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drabblesandimagines · 2 months

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Pink Gingham

Leon Kennedy x reader Established relationship, all fluff

It had been a long week at work. A number of your colleagues calling in sick and multiple projects in the pipeline, you’d tried to take up some of the slack with ill-advised early starts and late finishes...

Truthfully, if Leon hadn’t been away on assignment, you wouldn’t have volunteered for so much overtime.

The house still felt too big compared to the apartment you’d once shared, so the more time out of it at the moment the better, in your opinion. You’d started to feel a little off Friday morning, cast it aside as nothing that a lie-in Saturday would sort, but still found yourself awake at sunrise.

You’d got up, checked your phone to see if there were any messages – zero – showered and dressed, and taken the early wake-up call as a sign that you shouldn’t lie in today, but instead head downstairs to start on the long list of housework that had been neglected with good intentions.

You fill the kitchen sink with hot, soapy water and begin to wash the numerous glasses and cups that have built up. It must be the steam from the sink because there’s sweat on your brow by the second cup. You reason you should wait for the water cool down and take a bottle of water out the fridge, greedily gulping down half the thing before you change tact to loading the dishwasher.

After loading up the racks, you still feel too hot for what should for such a menial task. You’re feeling more akin to that time you tried to join Leon in one of his ridiculous work outs in the garage. To top it off, the beginning of a headache is now beginning to pound at your temples. You try and rub it half-heartedly away with your fingers, finally fighting back a yawn.

You check your phone again – still nothing.

It wouldn’t hurt to go back to bed, would it?

Your phone buzzes almost violently on the bedside table, startling you awake. The headache you had before you’d laid down for what might turn out to be an ill-advised nap doesn’t seem to have shifted, even with the painkillers you’d taken. In fact, it feels worse than it did, graduating into a horrible, constant throb around your temples.

You weakly kick the duvet off of you, feeling flush – should have got changed into your pjyamas rather than getting in bed fully dressed - and reach out blindly for your phone, holding it above your face to squint at the screen, trying to decipher what it was determined to tell you.

Two new messages from Leon.

Finally on my way home, sweetheart. Wrapped up yesterday but they wouldn’t discharge me till this morning. ETA 210 minutes.

You would’ve rolled your eyes at the acronym if it wasn’t already hard enough to focus.

And before you ask – bit bruised. Don’t recommend a prison tour…! All good otherwise x

Leon had set out on an assignment the previous weekend and you hadn’t heard much from him besides one text message a day, a sentence of more than three words if you were particularly lucky, often sweet words...

"All good."

"Miss you, sweetheart."

"I love you."

"Recycling out tomorrow!"

..or reminders about something you'd forget to do completely if he wasn't around. In fact, that’s the way it had always been if he was on what you’d call 'active duty', not just him in a stuffy suit up DC way, trailing behind the President. It's not like you’d got used to not hearing much from him, just that it was expected.

There was always that little lump in your throat when he was away, of course there was, that this would be the time you wouldn't hear from him at all and there'd just be a knock on the door, agents dressed in mourning suits.

Besides, you’d rather his focus was on coming back to you in one piece than trying to compose an update whilst shielding from bullets or something horrifying.

You haul yourself out of bed, immediately regretting it when your vision swims and you fall back down heavily on the mattress, balance somewhat abandoning you.

Probably just got up too fast, you reason, try and shrug it off. There’s there niggling feeling in the pit of your stomach that you’re not well, but you’re going to remain in denial about it. You hate being sick, will never acknowledge you’re feeling under the weather to your grave and just muster on. It’s all psychological – it’s just a headache, you haven’t drunk enough water, not after you’ve sweated the last one out, didn’t have a proper breakfast either.

You’re fine. There’s too much to do, anyway. Every single time Leon had arrived home from an assignment it had been to a clean house and a home-cooked meal keeping warm in the oven, his favourite sweatpants fresh out of the dryer after you’d convinced him to soak in the tub – worked wonders for tense and bruised muscles – and you’ll be damned if he didn’t have the same today. It’s what he deserves.

He'd beam as soon as he walked in, wrapping you up tight in his arms, pressing a kiss against your temple and you’d run him said bath, finishing off dinner to be served for when he returned downstairs. What would follow would be an early retreat to bed, sometimes for devouring kisses and more, or just embraced in each other’s arms.

Leon’s text was from a while ago, so he couldn’t be too far away. Probably be hungry as well – often running off pure adrenaline when he was fighting for his life, then had an insatiable appetite on his return – so you really should try and see what you could combine from whatever’s in the refrigerator.

Ugh – you hadn’t done a grocery run in a few days. That had been on your agenda for today, though you’re not sure you’ll have time for that now. The laundry hamper is close to overflowing, the dishwasher definitely needs running after you crammed it full after dinner last night, some rogue plates and glasses piled up besides the sink and definitely a few rooms would benefit from the vacuum being run around.

You don’t even what to think about the garbage and recycling situation.

So much for his usual welcome home deal, then.

You get up a little slower this time, rewarded for your efforts by no spots of black in your vision and carefully head out the bedroom and towards the stairs, perhaps gripping the banister a little too firm on your descent than usual.

The easiest task by far is to pop the tablet in the dishwasher and set that to run, so you do that first, though making sure to bend down slowly after the previous bouts of head rush. After it whirs into action, you grab an apron off the hook – a pink frilly gingham one, a gift from a friend – and turn your attention to the fridge and proceed to stare forlornly at the contents, hoping for inspiration to strike.

You close the door in defeat and lean up against the counter. Maybe there’s some pasta and sauce in the cupboard…? Your thought is cut off as you hear the front door unlock.

“Sweetheart, you home?” You want to think it’s the sound of his voice that makes you weak at the knees, but you’d be a liar.

“In the kitchen!” You call back, keeping yourself propped up against the counter. Usually you’d be rushing towards him, colliding into his chest for a hug but everything feels impossible.

“Hey.” He smiles, creases at the corner of those blue eyes you could stare into for hours. Though he wasn’t lying in his text about the bruises – there’s a black eye blooming, currently a rather pleasing shade of purple, and plenty of other marks and scrapes littering his arms.

“Hey. Sorry, I haven’t started dinner yet.” Leon raises his eyebrow at that, and you feel awful, but it’s not for the reason you think. “No, sorry. I mean, welcome home! I’ll just star-” You stand upright, intending to head over to the cupboard in search of something, but your step is a bit too heavy, too quick to move and your vision swims again.

“Whoa.” Leon catches you by your shoulders, holding you up. “You feeling all right there, sweetpea?”

“I’m great.” You try and shrug him off, but his heavy palms stay in place. “Are you okay?”

His brows furrow, eyes scanning over your face. “You look hot.” The concern gives way to a grin as he realizes what he’s said. “I mean, not the usual hot. Warm.”

A hand remains on your shoulder while he moves the other to your forehead, gauging your temperature, but you’ll be damned to admit it feels soothingly cool. “I’ll turn the AC on. Let me-”

“Shit, no. You’re burning up.” Leon’s eyes widen, a worried crease appearing on his brow. “How long have you been like this?”

“No, it’s just…” You pull your head back from his hand, reluctantly. “It’s just hot in here.”

He gives you a skeptical look as you try and step around him – a look that would usually be accompanied with his hands on his hips if he didn’t still have one keeping you in place.

“How long?” He repeats, his mind racing, heart pounding. It was protocol to be decontaminated after any interaction with a BOW – he’d showered and changed clothes since Alcatraz. Hell, he’d bagged up his old ones to be incinerated, just to be sure. He knows it’s not logical, he can’t have brought something back with him and it affect you this fast, but the worry still surfaces. “From before I got home or just now? Did you feel a sting or anything?”

“Sting? No.” You shake your head, scrambling for excuses. “I’ve had a headache all morning but I probably haven’t drunk enough water. And… And I didn’t have the AC on or the windows open today, it’s probably that.”

“Mm-hm.” He relaxes a little, he’d already began calculating the distance between here and the lab. “Have I told you before that you’re a terrible liar?”

“Honestly, I’m fine,” you protest, taking advantage. “I can get dinner started at least. You go relax and I’ll…!”

Your vision swims again from sudden movement, but this time it’s from Leon sweeping you up into his arms. He doesn’t even let out a grunt, even though you know he must be aching from the amount of bruises he has.

“Sweetheart, we’re barely into the afternoon. You don’t need to worry about dinner - you’re going back to bed.”

“No, I’ve got so much to do.” You lament, though you don’t fight as he adjusts his hold on you, wrapping your arms around his neck as he heads towards the stairs.

“So? I can handle it.”

“But you just got back, I should be looking after you.”

That’s the way it had always been. Leon comes home and you’re there for him, however he needs you to be. Sometimes he’ll tell you about what happened as he cuddles into your chest – likes to hear your heartbeat, reminds him of some good in the world – but you’ve failed miserably this time, not even remotely prepared.

“Sweetpea, I know you hate being sick but you aren’t going to feel any better pushing yourself, okay? Let me fuss over my favourite girl for once.”

You don’t say anything as he places you gently down on the bed, sitting up against the headrest. He goes over to the dresser and pulls out one of his t-shirts, tugging the knot of the apron strings loose before softly asking you to put your arms up above your head. It’s all gentle touches, removing the apron, coercing you out of your top and into his, shuffling you out of your jeans and pulling back the covers for you to get in.

“These the painkillers you took?” He lifts up the box from the bedside table, eyes skimming the instructions and dosage.

“Yeah.” You mumble back, nuzzling your cheek into the pillow. “I don’t remember when though.”

“We’ll hold off a couple more hours, then, before another dose.”

He grabs the glass that was sat beside the pills and retreats into the bathroom, where you hear the tap run for a moment before he’s back at your side, placing down the glass of water. He crouches down besides you and gently brushes some of your hair behind your ear.

“Can I get you anything?”

You open an eye. “You.”

He grins, gets to his feet and carefully clambers over you to lie down at your back, draping a heavy arm around your waist.

“Only for a bit, though. Don’t want you overheating from me.”

“Mm-hm…” You mumble into the pillow, feeling your body relax. The weight of his arm feels nice – reassuring. “Love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

It isn’t long before Leon can hear your breathing change, assuring him that you’ve drifted off to sleep. He could stay there easily, just close his eyes and nod off and though he knows you would never oppose that, the way you’d be so determined to get the house in order... A flash of pink gingham on the floor makes up his mind.

---

You wake up alone in the bed, a little confused, but clear of the awful headache. Looking for the glass of water you know that Leon left there earlier, you notice that the bedside table now holds your phone, plugged into charge. You sit up slowly – still wary of dizzy spells - greedily drink from the glass of water, feeling it slip down your throat into a particularly empty stomach. Seems like your appetite had decided to reappear.

The digital alarm clock over on the dresser shows that it’s gone 8pm and, most intriguingly, the laundry basket is now empty. Huh.

You don’t bother to dress as you head downstairs, still clad in Leon’s t-shirt. The TV’s playing on a low volume, a candle burning on the coffee table. You can hear the thrum of the washing machine from the utility and when you head through to the kitchen, you find Leon hunched over the sink, apron strings tied around his waist as he dips a glass into the soapy water. The dishwasher is slightly ajar and you can see it’s been emptied, and he’s washing everything left in the sink – by hand.

He looks over his shoulder with a hesitant smile at the sound of your footsteps and then turns, drying his hands off on the apron – the pink frilly gingham number seems to suit him a little too well.

“Hey. Not sure you should be up yet, sweetheart. You were a bit unsteady on your feet earlier. Go sit down for me?”

“Okay.” You nod, and he’s pleased that you don’t protest – putting it down to the fact that you still must be feeling somewhat lousy. He traces your footsteps as you plod over to sit on the sofa though, just in case, and watches you curl up against the armrest.

“You feel up to eating something? I ordered in some soup earlier. Can warm it up on the stove now if you like – it’s your favourite.”

You nod. “That sounds nice.”

“Coming right up.” He pulls the blanket from off the armchair – the one that’s usually reserved for movie nights – and tucks it around you, pressing a kiss on your forehead as he does.

He turns to head back to the kitchen when he feels your fingers curl around his wrist, causing him to pause.

“I’m sorry I’m an awful patient.”

“You’re not, just stubborn,” Leon corrects with a cocky grin, but it doesn’t have the desired effect as the pout remains in place on your lips, thoughts spiraling. “But so am I.”

“No, I should be looking after you. You should be coming back to everything in order. Whatever this is won’t be anywhere near as bad as what you’ve been through - those bruises look so sore an-“

“Hey, it’s not a competition, sweetpea.” He says, softly, crouching down in front of you, rubbing your thigh with his right hand. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“It feels like I’ve let you down.”

“Never.” He says, firmly, giving you thigh a squeeze. “Actually impossible. I’m just glad I got back in time to keep an eye on you, I just hate the idea of you feeling lousy on your own.”

The washing machine beeps from the utility and he gets to his feet, passing you the remote from the coffee table. “Why don’t you find us something to watch, and I’ll move the laundry to the dryer and get that soup warmed up?”

“If you’re sure.”

He bends down, presses a kiss against your crown.

“Positive.”

He only makes it a few steps back towards the kitchen when you call out, looking bashful.

“Leon?”

“Mm?” He twists slightly to look back in curiosity.

“You look cute in that apron.”

He gives you a twirl, ending with a beaming grin. “I know.”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff

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edenesth · 5 months

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The Way to His Heart [4]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 3 | Fic Masterlist | Part 5

"Mistress, please allow me to help you back to your quarters." Eunsook pleaded, once again attempting to gently pull you up from the floor. But you shook your head weakly, keeping your forehead stubbornly glued to the ground.

Jongho sighed, stepping in to help, "Miss Jang, it's the general's orders. We've been tasked with taking you back to your room. If you don't cooperate, we might be in trouble."

To the relief of both employees, that seemed to work. They quickly moved to assist your limp and defeated form, with your tear-stained face and the bruise forming on your forehead breaking their hearts. Without wasting another minute, they moved you onto the assistant's back before rushing back to The Cold Palace.

You were already unconscious when they gently laid you on your bed, the toll of your crying apparent. Eunsook sighed, pulling the blankets over your petite frame and tucking you in. She then moved to dab your wet cheeks lightly with the sleeve of her uniform.

Observing you, Jongho frowned, "She feels so light; that doesn't seem normal. It's as if she barely weighs anything. Just what in the world was her life like in the Jang estate?"

The head maid gestured for him to keep quiet, putting a finger to her lips and shaking her head in warning. She didn't want to risk waking you up or, worse, letting you hear them talk about you as if you weren't there right in front of them.

Outside your room, the two took a moment to process the events of the day. It became apparent to them that you were just as much a pawn in your father's game as their master. It was also clear that your sudden presence was set to shake the very foundation of everything they had ever known in the general's estate.

"Let's just... take a break for the night and see what happens tomorrow." Eunsook mumbled, massaging her temples to alleviate the approaching headache.

Jongho agreed, "At least we've learned that our master isn't completely heartless." They exchanged knowing smiles before retiring to their respective quarters for the night.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the estate, Seonghwa stayed awake until he was sure that his assistant and head maid had carried out their assigned task. Laying in his bed, he forced himself to sleep, but the haunting image of you sobbing and kneeling on the ground plagued his thoughts incessantly.

He tells himself that perhaps he should have begun eating a bit first during dinner; that would've allowed you to have more energy during the extended hours of kneeling. Your reaction to the food lingers in his thoughts. In retrospect, he acknowledges that instructing the servants to discard all the food while you were hungry might have been a bit much; he realises that now.

Tomorrow, I'll allow her breakfast.

Tossing and turning throughout the night, the general found no reprieve until the early hours of the day. Even when he did manage to drift off to sleep, his dreams were filled with recurring scenes of the heart-wrenching dinner. His guilt and remorse persisted even in his unconscious state.

As the morning arrived, the voice of the head maid echoed from the entrance of your room, waking you from your sleep, "Good morning, mistress! May we please enter? We will be fixing you a bath and helping you get dressed for the day."

"N-no! I don't need help getting ready!"

You gasped, a sense of panic seizing you as you tried to move towards the mirror to inspect your reflection. The prospect of them assisting you with bathing and dressing meant they would inevitably see the bruises and scars littered across your body. The risk of being ousted on your second day loomed over you, and that was something you couldn't allow.

Your legs betrayed you and gave out, succumbing to weakness due to prolonged hunger. You crawled the remaining distance to the worn-out mirror in your room, suppressing a sob as you covered your mouth upon seeing your bare, unadorned self. The tears from the previous night had washed away your makeup, unveiling the stark reality of your appearance.

"Mistress, please. We've brought a new set of clothes for you, along with the freshest rose petals for your bath. It will be relaxing and enjoyable, we assure you!"

The kindness in Eunsook's voice intensified your emotional turmoil. As you stared at your hideous reflection, you realised you didn't deserve such luxury. You weren't the beautiful and elegant first daughter promised to Seonghwa; you felt like a fraud. How naive could you have been to believe you stood a chance of becoming the wife of the renowned General Park?

You weren't good enough; you'll never be.

"No, I don't want anything! J-just leave me alone, please..." You cried, pulling your knees into your chest and hugging them close. Despite the continuous persuasion from the elderly woman, you ignored her and remained curled up in the corner.

"Mistress... please," Eunsook gave up with a sigh, shaking her head at the servants behind her, "Take it away for now." They obeyed and dispersed with the clothes and bath supplies they had prepared. She knew there was nothing she could do if you refused to grant her permission to enter.

As the footsteps of the departing servants faded away, you released a sigh of relief. Your gaze remained fixed on the marks on your skin, cruel reminders of the abuse inflicted by your father, scars that seemed destined never to fade. So long as you have these on your body, you will never know what happiness is.

A bitter, humourless chuckle escaped your lips as you contemplated the fading hope for happiness. The general's response to your heartfelt words served as undeniable proof that, no matter how sincere your efforts, he would never accept you. The burden of the Jang surname seemed to ensure that you would never be given a fair chance, regardless of how hard you try.

While you wallowed in self-pity, Seonghwa was on the opposite side of the estate, reluctantly getting dressed for the day. His sleep had been far from restful, leaving him in a sour mood.

"So... how is she doing?" He asked in a detached tone, staring out of his window to avoid meeting his assistant's eyes.

Jongho arched an eyebrow at the question, suppressing a knowing smile as he observed his master's attempt to maintain a nonchalant demeanour, "Are you referring to Miss Jang, sir?"

The general clicked his tongue in irritation, "Who else would I be asking about?"

His aide nodded, "Right, how silly of me. Well, it seemed like she was sleeping quite well when we returned her to her quarters. I haven't checked on her since then, but Eunsook has organised a group of servants to assist her with a bath and preparations for the day."

Seonghwa hummed in approval, doing his best to mask any sense of satisfaction, "Very well. She better be punctual for breakfast then, we shall see how she plans to prove her innocence."

Despite his insistence on you being suspicious, Jongho could discern that there was no malice in his master's words. Perhaps there was hope that things could work out between the two of you after all. It seemed like the general was already letting his guard down, even if only slightly; the assistant could see it.

Or not.

"Where the hell is she?"

Seonghwa frowned, growing impatient as he had been waiting for some time, and you were nowhere to be seen in the dining hall.

Breakfast had already been served, and he even had the servants prepare slightly more than usual, anticipating your need for extra food since you hadn't eaten dinner the previous night.

Just as he asked the question, Jongho pointed at the head maid rushing towards the dining hall, strangely without you in sight, "There, Eunsook's coming."

The elderly woman bowed upon reaching the dining hall, catching her breath before addressing the general, "Good morning, master."

He waved off the greeting, "What's going on? Where's Miss Jang? Were you not getting her ready?"

She appeared to hesitate in her response, stammering, "W-well, I was trying to, but—"

"But what?" Seonghwa pressed, annoyance evident in his tone. Sensing her master's foul mood, Eunsook knew she had no choice but to tell the truth.

Jongho nodded encouragingly at his colleague, not wanting her to get in trouble. The head maid lowered her head in defeat, "I arranged for her bath and everything first thing in the morning, and we've been stuck outside her quarters for nearly an hour. Master, she refuses to let us in. It seems she doesn't wish to be bathed or changed."

The general and his assistant found themselves baffled by the revelation. Your new husband struggled to comprehend why anyone would be foolish enough to refuse a pleasant bath and a fresh change of clothes. But he was becoming less surprised after witnessing your odd behaviour the day before. By now, he had accepted the fact that you were far from normal.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he pressed a hand against his head, "Just... if she doesn't want to be bathed that badly, leave it. Just tell her to come out and eat," He muttered, recalling your longing gaze fixed on the dishes during dinner, "Go, get her now."

"Yes, master." Eunsook bowed before heading back to you. She hoped that this time, you would finally show yourself. Her concern grew as she remembered hearing the anguish in your voice when you asked to be left alone just earlier.

To be sure, she checked with the nearby servants if you had called for anyone or even emerged from your room while she was away, only to sigh in disappointment when they shook their heads.

She raised her hand to knock gently, "Mistress, I've come to inform you that breakfast is ready. The master is waiting for you. He wants you to know it's alright if you prefer not to be bathed or changed, but please, come and eat."

Instead of providing comfort, that only heightened your anxiety. Was the general summoning you to further interrogate you? It seemed likely. If he were to see you in this state, he might resort to beating you to death in an instant. Surely, being wedded to someone like you would be an insult to the great General Park.

As appealing as the idea of breakfast was, you feared you might not get to eat, similar to the previous night. Especially not with your current appearance. You winced, feeling the ache in your stomach from going without food for so long.

Perhaps this is how you'll meet your end.

"Mistress, wouldn't you like to have some breakfast?" Eunsook made another attempt, her concern deepening as she noticed your silhouette huddled in pain in a corner.

You shook your head, holding onto your stomach, "No... I-I don't want anything! Just... just go away, please..."

Seonghwa's impatience reached new heights as he waited, and it only intensified when he saw the head maid returning once again, without you by her side. He narrowed his eyes, feeling stupid for trying to be considerate towards you this morning. Here you were, revealing your true colours by being an ungrateful brat already.

His anger finally erupted when the elderly woman bowed deeply with a regretful grimace, "I'm sorry, master. Miss Jang refuses to leave her room."

The general slammed his fists against the table, scaring both Jongho and Eunsook as he pushed himself off his seat, seething, "That's it. If it's my attention she wants, then she's about to get it."

In a panic, the two employees chased after their furious master, making pitiful attempts to calm him down, "Master, please, perhaps she is still emotionally recovering from what happened last night!" But no amount of words could extinguish the fire in Seonghwa's eyes as he stormed towards The Cold Palace.

Truth be told, the assistant and head maid had never seen the general so worked up over any of his fiancées before. In fact, he barely paid them any attention, and they would all flee the estate in less than a day. Had it been any other woman, he probably wouldn't have cared if she came to breakfast or not; he probably wouldn't even bat an eyelash if she died in her room.

But he was oddly affected by your absence.

"Get out of my goddamned way!" He roared, pushing through the servants working around the garden paths that led to your quarters. They scrambled to their knees, bowing their heads low to avoid angering him further.

Jongho and Eunsook shot apologetic looks as they hurried past the poor servants who were just trying to do their jobs. But they had no time to worry about their colleagues when they saw Seonghwa closing in on your room. They scurried over to hold him back, trying to prevent him from scaring you any more than he already had.

"Master, please—"

Before they could intervene, the general forcefully slammed the flimsy doors of your room open, causing one of them to break off its hinges. Your cowering form was immediately revealed, but your new husband was too furious to show any sympathy.

"Are you angry because I didn't give you the wedding night you desired? If you want it that badly, I'll give it to you right now." Without allowing you to respond, he yanked your arms away from your body and tore the outer layer of your hanbok open, exposing your innerwear and shoulders completely.

"N-no, please!"

In just a split second, all of his fury vanished.

The sight of the numerous marks covering your skin, along with the newly revealed ones on your face, left Seonghwa frozen in place. He couldn't move as he observed the bruises and scars scattered all over you, and these were only the ones visible. He dreaded to think about what might be hidden beneath the rest of your body.

What the actual f—

Having tortured more than enough prisoners as part of his job, he was able to distinguish between old and fresh wounds. Judging from all the ones on you, he was repulsed to realise that you had a bit of everything – your injuries ranged from years to a few months old. This meant that you had been enduring abuse for a really long time.

