dark when he’d come in as well. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he quickly found you listed under his favorites and allowed it to dial. His brow furrowed when he heard a quiet sound from the next room over. In just three strides, he was in front of his room and with one more, he was inside as the phone call went to voicemail.

The lamp in the corner of his room illuminated the space, as well as your sleeping form that was sprawled over the center of his king-sized bed. A cocktail of relief and arousal flooded him at once. You were safe. You were home.

But you were also in his bed. And aside from his sweater, only wearing a pair of satin-y, baby pink panties that were molded perfectly to your ass which he could plainly see in the warm light that filled the room. You rested on your belly, fingers gripping his pillow beneath your head tight, with one leg hiked up the mattress as you snuggled into the plush bedding. Closing the door quietly behind him, his legs carried him over to the bed without a second thought. His eyes trailed over your relaxed body and affection almost made the corner of his lips tick upwards.

You looked so sweet, your eyes closed gently as your thick lashes brushed your soft cheek. That sweetness was cut when he noticed a damp patch on your panties and the way that soft sighs of sleepy pleasure slipped from your lips as you rocked your hips into the mattress, oblivious to your newfound audience as some dream played out behind your eyelids.

The aquamarine of his eyes caught fire as he watched you shift in your sleep. Draping his jacket over the armchair in the corner of his room, he stalked across the room, pausing as he landed beside the bed. Straight, white teeth digging into his lip, he held back a groan as you shifted, seeking out comfort as his sweater rode up to your waist, revealing more of you to his starving gaze.

He could feel his cock throb at the sight of you and he was almost certain that no amount of deep breathing could resolve it. He needed you out of there before he blew a load in his pants like a fucking teenager. Tucking his length in to the waistband of his boxer-briefs, he carefully sat down beside you. The foam mattress didn’t move you in the slightest and he mumbled a curse under his breath before resting a hand on your thigh, giving you a gentle shake as he softly murmured, “Sweetheart?”

A little groan slipped through your lips, your eyes squeezing shut tighter as you held on to the clouds of sleep that still filled your head. Turning over, you mumbled something incomprehensible before your breathing leveled back out.

Looking at his hand still resting on your smooth thigh, he resisted the urge to give the cushion of your skin a soft squeeze. Slowly trailing his eyes up your frame, his eyes darkened. Your nipples strained against the light knit material, begging to be pinched and laved. If you tempted him when you were awake, wandering the house in those tiny shorts and tight tops, watching you sleep was another circle of hell where he was condemned only to look but never to touch.

You two had danced around one another since you’d met at that liquor store. How could he know you wanted it as badly as he did?

“Princess,” Andy tried once more, his thumb brushing back and forth over your leg as he spoke at a normal volume, “Wake up for me, sweetheart.”

He watched the way your nose crinkled slightly in your sleep and a small smile spread across his lips. It was as if your subconscious was absorbing his words, blocking them from reaching your conscious mind and waking you up. As he gave your leg one more gentle shake, you let out a quiet, whiny groan consisting of one word, “Daddy…”

Andy couldn’t help the way his grip on you tightened at the two-syllable word, the little blood that was left in his head, rushing to his groin. Fuck—there was no mistaking that. He barely noticed the way his hand had drifted further up your leg; he needed to touch you more, to see all of you.

You’d just called him daddy.

He could be your daddy for tonight.

Or, for as long as you’d allow him.

Clearing his throat, he gave one last, half-hearted attempt at waking you, “Baby?”

“Daddy, please…” You breathed out, your fingers gripping the soft blankets as your dreams continued to roll like a film reel, unaware of the way that their subject’s hand had drifted up to your hip, toying with the elastic edge of the only barrier separating him from you. Your voice was so innocent as you whimpered out, “Need you, daddy…”

At that, it didn’t take long for Andy to slip down the bed, gently parting your already spread legs further, leaving enough space for him to lay between them. With a tentative hand, he brushed his thumb over the wet spot that had darkened the light fabric of your panties, begging for his attention. Your hips jerked as he dragged his finger down the cleft of your folds and a low chuckle gently shook the bed.

“Shh…” He shushed your soft whimper, watching as your brows drew together, seeking out the feeling again and rocking your hips upward.

Fuck—he’d wanted this since he saw you standing in that dark store. You’d looked so sweet in your little, frilly pastel dress, your exposed décolletage shining with some body shimmer that smelled like vanilla, even from a foot away. That was you; always so sweet, so good.

Pressing a gentle kiss to the center of your covered, private area, feeling the dampness against his slightly parted lips, he hummed softly, reassuringly as his thumb continued to drift up and down that same spot tortuously, “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.”

You spent all your time doing things for everyone else: your family, your friends, him, his son—when was the last time that you’d been taken care of? When was the last time you’d let your walls down enough to even allow it?

In that blissful twilight of sleep, you were so soft, vulnerable and receptive to his care. You’d allow it, even if you didn’t know you were.

Holding his breath, trying to stay as silent and as still as possible, Andy gently rolled the lacy, elastic band down your legs as his eyes stayed trained on your face for any hint that you were coming around. Gently maneuvering your sleep-laden limbs, spreading your legs wider for him to fit between, you barely shifted as he draped your legs over his broad shoulders.

Running a finger down the bare, sensitive skin of your puffy slit, he groaned as he collected the proof of your arousal on the tip of his digit. “Oh, sweetheart…” Using his thumbs, he gently spread the petals of your sex and had to bite his lip to stifle himself from cursing at the sight. The low light glistened against the wetness that clung to your skin as your hips shifted and your brows pulled together, feeling the cold air brush against your exposed clit. He cooed, “You’re so wet, baby. This all for me? All for Daddy?”

“Mm…” You mumbled, your cheek pressed against the pillow as your hands drifted up your body, dragging the hem of his sweater up over your tummy slowly. You could feel the last glowing embers of sleep slowly dying, with each brush against your skin pushing you back towards the waking world but you were so comfortable. You were enrobed in Andy’s scent, that sweet smoke that made you feel like nothing bad could happen to you as long as it was near.

Andy’s thumb brushed against your swollen bundle of nerves and he let out a low, dark chuckle as your hips gave a sudden jerk at the direct stimulation. Not wanting to torture you—not yet at least—he traced circles around the bud, careful not to touch it directly again. After several moments, he carefully slipped one finger inside, finding no resistance if your state of need. Giving it a few, agonizingly slow, experimental pumps, he watched hungrily as his digit glistened with your wetness each time it slid out.

With his eyes trained on your blissful expression, he gently slipped in a second, longer finger beside the first and watched hungrily as your body adjusted to the new sensation, a soft whimper breaking through your parted lips at the stretch; his fingers were far larger than your own.

“Daddy’s going to eat your sweet pussy, baby.” As his fingers hooked upwards gently, they pressed teasingly against the spongy pillow of your g-spot, your hips bucking forward again at the sudden pressure that made your squeeze around him. You were balancing on the precipice of wakefulness now, one foot still in that perfect dreamland and the other stepping towards the seemingly real, gentle brushes against your skin.

With a gentle kiss pressed to your hip bone, his tongue finally licked a broad, languid stripe through your folds from your entrance to the red button of your clit that continued to beg for his attention. “Fuck, you taste like candy…” Watching the way your tight hole clenched around nothing; he immediately imagined filling it with his cock, Andy groaned, “Sweetest little cunt I’ve ever had.”

Closing his eyes, he groaned as he leaned back down, using his tongue to lave over your sensitive skin; he needed to taste you. Sleep was slipping away, and you weren’t certain if it was a dream when your hands threaded through a head of hair that rested at the apex of your thighs. The grip of your fingers tightened almost painfully in his hair as his lips finally wrapped around you swollen clit, giving it a hard suck before letting it go. The scrape of your nails over his scalp mixed a quick lick of pain into his pleasure.

“Oh god—fuck!” You felt your body begin to shake as an orgasm barreled towards you, forcing your sleepy eyes to finally open.

“Watch your language, princess.” Andy’s eyes found yours open and he grinned wolfishly at the surprise and arousal that filled your expression, “Good girls don’t talk like that.”

The wet muscle dipped inside your channel, his nose nudging against your clit before he dragged his tongue slowly up again to the swollen nub. He traced the tip around it before sucking hard then soft and letting go and repeating the movement again and again. He could feel your body tensing as an orgasm quickly approached and he slipped his fingers back into your soaking cunt, your thighs quivering at the added feeling.

“Andy—ah!” A whine was pulled from your throat, silencing your sweetly confused question as you fell over the edge.

He grinned against your skin at the shattered cry, sucking your clit just slightly harder than a moment earlier before gently scraping his teeth over it and making your thighs squeeze around his head. He murmured against your wet pussy, his voice sending vibrations through your body, “What’s my name, baby?”

Your mind was floating away and all you could concentrate on was his touch and the way he made you feel so little and taken care of as he played with you. Shaking your head, your sweet voice came out shakily, “I don’t—”

“I know I haven’t made you that stupid, baby.” His thumb circled your clit, tugging up on the hood of it and exposing the pearl to his greedy eyes before they flicked back up to yours as you leaned up on your elbows to watch him, “What’s my name?”

Capturing it between his lips, he sucked hard, and you felt the wetness dripping from your hole onto his duvet, “Daddy!” You finally cried out, failing to silence yourself as he dipped his tongue into your entrance, collapsing back onto the bed as he played you like a violin, feeding off your every reaction. “God! Oh—feels so good…Daddy, please!” There was a pout on your lips that contrasted with the way your hips rocked against his every touch, unsure if you wanted him closer or to stop the sensations that were becoming too much.

“You like when Daddy plays with your princess parts while you sleep? Yeah?” He let out another deep chuckle against your cunt as a little chirp was pulled from you at his naughty words. He continued lowly, “You know I had to when I found this beautiful little girl in my bed, cunt soaked and waiting for me to come home.”

You moved your hips, chasing that pleasure with each changing angle. The sounds were almost depraved; every lick of his tongue and brush of his fingers forced a wet noise into the room that was mostly quiet aside from the constant melody of your breathy moans.

His hips rocked into the mattress, seeking out his own pleasure as you whimpered, “Fuck, that’s my good girl—wearing my sweater and those slutty, little panties. Gonna keep those, baby. Never getting them back.” Slipping two fingers back into your tight cunt, he pumped them as his mouth focused on your little pearl, “Now come for me again, sweetheart.”

“Can’t!” You cried out, your lip quivering as your second climax barreled towards you, and you shook your head, begging, “No! Too sensitive, daddy…”

“You wanna be sensitive?” He landed a smack to your overworked button with three fingers.

“No!” You whimpered, feeling tears well in your eyes, sniffling as the pleasure made your body shake.

“Better make that sweet little pussy squeeze my fingers or Daddy’s gonna give you a lot more than this…” With dark eyes, he watched as the pleasure finally took hold once again, dragging you under.

“Daddy!” You whimpered as he pressed against your g-spot with two thick fingers, sucking your clit at the same time and shoving you over the edge. Your fingers tightened in his hair as you finally squealed, “Oh! I’m coming!”

You felt your walls flutter as he helped your body ride the crest of the wave of your second orgasm, licking you slowly as a new flood of wetness coated his tongue like a nectar that he never wanted to stop drinking. He could live and die between your thighs, happily.

Your toes curled as your thighs clenched around his head, it was almost as if you were trying to force Andy away when the stimulation became too much but he held your thighs open despite the pleasured cries that filled the. room.

“That’s it…Good girl, sweetheart.” He murmured, helping you come down from the edge that you’d been balancing on for far too long. Watching through half-hooded eyes, you hummed softly as he rubbed your still trembling thigh with one hand and cleaned the fingers of his other with his mouth, a sly smirk on his full lips.

“I…” You trailed off, your cheeks burning as you finally came back from that floaty place where your head had been since waking.

‘Holy shit.’

Covering your body with his, your eyes widened innocently before he caught your lips in a surprisingly soft kiss. He tasted like whiskey and you, and it felt like a drug that you’d easily become addicted to. Andy’s hand landing a smack on your ass made you jump, pulling away from the kiss that had lulled you into a false sense of security.

He chuckled as you let out a quiet whine at the sting his hand left behind, sitting back up and undoing his belt with dark eyes that were still focused on you, “Now get that little ass in the air. It’s time to let Daddy use this sweet little hole, princess.”

#andy barber #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber smut #andy barber x reader #andy barber x reader smut #chris evans character #chris evans character smut #kinktober #maddie writes spice #maddie writes #honeybeeskinktober2022 #kinktober 2022 #reposting this bc it won't show up in the tags :(#mine

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gimmethatagustd · 3 days

Text

venor (epilogue) | kth + jjk

The barista at the university’s café keeps telling Jungkook not to come back, but Jungkook is too busy daydreaming about kissing the beauty marks on his face to be paying attention to his warnings.

○ Pairing: Tiger!Taehyung x Bunny!Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Hybrids, predator/prey, college au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, light angst, eventual smut

○ Word Count: 5,502

○ Warnings: Heat sex, what the gworlies call self-lubrication aka slick, Taehyung’s got a big dick (in every universe imo), size difference, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, handjob, unprotected anal sex, scenting, marking, pet names

○ Notes: This is honestly just porn 🫣 If there are errors, no there aren't jshdfks I wrote this with scrambled eggs for brains. ANYWAY. THIS IS THE END OF AN ERA. I can't believe I wrote a 79k fic. Who tf am I??

○ Post Date: May 4, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Cross-Post

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Series Masterlist

"You're gonna be fine, dude. I swear, it's not as scary as everyone makes it out to be. When Suyun first—"

Taehyung's phone slips out of his hand and clatters onto the tile floor. He accidentally kicks it halfway across the aisle when he bends down to pick it up. Poor Jackson is still talking on the other line, doling out advice that Taehyung should be listening to.

"Son of a bitch," Taehyung hisses, finally snatching his phone.

"What the fuck, hyung?"

"Sorry, not you. I'm just freaking out, okay? I'm at the grocery store, and I don't know what kind of snacks he wants because he hasn't texted me back in an hour. An hour."

"Hyung, I'm gonna be so real with you right now. He's probably fuck—"

"Nope. Shut the fuck up, Jackson, goodbye."

"Hyung, I just meant that he's probably fine!"

Jackson is probably right. Jungkook is probably fine. Taehyung is the one who can't pull himself together.

"I'm gonna go…"

Taehyung doesn't wait for Jackson's reply. Grabbing whatever food he thinks Jungkook would like, Taehyung tries to pay for his groceries and leave the store without terrifying the prey hybrids around him with his tunneled focus. Predator hybrids tend to have a certain air of dominance, something natural and usually out of their control. Taehyung does his best to be neutral, to keep himself in check and glide through life as inoffensively as possible. Ironically, he's been told the intentional suppression of his instincts only makes him come off as even more intimidating.

Not to Jungkook, though, who trusts Taehyung more than Taehyung trusts himself.

On Taehyung's way home, he may have run more than one red light. Tickets in the mail will tell him; he can't be fucked to know now. The trip home is a black hole, like whatever floats beyond the dark outer walls of the tunnel he barrels through. Getting from the parking garage to his apartment is no different, just with plastic grocery bag handles digging painful creases into the skin of his forearms as they swing when he shoves his shoulder against the front door. He hates the way it sticks and reminds himself that he needs to buy oil and fix it himself since his good-for-nothing dog of a landlord won't ever do shit.

Living on his own has taught Taehyung a lot about himself, like how he never wants Jungkook to ever have to bruise his shoulder against a door to force it open, even if Jungkook's shoulders are more muscular than his. It has taught him that he gets anxious over choosing the wrong Turtle Chips flavor. That he cares about not leaving the lights on in the apartment — not because he's stingy with the electricity bill as his parents had been, but because it makes it easier to find Jungkook when the apartment is dark and the only lights on are in Taehyung's bedroom. That he hates putting away groceries and would rather drop the bags in the doorway – they're just snacks – and crawl into his bed where a sleeping Jungkook is curled around his pillow.

Living on his own has taught Taehyung that he would rather live with Jungkook.

"Bun," Taehyung murmurs into the crook of Jungkook's neck.

Jungkook is lying on his side, so it's awkward when Taehyung straddles his legs and drapes his body over him, though Taehyung does his best not to crush him. He's sweaty from wearing the baggiest hoodie he could find in Taehyung's closet and wrapping himself in every blanket Taehyung owns despite it being the middle of the summer. His ears are flopped back so he avoids lying on the left-side one, and his face is flushed pink.

This is new for both of them, though in different ways. Jungkook has never had someone to help him through his heat, and Taehyung has never helped someone through their heat. Taehyung has had rut partners — which he knew better than to talk to Jungkook about — but he knows that experience is entirely different. For the past week leading up to the heat, when Jungkook was particularly moody, Taehyung felt dread sit like a rock in his stomach. It weighed him down and churned his insides. He could do nothing to stop the sinking feeling or the fluttering of his heart when he realized there was nothing he could do. Typically, the experienced one of the two, Taehyung, feels like he has been fumbling behind Jungkook as he tries to learn the right way to do… this.

"Why are you on me?" Jungkook asks. Sleep has made him groggy, easily heard in the thick grumble of his voice.

"'Cause I love you."

"Tae."

With a grin, Taehyung nuzzles his face against Jungkook's neck. He knows he's being annoying, but Jungkook smells sweet, and his body is warmer than usual. Taehyung likes it. He likes how rich Jungkook's scent is right here, in the dip of his collarbone, then just a bit north to that invisible spot on his neck that makes Taehyung's mouth water just from thinking about it.

"Tickles," Jungkook mutters and limply swats at Taehyung with closed eyes. His palm is sweaty, too. It sticks to Taehyung's cheek when he tries forcing his face away, but Taehyung presses further, purring.

"Hmm, you smell good."

Taehyung's tail wraps around Jungkook's wrist and pulls his hand away. Accepting defeat, Jungkook lets his arm flop back onto the bed.

"I'm trying to sleep, Tae."

Jungkook is so cute, with one side of his face smushed into his pillow, squishing his cheek and forcing him to talk through a pout that accentuates his bunny teeth. Taehyung wants to eat him. He can feel the wild, feral thing that crawls inside his chest and turns his brain fuzzy whenever Jungkook gets like this, all soft and pliant. It's worse now because of Jungkook's heat. All Taehyung has to do is gently flick his tongue against Jungkook's scent gland, and he immediately smells the sweet spike of Jungkook's slick. There's nothing that makes Taehyung feel more powerful than the smell of Jungkook's arousal.

Jungkook gives up on pushing Taehyung away and tries to shimmy deeper into the blankets to hide his sensitive neck from Taehyung's teasing.

"Taehyung, leave me alone," Jungkook whines.

The logical, human part of Taehyung's brain understands that Jungkook is irritable because Taehyung has just woken him up from a heavy nap when his body is weak. The emotional, animal part of Taehyung's brain cowers from the blatant rejection.

Slowly, he climbs off of Jungkook and scoots until he's sitting at the foot of the bed. His heart thumps in his throat as fiercely as his tail thumps against the bed.

"Okay…" Taehyung says softly, but Jungkook is already asleep again.

Ears flattened in his messy copper hair and his tail dragging behind him, Taehyung gathers the grocery bags he left in the bedroom doorway and takes them into the kitchen. If Jungkook doesn't want him around, he supposes he'll just do all the chores he has neglected since Jungkook began staying over. It has been a little over a week; Jungkook didn't want to bother Yoongi with his pre-heat symptoms in their dorm, considering they have to share a bedroom. The plan was to let Jungkook take Taehyung's apartment for himself, and Taehyung would stay with his appa until Jungkook's heat passed. Deciding to spend Jungkook's heat together came later.

It's one of the many benefits of graduating early and living independently; Taehyung doesn't have to worry about silly university rules that ban predator and prey hybrids from cohabitating.

Taehyung tidies up the kitchen, vaguely aware that he hasn't eaten since the morning. It's evening now, and the sun is slipping low into the sky, painting the sky in golds and pinks as pretty as Jungkook's flushed skin. Earlier, Jungkook admitted that he thought his heat would finally hit by the end of the day.

On the stove, Taehyung reheats miyeokguk and thinks about his eomma as he stirs the soup, savoring the garlic aroma that fills the kitchen. He remembers his appa making it for her after she had Jiae and during the week every few months when he and Jiae stayed at their aunt's house so their parents could have appa and eomma time. It's been years since Taehyung stayed with his aunt for appa and eomma time. Now, he's old enough to have his own version of such a week. He just hopes Jungkook likes miyeokguk, too.

Taehyung stands at the kitchen counter as he eats his bowl of miyeokguk and contemplates if he should shower. He was at work for the greater part of the day, organizing plans for an art restoration exhibit at the Seoul Museum of Art. Or he could call Jackson. He could ask Jackson if Suyun has ever rejected him during her heat. He could ask if the hollow feeling in his chest will ever go away or if this means he and Jungkook aren't compatible. Will Jungkook want him at all? Should Taehyung leave?

With trembling hands, Taehyung sets his bowl down and grabs the edge of the counter, forcing himself to take a deep breath because, with his chest growing tighter, he can feel himself starting to panic. If Jungkook asks him to leave, he will, but he thinks he might throw up first.

Closing his eyes, Taehyung counts backward from ten, then from twenty, then considers starting at one hundred because his tail is wrapped so tightly around his calf that he's cutting off his own circulation, and the miyeokguk is slithering up his throat.

Taehyung inhales sharply when a pair of arms wrap around his waist, and a rounded chin presses into his shoulder. Jungkook's scent envelops him like a weighted blanket, pressing down on his discomfort until he feels warm and secure. He gives into the sensation, leaning against Jungkook's chest, still careful not to overwhelm him or knock him over with his weight.

"What's wrong, Tae?"

With his eyes still closed, Taehyung turns his head to the side so his lips brush against the curve of Jungkook's plump cheek.

"You don't want me." Taehyung knows he sounds petulant, but he can't clear the panic in his head to make room for complex, meaningful sentences. "I made miyeokguk."

Jungkook giggles, and Taehyung feels like collapsing under the pressure of getting this right.

"I just didn't want to get up. Of course, I want you."

Rising on his tiptoes, Jungkook kisses the little beauty mark on Taehyung's nose. He steps out of reach when Taehyung tries to grab for him, his socks slipping on the tile floor.

"Are you sure?" Taehyung can't help but ask, fully aware of how eager and pathetic he sounds. Jungkook's cheeks are pretty pink, and he's wearing nothing but Taehyung's hoodie. His muscular legs are on display, so squeezable and biteable.

Taehyung wants to eat him.

Jungkook must notice Taehyung's interest — which is always held in Taehyung's wild, dark eyes no matter how hard he tries to be calm — because his response is merely a coy smile.

Where did Jungkook learn how to act like this? Certainly not from Taehyung.

The look Jungkook gives Taehyung is one he's never seen on him before. He grabs Taehyung's wrist to pull himself close and looks up at Taehyung with sparkly doe eyes damp at the corners like Jungkook may start crying. The tip of Jungkook's tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, and Taehyung feels like he's going to pass out when Jungkook brings Taehyung's hand to cup his hard cock over his oversized hoodie.

"I don't feel good, Tae," Jungkook whispers into Taehyung's shoulder, where he nuzzles his face to breathe in Taehyung's scent.

Taking another deep breath, Taehyung tries not to let his voice tremble when he asks, "Why? What doesn't feel good?"

Jungkook gently pushes his hips forward to rub himself against Taehyung's hand. Taehyung's t-shirt muffles the quiet little whimper he makes when Taehyung doesn't do anything. It isn't his fault; Taehyung can barely breathe. Jackson didn't tell him that Jungkook would feel discomfort like this.

"Bun, what did you say? I can't hear you with your face like that," Taehyung asks weakly.

Jungkook lifts his head to stare at Taehyung with glossy eyes. His cheeks are nearly red now, deepening from the light pink he was before. Taehyung can't tell if he's going to start crying, but panic swells in his chest from the thought of it. He's supposed to be taking care of Jungkook, not making him cry.

"Need you, Tae, please."

"Shit," Taehyung curses, removing his hand from Jungkook to instead run it through his own hair. He looks around the kitchen as if the fucking dishwasher is going to tell him what to do. Of course, Taehyung knows what to do. He's just scared. Big, confident Kim Taehyung is scared.