A series of horrified gasps escaped Jongho and Eunsook as soon as they entered the room and witnessed the condition of your skin. You let out a heart-wrenching sob, making a feeble attempt to cover yourself again, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." You whimpered, despite being violated.

It's over. My life... is over.

Feeling lightheaded from all the crying and prolonged starvation, your vision darkened, your eyes gradually fluttered shut, and you slumped forward. The general acted swiftly, catching you and, for once, displaying gentleness as he nestled your head into the crook of his neck, holding your fragile form close.

"Hand me the blanket." He instructed. The head maid hurried over with the fabric, witnessing her master wrapping you in it.

Rising with you in his arms, he moved toward his private quarters with a newfound determination, "Jongho, go summon Physician Jung." The assistant bowed and hastily departed to fulfil his orders.

Entering his room, he laid you on his bed and carefully covered you with the sheets. Examining you more closely now, he became aware of your true frailty. Carrying you earlier, he noticed how remarkably light you were, like a feather. He clenched his fists in rage as he took in the horrendous marks that marred your skin. The new bruise forming on your forehead from the night before only made him feel worse.

Letting out a sigh, he tenderly wiped away the tears staining your cheeks, "What in the world happened to you? Who did this to you? Who dare lay their hands on you, hm?" He whispered, his heart tightening with more guilt than the previous night.

Eunsook stood in the corner, witnessing the scene unfold before her eyes with mixed emotions. While she was pleased to finally see her master display genuine care and affection towards you, it saddened her to realise the extent of the hardships you had to go through to evoke this response from him.

At the same time, her heart ached even more at the sight of the visible evidence of what you had been trying to conceal from everyone. It now made sense why you resisted a bath; you must have been terrified of anyone seeing the marks on your body. The thought of the horrors you endured in the Jang estate sent a shudder down her spine.

"Sir, Physician Jung has arrived," Jongho announced at the entrance, awaiting permission to enter. Seonghwa nodded tersely, "Let him in." The general rose from his seat to greet the physician, a familiar face who had become somewhat of a family doctor.

"Good afternoon, General Park. Are you feeling unwell—" The physician's words halted as soon as his eyes landed on the frail figure lying on the bed.

"It's not me this time, Yunho. It's... my wife."

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"Jongho," The general called out softly, his eyes staying fixed on your unconscious form. Despite the softness in his tone, he was anything but calm on the inside. His aide stepped forward, "Sir?"

Finally shifting his gaze from you, he turned to his assistant, dead serious, "I'm going to need you to dig deeper this time. Hire a private investigator if necessary. Find someone willing to infiltrate the minister's estate and get someone to talk. Pay them as much as they need. Just find out what the hell happened while she was in there."

Deep down, he had a gut feeling about who might be responsible for all this, but he needed to know what exactly was done to you and why. He needed confirmation, and most importantly, evidence.

"General Park, I eagerly anticipate our forthcoming union. I assure you, my eldest is a gem; you'll come to adore her."

Recalling the smugness in Minister Jang's tone as he uttered those words, everything began to click. The puzzle pieces were coming together. The narrative of you being an accomplice for whatever your father had planned against him was finally being discarded; it was clear to him now that you were as much a victim as he was, except you'd had it much worse.

"Leave it to me, sir. I'll do everything to find out what happened to Miss Jang." The assistant said with determination, bowing.

Before he could leave, Seonghwa added, "Mistress. It's mistress to you all now. From today onwards, she's the official wife of General Park. I don't want to hear anyone calling her by that ridiculous surname ever again, understand?"

Jongho and Eunsook couldn't hide their smiles as they bowed rather enthusiastically, "Yes, master!"

Umm, surprise? HAHA I know I said I was sick, and I still am, but I'm feeling slightly better and gosh, not even the cold can keep me away from working on this! All your kind replies and messages got me so hyped, I had to finish this asap🤭

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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lovelettersforthedamned · 2 months

Note

Congrats on 400 followers!

I don't know if I can request two prompts, but could you write "they know about this. about us." and "your morning voice is so hot." "what?" with Poe? Pls make it smutty

Honey

✮ poe dameron x f!reader

✮ word count: 1.4k

✮ summary: A day off with Poe is rare, so might as well start it off right.

✮ warnings: fluff, smut, MINORS DNI, 18+, thigh riding, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, lowkey a situationship lolz.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main m.list ⋆ poe dameron m.list ⋆ four-hundred follower bash

not my gif. credit to the owner.

Having a day off was a rarity, but having a day off the same day as Poe? That was nearly impossible.

You and Poe have been sneaking around for a while. The thought of everyone knowing about your business with the Resistance’s poster boy gave you a headache. Whatever was going on between you two was good with the both of you, and you’d like to keep it that way.

Your sleep schedule was jumbled, from hours spent late in the night to early mornings, you were swamped. And though you wanted to sleep in, your body’s natural alarm decided to wake you as the sun rose. Cursing to yourself, you turn to Poe, sleeping soundly in your bed.

He’s lying on his stomach, and his arm draped over your waist as his curls sprawled over your pillow. His grip on you tightened as you moved closer to him, the heat of his skin radiating, causing you to curl up next to him.

Your eyes grew heavy. Poe’s soft breaths act as a lullaby until your holopad wrung. The blasting sound of the incoming call woke you both. You stumble to the bedside desk, fixing your appearance, not bothering to check who it is before answering.

Rose’s face appears and you turn to make sure Poe isn’t in view before turning back around, “Hey, Rose! Is there something wrong?” A bright big smile is plastered on your face, an obvious cover for your true state.

Her eyebrows furrow. “No,” she starts, “I was just wondering if you’ve seen Poe? He was supposed to send me the report for the new pilot.”

Poe was fully awake at this point, and you looked in the corner of your eye to see him looking at you. He shrugs and mouths “day off”. You hold back a laugh before turning back to Rose, “If I see him I will let him know.”

“Mhm…,” her words drag out as she puts the pieces together. “Poe! I expect that report in my hands first thing tomorrow morning,” she speaks louder to make sure he can hear from your bed behind you.

Your eyes widen. “Yep,” Poe calls out.

“Enjoy your day off, (Y/N),” she says before ending the call.

The moment you put down the holopad, your eyes are trained on Poe, worry and anger flooding through your veins. His arms are open, welcoming you back into his hold. You waste no time before settling in the sheets, nuzzling against Poe’s chest.

You break the comfortable silence, “They know about this. About us.”

“Only Rose does,” Poe mutters, his voice still raspy from sleep. He’s always been the person to try and ease your worries, but with this, he knows he won’t succeed.

“If Rose knows,” you turn to face him, “then everyone does.”

He laughs. He knows that your worrying isn’t funny, but he can’t help but laugh. You playfully smack his arm and try to move away from him, but his hold is too strong. “No, wait,” he says between giggles, “you look cute when you’re worried over things that don’t matter.”

“But this does matter, Poe–,” you’re cut off by a small kiss.

Poe’s hand is holding the side of your face, his thumb stroking back and forth as he looks at your features. “Your morning voice is so hot,” he whispers.

Your face scrunches in confusion, “What?”

Poe doesn’t even respond to your question, he dives in for another kiss. But this time, he fully pulls you in, the kiss is messy and desperate. Although you two spent the night entangled in each other’s arms, you couldn’t get enough of him.

You’re both naked from the night before, the heat from your skin makes it almost uncomfortable under the covers. Poe must have thought the same when he threw it off, the fabric lying on the floor. You giggle at his actions, the cold air shocks your system.

Poe pulls away panting, “Get on top of me.” His voice was soft but demanding. The lust in his eyes was entrancing, and along with the rasp in his voice, you were trapped.

You sit up and swing your leg over his waist before lining yourself with his hard cock. You were just about to lower yourself before he grabbed your waist, stopping you. Looking up, you’re confused. Isn’t this what we wanted?

He must have seen the confusion written across your face because he laughs before speaking. “Sorry, I should’ve been more specific,” he starts, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. His hands on your waist have subconsciously started stroking the skin there, “Ride my thigh, (Y/N).”

“Oh,” you perk up at his request. You back down to his thigh, place your wet core onto him, and start grinding.

With the way you’re moving, the friction on your clit is perfect, causing you to throw your head back and let out a dangerously loud moan. The walls on the base have always been thin, and you knew that, but you didn’t care, especially when Poe’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the galaxy.

His cock is resting on the outside of your thigh, the tip leaking with precum. Your hands were once placed on Poe’s chest, but now one of them is holding his hand to your hip and the other is jerking him off.

Poe’s body tenses at the sudden stimulation before he lets out a low groan. The sound of his pleasure urges you to keep going. You move your hips faster as you tighten your fist around the tip of his cock. “You’re gonna be the death of me, honey,” he slurs.

You take a mental note of the new name he used for you, storing it in the back of your mind.

Your legs are shaking and tired, but you’d be an idiot to stop now, especially when you’re this close. Momentarily pausing your movements, you lean down to give Poe a quick kiss, “You wish.”

Leaning back up, you can feel the coil in your stomach edge its way closer to the tipping point of pleasure. The grip on your hips tightened catching your attention and making you look at the desperate man below you. “You’re right there,” he kneads at the skin there, “I can feel it.” You nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Cum for me. Please, I need it,” he tenses his thigh, the muscles now acting as more stimulation for your aching clit.

With this new angle, you cum instantly. The sight of you coming undone causes Poe to cum with you. Your hand is a mess. Your fist is covered with ropes of cum, the warm liquid running down your fingers.

As you come down, you collapse onto Poe’s chest. You’ve both made a mess, you could feel it. Your inner thighs are sticky and uncomfortably wet, causing you to try and dismount yourself off of his thigh. But with shaky legs, you fail. You barely raise your leg a few inches before the muscles shake, causing it to collapse back into the sticky mess.

Poe notices your discomfort and quickly flips you so that you’re the one lying on the bed. He presses a delicate kiss to your forehead before whispering, “I’ll be right back.” Your eyes are closed as you nod.

You can hear the sink running from the refresher before a warm cloth is placed on your core. Your eyes widen at the feeling, before relaxing at the sight before you. Poe is cleaning you up with such care. He wipes away all remnants of pleasure and triple-checks that he got everything before he even thinks to clean himself up.

You grin at the gesture. When Poe tosses the cloth in the hamper, he returns to you. Laying on top of your naked frame, his curls tickle your chin. “You’re a real gentleman, Dameron,” you mumble into the crown of his head.

His arms tighten around you, “Only for you though.”

“Oh yeah?” You start, “Why’s that?”

He takes a deep breath before sinking further into your hold, “Good night, (Y/L/N).”

“The day just started. You have all day to explain what you meant by that, and the ‘you’re gonna be the death of me, honey’,” you lower your voice to mimic his, eliciting a laugh from Poe.

He lifts his head and pauses before pressing a warm kiss to your lips. “Patience is key,” he whispers before laying his head back down on your naked chest, “...honey.”

✮ author's note: i love poe dameron smut!! thank you anon :) come join us in my bash!! we can't wait to see you!!! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog to support me and my work. ok, bye ily

#poe dameron smut #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x f!reader #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron #star wars #fluff #smut #llftd 400 follower bash

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adore-laur · 6 months

Text

DADRRY: PART TWO

— part one

——

The Styles household is missing a vital component this weekend. Harry isn't home, which is a rare occurrence, but duty is called at the most inconvenient moment. It had been a little after five in the morning when he received a blaring phone call from his boss. His snores had abruptly stopped as he fumbled around to answer the call before speaking groggily with a pinch to his eyebrows that would indeed induce a splitting headache.

You were still half-asleep when it happened, and all you can remember seeing was Harry running his hands over his face after he hung up. He then slid out of bed with a quiet groan and took a shower. It didn't take long for you to realize that he had been called in to work. His pragmatic side refused to leave the restaurant severely understaffed, and you understood his decision.

Before he slipped out the door, a minty kiss was given to the corner of your lips, and he whispered, "Love you." You later awoke to a cold and empty bed, and it felt uncomfortable without his warm body pressed against you.

It's a quarter after eight now, and you assume Harry will be done working after lunchtime. Your daughter will undoubtedly be confused about why he isn't here to cook a breakfast buffet and carry her down to the beach for a morning swim like he does every weekend. You're dreading telling her because she could throw a toddler fit at any moment, especially when sleepy.

With a suppressed yawn, you reach for your phone on the nightstand and text Harry. You'll try to make his shift less chaotic.

I'm sorry you had to go in today. I hope it goes by quickly. We'll see you when you get home! I love you.

You hope you can ease some of his frustration. He becomes grouchy when work obligations are thrown at him at the last minute, and working on a Saturday could be extra stressful since he doesn't know the weekend menu and preparation like he used to. Despite that, he's a professional, so you can count on him to push through and adapt.

Eventually, you start your day by walking to the balcony overlooking the coast. Your daughter will wake soon, so you bask in the soothing moment alone. Below the balcony is where all the beach toys live — floaties, buckets for building sandcastles, and even a foldable lounge chair Harry spoiled your daughter with on her last birthday. It's your family's subtle mark on the world, and it ignites a strong feeling in your chest. You built this life with Harry, from every little toy on the sand to the oceanside memories the three of you will always cherish.

Your reminiscing ends as the brisk morning breeze ripples goosebumps over your arms and legs. Your mind naturally drifts to the thought of Harry and how tomorrow will be his only day off before he has to pound out five straight days of work again. He's dedicated to his career and tries desperately to leave his stress at work instead of bringing it home, but you have a feeling he'll be spent today.

You hear soft footsteps padding down the hallway as you think of something you could do to cheer him up. You smile and walk back inside, meeting your baby girl's puffy eyes and lost expression. Your heart immediately crumbles. Harry is always the one to wake her on the weekends. After waking up, you'll often see them already at the kitchen table, either sharing a slice of buttered toast or creating faces on their pancakes using an assortment of fruit.

Kneeling to her height, you brush tangled curls out of her eyes. "Good morning, sleepyhead. I know Dad was supposed to wake you up, but he had to go to work. He'll be home in a few hours, okay?"

Her lips pout. She's currently in a clingy phase, so not seeing her dad when she usually does has her understandably upset.

You gently shush her to try and stop any forthcoming tears. "I know, sweetheart. Let's eat some breakfast, and then we can think of something to do for him before he comes home," you say, not wanting to deal with a meltdown this early.

She nods and sulks toward the kitchen, with you closely behind. You make frozen chocolate chip waffles with a lousy side of green grapes. It's nothing compared to what Harry would make, but it'll have to suffice. You sit next to her and cautiously watch her eat so she doesn't shove big bites into her tiny mouth. She still looks visibly upset.

The vacant chair across the table mocks you. It feels bizarre not having him here talking about the day's plans or what's for dinner. You can't remember the last time he had to work during the weekend. The restaurant's management has always been top-notch, and the employees are usually punctual, but there must have been someone sick or an unforeseen scheduling issue.

"Can you think of something to do for him?" you ask your daughter.

She silently mopes and picks at her waffle. You'll have to think for both of you.

You could have lunch made for him when he gets home, but you're not sure if he'd be hungry with being around food all morning. On top of that, he'll be exhausted and will most definitely want to take a nap. A better idea would be to visit him at work at the end of his shift. He'd appreciate it.

"Would you want to go and see him at the restaurant?" you suggest, stealing one of her grapes.

That gets her. Her eyes focus on you as she excitedly bobs her head. You grin and kiss her temple before cleaning the remnants of breakfast.

"I'm going to shower, and then I'll help you get ready," you tell her while lifting her out of the highchair. She gallops to her room without another word, clearly in a much happier mood than before.

You pull out your phone and ask Harry what time he works until. Since you want to surprise him, you send a vague text. You're not worried about getting a response soon, so you check on your daughter and find her playing with her toys, then head to the bedroom to take a quick shower.

After that, you're met with a new text message.

Harry: 1:30 or 2. Everyone is in a bad mood. The breakfast rush was a disaster. Someone called in because they were hungover. How are you guys doing? Sorry if she's cranky because of me.

You: That sucks. Only five more hours, though. And she's fine, just a little mopey. Have a good rest of your shift, baby.

Three dots immediately pop up.

Harry: Tell her I miss and love her. I'll call you during my lunch break if it's not swamped.

You: Will do.

You shut your phone off and find things to do around the house to make time pass faster — cleaning, playing with dolls, and even baking brownies. When it finally hits one o'clock, you pick out an outfit. It's not too hot outside, so you wear a long sundress that flows prettily. You then dry your hair and let it loose, knowing Harry likes it that way.

Entering your daughter's bedroom, you find her still playing with dolls on the plush carpet. A yellow gingham dress and white Mary Janes lay on her bed. You grab them, help her into the cute outfit, and then brush through her wild curls.

Once you both are ready, you grab your keys and head out the front door. You strap your daughter in the Volvo's car seat before settling behind the wheel. It takes fifteen minutes to get to the restaurant, so you put on a Disney playlist for her to listen to on the way there.

When you eventually pull into the parking lot, it appears busy. You couldn't imagine working at a restaurant on a Saturday during the summer. Once parked, you unbuckle your daughter and hike her up on your hip before walking around the back. There's an employee door that leads to the kitchen without having to walk through the entire building. You've visited Harry on his lunch breaks before, even before you got married. When you first started dating him, you remember how he would wait outside in his chef coat, standing against the brick wall. When he'd spot you, he'd meet you halfway and trap you in his arms, kissing and hugging you until he had to clock back in.

Now, you walk through the door with a mini version of you and him clinging to your side.

The kitchen is bustling, the smell of sizzling meats and vegetables instantly invading your senses. Dishes clang in the sink, so you assume they must have just finished serving lunch. Everyone recognizes you by now, and they offer a friendly smile or wave before resuming their respective duties.

You scan the room for Harry but can't find him anywhere.

"He's in the employee bathroom," says a man you've seen before as he passes you. "He needed a break. The lunch rush was a nightmare."

If the breakfast rush was a disaster, and the lunch rush was a nightmare…

"Oh no," you mumble. It must have been bad for everyone today. "I'll go check on him."

You wander toward the bathroom door and knock twice. The familiar clearing of Harry's throat is muffled on the other side.

"Yeah?" he says hoarsely. His nose sounds plugged up. Has he been crying?

"It's me, honey. Can I come in?"

It's silent for a few seconds before you hear the lock turn. You crack the door open and step inside before turning and locking it again. When you meet Harry's gaze, your heart sinks. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, his chef coat is unbuttoned, and his curls fall over his forehead. He looks so worn out.

Yet it all goes away momentarily when he sees who you have on your hip. He gives the slightest smile before sniffling and taking her from you, hugging her tightly while her arms throw themselves around his shoulders. His eyes stay trained on yours, offering a nod as if to convince you he's okay.

You close the short distance and run your hand through his tousled hair. Your thumb then grazes the faint wetness under his eyes before you squeeze the apple of his cheek and give him a sympathetic smile. He leans forward and plants a tender kiss on your lips. It tastes like bell peppers.

"Are you okay?" you murmur with concern.

Harry sighs and says, "Not really. It was six hours of nonstop orders and running around. We're so understaffed, baby. Everyone kept pissing each other off." He sniffles. "I just want to go home."

"Are you done for the day? I can help clean up or something."

"I have to take the meatballs out for dinner service. They're almost done, then we can go."

"Do you want to help him take the meatballs out?" you ask your daughter. Her head snaps up with lightning speed, making you and Harry laugh.

"Yes, please," answers her soft voice.

Harry sets her down and takes her tiny hand before leading her out of the bathroom and toward the ovens. Sure enough, a large sheet of seasoned meatballs is cooking in one of them. "Four more minutes, and then we can take them out," he tells her.

She kneels in front of the oven, watching them closely. Harry smiles fondly and grabs a spare chef hat from under a nearby counter. He places it on her head and crouches next to her.

After admiring them for a while, you stand behind Harry and massage his shoulders. His head rolls back as he looks at you upside down, dazzling you with his handsome face.

Once the timer beeps, Harry carefully opens the oven and grabs two mitts, putting one on his hand and one on your daughters'. He slides the baking sheet out so he can grip the edge while he maneuvers her hand to grip the other side. With slow and cautious movements, they successfully set it on the stovetop. Harry quietly cheers and high-fives her, then takes their mitts off. She looks so proud of herself.

"I was thinking we could go to the supermarket and get ingredients for date night tomorrow," you say as Harry washes his hands.

"Yeah, we should do that," he replies, hanging up his chef coat. "I have some recipes saved on my phone."

His outfit is somewhat wrinkled—a cream-colored button-up untucked from grey trousers. After he removes his work shoes and slips on white loafers, he wipes a clean rag over his face to get rid of the buildup of sweat and grease.

"Do you want to ride with him?" you ask your daughter. "We're stopping at the store on our way home."

She nods and raises her arms for him. He picks her up and clocks himself out before escorting you to the parking lot. Harry buckles his girl in the Bentley while you get in the Volvo. He then saunters to the open driver's side window and casually rests his arms on it.

"Are my eyes still red?" he asks, rubbing them with his knuckles.

"Don't rub them; it'll make it worse," you say. "But they're not too bad. I'm sorry today was stressful, Harry."

"It's fine. Hopefully, management gets their shit together so I won't have to come in on my days off. They know my weekends are important." Harry stares into the distance and mumbles, "It's that idiot's fault for getting wasted the night before his opening shift."

"Hey, stop dwelling on it. The hard part is over. Now, you get to go home and take a nap. Plus, you have off all day tomorrow."

"You're right." He readjusts his footing and focuses intently on you. "By the way, I like your pretty little outfit."

"Thank you. Your clothes are so wrinkly."

He scoffs lightheartedly. "Wow. What a nice compliment."

"No, you look great," you say, backtracking. "It's just such a dad outfit."

"I guess that's better than when you say I dress like a grandpa."

"A cute grandpa." Before he can reply, you say, "Let's get out of here."

"'Kay," he says, rhythmically tapping his fingers on the car. "Bye, my love. Please drive safely."

You start the engine and crank up the air conditioner. "The store is literally a street away, and you'll be following me. I think I'll be okay."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Let me worry about you, yeah? Traffic was awful this morning."

"I know, I know. You, however, need to drive even more safely. You've got a baby on board."

"She's not a baby anymore."

"Don't say that. I'll start crying."

He laughs. "Please don't. Crying while driving isn't safe."

"I'm kidding. Sort of. Okay, we're wasting time. Begone." You wave him off and roll up the window, but Harry knocks on it offendedly.

You groan and roll it back down. "What do you want?"

"Uh, a kiss goodbye? Am I chopped liver to you?"

"You're so dramatic."

Harry leans in until half of his torso is through the open window. He puckers his lips, and you give him a searing kiss. He hums, satisfied, then gives you a peck on the cheek before retreating.

He always gets his way.

——

Shopping started wonderfully. It truly did.

Now, not so much. Your daughter is throwing a tantrum in the beverage aisle with wails and crocodile tears galore, all because you won't buy chocolate milk for her. You keep reiterating that there's a jug at home, but according to her, it's not the same. Harry is on the opposite side of the store, finding a specific type of rice needed for the date night recipe he picked out, so you're left trying to diffuse her outburst alone. You hope he'll heroically come down the aisle any minute.

Your skin feels hot and prickly as you attempt to calm her down, but she's stubborn like her dad. Usually, she'll listen, but there are scarce fits that she unleashes at full power. It's absolute torture enduring them while simultaneously trying to subside them.

No one really talks about the humiliating parts of raising a child. The most common example is dealing with tantrums in public places where everyone stares at you with subtle judgment.

It's almost comical how she plopped herself on the cold, hard tiles as she cried to no one in particular. An impulsive thought made you want to tell her that she was just embarrassing herself, but you resisted. There was no need to make her cry even harder.

Just in time, Harry comes speeding down the aisle with a frazzled look and a bag of rice in his hand. He takes in your defeated expression, then glances at the cause of it. He huffs — relieved that it's not an emergency — and crouches to her height.

"I told her I won't buy chocolate milk because we already have some at home," you explain, trying to blink back frustrated tears. "They're different brands, and I guess that's a massive problem."

Harry sighs while looking at your daughter sternly. He'll often take a soft approach, but you know this tantrum is worse than others. She rarely gets temperamental in public.

"That's enough," he scolds firmly. "We have some at home that you can drink, okay? You listen to your mother when she tells you no."

Her sobs weaken, yet her tears still fall. She sniffles and stares at you with those devastating eyes before choking out another raspy sob. She starts to run away, but Harry's paternal instincts have him standing with a displeased groan and catching up to her. He scoops her up using one arm and secures her over his shoulder so she can't escape. She begins squirming and screaming, causing you to tiredly run your hands down your face.

"All right, let's go," he says, his body practically a punching bag for her little fists and feet. "You're being a brat."

Harry roughly passes the rice to you and then takes her to the car. You release the breath you were holding and decide to just buy the chocolate milk anyway, so you don't have to deal with whatever that was again. You also find the other ingredients before heading to the checkout area to pay. The monotone beeping of the scanning gun keeps you from crying in front of the cashier.

Being a parent is draining. People warned you, but it's ten times harder than they make it out to be. Sometimes, you feel like a bad parent for not being able to control your child. You've had conversations with Harry about how he feels the same way. You know it's completely normal to feel guilt, shame, and insecurity, but it doesn't make those thoughts any less heartbreaking to conquer.

It's just one difficult day. You always get through it.

Once you leave the store, you spot Harry setting up a movie to play for your daughter on the small screen that's hooked to the back of his headrest. You don't hear any crying, so you assume he successfully calmed her down.

Harry eventually sees you in his peripheral and gives you the tiniest wave. You almost fall apart at his gentleness as you walk to your car. Your daughter probably doesn't want to see you right now, plus you don't want to set her off again, so you just get in the driver's seat and bite down on your bottom lip to keep the tears at bay.

After a few moments, you hear Harry's car door shut and footsteps walk closer. It's enough to make the first sob escape. Harry's attentive and caring nature can always break the dam if you're sensitive enough.

He opens the door on your side and immediately brings you in for a warm, consoling embrace. You let out soft cries in his arms, his hand cradling the back of your head as he shushes and sways you. His presence alone is enough to patch the holes made from today.

"She's good now," he murmurs, his cheek nuzzling the side of your head. "It's okay. We'll talk about it later. Let's go home first."

You nod, just wanting to be in the comfort of your own home. Harry reaches over your legs and opens the center console to pull out a small package of tissues he knows you keep in there. He takes one out and dries your tears while gently cupping your cheek.

"Today's been weird with you being gone. It's not your fault, but I guess we're not used to it. Sorry for crying."

"Hey, stop that," he replies quietly. "I cried, too. It's good to cry. What do we always say to each other? Parenting isn't easy, and we're learning every day. We're in this together, right?"

This time, you start crying at his loving words, and you can't help but start laughing at both of your messy states. He cradles the back of your head and kisses your forehead several times. "Are you good to drive?" he asks, his hands gripping the top of the car as his foot plants itself by your seat.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." You nod your head toward the grocery bags in the backseat. "I bought the milk so she doesn't hate me forever. Is she still mad at me?"

"I had a little talk with her. Told her to give you a big hug when we get home, so be prepared."

"Thank you for handling her. I love you."

"Love you more," he says. "I'm sorry for throwing the rice in your hands, by the way."

You wave him off. "Doesn't matter."

"Okay." The door begins to shut. "Drive safe."

"Excuse me, am I chopped liver to you?" you repeat what he said earlier. "Leaving me without a kiss?"

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth. "You've got snot in your nose, so I think I'll pass," he teases as he walks away.

"Hey! I kissed you in the gross restaurant bathroom after you were crying."

He just shrugs smugly. You grin and start driving.

——

After you arrived home, Harry took a short nap and later made a seafood dinner. Your daughter also gave you a bone-crushing hug, as promised, but you're sure it was only because she saw you bought the chocolate milk she wanted.

Now, you are all at the house's private beach area to get some fresh air. Harry puts swim floaties on your daughter's arms while you bring out her plastic sandcastle-building tools. The sky is a dull blue, and the coastal breeze is pleasantly warm.

Even when it's gloomy, your family feels like sunshine.

Once her floaties are secure, she runs into the ocean to splash around — she knows not to let the water rise past her waist. You set her tools by the shore and look at Harry with your hands on your hips, waiting for him to start the activity he came up with. He suggested that the both of you pass a football around for some reason, and you couldn't think of anything else to do, so you agreed. He's changed into yellow swim trunks, a blue tie-dye shirt, and black sunglasses on his face. His feet are bare, and he's holding a football. You don't remember ever owning one, so you have no idea where he grabbed it.

"Ready?" he calls out over the wind.

"Sure!" you call back, showing him your palms so you can catch it. "Please don't throw it too hard!"

"You act like I'm an NFL player. Stop stroking my ego, love."

"Just throw the ball, Harry."

He stances up and peers at you over his sunglasses as if to tell you to get ready. He brings his arm back over his head and throws it. It goes left and doesn't even reach you.

"Nice throw," you say sarcastically as you pick it up. "You're really giving Aaron Rodgers a run for his money."

Harry briefly scowls at your comment, and you glance back to see him jogging toward you. You try to run away from him, but he quickly lurches forward and lifts you. You squeal as he spins you around before setting you down and stealing the ball.

After twenty minutes of Harry's horrible football skills, the both of you decide to lie on the hammock close to the water. You and Harry can fit on it together, so you curl into his side as he throws one arm around your shoulder to keep you near. Lightly swaying in the wind, you enjoy the peaceful serenity of where you live. Your daughter is still in view, collecting shells along the shore. The waves rush forward and then retreat. The clouds hang low in a sheath of grey. It's a sight to behold.

Harry kisses your cheek softly before murmuring, "Wanna talk about earlier?"

"We probably should," you reply, propping yourself up with your elbow.

"Talk to me about how you felt," he says, taking off his sunglasses. "Lay it all on me."

You shift your gaze to your daughter. "I just... I know we've dealt with her tantrums before. But that one in the store was the worst one, you know? I've dealt with them alone when you're at work, and I know you deal with them when I'm gone, too. She's usually so well-behaved in public and I kind of froze when she threw a fit. She wouldn't listen to me no matter what."

Harry nods, paying full attention as you continue, "And I was embarrassed because people stared at me and probably wondered why I can't control my child. She's such a sweet girl, but it's those stubborn moods she gets in that frustrate me. I don't want to yell at her either because that will upset her more. Then I almost started crying at the checkout because I felt so ashamed that you had to step in to help. And I know we're a team, but I felt useless." You finish with watery eyes while watching your sweet baby girl pick up a seashell and place it in her little self-made pile of others.

Harry brings you closer and kisses your temple before responding in a voice that's just above a whisper. "Everything you just said, I understand entirely. I feel the same way sometimes. Remember when you were out with your friends, and I was home alone when she was just a baby? How I called you bawling my eyes out because she wouldn't let me hold her? She kept wailing, and I tried everything, but absolutely nothing worked. And I felt so shitty because my entire job as a dad is to take care of her, yet I couldn't even do that. I was so scared that she was done with me. But like I told you today... we're learning. We're in this together until she moves out and gets sick of—"

You kiss him mid-sentence. "Don't say that, please. She's not even three yet. I don't want to think about her moving out."

Harry squeezes your shoulder and says, "Sorry. But you get the point, yeah?" He slides his hand up your neck and through your hair. "You're the best mum. I'm so grateful you can come to me and talk through these insecurities. We're never too old to talk about it."

The sun peeks from the clouds, and you take in Harry's features, now basking in golden light. "You're the best dad and husband I could ever want. Thank you for being my shoulder to cry on and for always listening to me. No matter how big or small the problem is."

"I love you," he whispers, thumbing along your cheekbone. Did my sweet-talking give you flutters?"

"Oh, it's fluttering. For sure."

"I've still got the moves," he says, pumping his fist.

As you snuggle into his arms, your daughter prances over with a sand dollar in her palm. She clumsily clambers on top of Harry and holds it up to his face. His head retracts to look at it, and he smiles widely at her discovery even though she already has about seven sand dollars in her bedroom.

"For me?" he asks with exaggerated surprise.

She nods. "Because you had to work."

Your heart melts at her sweetness. Harry looks over at you and raises his eyebrows before looking back at her. "Yeah? Thank you, baby. And where's mommy's present for getting you chocolate milk?"

Her face drops, and she quickly climbs off before returning to her seashell pile. You laugh and hide your face in Harry's shoulder. Even through the hardships, you feel like the luckiest person on the planet every single day.

Once the sun sets, you all walk to the house and settle in the backyard. It's a spacious area with two reclined chairs and trees surrounding them, string lights strung across their branches. It's one of your favorite spaces. It's where you and Harry snag some alone time after your daughter goes to bed or where slow dances and conversations about the future happen.

Slow dancing still happens, but a certain little girl likes to join this time.

You venture inside momentarily and grab your music speaker, then head to your bedroom to steal one of Harry's old shirts for your daughter to wear as pajamas. It'll fit more like a dress on her, but she sleeps better with his scent engulfing her. Truthfully, you can't blame her.

Outside, Harry is letting your daughter look through his phone for a song to play. He helps her scroll through a playlist he created for sleep troubles. You unzip her dress and take it off as Harry helps maneuver her so you can pull the shirt over her head. She practically drowns in it.

Once she chooses a song, you turn the speaker on so his phone can connect. The flute that begins playing is familiar — "Constant as the Stars Above" from Barbie as Rapunzel. Harry sometimes hums it to her when he tucks her in at night.

He sets her down and lets her stand on top of his feet with her Mary Janes. They dance under the moonlight, Harry holding her hands above her head as he twirls her. She tiredly giggles, and you check your phone to see that it's way past her bedtime. You can't bring yourself to disrupt the moment, so you admire their special bond for the next few minutes.

When her eyes start drooping, you carry her inside and lay her in bed before calling it a night. Getting to wake up with your family tomorrow puts a dreamy smile on your face as you fall asleep to the sound of distant ocean waves.

——

Sunday mornings are medicine for the soul.

A delicious assortment of food is on the counters as Harry gracefully travels around the kitchen to flip pancakes on the griddle or crack eggs into the pan. He's entirely in his element with tortoiseshell glasses over his sleepy eyes and a white robe tied around his body. Your daughter sits in her highchair at the kitchen table, her curls sticking up every which way. She's in her own world eating dry Cheerios.

Whenever Harry passes by her to set plates or cups down, he ruffles her hair and kisses her cheek, sometimes even stealing a piece of cereal from her. She turns around with a pout before smiling because Harry playfully looks around the room and whistles nonchalantly like he didn't do it.

Once all of you are sitting down with plates full of Harry's five-star breakfast, you discuss plans for the day. Your daughter is spending the night with Harry's mother since it's date night for you and him. She's leaving right before dinnertime, so she'll still be spending a good portion of the day with the both of you.

Harry plans to cook Chinese food tonight, and you plan on getting him to watch The Bachelorette with you. He told you he was absolutely not doing that, yet you know that once it's on, he'll become engrossed with the drama. He'll pretend he doesn't like it but then bombard you with questions about who hates who.

It hits five in the evening fairly quickly and your daughter just left with no fuss. You hope she doesn't have another one of her temper tantrums.

Harry has changed out of his pajamas and into a white T-shirt with a baseball hat turned backward. He also has a bit of scruff from not shaving for the past week.

There are days when you look at his outfit and think he looks like a dad more than usual. Today is one of those days. He has a black apron tied around his waist as he boils water for the rice. You'll never get tired of watching him cook. He's so focused and delicate with his hands, whether chopping vegetables or sprinkling seasoning.

You sit on the counter and watch him. While he waits for the water to heat, his hands place themselves on either side of your legs. You smile as he slides his warm hand under your sweatshirt and strokes his thumb against your stomach. There are permanent stretch marks indented on your skin from being pregnant. You tried to get rid of them by using expensive creams and exercising. After a while, you gave up and slowly but surely accepted that your body helped grow and bring a child into the world, and there would forever be proof of it. Harry had helped tremendously with seeking acceptance. He never forced you to love the physical changes. He was the one helping you put on creams and looking for workouts to do with you. He never pushed you.

His thumb continues stroking your soft skin, and his eyes are zoned out on the floor. You wonder what he's thinking about.

"The water's boiling," you whisper to snap him out of his trance.

Harry stands straight and clears his throat. He pours the rice in, and your hand raises to scratch the stubble along his jaw. He tilts his head and kisses your palm.

Once dinner is done—two savory Chinese chicken and fried rice bowls—the two of you sit across from each other and dig in. As Harry chews, you notice he's off in his own world again. You nudge your foot against his.

"Where's your mind tonight?"

He blinks quickly. "Sorry. Were you saying something?"

"No, just observing you," you say with a soft smile. "You were daydreaming when you were making dinner, too. Just making sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm good. I just… wanted to talk to you about something before we go to bed. Nothing bad, I promise."

"We can talk after we watch The Bachelorette. That's more important."

He rolls his eyes and replies, "I guess I'll watch it with you."

The both of you clean up after finishing your meals, then head to the couch and tune in to the show. You've been recording episodes after they premiere since you're usually too tired after work to stay up and watch them in full. You're about halfway through the season, and this is the first episode you've been able to watch with Harry. Or, well, force him to watch. He hates all the crying and stupid fights. Not to mention how you always talk about how cute the guys are.

Your favorite contestant appears on screen, and you gasp. "That's Greg! Isn't he adorable? I want him to win."

"He looks like he finishes too fast," Harry comments flatly.

You scoff. "Looks like you guys have something in common, then."

"I will shut this off and delete the recording," he threatens under his breath.

"I'd divorce you. I'm not kidding."

"And leave me for Greg? You wouldn't."

You just huff and continue watching Greg get some action in a hot tub with the bachelorette. When there's a commercial break, you lay your head in Harry's lap.

"If you were the bachelorette and I was a contestant, would you pick me?" he asks after a few moments.

"No."

He pinches your side. "Liar."

"It's true," you admit honestly. "You'd try too hard. You wouldn't kiss me the first night to seem like a gentleman. And then another guy would steal your time away from me, but you'd be too nice to say anything about it."

"I would not," he argues weakly

"You're getting pretty defensive. I beg to differ."

"Whatever," he replies, scratching along your arm. "I'd sweep you off your feet, and then we'd get married. The whole nation would love us."

"Greg could do that as well," you tease, loving how he's getting jealous.

"Well, good thing we're already married and have a kid together. Unless you're planning on leaving me for him."

"Thinking about it," you mumble as the show comes back on.

When the episode ends, it's around nine. You still have dishes to wash, so you get up and fill the sink with soapy water. Harry is beside you in seconds to help, and you suddenly remember what he mentioned earlier during dinner.

"So, what'd you want to talk about?" you ask, beginning to wash cups.

"Oh, um, this is just something I've been thinking about lately. And I wanted to bring it up because it concerns both of us—you, mostly."

He's nervously spewing words, so you shut the water off and grant him your full attention. "Talk to me," you encourage, bumping your hip with his.

Harry exhales somewhat shakily. "When you were on the counter and my hand was under your sweatshirt... my mind immediately went back to when you were pregnant." He avoids eye contact as he scrubs a plate. "How much I loved it. The whole progression."

You know where this conversation is going. You've thought about it before. Dreamed, even.

"It's been on my mind for a while, you know?" he continues. "She's almost three, and I think having another one would be nice. Again, it's completely up to you. Pregnancy isn't easy, so it's just an idea."

"But you've been thinking about it for a while?" you reiterate for clarity. Harry nods shyly, drying the clean plate with a towel. "I've been thinking about it, too," you add.

Harry's head whips toward you. "What?"

"I feel ready to do it a second time. To be pregnant again."

He sets the towel down. "Seriously? For real?"

"It's a perfect time. We've got the money and space. I'm all in if it's what you want. I think she would love to have a sibling."

Harry inhales heavily and darts his gaze between both of your eyes. He then breaks out into a beautiful smile, rubbing his hand along his mouth. "Okay," he says. "Yeah, I want another baby more than anything. We can start trying whenever you're ready."

You grin while washing your hands. The dishes can wait until tomorrow. "We can start tonight. We're home alone, and the outfit you're wearing is making me hot."

"Yeah?" he says, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Sweet. Wait, right now? We're doing this?"

"Yes, right now," you reply as you walk toward the bedroom. "C'mon, let's brush our teeth and get a head start."

Harry takes off his hat and catches up to you. When you glance back, he's nervously wringing his hands in front of him like a schoolboy, and it almost makes you laugh. After seven years together and experiencing the awkward stages of dating and then pushing out an entire child with him in the room, he still gets nervous about these things.

It reminds you of the time you told him you were pregnant.

——

You pushed the gift bag toward Harry, and he gave you a suspicious look paired with a smirk.

"Did I miss our anniversary or something?" he murmured as he opened the bag and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper.

You shook your head and braced for his reaction. You'd been trying for a few months, and you finally got the answer that both of you wanted. The positive pregnancy test hidden behind your back felt like a ticking bomb.

Harry carefully unwrapped the present. His eyebrows furrowed as he unfolded an apron in front of him. His eyes ran over it, and then his jaw went slack. Written on the fabric was 'Daddy Duty,' and three pockets were sewn into the bottom to hold baby supplies while he cooked.

He stared at you with wide, tear-filled eyes. You just nodded your head and presented the stick from behind your back. He slowly stood, setting the apron on the coffee table, and walked over to you with his hands reaching out. He took the stick with a shaky hand, his other covering his mouth.

Staring up at the ceiling, Harry choked out something between a relieved breath and a sob. His arms instantly wrapped around your shoulders, bringing you into his warm embrace. He was trying hard to keep it together, but you heard his shaky inhales and sniffles. You were crying, too. You'd both wanted this for so long.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispered against your neck. "I can't believe this. How far along are you?"

"I'll know at my first appointment next Thursday. I'll text you all the information."

"No, screw that. I'll take off work. I have to be there."

"Okay, we'll go together," you told him, secretly hoping he would say that. "Are you happy? I was so nervous. I didn't know how to tell you."

"Of course, I'm happy." He breathed exasperatedly, like he couldn't believe what you had just revealed. We're going to be parents. We're going to have a baby."

The both of you laughed against each other in disbelief. It was surreal, and it was all happening at the perfect time.

——

The thought of giving him another baby to cradle in his arms and to get up with at crazy hours in the morning leaves you yearning for it more than ever.

After brushing your teeth, you take your clothes off and don't waste any time taking Harry's off. You push him to make him lay back on the silk sheets before straddling his thighs, his tattoo peeking out from underneath his boxers. You grind against his cock, noticing he's hard already. Your hands spread on his firm chest as you continue rolling your hips.

Your underwear dampens, and Harry's hands grip your waist. He lifts his hips to relieve some pressure, his neck straining as he whimpers after every movement of yours.

You stop straddling him and slide his boxers off, his cock resting against his abdomen. You then take your underwear off and hike your legs over his thighs to hover over them again. This is the first time he's gone without a condom since you were pregnant, so you're nervous about the raw feeling.

"You with me, baby?" Harry asks breathily. "We're doing this?"

"I'm just gonna go slow so it doesn't burn," you say, lining yourself up.

He nods encouragingly. "We'll take our time. Let's make this good."

You exhale and slowly sink yourself into his cock. The stretch burns, but it still feels heavenly without a barrier. Harry groans as your hands grip his tense shoulders. His fingers flex on your hips when you take him all the way and begin rocking back and forth. He moans in response, his hips meeting the motion of yours.

You've missed this. You can feel every inch of his skin, and the contact is a pleasure like no other.

Harry decides to quickly flip you over so he can be on top. His forearms prop himself up as he starts thrusting at a faster pace. So much for going slow. His face is buried in your neck, and he places nipping kisses on it every so often, leaving love bites. You wrap your trembling legs around his body as he hits the deeper spots that have you arching your back against the mattress.

"Feel good?" he asks, his cheek resting against yours.

"So, so good. Don't stop."

The pit of your stomach forms a tight knot as he continues. He lowers one hand and stimulates your clit with his thumb as he roughly snaps his hips against yours, letting out salacious groans and whimpers into your ear. His body is warm like a personal furnace — it's burning against yours, and the closeness of your two bodies always leads to eruption.

"I'm almost there," you say, heat striking down your back. "Keep going… please don't stop."

"I'm close—God, I'm close. I'm with you, honey. Just tell me when you're ready."

You clench around him, and he pulls out and quickly gets behind you, pushing you to lay on your side. He thrusts back in, his chest pressed right against your back. One hand moves to grope your breast, and his other arm places itself above your head on the pillow to move some strands of hair off your forehead. The two sensations have you leaning your neck back against his shoulder and moaning loudly.

Your orgasm hits before you can warn him, and you cry out as his hips slow, riding it out before stilling and shuddering out his release. Broken groans are muffled into your neck as he asks, "Gonna make me a dad again?" You nod fervently at his question. "Yeah?"

You keep nodding until he's physically spent. He keeps his cock inside you, his body relaxing against yours. The both of you are breathing heavily, and you feel his cock soften, the feeling bringing you a strange sense of comfort.

"Think that did it?" he asks.

"I hope so," you answer. Harry repositions himself, his cock nudging inside of you. "God, you feel so perfect all the time."

Harry begins stroking his hand across your stomach, every so often giving you a gentle thrust that has you softly clenching around him. You're sensitive, but it's a natural response. When his hand starts rubbing circles around your stomach to ease the remaining pressure there, you smile giddily and think about getting to experience pregnancy all over again.

Harry eventually pulls out and kneels before you, hooking your knees over his shoulders. This is precisely what he did the last time you were trying for a baby years ago. Apparently, the position is supposed to help get one to stick, for lack of better words.

Harry begins whistling nonchalantly, and you start laughing hard because he's acting like he does this every day. He tries to give you a look as if to say what he's doing is incredibly serious business, but he eventually sputters a laugh. Now, both of you are giggling like maniacs.

After about five minutes in the position, Harry sets your legs down to put his boxers back on and then leaves. He comes back and provides you with aftercare—a warm, damp cloth, a clean pair of underwear, and one of the brownies you baked earlier today.

You eat your dessert while the ocean waves crash outside the open window. You get comfortable on his lap, and he circles his arms around your waist.

Tomorrow will mark the start of a new week. Your daughter will come home, and you all will make new memories together.

After tonight, it will hopefully be the start of another chapter.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #dadrry #dad!harry #dilfrry #harry styles #adore-laur

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casuallyawkardd · 5 months

Text

In His Vice

Pairing: Dark!Miguel O'Hara x Wife!Reader

Summary: Something seems different this time when Miguel comes home late

Warnings: non-con in terms of pretending to be someone else, lowkey gaslighting, me attempting to write suspense, not fluent in Spanish so correct me if I mess up

A/N: I made the executive decision to write this fic in a first person perspective because I feel like that adds to the horror aspect so don't come for me. If you enjoy, be sure to join the taglist! Dividers by cafekitsune

I could hear the wind outside, whistling as it shook the trees and bushes. When the weather woman had said there would be a storm tonight, I hadn't expected it to be this bad. Lightning could be seen in the distance, the sound of thunder following after. It took a second more this time, hopefully meaning the storm was going to pass quickly. The television had become background noise, my attention focused on the window as I watched the rain streak down the glass.

Today had been one of those days, the kind where I couldn't wait for it to be over. I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, a recurring nightmare waking me at three in the morning; its contents making it difficult to fall back asleep, so I inevitably decided to start the day early. Coffee and an aspirin did little to help the headache I'd been developing over the last few days, deadlines at work materializing the throbbing just behind my eyes.

Miguel had seemed to take notice of my struggles, taking over breakfast duty and getting Gabriela ready for school. The feeling of his kiss still lingered on my temple, my fingers now massaging the spot absentmindedly.

"I'm gonna be a little late tonight," he told me, gently prying the emptied mug from my hands and taking it to the sink with the other dishes.

"But what about Gaby's soccer game?" I asked, the look of remorse on his face telling me he had forgotten. "Honey, this is the one that determines if they qualify for the championship. It's a big deal for her."

"I know, mi corazón," he soothed, but I pulled away from his touch. Quiet fell over the kitchen then, Gaby's happy giggles heard from the room over. "Y/N, look at me," he said and I reluctantly turned. Soft brown eyes looked back at me, the hand rubbing my back reassuring. "You know work's been hell lately, my boss really wants me to finish this project. After that, I promise I'll make it up to you and Gaby." That's what he always said. "I know things have been.. tense between us lately, but-"

"Let's not talk about this right now," I interrupted him, hiding the pang in my chest when a look of defeat crossed his features. I had every right to be mad at him. This wasn't the first time he had forgotten. It wasn't just about this soccer game, it was about every forgotten soccer game, birthday party and date night before. Was I happy my husband had gotten the promotion he rightly deserved? Of course, but had I known just how much his job would take away from our family, I would have suggested he negotiate terms.