"Taehyung," Jungkook whines as he tugs on the hem of Taehyung's t-shirt, "Hyung, please."

Eyes growing wide, Taehyung stares at Jungkook, who seems desperately annoyed by how long he's taking to act on his demands. Jungkook has never called Taehyung hyung before. Prey hybrids rarely use such friendly honorifics with predator hybrids. There is too much generational hurt between the two groups, especially in rural areas like Jungkook's hometown, where prey hybrids are still treated as less than. Many of Taehyung's friends, like Hoseok, encourage the terms across the groups to normalize friendships between them. Taehyung never thought much of it until he started courting Jungkook and realized it felt strange to never hear it — not because he wanted to assert his age onto Jungkook, but to feel the sense of closeness he gets to have with his younger predator hybrid friends.

Taehyung wipes his clammy hands on his jeans and grabs Jungkook's face, tilting his head back to slot their lips together. They haven't kissed since this morning. It hasn't been long, but Taehyung feels like it's been centuries. He pulls Jungkook's bottom lip into his mouth and nibbles on it like he needs his kisses to survive. He acts like breathing beyond just panting into each other's mouths doesn't matter like the only thing he needs to survive is the sound of Jungkook moaning when he sucks on Taehyung's tongue. They keep kissing as Taehyung steps forward, following Jungkook until he has Jungkook trapped against the counter.

"Hyung will fix it, okay?" Taehyung says softly once they pull away, his heart swelling when Jungkook rubs his eyes with his fist and nods.

Jungkook is so sweet, with pretty doe eyes and such kissable lips. Taehyung can't imagine what he has done to be blessed with such a boy in his life. More often than not, he doesn't feel he deserves Jungkook.

Taehyung pushes up the hem of Jungkook's hoodie, bunching it in his hand and holding it against his stomach near his belly button. With it out of the way, he realizes Jungkook isn't wearing anything underneath. Jungkook's cock glistens in the kitchen's fluorescent lighting, shiny at the tip from so much precum that Taehyung's hand easily glides down the length when he grabs it.

"Is this better, bun?" Taehyung is sure it is, but he wants to ask just in case.

“Mhmm,” Jungkook nods. He has an iron grip on Taehyung's biceps to keep him close, even though they both know Taehyung isn't going anywhere. His breath tickles as he presses his lips against Taehyung's throat.

Jackson told Taehyung that talking Jungkook through his heat would help him know what Jungkook likes so he can better take care of Jungkook as they spend more together. The dirty, arrogant side of Taehyung thinks it's kind of hot, too. He tries to channel that part of himself as he fists Jungkook's cock. It only takes a few twists of his wrist when he reaches the head as he slides up his cock for Jungkook to cum. To Taehyung's surprise, Jungkook bites him when he does, sinking his blunt teeth into the base of Taehyung's neck and digging his nails into his biceps.

"Fuck," Taehyung hisses, stumbling forward to close the distance between them and ease the pain of Jungkook's grip on him. "Baby, relax."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Jungkook's chapped lips leave kisses where his teeth will likely leave a bruise.

Taehyung wipes the cum off his hand onto Jungkook's hoodie. It's gross, but they will be even more disgusting by the end of the week, so Taehyung can't find it in himself to care. He's more worried about how Jungkook biting him made his cock jump in his jeans.

"Baby, come on. Let's go to my room, okay?"

Taehyung tries to coax Jungkook out of the kitchen, but it's difficult when Jungkook won't let go of him. Jungkook noses at his neck, scenting him despite having done so thoroughly that morning before Taehyung went to work. Taehyung supposes he smells different now after being around so many people throughout the day. It's sweet and triggers a smattering of goosebumps across his skin, subtle physical indications of Jungkook's love painted around his throat.

It takes too long to get to Taehyung's bedroom, but once they do, Jungkook behaves just as Taehyung expected him to after listening to Jackson's advice. He doesn't even bother removing his hoodie; he just climbs into bed on his forearms and knees, and Taehyung feels like he's going to die. Embarrassment floods Taehyung as he fumbles with his clothing, nearly tripping when his foot gets caught in the leg of his jeans. Jungkook doesn't even care how much of a mess Taehyung is. His head hangs low as his limbs tremble, likely with anticipation, though it could be discomfort. Taehyung doesn't feel good about keeping him waiting, even if he's still nervous as hell.

Once he's fully naked, Taehyung kneels on the bed behind Jungkook and positions his legs where he needs them to be. They rarely have sex like this; they're too romantic, preferring to look at each other. Still, Taehyung has enough experience in this position to know Jungkook's arms might give out, so he places a pillow under his hips, just in case.

"Are you sure you want to do it like this, bun? Or would you rather turn around so you can—"

"Taehyung, fuck me right now," Jungkook snaps, though it doesn't come off as aggressive as it could because he sounds like he's on the verge of tears again.

"Okay, baby, I will, I promise. It's okay," Taehyung rushes to reassure him.

He rubs his hands up Jungkook's back to push his hoodie away so he can get a better view of his tiny waist and the cute little fluffy tail at the base of his spine. He drags his hands around Jungkook's sides to run his fingers over his nipples, swirling them until they turn hard, and Jungkook moans with his mouth pressed against his forearm.

Such a weak, debauched sound causes Taehyung to be immediately overtaken by the sudden urge to pin Jungkook into the bed. It's like his veins turn to fire, burning him from the inside with a hot need that pulses through him. It makes him want to have his way with Jungkook, as hard and as fast as he wants to, with bared teeth and fingers digging into his warm, soft flesh. Sometimes, Taehyung scares himself with how visceral his feelings are toward Jungkook, like some kind of extreme cute aggression. He loves Jungkook so much he wants to smother him, to squeeze him and kiss him and fuck him until he's ruined.

Then Jungkook turns his head to look back at Taehyung with kaleidoscope eyes, and the wild animal inside of Taehyung melts into a puddle, and all that's left is this goopy, disgusting need to drown himself in Jungkook's gentleness.

Taehyung latches onto that gentle feeling when he grinds the length of his cock between Jungkook's cheeks, slicking himself up before he slowly presses the tip against Jungkook's rim. It pops in easily with how wet and pliable Jungkook is from his heat, but Taehyung won't let that wild side overcome him. This is about Jungkook. Taehyung isn't here to pleasure himself; he's here to take care of the love of his life, his future mate. His little bun trembles as Taehyung lightly presses his fingers against the soft spots where his thighs crease at his hip bones, coaxing him backward.

"Feel good?" Taehyung asks softly as Jungkook rocks his hips back to ease more of Taehyung's cock inside him.

"So good," Jungkook moans, much quieter than usual, like he barely has the energy to say anything. He keeps his eyes closed and breathes heavily through his mouth, each exhale growing shakier the closer he gets to taking Taehyung's cock completely.

"You're so pretty, bun. How are you this fucking perfect? You're incredible."

Jungkook isn't facing Taehyung, so he can't see Jungkook's expression, but he hears him grumble as he shakes his head.

"I'm not," Jungkook whispers, and Taehyung knows him well enough to guess how hard he's blushing.

"Don't argue with me, Jeon Jungkook," Taehyung challenges with a light smack of Jungkook's ass, soft enough that it doesn't leave a mark but hard enough for Jungkook's body to jolt.

Taehyung is quiet, too, though his subdued behavior is his way of trying to keep calm. Jungkook is even wetter and tighter than usual. When Jungkook leans forward and then falls back on his cock again, Taehyung has to squeeze his hips to stop him from moving.

"Taehyung, please," Jungkook whines and tries to wiggle out of Taehyung's grasp, which only further stimulates his cock. "You're teasing me. It's not nice."

"Baby, stop, stop," Taehyung says, wrapping his arm around Jungkook's waist. "Just give me a second, okay?"

They're both panting even though they've hardly done anything yet. Taehyung rests his forehead against the middle of Jungkook's back and focuses on regulating his breathing. He feels like a teenager losing his virginity, but he can't let himself cum first. If he does, he'll fuck everything up. There's no way for Taehyung to know how many times Jungkook will cum during his heat. On an average day, Taehyung has gotten him up to three. Although there are many other ways for Taehyung to satisfy Jungkook without penetrative sex, he knows from Jackson that those alternatives won't be as fulfilling for Jungkook.

Straightening up, Taehyung wraps his hands around Jungkook's slim waist and admires how big he feels when he holds Jungkook. It's not about dominating him, though Taehyung would be a liar if he said he doesn't like how submissive Jungkook is in bed. He really just likes to feel big because it makes him feel useful like he can take care of Jungkook by putting in work so Jungkook doesn't have to. This is especially true now when it's clear that Jungkook's heat is making him sluggish and horny. He barely holds himself up as Taehyung pulls him onto his cock, this time with more force than before. Taehyung lifts Jungkook's hips slightly to angle him in a way that he knows will ensure he's hitting Jungkook's prostate with each thrust. Taehyung has spent plenty of time learning Jungkook's body; he knows how to position Jungkook to make him feel good. Confirmation is nice, though, and he gets it in the form of Jungkook finally wailing.

"Oh my god," Jungkook sobs, digging his fingers into the bed sheet to hold himself in place as Taehyung's hips snap against his ass. “Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.”

"I know."

"Oh, fuck."

"I know, baby," Taehyung groans, adjusting his grip on Jungkook's waist.

He tries not to think too hard about how good Jungkook feels, especially when Jungkook cums for the second time, and his muscles flutter and constrict around Taehyung's cock. He lets the throbbing subside and focuses instead on how beautiful Jungkook is, all splayed out. His shoulders are strong, with muscles rippling every time he shifts his position. Sweat has made his bangs stick to his forehead, and the rest of his hair fluff up, even turning his bunny ears fuzzy. How Jungkook can be so fucking hot while also cute is beyond Taehyung's comprehension. All Taehyung knows is that, when Jungkook's arms eventually give out and he lies with one side of his face pressed into the mattress so Taehyung can admire how sexy Jungkook is with his eyes screwed shut in pleasure and his mouth hanging open as he moans loudly, he would give anything to stay with Jungkook for the rest of his life. Anything at all.

Jungkook cums two more times before Taehyung can't hold off any longer. His body screams at him to stop, not just because his cock throbs but because his muscles are sore and he's dehydrated from all the sweating he's doing. Taehyung eases Jungkook fully onto his stomach, hiking up one of Jungkook's knees to spread him open so he can fuck him deeper. He presses his hands into the mattress at Jungkook's sides and drops his head so he can kiss him. It's bumpy and sloppy, hardly a kiss at all, but neither of them cares.

"One more for me, bun," Taehyung's lips brush along the apple of Jungkook's cheek. Pulling away, he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and tastes the salt of Jungkook's tears. "You gotta give me one more."

"I can't," Jungkook complains through a broken moan as Taehyung quickens the pace of his thrusts.

"I think my baby can, for me. My sweet, precious baby."

Jungkook ducks his face into the crook of his arm, and Taehyung laughs.

"Aw, don't hide from me, baby," Taehyung presses down on Jungkook's waist, holding him in place. He's tighter like this, and Taehyung feels his orgasm starting to make him spiral. "You're so fucking sexy, you know that? God, I love fucking you. You're so tight and wet, and you sound so pretty when you scream my name."

Jungkook is a moaning, trembling mess that only spurs Taehyung on. Taehyung's going to cum; there's no way he can stop himself any longer. He's been edging himself the whole time, forcing them to stop moving every time he gets that pulse that shoots up his cock. His rhythm gets thrown off, even as he tries to hold it together a little longer.

"Jungkook-ah," he calls out through gritted teeth.

They meet each other's gaze, both exhausted and disgusting, but Jungkook's beauty is so raw that it hurts Taehyung's heart.

"I love you," Jungkook's bottom lip pops when he releases it from his teeth to speak. Taehyung wants to bite him so badly.

"I love you too, bun."

There's a trick Taehyung has learned, a little button he knows to push when he needs a surefire way to get Jungkook off. He times it right this time so that Taehyung cums as he runs his fingers through Jungkook's fluffy little tail and tugs on it hard.

Jungkook's moan is mixed with a surprised yelp, and his body reacts exactly how Taehyung wants it to. He cums for the fourth time quivering underneath Taehyung, who has slowed to a gentle grind of his hips that he rides out until he's too sensitive to handle the grip Jungkook has on him.

"Shit," Taehyung huffs across Jungkook's face as he hangs his head. His arms tremble, but he keeps himself upright so he doesn't crush Jungkook with his weight.

They're sweaty and covered in slick and cum, but neither care. Taehyung can only focus on how content Jungkook looks when he rolls onto his back and opens his arms so Taehyung can lower himself until he's snuggled against Jungkook's chest. He feels their heartbeats slow down together, matching each other like their breathing does until they're in harmony in more ways than one.

When Taehyung was younger, and his eomma gave him her bracelet, he never understood what she meant about saving it for someone special. He worried he wouldn't know how to tell if someone was special enough for his eomma. How could anyone compare to the woman who gave him life? Who raised and cherished him, and showed him what a truly special person could be?

Jungkook sifts through Taehyung's curls to scratch at his tiger ears, making Taehyung involuntarily purr and the tip of his tail flick as it always does when he's happy.

"Was it okay for you? Was I too much?" Jungkook asks, his lips brushing Taehyung's forehead. He's so gentle. As a predator hybrid, no one has ever been gentle with Taehyung. No one but Jungkook.

"You could never be too much," Taehyung insists, tilting his head to look at Jungkook. "I had fun, actually. We could make this a game. See how many times I can make you cum before I do. We could keep a tally on the refrigerator whiteboard every day and count the total at the end of your heat."

Jungkook scrunches his nose, and Taehyung can't stop himself from grinning boxy, the way Jungkook likes it.

"Why are you always so gross? Everything you say is nasty all the time."

"You can't tell me that wouldn't be fun."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but he smiles that cute little bunny smile that makes Taehyung want to give it all up for him.

“I love you, Jungkook. I love you in kind of an insane way,” Taehyung admits as he crawls off the bed slowly because his body hurts and he can’t feel his legs.

He’s unsure if Jungkook is blushing from his heat or his confession, probably a little bit of both, but it doesn’t matter. It’s cute, Jungkook is cute, everything is perfect and wonderful. Taehyung keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something bad to happen. Love doesn’t last forever — not in a corporeal sense. Life has taught him that. But he also knows he can’t let the grief of death haunt him, or else he’ll miss out on having Jungkook in the present.

“An insane way?” Jungkook asks, a little bit cocky because he has learned that from Taehyung over the past year, and he lets Taehyung pull him out of bed.

“Mhm.”

“Should I be worried about that?”

With a grunt, Taehyung grabs Jungkook by his thighs, wrapping his arms just under his butt, and hoists him over his shoulder.

“Maybe,” Taehyung smirks even if Jungkook can’t see it and slaps Jungkook’s ass when he grumbles about him being a problem child.

Taehyung sets Jungkook down on the bathroom counter, leaving him with his legs swinging while he starts a warm bath. Taehyung even grabs the Epsom salt from the cabinet to add to the bath and feels very adult about it for some reason. Taking care of Jungkook like this gives Taehyung a strong sense of responsibility.

“Oh fuck,” Taehyung whips his head around to stare at Jungkook from where he stands bent over the bath to check the temperature. He points at Jungkook. “You!”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Me what?”

“You didn’t eat anything, bun! We’ve been fucking for hours, and you didn’t eat anything!”

Covering his face with his hands, Jungkook lets out a sound like a squeak that Taehyung doesn’t know how to interpret.

“Can you not say that? It’s embarrassing.”

Taehyung frowns. “That you didn’t eat?”

Jungkook peeks from behind his fingers and shows enough of his face that Taehyung can tell he’s glaring at him with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Tae, no. Don’t talk about us… having sex for hours.”

“Fucking,” Taehyung repeats with a grin when Jungkook squeaks again. “I was fucking you, Jungkook, for hours. Fucking you within an inch of your life, actually.”

Blatantly avoiding Taehyung, Jungkook hops down from the counter and steps into the bath. He tries to close the shower curtain before Taehyung can get in.

“You are out of control.”

It’s no use, though. Taehyung is quick and lacks most preservation instincts, so he nearly busts his ass as he slips into the bathtub with Jungkook, splashing water all over the walls and onto the floor. It doesn’t matter; his antics make Jungkook giggle, and Taehyung only cares about that.

Taehyung sits in the bathtub with his legs spread so Jungkook can sit between them and lean his back on Taehyung’s chest. They probably don’t have a ton of time before Jungkook’s heat starts making him a horny devil again, but for now, Taehyung will bathe and feed him and cuddle him until he sleeps or needs more. Whatever it is, Taehyung is ready to give Jungkook his best.

So, yeah, Taehyung is whipped. He lets Jungkook tilt his head back to kiss the beauty mark on the tip of his nose, and then he kisses the little mole on the side of Jungkook's neck, and yeah, Taehyung is so fucking whipped. He wouldn't have it any other way.

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Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

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#taehyung x jungkook #taekook #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #taekook fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #taehyung fanfic #jungkook fanfic #gimmethatagustd #venor #jai writes

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miela · 7 months

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Shattered Memories • Chapter VIII: Lovers at The Gala • {Peter Parker x Stark!Reader}

Chapter Genre: Comical Fluff, AND LOTS OF FLUFF Chapter Warnings: it's a long boi, Extra: this chapter is for the genshin stans and swifties, if you know then you know. I've been excited about this chapter since the prologue I am losing my mind. I wanted to do two chapters this week because chapter viii and ix are my favorites so you're getting one today and one on friday. Word Count: 6.6k

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It was the big day of The Stark Charity Gala. It was being held in the Empire State Building which was no surprise because the theme was Gilded Age, mixed with Art Deco and Art Nouveau elements, according to Miles’ knowledge from being an art student. When Peter brought it up to you and what your inspiration for it was, your answer was nothing short of what he was expecting from you.

“Art Deco and Art Nouveau are eras that disagreed with each other. So I’m forcing them to get along,” you explained. “I added the gilded age theme to it because I’d like to think it’s the company’s own personal gilded age.”

Creative as always, Peter thought.

Peter arrived with his friends in Harry’s limo around seven thirty, a half hour after the gala started. Gwen and Miles both went with the color red for their outfits. Cindy went with a light blue and Harry and Peter went with regular black tuxedos and a pop of color for their pocket squares. Pavitr was meeting them there with Gayatri, who was also invited to attend.

Before they walked into the area where the gala was being held, Harry stopped them.

“Now, there will probably…no…there will be celebrities and highly influential people here,” Harry began. “So don’t act a fool about it.”

“Get your head out of your ass, Harry,” Gwen started with squinted eyes. “We’re friends with you and Peter’s girlfriend is (Y/N) freaking Stark, who’s hosting this thing by the way. So you don’t have to worry about your pretty little rich boy head.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Peter sighed.

“Yeah, but she’s the love of your life so what’s the actual difference here?”

“One, Gwen, fuck you,” Harry stated with a playful look on his face. “And two, Gwen has a point.”

Peter groaned. “Please, don’t embarrass me tonight. I can’t make a proper move when I’m worried all you are gonna be lurking around the corner just to get the chance to bully me in front of the girl I like. I’m just asking for this one night.”

His friends could see the desperation on his face because they all nodded in understanding.

“No worries, Parker,” Gwen started.

“Yeah,” Miles agreed. “We’re rooting for you.”

“If you need a nudge or something,” Cindy added. “Come find one of us. We can help rather than hinder this time.” She looked at Gwen and Harry with a hard look and they threw their hands up in defense and surrender.

“Thank you,” Peter sighed again as they arrived by the door.

“Ready?” Harry asked and they all nodded before he led them inside.

The room was decorated to the nines as were the people. There were geometric elements of Art Deco matched with the floral designs and organic shapes of Art Nouveau. There was gold everywhere mixed in with the Stark Industries brand colors. The men all wore tuxedos of different types while the women wore formal gowns. It reminded Peter of a high-class prom or something. He and his friends gawked at lavishness. It was like they walked into a royal fairytale minus the electro-swing music playing in the background which brought a roaring 20s vibe.

The only thing that broke their trance was Pavitr calling out to them. They looked over to see him and Gayatri matching in Indian formal wear in shades of purple. They hurried over and greeted the rest of the group.

“Isn’t this place amazing?” Gayatri asked. “I wasn’t expecting it to be this nice.”

“That’s what happens when you have someone from our generation running things,” Cindy smiled. “She knows what style is.”

Peter smiled softly and looked around to see if he could find you but there was no sign of you yet. He didn’t even see Nika, who was one of the last people he would want to see right now. He debated texting you but he didn’t want to seem desperate either. He chewed on his bottom lip nervously.

“Peter!” He heard a voice from behind and he whipped around with his eyebrows raised.

He saw Celina wearing a sparkly silver dress waving at him. She was there with Ned and MJ. Ned was wearing a Tux with a silver sparkly bow tie and a sparkly pocket square to match. MJ was wearing a green dress with geometric lines on the upper part of her dress and flowing silk on the bottom half. Peter waved back with a smile which caused Celina to pull the other two over with her as they struggled to keep up with her excitement. Celina wrapped her arms around Peter and instinctively Peter hugged back.

“It’s good to see you again!” Celina chimed when she pulled back and then looked at Ned and MJ. “This is the guy I was telling you about!”

“Oh yeah, we know him,” MJ spoke. “Always ordered the lamest type of coffee when you came into the cafe. You know, I was tempted to add vanilla or something just to give your life a bit of razzle dazzle or something but legally I couldn’t do that.”

Peter smiled in response. Typical Michelle Jones-Watson Communication.

“Jeez, M,” Celina put her hands on her hips and stood in contrapposto as she looked at the tall woman. “Way to greet him.”

“What?” MJ asked.

“Anyways,” Celina said, turning back to Peter. “This weirdo is MJ. And this precious guy here is Ned.” She hugged his arm and he smiled and kissed her temple.

I know. “Nice to meet you, both. Officially.”

“You too,” Ned smiled back. “You know, (Y/N) talks about you a lot. I feel like we all know you already.”

“Oh my god, Celina?” Cindy popped up from behind Peter.

“Cindy?!” Celina beamed.

The two girls squealed and hugged each other.

“You can speak now!” Cindy exclaimed and Peter mentally facepalmed himself for not mentioning it to her sooner.

MJ’s phone sounded and she checked it and sighed. “Our girl is running late, but she’ll be here in a few.” She put her phone away. “Good, we have time to interrogate you.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Ned suggested. “How about we just get to know him without you grilling him.”

“Well, I didn’t mean literally,” MJ responded. “I know he’s harmless. Gayatri knows him from Pavitr.”

“MJ!” Gayatri exclaimed as if on cue.

“That’s my cue. You boys play nice now,” and with that, she walked over to Peter’s friend group to say hello to Gayatri and Pavitr.

It was just Peter and Ned left and they looked at each other awkwardly.

“Hey, wanna find a table?” Ned asked, pointing over to one of the clothes tables.

“Yeah, sure!” Peter responded.

After a bit of socializing, Celina invited everyone to sit together which turned out to be the greatest idea. Celina and Cindy were bonding and catching up, Miles, Gwen, Pavitr and Gayatri were talking about MIT culture and Harry and MJ were talking about something Peter couldn’t figure out, but Harry got a smile out of her a few times which seemed like a good sign. His friends were all together and it made him really happy. Especially now that he could see his old friends too. He talked to Ned about MIT, answered questions about himself when Ned asked, and ended up in a deep and intriguing conversation about Star Wars.

He found out why the entire group was here in the first place. Gwen and Miles were there to represent Brooklyn Visions Academy Star Alumni, Pavitr and Gayatri were there to represent Horizon High Star Alumni, Cindy and a girl named Jessica Drew were there to represent Midtown Tech Star Alumni, and Ned and MJ were there to represent MIT Stellar Students. Celina was Neds plus one which made both of your and Peter's friends groups there at the Gala.

“You know, I know I like, just only met you,” Ned started with a smile. “But I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. Is that weird? I dunno. Maybe I’ll take a page out of Celina’s book and say it’s a sign that you’re good for (Y/N).”

Peter’s heart swelled at his words. “S’not weird. I mean I still think it’s weird that you think anyone is better than Obi-Wan Kenobi, but that’s none of my business.” He smirked, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

“Dude!” Ned exclaimed with a laugh. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I did not say that!”

“You implied it,” Peter sang playfully.

“Nuh-uh! Obi-Wan is way cool! He’s the strongest force user! The one you should argue with is your Sith sympathizer girlfriend who still has a major crush on Anakin Skywalker even though he went through with order 66. And called Darth Vader, Darth Daddy,”

“Ugh,” Peter winced. “Don’t remind me.”

They laughed softly for a moment before Gwen interjected.

“Hey!” She whined. “He gets to call her your girlfriend but I don’t?”

“He gets a pass because he’s not trying to put bets on my decisions like it’s a dating sim.”

Gwen stuck her tongue out at him again before there was a rush of commotion outside of the main entryway. They all looked over curiously.

“She’s here,” MJ stated. “God, she’s gonna hate all this attention.”

Peter’s senses started buzzing which confirmed MJ’s claims about you being here. He stood up at the feeling as his excitement to see you was rising. The reporters outside got louder as the outside door opened and you walked in. Peter could feel you getting closer as his senses focused on you.

When you entered the room, Peter froze.

There you were, in a golden gown that complimented your upper body in ways that Peter wasn’t used to or prepared for. The tattoo on your arm was in full view and the blue of roses complemented the gold of your dress. Your makeup was made up of golden glitter on your eyelids and soft colors that went well with your skin tone.

Peter wished he was sitting down because he was sure his legs were going to give out on him. Celina was right. If he was busy today with work, he would’ve risked it all just to be here to see you. He thanked the universe that the stars aligned in his favor.

You looked heavenly.

When you spotted him your face lit up and you smiled at him and started to make a beeline towards him. He watched you the entire time.

“Peter, hey,” You smiled.

He could smell your soft-scented perfume as you approached him and it relaxed him and he sighed softly in satisfaction, but his eyes never left you and his heart still raced.

He felt like he was in the presence of a Goddess.

“H-” He cleared his throat before he squeaked again. “Hey, (Y/N)...”

“Snap out of it before you drool all over that tux,” Nika, who wore a green gown that was a similar color to MJ’s, said from beside you guys.

Peter looked at her surprised that he didn’t notice her. Nika looked at you and held up a black box for you to take. “You left this in the limo. I swear you would lose your head from your shoulders without me.”

You take it with a sheepish look on your face. “Thank you.”

Nika smiled and then turned to greet your friends. You and Peter looked back at each other and you handed him the box.

“For you.”

He looked at you wondrously as he opened it. It was a bowtie and a pocket square that matched your dress.

“Celina made the dress,” you explained as your face burned. “She thought it would be nice if we matched.”

Peter smiled and nodded as he took off the bowtie and took out the pocket square that he was already wearing. “Thanks.”

“Here, allow me,” you stated as you took out the golden bowtie from the box and began tying it around his collar. He watched you the entire time.

There were so many things he wanted to say but his brain was so scrambled that he could only muster up a “Did you get here okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied as you worked on the pocket square softly. “Traffic was backed up to hell, but we managed.”

When you finished with the pocket square, you patted the pocket area with your hand twice. “There you go.” You smiled up at him meeting his eyes.

He blushed. “Thank you.”

You smile bigger in response. “Welp, I got a speech to go make and then socialize with the pretentious assholes and organizations that are actually nice. Give me like an hour? Then I’m all yours.”

“No, yeah, yeah!” Peter nodded rapidly and cleared his throat while glancing at the ground for a second before meeting your gaze again and giving you a soft smile. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

After a while, Peter went upstairs where it was less crowded. For a while he watched you go from person to person from the balcony with a glass of sweet wine in his hand that he sipped on. He then watched what his friends were doing. He noticed that Harry and MJ were spending a lot of time together talking. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her smile like that before. He raised his eyebrow wondrously at her out-of-character reactions to Harry. Did she just giggle? Peter blinked rapidly.

Peter sensed you approaching him.

“Hey there, Stranger,” you smiled and leaned backward on the balcony next to him.

Peter looked at you with a small smile on his face. “Hey there, beautiful.”

Your face burned and your eyes averted away shyly at the unexpected compliment. “Stop,” you said sheepishly with no real conviction behind your words as you smiled down at the ground and tried to compose yourself.

Peter's smile widened. “I would apologize, but I’m not sorry.”

You pressed your lips together and turned to face the same way he was. Your shoulder pressed against his. Two can play that game, Parker. “Keep it up and I might leave this circus early and take you with me.”

“But Celina worked so hard on that phenomenal dress, and Harry got this tux sized for me. It would be a shame to let it go to waste,” Peter smirked. “Plus, Nika would murder us both if you left early with me.”

“I’m sure there’s a secluded room we can go to.” You argued playfully. “It wouldn’t be hard to… share our secrets there.”

Peter snorted. “How romantic. I hate to inform you that I’m not that kind of guy.”

“Even better,” you smiled and took the glass of wine from his hand and took a sip out of it while looking directly into his dark brown eyes.

Peter looked back into your eyes deeply. He wanted to kiss you right then and there.

But of course, there was an interruption. Like always.

“So this is the famous Peter Parker,” He heard a man’s voice say. “Right here in the flesh.”

You audibly sigh and roll your eyes as you look at Sam who was standing with Bucky both dressed in tux with serious looks on their faces but mischief in their eyes.

“Hello, Sam.” You said with not much enthusiasm in your voice. “And Bucky.”

Bucky squinted at the two of you and you both prayed to any higher being that they didn’t hear your flirtatious conversation.

Peter cleared his throat to make sure his voice didn’t embarrass him again. “Captain Wilson. Sergeant Barnes,” he addressed them politely. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Sam hummed and looked at the two of you.

“Well, this was fun but there are some people I would like to introduce Peter to so if you wouldn’t mind-” As you spoke you took Peter’s hand and started to pull him away but were stopped when you felt a tug on your hand.

You turned to see Peter standing there and Sam and Bucky each had a hand on his shoulder. Their grips were gentle but firm and it sent a chill down Peter’s spine. Despite his senses telling him that they weren’t going to do anything, it didn’t mean they weren’t going to say anything. Especially when they’re like older brother figures to you. You gave Peter an apologetic look as Bucky put his arm around Peter’s shoulder.

“We’re concerned for you,” Bucky stated.

You sighed deeply. “He’s harmless, guys. I made sur-”

“Oh no, not you,” Sam interrupted and pointed at Peter. “You, my friend.”

“M-me?” Peter asked in confusion.

“Oh yeah,” Bucky added. “She’s kind of obsessed with you. I would be careful.”

You crossed your arms and huffed. “You guys aren’t funny-”

“She’s been researching you,” Sam interjected.

“Investigating, if you will.”

“We know about you more than we should,” Sam gave Peter a warning look.

Peter from each man as they spoke and you pouted and rolled your eyes. “Stop.”

“Hey, just trying to help a brother out,” Sam threw a hand up in defense. “Your ass is a little crazy.”

“I am not crazy,” you argued. “Now give him back.”

“Oof! You hear that, Buck?”

“Yep!” Bucky chimed. “Possessive as hell.”

“Stop making me look bad!”

“You’re doing that all on your own.”

Peter couldn’t take it anymore and he busted out in giggles and all three of you looked at him wondrously.

“I know she’s been doing that,” Peter smiled smugly, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at you. “She just couldn’t help but fall for my charm and cute face.”

You deadpanned so hard. “You know what, never mind. Keep him.” you downed the wine, forced the glass into Bucky’s free hand, turned around, and walked away.

“Wait, (Y/N)-” Peter called. “I was joking!”

“Mhm, sure,” Peter could hear the smile in your voice. “Go be cute and cocky somewhere else with your new bros.”

Peter tried to pull from their grip to go after you, but Bucky kept his firm metal hold on him. Peter looked at him wondrously.

Bucky gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Take care of her, yeah? Otherwise, you’ll have to deal with us in the not-so-subtle way, Spiderman.”

Peter nodded. “I promise.”

Bucky and Sam let go of Peter and he instantly ran after you picking you up from behind and twirling you around for a moment as you squealed and laughed.

“Gotcha,” Peter sang.

“Caught right in your web,” you smiled. “Poetic isn’t it?”

Peter snorted and set you down. “I feel like I should apologize to you about them.”

It was your turn to snort. “Please, I would apologize for them but they are two grown-ass men who can do it themselves. No worries though. I’ll be a brat about it for a few days until they do.”

Peter laughed.

“Speaking of poems,” you said looking at the time. “I should get ready to give my speech and do the rest of my mingling so I can get that out of the way.”

Peter smiled at you. “Okay. I’ll probably go bully Harry with Gwen.”

You giggled. “You saw him with Michelle too?”

“Yeah.” And I would bully her too if circumstances were different.

“Have fun,” you said.

“Good luck,” He replied.

After your speech, you mingled more. One guy got a little handsy with you than you or Peter liked but you handled it with grace. And by grace, Peter meant you took the guy's hand by the wrist and nearly broke it as you told him off. After that Peter lost you in the crowd. He couldn’t find you and he couldn’t sense you. It worried him. He asked his friends and your friends if they had seen you. They haven’t and you weren’t answering your texts from anyone. It worried him more.

He spotted the table where Pepper, Happy and Morgan were sitting and decided that was his next best option, even if Happy was giving him suspicious looks all evening. So he walked over to them with sweaty hands and a racing mind.

“Um…Hello,” Peter said sheepishly.

Pepper looked up at him. Happy never stopped looking at him. Morgan didn’t acknowledge him.

“Uh…you haven’t seen (Y/N) anywhere, have you?” He asked, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”

“Oh!” Pepper chimed. “She was going to introduce us to you later but fate has other plans I guess.” She smiled as she stood up and went by him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She held out her hand and Peter shook it politely. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Stark.”

Pepper wore a blue gown with her hair in a low bun. Morgan wore a pink dress with a black leather jacket that Peter recognized as the very first one that Tony had gotten for you. Happy wore a regular suit.

“She left like fifteen minutes ago,” Morgan stated. “Typical.”

Pepper gave Morgan a warning look and then looked back at Peter. “She didn’t leave. She stepped out for a moment. She doesn’t do well in crowds for very long.”

Peter was surprised that Happy wasn’t with you, but then again he wasn’t surprised because you hated having a bodyguard with you at all times when you can take care of yourself just fine.

Peter nodded knowingly in response.

“She’ll be back in a bit,” Pepper continued. “She let Morgan use her phone.”

He looked to see the preteen girl playing a game on your phone aggressively.

Ah. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Aw, man!” Morgan exclaimed. “I died!”

She pouted the same way you did. Her bottom lip sticking out and furrowed brows and it made Peter chuckle softly.

“What game are you playing?” Peter asked.

Morgan looked up at him. “Genshin Impact.”

Peter hummed in amusement. “May I?”

She eyed him with hesitation and then handed him the phone. He took it and then sat in the chair next to her. He looked at the screen and blinked rapidly.

“Dude,” he started. “You’re still in Inazuma? When did you start playing?”

“Like a month ago,” Morgan replied sheepishly. “But I used to play on (Y/N)’s account but I got tired of her zooming through the storyline and I was left with only her story quests and world quests. Of course, she would leave the boring parts to me.”

Peter snorted and analyzed the mission Morgan was struggling with. “You’re fighting Raiden Shogun. Saving Thoma right?”

Morgan nodded.

“So the goal isn’t to beat her. She’s an Archon it’s impossible to do so,” Peter explained like the geek he is. “And she deactivates your bursts and skills so you’re kind of stuck and rendered useless. The goal is to bring her down to seventy-five percent health and run and dodge when she activates the Vision Hunt Decree. You only need to survive for forty-five seconds after that and you’re all good.”

Morgan looked at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Mhm!” Peter smiled. “Here let me equip you with the right things. Especially with the team you have.”

After clicking around and setting up Morgan’s teams for success, he handed the phone back to her. “If you lose you can kick my butt.”

She took the phone and gave him a tight-lipped smile as she started the mission again. Peter watched her the whole time and was her second pair of eyes. She was able to pass the quest with flying colors.

“Yes!” Morgan cheered and looked up at Peter with a sparkle in her eye. “Thank you so much, Peter!”

“Good job!” Peter chuckled softly and held up his hand for a high five and Morgan smacked the palm of her hand onto his.

He looked up to see Pepper smiling at the two of them and Happy's face was softer than it had been all night. Peter gave them a thin-lipped smile in response. There was still no sign of you.

“You should go find, (Y/N),” Morgan stated, not taking her eyes off the screen. “I think I got it from here. Oh! But give me your UID and we can be friends on here!”

Peter smiled, gave her his UID, and then he got up. “I’ll bring her back safely.”

“Thank you,” Pepper replied.

Peter walked out and into the cool New York City air. He glanced around to see if he could spot you but there was no sign of you but he could faintly sense you. Which brought him some relief and comfort.

"If you're looking for her, she's on the roof."

Peter whipped around to see Nika leaning up on the wall looking at the roof of a building that was across the street.

"The roof?"

"Yeah,” Nika replied. “She can only take so much of the public eye, public speeches, and networking before it gets too much for her. So she needs a break from it all for a bit so she can come back down and do it all over again. It took her two months of practicing her speech for the expo before she felt ready. In fact, I don't think she ever was ready for that speech."

Peter chuckled softly and said softly to himself. “Yeah, she’s always been that way.”

Nika hummed in response.

Peter looked up at the sign of the place that you were on top of. It was a cute cafe with globe lights on strings and plants on the roof of it. He imagined it was a quiet place which is why you choose there to go.

“I’m out here as her lookout,” Nika continued. “Decided to give Happy a break and actually enjoy himself for once.”

Peter hummed amused. “How nice of you.”

“He’s probably shitting himself worried right now,” Nika grinned. “I may be a small girl but I can take down a super soldier like Sargent Barnes any day. I’m more than capable.”

“I believe you,” Peter agreed. “You kinda scare me.”

“Good.”

Peter smiled at Nika and she smiled back.

"Well, what are you waiting for?”’ She chuckled. “Go to her. Be an Avenger Boy and save the day.” She waved him off. “Shoo shoo!"

Peter laughed. “You’re not gonna kick my ass for being a distraction?”

“Nah,” Nika let out a deep breath. “She could use a little…or a lot…of distraction right now. Play your cards right and you might get completely on my good side.”

“Good to know,” Peter smiled and began walking towards the building.

“You can web up there you know,” Nika commented which made Peter stop in his tracks and turn on his heels to look at her.

“You know?” He replied but it came out more like a statement.

Nika tapped her temple. “I know a lot of things. It’s kind of my job. Didn’t take me long to figure it out.”

Peter nodded in response.

“If anyone sees you, I’ll gaslight them.”

Peter laughed. “No worries, I’m careful.”

Nika nodded and gave him a salute of good luck. He was pleasantly surprised by Nika’s friendly behavior. He half expected her to rip his head off for trying to bother him but she encouraged him. And what was he gonna do, say no? Of course not.

He went into the Alley of the building and webbed himself up after making sure the coast was clear. He saw you on the other side leaning over the ledge looking up at a billboard with Tony Stark and the Iron Man suit on it. The Billboard read “Gone but never forgotten.”

He took a deep preparation breath and walked over to you. You sensed him, looked back at him, and smiled softly.

"Sorry,” you stated. “I'm a horrible date."

"You're not," he smiled back with a chuckle and leaned next to you much like how you did with him earlier.

You both turned and looked at the billboard again both of your are hit with waves of emotions and Peter couldn’t tell if he was feeling it from you or if you were feeling it from him, but the comfort of each other’s company kept your feelings in check as you guys silently bonded over the absence of Tony Stark in your lives.

Peter remembered all his moments with Tony and how much he learned from him. He remembers sitting in the workshop with him while Tony worked on his Spider suit and he, himself, worked on his web shooters.

He remembers a specific day…

You ran up behind Peter, wrapped your arms around his torso, and gave him a peck on the cheek with a giggle. He blushed with a smile and turned his head to look at you and kiss your forehead. You would be spending the day with Natasha and Wanda.

“Heading out?” He asked you softly.

“Yep,” you replied. “I’ll buy you something.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Let her do it,” Tony said from across the table. “She’s gonna do it anyway. It’s like her dream to be your sugar mama.”

Peter chuckled nervously, unsure if Tony was being serious or not. You rolled your eyes.

“Bye, Darling.” You pecked Peter’s lips and he pecked yours back before you went over to your dad and kissed his temple. “Goodbye, Father.”

“Goodbye Daughter,” Tony replied. “Have fun, be safe, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and definitely don’t do anything I would do.”

You made a pfft sound. “Yeah right,” you replied as you walked away. “Love you,” you sang.

“Love you,” Tony replied as you disappeared up the staircase.

Peter watched you the entire time with nothing but love in his eyes. Tony eyed him when he noticed him not focusing on his web slinging gizmo.

“Y’know, kid,” Tony started as Peter turned to him rapidly from being knocked from his gazing and daydreaming of you. “There’s this thing called a camera. It’s on your phone. Ever heard of it? If you take a picture it will last longer.”

Peter snorted with a smile and went back to upgrading his gadget. “S’not the same, sir.”

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. “You kids are weird. But I’d take weird over anything else.”

Peter inserted the web fluid into his web shooter and then set it down looking up at Tony.

Mr. Stark?”

“That’s me,” Tony sang.

“I think I’m in love with (Y/N),” Peter said and Tony stopped what he was doing and looked up at him again. “But ... .I don’t know how to express that to her in a way she deserves.”

Tony’s face softened and he set the suit down on the table and turned completely to Peter listening to him.

Peter continued. “I don’t know much about romance…only what they show in movies and what Aunt May has told me but this is my first relationship and I’m hoping for it to be my one and only relationship for the rest of my life. Is that weird? That’s weird isn’t it?” Peter sighed nervously. “I just…I don’t wanna mess it up. I want to find a way to show her how much I love her. Something that she can hold or look at for when we aren’t by each other but I also know she’s not materialistic and she prefers experiences over items. I dunno…maybe I’m overthinking it.”

Tony pressed his lips together and let out a deep breath. “You got a heart of gold, Peter. It pairs well with her heart of Iron. I’m sure whatever you come up with she will love because it came from you and you specifically. That’s all she needs.”

Peter let out a sigh.

“You know I never visited his grave,” you stated softly and Peter looked at you. “I’m afraid of how I’ll react.” You look down at your tattoo and trace your fingers over the arc reactors. “I never expected to take over the stark throne so soon…the same age my dad took over. If I go visit his grave, that’s just a reminder of what wasn’t supposed to be.”

Peter listened to you.

“Kinda shitty of me isn’t it?” You started. “Won’t take on the role of Iron Hero, won’t go visit his grave, can’t hold an event without running away and leaving my date behind. Some legacy I am.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter said, turning to you and seeing your eyes glossed over. “That’s not shitty. That’s called being human. You have the right to feel however you feel about it. He was more than just your dad but the person you confided in the most. No one blames you for feeling this way.”

You looked at him and smiled. “Thanks.”

Peter pressed his lips together and lifted himself from the ledge and took out his phone, opening up his preferred music app. You watched him as he set his phone down as the song played. It was one of your favorites, Lover by Taylor Swift.

He holds out his hand to you with a smile. "Dance with me?"

You smiled and took his hand. And he walked you closer towards the center of the roof. You wrapped your arms around his neck and clasped your hands together as his hands made their way to your hips. Your senses bloomed at the contact as you guys looked at each other with burning faces that kept you warm from the cool autumn air.

"You look pretty tonight," he stated. "Not that you don't look pretty any other time."

“Thank you,” you giggled. "You should see me when I wake up in the morning. Puffy-faced, looking scary and pissed off."

Peter chuckled softly remembering how you were in the mornings during their time at the Avengers Compound. You always looked like you were ready to fight someone at any moment even if you woke up in a good mood. You got teased for it often.

"Well, you clean up nicely," he smiled.

"So do you," you smiled. "You look handsome. Not that you don't look handsome any other time."

“Thanks, I woke up like this.”

You playfully hit his arm and he laughed in response with your giggles.

“You’re conceited today,” you commented.

“Confident,” he corrected.

You squinted your eyes and hummed in doubt. “Conceited,” you argued. “But I kinda like it.”

He hummed in response and looked into your eyes meeting your gaze.

You get lost looking deeply into the darkness of his irises. He has such pretty brown eyes. He looked back into your eyes deeply also getting lost in your wonderous orbs. You guys felt the pull stronger than ever before. You glanced down at his lips and Peter stopped moving as he focused completely on you. Like the rest of the world didn’t exist. His senses were all on you.

It was his turn to glance down at your lips as he pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth like he was debating on something before making a decision. Pavitr’s words rang in his mind.

This is it. The moment.

You both lean in. It’s happening. The moment you and your senses have been waiting for. Oh my fucking god, it’s happening. You close your eyes.

Your lips met his softly.

Your senses jolted and in a quick moment your body went cold and an implosion of warmth flowed through you and. your senses lost control of themselves. Your heart raced in your chest and your brain focused on Peter and only Peter.

It was like something clicked.

You didn't realize that you had stopped dancing. You didn't know when his arm wrapped around your waist to pull you closer and you didn't know how your hand ended up gripping his hair. You didn't feel the moment when his tongue swiped across your lips and you opened your mouth to invite him in.

He tasted of strawberry candy wine and mint and paradise.

It was like your senses remembered him even though your memory was still hazy but in that moment, it was like it was only you two in the world.

His kiss reminded you of your first kiss.

His hold reminded you of your first dance.

His gentleness reminded you of him.

The Faceless Boy.

You forgot to breathe and your hands slowly moved to his shoulders and you pulled back reluctantly and he chased your lips as if you two were a magnetic force not meant to part. You looked at each other with hooded eyes, slightly heavy breathing and racing hearts.

Before you could think your mouth spoke.

"My sweet boy…" you said barely a whisper.

Before Peter could react you both were interrupted.

"Let's go, Parker!!"

Peter jumped as did you and quickly looked over with wide eyes. You stopped his hand from activating his web shooter and accidentally webbing someone off the roof.

Then he groaned softly and he winced and threw his head back in defeat.

His friends and your friends were together cheering and clapping. As Gwen and Harry started chanting the intro to Blitzkrieg Bop.

"Hey, ho! Let's go!" Echoed through the night sky as Cindy and Celina threw finger hearts at the both of you and joined in the chant. Nika was there with her phone out recording the whole ordeal with a mischievous smile on her face.

You couldn't help but snort and hide your face in Peter's shoulder as you shook from giggles of embarrassment, while Peter pouted at his friends in particular. You lifted your head with your lips pressed together sheepishly looking at him.

"We have a fan base."

He looked back at you with an apologetic look. "I'm so, so, so sorry about this…"

"Don't be. I'm pretty sure it was Nika's idea."

You both glanced over at them again. As they all started cheering “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

I think I’m going to enter my villain arc, Peter thought, being unserious. I asked for one night.

"Let's give them a show?" You asked.

Peter decided that if this is what fate had in store for you both, he wasn’t going to let it ruin the moment. So he smirked at you and dipped you causing you to squeal softly and your leg to lift. He caught the bottom of your thigh in his hand as he pressed his lips to yours again and you lay a hand on his cheek while the other gripped onto his shoulder.

The feeling was electrifying and your friends cheered and clapped louder.

Later that night you arrived back at home with Pepper and Morgan. You say goodnight to them as you go to your room and close the door. You lean back on your door and sigh happily.

You and Peter finally kissed. And it was twice and it was perfect.

You bite your lip while smiling ear to ear. You felt like a teenage girl again crushing…probably on Peter Parker, to be honest.

You pull out your phone and text Peter.

I'm home.

Me too.

You smile and touch your lips softly. You could feel his kiss on your lips still and it sent a warmth throughout your body. You were knocked out of your thoughts when your phone sounded.

I had fun tonight 😊

Me too ☺️

Your face burned and you giggled.

Sweet dreams, Peter Parker ♥️

Sweet dreams, (Y/N) Stark ♥️

Your heart fluttered the entire time you got ready for bed. And when you dreamt of the Faceless Boy you imagined Peter's face and when you woke up the next morning, it was with grace. There was no cold sweat and there was no pain. Only a happy heart, clear mind and a smile on your lips where you still felt the ghost of Peter's soft lips.