Which was why I held my tongue as he and Gaby left the house. In hindsight, I could've been kinder to Miguel. Could have turned my head as he leaned in for a kiss, said 'I love you' when he whispered the same phrase in my ear. With no way to turn back time, I figured I could redeem myself tomorrow. He was always quick to forgive.

The rest of the day was as mundane as any, the stress from the deadline had seeped into my very being, becoming familiar as I submitted my final drafts. Then I was left with nothing, returning to the start of the vicious cycle that came with the job. At least I got to clock out early, meaning I had time to spend with Gaby.

She was a bundle of excitement, squealing when she saw I had come to pick her up early from preschool. Relatives always told me she'd grow up fast; I found that to be true. Expected to start kindergarten next year and she was already being mistaken for a second grader. Her father's doing most likely, maybe she'd end up being as tall as him someday. Sharp as a whip too, but that trait I always said came from me.

We decided on a mommy-daughter date at a nearby cafe, one I knew Gaby would like. The owner's cat loved to brush against her legs, mewling until I told her it was alright to give him a dollop of whipped cream. Keep her happy until she saw her papi wasn't at her game. She was disappointed, the bounce in her step fading when she came up to me afterwards, frowning in confusion.

"Papi?"

"Not today, sweetheart," I offered her a sympathetic smile, "work needed his help very badly. You understand, yeah?"

Gaby nodded, but I knew my daughter well enough to know she was still bothered, "I wanted to show Papi that I used the move he showed me."

"Well you can show him after dinner, right?" The idea seemed to help perk her up, the two of us walking hand in hand back to the car to head home.

Only Miguel didn't make it home for dinner. Odd but not uncommon, unfortunately. It wasn't until it neared Gabriela's bedtime that I felt something was wrong. He's always home in time to put her to bed. A nagging feeling started in the back of my mind. He wasn't answering his cell either, going to voicemail instantly. After promising Gaby that I'd send him in to kiss her goodnight later, she finally settled and I took my post on the couch. Which is where I've been up until now.

A quick glance at my phone told me it was nearing one in the morning, that nagging feeling became something more. Something that dug into my gut and constricted my chest. The amount of missed calls he had was probably bordering on the edge of warranted worry and psychotic spouse. The thought of calling the police made my fingers itch, but I abstained. Miguel's a big guy, he can take care of himself...right? I winced as my teeth bit into the skin around my fingernails, pulling my hand away to assess the damage. It was a nervous habit I couldn't seem to shake, the cuticles an ugly red from irritation.

Then came the sound of a click, followed by the ominous crash of thunder. It was quiet, I almost didn't notice, but it was a new sound compared to the rain, thunder and static of the TV. My heart lurched forward, taking me with it as I rushed to the entry hallway. In the dark, I could make out a figure. Large and imposing, it hunched in front of the main door of the house, grunting as it shifted about in the black of the hall. I had become so paranoid that the sight left me momentarily speechless, throat suddenly dried when I tried speaking.

"Miguel?" was what I managed to get out.

The movements stopped, tension rising around me as the figure stood to its full height. I almost back pedaled as it approached, step by agonizing step coming closer and closer to me. The air around me felt thick, hard to breathe until the glow of the TV revealed this intruder.

"It's you," Miguel's voice rattled my eardrum, reminding me to breathe. "Why are you still up?"

"Where have you been?" I demanded, forcing my voice to remain at a reasonable volume. "Do you know how late it is?"

Miguel's expression hardened, not answering me right away and keeping me on the edge of my seat. I searched every inch of his face for a reason, a tell to let me know what had kept him, and yet I saw nothing. Why did I still feel so uneasy? "There were some complications at work," he explained, "It took some time to fix. I figured you'd be asleep by now, so I grabbed something to eat after everything was sorted."

"And that took you until one in the fucking morning?"

"Didn't know I had a curfew." He said it so bluntly, almost accusatory. The eyes that looked into mine were unyielding, wanting no question or fuss to his response. Not to push that which was unmovable. It wasn't an expression I was familiar with, at least from him, the glint of affection that lingered no matter how mad he got at me now snuffed.

"I..." I trailed off, unsure what to say next. The whirlwind of thoughts and emotions collected within me had me feeling unhinged. Was I being crazy? "I'm sorry, I was just worried about you," I settled on, swallowing thickly so my throat had lubrication.

"Where's Gaby?"

The question gave me pause, his evident impatience spouting words from my mouth. "Oh! Um... she's in bed," Miguel didn't seem impressed by my answer, "u-upstairs," I pointed in the direction mentioned.

"Mmm," was all he responded with, leaving me to shuffle out of the way as he beelined to the staircase. Then I was left alone once again, the suddenness of it making me wonder if I had just dreamed everything. The heavy footsteps above my head confirmed that our interaction was all too real, another crack of thunder giving my body the jumpstart it needed. All was well now right? That's what I told myself as I folded the blanket I had been using, shutting off the TV and making my way up to the second floor.

Miguel's home now, Gaby's in bed, everyone is safe and sound. I thought as I passed by my daughter's room, catching a glimpse of her father sitting beside her bed. I repeated it as I got myself ready for bed, brushing my teeth and washing my face of any leftover makeup. My pajamas were one of Miguel's t-shirts and I tucked my nose under the collar as I lay down, letting the smell of him ease my lingering nerves. There was nothing more to worry about, everything would go back to normal tomorrow.

The sun woke me up, bright rays peeking through the curtains. Blinking away the haze of sleep, I still felt restless. The nightmares again, most likely. A nuisance that was bold enough to show itself in the night, but cowardice in that I'd forget them in the morning. As I wiped my eyes, the clock on my nightstand became readable.

7:30 AM

Overslept. It was what I needed to get me out of bed, rushing as I did the bare minimum to look presentable. Cold water to wash my face, teeth brushed, hair pulled back and managed, some sweatpants and slip-ons for good measure. Thank God I worked from home.

Gaby was next on my radar, moving quickly down the hall and rapping on her door with my knuckles. Opening my mouth to tell say it was time to get up, the words left me when I saw she wasn't in bed. Come to think of it, Miguel hadn't been in bed either. Did he even come into the room last night? Shaking my head to clear the thought, the sound of dishes clattering drew me to the kitchen. As I descended, the smell of pancakes was clear, the sound of quiet chatter and little giggles following after.

"Papi, quiero voltear el siguiente." Papi, I want to flip the next one.

The baritone of Miguel's laugh followed after, "Lo sé chiquita, pero debes tener cuidado." I know little one, but you have to be careful.

The sight of my husband and daughter making a mess of the kitchen was touching, last night's events feeling like a distant memory. Almost. To think those cold, hard eyes that had pierced through my very being, were now looking down with such warmth and tenderness.

"Mommy!" Gaby spotted me in the doorway, squeezing between Miguel and the counter to come greet me.

"Well, good morning to you too," I cooed, bending forward so we were eye level. Her arms wrapped around my neck in an embrace, my lips finding purchase on her cheek before returning the gesture with one arm. "What do you have going on here?" I asked once we had parted, smoothing down her curls.

Gaby shrugged, "I wanted pancakes," was her simple response. "You were sleeping, so Papi said he could make them."

I looked up at the man in question, who seemed more occupied with what was cooking on the stove than what we were discussing. "And they haven't burnt?" I teased, approaching him from behind. My hand touched the small of his back, thumb rubbing small circles into the muscle as I looked over his shoulder to analyze the aforementioned pancakes.

"I know how to make pancakes," Miguel quipped back, his tone suggesting I might have struck a nerve.

"Of course you do. It's just that last time-"

"I said I got it."

"Okay," was all I could really say, kissing his shoulder apologetically. "You're tense, Mig. You should take a warm bath," I commented, pulling away so as not to disturb him further. Gaby had taken a seat at the kitchen counter, nibbling on a small plate of fruit. Miguel had most likely prepared it so she didn't get impatient.

"Well, breakfast will have to be quick today," I announced, grabbing a grape for myself, "We still have to get you dressed for preschool and then-"

"I called the preschool," Miguel interjected and I turned to him, "she's not going today."

A small frown graced my features, "Well, I wanted to get a head start on my next article."

"Called your work too. Told them you weren't feeling well." Before I could protest, Miguel continued, "I took the day off as well, figured we could have a day together. As a family."

"Oh," is all I had left to say, "Are you sure? I mean that sounds great, but you said your boss was really strict about time off."

Miguel huffed, smiling wryly at my comment, maybe even condescending. "Yeah, well if he has a problem with it, he can kiss my ass."

My eyes widened at his sudden crassness, "Miguel!"

"Papi, that's a bad word," Gaby chimed in, nose scrunched in determination as she scolded her father.

Miguel's smile shifted to a genuine one, rounding the kitchen island to reach the little girl. "You're right, mi vida, I'm sorry," he said, kissing her temple and she squirmed at the contact. I watched as Miguel pulled away, combing his long fingers through her hair. Did she always look so small next to him? "Come on, help me plate the pancakes. The sooner you eat your breakfast, the sooner we can figure out something to do."

Gabriela nodded eagerly, jumping out of her seat and following Miguel to resume their work. I figured I'd let them enjoy each other's company, preparing coffee for Miguel and myself. As I had hoped, everything seemed to be as it always was once more, if not better. Usually it was hectic in the morning, Miguel sleeping in until the last possible second before getting dressed and walking out the door for work, Gabriela in tow. So having a moment like this was a rare treat, one usually reserved for the weekend.

And yet, there was still something that felt so entirely wrong. Something that made my stomach churn and the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Call it intuition, but as to what it was cluing me into, I had yet to understand. I racked my brain as to what could be causing this feeling to linger inside me. Chewing the inside of my cheek as I poured the coffee into two mugs. To one, I added milk and a spoonful of honey. The other simply got milk, each getting a thorough stir. I took both cups, sipping from the one with honey and offering the other to Miguel.

He took it without even looking at me, focused on making sure Gaby didn't hurt herself as she flipped a pancake. I thought nothing of it as I went to go sit down, maybe scroll on my phone now that I had time, but Miguel's disgruntled murmur had me turning to face him. "I don't want anything in my coffee."

"Oh, sorry I didn't know."

"It's fine, can you just remake it?" Miguel asked in a dismissive tone, holding out the mug to me to take. I set my drink down, taking his in both my hands and going to discard the contents in the sink.

When did he start taking his coffee black?

Tags: @lazy-idate @lilly5799 @yougavemeyourheartyouknow

#miguel o'hara #reader insert #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x you #x reader

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hum-suffer · 5 months

Text

I'm Yours 2

Ishan has always been a light sleeper. His mother was proud of him and his dad, a man who craved snacks at midnight, bemoaned his habits.

So when he wakes up on Sunday morning with a fresh gajra tied on his wrist, for a moment, he wonders if this is a hallucination or a dream. He blinks and pinches his thigh, the sharp sting reminding him that it's reality. He frowns, and touches the gajra. It's real.

Ishan takes a deep breath.

"Let's bathe first and then deal with this," he says to himself. Another beat passes as he reconsiders his promise to himself. "Maybe have some tea first."

____________________________________________________

He's so fucking glad that he had the tea first.

The moment he was more awake, he was panicking.

Someone fucking broke into his house? His house? His ancestral, beloved house that had marble flooring which made clancking sounds everytime he walked? Ishan cracks his neck and takes another fortifying breath, staring at the discarded gajra on the dining table. It feels very audacious. And flattering.

The thought is horrifying and for a moment, Ishan imagines his grandfather shaking his head at the bloody idiocy Ishan possesses. Wryly, he says outloud,"I'm a very good source of entertainment, aren't I, Dadaji?"

The house obviously remains silent. In a surprising turn, the loneliness he often feels seeps right back in.

He glances at the gajra again. "Hey, at least, someone alive gets entertainment from me."

He knows he should report this. But for now, he doesn't want to care. It's a bloody Sunday and he will be damned if something ruins his Sunday, even if it's a stalker/admirer.

A message pops on his phone just as he's about to wash his cup. 'Did you like the gajra, love?'

'don't have the hair for it, dude.'

He probably shouldn't antagonise a probable sociopath.

But hey, what is life, if not had decisions taken in the spirit of loneliness?

____________________________________________________

When he's more settled, in the evening, Ishan goes out for a walk. His body aches in protest and the ink marks on his fingers dictate his profession to anyone who cares to see.

End of semester season is horrible, but more so when he already has to plan so much. Tomorrow's the seminar for something techy— Ishan doesn't know, he's the Hindi teacher, and he'd rather prefer not to know. Those things just rot his brain and he hates the seminars more than students, probably, but he'd do just about anything to take some load off of Virat bhaiya. Jaddu almost always lightens the mood at seminars, and he's back from his holiday to Jamnagar, and Ishan is counting on him to be the better part.

Apart from Shubhman, that is.

Ishan cannot get over his silly little crush, no matter how hard he tries and he hates it. That's a celebrity. A good looking, smart philanthropist who also owns a registered firm.

Ishan doesn't know the name of the firm, he realises with a groan. He gets his phone out, shoots a quick text to Shreyas to prepare the introduction speech for Shubhman.

The admirer, has sent him another message.

'Do you have any favourite colour?'

'yes, it's the shade stfu of the colour mind your business.'

'Lol. Really, tho. Don't make me dissect your wardrobe and make a guess, love'

Ishan's eyes narrow. He's not going to be ordered around by this bullshiter.

'Be my guest, love'

'i'm gonna overlook the rudeness for that endearment'

'Im gonna kill u'. Ishan doesn't even realise he's smiling until he casts a random glance at the windows of parked car. He controls his smile instantly.

'your looks already have'

Ishan scoffs at the blatantly cheesy line. Ew. 'Stay dead.'

____________________________________________________

'You have an awful amt of blue clothes'

The message greets Ishan early in the morning, and so does the smell of jasmines. He looks down and there it is— a gajra tied on his wrist.

The pounding headache that he already has becomes more pronounced as he passes through the motions of his schedule, the message a background chatter in his head until he has the cup of tea in his hands.

So.

That happened.

Yesterday's gajra and today's gajra, side by side, stare at Ishan. Ishan gulps. He should not have done that— any of that.

"Kya kar Raha hai tu," he mutters to himself as his thumb hovers over the block button. Why is he hesitating?

(Maybe because he doesn't care of he's dead or alive. Maybe because he wants the attention. Maybe because the idea of being so desired makes him warm. Maybe because someone only focusing on him makes him feel cherished.

Ishan doesn't dissect these ideas.)

He blocks the number and reports it for good measure.

He's already almost late— the quest to find his beloved oversized blue silk shirt had taken too much time. He's probably left it back home, maybe. He doesn't remember taking it there but he's always been clumsy so who knows? He'll continue the quest later.

The smell of jasmines cling to his nose even after he's deliberately choosen a woodsy perfume.

____________________________________________________

Shubhman is at perfect time.

Avesh, the admin staff manager, came almost running to Ishan when Shubhman, bless him, called in advance to say that he'll be at the college withing fifteen minutes.

If Shubhman keeps this up, Ishan will do something embarassing— like quoting Hannibal or something. The sheer appreciation Ishan feels for the man is beyond words.

As always, Rohit bhaiya had forgotten the matchsticks somewhere but Jas had come through and Ishan is now running around only making sure the height of the mic and the placement of flowers.

Siraj drags him forcefully to the gate of the faculty, to greet Shubhman. A volunteer student clicks photos as Virat Bhai hugs Shubhman, who always appears star struck at the attention from their resident King. Rohit bhaiya squeezes Shubhman in a tight hug and the smile Shubhman has on his face is blinding.

(Ishan wishes someone was as happy to see him. His colleagues are always fun, but they have lives— Ishan doesn't.)

When Shubhman turns to him, Ishan can't help but stare. He's wearing a navy blazer over a white shirt and dark blue jeans. His eyes, they're dark and intense. Ishan feels frozen.

"Ishan." His voice sounds so fucking good. He steps forward and before Ishan can hold his hand out for a handshake, Shubhman steps in his personal space and gives him a side hug.

Ishan breathes in, to calm his heart, and catches a distantly familiar scent from Shubhman. It's probably a kind of perfume Ishan knows, he's obsessed with scents.

"Shubhman. It's a pleasure to meet you again."

What the FUCK is he saying. Ishan wants to dig a hole in some lonely ground and bury himself. A pleasure to meet him? Could he be anymore obvious?

"Trust me, the pleasure is all mine."

____________________________________________________

The seminar goes on for two hours, perfectly adhering to the scheduled time and Shubhman has prepared enough to be also able to do a QnA. Ishan will marry him.

The students rush out of the seminar hall without a second thought, all of them sleepy and wanting to enjoy the rest of their day after the cancellation of their classes.

Ishan hums to himself as he wraps up the extra papers and wires, the bag for Shubhman ready to take. "Tulsi, reusable pen, certificate." He counts everything outloud and puts the bag aside. Someone lifts it up instantly. Ishan whips around, seeing Shubhman standing there grinning at him.

"Hello, there."

"Hi, Shubhman. How long have you been standing here?"

"Just long enough to hear that aap Mumbai aa sakte hai."

Ishan feels his face heat up instantly and shakes his head. Shubhman laughs. "Come on, I feel like we should close this hall before someone closes us inside it."

Would it really be so bad?

Oh god, when did he turn into a desperate teenager?

Ishan follows Shubhman out, talking about measley things like movies and songs, to see him off and help him settle with the gifts but they're met with Virat bhaiya and Rohit bhaiya standing at the gate of the faculty and a thundering rain.

Fuck.

They both despise the rain. Ishan does too, to be honest. Almost everyone at the college hates it. Mostly, because after rain, their usually pristine college roads turn into water holding corners at some areas and the greenery in their college always allows for mosquitoes after a good rain.

Virat bhaiya shakes his head,"Unnatural rains, at the time of diwali no less! Kya zindagi hai yaar."

"Why are you being dramatic?" Ishan asks with a groan,"I have to go back on my bike! I'm already applying for sick leave for tomorrow, Rohit bhaiya."

Before Rohit bhaiya can say anything, though, Shubhman frowns at him. "But why do you want to get soaked? I have my car, I'll drop you off at your place."

"Absolutely not, I'm not going to impose on you like that. And what about my bike?"

"I'll send Rutu or someone with it tomorrow to pick you up, bhai." Rohit bhaiya says. "Don't get sick uselessly! Shubhman is right, you don't need to get soaked for nothing."

Shubhman nods along,"And it's not imposing if I offered. Come on, let me do my good deed for the week."

Ishan looks helplessly at Virat bhaiya. He lifts his chin and gives him a reassuring look.

"Okay."

____________________________________________________

Tagging: @mayakimayahai @kyayaarkiraa @ispeakmorelanguagesthanyou @onthecloudseven @khwxbeeda @ek-ladki-bheegi-bhagi-si @fortunatelycrazyyouth @ishkrisq

#desiblr #suffer ye suhana nahi #desi tumblr #ishman #shubhish #shubhman gill #ishan kishan

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gerrystamour · 1 year

Text

run it back (give me five whole minutes)

Rated T | Steddie Week Day 5: Together | 1700 Words | Complete

[ READ ON AO3 ]

“Maybe I can come help you?” “No, Eds, you need to sleep tonight. You and Wayne have a lot of driving to do tomorrow, don’t you?” “Yeah, just… we’re not gonna see each other for a week, and we haven’t really seen each other for a couple of days already…” “I know. I’m sorry…” If you're seeing me reposting it, no you aren't. ANYWAY this is my entry for @steddie-week Day 5: Established Relationship & Together CW: Some negative self-talk because I decided to inflict some of my RSD on Steeb.

By the time Steve left work, his entire head was full of static. There was a pounding, pulling feeling just behind his left eye and it felt like his eardrums were ready to rupture with how loud his ears rang. So much had been going on all day, and then some moron knocked over an entire shelf literally five minutes before the store closed.

Steve had been tempted to tidy it up as best as he could and leave a note, but he knew Keith would fire him if he did that. Normally, he wouldn’t really care because cleaning up the mess would normally help settle his mood before he went home to bed.

But he had plans. He had plans and now he had to cancel them to clean up a mess so he didn’t get fired.

The phone call had sucked to make, telling Eddie that he wasn’t going to be able to make it to his place after work.

“Maybe I can come help you?”

“No, Eds, you need to sleep tonight. You and Wayne have a lot of driving to do tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Yeah, just… we’re not gonna see each other for a week, and we haven’t really seen each other for a couple of days already…”

“I know. I’m sorry…”

Eddie had reassured Steve that it was okay, that he understood, that he wasn’t mad. But Steve couldn’t shake the repeating, screaming thoughts that he fucked up big time. That it was a mistake to prioritize his shitty minimum wage job over seeing his boyfriend before he left to visit the few extended family members he and Wayne still spoke to for a week.

Steve was just destined to be a shit boyfriend, apparently.

That thought had to be shut down quickly because he didn’t want to do something embarrassing like cry while he was still within the four walls of Family Video.

So he focused on righting the shelf and reorganizing the videos correctly. A few cases got damaged, so he set those aside with a note for Keith. By the time he finished, it was one in the morning.

There was a chance Eddie was still awake because if Steve knew his boyfriend, he knew the man didn’t have a healthy sleep schedule. But what good would calling him do? Steve already chose work over him, so calling now would just rub that in.

Steve locked up the store and drove home, tears welling up in his eyes and blurring his vision. He fucked up bad and he was going to have to figure out how to fix it fast. Steve kept replaying the distracted way Eddie said he loved him on the phone when they hung-up earlier, which made him think of all the times Nancy said she loved him.

Maybe if he woke up super early the next morning, he could get to Eddie’s trailer before he left, and he could apologize in person and see him? Waking up early after a shift like the one he had and working past one in the morning was a recipe for a migraine, or at least a tension headache from hell, but it would be worth it to make this up to Eddie.

Steve couldn’t lose Eddie over his stupid bullshit.

By the time Steve pulled into the driveway of his house, he was struggling to hold back the tears. He wasn’t normally a crier, just when he was exhausted, in pain, and a bit heartsick all at once. Steve couldn’t stand that about himself, especially in moments like this where it wasn’t even okay for him to be that upset. He fucked up, why was he upset?

Entering his dark, quiet house, Steve quickly locked the front door and tossed his keys at the bowl on the table near the front door before trudging loudly up the stairs without taking off his shoes. He barely cared that his keys missed the bowl entirely and clattered loudly to the floor.

Steve didn’t even notice there was already a set of keys sitting in the bowl.

He didn’t stop until he was in his bathroom, staring at his tear-streaked and miserable face. “Stupid,” he muttered to himself as he started taking off his clothes for a shower. “Worst fucking boyfriend, why does anyone even fucking bother with you?”

“Hey!”

Steve jumped, too startled even to shout, and he turned on the intruder with fists ready. He wasn’t prepared to see his boyfriend, sleep-soft and frowning at him.

“Eds?” he asked, confusion blurring with his self-loathing. Why was Eddie here? Shit, he must’ve felt so bad for Steve he came over. Once again, someone else was doing all the fucking emotional work in the relationship, and Eddie had to be up early—

“Don’t talk about my boyfriend like that,” Eddie said firmly, stepping into the bathroom to hold Steve’s face.

“What?” he asked, dazed now that Eddie was standing in his space and touching him.

“You were saying mean shit about my amazing boyfriend, Steve,” Eddie said, and Steve’s expression crumpled.

“Don’t—you don’t have to say that. You’re just being nice—” Steve started, but he was interrupted by Eddie scoffing.

“Sweetheart, when am I ever ‘just being nice’ to anyone?” Eddie asked and Steve couldn’t really argue that. Eddie wasn’t mean, and he wasn’t always forthcoming with talking about his feelings on matters, but he was never nice for the sake of being nice. If he was telling someone something with his words, then that meant something.

“But I didn’t leave work,” Steve said weakly, trying to find the justifications for why he was a terrible boyfriend. “You’re leaving tomorrow and I didn’t leave work to see you.”

“Stevie, that’s your job. You—did I even ask you to leave work?” Eddie asked, bewildered.

“You shouldn’t have to ask me!” Steve said with no small amount of frustration. What wasn’t Eddie understanding about this? Steve wasn’t being attentive, he wasn’t thinking three steps ahead, he wasn’t reading between the lines of Eddie’s questions and requests well enough.

“So if I asked you to leave that huge mess and lose your job, you would’ve?” Eddie asked skeptically, but something must have shown on Steve’s face because Eddie’s expression faltered. “Babe, staying behind at work was fine. I’m not so needy that you should drop everything and come running to comfort me.”

“But you were upset,” Steve insisted, taking a step back out of Eddie’s hands. “You were upset and I didn’t—”

“I was upset because you sounded so miserable on the phone! I wasn’t—fuck, Steve, I’m sorry I made you feel like I was upset with you,” Eddie said, stepping forward to cup Steve’s face again. Then he added, “Yeah, I wanted to see you before I went on the worst fucking trip ever, and yeah I was sad I wouldn’t, but I was mostly sad that you were having such a shitty day.”

“I didn’t even tell you about my day, though,” Steve said, a bit dazed.

“Didn’t have to, sweetheart,” Eddie replied with a sweet smile. “You did your Headache Brewing Sigh after every sentence,” he elaborated after a moment and Steve’s heart ached at being known so deeply.

“You should be sleeping, Eds,” Steve said weakly, stepping forward into Eddie’s embrace.

“I’m not going anymore. I didn’t wanna go in the first place, so I told Wayne I’m staying home,” Eddie replied, and his arms tightened around him when Steve tried to pull away. “Don’t, you beautiful little martyr. I didn’t want to go so I’m not going. There’s nothing more to it, don’t make it about you.”

Steve felt all the fight leave his body, resting his weight more heavily against Eddie with a shaky sigh, his head dropping to Eddie’s shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed, baby,” Eddie cooed, petting his hair, but Steve shook his head.

“I just need to shower first,” he said, and he could feel Eddie nodding.

“Alright, let’s do that, then bed,” Eddie said brightly, stepping back carefully to start taking off his pajamas. When Steve opened his mouth to argue, Eddie held a finger to his lips with a playfully stern expression. “I’m taking care of you tonight, Stevie. It’ll be over quicker if you just let me.”

At that, Steve huffed a tired laugh and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled lightly and finished undressing.

The shower took them a long time, Eddie refusing to let Steve do any of the work to wash himself off. Eddie just grabbed each bottle Steve reached for and did everything for him. At one point, Steve let out a sigh that carried a small vocalization at the end, his body finally relaxing under the hot spray of the shower and his boyfriend’s cool hands.

Eddie took that moment to drop a soft, almost distracted kiss to the back of Steve’s shoulder and the tenderness of that tiny gesture broke through something in him. With a shaky inhale, Steve turned around and wrapped his arms around Eddie, burying his face into the junction of his boyfriend’s shoulder and neck with a sigh. There were tears in Steve’s eyes again, but this time they weren’t sad.

When Eddie immediately wrapped his own arms around him, Steve kissed the skin his mouth was closest to before tipping his head back to meet Eddie’s eyes.

“I love you,” Steve confessed so quietly that the shower almost drowned him out.

Eddie heard it though, or read his lips, and his big brown eyes widened a bit. Then a grin split his face and he dropped a kiss onto Steve’s mouth. “I love you, too,” Eddie said without pulling away and Steve pressed closer to deepen the kiss again.

Standing under the steady spray of the shower, they kissed each other slow and sweet, searching even if they knew their ways around each other’s mouths. It was different now that they’d said the word they had both been thinking since the day they first kissed.

Finally, the temperature of the water began to waver and they pulled away from the kiss.

“Holy shit, so there is an end to the Harrington water heater,” Eddie marveled as they quickly finished up and turned the water off.

Once they were tucked into bed, Steve reached across the space between them to pull Eddie into his arms tightly. Eddie laughed as he settled, wrapping himself around Steve and sighing happily.

“I love you,” Steve said again, yawning.

Eddie turned his head where it rested and kissed Steve’s chest. “Love you, too, Stevie.”

[AO3 LINK]

[ NEXT FIC ]

I hope you enjoy and please consider reblogging! Taglist! @steddie-there, @patchworkgargoyle, @scarcrossdlvrs, @indigohightide, @steddieas-shegoes, @steve-harringtits, @mylilplanet, @afewproblems, @xenon-demon, @inairbinad, @matchingbatbites

#steddie #steve x eddie #steddieweek2023 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve/eddie #gerry writes

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hearts-hunger · 1 year

Text

four weddings and a funeral — part five

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Series Playlist

⮡part one | part two | part three | part four

Series Summary: You and Danny haven’t spoken in years. When the two of you stumble upon a week of weddings, funerals, and the hotel rooms in between, will fate rekindle your friendship or put the old flames out altogether?

Chapter Summary: Danny's leaving tomorrow. You still have another wedding to go to, but can you bear to be so close to him knowing it's your last night together?

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Reader, Sam x Birdie | Genres: friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, mutual pining, angst | Word Count: 8.5k (yikes) | Chapter Warnings: drinking

A/N: Danny and Sunshine are back in the house!! This chapter's kinda long, but I think it's really cute and emotional - I hope you enjoy all the twists and turns! ♡

You woke in a tangle of sheets to a pounding headache.

It took you a minute to get your bearings; the sun was shining through the breezy curtains, bright and pretty but also kind of painful. You were still in your dress, but your jewelry had been taken off; a cautious touch to your face revealed that your makeup had been cleaned off too.

You turned your face away from the sunlight and found Danny close, his expression relaxed in sleep, his curls mussed and soft.

“Danny,” you said softly.

He gave a sleepy hum. “Wassa matter, sunny?” The hand that was resting on your hip pulled you closer, and it made you realize that your leg was hooked over his thigh.

You felt yourself blush at how close you were to him, how warm and steady he was beside you. You didn’t dare move, afraid to wake him and make him realize for fear he would pull away, afraid to pull away yourself if he wanted you close.

His eyes fluttered open when you didn’t answer. “You okay?”

His voice was gravelly and warm, and you hid your face against his chest to keep him from seeing how flustered it made you.

He chuckled. “What’s wrong, sunshine? You don’t feel good?”

You shook your head. “Headache.” Your stomach also felt like a butterfly rave, but that might have been more from the way he still hadn’t pulled away from you than from your hangover.

He hummed in agreement. “Me too. Maybe we should take it easy at the wedding tonight.”

“Oh!” You’d completely forgotten about your flight back home and the wedding only a few hours after you landed. “What time is it?”

He groaned a little as he turned to grab his phone from the nightstand. “Early, still. I set an alarm so we wouldn’t be late to the airport, and it hasn’t gone off yet.”

You relaxed then, thankful he’d seemingly taken care of everything when you’d been out of commission last night. He turned back to you again, making to pull you close; you wanted to rest against him and get a little bit more sleep, but your headache wouldn’t leave you be, and you were restless.

Danny noticed. “Let me get you some tylenol,” he offered, untangling himself from you and the sheets as gently as possible. “Be right back.”

He came back from the bathroom with his water bottle and some medicine. “Sit up, honey.”

You did, letting yourself enjoy the pet name, and took the medicine before handing him his water bottle so he could take a dose too. He tied his hair up in a messy bun, his faded band tee riding up over the hem of his shorts, and you blushed as you looked away.

“Here,” he said, handing you his water bottle back. “You gotta hydrate.”

You did as he said, pulling a little at the sleeves of your dress that were rubbing uncomfortably over your shoulders. You must have gotten more sun yesterday than you thought.

He gave you a sympathetic wince. “Yeah, I didn’t know if I should get you into pajamas last night, so I erred on the side of caution. I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable.”

He rummaged in his bag until he pulled out one of his huge, soft t-shirts. “Try this. It’ll be loose enough on you that it won’t bother your sunburn, hopefully.”

“Thank you,” you said, catching it when he tossed it to you. You gave him a teasing smile. “Are you sure you trust me with more of your clothes? I still haven’t returned your jacket from the funeral, remember?”

He smiled. “It’s all a part of my master plan,” he said. “The more clothes you steal, the more reasons I’ll have to see you after this wedding tonight.”

You felt a mix of emotions at that. You were thrilled that he wanted to keep seeing you, but you were also reminded that the wedding tonight was the last concrete plan you had to see each other. After tonight, what would realistically be enough to keep him from jetting back off to his fancy rockstar life without you?

You decided to set that thought aside for later, determined to enjoy what could very well be the last of your time with Danny.

“It’s a good plan,” you agreed. “I just think you better count on not getting any of these clothes back.”

He laughed. “I’m not that worried about it, sunny. I think it’s a fair trade, don’t you?”

A car ride, a plane ride, and another car ride later, you were standing blearily in front of the mirror in your bedroom, freshly showered, wondering how on earth you were going to make yourself presentable in less than two hours. This next wedding was sure to be filled with Danny’s swanky, rich, fashionable friends, and at the moment, you looked like you’d been run over by a truck.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Danny.

Text me what you want from Starbucks, the message read. I’ll be over around 6 to pick you up.

You smiled to yourself. You’d fallen back asleep on the plane, and he’d been very patient with you as he handled your bags, his bags, and your still very sleepy state in the airport after you landed. You sent him a message back and tossed your phone on the bed, gearing yourself up for a deep-dive into your closet for something to wear.

—

“That’s it! I’m not going.”

Danny frowned as you came out of your bathroom, looking you over head to toe with a thoughtful gaze.

“Why not?” he asked. “That’s a cute outfit.”

You cringed. “It’s not cute, Danny. It’s possibly the worst wardrobe choice I’ve ever made in my life.”

He smiled. “Dramatic, much?”

You huffed and went back into the bathroom to try on the next outfit, starting to get a little panicked about time and trying to prevent a major meltdown over getting ready. Since he’d gotten to your apartment, Danny had been patiently sitting on the edge of your bed; he hadn’t breathed a word of complaint as you tried on practically your entire closet in an effort to find something to wear, and he hadn’t even felt the need to remind you that both of you were going to be late if you didn’t hurry. He had also given you sweet, heartfelt compliments on every outfit right before you decided you hated it, and then he’d hung every discarded article of clothing neatly back in your closet. You almost didn’t know how to interact with a man who did things like that.

You decided not to read too much into it, though, not least because you were overwhelmed with the simple task of finding something halfway decent to wear. You slipped on the last dress you had, hoping you wouldn’t instantly hate it as soon as you looked in the mirror; it was a gauzy, fluffy thing in shades of pink and champagne, and you were surprised at how pretty you felt when you looked in the mirror.

Danny’s eyes widened when you came out to show him.

“Woah,” he said, looking a little like he’d taken a blow to the head. “That’s... uh, you look really pretty in that, sunny.”

You blushed and gave him a bashful smile. “This is the one, then?”

He nodded, still kind of dazed and dreamy. “Please don’t change out of that one.”

You laughed, amused and pleased at his request. “Okay.”

He came into the bathroom with you as you put the finishing touches on your look, watching you in the mirror for a minute as you put on dangly gold earrings and a shimmery lip gloss.

“Should I wear a different necklace?” he asked, brushing his fingers across the strings of pearls that rested over his black turtleneck. “I don’t match you with these.”

“No, keep them,” you said, a little embarrassed at how quickly you’d said it. There was something about a man as tall and broad as Danny was wearing something so pretty. “I... I like them. Keep them.”

He smiled. “Okay. I’ll keep them.”

You both spent a few more moments getting ready, adding glamorous touches to the soft beachy glow you both had from the wedding yesterday. You noticed that he looked at his watch, but he still didn’t hurry you along, and you were grateful for his patience.

“Okay,” you said briskly, taking one last look in the mirror. “Good?”

He smiled. “Good.”

He ushered you out to his car and opened the door for you, making sure all the fluffy tulle from your dress was safely out of the way before he closed it.

“Music?” he asked as he got in, handing you his phone. “The code’s 5480.”

“Oh,” you said, a little surprised that he’d just handed it over. “Uh, sure. What do you want to listen to?”

He put his hand on your headrest as he backed out of your driveway. “You pick.”

You tried to think of what to put on, a little distracted by the heady scent of his warm and woodsy cologne. You looked over at him for approval when you put on “The Boy with a Moon and Star on His Head,” and you were pleased when he smiled.

“I wonder what our stick figure couple is getting up to these days,” he said, as if you hadn’t just made them start a band last night.

“I guess we’ll have to see what this wedding brings,” you said. You were about to set his phone aside when a text popped up on the screen from someone named Emma, and you couldn’t help but skim it.

Can’t wait to see you tomorrow! it read, complete with a kissy face on the end.

You sucked in a breath. You felt bad for having read it, but all of a sudden, it felt like somebody had your heart in a vise grip. You locked his phone and set it in the cup holder, willing yourself to forget you’d even seen it.

Neither of you talked much on the drive to the wedding; Danny hummed along to the Cat Stevens playlist, and you looked out the window and tried not to think about Emma who couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow. You shouldn’t even know about it, let alone catastrophize because of it; it wasn’t your business who he texted or who texted him, kissy faces or not. He’d made no commitment to you or even hinted at making one. Danny was free to see anyone, anytime, for any reason. You had absolutely no right to be upset about it.

That didn’t stop it from hurting, though. You glanced over at him, watched him drum on the steering wheel in perfect time with the song. He looked over at you and smiled, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“How’s it going, sunny?” he asked. “Feeling down to clown tonight?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You know me. I’m always ready to party.”

With a monumental effort, you pushed the thought of the text aside and promised yourself you’d have one last night of good memories with Danny. You felt a little nervous, though, as he pulled into the venue’s parking lot; you fidgeted with your sun necklace, the one you’d yet to take off since Danny had given it to you, and looked wide-eyed at the people milling around outside the place. It must have cost a pretty penny to rent it out, and you weren’t surprised by the lavish display of wealth in the guests that stood outside. All of a sudden, you felt just how “small-town” you were compared to everyone else there, including Danny.

He pulled into one of the last spots and turned the car off, sitting with you for a moment.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said.

You weren’t surprised that he’d noticed. You tried to stop fidgeting with your necklace and smoothed your hands over your skirt instead.

“Sure,” you said. “I’ll just waltz in there with all your fancy friends and feel totally cool and confident.”

He smiled. “You should,” he said easily. “You look beautiful, you’re smarter than anybody in there, and you’ve got me.”

You breathed a laugh. His presence would help more than he knew, and you planned to stick by him the entire time.

He offered his hand, and you smacked your palm against his.

“We got this,” he said.

You squeezed his hand. “We got this.”

He only let go of your hand long enough for both of you to get out of the car, and then you looped your arm around his and pressed close to his side.

“Please don’t try to introduce me to anybody,” you said.

Danny smiled as he looked over at you, amused and sympathetic as you tightened your grip on his arm.

“I only have two people I want to introduce you to,” he said. Before you could protest, he added, “I promise you’ll like them.”

You could tell it meant a lot to him that you at least spoke to these friends, and though you dreaded the thought of small talk with complete strangers, you would do it for Danny.

“But only those two, right?” you asked.

“Right,” he agreed. He gave you a teasing smile then. “Let me know if you change your mind, though. There’s plenty of people here to awkwardly introduce yourself to. Just say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

You hid your face against his shoulder. “No way. That sounds so horrible.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, sunny. I wouldn’t be so cruel to you.” He patted your hand where it rested in the crook of his arm. “Besides, I barely know anybody here myself.”

You looked up at him as you came inside the venue, content to let him find your spots for the ceremony.

“What are you talking about?” you said. “I thought this was one of your good friends who was getting married.”

He shrugged, a little distracted as he looked around the venue but still paying attention to you.

“He is, but I don’t really know any of his other friends.” He took a tastefully sleek program from one of the ushers. “He and his wife — well, almost wife — hang out with really artsy, fashionable people. I always feel kind of clumsy and awkward around them.”

You smiled. You could see how Danny might feel like a bull in a china shop sometimes, but you thought it was endearing.

“You don’t think you’re artsy and fashionable?” you asked.

Danny huffed a laugh. “No.” He caught sight of someone on the opposite end of the room and waved, a handsome smile lighting his face.

“I’ll show you somebody who definitely thinks he is, though,” he said. “And you’ll have to decide if his style is as goofy as I think it is.”

You bucked up your courage as Danny led you through the crowd, trying to guess which of these swanky wedding guests he was going to subject you to meeting. Maybe it was the guy in the bejeweled sweater vest, or the lady with the obscenely high heels. Maybe it was —

“Oh, shut up.”

Danny looked over at you. “What?”

You smacked a hand against his chest.

“Ow!” he laughed. “What was that for?”

“Hello!” you said, gesturing to the guy in a flowy red suit and sunglasses. “ That’s the friend you’re introducing me to? Freakin’... Sam Kiszka?”

Danny grinned. “I thought you said you weren’t a Greta Van Fleet fangirl.”

“They’re called gresties, Daniel,” you informed him, intentionally not telling him that you’d started to talk to other fans on Tumblr since the funeral. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

“Gresties?” he repeated. “Like... what? Greta Van Fleet besties?”

“Exactly.”

He laughed out loud. “Hey, that’s pretty good. Gresties. I like that.” He took your hand. “Let’s go tell Sam about the gresties. He’ll love to hear that.”

You hesitated, still a little nervous. Sam was watching the two of you with interest, leaning to talk to the pretty girl who stood with him, undoubtedly talking about you.

“Hey, sunny.”

You tore your gaze from Sam, looking up at Danny as he squeezed your hand. “Yes?”

He gave you a sweet smile.

“Don’t be nervous,” he reminded you. “It’s just Sam. He’s not as cool as you think he is.”

You managed a hesitant smile back. “That’s easy for you to say. You know him.”

“I want you to know him too,” Danny said sincerely. “Trust me. He’s gonna love you.”

You took a deep breath. “I must like you or something,” you muttered.

Danny grinned. “I like you too, sunny, so I guess that works out nicely.”

He held your hand as you went to meet Sam, and you tried not to let your nerves get the better of you. It made you feel better to see that the girl by Sam’s side looked a little shy too, and the two of you exchanged nervous and excited smiles even as you both sort of hid behind your guys.

Danny put a comforting hand to your back. “Sam, birdie — this is sunny.”

Sam pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and gave you a charmingly boyish grin.

“Nice to meet you, sunny,” he said. “I know we probably met a few times in middle school, but that doesn’t really count.”

You gave him a bashful smile back, still a little starstruck that you were meeting Sam Kiszka.

“Well, it’s good to meet you in a way that counts,” you said, and you earned a smile. “I know this is kind of lame to say, but... I’m a big fan of your music.”

“Not lame at all,” he assured you seriously. “I love to have my ego boosted.”

You laughed, and Sam’s girlfriend rolled her eyes, fondly exasperated and drawing confidence from her boyfriend’s humor.

“He’s not kidding,” she said, affection in her voice. She gave you a smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you, sunny. I’m birdie. And I promise I’m absolutely normal.”

You laughed. “Sweet. I love normal people.”

Sam looked at her with an amused gaze. “What do you mean, you’re absolutely normal? As if I’m not?”

“You are a famous rock star,” she reminded him. “I’m still a small town girl, so I’m less intimidating. I hope.”

“It does make you less intimidating,” you admitted. “I love your dress, by the way.”

She touched a hand to the shimmery rust-colored cocktail dress she wore.

“Oh, thank you! I haven’t had a chance to wear it yet, so this is the trial run.” She put her hand on her hip and posed next to Sam, even though he was talking with Danny.

“You don’t think we clash, do you?” she asked you.

Sam noticed she was posing and immediately posed too, obviously a natural ham. “Where’s the photographer, sweetheart?”

“I’m letting sunny judge our outfits,” she said. “Danny too.”

Danny tilted his head, seeming to take the task seriously. “Looks good. What’s wrong with them?”

“Well, we’re in the same color family,” she said. “I couldn’t decide if it was a good move or a fashion nightmare. What do you think, sunny?”

You smiled and shook your head. “No, I think you look great together.” Side by side, their reds, rusts, and golds gave a warm and inviting aura of a confident, lovely couple, one you wanted to get to know better.

“See?” Sam said. “You worry too much, birdie. You know you’re pretty enough for both of us, no matter what we wear.”

She gave him a slightly bashful smile, pleased with his compliment. “Thanks, honey.”

He gave her cheek a big, goofy kiss, and she giggled and pushed him away. Your chest felt a little tight at the display, endeared at their affection for each other and wishing you had someone to share such tenderness with.

Danny took your hand again, and your breath caught a little.

“Come on, lovebirds,” Danny teased his friends. “Let’s go find our spots.”

You got settled in one of the middle rows, and Danny and Sam fell into conversation almost immediately. You enjoyed listening to them talk and laugh together; their friendship seemed so natural and close-knit, and Birdie was obviously a good friend of Danny’s too.

They tried to include you in their conversation, and you were thankful for their kindness, but you were too distracted to really engage with them.

“Oh, sunny!”

You looked over at Danny, wondering what could have gotten him so excited. You smiled just because he was.

“What?” you asked.

“I totally forgot I brought you a present,” he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his blazer. “I didn’t know if it would go with what you were wearing, but I figured you might want to try it.”

He pulled out a beautiful pearl ring, one that matched the string of pearls he wore. He held it in his palm and offered it to you, and for a moment, you couldn’t think of anything to say.

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” he said, his voice unsure, his fingers closing reflexively over it. “I just thought you might — ”

“No, I do,” you said quickly, reaching out to take it from him. Your throat felt tight when you took the ring from his big, warm palm and his fingers traced over yours.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly. “I was just surprised.”

“Why?” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Pretty things should be worn by pretty girls.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried not to cry. It was so stupid — it was just a little gift, a bit of jewelry he’d let you wear. It didn’t mean anything. You wondered almost absently if he’d ever given jewelry to Emma, the girl who’d texted him in the car.

“I think it should fit you,” he said. “It’s a little small for my big strong drummer hands.”

You managed a wobbly smile as you put it on the middle finger of your left hand. One more finger over, and...

You held your hand up for Danny to see. “How does it look?”

He smiled and took your hand in his, brushing his thumb over the surface of the pearl.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Just like you, sunny.”

You looked over at him. “And now we match,” you said, trying for lightheartedness when all you felt like doing was crying or kissing him.

He grinned. “As we should.”

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. He was beautiful in the orange and gold light of sunset coming through the high windows, all warm and sweet and genuine as he smiled at you. All of a sudden, the uncertainty and the longing and the awful fear caught up to you — Danny was going home tomorrow, and despite his reassurances that he wanted to see you again, you knew you’d be left with nothing but a ring on the wrong finger and the pieces of your heart in your hands.

His brow knit with worry as he looked at you, and you knew you weren’t hiding your feelings as well as you wanted to.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You didn’t know what you should say, or if you should even say anything at all. “Danny, I — ”

Music started to play, cutting off your quiet plea and drawing everyone’s attention to the back of the hall. You and Danny stood with everyone else, but he didn’t take his eyes off of you.

You shook your head, trying to tell him it was fine, that he didn’t need to worry.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t say anything; after a moment, he held out his hand, wanting to comfort you without even knowing what was wrong.

You felt the sting of tears and blinked them back. You took his hand and let yourself be comforted by his touch, even though you knew it would be better to get used to being without him.

He held your hand through the ceremony, and you watched his face with an ache of loneliness as his friends exchanged their vows. Even though you knew how unreasonable it was to care for him so deeply after only a few days, you couldn’t deny what you felt; you’d love him forever, together or not, and the pain of losing him had already started while he was still holding your hand.

You barely registered the end of the wedding. You thought you heard Danny tell Sam and Birdie that you’d catch up to them at the reception, and then Danny put his hand to your cheek.

“Hey,” he said gently. His eyes were impossibly kind as he studied your face.

“Hey, yourself,” you said.

He brushed his thumb over your cheek. “What’s wrong, sunny? Do you feel okay? You want to go home?”

You shook your head. “I feel fine. I want to stay.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to. Maybe you’re ready for a break.”

“A break?” you said bleakly. A break from what? It wouldn’t be a break; it would be the end, and you wouldn’t hurry it along any faster than it was already coming.

You looked up at him and managed a smile.

“I’m okay, Danny, really.” You put your hand over his. “Let’s go drink and dance and have a grand old time.”

He looked a little doubtful, but he didn’t press. He took your hand as you walked together to the reception in the next wing of the venue.

“But you let me know if you want to leave, okay?” he said. “You promise?”

You nodded, knowing you wouldn’t. “I promise.”

The reception was slated to go all night, and for all of their classiness, the guests certainly knew how to party. You lost yourself a little bit in the booze and the dancing, sticking with Danny and Sam and Birdie as you moved from the bar to the dance floor and back again.

“Hey!” Birdie said, tugging on Sam’s hand. “There’s no line for the photo booth if we go right this very second.”