Tags:

@chrisevans-realwife @riordanness @peterdarlingg @thecrystalclarity @brckenmemories @paleprincesssxo @blackcanary130 @kindlover @i-have-no-life-charlie @melodicheauxxlovesfood

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boygiwrites · 9 months

Text

Harley D. Dixon 5

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. This is our CDC chapter, so TW for mention of suicide in this one. It's a little graphic.

And it might be better to go in blind, but if you'd like the second TW, please check the first tag on this post.

Other than that, please enjoy reading!

Glenn exhales, "Would you look at that?"

The sun is rising.

Last night I was a dying dog and today I am Harley Dixon.

Me, Dad and Glenn are on the roof of the parked RV, watching the sky give birth to the sun, knowing that I got hundreds more sunrises waiting for me; that the worst is over, like Rick said. The morning is as fresh as peeled summer fruit, and it's all ours. I'm reminded of special breakfasts on our old porch, where my Uncle Merle and my Dad would be scooping burnt scrambled eggs into their mouths, and I'd be in Dad's lap, sipping on a box of orange juice. We had them whenever I won an award at school. I feel like I've won every award in the world.

Glenn is the one sitting next to us, now, in this new version of day-break. He fills the outline of where a ghost of a brother and an Uncle used to be. We're sharing a secret bag of old freeze-dried cherries, while everyone else sleeps. They're a small luxury, like the sun. We can make happiness out of anything.

It all feels right.

"One hundred percent mold free, this time. I swear," Glenn says, ripping the bag open and pouring me the first cherries.

"They better be," Dad jokes. "First time was free."

"Next time, you'll beat my ass?" Glenn guesses.

He looks like he's realizing his legacy is always gonna be the guy who can't make jerky.

"Damn straight."

We knock our plastic bowls together, smiling.

"To Harley."

"To me!"

"What a mess this whole thing was." Glenn shakes his head, chewing. "I know I already said it, but... I'm really sorry."

"Ain't your fault you can't cook." I giggle.

"Gee, thanks." He laughs. "I guess I deserve that."

"Just learn to salt the damn meat, China." Dad says. "Then we can talk."

"Okay, okay, okay." Glenn puts his hands up, but he's still grinning. "I suck at cooking. I get it. Are Dixons always this mean?"

Me and my Daddy answer, yes, at the same time.

"Good to know." Mumbles Glenn.

"The night I got scratched," I muse, my fingers painted with crayon-red cherry juice. "You was the first person after my Dad to reach the tent."

I remember people saying that Glenn could outrun a cheetah if there were enough supplies behind the finish line. The thought makes me laugh again. When you ain't big, you gotta find other ways to elbow your way through danger. Sometimes a good brain and better legs are all you need. Sometimes people like me and Glenn get to win, too.

"I guess so." Glenn's smiling shyly. "But only because Rick was too busy reloading. And Shane was up the back. And, well, I guess— When we first got back to camp, people were saying that you were gone. That you were missing, or dead, or— We didn't know. Your Dad, he just took off into the woods. Just, vroom, y'know? Like, gone. I thought if I was gonna be like anyone, it should be him. So, I went running, too."

Dad leans over and grips Glenn's shoulder; shakes it. A gesture that says, Man to man, I respect you. Maybe even, Brother to brother.

It takes a lot to earn my Dad's respect, if you ain't his blood.

"You all looked like you was boutta faint." I snicker, 'cause it's funny now.

"W-we all thought it was too late." Glenn tries to laugh. It's been hard, I guess, bottling up that night until now. "When we first saw the tent."

I see flashes of wet eyes, and teeth, and spiders.

"I did too," I confess.

My Dad turns me around in his lap, then, and bounces his knee a little. "But I woulda never let that happen, chicken, y'hear? And I ain't never gonna let that happen. I'd have to be dead, 'fore a walker laid his hands on you." He frowns, looking me dead in the eye.

"I hear." I nod. "It was just really scary."

"C'mere, babe."

He pulls me down to his chest — his heart — and I curl up there, where I know nothin' will ever get me.

"For the record, I was about to faint." Glenn mutters.

I throw a cherry at him and he dodges it, grinning.

"I knew it!"

We all sit like this for a long while, with the sun and the rustling wheat as our friends, snacking on our sour fruit. Then they start talking again, a notch deeper, a notch outta my league. Adult to adult. I realize they must think I'm asleep — It is the ass-crack of dawn, after all — so I don't interrupt.

"I didn't mean it like that, you know." Glenn tells my Dad. "You can protect your own. I get that."

"Don't tell me what I already know, kid."

"I just..." Glenn starts, but then there's nothing.

In this long moment, I think Glenn is going to leave down the ladder, 'cause it's what anyone else would do.

People like me and my Dad — People who hoard supermarket coupons, and talk real nasty, and get called hillbillies — don't mix well with people like Glenn. People pretend there isn't, but there's an invisible cut-off on who deserves what in life, and it ends right after people who only gotta work one job. Glenn's smart, and he prolly ain't never had to go hungry to pay his water bills, not once in his life. He prolly ain't never been to jail, or snapped a squirrel's neck, or re-used the same bottle of hand soap forty times over. He's like the rest of 'em. Rick and Lori. Shane. The kids in my old classes. Their parents on parent-night. We can work well together but anything else is askin' too much.

But we're family now, right? I think Glenn might leave, but—

"Well, for what it's worth, I couldn't do it." Is all Glenn says.

He doesn't leave. In fact, I hear him settling further into his chair. It's what Uncle Merle would have done.

My Dad pauses. "Do what?"

"Look over my shoulder all the time. Worry about someone else every time I hear a gunshot. Walk around knowing I have that much to lose." Glenn sounds lost in thought, but then he surfaces. He ends his list with a simple, "Be a parent."

My Dad sighs, debating whether or not to go along with this.

"That ain't all there is to it." He eventually says.

"No?"

"Nah. It ain't some curse." Dad says. "I hear a gunshot? Sure, first thing I'm thinkin' 'bout is Harley. But that's the way it's meant to be."

"I just don't think I'd be able to handle it." I imagine Glenn gazing out at the sky. "These past few days have been stressful enough."

"Yeah, well that's why I got a kid 'n you don't." Dad's being a bit of a smart-ass. Then, he answers seriously. "You got a kid? You gotta be ready to die for 'em. But it ain't just sittin' around, waitin' to do it. It's the opposite. Every day I wake up, and I do it for her. I do everythin' I do for her. After that baby's born, who you were, what you liked doin', any plans you had — That's over. Suddenly, yer life ain't the most important thing you got, no more."

I've never heard my Dad talk like this. I wish our lives were worth the same, but I guess it don't work that way.

"And who were you?" Glenn asks, knocking back a cherry. "Before Harley?"

"A nobody. Drunk bastard with drunk-bastard friends." Dad scoffs.

"Well... That's good, then?" Glenn's guessing. "Sounds like she changed you for the better, man."

I can't imagine my Dad being anybody other than my Dad. The day I came into the world, so did he. There's nothin' before that.

"It's hard." Dad admits, prolly for the first time ever, to Glenn. "I love 'er, but it's hard as shit. Some days I wanna pull my damn hair out."

"You must have been going crazy during... everything."

"Oh, you think?" Dad jokes. "You ain't seen me fuck up that walkie?"

Glenn bursts out laughing. "It hit the RV when you threw it out the window. Scared the shit out of Dale."

I have to try really hard not to laugh. I'm meant to be pretend-asleep!

"You got any nieces, or anythin'?" Dad asks.

"No." Glenn answers. "My sisters were either too interested in their careers to have kids, or... Too young."

Glenn's sisters aren't here. Blood does everything it can to stay together. Dad taught me that. That means his sisters are both young and dead.

"That's gotta be tough, man." Dad sighs.

"No, it's alright. Sometimes I can pretend they're out there, together. Happy." He pauses. "What about you? Nieces? Nephews?"

Dad actually laughs a little. "Fuck no. Not from my side, at least. Guy like my brother ain't meant to spread his seed around. Ain't right."

Glenn starts laughing, too. "I guess not."

"Nah, Harley's my only girl." My Dad says. I feel him start playing with the end of my ponytail.

"You know, when you first showed up in camp, I thought she was Merle's." Glenn says, then quickly, "No offence."

"No shit?" Dad scoffs.

"No shit. I thought you looked too young to have a kid."

An unspoken joke makes them both laugh all over again.

"Yeah, well, I was real busy in my teen years."

I got no idea what that means, but it must be funny. Their conversation tapers from chuckling into a warm silence, and then it's just us and the sun again. It clips over a candy-colored cloud, and I can hear car doors opening and shutting, and loud yawns from down below. We're gonna be on the road again soon. I might not need a cure anymore, but we still need water, food, and walls, and the CDC's got it all. I hear someone shouting, alright, people, time to start heading out, and then a whole bunch of shuffling. The day isn't just ours, anymore.

My Dad stretches, groaning, and I pretend to be woken up by it.

He pinches my cheek. "Look who's here."

"Hey, Harley." Glenn smiles, packing up. "You enjoy the cherries?"

"Uh-huh," I smile back. "Thank you."

"No problem." He says. "There's actually some left over, if you want it."

He holds out the bag while I dig my hand into it.

I think it's funny how me, the man who made me, and the man who almost killed me are all friends, now. I learnt in science class that the more pressure you put on a rock, the more compact the molecules get. I think we're the molecules. It's bittersweet.

"Not too many." Dad warns. "You're still sick, remember? Don't want you messin' up my truck again."

"I remember," I promise, shoving a handful of cherries into my mouth. I also remember him sayin' he don't give a damn 'bout the truck.

Someone shouts out the radio channel again.

"Time to see this thing through, then." Rallies Glenn, but he looks nervous.

We say goodbye to the sunrise.

"Dad, is that—?"

"That's the CDC, alright."

We reach it by early morning. It's a monster of a building. It's like a big, white buoy in the middle of the ocean, saying, Come here, I'll keep you afloat. We ease to a stop and then we just look at it, 'cause it's all we can do. The CDC, right before our eyes. It's really there.

"It's bigger than I thought." I think aloud.

Dad just grunts, wary. "Stay close to me."

Our new walkie chimes, and Rick speaks to everyone when he says, "This is it, people. Leave your things. We're gonna walk up."

Why does the air feel so cold?

My Dad pulls both me and his crossbow out the truck, and then the whole group — one tired, beaten, hopeful force — are slowly making our way to the building. We walk through a silent field. I wish it could speak to us; tell us what it's been through.

We pass torn bags of sand and littered bullet shells. I think there's something here that we're not seeing, not yet, like a sleeping beast at the back of a cave, and when we find it, we're gonna be sorry we ever looked. We weave through big, black piles of clothes. The clothes are full, I realize. Full of hands, and legs; all white, all dead. They're bodies. They still have their human faces; they're still them, just dead, and they're studded with the bullets that the shells came from. The story tells itself, on behalf of the ghosts. They give their blood back to mother nature, dripping into the grass. I gasp. From head to toe, I go cold. My Dad shields my face, but I've already seen 'em. They're already nightmares.

Rick leads us. He leads us past trucks and barriers and blockades. Every sign the universe gives him to turn back, he ploughs through, chin up.

Maybe he's brave. Maybe he's stupid. Maybe he was designed to be both. Maybe we're walking to our deaths.

Nobody speaks. If they do, the bodies might wake up, and the graveyard we're intruding on will realize it doesn't want us here.

A crow squawks from its post on a dead soldier's helmet. If I spoke bird, I'd hear, Turn back.

We have to do this. It's what everyone's thinking, as they manage one foot in front of the other. Just one more step, and after that, just one more step. I take in the group, 'cause they ain't dead, and it's a little less awful to look at.

Morales, rifle up. Eliza, Louis and Sophia, three baby ducklings under their Mommas' shaking wings. Dale and Shane, polar opposites but in this moment, exactly the same; with their steely gaze and steady hands. Jacqui and Andrea, holding hands; two girls in women's bodies, walking through a world that wants to eat them. I catch Carl's eye. He catches mine, over the violence spread out before us. I watch him send me a thumbs up, which does nothing but turn me colder — colder than ice, colder than I've ever been — before my view is blocked for a second time, by Glenn. I'm sandwiched in; hidden, protected. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope I'll get to open them again. My Dad leads me by the shirt over the grass. I trust him.

My shoes hit something tougher, louder — Cement. Rock? Our footsteps echo, now. Are we really in a cave?

It goes double-dark, through my eyelids. Please don't leave us, I beg the sun nicely, We need you.

I squeeze my Dad's hand. He squeezes back.

Then I hear a rumble, like thunder, and I peek out from behind my Dad. It's Rick, banging on roller shutters. We all clench closer together, a fist ready to fight. Nobody does it on purpose, but me and all the other kids are pushed toward the middle. Rumble, rumble, rumble. Rick goes from one door to another to another, until he's shook down the entire row.

Guns are raised. We step back, together.

It's like knockin' on doors on Halloween. We don't know what creature's gonna answer. Maybe nobody.

"Anybody home?" Glenn mutters.

We stretch our silence for as long as we can stand it. There is no answer.

Newly determined, or maybe offended, or scared, or maybe all three, Rick beats down all the doors again like he hates 'em.

"Hey!" He calls out. "Whoever's in there, open up!"

"Nobody's here, man!" T-Dog shakes his head, but he ain't got no proof.

"Then tell me why you think all the damn shutters are down?" Rick snarls, and it's like we're in the parking lot again, and I'm scared.

And I should be.

"Walkers incoming!" Shane shouts.

Suddenly, my Dad and Glenn are whirling the other way, facing our new enemy. I grab onto the back of Dad's belt, and when I peer out between their elbows, I see one, two, six, twelve dead bodies lumbering to their feet, all dressed in military green, and dented helmets, and layers and layers of crusty black blood and loose skin. The other kids start to cry, but not me. I can't cry, 'cause I can't breathe. I hear a slicing fwip, and then one of the dead soldiers drop to the ground like the only thing holding him up were strings. An arrow marks his second deathbed.

"We can't fuckin' stay here, Rick!" My Dad's yelling. "You led us into a death-trap!"

I'm grabbing onto the back of Glenn's shirt, now, 'cause my Dad's stomping off to confront Rick and Shane. I hide my nose in my knuckles. Death-trap, I'm panicking, Death-trap. A week ago, I'd be standing here alone, but I got Glenn now. I don't know how I know that, but I do. I got Glenn.

"Glenn, I'm scared." I whine to him, and there it is, I'm crying. I think of happier things, like cherries and the sun.

"I— I know." Glenn puffs, 'cause he's scared, too. "I know."

He lets me grab his hand. It's what Uncle Merle would have done.

"Death trap or not, we're here for a reason!" Dale's arguing. "Rick made a call! We all did!"

"You want us to phase through the fuckin' doors, old man?" Dad spits. "We're stuck out here! My daughter's stuck out here!"

"Running out of time here, guys!" Jacqui's worrying.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Are those gunshots, now? Bullets are last resorts. Last resorts are only for when you're gonna die. Are we gonna—?

"Are we gonna die, Glenn?"

"No." He hurries to answer, gripping me tighter. "N—No."

"We need to leave!" A woman — Carol? — cries.

"She's right." Lori. That's Lori. "This close to the city? It's too dangerous!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Fort Benning." Shane looks like he's 'bout ready to bolt, bouncin' from foot to foot. A trapped animal. "We can do it. It's still an option, Rick."

"Is it?" Glenn's shouting. "It's a hundred twenty-five miles away!"

"No fuel? Two sick kids?" Morales is shakin' his head, no, no, no. "It's impossible!"

What do we do? No, no, no. We can't leave, but no, no, no, we can't stay, neither.

"What do you wanna do, then?" Shane argues back. "What you wanna do?"

"That's it! We're done here!"

My Dad shuts the whole thing down with one angry shout, locking his hand around my wrist. He tugs me away, and for a moment, the group is tugging itself along behind us, back to the street and the cars. We're a unit again — in the wind, goin' anywhere; scared, flimsy. We take one step, and then two, and we make it all the way back to the grass, before—

"Wait!"

It's Rick.

He ain't budged. Brave or stupid? Is he nuts?

"The camera." He tells us, breathless. "It moved."

All three.

"You imagined it." Dale decides, 'cause he'll say anything to get Rick to move. "How could it have moved?"

It's a lost cause — a last-ditch attempt.

The arguing re-ignites. I hide myself again, 'cause I'd rather be anywhere else.

Rick's shouting that he saw it, he saw the camera move, and his voice hits the concrete and closes in on us, just like the field. Fwip. Bang. Bang. Bang. Each burst of noise is a ticking hand on a dyin' clock. The bodies are picking themselves up faster than we're dropping 'em. Glenn's got a knife out, now, and Shane's pleading with Rick, who's gone nuts, Man, listen, the place is gone, it's gone, it's gone, it's gone. Rumble, rumble, rumble. Fwip. Bang. Crying; shrieking, from me, from the other kids, from Lori, and Jacqui, and the air as it's cut in half by bullet after bullet after bullet. Please, we have two sick kids out here, someone's begging.

"You're killing us!" Rick tells the camera. "You're killing us!"

My Dad fists the back of my shirt and he's pullin' me away, stronger than before. I think he's saying, Fuck it, we can make it on our own; leave the bastard. This must really be rock bottom. We were on our own for weeks. He must be thinking that we can do it again. I can see Glenn struggling to decide whether he should stay with the group or follow his feet, which are already trying to run after me and my Dad. I see Jacqui doin' it, too, and then Andrea, and then Carol.

A body topples over in our path, arrow up its nose. This is chaos.

Cherries and sunlight. Cherries and sunlight.

Then—

Behind us.

A gentle rumble, rumble.

We all whip around.

The doors — They're opening. They really are.

Even Rick looks like he can't believe it. We watch them open, mouths agape, like a bunch of idiots — A portal, to another world.

At first, we think there's a catch. Nothing comes without a catch. Do we go in?

But then there's another bang, and we're reminded that we're as good as dead if we stay out here any longer. We're on the move again, but this time, we're walking into the big, white mouth of the big, white monster, praying, Please don't be worse than it is out here, please don't make us regret this. We stay close together as the doors roll back down, sealing us in. We can breathe again, but only slightly. Would I rather take my chances with the dead soldiers, or with the unknown? I'm not sure. Now it's really happening, I don't think any of us are.

"Electricity." Jacqui whispers in cautious wonder. Electricity is like a myth.

Rick nods toward an archway. "Let's keep moving."

We trickle into the belly of the beast — Down a hallway, and into a lobby with the tallest damn ceiling I ever saw. Papers are thrown all over the floor and the computers at the reception desk are all upturned, but it's pin-drop silent. It's like being in a museum for an old extinction event.

"Hello?" Rick calls out, and if there's a scary creature in here, I sure hope it eats him first. "Who's in here? Who opened the doors?"

The silence answers.

"I did."

I jump outta my skin. Dad gets himself in front of me, but I peek around his waist. There's a man at the top of the stairs. He looks like he's been here for a long, long time. Like those lonely boys in Lord of the Flies, where they'd been on an island for so long that they started going a little crazy. He's wearing a regular t-shirt. I wonder where his lab coat is, if he's a scientist. This is a building for scientists.

"What did you mean by 'sick'?" The lonely-crazy-man calls down to us. "You said you had two sick kids. Is anybody infected?"

The whole group hardens at this question. They all glance back at me. I can see our journey in their eyes.

Rick's smiling, and this time, it looks right.

"You don't know the half of it." He turns back around, chin up, like always. "No. Nobody's infected. Thank God."

Dad puts a hand my shoulder.

The scientist doesn't share the same enthusiasm.

"I'm not sure He's around, anymore." He muses, vaguely sad. Then, "Why are you here? What do you want?"

I've never been good at words, but Rick is, 'cause he comes up with the perfect answer. One he knows we'd all agree on.

"A chance."

And maybe some water. After all we been through, that can't be too much to ask. We must look like a pathetic, begging mess, 'cause that's what we are. I know I am. My hair's made outta knots and grease, just like Lori and Andrea's. We're covered in beatings from the road, like bruises from Jim's fists and eyebags from sleepless nights. We left our quarry for this. We left our fish, and our tyre swing, and we left Jim. This can't be for nothing.

The man, who stands high above us, a judging eye, takes us in. "That's asking an awful lot, these days."

All Rick can say is, "I know," and pray it works.

I think of wet eyes, teeth, and spiders while we wait for his decision.

"You'll submit to a blood test." The scientist tells us. "That's the price of admission."

A breath leaves us all.

"We can—" Rick's nodding. "We can manage that."

That's it? A blood test?

I find myself grinning, and I tug on my Dad's hand. We look at each other. He's smiling, too, just a little. We all are. The scientist doesn't know it, but he's just saved our lives. We're tired and we're dirty and we've been through Hell these past couple days, but a blood test — We can manage that. We can manage anything.

"I left one door open. If you have stuff to bring in, do it now." He says, from his perch. "Once these doors shut, they don't open."

We tell him we understand.

This place is like a magical castle.

After we give up our blood, the scientist takes us on a tour.

Jacqui was right. We got electricity. But apparently, we also got hot water.

If electricity's a myth, then hot water is a damn hoax. I can't wait to have a shower tonight. I used to hate showers, but that's just one of them things now that I can't believe I ever hated, like spinach. I been so hungry before that I'd dream about spinach. Glenn and Lori groan like they've bitten into a big, juicy steak when they hear 'bout the showers, and we all laugh. When I ask him, the scientist says that he isn't wearing his lab coat because he only wears it to make himself look cool. He says that now that we're here, he'll have to put it back on. It makes me giggle.

I run ahead with the other kids, and we all reach a long line of doors, where the scientist says we'll be staying.

The tour is complete!

We all pick rooms to stay in and then we unpack, like we're in a hotel, and it's exciting. None of us have been to a hotel in years.

"Hey, Harley!" Sophia pops her head out the next room over, holding a bar of soap. "Look! Soap!"

I hold out mine. "I got one, too!"

Behind Sophia, Carl pops his head out. "Me too!"

And behind him, like two little owls, Eliza and Louis appear. "Us, too!"

We dash back into our rooms. Me and my Dad's room got two double beds, and I ain't never had a double bed before, so I climb on it, and I jump up and down to test it out. It don't even squeak or nothin'. Dad watches me from where he's emptying one of our back packs.

As I try touch the ceiling, I tell him, "This place is awesome!"

"Harley, come down from there 'fore you crack yer head open." He orders, like a party-pooper.

I do what he says, 'cause I don't wanna ruin the day by getting spanked. "I'm gonna have a real-life shower."

"That's right." He shakes out the yellow shirt with the dinosaurs on it. He chucks it at my head, smirking. "Get ready, then."

I grab the brush that Sophia's letting me use first and a pair of purple pyjama pants from my Dad. I take myself into the bathroom. At first, the water's like straight lava on my skin, and I yelp. Dad asks if I'm alright, and then he comes in to fix the water for me. The lava settles back down, and I scrub and wash and sud myself up until I'm almost as red as a lobster. It's the best shower I've ever had. I was getting so sick of using baby wipes and river water to wash myself. When I step out of the real-life shower, the whole room is steamed up. I draw a smiley face into the mirror just 'cause I can, and then I brush out all my hair. I smell like strawberries. I dress in my cozy pyjamas and socks.

When I come out, my Dad re-does my buttons, 'cause apparently I did 'em all wrong. I stand between his knees while he re-orders 'em.

"He said there's a games room here." I smile.

"Maybe you can scope it out after dinner." Dad says. "You gotta be hungry by now, right?"

"Oh, I forgot 'bout dinner!" There's just too many wonders to keep track of in this place! "We gotta hurry!"

My Dad loops the last button.

"Come on, come on, come on!" I nag, pulling him off the bed and out the door.

"Damn." He chuckles. "People are gonna start thinkin' I ain't feedin' you."

"I bet there's gonna be steak!"

This is the best day ever.

We reach the CDC's little cafeteria, which is in total darkness to save energy, except for a spotlight above the biggest table. Makes it feel even more special. I hear clinking forks and plates, and I think these are the two happiest days I've ever had. Me and Dad take seats next to Carol and Sophia. As potato salad — Yes, potato salad. That's almost as good as soap — and greens and meat get passed around, I'm reminded of our fish fry. My Dad is here with me to enjoy it this time, and there are walls to protect us, instead of trees. We're clean. We're safe. We're alive.