He followed her happily, and you and Danny went too. You let Sam and Birdie go first, grinning to each other at the sounds of bubbly laughter from behind the curtain, and weren’t surprised when Sam stepped out with his face covered in lipstick kisses.

Danny laughed. “You look like you’re in a cartoon, Sam.”

Sam beamed as he got their pictures, happy as could be when his girl took his hand and to lead him onto the dance floor again. “Some cartoon, huh!”

Danny held the curtain back for you. “Shall we?”

The two of you tried to squish together in the little booth, both of you laughing and tipsy and flushed. One of you must have accidentally pushed the button, because you heard it counting down to your first picture.

“Hurry!” you said, both of you laughing breathlessly as you tried to get into place before the shutter sound. You tripped over Danny’s feet and grabbed onto his shoulder to keep from careening out of the booth; to the same end, he took you by the waist and plunked you down on his lap.

“Settle down now,” he said, trying to be stern but unable to keep up the act as you started to giggle. He smiled up at you, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, flashing those little fangs you loved so much; he looked at you like you’d hung the moon, and as you cradled his face in your hands, you felt the fragile part of your heart finally crack in two.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

I’m dying of love for you, Danny. “Nothing.”

You moved your hands and leaned your head against his. “Let’s get one picture where we’re actually looking at the camera.”

He squeezed you tight as the last photo counted down. “Big smile!”

When you got your strip of photos, you almost couldn’t bear to look at them. The joy you felt at being with him was captured there in black and white — a blurry picture of your laughing attempts to fit in the booth, the surprise on your face and the grin on his when he’d put you on his lap, the tenderness in your expression when you’d touched his face, both of your big smiles when you pressed as close as you could get to each other. You swallowed past the tightness in your throat and handed the strip to Danny.

“You don’t want them?” he asked.

“No, I — ” You cleared your throat. “Um, I don’t have anywhere to keep them. Will you hold on to them for me?”

“Oh. Sure.” He tucked them in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Where to next, sunshine?”

“The bar,” you said. You needed another drink. You needed a whole bottle.

He followed you without complaint, and when you got another round of drinks, you hardly tasted yours. You felt caught somewhere between giddiness and a terrible urge to cry, hysterical and drunk and just barely able to keep from telling Danny Wagner in front of god and everybody that you were in love with him.

“We should dance,” you said, needing an outlet for the jittery, anxious pressure building in your chest.

Danny didn’t move from where he’d leaned up against the counter, watching you with an amused smile.

“Where do you get all this energy from, sunny?” he asked.

You took another sip of your drink, feeling so keyed-up you thought you might go crazy. Didn’t he feel anything between you? You thought you would suffocate if you didn’t get out from under the weight of how much you wanted him.

Your hands fluttering nervously like the wings of a bird, you reached for him.

“Come on,” you said, and the words had barely gotten out of your mouth before somebody knocked into you from behind, sending you straight into Danny’s arms.

“Woah, hold on,” he said, hurrying to catch you even as your drink sloshed over the sleeve of his jacket and the front of your dress.

You heard a heartfelt apology from behind you, and then Danny’s assurance that you were both fine.

“Right?” he asked you, still holding your arms to make sure you were steady. “You’re good, sunny?”

You couldn’t answer, suddenly overcome with tears, trying in vain to clean his sleeve off even though it was soaked.

“Sunny?” he said again, a little worried this time. He ducked his head to see your face. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you said miserably, “but your jacket — I’m sorry, Danny.”

He glanced over at the sleeve you were trying to fix as if he’d only just noticed it. “My jacket?” he said. “Sunny, I’m not worried about my jacket. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied. You didn’t know why this had been the final straw, but all of a sudden you were overwhelmed with everything, exhausted and completely overcome.

“I’m s-sorry I spilled my stupid drink on you, Danny,” you all but sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey.” He took your now-empty glass from you and set it on the bar, then framed your face with his big hands and made you look at him. He was searching your face with such worry, and your expression crumpled like a little girl’s.

“Sunshine,” he said, at a loss, unsure why this had upset you so badly. “Please don’t cry, honey. It’s really not a big deal. I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?”

He looked so bewildered you felt a slash of pity for him. “Of course I’m not. It was an accident, and it wasn’t even your fault.” He drew back just enough to look you over. “Oh, and you got the worst of it, too. You’re soaked, honey.”

You hadn’t even noticed. You looked down at the front of your pretty dress and saw it was dark and splotchy.

“Now, you don’t have to cry about that either,” Danny said quickly, a little panicked as he tried to avert another crisis. “I don’t think it’ll stain, but we’ll rinse it out just to make sure. Come on.”

You looked up at him, trying to catch your breath and stop crying. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, looking around for something at the bar; he grabbed a few napkins and did his best to wipe the tears from your face.

“I gotta start wearing a pocket square,” he said under his breath, gently blotting the napkins against your cheeks.

You couldn’t help the watery laugh that escaped you. “Why, so you can get my mascara all over it?”

He gave you a gentle smile. “No, so I can have something soft for you when you cry.”

That almost started you crying again, but you managed to stop after only a few tears had streaked down your cheeks.

“Okay, sunshine,” he said tenderly. “Let’s go up to my room so we can get you cleaned up.”

“You’re staying here?” you asked. You didn’t know the venue had a hotel too, but you were glad you didn’t have to travel anywhere in your wet dress.

He hummed in agreement and took your hand. “Come on, sunny.”

You followed his lead, content to let him find a path through the carousing guests; you didn’t meet Sam and Birdie on the way, but you saw that Danny sent them a text to let them know you were headed upstairs.

It was much quieter when you got out of the reception hall, and you were thankful for it even though your ears were still ringing with the music. You leaned against Danny in the elevator, holding tight to his hand; you still felt fragile, like you were liable to shatter to pieces at any moment. Danny gave your hand a reassuring squeeze every once in a while as you made your way to his room.

Inside, Danny left you for a moment to turn on the bathroom light.

“Is that too much?” he asked when he came back to your side. “I think I’m a little overstimulated. I figured you’re probably feeling that way too.”

You nodded, sure he was right. “That light’s fine,” you said meekly. “Thank you.”

He hovered for a moment, seemingly unsure what to do to help.

“Let me get you something to change into,” he said, going to search through his luggage. “Yeah. That seems like the smart thing to do.”

You watched him with an incredible ache of tenderness, not sure why any man would care for you so selflessly, not sure anything in the world could keep from tying your heart to his for as long as you lived.

“Here,” he said, handing you a stack of neatly folded clothes. “I don’t think I have any bottoms that would fit you, but...”

“I have biker shorts under my dress,” you said.

“Oh,” he said. He looked less sure of himself than he ever had. “Well, good. You can pick whatever you want out of that to wear, and if you want something else, just let me know.”

“Thank you.” You hesitated before you turned to head for the bathroom. “Um, Danny?”

“Yeah?”

You felt shy to ask, for some reason. “Could you unzip my dress? I can’t, um...”

“Of course,” he said, and you felt that his hands were shaking when he brushed your hair over your shoulder and pulled the zipper down.

“Thank you,” you said again. You turned to face him; for a moment, in the quiet darkness of his room, there was nothing in the world but you two and the few inches of space between.

You shook yourself. If you’d stood there a moment longer, you’d have done something that couldn’t be taken back, and you couldn’t decide if it was wise or incredibly foolish to have let the moment pass.

“Right,” you said, flustered, raw with emotion. “Um, thanks. Again.”

You fled into the relative safety of the bathroom, kicking yourself for being so awkward, so girlish, so in love with him it made you act like an idiot. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; you were a wreck, makeup smudged and tear-streaked, dress soaked and bedraggled. You winced.

When you’d rinsed your dress in the sink and hung it over the shower curtain, you washed your face and dressed in Danny’s clothes. He’d given you a t-shirt and a soft fair isle sweater and a pair of black socks way too big for you. You wore them anyway, the heel part coming to the bottom of your calf, and felt much more relaxed in his comfortable clothes that smelled like him.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed when you came out, his jacket discarded over the back of a chair but otherwise still dressed in his wedding outfit. He looked as tense as you’d felt downstairs, and you wondered what was bothering him.

His phone lit up with a text where he’d set it on the bed. He quickly turned it off.

Oh. You felt kind of numb to it now. Maybe it was Emma again, or maybe it was some other girl who couldn’t wait to see him when he was done having to take care of you.

He gave you a weak smile. “Feel better?”

You nodded and scrubbed your face with the too-long sleeves of his sweater, tired and starting to sober up. “A little. Do you have a hair tie?”

He took one off his wrist. “Come here.”

You did, not entirely sure why, standing between his knees like you’d be able to handle it. He gathered your hair with gentle brushes of his fingers, but he couldn’t get the angle he wanted; he stood and towered over you again, and for all your numbness, you could no more keep from hugging him than you could keep the stars from shining.

He breathed a laugh. “You okay?”

You nodded against him, hugging him tighter. You felt tears start again and valiantly managed to keep them from falling.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said.

He finished putting your hair up and hugged you to him, running a soothing hand over your back. “You’re welcome, sunny. It’s my pleasure.”

As much as you wanted to stay close and let him comfort you, you made yourself pull back from him. You took a deep, shaky breath; it was time to rip the band-aid off, and you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry.

“If you’ll take me home,” you said, “I’ll change out of these clothes and get the other things I borrowed. That way you don’t have to make another trip tomorrow.”

He blinked. “Uh... I mean, of course I’ll take you home if you’re ready to leave. But I don’t mind coming by tomorrow. My flight’s not until later.”

You shook your head, wishing he wouldn’t drag it out any longer. “That’s okay. It’ll save you the trouble.”

His phone buzzed again, but he ignored it.

“It’s no trouble,” he insisted. “I thought we... I don’t know, that we might go for that coffee date we keep talking about.”

You’d forgotten about that. You’d been too busy daydreaming about your fiftieth coffee date to remember that you hadn’t even had one.

“Danny, I...” Your throat felt tight again, close to crying. You didn’t want him to think he owed you some consolation prize; he could just go, and these last few days would be nothing but a fond memory. “We don’t have to.... You don’t have to...”

His hopeful expression shuttered into one of resignation and something like hurt.

“You don’t want to,” he said, and it was a statement, not a question.

You couldn’t think of how to tell him that going on a stupid coffee date with him was the most important thing in the world to you, that it meant so much more to you than just one date. His phone lit up with a text, again, and the tangle of hurt and fear and longing in your chest finally burst apart.

“Why don’t you answer her?” you asked, gesturing to his phone. “She’s obviously trying to get in touch with you.”

He frowned. “Who?” He looked behind him to where you’d gestured and saw only his phone.

“Is it Emma?” you asked, knowing it was bitter and petty to bring it up, but you were unable or unwilling to bite your tongue any longer. “Or is it some other girl waiting for you as soon as you finally get rid of me?”

He looked at you with utter bewilderment and a hint of frustration. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “There’s not any other girls, and I’m not trying to get rid of you.”

Another text. You felt lightheaded.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” you snapped. “She’s ringing your phone off the hook, Danny. She has been since she told you she ‘can’t wait to see you tomorrow’.”

He didn’t say anything, and there was a storm of emotion in his expression that you couldn’t quite make out. Anger, confusion, anxiety, embarrassment — you were surprised to see each one in the flash of his dark eyes and the tight set of his jaw.

He picked up his phone and handed it to you. “Read the texts.”

“She doesn’t want me, Danny.”

“Read. The. Texts.”

You took his phone, startled into obedience by his tone. You saw the texts were from Sam, not from Emma or some other girl, and immediately felt guilty.

“Never mind,” you said, trying to hand his phone back. “I don’t — I’m sorry, I — ”

“No, go ahead.” His voice was low. “Read them, sunny. Since you’re so sure you’ve got me all figured out.”

You looked helplessly at the screen, skimming dozens of texts between him and Sam. Your gaze snagged on one phrase, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

I love her. It was right there in front of you, a message from the boy you loved to his best friend. I love her. I don’t know if I should tell her.

You looked up at him, afraid to ask if it was real. “What is this?”

He gave you an incredulous look. “What do you mean, ‘what is this’?” he said. “What does it look like, sunny?”

You looked back down at the texts.

Tell her!!! Sam had replied. Birdies says you should too.

It’s not crazy?? Danny had sent back. We haven’t even kissed! No way. It’s insane. I can’t tell her.

Come on man, Sam said. When you know you know. Tell her tonight. Don’t wait.

Danny hadn’t sent anything back after that. You guessed that had been when you’d walked in, and the messages you’d been so bothered by had been Sam pestering Danny for an update.

Suddenly the messages blurred in a wash of tears, and you pushed his phone back into his hands and covered your face.

He sighed. “Sunny...” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Look, this doesn’t have to be a whole thing. I’m sorry I lost my temper and made you read those texts. I’ll drive you home, and then you never have to see me again.”

You looked up, awash with tears. “You don’t want to see me again?”

He looked stricken at your voice. “No! I mean, yes! I mean...” He held his hands out to you, helpless, pleading. “Of course I want to see you again. I want to see you every single day for the rest of my life because I love you, sunny. But now you’re crying again, and I have no idea how you feel about me saying that, and — oof!”

He grunted a little as you all but threw yourself into his arms, surprised but still steady as he caught you against him.

“What is this?” he asked, repeating your question from earlier.

You pulled back just enough to look at his face. His expression caught between fear and hope, and you loved him more than you could ever say.

“What do you mean, ‘what is this’?” you said. You touched your hands to his cheeks and gave a watery laugh. “I love you too, Danny.”

No sooner had the words left your mouth than he’d taken you in a tight hug and stood to spin you around.

“Yes!” he yelled, exultant, boyish and sincere. “Yes! Oh, thank god!”

You giggled as he spun you one more time, dizzy and happy and so in love with him you could barely stand it. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined you would get such an enthusiastic response to a love confession, and you adored him for it.

He set you gently on your own two feet but still held you close.

“I love you,” he said. “Is that crazy?”

You laughed. “No. I don’t think it’s crazy at all. I love you too.”

He took your face in his hands and kissed you, warm and passionate and sweet. When he finally let you come up for air, you looked up at his beloved face.

“I love you, Danny,” you said softly.

He smiled. “I love you too, sunshine.”

He kissed you again, and you could have stayed like that forever if Danny’s phone hadn’t gone off over and over again.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Danny muttered between kisses.

You smiled, affectionate towards Danny’s friends who just wanted to make sure he was happy.

“Tell him,” you said. “He’s not going to stop until you do.”

Danny gave you a few more kisses, attempting to leave you after each one, drawn back to you irresistibly and met with your laughter and sweet kisses in return.

“Go,” you laughed, giving him a light push towards the bed where his phone lay with several texts on the screen.

He did, reluctantly, but he was pleased that you came to sit next to him at the end of the bed as he scanned through Sam’s texts.

“Look at this,” Danny said with a fond, mildly exasperated laugh. He showed you the text thread and scrolled through a number of texts all bearing virtually the same messages: did you tell her? how did it go?

“What are you gonna say?” you asked.

He showed you the text he sent. I told her. Is it possible to die of happiness?

“Aw, Danny,” you said softly. You gave him a gentle kiss, and he melted against you.

Sam texted back, and both of you laughed when you read it.

HOLY SHIT??? to answer your question I don’t think so otherwise birdie would have killed me by now but CONGRATS BROTHER!!!!

A few seconds later, he texted again. Birdie says she wants to have lunch tomorrow and hear everything from both of you but for now we’ll shut up and leave you to it!!!! Go get ‘em tiger!!!

“Oh, god,” Danny said with an embarrassed laugh. He locked his phone and tossed it on the bed. “Well, there you have it. The thrilling saga of texting my friends who apparently made it their personal mission to see that I told you all my dirty secrets.”

He laid back on the bed, and you remembered there were still secrets you hadn’t gotten the answer to. You were content to forget it, though, not wanting to bring up anything that might ruin the perfect balance of happiness and excitement between you.

“What is it?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

He gave you a knowing smile. “You’re thinking real hard about something, sunny. Tell me. Do you want to ask me something?”

You didn’t know whether to like that he could read you so easily or to blush at the thought that every emotion played across your face as you felt it.

“Kind of,” you admitted, “but it doesn’t matter. It’s not a big deal.”

“Should be an easy thing to answer, then.” He tugged very gently on the necklace he’d given you. “You should know right from the beginning that you can talk to me about anything, sunshine. I promise.”

Your heart wobbled a little. “Thank you,” you said, and you meant it.

“You don’t have to thank me, but you’re welcome.” He tenderly brushed his knuckles against your jaw. “What do you want to ask me, sunny?”

You took a deep breath.

“Who’s Emma?” you finally asked. “The... the girl who can’t wait to see you tomorrow?”

He gave you a kind smile.

“She does my hair,” he said.

You felt a searing flash of embarrassment. “No she doesn’t.”

He laughed. “Yes, she does. I’m getting highlights tomorrow.”

You winced, mortified at yourself and your overreaction. You covered your face with your hands.

“Oh, Danny. I’m really sorry.”

“Why? You don’t think I’d look good with highlights?”

You couldn’t answer, and he chuckled as he propped himself up on his arm, pulling your hands away from your face with his free hand.

“It’s okay, sunny,” he said consolingly. “I get it.”

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” you said. “I’m sorry, Danny. It wasn’t any of my business who you were texting or who was texting you anyway.”

“But she sent me a kissy face,” he said sympathetically. “I understand why you were upset, sweetheart.”

Your heart jumped at the pet name, and you couldn’t stifle the nervous, giddy laugh that bubbled out of you.

He grinned. “What was that cute little laugh for?” he asked. “Did you like it when I called you sweetheart?”

You covered your face with your hands again, blushing hot. “No.”

He chuckled. “Come here, sunshine. If you hide behind your hands every time you blush, we’re gonna be in trouble.”

He tugged gently on your wrist, and you followed until you leaned your head against his shoulder with a soft thump.

“You are my sweetheart,” he said tenderly, amused and affectionate. He kissed your cheek. “My baby love, my dearest, my pretty girl. My honey bunch.”

You smiled. “Your honey bunch?”

“Yeah, you like that one?” he said with a soft laugh. He peppered gentle kisses over your cheeks. “Let me take you on a date tonight, honey bunch. A real one, not a wedding.”

“But we like going to weddings.”

“We do,” he agreed. “But I think we need something a little more low-key, like some late-night Thai food.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder. “I actually know a good Thai place around here.”

“Sweet. Let’s go.” He gave you a quick kiss as he stood, and you were a little stunned with how easy it was, how casual and wonderful it was to be kissed like that.

He looked mildly worried when you didn’t stand with him. “You okay? You want to go somewhere else?”

You shook your head. “No.” You took the hand he offered you. “Can you kiss me again?”

He smiled and pulled you close. “Sunshine, I’ll kiss you until you’re sick of me.”

“Not possible.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned close to kiss you again. “Well, I guess it can’t hurt to find out.”

danny taglist: @tearsofbri @busybeingtrash @myway-late @gotavansleep @gretavanbri @stardustchxrds @pxppylove @mariegvf

fic taglist: @streamsofstardust

gvf taglist: @malany-gvf @spark-my-nature @eearevee @madneedshelp @demonrat444 @josh-iamyour-mama @honeyandsweettae @mydarlingdanny @gretavandann @sacredjake @myleftsock @joshskittytickler21 @hellowgoodbye @watchingovergvf2 @fearfulspirit @mywaysoon @carbondancingthroughtime @caprisunsister @eraofstardustchords @sacredthefran @shesawomaninadream @serendipiti @demonrat444 @wildflowerxx-x

@gvfrry @ohhey1293 @the-chaotic-cow @mountain-in-springtime @xserenax-13 @stardustjtk @brooke-gvf @weightofdreams-gvf @jakeydoesit @gretasmokerising @hayley1623 @doodle417 @finestoflines @brokenbellz @bowievanfleet @s0livagant @strugglingtodoshit @s-u-t @kay-jordan @gretavanfleas @jakeyboiiiiiii @gretavansteph @gretavanbitches @myownparadise96 @luverleaver @weightofdreamz @greatervanfleet @maedesculpaeusoubi @jakekiszkasbestie @pineapple-photographer @baguettejuliette @alexxavicry @levi-wants-ur-bones @carlybubs @cowboysamkiszka @dannyandthekiszkas @jordierama @slutforsteve @starshine-wagner

sorry if tumblr didn’t tag you — it’s stupid sometimes. but i’m real thankful for you, sweet peaches! and if you’re a new bestie and would like to be added to my taglist, check out the form right here!

#oh man i was so happy to be writing danny and sunny again #let me know what you think of this chapter!! there's still one more to go after this <3 #danny wagner x reader #danny wagner fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #gvf #danny wagner #maddie writes stuff!#four weddings and a funeral fic

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

Text

Moody and Gray - William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 9

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content

Also available on AO3

William Afton is standing by your front door.

It’s an hour past when he’d originally been planning on leaving. Dressing slowly. Moving reluctantly to the exit of your apartment.

“Please get home safe.” Your fingers touch his cheeks, his hair, slip inside his coat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“On time.”

“No excuses.” A soft smile. “Goodnight, Moody.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

He kisses you and reaches for the handle of the door. You kiss him back until the door opens and he steps through it. Begin to shut it before you meet resistance. He’s pushing his way back inside towards you. Gathers you in his arms. Lips pressing into your hair.

Then he’s gone and you’re in bed and his scent is in the pillow your cheek presses against waiting for sleep that doesn’t come.

***

Monday morning. Back to the grind. You’re dehydrated and you have a headache and your eyes are bloodshot. You stand in the shower until the hot water runs out and step out to see the toothbrush you’ve lent your employer still tucked there in the cup beside yours. Purple, of course, his favorite color. Walk to the washing machine and remember you’ve got the dress shirt you’d cleaned of your lipstick from the other night folded and waiting. Open the refrigerator and see the containers of leftovers from dinner the night before. His last bottle of beer still sitting on the coffee table. So many reminders, everywhere you turn.

You not only make it to work on time, you actually arrive early. The food preppers’ tasks are well underway in the kitchen, the sounds filtering in through the dining room. Afton’s office is dark. You walk into the employee area and poke your head into the service room. No one there. You push the handle of the rear exit door to see if he’s outside smoking. No William.

Walking back through the hall now and you finally see him coming towards you. Wearing his customary purple suit vest and matching tie and black slacks. Undereyes smudged from lack of sleep. He pulls you into the nearest room—the employee bathroom you’d encountered him in that day you’d slipped out of the training exercise—locking the door behind you and crowding you against the sink.

“Good morning, Moody.” He plants a kiss on your lips.

“Good morning, Gray. I have your shirt in my car, remind me to give it to you later.” You smooth your fingers over his tie.

“Thank you, I’d completely spaced it. You got here early today. What was that like for you?”

You smirk. “Too soon to say yet.”

“Need some incentivizing do you?” he murmurs, his lips moving to your throat.

You shiver. “Maybe…”

“I couldn’t sleep last night. You know why?”

“Because you set your alarm for a ridiculous hour of the morning?” You quip. You can feel him smile against your throat.

“Because I missed you too much. Lying on that fucking pull out couch I’ve been relegated to, staring at the ceiling, wishing I was back in bed with you.”

“You’re sleeping on the couch?”

“Not sleeping much, but yes. That’s the location intended for it. At first it was because I was scolded for waking the missus up getting home late from work, and then, I mean, there hasn’t been intimacy in…and now. Well, now you know why.”

“You don’t have a spare bedroom in that mansion of yours?”

“It’s not a mansion.”

“I bet it’s pretty fancy. And expensive.”

“Having three children is expensive.”

“Can’t have always been on that pull out couch, huh?” You try to keep your tone light.

“Moody.” He sighs.

“It’s okay, I’m not upset or jealous. I mean, maybe a little, but…”

“There is no one else for me. I’m happy to say you’ve completely ruined me in that regard.” Another kiss, lingering this time. You hold him tightly. Capturing this moment to savor later.

It’s over too soon for your liking. He ducks his head out to make sure the coast is clear. Holds the door open for you. Fingers clinging to yours before you part ways.

You occupy yourself with filling the napkin dispensers and salt and pepper shakers. Make sure each table has a menu available. Tidy up a few things the cleaning staff has missed. Other employees start to file in. The pizzeria will open soon.

Another day at Freddy’s.

***

There’s always a bit of a slump in business after winter holidays and school vacations are over, but of course, the company isn’t going to stand for that.