"Just tell me when." Carol tells T-Dog as she pours him some wine, while everyone is getting settled in at the table.

Carol pours for a long time and T-Dog does not say when.

People start laughing.

T-Dog gives in and goes, "Okay, when, when, when."

"Thought I was gonna be there all night." Carol scoff-chuckles, sitting back down.

When I look around, I see one big family having dinner together, and I see people I'd almost forgotten about under all that dirt.

"Hey, after the past few days we've had, I think we deserve it." Rick's smiling, holding up his hands.

"I'll say." Lori snickers.

Dale suddenly stands, glass in hand. "How about we dedicate this meal to Harley?"

Rick puts down his napkin. "I think that's a perfect idea."

I giggle under all the attention as everyone rushes to agree, finding their glasses. I hide my face behind my Dad's arm. He peels himself away, smirking, and everyone's got something to say about my red face when I'm no longer hidden. I smack Carl when he tells me I look like a tomato, and everyone's doubled over with laughter, again. It's my favorite sound ever, I decide.

Before we can toast, my Dad butts in.

"Hang on. Old man, how's about that watch you carry around?" He asks. "It got a date on it?"

"I wish," Dale smiles, "But the battery died yesterday. Why? Is there something I'm missing?"

"I reckon it's almost July, right?" Dad looks around.

Is he gonna say what I think he's gonna say?

I start grinning.

Rick nods, "I reckon so. It's probably been about a month since everything went down."

"Harley was born in July. Twenty-second. Eight years ago. Ain't that right?" Dad ruffles my hair, and I giggle, 'cause I'm just so full of happiness that I feel like I'll never be anything else again. He raises his glass; wraps a hand around my shoulders. "Close enough, am I right?"

"Absolutely, that's close enough!" Lori shouts, clapping her hands; rushing for her glass. "My God, this is perfect!"

"We got ourselves a birthday dinner, here, people!" T-Dog whoops, raising his, too.

Rick lifts his glass above his head, and it's official. "To the birthday girl!"

"To the birthday girl!"

Clink, clink, clink.

More cheering. Two toasts in one day. I must be the luckiest girl in the whole, wide world. I bump my glass of water into Dad's glass on my right, and Sophia's on my left. After the scare with the scratches, this celebration means ten times more than a regular birthday would. There's no cake here, or number-candles, but I don't need any of that to make this moment special. I got Glenn singing an off-key Happy Birthday, and I got Jacqui giggling, God, shut that boy up, and I got Sophia hugging me, and I got another year and a whole lotta more days I get to live, with everyone at this table; with my Dad. And when Rick leans over the table, I even let him give me a high-five!

"Eight." Rick raises his eyebrows at me while he sits back down, pointing at me. "Almost double digits."

"You're almost my age!" Grins Carl.

"Good luck." Lori dramatically whispers to my Dad.

He gives me a look. "Listen to me, you ain't allowed to grow any more after this, okay?"

I can't help if I grow!

"Okay, Dad." I laugh. "I promise to be eight forever."

"Good girl." He says, gulping down more wine.

"Hold up." T-Dog sticks his palm out. "This is a birthday party. You know what that means, right? We need to hear at least one embarrassing story."

"Good idea." Jacqui gasps.

Dad makes a big show of scoffing. "Damn, which one you want? I got thousands."

What a traitor!

"I mean, we have all night, here." Shane shrugs, grinning like a little smart-ass. "I'm up for a story-time. How 'bout y'all?"

"Let's hear it," Morales gestures at my Dad.

"Alright." Dad sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. I try leaning over to cover his mouth, but he bats me away, and everyone is already laughing and the story ain't even started yet. "How 'bout— Okay. Okay. Damn, this is a good one. 'Bout when she was five, we bought Harley this skateboard—" Everybody's going, Oh God, 'cause they see where this is going. "Uh-huh. We took 'er down to the skatepark near our house, and there was a bunch of other lil' kids there — 'bout her age — and I'on know how she did it, but these kids were all convinced she was this master skater who was gonna show 'em how it's done. She was coachin' 'em, I think. Showin' off her new board. End of the day, she finally goes to show 'em a trick — 'Member, first day at this damn park — and everyone's watching and—" He claps his hands, smack. "Falls flat on 'er fuckin' face, in front of all of 'em."

Ugh, why'd he have to go and tell that story?

Rick covers his mouth 'cause he's trying not to laugh, 'cause I guess he values whatever dignity I got left but Shane, he's clappin' and trying not to spit his food out, 'cause he's actually a big smart-ass. I'm laughing behind my hands, like Sophia. Glenn's resting his forehead on the table, and he's shakin', so I guess he's laughing, too. When he sits upright, he's crying, and Jacqui's gotta beat his back 'cause he's choking a little bit.

"I'm alri—" He coughs. Then he keeps laughin', which makes it worse. "I'm alright."

"Hey, I ain't even fall that bad!" I defend myself.

He chugs Jacqui's water to save himself.

"Wait—" Lori's chuckling. "Five years old?"

"Yep," Dad goes back to eating. He's satisfied with the damage he's done.

"Pretty brave for that age." Lori tells me, putting on an I'm impressed face.

"Damn, that's pretty bad." T-Dog's shaking his head. "Sorry, girl, but I'm glad I asked, 'cause shit!"

"Leave the poor girl alone." Carol giggles, quietly.

Shane looks off into the darkness, pretending there's a crowd. "Anybody got a skateboard?"

"Oh, shut up." Andrea smiles. "Settle down, or Lori's gonna have to pull that photo out."

"May I ask a question?"

We're all so isolated in this pocket of happiness, celebrating the end of our troubles, that when the scientist speaks, I think we're all a little spooked. Smiles freeze and fade. Glasses lower. Heads turn. We're not the only people in the world, we're all realizing. We'd forgotten all about the reason we came here. That's what potato salad does to people, I guess.

The conversation dies off like a guillotine sliced it in half.

"What were you going to toast to?" The scientist asks, and his voice is like a soft, chilly breeze in a forest. I'm not even sure he was sitting there the whole time. Maybe he's supernatural, and he teleported. That makes me scared. "Before you figured out it was her birthday?"

And just like that, the dinner turns awkward.

Rick clears his throat. "Well, if I'm being completely honest, here, Harley is the reason we came out to the city in the first place. I know I told you that nobody here was infected, but there were a couple days where... we weren't sure. Harley got scratched. We left looking for a cure."

The scientist's eyes roam over to my face, but then they don't leave.

"Now we're on the subject," Shane decides to break the silence, frowning, "How about you tell us what exactly happened here, doc?"

Rick mutters, "We don't have to do this right now, Shane."

"Wait a second." Shane sighs. "You said it yourself, just now. This is why we came all the way out here, right? Figure out what happened? Put all our eggs in one basket, and uh—" He laughs a laugh that tells me nothing is funny here. "Instead we found him. We found one man, talking in riddles. Why is that, you think?"

The scientist tanks the insult. "When things got bad, people just... left, to be with their families. The rest bolted."

I remember just how shocked I was at the size of this building when I first saw it creeping up the windows. It's way too much space for one man. There must have been hundreds of scientists working in here, and now it's just a shell. A cave for a lonely monster.

"Every last one?" Shane whispers, squinting; disbelieving.

The scientist falters, for just a moment, and I can see old pains on his face. "No. Some couldn't face leaving. They... opted out."

The tables goes from quiet to silent. Opted out. I know what that means. It's another one of them things adults say to butter up the truth, and it means killing yourself. I squeak, then, like I've been kicked in the ribs. I hide behind my Dad, who cradles the back of my damp hair, but you can't hide from words once they're in your head. Suicide. Dead, but not an accident — On purpose, with pills, or a gun, or a— a— a bridge. Something snotty gets caught in my throat like a fish-hook, and I'm crying now, at my own birthday dinner. Somebody drops their fork in defeat.

"There was a rash of suicides." Mutters the scientist, immune to his own story; numb. "In a matter of days, I was alone."

"Why didn't you leave?" Asks Andrea.

Carl is crying too, now. I wish I could make him feel better, just for a moment, but I can't.

"I just kept working." Smiles the scientist, but it's not right— It's just muscles, pulling his droopy face upward. "I just wanted to do some good."

Good.

The word reaches up into the ceiling, and leaves us at the bottom, sitting in its echo.

"There is no cure here." The scientist says.

The dinner is over.

Everything comes crashing down as fast as it went flying up.

We were on top of the world just a few hours ago. We were invincible. We had the news that I wasn't going to die in our veins, and then we had hot water and soap and potato salad, and each other. We had hotel rooms and a birthday dinner. But now we just have a dead end and a long list of regrets. There is nothing here for us besides showers, lights, and ghosts. I feel like a trapped animal. I'm a hamster in a maze, going around and around and around, and I can't get out. A rash of suicides. That thing I thought was hiding somewhere, it's this, and it's out, and I'm sorry we ever looked. Please don't let it be worse than it is out here, I remember, Please don't make us regret this.

After what feels like hours, the hallways I'm running down end. I see the game room.

I run inside and corner myself under the table. A cloth hides me from the world outside, and if I pretend hard enough, I can take myself right out of here and into a nice, safe pillow fort, instead. Like the ones I used to make back home. I can be someone else. If I'm in my head, I'm not here.

But then I hear the door open, and it's just a wooden table again, and I'm in the CDC.

"Harley?" It's my Dad, 'cause of course it is. I moan into my hands, crying so hard I'm not getting enough air. "You in here?"

I don't want to be found. I want to be lost.

The cloth lifts.

"Baby, what's wrong?" My Dad asks, but I know he already knows. How could he not know?

There are lots of words that remind me of my Momma, like sunshine, and cigarettes, and the worst — Suicide.

"Get out." I tell him, using my feet to push him away. "Get out."

I should've learnt my lesson back at the quarry, on that night I hit my Dad, but I don't care. I just wanna hurt something. I'm hurting. A rash of suicides. I can't stop hearing it, and I can't stop seeing it — Over and over again, the night on the bridge. Opted out. Suicide. Killing yourself.

Pills, guns, ropes.

Bridges.

"Baby, I know." Dad's saying, grabbing my kicking feet. "I know. Come out. I don't want you thinkin' 'bout this, so come on out."

"I can't help it!" I sob, 'cause I really can't. Something that is too big for my body is happening to me, and I can't stop it.

"H— I know. Just come out." He's begging, and now he's not just holding my feet, he's pulling 'em; pulling me, out from underneath my hidey hole and into the world, even though I want to stay in here forever. He's trying so hard to bury something that's still alive; something that has teeth and jaws, and is eating me from the inside out. He don't wanna see it, and he don't wanna hear it, and he don't wanna deal with it. I wish he'd curl up in my make-believe pillow fort, and hide from the world with me. I wish he'd understand. "You don't gotta be under there. Come out, right now."

Some days I wanna pull my damn hair out.

He's getting angry again. He's holding himself back from something very nasty that lives inside him.

"No," I'm begging him back; begging him to just listen. "No, I don't wanna come out. I don't wanna—!"

I anchor myself to the table leg. We're an unstoppable force and an immovable object, colliding head on for the first time, ever, and it's a disaster. That night at the quarry was nothing.

Furious, my Dad rips the cloth off the table and boxes of puzzles go toppling over onto the floor, breaking into a million little pieces that used to be happily fused. Newly exposed, he easily ducks under and locks his hand around my wrist. I scream, and I close my eyes so I don't have to see my Daddy like this, 'cause it ain't him anymore. He pries my little fingers off the table, one by one by one, and ow, ow, ow, it really hurts. I'm yanked away, and then he's dragging me out by the ankles, shouting—

"Stop actin' like this. You ain't a baby." I hook myself onto a second leg, and he's wrestling with me all over again. "Stop! Mind yer damn father, girl!"

I'm not a baby, but I wish I was, 'cause we were happy back then.

"Stop!" I sob, kicking at him. "J— Leav— Just leave me alone!"

"I ain't leavin' you alone — You know why?" He's seething down to me. "'Cause you need a damn spanking. That's why."

I think back to an hour ago, when I thought I'd only ever be happy for the rest of my life. What a stupid thing to think.

Don't make it any worse, his voice is warning me, from all the times he's done this before.

But it can't get any worse.

In one big pull of strength, I'm forced out from underneath the table once and for all, where I felt safe and small and alone, into the light of the game room where I feel naked, again, for all to see. My face is raw and wet and hurt, and I think one of my buttons got torn off by my Daddy when he was grabbing for me, even though he was the one to fix them before dinner, and on that night in the RV, to show me he loves me. He yanks me to my feet by the armpits, 'cause I can't stand on my own no more, and he crouches to get in my face.

"This is your last fuckin' chance, and then I'm gonna have to take my belt off." He warns me.

"I miss Momma." I whimper.

His face softens, but it's gone so quick I'm sure I imagined it. "Harley," He grinds out, "Stop this."

"You killed her!" I cry, scared, but braver than I ever been at the same time. "You made Momma kill 'erself! You made 'er jump off that bridge!"

I tried so hard to be like my Daddy, but I can't. I can't hide things like he can.

I don't care if he belts me after. I just want him to know. I want him to know that I know, and that I ain't never gonna forgive him. I'd take a thousand beatings just so I could scream the same thing up at him, until my throat bleeds, until I'm nothin' but a voice, until my Momma comes back. People who kill themselves don't wanna come back, but maybe this time, if I was a good enough girl, she might want to. I'd get on my knees, and I'd beg her, and I'd say, Please Momma, I need you. Please Momma, please. Me and Daddy can't do it on our own. She didn't love my Daddy, and my Daddy hated my Momma. He never said it, but I always knew he did. I saw it when he dropped me off at her house; how he didn't wanna leave me with her. I heard people say my Momma was sick in the brain, and that she was a bad Mom, but I loved her.

My parents might be forever separated, but on my face, they are still together. I got my Daddy's flat mouth and my Momma's green eyes. I am proof that hate can create love. I don't feel so loved right now, though. I feel like I'm nothing. I feel like when my Daddy said he loved me, he was lying.

And there it is, my Daddy's hand going for his belt, 'cause I chose to say the worst thing I could think of.

I don't wanna get beat, but sometimes it don't matter what little girls want.

"I want you to think about the way you're speakin' to me." My Dad, the same one that was crying in my baby photo, shouts in my face. "I don't know why you gotta be like this, Harley. I don't know why you gotta make me do this. You were havin' such a good day."

"I'm sorry—" I'm sayin' now. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"You shoulda thought about that before you started bringing this shit back up again. After this, never again, okay?"

He pulls me down into his chest, yanking the back of my shirt up to the base of my neck. I wait for the whip, and the burning sting afterwards.

I can take it. I'll just close my eyes and wait for it to be over.

But before it can come—

"Woah! Hey!" A man's shout. "Hey, hey! Stop!"

The whip doesn't come. I can catch my breath.

Under my Dad's arm, the one that's in the air, poised to beat me, I see a man in the doorway. I almost can't make him out, but there he is — It's officer Shane. The room seems to slap him in the face, like he can't believe what he's just walked into. He's scared to step inside, in case the moment breaks and my Dad chooses to beat me, anyway. Shane's a bastard cop, and it's his job to save people. I never thought I'd be needing saved from my Dad. I still don't think I need saving. I brought this on myself. I wish he'd go away, so it could be over with.

My Dad stands up, his whole body clenched with muscle ready to punch.

"I'm gonna ask you put that down, man." This is the first time I'm hearing Shane's police-man voice. "And to step away from her, okay?"

I feel embarrassed.

I'm kneeling on the floor, grabbing onto the side of the sofa, tryna hide myself again. I don't belong here. I don't want Shane to see me like this. I wanna be the little girl he caught frogs with, not a ball of hurt and tears. Suddenly, this isn't a games room anymore. It's a wolf's den, and I got two of 'em right in front of me, circling each other, ready to bite. I scuttle further into the corner, like if I shrink myself enough, I can just disappear into the floor.

"You ain't askin' me shit, officer." Dad whispers, real nasty. "Ain't no rules, no more. Not so tough, now."

"I'm not gonna ask you again, man." Officer Shane warns, stepping very slowly into room.

He moves toward us, inch by inch, like a man inside a lion enclosure.

"You don't gotta." Dad spits. "Door's right there."

"You're hittin' on little girls, now, Daryl." Shane huffs that mean laugh again. "Sorry, buddy, but that's my business. Come on. Step away."

If Shane had his gun in his holster, his hand would be on it. But we left all our weapons in the bedrooms before dinner. He stretches his fingers; tilts his head. I realize he don't need a gun. He's gonna fist-fight my Dad if he don't do what he says. My Dad, sensing this, chucks his belt on top of the broken puzzles, and stretches out his fingers, too. They're one wrong word away from beating each other to a pulp.

I wanna beg 'em to stop, but my voice is burrowed somewhere deep inside my body, and I can't reach it.

"We don't have to do this, Daryl." Shane's half-way into the room, now. When did he get that close?

"Sure we don't." Dad snarls. "You gonna hit me? Go ahead."

Shane shakes his head. "That's not somethin' I wanna do, man. But you know I will. Step away."

A hiccup I didn't give permission to leave my mouth cuts through the room. Shane glances at me. I don't know who I'm supposed to root for.

"'Step away', huh? Step away from my own daughter?" My Dad scoffs.

Shane glances from me to my Dad, and I can see him start to realize that this angle won't work on my Dad. He holds out his hand. Something about the way he's looking at me is saying, You don't have to be afraid, but I am, and I don't wanna move. I feel like this is my fault. I watch as he flicks his fingers a little, brows raised. "How 'boutchu come over here, Harley, huh?"

Dad blocks me with his body before I can even think about it. "Hey, don't you fuckin' speak to her."

His eyes are back on my Dad. "Just tryna do what's best for everybody, here, Daryl."

My Dad cracks one of his knuckles. "Nah. Nah, I don't think you are. You got it all twisted."

"Don't think I do."

"Yeah?" Dad goads, and every second, I wait for one of them to swing. I can't stand it. "What is it you think you walked in on, then, huh?"

I think my Dad's waiting for the swing, too, 'cause he's so confident that he'll win that he wants officer Shane to try him. He wants to punish him. He wants to show him what happens when you insult a Dixon, 'cause protecting the name is more important than protecting his own body. I think about the way my Dad busted Rick's cheek; How Ronnie's Momma ain't recognise him when my Daddy was done with him.

Shane must be thinkin' the exact same thing, 'cause he starts goading my Dad right back.

"I think I walked in on you beatin' the shit outta your own kid, first of all." Shane shrugs, like it ain't his fault it's fact, and he keeps going when he notices my Dad's breathing get heavy. He's enjoying this. A smile splits his face. "I think we been worrying 'bout Jim this whole time, we been worrying 'bout the wrong man. How 'bout that? You wanted us to be so focused on him, we forget about the real monster."

"That right?" Dad side-steps Shane when he reaches the edge of the coffee-table.

"Sounds right to me, man." Shane says. "Lemme ask you this, Daryl. What is it you think I walked in on?"

I wonder where everyone else is. I wonder if at any second, one of them is gonna walk in.

"It don't matter what I think." Dad shouts, suddenly, and I shriek like I've been struck by the belt. "It's my damn business. It's my damn daughter."

"Yeah, I betchu wish it was." Shane huffs out a chuckle. "Don't want your secret gettin' out, right?"

Shane's like a wriggly little worm, needling my Dad where he don't wanna be needled.

My Dad's patience finally runs out.

He rears back to swing at Shane's head, and his fist is caught and twisted, and I hear Shane grunt in pain, and this is it, so I close my eyes—

Wait.

My eyes are open. That don't make no sense. Why is it so dark? Why can't I see?

I realize that the fight has stopped, and I feel like we've all forgotten about it and are waiting for something to happen.

There's a single murmur throughout the room.

"Was that the power?"

Author's Note.

Cliff-hanger! Mwahahha.

So, obviously, the last scene in this chapter is pretty brutal. I'd like to share why I made the decision to have Daryl act this way, because it could be a shock for some.

For starters, I think it's plausible for a number of reasons. Merle being a bad influence on Daryl, his unhealed childhood trauma and how that affects how he parents his child, and his unhealthy habit of bottling up his emotions, etc.

It's not pretty, I know, and I kind of hated writing that scene, but that brings up my second point. For the sake of the themes and arcs I want to give this story, it was necessary. This story just couldn't exist if it didn't have this scene. I've got, like, three different key subplots linked to it. Maybe you can even guess what they are, because two of them have been hinted at/set up already. They're only going to get more prominent from here on out.

So that's the explanation for anybody who wanted or needed it. You'll see all this play out in the coming chapters, anyway, but I just wanted to provide this in the mean time. :)

Rant over! Phew. Everybody take a sigh of relief.

On a more positive note, everything else in this chapter was a total joy to write! These poor guys deserve some happiness 😌

Hope you enjoyed reading, and as always, please consider sharing your thoughts! Sending love :)

#child abuse #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon daughter #daryl dixon fanfiction #daddy issues #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #parent daryl dixon #rick grimes #fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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the---hermit · 11 months

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Red currants I harvested the other day, and some recipe notes belonging to my great grandfather (not the recipe I tried today, but it was such a cool find I had to share it).

26|06|2023

My post exam resting continues, and I don't know how long it will last, but I am enjoying every moment of it. Today I started planning a trip I'll be going on with my parents this weekend. I really like planning these kind of things, and I'm really excited to go on this trip. I really hope my anxiety won't fuck it up for me, but I am trying to focusing on the positive things, and in the worse case scenarios I have my meds to help me. Today I also took some time to try a new recipe I have never done before with my own hands. It's a family recipe both my grandmas used to make, and judging from the smell I have a good feeling about what I have made with my first attempt. I'll only be able to judge in a couple of days, but my hopes are high. I also worked on a reading challenge update post that has been in my draft for months and that I will hopefully post soon. I was also thinking about making a specific post on what I read in the year so far, but I honestly don't know how to structure it yet (so if anyone has any ideas let me know, I might look for a tag or something). I wanted to work in my garden but by the time I finished cooking I was tired and today it was way too hot for me to do a good job, so I have postponed that to the next few days.