So flyers get mailed out, announcing weekday specials, incentivizing more frequent visits. Rewards cards where eight stamps earn a free pizza. Discounted game tokens. Half off Tuesdays.

And it’s one of those Tuesdays now and you swear it’s a conspiracy because nearly all of the kitchen staff is out today. William immediately steps in to help. Sleeves rolled up. Those deft fingers working through flour dusted dough. Spreading toppings. Moving around the kitchen efficiently. You pick up an order that’s ready and you exchange a smile with him. He looks good slinging pizzas. He looks good doing just about anything, if you’re being honest.

The lunch rush passes and the afternoon is quieter. Someone’s come in to help out in the kitchen, relieving your boss of his pizza making duties. “Come outside with me,” he whispers as he passes you in the dining room.

He doesn’t even bother with the coat today. His hair is damp from perspiration, warm from working near the ovens. You unfold his sleeves and refasten his cuffs. His hand touches your cheek and you’re pressed against the wall. His mouth touches yours. “I wish…” he begins but doesn’t get to finish, the sound of the door nearby alerting you in time to move apart.

The hostess again. Surprisingly still employed there. Another beautiful outfit. You refuse to give her more than a passing glance. Afton’s cigarette is unlit. He announces he’s going back inside and you follow. Back into the custodial closet because it’s the nearest place you can be alone. You ignore the chemical smells and focus on your employer. He’s at your neck now.

“You don’t think that was kind of obvious?”

“I don’t care.” His hands cup your buttocks. “I know this isn’t the ideal location for this. Meet me in Parts and Service? There’s something there I want to show you anyway.”

“Okay, Will.”

You’re not sure what you’d been expecting. Certainly not a seven foot tall yellow rabbit with a giant purple bow around its neck. You might have changed your opinions on some aspects about working at Freddy’s, but you still aren’t a fan of the animatronics.

“New character?”

His arms wrap around you from behind. “Old one, actually. May I present Spring Bonnie. Remodeled. I’m hearing sales numbers still aren’t great even with all the extra discounts. The novelty of seeing the mascots onstage is wearing off. So…I’ve come up with an idea. What if the characters didn’t have to be stuck in position all the time? What if they could move around freely?”

“Okay, so how does that work?” Now you’re sort of curious.

“Springlocks. Something inside the suit that allows a performer to be inside controlling the animatronic directly, while keeping them safe from all of the…technology, let’s call it, inside. Now the kids won’t be stuck staring and waiting by the stage for something to happen. We bring the magic right to them.”

You frown. “And who’s going to be the one to venture into this ‘safe’ environment?” It sounded a bit like a lawsuit waiting to happen. You can’t share William’s obvious enthusiasm for his design and you feel a little guilty about that.

“Well myself, of course.”

“Will, no.” You turn in his arms. “That sounds like a really risky idea. Maybe you should wait a bit. Really make sure it’s safe before you put yourself or someone else in harm’s way.”

“I’ve already tested it, though. That’s why I’ve been so busy as of late. Which means I’ll be having more free time for us…” He kisses you. “And I have the perfect event to debut it at. The birthday party Evan’s attending here is tomorrow.”

An uneasy feeling in your stomach. Tomorrow. You’ll have to talk him out of this now before it’s too late. You just can’t shake the feeling that this is a really, really bad idea. “I know you’re excited and I have no doubt you’re a genius. And it’s really sweet to do this for Evan,” you add. Start with the positives. “But Will, I want you to think carefully about this. If the animatronics are as dangerous as you’re hinting at inside, you could get hurt badly. Worse, even. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’ll be fine. You need to have a little more faith in me, Moody.” He tightens his arms around you. “I promise you nothing bad will happen. It’s amazing, really. I think it’s exactly what this restaurant needs to revitalize it.”

“I think the restaurant is fine the way it is,” you mumble.

“You hate this place, remember?” He reminds you gently.

“Not as much anymore. It’s yours. How can I hate something that’s yours?” It’s true, you’ve come to realize. The place you’ve despised for so long isn’t quite as loathsome as it once was. You can look past the unpleasant aspects now. For Will’s sake. Because of him. He is the best part of everything. What should have been a crisis earlier when you’d been so short staffed had actually been kind of great. It had felt like it was just the two of you working together in perfect harmony.

“I can do anything with you by my side, my love.” The last of your misgivings dissipate. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it will be a rousing success. You shouldn’t worry. You’re hardly the expert on the matter. He clearly is. You sigh and relax in his arms. He feels you surrendering. “You know we never did get that break and we’ve certainly earned it…”

“You’re right. But not here, okay?” You nod towards the mascot.

“I assure you he’s a perfect gentleman.”

“You assured me you were too before you copped a feel that day in your office when you made me get changed in front of you.”

“That was rather forward of me, I’ll admit.”

“Forward is putting it mildly,” you mutter wryly.

“Should I be punished for that, do you think? Get on my knees for you? Be your obedient willing slave?”

Instantly turned on. You like it when he takes charge, but you have to admit sometimes it’s nice to exert your natural dominance and let him be submissive to you. “Fuck, Will.” Your eyes flick to the concrete floor. “You are going to feel that. Bruises marking you up for sure.”

“I’m not that vain about my appearance. Consider it part of my contrition. I’ll wear them like a badge of honor. Pick a workbench.”

You’re still not going to fool around in front of the rabbit, you don’t care how Afton feels about it. You walk towards one of the tables at the rear of the room. At least you don’t have those awkward eyes staring you down now. You couldn’t care less about its backside.

A wheeled chair at this desk. You decide to save some time and divest yourself of your panties and pants. The door’s locked. You offer your jacket as a cushion but he declines. He doesn’t want to damage or dirty it.

William kneels before you. A pleasant lurch in your core. You’re slouched in the chair, hips barely on the edge of the seat. Your fingers seed his hair. “My beautiful man.”

“I am yours. Moody, fuck, I want you.” His pupils are blown. Your legs part for him. The owner’s face dives between your legs. Because you’re on a time crunch. Because he just can’t wait any longer to have you in his mouth. Sharp nose digging into your mound, tongue slathering your lips. Oh, he’s starving. Ravenous. Your keep your fingers knotted in his hair, clutching the armrest with the other, your nails digging into vinyl. Laving you clit. Collecting the fluids pooling at your entrance. Swiping back to the top, concentrating on that sensitive, swollen button. Speeding you right along towards orgasm. How long before you’re both missed, needed for something? You hate having to rush. But it’s all you can do for now. You concentrate on the feeling. The relentless suction and sharp flicks of tongue. Both hands in his hair now, your pelvis shoving towards him, dangerously close to the edge of the swivel chair but your lover braces your body, supporting you through your release.

You whimper, panting. Not nearly as loud as you want to be. Still erring on the side of caution. Christ, Afton looks wrecked. His hair is just about as wild as you’ve ever seen it. Eyes midnight dark. Face soaked. “Fuck me.” You want him inside of you. You need it. He doesn’t hesitate. Rises, opens his fly while you move to sit on the desk. Cursing when he first enters you.

“Fuck, Moody. I love that pussy so much. You’ve no idea…”

You’ve got his tie—purple, of course—wound around one hand. Your knees dig into his ribs. That pretty mouth with sharp teeth frantic on yours.

“You said earlier…outside…before the bitch interrupted us…you wish…” you gasp between thrusts.

“I wish it could always just be the two of us. I wish you knew how much you mean to me. I was intoxicated that night, but my mind was clear. You are my love, Moody.” Your head is jerked back so he can see your features. You’d both been a little shy around using certain vocabulary over the last couple of weeks. Ever since that night at your place. Never quite reaching that same level of intensity and passion. You think you’re both still holding back. Still dancing around the obvious. Afraid. Not wanting to harm or get hurt. Maybe you won’t mind the hurt so much.

William’s breath saws roughly by your cheek. He’s got you pulled tightly against him. Driving into you, stretching you, filling the hollow inside of you with his body.

“It’s okay to say it, Will. I feel the same way.” One hand seated on the nape of his neck. You release his tie, rest your hand on his chest. Think you can feel the rapid pulse buried there.

A shuddering breath. His pace increases. “I do, Moody. I…” The words becoming unintelligible, lost in the haze of ultimate pleasure.

***

You know as soon as you see the adolescent that it’s William’s eldest son.

He’s an absolute carbon copy, the spitting image, lacking some of the height, but the features the same. Aquiline nose, high cheekbones, pale skin, untidy thatch of dark truffle hair. Even his mannerisms. The haughty stare. The prideful stretch of broad shoulders. The constant gesticulating, the way he folds his arms across his chest.

You freeze, realizing he’s noticed you staring. “You must be William’s son Michael. Mr. Afton’s,” you correct. If he suspects anything is amiss with the informality he doesn’t let on.

“Yes.” Still a British accent, perhaps a little milder than his father’s.

“Your dad’s out back getting a surprise ready for the party. Evan must be here, right?”

He nods, looking very bored. He’s rapidly losing interest in your attempt at conversation. “And Lizzie.”

“What about…what about Mrs. Afton?” You almost hold your breath waiting for the answer. It was becoming increasingly nerve wracking wondering what your…well you suppose she is a rival of sorts, isn’t she?…looked like. What you had to compete with. Curious about who William had chosen before you. For some reason you can’t shake the image of an older version of the hostess. Fair and elegant and attractive like that. The complete opposite of yourself.

“No, Mum just dropped us off. Later.” He unfolds his arms and wanders towards the arcade. You heave a sigh of relief. No confrontation today, then. Execution stayed a little longer.

You ask a passing waiter what time it is. William’s debut is actually late. Maybe it takes longer than he’d initially realized to don the costume. Maybe he was just being extra careful. Probably wants to make a dramatic entrance, you think. That’s all. He’s fine. Nothing’s wrong.

You see Michael again. This time a little boy in tow. Evan, maybe. He doesn’t share the overwhelming resemblance. Muddy chestnut hair that’s much tidier. Blue eyes that look a little teary. You’ve never been overly fond of kids, but they’re William’s offspring after all, and yeah. You feel at least a little obligated to try to be nice to them. The eldest Afton boy disappears again and you make your way to the youngest who definitely is in full blown tears now. Why weren’t there any adults watching them? Parents. Somebody.

You squat down beside the boy. “Evan?”

He drags a small fist across his damp eyes. His lashes cluster together into points. “Yeah?”

“I’m friends with your father. He’s getting a surprise ready just for you.”

“It’s not my birthday,” the boy says, sniffling.

“No, but he still wanted to make it a special day for you.”

“He’s always at work. He doesn’t care about me.”

“That’s not true, sweetheart. He does care. He just has to work extra hard to support you and your siblings and your mom. I know it must be difficult, but trust me, he’s told me many times he does it for you.”

You realize he’s about to wipe his runny nose and you hastily grab a napkin from the dispenser on a nearby table, handing it to him. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Just a friend.” You look around at the crowded room, trying to find what group the child belongs to. There, at the center table. It must be. The most popular reservation that’s always booked well in advance. You guide him there, tapping the sleeve of one of the adults. An older woman, maybe the grandmother of the birthday boy. You ask her to keep a watch over him, promising Evan you’re going to go help his father get the surprise ready.

You tell yourself to be calm, but the gnawing anxiety has gotten worse by the time you push through the Employees Only doors. Moving a little faster. Running towards Parts and Service. The door is unlocked. You hurry inside.

You don’t have to go very far to find Afton. He’s partially inside the suit, the headpiece still seated on the workbench. His long frame crumpled on the floor. Some red stains in the yellow fur. Ragged breathing. Alive, thank God. But hurt badly.

“Will!” You grab the phone off the table and dial 911. The spiraled cord stretches taut as you sink down beside him, trying to assess the damage. He is as white as a ghost. His hair clings to his face in wet strands. His eyes are closed, teeth clenched.

A barrage of questions on the other end of the line. You realize you have no idea what the actual address of the restaurant is. “The fucking place with the giant bear on the sign, you can’t fucking miss it.” You hear William trying to murmur something. A number. “No, Will, don’t try to talk. They’ll fucking figure it out. Christ, maybe I should just drive you to the hospital myself.” You drag a hand through your hair in frustration and helplessness. How would you move him safely? Would he even fit in a car? “No, I don’t know exactly what the issue is. Label it as an industrial accident. Whatever the fuck gets you here faster. He’s bleeding. He looks like shit. Sweaty. Having a hard time breathing. He’s trapped in an animatronic suit. Yes, like Chuck E. Cheese,” you snap. You don’t feel the least bit bad about being so short with the operator. They’re used to dealing with people a lot less coherent than you currently are, you’re certain. “We’re in the back of the building. You’ll see garage doors, just come straight there.” You don’t dare leave the fallen man’s side to inform anyone else of what’s going on. You can’t picture EMTs and a stretcher trying to thread through the crowd. It would waste too much time.

“Fuck. Okay. They’re on their way. Stay with me, okay?” You’re trying to smooth his hair back into place. You don’t dare move him for fear of doing more damage.

His eyes suddenly open, finding yours. “Guess…a told you so…is in…order.”

“Will. Don’t speak. Don’t you dare waste breath on making a stupid joke right now.” The tears are spilling rapidly down your cheeks, giving Afton’s youngest a run for his money. “I met your boys. Michael looks just like you…”

“Moody…I should have…told you…earlier…what I…wanted to say…”

“No. Don’t do that. You’re not saying goodbye or any of that bullshit. You can tell me later. Fuck, where is that ambulance? God, I don’t even know if I know how to get the garage door open.”

“The switch…is next to it…on the wall.”

“Got it. I’ll be right back.” You palm slaps on the button and the door retracts up into the recess in the ceiling with a loud rattling sound. You’re back by his side before it even finishes opening.

“Moody…”

“Shh, Will, please. Now is not the time to be stubborn. Save your strength.”

“I…love…” His eyes roll back.

“Will? No, no, no. Come on, stay with me. You’d better not…I’ll fucking quit, I swear to God. There is no reason to be here without you. There is none…” You bend your face close to his. “I love you, too.”

The wail of a siren disturbs the sudden silence.

#william afton x you #william afton x reader

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pomegranateshrimp · 8 months

Text

⚕️Always (James Wilson x Reader)

Fluff Oneshot

No NSFW

Decently short read

—————————————————

You had a rough day yesterday. You work as a psychologist at the Princeton–Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, and no matter how much you tried it seemed like everything was going wrong with your work, and you had developed a sore throat of your own. When you finally came home you took a melatonin. You usually don’t take any because it messes with your sleep schedule, but tonight was going to be one of those sleepless nights; you could feel it. You finally went to bed at around 9 or 10pm. Somehow you knew it wouldn’t help.

You had just woken up from a nightmare, one where you lost James. It was terrible. You looked around to see he had his arms wrapped around you. It was still nighttime it seemed. You felt terrible. You had a headache and a sore throat, you were congested and nauseous as well. You went out into the kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge to somewhat soothe your throat and you noticed the time on the microwave. “2:18am?!?” You think to yourself. It was obviously early but you didn’t think it’d be that early. You thought about going to bed but quickly realized you wouldn’t be able to, you had already woken up, and if you took a melatonin you were worried you would be asleep for the next 8 hours, and you had to be in at work by seven. But at this point you weren’t sure if you were even gonna go. You groan and stumble across the kitchen to grab tissues, having ran out of the ones in the bedroom and needing to unclog your nose. You stand there staring at nothing in particular, in a sort of sick half awake haze. Suddenly you feel a familiar hand wrapping around your waist from behind you, with his head resting on your shoulders.

“Mm.. What are you doing up?” He mumbled with his face still leaning on your body, he was obviously much more tired than you. It was no surprise you woke him up though, he holds on to you almost for dear life when you guys are in bed

“I’m sorry did I wake you?”

“That doesn’t matter, what’s wrong?” He turns you around to look at him despite the dark atmosphere

“Nothing I just don’t feel the best… my throat is sore and I didn’t have the greatest day at work yesterday I guess”

“Are you sure that’s it? I may be half asleep but something doesn’t feel right”

“I… I don’t know, it’s really childish and.. weird” You struggled to get the words out. Although it was just a dream, it was bothering you a lot, but you weren’t sure whether to tell him. Tears pricked your eyes.

“You can tell me anything, I won’t think it’s ‘weird’, trust me”

Tears start threatening to roll down your cheeks, and you let some of them go.

“I- I had a dream where.. where I lost you”

He pulls you into a tight embrace.

“It’s not childish, or weird. I’m scared of losing you too. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me”

You both stay there like that for some time, just holding each other and crying on the other persons shoulders as James draws circles on your back with his fingers.

After a bit James pulls away and plants a kiss on your forehead.

“As much as I would love to continue doing this, we should probably go check your temperature.” He says with a soft giggle and wipes away the tears from your cheeks with his thumb “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” He pulls you into the bathroom and sits you up on the sink counter and takes your temperature.

“No fever.” A slight beep comes from the machine. “But you’re still hot to me.” He smirks and leans in closer to you

“Oh shut up!” You blush and lean in a bit closer as well. He closes the gap of space between you two and kisses you. You pull away after a few long seconds.

“I don’t want you getting sick..”

“I’d be honored to get sick by you but.. you’re probably right especially with work tomorrow.”

“Yea”

“Hey uhm, speaking of work tomorrow, what did you wanna do? Because it’s really early and I know you can’t go back to sleep because you’re ‘already up’. I mean if you’re going to stay home I’d be willing to cancel tomorrow to take care of you if you’d like.”

“That actually sounds really nice, especially with some of the cases I’m working on at work right now.” You smile at him. “Thank you, for everything this morning.”

“I’ll choose you always.”

He picks you up from the counter and takes you to the bedroom where he cuddled and took care of you as you rambled on about your work troubles, giving you water, tissues, a hot towel for your headache, and even a lot of kisses despite your protesting and concern for his well-being.

-Blooper thingy!!!

Cuddy: *Enters Houses office* “Hey have you seen Wilson or L/n?”

House: “Oh please they’re probably staying home cause Wilson fucked them too hard or something.”

Cuddy: *Rolls eyes at him* “Thanks for the helpful very needed input.”

House: “Anytime!” *The door slams*

#I’m so proud of this #is his personality even canon in this #i’m only on season one #oneshot #fluff #james wilson #house md #gregory house #dr wilson #x reader #fanfic #lisa cuddy #dr cuddy #housemd

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changingplumbob · 2 months

Text

York Household: Chapter 9, Part 10

In this part Kelly may be stood down from school for the day but that doesn't mean Aaron won't find them something to do.

CW: Mentions of body dysmorphic disorder and dysphoria

The Yorks are Italian so if you see them using words that don't look like English it's Italian, or what google assures me is Italian. Caro/Cara: Dear Buongiorno: Good morning Piccolo: Little one Tesoro: Treasure Nonno: Grandfather Nonna: Grandmother Si: Yes Grazie: Thank you Per Favore: Please Buon Compleanno: Happy Birthday

Kelly had asked Joey to speak to their family about her identity and, once Joey assured her it was fine, she joined the family for dinner.

Calista: Cara, I heard you got in a few fights today

Kelly was so used to being called caro, while cara was used for her sisters, that it took her a moment to realise her ma was addressing her.

Kelly: Si ma

Calista: Can we say the second fight may have had something to do with you being a girl?

Kelly: *sighs* Si ma. The dung brain said only girls needed to know about periods and stuff so I got mad and stomped on her foot

Deanna: I think that’s a sensible response even if you were a boy

Aaron: Deanna! Violence is never the answer

Joey: You say that like you don’t want us to get arrested

Aaron gave Joey a look that could melt steel.

Joey: Sorry pa, bad joke

Calista: I'll call your school and talk to them about separating kids by gender, in this day and age it's stupid. How about the first fight cara

Kelly: What do you mean

Calista: You were having trouble in English. Do you want us to get some help

Kelly: *sighs* That jerk was saying I had dyslexia but he doesn’t know what goes on in my head

Aaron: Still, it’s better to look into help now so you won’t be hindered at university

Deanna: Pa, she’s only just started high school

Aaron: Never too early to start thinking of the future

Aaron: But if you don’t want to talk about it tonight we can fit it in tomorrow

Kelly: What do you mean fit it in

Aaron: You don’t think I’m going to waste a day you’re not in school do you?

Kelly: I was kind of hoping to crash on the couch and play some games

Aaron steps up and pulls Kelly into a hug despite her protests.

Aaron: Cara, your ma and I love you. Very much. But a shift like the one you’ve started won’t be a simple one. We want you to get all the help available. I'm taking a vacation day and first stop tomorrow is a doctor who specialises in adolescents

Kelly smiles and tries her best not to tear up in front of her siblings, she has a reputation as an evil sim to maintain.

Calista: Are you okay Kelly

Kelly: Si ma. I just… wasn’t sure how you’d all take… me

Calista: Oh cara, like your pa said, we love you. We’re your family. We’re always going to be on your side

Kelly: Even if I kill someone

Calista: *laughs* Please try not to kill anyone *whispers* although I have a feeling that your pa would absolutely be your lawyer

Aaron: *laughs* Well don’t just go encouraging her to be a killer

After a hug with Calista Kelly lets out a celebratory cheer.

Deanna does not wake up feeling well. She gets dressed but can’t be bothered putting her contacts in today, glasses it is. She grabs some leftover cake and goes past Kelly and Aaron, barely taking them in.

Aaron: What’s wrong cara

Deanna: I have a horrible headache and feel like poop

Kelly: You mean you feel as bad on the inside as you look on the outside

Deanna: Probably

Kelly: No retaliation? *sighs* Just admit you don’t want me to have fun today

Deanna: You should be at school gremlin but you got in fights. Excuse me if I’m unimpressed

Kelly and Aaron head off while Deanna contemplates a nap rather than homework. What use are good grades if you’re dead?

Kelly: Why am I seeing him

Aaron: Harvey said his son had a good time

Kelly: Pa no one has a good time at medical appointments

Aaron: *sighs* maybe not but he said it helped him, how’s that?

Kelly: Guess it’ll do. So long as he doesn’t try to un evil me

Aaron: Tell him about the trouble you’ve had in class

Kelly: Si pa

Aaron: And tell him your family support you being trans because he’ll want to know

Kelly: Si pa. Think you can stop telling me what to do now?

Dr H: Kelly York?

Kelly: Yeah that’s me, this is my pa Aaron

Dr H: Nice to meet you. I’m Doctor Xander Hanks, the psychiatrist here. Will you be joining us Aaron?

Aaron: Kelly wanted to do this by herself if that’s okay

Dr H: Perfectly fine but I’d like to bring you in at the end to discuss next steps if that’s okay with Kelly

Kelly shrugs and walks herself into the office, choosing the couch that most faces the door. Dr Hanks sits down opposite her.

Dr H: Let me tell you a bit about myself. Following medical school I-

Kelly: Don’t care about you

Dr H: We can skip the pleasantries if you prefer

Kelly: You talk weird

Dr H: Why don’t you tell me why you’re here today

Kelly: *shrugs and kicks foot* They kicked me out of school for a day

Dr H: They? Why did “they” do that?

Kelly: The principal got batpoop mad because I punched one kid and stomped on the foot of another, but they had it coming

Dr H: Do you often have trouble with your temper Kelly

Kelly: I’m a teen. You're a professional, don't you know we have trouble with everything

Dr H: Anything you’d care to share

Kelly: Well ma and pa wanted me to come because…

Here she pauses. As hard as it was to tell Joey who loves her, telling a stranger is a harder task.

Dr H: Why don’t you tell me about why you got in the fights

Kelly sighs and tells him about Roger, the kid who teased her about her struggles in English class.

Dr H: Why did that upset you so much

Kelly: I don’t know. I can usually take a joke, I’m the first to make a joke after my friend Fergus. I guess… I was a bit worried he might be right. I survived middle school but now the words are longer and smaller and they can jam together sometimes in my head. But I’m not crazy!

Dr H: I wouldn’t call someone crazy Kelly. It is possible you have an undiagnosed learning disorder. I can send you to my colleague after this visit for an assessment if you’d like

Kelly shrugs noncommittally and Dr Hanks continues.