Productivity and self care:

read first thing in the morning

monthly therapy session

did the first big part of my travel planning

tried making a family recipe for the first time

listened to a feel good playlist

worked on a future post

Irish on duolingo (still just doing reviews of old stuff because my burned out brain cannot focus on new topics)

listened to the newest episode of the books unbound podcast

crosswords

📖: The House In The Cerulean Sea by T.J. Klune

🎵:25 by The Pretty Reckless

#studyblr #studyinspo #uniblr #university #student life #productivity #self care #journaling #currently reading #journal #knife gang #mine #the---hermit

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katnissgirlsmakedo · 9 months

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shadowhunter chronicles characters and whether i think they would be swifties, a post: (obviously i am excluding all characters who are from the past and died before taylor swift even existed because frankly i don't care to debate whether mattew fairchild would be a swiftie. he's dead <3 peace and love)

clary- not at all. she listens to freak weirdo music. also she stopped keeping tabs on pop culture in 2008 so what would she even know about taylor swift unless one of her shadowhunter friends makes her listen to her. i think it's possible that in like 2014 she heard a 1989 song and loved it but didn't find out it was taylor swift until 6 months later when simon had to inform her

simon- again, weirdo freak music. he'd be the guy who only starts liking her because of folklore but unfortunately cassanda's timeline only goes to like, 2013 rn and will only go to 2015 for twp so. we'll never see that. i think he has nothing against her music because he is a Music Appreciator but he is probably a huge asshole about her as a person becuase he has a haters soul <3

jace- well i don't think jace listens to modern music <3 however i think in his post 2008 life he has more appreciation for human world art and he would eventually come across a vinyl of red or something (he's totally the type of annoying to have a record player do not dispute me on this) and i think from there he would like her, this is how clary is introduced to her music btw

alec- i literally don't think alec listens to music. other people listen to music around him, and he does NOT have a haters soul so he is NOT an asshole about any of said music.

izzy- yeah <3 and i think her and simon have had fights about it <3 it's not that deep to her though she only fights with him about taylor swift for fun and then they have crazy sex

magnus- well yeah. of course. he would love how swifties behave like a cult he would think that's soooo funny... he would love the glamour he would love her showmanship he would go to all her tours and have the time of his life. duh.

emma- yeah why not... she's a girls girl and she has an obsession with being just like jace. she is listening to taylor swift...

jules- he is listening to taylor swift with his beautiful girlfriend...

dru- dru is crucially a weirdo freak emo girl, i just know that when she puts on music it is an assult on the ears and no one likes it and ty wants to kill her about it. and also at the same time emma is functionally her big sister she looks up to and therefore she must appreciate taylor on emma's behalf

cristina- no because she's not american she doesn't have to give a shit about taylor swift

mark- if you asked mark blackthorn what his favorite song was he'd say some bullshit like "the sound of the river flowing at sunrise when the birds are chirping" so. like yeah he'd mostly be saying that just to fuck with you but goddamn that is annoying. anyway

helen- she's a gaylor. to ME

aline- the wife of a gaylor. but she thinks shake it off is the most annoying fucking song she has ever heard in her life <3

livvy- much like dru, she has to defer to emma with this, so yes she likes taylor swift, however i know in my heart of hearts that livvy is a pop music girlie and the fact that taylor was mostly country pre-livvy dying would piss her off soooo bad. she'd have to find put about 1989 from kit it would be a whole thing she'd make ty play it for her because she's a ghost who only has two friends it's terrible...

ty- it's complex. no. but also yes. but also crucially no. but yes. don't worry about it.

tessa- tessa would love ipods i know she does... girl from the victorian era living to the invention of the ipod touch.... dude. do i think she's listening to taylor on her ipod? maybe a little. but i think magnus probably made her a playlist of all the greatest songs from the last several decades that she missed while in the spiral labyrinth and she is just trying to catch up in her free time... obviously all too well is on that playlist though.

jem- man i just think he's thrilled to be alive. i think that guy likes everything, especially if tessa likes it. guy who is constantly overcome with the beauty of life fr

kit- i think he would make fun of jace for liking red so much and then he'd go home and listen to it and cry. he pretends to have the haters soul for clout but he doesn't and he never will and it makes him look fucking pathetic <3

#beth.txt #tsc #the afternoon nap is the mind killer i will not nap

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whatsnewalycat · 2 years

Text

Just Dumb Enough to Try

Chapter 20: The Chicken

Word Count: 4k+

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Tags / CW: NO REAL HARM HAS BEEN DONE TO JUDY I PROMISE, swearing, cheating/infidelity, smoking, domestic abuse, crying, soft and fluffy javi, giving javi shit is my favorite past time, unprotected PIV sex, clitoral stimulation, jealousy, pregnancy test, pregnancy in general, what's in the fucking box, motherfucker is scheming

Chapter Summary: Our heroes have tunnel vision as they finally come to an agreement on an important decision.

Notes: Chapter title from "The Chicken" by Bo Burnham. Things are happeniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing with our main character and Javi, y'all. How exciting! And terrifying!! I'm gonna be sappy for a second here. This story almost has 100 kudos on AO3 and I almost have 100 followers here, which might not seem like a big deal, but it's very exciting to me. Because of mental health things and stuff, I didn't write for over a decade before I started this story. I honestly love it so much, and every day I'm grateful that any one single person that wants to read any one single thing I write. It's been incredible. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I appreciate you more than you could know. And I can't wait to write more, even when this story is over (probably Pedro fics because I'm a sucker for his characters). Anywho. Back to our regularly scheduled programming!

[ Masterlist for Series ] [ Taglist ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ AO3 ]

151 Fir St N, Laredo, TX July 27, 1998

“What’s wrong?” Javi answers when he picks up on the second ring.

Momentarily, you wonder how he knows something is wrong. Then you realize it’s not even 8 am on a Monday morning, which is an unusual time for you to call. Also, you haven’t talked to him since you both departed your house yesterday morning, despite his urging you to call when you got back from the airport. It really wasn’t intentional, though. When you returned, you were so overwhelmed by what you found, it sent you ass over teakettle mentally, until… well, until now.

“Gone,” your voice is warped and nasally when you respond, “My paintings, my movies, my art supplies. He got rid of it all. An- an- and- Fuck, Javi, Judy is gone.” your body shakes as you heave a deep breathe inward, exacerbating the aching in your chest. It summons a fresh well of hot tears, and you choke out, “She’s gone. It’s all gone. Who fucking does that?”

“You don’t know what he did with her, I assume?” his voice remains neutral and steady.

“No,” you squeak, inhale a shattered breath, then try to talk through your ugly crying, “I t-tried to talk to him, ask him what he did with her, but h-he looks right through me like I don’t even exist.”

Javi is silent on the other end. Probably occupied by the gears turning in his head as he tries to get a grasp on the situation.

You, on the other hand, have been stewing in the wake of Dan’s actions for almost 24 hours, and your thoughts on the matter are spilling out of your mouth with vitriol, “It’s a punishment. He took the only things I liked in this fucking hell hole, and he fucking knows it. He wants me to be miserable.”

Javier responds to your bitter assumptions with a softly spoken question, “What do you want to do?”

Not a demand. Not a decision made on your behalf. Just…

What do you want to do?

“I want to see you,” you whimper as his delicacy soothes the anger flaring within you, “I don’t want to be here.”

So he drops what he’s doing to come pick you up.

When he gets to your house, he finds you moping in a blanket burrito on the couch. Your eyes are red and puffy, staring at one of Judy’s toys on the floor. Wordlessly, he sinks into the couch and beckons you closer. The stagnant tears resume when you unwrap yourself and climb into his lap. He holds you tight, burying his nose in your hair as you work through this wave of grief. When your breath starts to settle, he murmurs, “You wanna get out of here?”

You sniffle and nod, then get up to get your purse.

—

“I’m going to be pretty busy today, but just help yourself to whatever you need, ok?” Javi informs you gently. You’re tangled together in his bed, lulled into a sense of security as you cuddle. The thump-thump that powers his body sounds beneath your ear, hypnotizing you as you write love notes on his belly. He’s playing with your hair and watching your fingers dance across him.

“Does Pickles have to work, too, or can he stay with me?” you murmur.

“He has to work,” he squeezes your shoulder sympathetically as he breaks the news, then resumes playing with your hair.

You blow a raspberry, “That’s ok. I’ll probably just take a nap. I couldn’t sleep last night. Maybe I’ll snoop through your room for a book or something.”

“Oh yeah?” he chuckles, smiling down at you.

“If that’s ok with you. Is there any area I need to avoid?” you ask, wiggling around to make eye contact with him.

He frowns and raises an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I mean, like… are there any places or things in your room that you consider private? Just so I don’t accidentally, you know, invade your privacy,” you stumble.

He hums in acknowledgment, then tilts his head as his eyes search the room, finally admitting, “There’s a notebook in my nightstand. I write notes to people that I never send, things I’m trying to process, stuff like that.”

This brings a huge smile to your face. You stroke his sandpapery cheek and coo, “I love that.”

“Everything else is fine, but that’s something I’d prefer no one read,” he runs a hand over his face and shrugs, and you swear you can see him blush.

“Noted,” you trace his lips with your thumb as you hum the song stuck in your head, then stop and chuckle, “No pun intended.”

He looks down to your mouth, then meets your eyes and quirks an eyebrow. Your fingers ghost down to his chin and you pull him in for a kiss. It’s delicate and it lingers sweetly on your lips. When he pulls back and sighs, you know that he’s bidding you farewell.

You pout, “Do you have to go?”

The pad of his thumb scrapes against your cheek, then he rumbles, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Once you hear the back door slide shut, announcing his departure, you stand up and tiptoe over to his desk, eyeing a stack of books. A black ballpoint pen lies across the page of an open notebook. Javier’s cursive handwriting is scrawled on the page. Angular, sharp, and heavy handed. Practically illegible, but you can make out most of the words.

How fitting.

You flip to the next page and doodle a cartoon version of the two of you holding hands. Maybe the next time he’s sitting here, brain buried in a cold case or writing letters or whatever, he’ll turn the page and it will make him smile. With a sigh, you flip the page back, hiding your gift to him. Focus returns to the book stack. You grab one that catches your eye, then burrow under his covers.

The bedroom door squeaks open a few hours later, when you’ve burned through a considerable portion of the book, getting lost in the tale of a retired FBI agent turned private detective solving a mystery in a small Colorado town. Your stomach feels sour and angry, but you’ve had moderate success distracting yourself with the novel. You save your spot as he sits at the edge of his bed and asks, “How are you doing?”

“Emotionally? Better. Physically? I feel like I’m on day 2 of a hangover,” you groan and roll onto your side to face him, clutching your belly and mumbling, “It’s so comfy in your bed, though. Smells like you. I like it. And I’m getting super into this book.”

He hums, closing your hand in his as he eyes the book, rubbing a thumb against you affectionately, “The Corpse of Cloud Creek.”

“It’s really corny, but I need to know what happens.”

“I’m hooked on those old mystery novels. Just finished that one, actually,” he admits, then squeezes your hand, “You hungry?”

It dawns on you that you haven’t felt like eating since yesterday, which is probably why you’re so fucking nauseated. Or maybe it’s because you’ve been crying for what seems like forever. Or both. You sit up and wince as your head spins, “Yeah I definitely need to eat something.”

After lunch, you mosey around the ranch with your sketchbook and pencil (the only remaining art supplies you own), stopping to draw things that catch your eye, while the Peñas keep themselves busy. Every once and a while you wander into the barn to check in with Javi and see if they need anything, helping out when the stubborn men actually let you. When Javi comes to tell you he’s done for the day, you’re sitting on the bough of a tree, sketching a baby cow who’s frolicking in the pasture.

“What the fuck are you doing up there?” he squints up at you from the base of the sprawling oak tree, shading his eyes from the sun.

You peer down at him and shrug, “Drawing. It’s nice up here, come see.”

“You want me to climb a fucking tree?” he raises his eyebrows at you and plants his hands on his hips.

“If your jeans are too tight to climb a tree, you can just say that, baby, it’s ok,” you tease from your perch.

The way he looks up at you makes you burst out laughing. Just… mouth agape, tongue in cheek, eyebrows raised as far as they go. He tries to formulate an adequate response to your shit talking, but comes up short.

You cover your giggling face with your hand then call down with a coo, “I love you.”

He shakes his head, then, out of (what has to be) pure spite, he climbs up the tree to sit next to you. The old oak tree is wide and rambling with thick boughs, strong enough to support a dozen more people. He peaks over at your sketchbook and his arm slips around your waist. You feel his lips and mustache press against your bare shoulder, making your heart skip a beat.

“How are you feeling now?” he asks, voice low and quiet, words tickling your skin as they exit his mouth.

You slide your pencil into the spine of your sketchbook and turn to him with a defeated sigh, “I’m dreading going back there, if I’m being honest.”

“My offer still stands,” his thumb rubs against your side. His eyebrows are drawn together. Puppy dog eyes looking up at you, tugging at your heart strings.

As you bite the inside of your cheek, you stare down at your bare feet dangling in the air, “Did you mean it, though?”

“Of course I did, cariño,” he huffs, then tilts your chin so you meet his eyes, “Trust me.”

You search his face and listen to the reaction within yourself. Where you expect to hear a pessimist scolding you for even considering this… there’s only a soft-spoken plea for you to take a leap of faith.

Trust him.

Deep breath in, deep breath out, then you nod, “Ok. Ok, yes, let’s do it.”

151 Fir St N, Laredo, TX July 29, 1998

“It’s open!” you holler from the kitchen, projecting your voice towards the front door. A blast of heat slaps the shit out of your face when you open the oven to pull out the hotdish. The front door swings open, closes, then a moment later Javi walks into the kitchen, holding a bouquet of white roses, lavender, and white gardenias.

You smile from ear-to-ear, pulling off your oven mitts to accept the gift. His hands cup your cheeks as he draws his lips to yours in a kiss hello. When he tries to pull away, you set the flowers on the counter and then wrap your arms around his neck to bring him close again, arching your back towards him. There’s heat in the kiss, velvet tongue running along yours as he backs you against the kitchen counter. He helps you up onto it so you can wrap your legs around him.

Your fingers slide from his neck to his chest, then start unbuttoning his shirt, lips never leaving his. He shrugs the shirt off completely and you splay your fingers across his chest, humming with contentment, savoring the heat from his body on your palms. A tug at your shirt reminds you that it’s your turn, so you reluctantly pause the making out to pull the shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor.

He pulls you against his chest, and your heart flutters. Endorphins flood your brain as you register the warmth of his body against yours, quenching your thirst for skin-to-skin contact. He smells like the love of your life, and you inhale deeply before meeting his gaze and recognizing the molten need in his eyes. The sound of his ragged breath is all you can hear. It’s all you want to hear.

You close your lips on his neck, latching on to the sensitive skin. There’s a rumble deep in his throat as he tips his head to allow better access, which you greedily accept, digging your heels in to get closer to him. You flatten your tongue against his collarbone, licking up his jugular, relishing the salty bite of sweat on your tongue. He gasps and buries a hand in your hair, then uses his grip to leverage your mouth against his again.

“Fuck me,” you whisper between messy kisses.

He licks the words from your mouth and mumbles, “Hello to you, too,” as if he isn’t already yanking your pants off. The buckle of his belt rings out in the otherwise quiet kitchen, and he shuffles his pants off, throwing them in a pile on the linoleum. Now you’re both nude in your kitchen. There’s something intimate about it that you adore. Conversely, the utter depravity of being openly fucked by your lover on the kitchen counter makes your skin flush and your pussy clench.

Goosebumps prick your skin when his fingers slide around your waist and the head of his cock nudges at your entrance, smearing around your slick.

“Fuck, Javi,” you breathe into him, drawing your eyebrows together, seconds away from begging him to do it. He holds his lust-blown eyes steady on yours as he sinks in, splits you open, soft moans fluttering from his lips while your face contorts with pleasure. Your nerve endings light up inside and bliss flows through you, head to toe, like a river.

A few languid thrusts warm you up and adjust you to his size before you rut your hips against his impatiently, trying to shift him into second gear. He reads your needy body language and skips it completely, then starts to fuck you fast and hard. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders as you shudder, shockwaves of ecstasy amplifying throughout your body. A sick wet slapping sound echos off the walls, adding fuel to your desire, making you writhe and whine. His thumb finds your clit and starts to thrum at a steady pace.

“Jesus, fuck- oh that’s so fucking good,” you breathe.

He groans your name and whispers in a rumble, “You like how I fuck you, baby girl?”

Your mouth is ajar as you look up through your eyelashes, into his hot black eyes, and nod frantically, “I do, fuck, I love it-“

“If I ever see another man touching you again, I’ll cut his fucking hands off and shove them down his throat,” he growls. This must be something he’s been holding close to his chest, avoiding since he witnessed Dan kissing and touching you. You remember the tortured way he fought with himself when he saw it. Like he was holding back from doing exactly what he explains now.

The sudden possessiveness makes the fire inside you grow, rippling from your pussy to your ears, making them ring. You let your head hang loosely back as you start to babble, “N- nobody touches me but you. I don’t let him touch me, Javi, I’m yours.”

A shudder racks your body, and you tilt your pelvis at an angle that allows his cock to rub against that perfect fucking spot that makes you sweat and pant. He groans and curses under his breath.

The low hum of static electricity in your belly grows louder, pulling whimpers from your throat. He’s working at exactly the right frequency and speed, and he breathes against your lips, “That’s right, you’re mine. My cariño. My princess. My baby girl. My little slut. Isn’t that right?”

Moans bubble out of you as you nod and gasp, “Fuck yes, that’s right-“

His lips cut you off, catching your whimpers in his mouth when he rolls his tongue against yours. You promise him between messy kisses, “I- I love you. No one- no one else- touches me- if you want me- that way-”

The buzzing of passion starts to boil over, expanding from that spot deep in your center, flooding into every corner of your being, then your body contracts and convulses around him, milking him dry as he spills inside you with a choked moan.

The rigid muscles in your bodies start to liquefy and you feel gelatinous as you soak in the post-orgasm closeness of his heaving chest pressing against yours. Your ear on his pulse, you hear the frantic thumping slow to a regular rhythm. Even then you don’t want to let him go. He kisses your forehead, causing you to stir. When you look up at him, he’s smiling down at you boyishly, “Hi.”

The smile travels to your dazed face and you respond with a drowsy, “Hi.”

“Smells good in here, what did you make?”

“Tater tot hotdish,” you answer. He offers a hand to help you down off the counter, which you reluctantly take, then he assists you in getting dressed again. You know he’s trying to keep you on schedule, but you secretly wish he would have stayed there, glued against you, forever. His ability to calm your body and soul just by pressing his body to yours, as if he’s a healing stone, never fails to astonish you. Once you’re both decent, you point to a cupboard, “Hey can you grab a vase out of there for me, please?”

“For the flowers?”

You nod in response and thank him when he does as you asked, picking a simple clear bouquet vase. He grabs your kitchen sheers and starts trimming the bottoms of the stems off. While he’s doing that, you cut portions of the hotdish, set out plates and forks, then go to the turntable to sift through your record collection.

“Fleetwood Mac ‘Rumors’ or Etta James ‘At Last!’?” you ask as he’s setting the beautiful blooms into the vase.

“Oooh tough choice,” he sucks his teeth, placing his hands on his hips, “Etta James.”

“You got it, handsome.”

Javi pads silently across the linoleum floor as you put the record on, and you jump in surprise when his hands slip around your waist from behind you.

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, lips parted as they press against your pulse. A shiver trembles down your back and you lay your hands on top of his. His hips sway to the music and you follow his lead, letting the melody slip from your lips as you sing along quietly, “And my heart cried, ohhh- ohhhh- ohh, I love you so…”

When the song fades out, you take a deep breath, so content being here in his arms.

It’s been a difficult last couple of days. This is the last night you’ll sleep in this house. You’ve spent all day going through your belongings to figure out what comes with you tomorrow morning. Every moment here is spent in suspense, hoping you’re not here long enough for Dan to hurt you more. But right now, you feel safe because you’re wrapped up in Javier like your favorite blanket. You’re home.

—

After dinner, you smoke a cigarette as the sun sets. The vivid cerulean sky transforms, a moving oil painting of amber, coral, indigo, and sapphire, spotted with rosy cotton candy clouds. Cigarette smoke wafts into your face, and your nose crinkles as the stench churns your stomach. You grind the offending party against the ground.

“What’s on your mind?” Javi asks. The two of you are lying out in a matching pair of folding beach chairs, smack dab in the middle of the back yard.

The question settles in your belly like a brick, and you proceed clumsily, “I’m nervous. I have to pack so much shit still. I really need to find my car title and birth certificate,” you sigh, “And, you know, just… I feel like he’s not, um, going to take this well.”

There’s that other thing that’s been gnawing away at you, though. The thing that feels like a brick in your belly.

When you went to take you birth control pill on Monday, you realized you were three days into sugar pills without getting your period. With everything that’s been happening, you figured it was just delayed. You’ve felt like shit since Sunday, which you could dismiss as a hangover for one day, maybe two… but it’s been four days of nausea and aversion to particular scents and tastes.

This afternoon, you couldn’t stand not knowing any more, so you took a break from packing and went to a drug store. The cashier, some tiny old bluehair with a southern accent more Mississippi than Texas, gave you a knowing smile, all acrylic and porcelain, as she rang up the 2-pack of pregnancy tests. You read and re-read the instructions as you paced up and down your hallway, telling yourself that just because the test indicated two lines right away, it might change. After all, the box says to wait five minutes after peeing on the stick.

You waited the five minutes. Then five more, just in case. The results didn’t change. Two lines. Pregnant.

Another test. Another two lines. Pregnant.

“Oh, fuck me,” you sighed out loud to yourself, then tossed them in the trash can and washed your hands.

Everything you know about Javi suggests that he will probably react positively, and maybe even be excited if you’re pregnant. But like. Fuck. Fuck. He didn’t want it to be like this. He didn’t want to go this fast. Fucking birth control pills. You want to tell him and it’s eating you alive, but tell yourself that maybe you should keep your thoughts to yourself for once. At least wait until you’re done packing up and leaving your fiancé. This is a lot all at once.

“It’ll all work out, don’t worry,” he extinguishes his cigarette in the grass.

Once inside the house again, you start rummaging through boxes in the office to find your car title and birth certificate. There’s a shoe box labeled “Computer Stuff” that you pull from a shelf in the closet. It seems like it won’t have the documents, because it’s a fucking shoe box labeled computer stuff, but you have a habit of putting things in weird places, so you open the lid anyway.

A lightening bolt shoots through your heart.

Money. Thousands of dollars. A passport, which you open. It has Dan’s photo in it, but the name adorned on it is Robert McCaffery. There’s a second passport, with your photo in it. Melissa McCaffery.

“What the fuck,” you whisper.

Javi glances up from the file cabinet he’s flipping through and furrows his brow, “What?”

You tilt the box so he can see. He stands up with a grunt and takes it from you, sifts through its contents, then tosses it down on the computer desk and stares at it like it contains a riddle. And, you suppose, it does. He runs his hands over his face.

“Whattaya think?” you cross your arms in front of yourself and study his face.

“I think that box fucking reeks to high heaven,” Javi scoffs, then shrugs, “You should take the money and that counterfeit passport, though.”

“You think he’ll know?”

“Yeah, but who gives a shit? How much money did he take from your bank account?”

You chew the inside of your cheek. Javi kneels down by the file cabinet and continues to search, dismissing the weird shoe box. You turn to him, “Why the fuck would he have a fake passport and a stash of money?”

“I can think of a few reasons, and they’re all bad news,” he mutters, “Not going to be your fucking problem soon, though,” then he pulls out a piece of paper from the file cabinet, “Birth certificate,” then a second paper, “title to your car. What’s next?”

You consult your mental checklist, trying to push aside the image of the box filled with cash and fake identification, not knowing how fucking critical it would be for you to do exactly the opposite.

[ Next Chapter ]

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wiltedkyinn · 11 months

Text

blunts and parks

synopsis; you went to phoneix, arizona for your fifeteen brithday trip. being blown off by your so called bestfriend opens now doors and new friends.

pairing- madeline mcgraw, mason thames and miguel cazarez mora x gn reader.

____

here i am, currently waiting for my bestfriend, junior, to meet me at the park. it feels as if its 113 degrees but it was only 94 with no wind and straight sun. it probably wasnt the best idea to go phoneix in the middle of the summer. i look out to see if he is atleast at the park. instead of seeing him i see a group of 3 of familier faces walking around. its was 2 boys around the same height and a girl that looked no younger then 14. the buzzing from my phone snapped me out of my thought. i answered it already knowing a who would be on the other line.

"yo im staying with valerie for the rest of the day" i could hear a girls voice in the background talking about money to go somewhere. "what was the point of bringing you on my brithday trip" i mumbled. "we can hang out later. i gotta go." his usally loud voice was smaller. then there was slinence. groaning i look around again, im on the swings covered with some shade i found. i find the small group by the tables near me, their backs facing me. i started to rummage in my jackets pocket, knowing what to do to make me feel better.

pulling out the small tube i always carry around along with my lighter and airpods. putting in my right airpod and turning on whatever playlist that i was listening to last started to play. thinking about the group again before popping open the top. i slowly started to get up from the swings, i headed my way towards the small tables. the closer i got the more i was able to hear the voices. it started to mush with the song i was listening to. "sorry but do yall care if i light this? its a blunt" my voice a little raspy due to not having any water on me.

the trio looked at me then back at eachother before the girls nods speaking, "yeah we dont have a problem with it." giving them a small smile "thanks," i walked back to the swings. thinking about the group again, i had forgetton my glasses while packing so it was hard to see even if i was up close. i couldnt quite make it out but they looked familiar. the girl, who i mostly looked at reminded me of the actress Madeline mcgraw, the girl who played gwen in the black phone movie.

pushing whatever i was thinking about to the side so i could focus on the cone shape pre-roll. igniting the red lighter, i rotated the joint in the fire. i brought it up to my lips and took a hit. inhaling and then exhaling. i focused on the song that just started playing, pink + white by frank ocean. i started to inhale again only to be stopped seeing a shadow figure walking up to me. i grabbed my phone and turned it down a little, loooking up i was met with the same girl from before. "hi im maddy and me and my friends were wondering if you would like to join us? the suns getting a lil stronger." she pointed towards the table she was sitting at. "oh uh sure, and im (name)" as soon as i got up to stand i realized how hot it actually was, the heat was overwhelming. "should i put this out or do you guys wanna smoke it with me?" i asked as we both got closer to the park table. "if you teach us how, sure!" her smooth voice stayed upbeat.

i took the free seat next to the tan boy with long dark wavy hair. "mason, miguel this is (name), (name) this is mason and miguel." suddenly it snapped, they were the actors from the black phone. the 2 boys said lil hi's. i took another big hit, then tapping it so the ash falls off. i look at mason, since he was on my left infront of me. "well mason do you wanna hit this?" he thought about it for a moment then nodded his head.

"so how do i do this?" his brown eyes looked at me for help. "so you just suck on it till you get enough smoke and then you take another breathe to actually inhale it." i tried repeating what my older brother taught me a while back. seeing succesfull as he exhaled a cloud while coughing. he handed it to maddy while still trying to catch his breath. holding back my luaghter i remembered the first time i smoked. i look over at maddy and she seemed pretty hesitant, "its okay if you dont wanna," i told her she looked at me then at her hands. she brought it up to her lips and took a breath. she exhaled same as mason except she was able to control her breathing a bit better. she passed to miguel, and when he exhaled he was fine. i figured maddy and miguel did better since they were in some type of sport or exercise.

when i was passed the blunt they stared at me. i took a hit normally and exhaled normally. i started to feel a wash of an euphoric state take over me. i could already tell mason was high. his eyes were red and glossy. i hinted at him to take it but he nodded his head side to side. i did the same with maddy and she took it. "so are you from here?" miguel asked. "nah im here cause its my brithday trip. but im from las vegas," maddy raised her brow "why are you alone on your brithday trip?"

i was handed the joint again, "me and my friend, junior were supposed to hang out today but he bailed on me to stay with his girlfriend." shrugging while i spoke. "thats a dick move." mason snipped quickly. i agrred with him, i did pay for juniors ticket and hotel room. we stayed like that for a while. luaghing and coughing. "(name)!" our peaceful moment interrupted by a forgien voice.

i looked behind me to see a girl with curly brown skin and deep brown skin. valerie, juniors girl. i never officially met her, as she and junior were long distance. "valerie? what are you doing here?" as i got up to hug her. while i didnt know her face to face we have talked one in a while. "junior said we were meeting here today to hang out with you." her voice held some confusion while my head wasnt even processing. "he told me that he was hanging out with you for the rest of the day. you were there when he called me?" i became genuinely confused.

"i havent even seen him today, so hes spending a dat with someone he lied about being his girlfriend?" her voice was hurt while her face was stotic. "oh-" "i cant beilieve he's putting me through this agian" her usal confident voice gone, becoming bitter more as she spoke. she pulled out her phone and calling who i would imagine was junior. she stromed off into her car for some privacy.

"what the hell" i looked back at the intoxicated teens next to me and they laughed, i shrugged it off. "how old are you turning (name)?" mason asked his eyes werent red anymore, but still glossy. "fifteen" miguel turned his head towards me with a semi-shooked face. "i thought your were like eighteen, you look so much older" the other two nodding their head in agreement. my phone started to buzz again. answering it automatically i was greeted with junior yelling. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING TELLING VALERIE THAT I WAS WITH ANOTHER GIRL?"

"its your own fault for using me as an excuse junior, plus its on you for cheating." he began to yell again but i didnt see the point of talking to him, so i hung up. "i should be leaving soon, it was nice meeting yall" giving them all a smile. "we should hang out again," maddy said. "here give me your number and ill send it to the boys" maddy extend her hand to me, her phone dail already open. swiftly putting my number in along with my name, i gave it back. "call me when yall wanna hang out" i gave a small wink and walked away.

#the black phone x reader #mason thames #miguel cazarez mora #madeleine mcgraw #maddy mcgraw #mason thames x you #mason x reader #miguel cora x reader #the black phone x you #platonic #fluff #x gender neutral reader #the black phone x gn reader

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queer-and-nerdy · 7 months

Text

this has been tumbling around in my mind for the last week so now i have to expose all of you to it. shoutout to @wellgoslowly for listening to this in person

lockwood LOVES listening to classic rock and metal (as well as a few older pop-punk but he'll never admit to it). anything from the seventies and eighties (he pretends that no other era of metal exists and if you even say the phrase "nu metal" around him he WILL see red and draw his rapier). it doesn't matter who the band is or what subgenre they are, as long as the song was released pre-nineties he loves it, although he tends to prefer more mainstream bands and artists (respect) like ozzy osbourne, judas priest, kiss, etc. the only band he will break this rule for is metallica - they are his all-time favorite band and i will die on that hill. and when i say he WORSHIPS james hetfield... that is an UNDERSTATEMENT. james is like a pseudo-father to him. he doesn't want to put posters on his walls so he keeps a scrapbook of pictures cut out of old magazines of james, lars, kirk, cliff, even jason and rob. he is a number one dave mustaine hater and will defend lars's drumming skills until he's blue in the face. lucy got him a signed copy of ride the lightning for his birthday one year and george didn't see either of them leave lockwood's room for a week. there are only three things he loves in this world: his family, his friends, and james hetfield.

lucy, i feel like, has the most whiplash taste in music. like, yes, we can all agree lucy is your average indie pop listener and i am a major supporter of that hc (i know what linnie’s playlists sound like) but i guarantee you when she shuffles her most-listened-to playlist it goes from crane wives immediately to cannibal corpse. she loves death metal, deathcore, goregrind; the nastier the better (except for black metal - iykyk). the era doesn’t matter to her either although she tends to gravitate toward the older stuff. think opeth, cryptosy, morbid angel, deicide, obituary, venom, slayer, even xavlegimaofffassssitimiwoanindutroabcwapwaeiippohfffx - she loves playing the “can i figure out the name of the band given the logo” game and if she loses she listens to them. she finds it a great way to unleash her stress and anger without hurting herself or others or even taking it out on a case. she doesn't like to mosh (autism) but she loves watching people in the pit at concerts. she drags lockwood and george to the store to help her pick out plushies to give to corpsegrinder. one night she goes to a taylor swift concert and rushes out at the end to make it to sanguisugabogg in time. she's also a big female-rage/female-led fan (fem supporting fem yk how it is). if there is even a single fem-presenting band member she is instantly ride-or-die (within reason, of course). any time conquer divide/castrator/cyrpta do an eu tour she essentially becomes a roadie.

george. oh, george. my beloved kin. the only one who understands me and i him. his taste in rock and metal is... i don't know a better way to describe it other than neurodivergent fruity. it needs to have some kind of element to it that he can latch onto other than just the music - costumes, over-the-top production, detailed lore, etc. like lockwood, he doesn't really care about the subgenre; as long as he likes the sound he'll listen. he tends to frequent more of the nu/prog/melodic/symphonic side of metal, though. he's your average autistic ghost fan and makes it everyone else's problem. he knows all the lore and has dedicated his life to every incarnation of papa (primo is his favorite but he loves them all). he can tell the ghouls in every era apart in an instant and is a consistent quintessence ghoul kinnie. he will not hesitate to get into twitter beef to defend his opinions (bro's in the trenches of toxic ghostwt). he's one of the most well-known ghost accounts on every social media platform and actively writes fanfiction (about the characters, NOT the real people), character analyses, and essays. he's also a HUGE sleep token fan (he understands their lore better than vessel himself and has created a youtube commentary channel just to break down each of their songs) and ice nine kills fan (he's a number one ricky armellino lover and has forced lockwood and lucy to watch all of the horror movies that the silver scream one and two are based off of). he loves avatar and made his own ringmaster costume (lucy walked in on him trying to recreate johannes's makeup and slowly backed out of the room; the situation was never mentioned again) and when chris motionless unveiled his new hair he screamed so loud that the others thought someone had broken into portland row (lockwood had to restrain him while lucy hid his laptop to prevent him from ordering purple hair dye). he has a ziplock bag of (definitely expired) marshmallows that he calls his “rammstein concert care package.” he pretends to be a gatekeeper but the instant someone mentions even a passing interest in any of his favorite bands he will burst into tears.

skull enjoys smooth jazz.

#big fan of projection in this house #they all listen to rock and metal but none of their subgenres overlap #and i love them for that #george's paragraph is just an autobiography #i've been diagnosed with chronic george karim kinnie syndrome. it's incurable #this went off the rails so sorry #metalhead aaron’s hcs strike again #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #netflix lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #lockwood and co #anthony bloody lockwood #save lockwood and co #queer-and-nerdy

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hirukochan · 3 months

Note

WIP game

snape/barty/reader??? oooh as a servant of death reader this definitely catches my attention

but what intrigues me the most are ‘more than just a death eater’ and ‘Karina Snape’

tho not gon’ lie i’m cackling at ‘snape’s daughter x voldemort’ LMAOOOO HAHAH my homie really can’t catch a break from voldy i’m cryin 😂😂

Yesss! It's been sitting in my wip pile for forever lol

“I have big plans for you today.” He says and you give an euphoric nod with your head. The blindfold falls from your head and you blink, trying to get used to the light quickly. You freeze. Fuck Snape is leaning against a large four-poster bed, his arms crossed in front of his chest, face framed by his long black hair, like ink spilling down the sides of his face. Next to him is Crouch. He is wearing his usual three-piece suit, his hair perfectly styled back. He too has his arms crossed. Both of their expressions are cold, foreboding. You squeak. Helpless with the gag in your mouth and your hands tied and you know you are in trouble. “What do we have here?” Snape drawls. “I already knew you were a slut, girl, but oh how I underestimated you.” “Did you think we wouldn’t find out, princess.” Crouch’s nickname for you is sharp, lacking its usual oh so sweet teasing. I know you have another one in you, princess; you take my cock so well, princess; sit, don’t hover, princess… Snape comes closer, slowly, like a wild animal closing in on its prey. He loosens the gag. “Ok look- you were never meant to find out!” You say as soon as you spit the red ball out. Your eyes flick from one man to the other. “That’s your apology?” “I am not apologising!” You retort defiantly.

More than just a Death Eater, I just love that title so much. It's a Snape/OC fic (friends to lovers), following how Snape fell into Voldemort's clutches as a teen and later his life as a spy.

Teen!Snape is so adorable! (and kinda stupid, at least when it comes to Theodora)

It was the night before the Christmas holidays and the students of Hogwarts had, fairly last-minuted, organised a party. A bunch of snotty boarding school kids take any chance they get to get shit-faced drunk and high on the shit the seven-year Hufflepuffs grow in the abandoned greenhouse eight. Severus despises the lot of them and yet here he stands, hidden away in a corner with a beer in his hand, watching the colourful crowd. Snotty boarding school kids also use every chance they get to get out of their uniforms. A wild mix of 70s Muggle fashion and wizarding robes ‘dance’ as they’d call it, in the stuffy empty classroom in the dungeons. Pounding music comes from somewhere, Severus isn’t sure, though he knows who is in control of the playlist tonight. There is only one person at this school with such impeccable taste in music and only one person who’d combine Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cure, Bauhaus and the fucking soundtrack to Grease on a single playlist! The same person that effortlessly switches from dancing to Helter Skelter like nobody's watching her, to singing along to You’re the one that I want with Barty, dancing on top of some tables at the edge of the room and yet she’s the centre of attention without even realising. Theodora O’Brian. She’s wearing a black leather skirt and her wild, light brown curls spill down her back, as unwilling to bend and get tamed as her. “Who the fuck let the druid choose the music?!” Snape’s head whips around at the all too familiar voice. Potter, flanked by his goons and one arm around Lily’s shoulders, walks into the room. He and Black tried and failed to dress Muggle. Why they continue to pretend to be something they are not, Severus will never understand. They have everything, pure blood, vaults overflowing with money, decently skilled in magic - why would they want to be Muggle? Theodora flips Potter off but deigns him no more of her attention. Severus takes one last bitter sip of beer and cucks the bottle aside, choosing to slip away before Potter and Black ruin his evening even further. He lights a cigarette in the hallway. Severus doesn’t even know why he fucking came. Avery and Mucliber fucked of to who knows where right after they arrived and he can imagine a thousand things he’d rather do than see Lily and Potter snogging. Or Theodora and Barty. Severus doesn’t know what would be worse. Not that he’s into Theodora. Of course he’s not into a girl who’s so painfully far out of his league - the mere notion someone like Severus would fall for someone like her is laughable.

“Severus!” He swirls around. Theodora’s heels echo on the stone floor. Her cheeks are flushed and a thin sheen of sweat is covering her skin. “You leaving already?” Severus shrugs, suddenly lost for words. She comes to a stand in front of him, so close, closer than usual. “Didn’t think anyone would notice.” “I did.” She whispers. Her lashes flutter, is it normal to blink that fast? Does she always? Is she having a stroke? Shit, Severus knows nothing about strokes. A garbled mess of vowels leaves his mouth, most eloquent. Theodora either doesn’t notice or gracefully ignores it. She plucks the cigarette from Severus’ lips and takes a long drag, staring off into the distance. “Are you leaving for Christmas?” “Yeah- I’d stay, but then mum would be alone with him.” He shrugs again. Why can’t he seem to act like a normal fucking person? “You?” “Druids don’t celebrate Christmas.” She says while blowing out a thick cloud of smoke. “Right.” That was stupid of him. This time she shrugs. “Grandpa invited me for Christmas dinner though. You should drop by, the Malfoys always make a ridiculous amount of food.” “I don’t think I will.” Her smile falters for a split second. She shrugs again. “Sure. It’s whatever.” “I might.” “Nah, not if you don’t want to.” Something changes in her eyes that Severus can’t quite place. “I’m glad you came today.” Before Severus can embarrass himself any further she leans forward and her lips meet his. He is too confused to do much. She weaves a hand through his hair, it settles at his nape and she pulls him in, pressing her lips clumsily against his. Timidly her tongue pokes against the seams of his lips and as though some higher power overrights the controls of Severus’ body he meets her tongue. It’s weird, it’s unfamiliar, it’s his first bloody kiss! His arms uselessly hang down the sides of his body and his stomach explodes with a thousand butterflies on crack. “Happy Christmas, Severus.” She whispers and gently wipes her deep red lipstick off his lips. “Happy Chrismtas-” He stammers like a fucking zombie, cringing at himself because she just fucking said she doesn’t celebrate! He knows that- why can’t he just be normal! She chuckles and puts his cigarette back between his lips. “Thanks.” With one last smile towards him, she skips away, rejoining the party to no doubt smash in Black’s nose for changing her music.

Karina Snape is Snape's little sister, she is around the same age as Tonks. Both Tobias and Eileen are dead, leaving Snape as her guardian. He's pretty hands off and basically doesn't know her until Karina blows up an entire wing of Ilvermorny and gets expelled. Snape forces her to attend Hogwarts, things don't exactly go well xD.

The Snape's daughter thing will be funny (poor Sevvy). She was born into a very secluded covent of witches. There are different lineages within the covent and their members draw power from the magical being they are related to (e.g Veela, Vampire, etc). The witches of this covent only give birth to girls and those girls, once of age, are encouraged to breed with the most powerful man. Snape's daughter takes that as a challenge and decides she'll have Voldemort's child. Meanwhile she is also planning a political coup 🤫

And she has a miniature pinscher familiar calles Atticus.

#ask #tag game answers #wip

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chariaki · 2 years

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Boop boop

- Haikyuu headcanons!!! {fluff!!}

Osamu Miya

Clingy af.

Back hugs💕💕

You would be reading your book as you're seated on his lap while he hugs you from behind, his chin resting cozily on your shoulder as he glances at the book you're reading.

Of course Osamu cooks delicious meals!! While cooking you would also hug him from behind as you praise his chef skills. You of course are his protégé and his assistant in the kitchen, handing him the ingredients and utensils he needs, while also giving mental support for his recipies~

And when both of you are bored you always have lots of activities you can choose from!! Such as picnics in the park, playing in the playground while elders give you both odd looks bc of your child likenesses 🙉, even trips domestically and internationally!! Both of you are cute travel buddies~

Midnight drives with you guys' playlists playing and packed onigiris and chips and biscuits ! Just randomly driving wherever the wind takes yall.

I feel like y'all as a couole stereotype would be like, when outside wandering around, you'd be the cute, goofy and cheeky gal and osamu would look a lil bit intimidating, especially to boys who steal glances at you, but ofc he is a big soft and cuddly baby when it comes to just the 2 of you ><

Boopable face. Like literally sometimes you would wake up earlier than him and youd see him cuddling you tightly on your side, his head sweetly placed on your chest, arms dangling on your tummy. You boop his cute nose. Ruffle his messy bed hair and soothe his lips and cheeks, stealing pinches hehe.

Nishinoya Yuu

ACKKKKKK LEMME JUST-

THIS ADORABLE LIL 2D BEING 😭

"Y/n-chan!!!!" I can hear him say that always. Especially when he's super duper excited(as always too), with like the food you cook him, trips together- just the two of you. Always. Forever💕

His pouty face that reveals his chubby cheeks (squishable af.) when you dont give hime his attention ☹️. Like why would you not give him your undivided attention ? 😡😡😡

He also loves to you to double dates with his best pal tanaka and his wife kiyoko!!! The four of y'all are best buddies and are there for each other when one of you get into a couple fight.

I can also imagine tanaka and nishinoya having tons of convos to each other just all about simping for each other's lovers, tanaka would be so energetic and red and scream at tanaka about how beautiful kiyoko is in and out and Nish would be all excited and have these sparkling eyes and scream back at tanaka, talking all about how nishi finds yoy so attractive.

Loves to drag you into practicing his volleyball skills with him, so he can polish them and also flex them to you :DD

You guys always have fun together and hype each other up, but of course in every relationship, you not only share the good moments but also go through the hard ones--together. It you and him against the problem. Always.

He brightens you up, you're damn sure he is your light. Becahse obviously, he makes everything better and guides in darkness. But for him, he thinks that without you anymore, he wouldn't even bother or be the light he is everytime he is with you.

Because that's what a relationship is, give and take. It is never give or take. There's a huge difference. And i- as your narrator and/or author is proud to say that you both understand that.

Welp that's it fellas. Thank you for taking yoyr precious time to read me and my post. If you have requests you can always tell me, and I'm sorry for taking such a long break from all this 😓, came back and i still am not quite sure how tumblr works yet heheheeh

BUT, y'all better better stay healthy and safe.

💕🌼 With love and comfort,

Charis.

#haikyuu x yn #haikyuu fluff #nishinoya yū #osamu headcanons #nishinoya scenarios #nishinoya x you #osamu x y/n #osamu x you #nishinoya headcanons #nishinoya imagine #haikyuu imagines

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 10 months

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HOO okay it took me literally this whole day (with breaks of course) and i have managed to translate the spotify playlist into youtube for any other cheapskates who dont do subscriptions AND i sorted them into separate character sections uwu which i had to improvise cause i planned to separate them with like, their respective themes or smthn but then it turned out the only one who has his own theme is moTHERFUCKING JULIAN OF COURSE vjhsdvjadihk so i just. put some asmr in there lmao and i could not find anything for lucio istg

aand now im gonna have to figure out how to link it in here

Brainrot arcana playlist yt edition - YouTube

lets hope that works out cause the first try was a big red nono so idk

i hope i got them all in there, although uhh somehow i managed to actually get uh. exactly ten more than in the og playlist. i do not know how that happened but aight dthdyfh i also took some. um. liberties in ~Fucking About~ but now i feel bad so uhhhh *trigger warning* my little pony if anyone needs it i guess?? idk have fun scrolling through and figuring out wtf im talking about ibksrfkb no ill change it later i swear i just need a break and also look at the horses having horse drama i love it its so well made. i Think i set it so anyone can add videos? i THINK thats what that was idk heres another link it threw at me lol https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLRB-rDXBrGnL35_6OatYjl29qU1H6Ft2q&jct=mLtgaxg1YnzUs9SdLcutXBCj61CCAw

well i am out of things to say, i hope anybody wanted this xdd

I ... wow. Wow, @tetsuooooooooooo, this is incredible! Thank you!!!

I'll link this to the pinned post, I -

I don't have words. This is amazing. Thank you!!!

#ask arcana brainrot #arcana brainrot playlist #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game

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imperialstark · 2 years

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🎶this charming man🎶

a/n: this is the first part of my 90s au where Howard finds Steve in 1991, with a fun playlist to go along with your reading experience 💖

rating: E

summary: Steve wakes up in the 90s and Howard takes him in. There's only one exception: babysitting Howard's twenty-one year-old son.

warning(s): non-consensual voyeurism

Steve woke up to a world turned on its head and a bitter taste in his mouth. He was lying in a hospital cot which didn't make sense because he should have been dead. He blinked, his eyes stinging under the bright fluorescent ceiling lights. Since when had lights ever been that brilliant?

Sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of his bed, he got to his feet. Or at least he tried to. His feet buckled beneath him, and he quickly sat back down before he ended up sprawled over the floor. How long had he been asleep for his feet to behave like that?

A radio station buzzed along in the background as he attempted to wriggle his toes, some of the sensation coming back to them.

In the distance, he could hear many footsteps and muffled voices just outside his door, yet no one came to check on him. Yet.

"Workman up for the Phillies, now," the radio host said. Steve relaxed only a fraction; he'd know the southern twang of Red Barber anywhere.

"Holding that big club down at the end. He sets, Chipman pitches. Curveball, outside. Ball one."

Chipman? That couldn't be right. Chipman had left the Dodgers ages ago.

A knock sounded at his door, and a pretty redheaded nurse poked her head into the room.

"Oh," she said, slipping on a smile. "You're awake." She eased her way into his room with a clipboard in one hand and a meal tray in the other. She set the tray and clipboard on the bedside table. Steve said nothing, silently observing. She wore the standard SSR uniform; a dark olive green skirt that brushed her knees, a khaki blouse and tie, and yet something about it was…off. She wore it uncomfortably, smoothing her shirt into place when she thought Steve wasn't looking; It's like she wasn't used to wearing something so formal.

Just where the hell was he?

"I don't remember going to sleep," he said, voice gravelly, like he hadn't spoken in years.

"It was some time ago," she said, smile a bit stiffer now.

"So the Dodgers are ahead eight to five," Red's voice interjected. "And Chipman knows one swing of the bat, and this fella's capable of making it a brand new game."

She stepped towards him, hand outstretched to give him the glass of water. Steve seized it, spilling water on her blouse in the process.

"Captain Rogers!" She tried to tug herself free, but Steve wouldn't budge.

He rose to his full height and stared down into her face, his own curling into a snarl. "Where. Am. I?"

"Please, just let me go, and I can explain!"

A voice shouted from the doorway. "Steve!"

He knew that voice, but that face…that face was a stranger.

The last time he had seen Howard Stark, he had still been a lanky, dark-haired youth with a sleazy smile guaranteed to lift skirts.

This gaunt white-haired stranger looked like he had never smiled a day in his life.

"Steve," not-Howard said, raising his hands. "Let Agent Hoffman go, and I can explain."

"Who are you?"

"You know me," not-Howard said. Steve shook his head because it couldn't be true.

"You know me," not-Howard repeated. "Look in my eyes."

He did, observing the stranger from head to toe. Though it was white, his mustache looked identical to Howard's, and he focused…Steve could see the tiny scar on his upper lip that had prompted Howard to grow a mustache in the first place. And those eyes. They were cold, yes, but he did know that shade of brown.

"Oh my God." He let go of the nurse, no, agent's arm and stumbled back onto his bed. "Oh my God."

"You've been asleep a long time, Cap. Now it's time for you to wake up," Howard said because it was Howard as much as he didn't want to believe it. "It's a brave new world out there. And with you by my side, we can put it to rights."

*****

Despite Howard's assurances, Steve didn't think he would ever fully adjust to the future. Everything was on the wrong side of familiar. Close, but not quite. The clothes were too flashy, the food too salty, and the people too strange, and yet it was the future that Howard had built.

Since waking up from the ice, as they had started to call it, Steve had moved into Howard's mansion on invitation by the man himself.