Dr H: What about the stomped foot incident

Kelly: I was trying to talk to my best friend Anya about what she learned in health because they separate the class boy girl style. I was curious, I mean I’ve only heard a bit, and this other girl took offense at me learning because I was a boy so she complained loudly then I stomped on her foot. That just made her scream more

Dr H: Was she unaware you’re trans

Kelly: *defensively* How’d you know that

Dr H: Forgive me if I’ve overstepped. Your father used the pronoun her when he ushered you in-

Kelly: I know this outfit doesn’t exactly scream natural girl but…

Dr H: And you said you were a boy when the disagreement happened

Kelly: Oh…. Right, I did… Sorry. I’ve only just come out to my family it’s still... difficult

Dr H: You have nothing to apologise for. I find the term “natural girl” to be unhelpful when talking about gender. If someone is the gender they were assigned at birth, they are cisgender. If they are not the gender they were assigned at birth, they are transgender. Have you heard that language before

Kelly: Here and there. I mean my friend’s older sibling is… oh shoot he did tell me the term…. Non something…

Dr H: Nonbinary?

Kelly: That’s it! So technically he, I mean they, are trans?

Dr H: *nods* You’ve got it. There are many ways to be female, just as there are many ways to be male, or both, or none. Was this why your parents wanted you to see me?

Kelly: Sort of. I mean I know I’m a girl but *sighs* I don’t know what to do about it. Transitioning just seems so big

Dr H: Maybe talking it out can make it a bit smaller huh

The two discuss the situation a bit more and when Kelly feels ready Dr Hanks retrieves Aaron from reception.

Dr H: Your daughter certainly knows her own mind. You must be proud

Aaron: I am. She can be a handful but I am

Kelly: Being stubborn has benefits okay pa

Aaron: I know

Dr H: After this I’m going to send you to my colleague who will do a learning assessment on Kelly. She may benefit from additional academic support. We have discussed possible next steps for her identity as well

Aaron: What are they

Kelly: Basically the government is stupid and science hates me

Aaron: I’m sure that’s not true

Dr H: There are scientific debates about at what age we can start on hormones and other physical interventions. At the moment the youngest age for medical transition is 16

Kelly: But he says I don’t have to do that if I don’t want to, any changes I make will be up to me. I say who I am, I'm in charge

Aaron is glad to see Kelly smile at this.

Dr H: There are many non-medical changes that can be made while she thinks about it. Kelly has already switched pronouns, she may want to change her name or her wardrobe. I’m going to refer her for therapy-

Kelly: He says I might get this thing called body dysmorphic disorder. Or anxiety, or depression or whatever

Dr H: Body dysmorphia can overlap with gender dysphoria so I like to make sure my trans patients have adequate support. I’ve prescribed some antidepressants which I think will be helpful as support during the transition period but I’d like to order some blood tests to make sure we don’t need to do any medical interventions yet

Aaron: What can me and her ma do

Dr H: Keep supporting her. She has expressed some anxiety about her personality traits. I would urge you and the rest of her family to remember her gender identity is not responsible for her personality or vice versa despite being a big part of who she is

Aaron: We can do that

The two get up to leave and Aaron is surprised when Kelly not only thanks the doctor but gives him a hug as well. Maybe her evil trait will be easier to balance with age.

Results of today’s medical appointments. Kelly has dyslexia and body dysmorphic disorder. Sorry it was a bit long, I didn't want to cut her off mid session.

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#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #simblr #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #R0901 #KellyYork #JoeyYork #DeannaYork #CalistaYork #AaronYork

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sluttyten · 2 years

Text

workplace (mis)conduct

Yesterday <- || -> Kinktober Masterlist

Day Seventeen: Sir Kink/Office Romance w/ Taeil

Word Count: 4,675

** contains semi-public sex/exhibitionism because this is office sex, blowjobs, some light face-slapping

You hated the cliche of a secretary sleeping with the boss. And yet. When your boss is Moon Taeil, you can finally understand the appeal of sleeping with your boss.

Your boss is smart and sexy. He’s funny and kind. Taeil always asks you how you’re doing each morning when he passes your desk. Some mornings he surprises you with a coffee or a smoothie or a pastry from the spot he stops by for breakfast on his way in. He makes it so easy to fall in love with him.

And as his secretary, you spend a lot of time with him. Long days, late hours, business trips.

You were sure everyone else at the company probably already thought that you were fucking Taeil, even long before it became a reality.

The company retreat took place at a campsite. One of those places that is designed for team-building exercises. It was a weekend-long event. Tents were set up, there was a big dinner planned for a Saturday night, a final extravagant lunch picnic on Sunday. Friday night, as everyone arrived, there were drinks.

There were a lot of drinks.

Taeil was your drinking buddy, and as it turned out, neither of you was too good at holding your liquor. It didn’t help that everyone wanted to toast the boss, drinking to each achievement of the company over the past year, and each time Taeil drank, he looked to you to take a shot too.

Before the night was half over, both of you were wasted.

“I think I’d better call it a night,” you force the words out after a few hours. You know you’ve had too much, it’s gonna catch up to you in the morning, and the day is packed with activities. “Drink some water, crawl in… well, not bed. My tent.”

Taeil giggles beside you.

“Boss, I think you need bed too,” laughs one of your associates. “Bed, water, some medicine. We have an early day tomorrow, right?”

You go your own way to your tent, down a half liter of water, pop something to help ease the headache you’ll wake to in the morning, and you snuggle down into your sleeping bag.

Hours later, you wake in the dark.

The campsite is quiet outside. Inside your tent, you can hear the other two women in here breathing (one of them snoring). Outside, the wind blows lightly, there’s the cast of the lights of the guest house (which contains the showers, toilets, and a kitchenette, as well as a wifi connection in case of emergencies) against the wall of the tent.

You’re thirsty. And you need to pee.

Wrapping your blanket around yourself, you leave the tent, walking quickly and quietly through the dark, passing the other tents filled with your sleeping coworkers.

You think you’re alone in your wakefulness until you step inside the guest house.

Taeil sits at the table, his phone to his ear, squinting against the bright light of his laptop’s screen. He looks up when you walk in, nodding at you in acknowledgement, and you head on to the restrooms.

When you return a few moments later, Taeil’s still sitting there, still squinting at the laptop, but his phone is facedown on the table now.

“I thought none of us were working this weekend,” you say as you move around the table to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “Not even supposed to bring our laptops, turn our phones off. Just really disconnect.”

Taeil does shut his laptop screen then. He turns to you, and says, “I’m the boss. I’m the exception.”

“Right.” You roll your eyes lightly. You pop the cap off your bottle and sit down beside Taeil at the table. “But what are you doing up? You didn’t have any calls scheduled for this weekend. And besides that, we both drank enough last night that I thought it was going to be a late start for everyone.”

Taeil taps his fingers against the back of his phone. “I just couldn’t sleep. I think I have a lot of pent up energy for this weekend. And I sober up pretty quickly, though it helped that Johnny and Haechan were almost water-boarding me before they let me fall asleep.”

You can feel pent up energy under your skin too, though yours is likely of a different sort.

For months now you’ve been crushing on your boss, falling for him a little harder each day. And seeing him like this right now—a little sleepy, with his hair ruffled up on one side, his hoodie and flannel pants and a pair of fluffy socks on with his crocs—you’re just very endeared by him. He looks hot when he’s in his suits and his hair styled properly during the workdays, but seeing him in a much more relaxed state is very attractive too.

“You’re not totally awake, are you?” Taeil laughs, waving his hand in front of your face. “You zoned out there for a minute.”

Yeah, staring right at him.

“Sorry,” you mumble, shaking your head to clear your mind of Taeil, rid yourself of the thoughts of reaching out to smooth down his hair or the wilder imaginings of hugging him from behind with your hands tucked inside his hoodie pocket and your cheek against his shoulder.

“It’s okay.” Taeil tilts his head slightly to the side, watching you. “I’m not half-bad to look at, right?”

“Right,” you agree before your brain can fully process. Your eyes go wide as you realize that you just told your boss you find him attractive. “Oh! I mean—“

Taeil laughs, and this time he slaps a hand down on your knee. “You’re really still not awake, are you?”

Either you’re not fully awake or you’re still a little drunk. Maybe both.

Probably both.

Especially when you allow yourself to reach out and lay your hand over his on your knee. Taeil’s gaze drops down to your hand on his, but he doesn’t pull his back, and neither do you.

Drunk, tired, or just bold, you blurt it out now. “I think you’re quite nice to look at, actually, sir.”

You watch as Taeil just blinks down at your hands. Maybe he’s wondering if he’s fully awake right now or if this is just a dream (a nightmare?) playing out.

“You know how Yuta and Ten like to gossip?” You say, the words just spilling out one after the other even though part of you is screaming for your mouth to just stop moving. “Well, there’s a rumor around the company that there’s something going on between you and I. Isn’t that funny?”

Taeil doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t pull away, he just seems to be thinking, until finally he lifts his head.

“I’m your boss,” he says slowly, as if weighing the words on his tongue. “A relationship like that would be inappropriate.”

There’s no condemnation behind his words, no disapproval or disgust. His hand is still under yours. You look into his eyes, warm and deep brown, and he looks right back.

“It’s only inappropriate if we get caught.” Your loose tongue is going to get you in trouble if it just keeps spilling the words that come to mind. But there it goes again with, “You said it yourself. You’ve got a lot of pent up energy. Neither of us can sleep. I doubt anyone will be up to use the showers for at least an hour or two. We could release a bit of energy. Sir.”

Taeil licks his bottom lip, his gaze dipping down to your mouth. “There are rules against this, you know,” he says quietly. You can feel him losing his resolve, slowly leaning closer.

“You’re the boss,” you remind him. “You’re the exception.”

He smiles, a grin that sets your heart alight.

Taeil kisses you right there at the small table in the guest house, within view of the windows. It’s something that could have been a mistake, could have had terrible results if someone else were to be awake to witness it as they emerged from their tent, but in the moment neither of you was thinking properly. Your only thoughts were for Taeil, his hands and his lips and getting him to the showers to release some of your pent up energy.

You run your fingers through his hair, making it even messier, and at some point you pull yourself over onto Taeil’s lap.

You make out with your boss for a good long while until you’re feeling all soft and warm and (for lack of a better word) gooey, like a piece of caramel in Taeil’s hands. His hands knead at your ass, and you maybe subtly grind against him right there at the table until he at last pushes his hand up inside your shirt, touching your tits as he sucks on your tongue.

“Fuck me, sir,” you beg, arching your back, rutting yourself right against his bulge.

The showers in the guest house aren’t the nicest. They need a really nice, thorough deep-clean, or better yet, a renovation. But once Taeil has you inside the men’s shower room, pressing you across the tile floor to one of the private shower stalls, you don’t give a fuck what the state of the room is.

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everything in a hideous yellow-green hue. But the water is warm when Taeil turns it on, and his body is comfortable against yours as you press yourself close beneath the spray. For a while, you just touch each other, learning each other’s body while the water washes over you, until Taeil’s cock is aching and he’s got your pussy ready for him.

Your moans echo around the room, the tile bouncing back the sound of Taeil’s skin clapping against your ass right back at you.

He pulls out to cum across your ass, and you cum by pushing back to grind against his thigh. It’s not as satisfying as it would’ve been had you had his cock inside you, but it’s still good.

Though, you do finally feel embarrassed afterwards, as you stand outside the shower to wring your hair out over one of the sinks. Taeil stands in the shower stall, the curtain drawn back as he pulls his hoodie back on.

He’s your boss. And you just fucked him, just like all the cliches.

“I’m going back to my tent. Get a little more sleep before the day starts,” you explain.

Taeil nods. “Yeah. That’s probably, uh, a good idea.”

It’s awkward. For what’s meant to be a relaxing, team building weekend, you feel tense and spend a good part of the day avoiding Taeil. You can’t believe that you had sex with him; you feel like a whore.

The awkwardness continues after the team building retreat. Monday morning, Taeil comes in later than usual. He greets you, but only cordially, not with the usual familiarity he treats you with. The tense avoidance stretches throughout the day up until it’s time for you to be leaving.

“Here,” Taeil slips you a note as he passes your desk.

You truly think nothing of it. As his secretary, he leaves you lots of notes, as you do to him as well. But after he disappears down the hallway, you glance at the note and see the invitation it presents.

“I’ve been thinking about Saturday morning,” the note reads, “If you have as well, be in my office when I return in 15. If not, burn this note, and we’ll forget any of this ever happened.”

Naturally, fifteen minutes later when Taeil passes by your desk, he finds it empty.

You’re sitting on his desk when he enters his office.

“Sir, are we repeating history?” You tease by uncrossing your legs, letting them spread apart to hint at a glimpse up your skirt.

Taeil locks the door behind him, closing the distance between the two of you quickly. “We are,” he says, “But this time, you have to be more quiet.”

He ends up fucking you bent over his desk, your panties stuffed in your mouth.

It’s easier after that. Less awkward now that you’ve both acknowledged that this is a mutual thing, this interest in each other. It helps that it begins to become more regular after that. Quickies in his office, secret kisses in the break room, and little gifts tucked inside your desk.

He once has you sit in his office while he’s on a call with some associated companies, and he plays with your pussy the entire call.

There’s a night a couple weeks into this when you’re both working a late night together at the office. Taeil follows you to the break room when you go to make shitty pick-me-up coffees, and you let him cage you in against the countertop, kissing at your neck with his hand down the front of your pants.

You call him sir because he likes it, that reminder of the inappropriate nature of this relationship, that power imbalance. He likes it too because it just sounds nice coming from your lips, the way you say it without total sincerity.

It’s probably quite obvious, you think, that you and Taeil are now finally participating in the activities you were rumored to be doing for so long. You hardly care, only when a coworker nearly walked in on Taeil and you once in the break room. You don’t care if they all suspect, but you don’t want them to see it, and if your coworker had walked into the room even a minute earlier, he’d have seen Taeil casually rubbing your ass while you leaned against his chest, both of you waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

Now, there comes a day several weeks after this whole thing began, when you’re just feeling needy and careless—a dangerous combination.

You don’t care what Taeil’s plans are for the day, all you know is that right now you’re horny, and right now he’s alone in his office. You’ve been sitting quietly behind your desk outside his door, but the longer you sat as he was on calls all morning, the hornier you got. Your thighs were rubbing together, your fingers resisting temptation to just slip down and sneak in a few touches under your skirt.

So now that you know his last call just ended, you knock on the office door and enter the room.

Taeil is sitting behind his desk, elbows resting on the surface with his fingers massaging his temples.

“You look stressed, sir.” You step fully inside, closing the door behind you. “Anything I can help with?”

Taeil’s only response is to push back from the desk, baring his lap for you. You don’t for sure if he means for you to sit there, to bend over it, or what, but you do take a seat sideways in his lap, lifting your hand to brush your fingers along his cheek. Taeil sighs, leaning into your touch.

“We have that event coming up, and our organizers are shit.” He slides a hand against your waist. “Already we’ve had two vendors pull out on us, blaming a lack of cooperation from the team. I just got off a call with the venue staff’s rep, and she was telling me that our event has been unfortunately double-booked, that it’s only a slight overlap that will cut our event by an hour and a fucking half.”

Already you can see solutions to these issues. You hadn’t liked this venue much anyway, and it’s still not too late to change it. As for the vendors pulling out, you would just have to reach out to them personally. And then, the issue with the organizers, well, Taeil was head of the company, he could just fire them. There were plenty of people much better and more eager to organize than the present shoddy team.

But you don’t tell him any of that right now. You just stroke his cheek a little, and then lean in to kiss him lightly. “Do you need some stress relief, sir? I could give you a massage?”

Taeil eyes you, like he wants what you’re offering but he shouldn’t take it. Another kiss weakens his resolve.

“Go on,” he gives in. “A massage would be nice.”

His hand taps your ass as you stand to move around behind him. You trail yourself hands over his shoulders, knead your thumbs into the tense muscles, rub along the back of his neck and down his chest as well. Taeil rolls his head back with a low moan.

“Does it feel good, sir?” You lean in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. Your tits press against his back. “Should I keep going?”

Taeil’s answer is a moan.

Your massage moves solely to his chest, passing your hands over his pecs, teasing your fingernails over his nipples through his crisp white button down. Meanwhile you keep your tits against his back, and you lean around him just enough that you can kiss him.

Your pussy is leaking arousal, ruining your pretty panties in all likelihood, but it’s okay. You know Taeil will fuck you over his desk before the day is done.

When your hands dip lower, over his stomach to brush your fingertips at his belt, Taeil moans again, louder this time, rocking his hips up off the seat. And when you cup your hand over his bulge, Taeil swears.

He pulls your hands away from him, turning his chair around quickly to face you. “Get on your knees,” he commands. “Be good, do it quick.”

Your knees hit the floor so fast you didn’t even have time to think about it. Your mind is blank, buzzing only with desire, the wet heat between your thighs controlling your mind as you watch Taeil unfasten his belt, unzip his pants, and pull his cock out.

“Come get it, sweetheart,” Taeil says, his fingers circling his shaft. “Use only your mouth.”

You scoot in, shoulders pressed between Taeil’s knees as he leans back in his seat.

You’re not sure you’re a fan of handsfree blowjobs, especially when Taeil confuses you by moving his cock just out of your reach, making you work for it. You chase his movement to the left, up, to the right, and then he slaps the tip of his cock against your cheek, leaving a wet blurt of his arousal against your cheek.

You whine, pussy throbbing now with new need. That was hot, and you need to have him in your mouth now. Luckily, Taeil gives you his cock then, allowing you to kiss along the shaft, trace your tongue around the tip and dip it into the weeping slit to taste him salty over your tongue.

You hold your mouth open for Taeil, waiting for him to slip it into your mouth, but instead he slaps his cock against your cheek again before he just lays his cock against your face. The sticky tip rests against your cheekbone for a moment while he taps it there.

“So pretty, sweetheart,” he moans. And then he drags his cock down, pushing into your waiting mouth.

You suck his cock obediently, handsfree, taking Taeil all the way down.

You’re just really getting into it, bobbing your head on him, paying special attention when you pull off to mouth along a prominent vein (that always really gets to him), when there’s suddenly a knock at Taeil’s office door.

“Shit, I forgot,” Taeil swears under his breath. He touches the back of your head, pulling you off him. “I have a little meeting with Lee Haechan. Think you can sit quietly under my desk until he’s gone?”

You nod. “Can I still have you in my mouth?”

Taeil nudges you into the alcove beneath his desk, blocked from the other side all the way to a half-inch above the floor. “Of course, that way you’ll keep quiet.”

“Come in!” Taeil calls, sliding his seat forward, caging you beneath the desk with his thighs.

There’s just enough room for you to slide forward, to fit your head between his lap and the top of the desk. To Taeil’s admirable credit, he doesn’t make a sound as you take his cock back into your mouth.

You hear the office door open and close, hear footsteps crossing the tile floor toward the seats across from the desk.

“Your secretary isn’t at her desk,” Haechan notes. “Otherwise I would’ve had her let you know I was coming in. She seems to be sneaking away from her desk a lot lately. I swear every time I’m in the break room, she’s in there too. Maybe you should punish her, sir.”

You swallow around Taeil, shuffling yourself closer to him on your knees. A punishment sounds fun. He hasn’t punished you much, and truth be told you probably do deserve one.

Taeil laughs. “Is she away from her desk too often or are you, Haechan?”

“Maybe we both are.” Haechan’s smile is evident in his voice. “Forget what I said about punishment.”

After that, you begin to zone out. Their conversation turns toward business, and you’re only business you care about is keeping Taeil hard in your mouth.

He hadn’t said anything about not using your hands now, so you don’t hesitate to bring a hand up and wrap it around his length when you have to pull off for a breath. You only tune in to the conversation again to listen for any signs of what you’re doing affecting Taeil, but his voice sounds surprisingly steady even as you kiss and suck at the sensitive spot just beneath the tip.

You’re having fun, doing whatever you like with his cock. You tap it against your lips, against your cheek again. You lick and kiss him however you like. Taeil doesn’t so much as twitch for the longest time. It’s only when you finally take him deep into your throat again, that he shows a sign.

Taeil clears his throat, his hand dripping down beneath the desk to curl around your wrist, squeezing tight. He shifts in his seat, rocking into the heat of your mouth.

“Are you okay, sir?” Haechan asks from the other side of the desk. “You just got really red.”

“I’m fine.” Taeil says shortly.

Pleased with yourself, you start moving.

Now that he’s given an inch, Taeil seems to keep slipping. He clears his throat more and more as the conversation with Haechan continues. He shifts in his seat, subtly grinding into your mouth, his hand flexes around your wrist until finally it grows to the point of crushing.

You pull off of his cock, barely stifling a hiss of pain as you reach for his hand around your wrist. It hurts. You tug at his fingers with your free hand. And the moment that your wrist is free, you pinch his thigh.

Taeil groans, his knee jumping up to knock against the underside of the desk. “Ah, shit,” he hisses, spinning his chair around so his back is to you and to Haechan. “My damn knee,” he curses, “You’re lucky you’re too young for joint pains.”

Haechan laughs hesitatingly on the other side of the desk. “You’re not that old, sir. And I’ve got my own aches and pains, I understand.”

Does he?, you think to yourself. Does he understand that the true source of Taeil’s ache is currently his cock, the rise to orgasm left unfinished?

You watch from beneath the desk as Taeil stretches his knee out, massaging it before he spins back around and shoves himself back against his desk, pushing his seat so far in that you have to move backwards to avoid getting a knee to the face. Your hands slip on the floor, and you consider staying there with your back pressed against the backing of the desk, but Taeil’s hand reaches beneath the desk, beckoning you forward with two fingers.

“You can go now, Haechan. We can discuss this more tomorrow at the team meeting.” Taeil’s dismissal is clear, concise. His invitation, or rather command, to you is also quite clear.

You move forward, hard-pressed to not sigh as he dives his fingers into your hair, pulling your mouth right back to his cock.

“Yes, sir! Thank you!” Haechan stands up, you hear his chair scraping across the floor. “I would ask if you want me to leave a copy of my report with your secretary, but she’s probably still in the break room, right?” His voice is teasing.

Taeil laughs, fingers tightening in your hair as you go down on him. “You can just leave a copy on her desk. I’m sure she’ll know what it is.”

Moments later you hear the door open and close again.

No sooner has the door latched shut than Taeil is pulling back, tugging at your hair to bring you forward. You crawl out from beneath the desk, following his cock.

“He’s right, you know,” Taeil groans, pulling out of your mouth, to your displeasure. “I should punish you. Always away from your desk. Doing activities inappropriate for the workplace.” He holds his clock right over your open mouth, his hand flying over his length. “How should I punish you, sweetheart?”

You whine. “I’m good, sir. Please, don’t punish me.”

Taeil bites his bottom lip, thumb sliding over his slick tip. “No, I think I will. Stand up.”

Your knees ache as you stand up, but you forget the pain when Taeil spins you around, bending you over his desk just as you’d known he eventually would.

This is familiar and good. Taeil pushing your skirt up, pulling your panties down. He pushes right inside you with no trouble, and you have to bite your tongue to keep from moaning, and when you feel that’s about to fail, you bite at your forearm. There’s a bruise there still from earlier in the week when you’d had a quickie in the restroom. It’s unfortunate because you’ve had to wear long sleeves all week in this tragically warm weather.

As he fucks you against his desk, papers crinkling beneath your body, you can’t stop thinking of the thrill of being beneath his desk just minutes ago, the power of holding his secret, of being his secret.

You cum like that, with Taeil thrusting into you and the taste of his cock still lingering on your tongue.

Taeil follows quickly after, pulling out to cum over your ass, never one to cum inside you.

He hits his softening cock against your bottom, smearing his cock through his cum, rubbing it into your skin like moisturizer. “I’ll have to think up a proper punishment for you, you know.”

You can’t imagine Taeil truly giving you an intense punishment. He’s too soft and gentle for that, but you won’t tell him that.

“Yes, sir,” you agree instead, standing up straight from the desk, crouching down to pull your panties up.

Taeil’s watching you when you turn around.

“Did it work?” You ask him, reaching out to brush your fingers over a wrinkle in his shirt. “Are you less stressed?”

“Yes,” he says, taking your hand from his shoulder, bringing it to his lips. “I am.”

You lean in, moving your hand from his lips to kiss him instead. It’s a slow but too-short kiss. “I think I have some ideas, by the way, about the event. To solve our problems.”

Taeil nods. “I’d like to hear them.”

You take a seat on his desk while he sinks back into his chair, rolling it close to you so he can hold your hand while he listens to you. Taeil’s so sweet with you, so attentive and caring, and you can’t help but wonder if this can ever be anything more than just a sexy little office romance.

With the way he’s looking at you like you hold the secrets to the universe, you really hope that there’s more to be had with Taeil.

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