They spent excessive time in Howard's personal study, reminiscing about days long past. It was strange hearing his friend's voice come out of the face of a man Steve had barely recognized. Howard's dark shock of hair had gone stark white in the past fifty-odd years since Steve had plunged the Valkyrie into the ice. There was a hunch to Howard's shoulders as if he bore the world's weight upon his shoulders at all times.

He couldn't say no when Howard offered him a spare room (in a mansion nonetheless), at least to rid him of some of that invisible weight.

It took some getting used to, being waited on hand and foot like he was a prince, sleeping in a too-soft bed that actually had him missing the barracks of Camp Lehigh.

They spoke of the war, carefully navigating around stories that mentioned Bucky or Peggy for Steve's sake. The war had been a lifetime ago for Howard, but for Steve, he had been dodging bullets and throwing his shield with all of his might just yesterday; the wounds were still too fresh.

Eventually, their talks turned to more peaceful subjects like how well Steve was adjusting to the future (not at all). Their conversation shifted towards Howard's family, more specifically his son, Anthony, on one such day.

When Howard had told Steve that he was married, he had almost laughed in disbelief. And when he told Steve he had a son , he had been sure that this wasn't the same Howard Stark who could (and had) flirt in his sleep.

"Anthony," Howard had begun, his face twisted into a grimace like he had smelled something foul, "is a..troubled boy. Brilliant, but troubled."

Brilliant, but troubled. It wasn't exactly the glowing praise you'd expect from a father about his only son.

Steve shifted in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I'm…sorry to hear that," Steve said, silently wondering what this had to do with him. It's not that he didn't care about Howard or his troubles, but Steve wasn't the friend you called to settle emotional disputes, especially between family members.

Howard sipped from his scotch, and Steve politely didn't mention that it was one in the afternoon.

"It's a shame, honestly. He has so much potential, Steve. Sometimes I think he's smarter than me." Howard's words came out halted and sharp like their truth threatened to choke him.

Steve had only seen Anthony in passing in the month that he stayed with the Starks. Howard and his wife, Maria, were welcoming, albeit absent, Howard with Stark Industries business and Maria with her various charity works. Every time he saw them, they were always coming from halfway across the country and going to visit the other half.

And Jarvis, their butler, was polite yet distant in that way unique to the British, like opening up to anyone was a breach in etiquette.

Some days Steve felt like a ghost, forced to watch others live their lives while his own passed him by. Even Anthony he felt like was avoiding him for unknown reasons. He tried not to take it personally. Like the rest of the household, Anthony kept a busy schedule, but where Howard's days were spent in meetings upon meetings, Anthony's life consisted of school and outrageous weekend ragers. Brilliant? Steve could believe that. But smarter than Howard?

Last week, Steve recalled Anthony had stumbled home, reeking of cigarette smoke and tequila, shrugging out of his clothes before he was halfway through the door. Smarter than Howard felt like a stretch, to say the least. Steve didn't make an effort to seek Tony out, and he was starting to think it was for a good reason.

"I want you to take him out."

Steve's grip on the armrests of his chair tightened, his eyebrows damn near rising to meet his hairline. It wasn't phrased like a question. "I'm sorry, what? Take him out?"

"Spend time with him," Howard elaborated with a nonchalant hand wave. "Teach him what it means to be a good man."

Howard spoke as if Steve had already agreed to his request. He'd want Steve to be what, a glorified babysitter to a spoiled rich boy with more money than sense?

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of me," Steve began, treading lightly. In so many ways, this Howard was so different from the one he had known during the war; he didn't want to set him off. "But I don't think that's a good idea."

Howard frowned and leaned forward in his big leather office chair, his arms resting on the desk. "Why the hell not?"

Because he wasn't a nanny. Because he wanted more out of life.

"I'm only twenty-seven," Steve said. "I barely have more life experience than he does. What could I teach him?"

"You're still a good man, Steve. And maybe," Howard hesitated, which was so unlike him, Steve couldn't help but pay closer attention to him. "Maybe you can succeed where I have thus far failed."

Steve leaned back in his chair, stupefied. Howard was a lot of things, but Steve never could have called him humble until now. To admit something like that, Howard had to have been serious.

"After all, who better than Captain America to rein Anthony in?"

Steve held back a flinch. Because he wasn't Captain America anymore. The SSR, no, SHIELD, had seen an end to that. They deemed him unfit for field work until he was "suitably acclimated to the future," in their words. After waking up from the ice, it has been one of many blows to his core. Howard had tried to fight for Steve, but he had been outvoted. Howard wanted Steve to mentor his son, but Steve barely knew who he was without his shield in his hands.

"Steve, will you do this? Out of the love you have for me?"

Steve closed his eyes, sighing. He already knew what he was going to say. Maybe Anthony was like him: angry, confused, and lonely. Maybe he just needed a friend, someone to listen.

Steve could handle that.

*****

Steve hemmed and hawed over how to approach Anthony for a week. He didn't know how the boy would take Steve suddenly reaching out like they both hadn't been keeping their distance in the past month.

"What does he like?" Steve had asked Howard. If he was going to do this, he would take it seriously. He just wished Howard would do the same. Howard proved to be no help; he simply shrugged and said, "aside from driving me to an early grave?"

Steve was on his own. He eventually settled on a baseball game. It pained him to buy tickets to a Yankees game (finding out the Dodgers had relocated to Los Angeles had been yet another low blow), but who didn't like baseball? A lot had changed in the near fifty years since he went under the ice, but baseball was eternal.

He hovered by Anthony's bedroom door, the tickets burning a hole in his pocket. The game was on May 12, but he figured it'd be better not to spring it on Anthony the day of.

Anthony answered the door after Steve's first knock. At first glance, Anthony looked remarkably like a young Howard; Steve felt as if he had blinked and stepped back into 1943. They were both of an average height and of a slight build. Anthony had Howard's dark waving hair, but where Howard's face was all sharpness, the years past leaving him gaunt, Anthony had Maria's softness. It was in the shape of his eyes and the gentle slope of his nose, the cupid's bow currently frowning at him like Steve had stolen his candy.

"Oh," Anthony said, nose wrinkling. "It's you."

Steve's smile faltered only for a split second. Maybe he imagined the disdain in Anthony's voice.

"Yeah," Steve said, feeling a little stupid. "It's me. So, Anthony–"

Anthony held up a hand, effectively cutting Steve off. "I'm gonna stop you right there. I go by Tony. Tony," he drew out his name like Steve was stupid, and that didn't sit well with him. "The only person who calls me Anthony is Howard."

Steve shook his head, momentarily forgetting why he stopped by Anthony's, no, Tony's room in the first place. "You call your father by his name?"

Tony snorted. "Sure as hell not gonna call him Dad. Anyway, what do you want? I'm kinda busy."

Steve looked Tony up and down. His hair wasn't gelled like it usually was, flopping into his eyes. He wore only a white wifebeater and grey sweatpants that were too big for him, sliding down his hips. Steve's cheeks flushed at that. Apparently, the only thing Tony had been busy doing was taking a nap.

"Right," Steve said, swallowing hard. It felt like his throat was trying to close up on him. "I, uh, wanted to know if you wanted to go to a baseball game."

"With me," he added as if that wasn't obvious.

Tony crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against his doorframe. "So let me get this straight. You haven't spoken one word to me since you've come here until now, didn't even know my name, and you want to take me out to a baseball game like I'm ten years old? That's rich. That's really rich. Did that bastard put you up to this?"

Steve's ears burned as Tony practically laid him out. Where the hell did Tony get off? Steve had stared into the barrel of countless guns, leaped from planes amid gunfire, plunged a bomb-laden plane into the ocean, and he wasn't about to be a shrinking violet to a spoiled rich brat.

"I was trying to be nice," Steve said through gritted teeth. "Howard thought you could use the company, although, with a lovely personality like yours, I can't see why; you must have hundreds of people lining up to be your friend."

Tony's face curled into a sneer. "Screw Howard and screw you. When you realize he's an asshole, don't come crying to me," and with that, he slammed the door in Steve's face.

*****

Steve stood out there for God knows how long, trying to process what the hell just happened.

He paced back and forth, torn between marching straight back to Howard, going back on their deal, never stepping foot in the Stark mansion again, and banging on Tony's door and putting him in his place. But Steve wasn't a coward, nor was he a bully, so he did neither. He had practically worn a hole into Howard's precious hardwood floors while pondering his options.

Even if he did go back to Howard, what would he say? "Your son hurt my feelings, and I don't want to help you anymore?" Steve had never run from a fight in his life, and he wasn't about to start now. And if he knocked on Tony's door, then what? He would grab him by his threadbare wifebeater, pin him against the wall and teach him a lesson…and Steve would be no better than the fatheads who used to rough him up for speaking his mind. No, neither of those options suited him. His lips twisted, a sour taste coating his tongue. Shame curdled his stomach that the idea had even come to him.

He would just have to try harder.

The game came and went. Steve gave his tickets to Howard so they wouldn't go to waste, and Steve got his disappointment in return.

"I thought he would at least hear you out."

Steve had wanted to scream; he wasn't the perfect savior that Howard thought he was, that Howard should have been the one spending time with his own kid. Instead, he bit his tongue and declared that he would try again.

And he did. Again. And again. And again.

And each time, he was met with a decisive no.

Every day, it felt like Steve would knock on Tony's door, invitation ready, and Tony would open the door and tell him in no polite terms just what he thought of Steve and his invitations.

"Shove it up your ass," Tony had said on more than one occasion, full of fire.

And yet every time Steve knocked on his door, Tony answered. He answered, and he would listen to what Steve had to say before ripping into Steve like he had insulted his mother.

It threw him for a loop; Part of him wanted to give up and leave Tony be like he so obviously wanted. Or did he? No one forced Tony to open his door or to hear Steve out. He did that of his own volition.

And Steve didn't miss the glint of something in Tony's eyes whenever he opened his door to see Steve standing there. It only lasted for a split second, then gone like lightning, and Tony's face would fall into that seemingly perfect mask of boredom.

But Steve had seen it, and he was determined to find out what it was.

If he was being honest with himself, seeking out Tony had become the highlight of his day, sad as it was. Maybe it was because Tony didn't worship the ground that he walked on. Ever since Steve had been defrosted, people had treated him like he was practically a god. He had only been Captain America for a short blip of time and had been Steve Rogers for much longer, yet all anyone saw in him was Captain America. Even Howard. Especially Howard.

At least Tony, with all of his vitriol, hated Steve because he was Steve.

Steve and Tony's standoffs become the talk of the household. Howard was pissed, Maria bemused, and Jarvis…well, Jarvis just confused him.

After seeing Tony chewing him out, the butler had gotten the most strange, almost grieved look upon his face.

"Are you alright?" Steve had asked him, shoving his damaged pride aside.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Jarvis had said, composing himself. "It's just...Tony wasn't always," he paused, struggling to find the correct word that wouldn't insult his charge.

"A spoiled brat?" Steve had suggested.

"That. The years have not been kind to him, I'm afraid."

At Steve's incredulous expression, Jarvis drew himself to his full height. "There's more to him than you may ever know," Jarvis had said before nodding stiffly at Steve and excusing himself.

His words lingered in Steve's mind as he puzzled over their meaning.

What hidden depths could Tony possibly have?

When Jarvis fell sick, Steve would get his answer.

It started with a cough, which shouldn't have been worrying, but Steve had been sick enough throughout his life to know the flu when he saw it, and Jarvis had all the symptoms; phlegm-filled cough, fever, body aches.

Medicine had fortunately advanced since Steve's childhood, Jarvis reassuring the entire Stark household that he just needed rest. That didn't stop Steve from worrying. At seventy-eight, the flu very well could prove to be fatal to the butler. The part of him that longed to help those in need screamed at him to do something, but he feared that he would be overstepping somehow. Sure, he didn't know Jarvis that well, but Steve knew sickness and suffering. But what could he do, aside from sitting and waiting it out?

He tossed and turned in bed, the sound of Jarvis' coughs easily reaching his enhanced ears. Sometimes, the serum could be a curse. Steve thought of the nights he had been too sick to move, his mother taking care of him after working long days at the hospital; he was yet another patient for her. He thought of his mother, going from nurse to patient, as tuberculosis ate away at her body. But never her spirit.

Jarvis launched into a coughing fit that lasted a full minute, and Steve suddenly wasn't sleepy anymore.

Tea. He could make Jarvis tea at the least.

Mind made up, Steve clambered out of his too-soft bed and down to the kitchen. And that's where he found Tony, standing by the stove of all things. Tony spotted him coming down the stairs leading into the kitchen but remained hyperfocused on whatever he was cooking on the stovetop. Whatever it was made his stomach grumble, the scent of onions and garlic and pepper enticing him. Steve was surprised Tony knew where the kitchen was, let alone how to cook.

"Hey," Steve said in greeting.

Tony, to his credit, didn't insult him when he spoke back. "Sup." He sprinkled some kind of freshly chopped herb that Steve wasn't familiar with into the pot.

"Smells good," Steve said. Of course. The jar containing Jarvis' loose tea leaves sat right beside the stove where Tony was standing.

"Thanks."

Sensing that he wasn't going to be getting any more answers out of Tony, Steve decided to just bite the bullet and start the process of making the tea. The kettle already sat on a burner, although it was devoid of water.

"Mind if I squeeze past you?" Steve asked. He was caught between the island and Tony, the kettle sitting on the very back burner behind the pot Tony was using. The tips of Tony's ears went red, and Steve worried he had done or said something to piss him off. Although, it seemed like Tony constantly found reasons to be pissed at Steve.

Tony nodded wordlessly, and Steve reached around him to grab the kettle.

"Since when do you drink tea?" Tony asked, startling him. As Steve fumbled with the kettle, a chuckle escaped Tony's lips, far different from the bitter bark Steve had heard from him before. This laugh was almost…sweet. Giddy.

"I don't," Steve said, face burning. "I'm making some for Jarvis."

At the mention of the butler, Tony's shoulders slumped. "That's nice… that's real nice," Tony said.

Kettle, now filled with water, Steve snuck past Tony again, hyper-aware of how little space was between them as he placed it back on the stove. He leaned against the countertop beside the stove, quietly taking Tony in. It was a miracle that they hadn't started their usual bickering. Steve almost wished they could keep this tremulous peace between them.

Tony's face wasn't as red, the flush starting to fade. Steve had no idea how Tony could see his dark brown waves falling into his eyes. It looked soft in the warm yellow glow of the kitchen lights.

"I'm making him soup," Tony said. "Chicken tortilla."

"I've never had it," Steve replied. Between the Depression and the war not long after that, the food Steve had grown up with had never been as flavorful as what they had now. His meals had consisted of things like egg drop soup and chipped beef.

"It's my favorite. He, um, he actually taught me how to make it," Tony replied. "There's gonna be more than enough. That is if you want some."

Steve arched a brow at Tony. "You're not trying to poison me, are you?" He asked, half-joking. It did smell good, but Tony was being strangely nice.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Starve, loser."

And there it was. Still, Steve couldn't help but laugh. He could trust Tony to be brutally honest with him.

"If I eat some too, will that make you feel better?"

Steve stroked his chin, pretending to think. "Maybe. But you could have the antidote stashed somewhere for yourself."

And there was that chuckle again. Tony tried to stifle it, but Steve heard it all the same and wanted to raise his hands in victory. He didn't know when making Tony laugh had become a game for him, but damn it, he was glad he had won.

The kettle whistled, disturbing the somewhat peaceful silence that had drifted over them, making them both jump.

In quick succession, Steve took it off the burner, measured out just enough chamomile tea into the nearby teapot, and filled it with the now steaming hot water. Falsworth had bemoaned how Americans made tea and told him of the "proper" way to make tea only once, yet Steve had never forgotten it. The sharp pain in his chest that came every time he thought about what he lost made its appearance once more. Steve tamped it down best as he could, but somedays…somedays, he got so lonely.

"Steve," Tony said after a moment. It was strange hearing his name, his real name come from Tony's lips. Strange yet exciting. He found that he wouldn't mind if Tony repeated it. Hearing his name grounded him, and he was able to push his grief to the farthest recesses of his mind. It would only make itself known again when he would fall asleep, and he knew that he would be getting no rest that night.

"What are you getting out of this?" Tony asked, gesturing between himself and Steve. "Out of trying to be my friend?"

Tony's eyes might as well have been hooks the way they snagged Steve's attention. His gaze was softer than Steve ever saw it.

He heard himself say, "Who says I want to be your friend?" To his own ears, it comes out breathless, and to his horror, cruel, for the light in Tony's eyes died as soon as the words left his mouth.

He wanted, no needed to elaborate, to explain that being friends wouldn't do either of them favors, that getting close would be a mistake because everyone he had ever loved left . He didn't want Tony to leave.

Tony didn't give him a chance, his face falling into that horrible, familiar sneer. "Your tea is getting cold, douchebag."

*****

Their unofficial truce was over. Jarvis recovered swiftly, much to the relief of the entire Stark household, but Steve and Tony's relationship continued to suffer. Steve had put his foot in his mouth that night in the kitchen and ended up right back where he started; Tony hated his guts.

The strange comfort he received from Tony's constant rejection had disappeared now that he knew what Tony's favor felt like. He wanted more, wanted to hear that chuckle, see those eyes shining with humor.

He felt like a masochist, seeking Tony out and trying to explain, but it was more of the same every day.

So Steve did the unthinkable; he gave up. And somehow, that was even worse. Without Tony, Steve might as well have been a ghost, cursed to haunt the walls of the Stark Mansion for the rest of his days.

Today, his particular haunt was the living room. A book sat in his lap, but he wasn't doing much reading. He had been on the same page for at least five minutes, his brain otherwise occupied. It felt like all he thought about these days was Tony. He wanted to blame Howard for forcing him to interact with Tony in the first place, but Steve knew he could only blame himself.

"God, can't you brood in your own room?" Tony, who had just entered the room, froze in the doorway as he caught sight of Steve sitting in an armchair.

Steve's stomach twisted until he felt like he would be sick from nerves. Of course, the second he left Tony alone, Tony would find him anyway. There was more than enough room in the mansion for them to keep to themselves, yet they had the annoying habit of finding the other.

Steve bit the inside of his cheek to keep his thoughts to himself. "I can leave."

"Please," Tony said, gesturing towards the door.

Steve didn't even think he could get headaches anymore due to the serum, but he didn't know what else to call the stinging pain building in his forehead; Tony just had that effect. "Fine," he grit out, rising from his armchair and leaving his book behind. It wasn't that interesting anyway.

As he crossed the threshold, passing Tony by, Steve heard him mutter, "Finally." Tony didn't even have the decency to wait for Steve to clear out of the room.

It wasn't the worst thing Tony had ever said to him, not by a longshot, but something in Steve…snapped. He was almost to the stairs, about to find his own spot to relax far away from Tony, and the next, he was all up in Tony's face growling, "What's your problem with me, huh? What the hell have I ever done to you!"

"What's my problem?" "Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe I don't want to spend all of my precious time with a washed-up geriatric loser like you?" Tony said, disdain practically dripping from his voice.

Steve's ears rang, all of the blood in his body swiftly coursing to his head. He didn't think as he stalked even closer to Tony, so they were practically nose to nose, just relished the way the other man's eyes grew wide, that smart mouth of his parting into a soft oh.

And Steve was kissing him.

A moan followed Tony's initial noise of confusion, and Tony was kissing him back.

Steve had kissed a handful of people in his life. When he was fourteen, Beth Baker behind the bleachers so they could both get it out the way. Stephie Allen, a fellow USO performer who wanted to know if super soldiers kissed better than ordinary men. Private Lorraine Byrne, who had tried to thank him for his bravery after freeing the POWs at Azzano. Peggy, before…before things went to hell.

Those kisses paled in comparison to this one. Once the initial shock wore off, Tony kissed like it was second nature, with the ease of a fish taking to water. Tony moved his lips just so, so Steve was the one seeking him out, hungry for more. Steve forgot himself, forgot who Tony was, and focused on the hot, hard body beneath his own.

And then Tony tugged at Steve's hair, and Steve's eyes wrenched open, and horror quickly took the place of his lust.

Steve jumped back, releasing Tony from his grasp like he had been burned. Tony reached for him, but all he grasped was air; Steve was too quick.

"Rogers, wait!"

But Steve was already running out of the living room as he should have in the first place.

He ran until he reached the mansion's East Wing, reserved solely for Howard's guests and far, far away from Tony's own room in the West Wing. When he reached his room, he slammed the door shut and locked it for good measure, not that Tony would have caught up to him in time. Super-soldier speed was good for something, at least.

"Why did I do that?" He asked himself, the gravity of his actions finally sinking in. The question echoed around his sparsely decorated room, as empty as his head felt at the moment. His brain must have taken a vacation or been left behind somewhere in the Arctic Ocean because there was no way he had just mauled Tony Stark, Howard's son , like an animal. Guilt twisted his stomach into knots. Steve prided himself on his reserve, on his restraint, and yet a few stinging remarks out the mouth of a smart-ass had driven him over the edge. Oh, but what a lovely mouth it was. He couldn't get the picture of Tony out of his mind, dark hair mussed, lips all pink and glistening, clear evidence of what they had done. He grasped his head in his hands, squeezing like that would somehow make the image disappear. He had to apologize. If word got back to Howard…

Steve hovered just at the threshold of Tony's bedroom, hand poised to knock. The...incident was still fresh in his mind. He shifted from foot to foot. Should he even bother with trying to reach out to Tony? If the other man couldn't stand Steve before, he definitely had reason to loathe Steve now.

But Steve couldn't just leave things as they were. He had violated Tony, and the right thing to do would be to own up to his mistake. Steve had never been a coward, but something about Tony Stark put him on edge. He had already kissed Tony. It's not like it could get any worse.

That's when he heard it. A moan, all soft and needy, and Tony. Turns out, it could get worse.

Steve should have been running back to his room, hell, back into the fucking ocean, but it was like Tony had cast a spell. He couldn't run even if he wanted to. And...he didn't want to. Disgust swept through him, but there was lust there too as he realized with growing horror that he was getting hard.

"Steve."

That was his name on Tony's lips. His. For all of his strength, a feather could have knocked him over at that moment. There was no mistaking what Tony was doing, and Steve wanted. He didn't know what he wanted, but all he knew was that Tony was the only one who could give it to him.

Tony lay on his bed, his t-shirt riding up and exposing his stomach's surprisingly muscled tan expanse of skin. His dusky brown nipples stood at attention in the cool air.

Steve's eyes traveled lower to the slope of Tony's thighs, his pants long since shucked off. He spotted them carelessly thrown to the side in a crumpled pile.

Tony never noticed Steve. He was otherwise preoccupied with one hand wrapped around his cock, and the other thrusting...something into his hole.

"Oh, fuck," Tony moaned, his back arching as he must have hit some spot inside of himself with his toy. "Steve."

Tony's legs fell open impossibly wide, so Steve could see everything: The sheen of sweat making Tony's skin glow and how his hole stretched around the girth of his toy. Tony slid the toy out until just the head of what he now realized was a silicone cock remained, only for him to plunge it back into its flared base.

He didn't know how long he stood there, cock pressing incessantly against the seam of his trousers, watching Tony absolutely fuck himself with wild abandon. Steve saw the telltale signs that Tony was about to come; gasps and incoherent curses, and in the midst of it all, Steve, Steve, Steve.

Brown eyes met blue, and that seemed to set Tony off, seeing Steve in the doorway, seconds away from taking out his own cock to relieve himself; Tony threw his head back against his pillows and painted his stomach in white.

Steve ran again and didn't stop until he reached the sanctum of his room once more. He didn't waste time. Shucking out of his pants and spitting into his hand, he formed a tight circle around his cock and started to stroke himself until he was fully hard, the head of his cock all pink and shiny with pre-come. On any other occasion, Steve liked to take his time with himself, but as he closed his eyes, leaning against his door, the image of Tony coming came to him unbidden. All of that tan skin and lithe muscle, his head thrown back, exposing his throat. He recalled the way Tony said his name, soft and sweet, and that was what took him over the edge, coming hotly into his own hand.

He panted, pleasure ebbing away, and sagged against the door as all the strength left his legs.

Howard was going to kill him.

#stony #stevetony #superhusbands #steve rogers x tony stark #steve rogers #tony stark #marvel #mcu #my fic #my writing #imperialstark fic

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