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chaepink · 6 months

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DAY 22: PUTTING ON A SHOW | VOYEURISM

you've been treating denki so well lately whether its buying all the luxury items he wants or taking him out to all the fancy restaurants around. so he thinks it's time for him to repay you back and what's better than having him put on a show for you wearing some sexy lingerie?

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ PAIRING ⸻ denki kaminari x reader

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ WARNINGS ⸻ dom!reader, voyeurism, sugar baby x sugar mommy relationship, masturbating, begging, praise, slight degradation, feminization, vibrators (character receiving), ooc kaminari kinda, pet names

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ WORDS ⸻ 1.3k words

KINKTOBER EVENT

"Baby, what are you doing? Can I open my eyes now?"

You hear some shuffling around you and a thump, causing you laugh a little.

"n-not yet, [name]! just wait a little more..." Minutes pass as you sit on your chair, contemplating whether or not to take a peek at what he's doing. About fifteen minutes before he told you to close your eyes and that he had a surprise for you but what surprise needed him to be scurrying around the room the whole time? You sigh as you wonder what it could be.

Before you could open your eyes yourself, his voice rings in the room. "You can open your eyes now, [name]." He says, sounding out of breath.

And so when you open your eyes, they immediately widen at the sight of kaminari sitting on both of you's shared bed and you notice the 'surprise' right away. Instead of his usual clothes on, a beautiful shade of red lingerie that compliments him so well adores his body, making your heart race at the sight. The lingerie barely covers his body, the top only covering his upper chest and the undergarment only covering his crotch. It's so revealing.

The material is so thin that you could see his stiffened nipples through it and although kaminari's hands is covering his dick, you still notice the bulge there. He must've ordered a size too small too as it looks like his chest could burst out of the bra at any moment. He notices you ogling his body and he blushes.

"kaminari? what's this for?" You don't remember buying him this outfit. You didn't even think he would be into this stuff at all. But you're not complaining, of course. Why would you be when he looks this good?

He nervously avoids your eye contact. "A s-surprise for you. Cause you've been treating me so good, you know." He mumbles the last part but you still hear it, making your heart swell at his cuteness. Though it's true that you've been spoiling him a lot lately with nice items and fancy restaurants, you haven't really been expecting something like this from him. His head suddenly turns to you, worry in his eyes and a pout on his lips. "Do you not like it? I-I can return it if you want and-"

"Of course not, baby. If anything, I love how it looks on you." You shake your head at him. You make your way towards him, making him turn a even darker shade of red that almost matches his pretty lingerie. Heat radiates off his body when your hand trails up from his waist and to his chest with a grin on your face. Your rather cold hands on his hot body makes him shiver. "And I can't wait to see what you look like at the end when I'm done with you."

His breath hitches in his throat and he stares at you with excitement and lust in his eyes. But almost like he suddenly remembers his other part of the surprise and gently pushes your hand away with a small whine.

"I wanna put a show on for you though." You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "A show?"

He hesitantly nods. "Please? Just s-sit down and watch me." You giggle at his need to ask you. "Of course, darling." Sitting on a chair in front of him, you make yourself comfortable as kaminari shifts around in his spot.

You think it's amusing to see how his now nervous manners differ from his normal personality. It's almost like a switch got flipped in him that turned him into such a blushing mess when he's usually so confident and loud around you and others.

With your entire attention on him, kaminari feels even more nervous than before. His surprise for you has been plaguing his mind for weeks now and he could die from embarrassment if he messes up now.

He can feel your eyes on his hands as he slowly takes his dick out of the confinement of the thin material, leaving a small wet patch on it. His dick is already hard and red with some pre cum at the tip and you're quick to tease him about it.

"Already hard?" You coo at him, making him let out a whine at your teasing. Your words go straight to his dick, making them twitch in his hands.

You feel your heart race when he begins to play with his own dick, breathy moans and whines leaving his mouth and filling the room, making your stomach burn with desire. You watch as his face burns red as he speeds up his movements.

While you wish to go over there and ruin him yourself and make him cry, you hold yourself back, wanting to watch as he touches himself for you instead. He looks at you at the corner of his eyes, wanting your approval.

And you notice it too and how his eyes beg for you to praise him for how well he's doing for you. He's always been a sucker for praise anyways.

"You're so pretty, aren't you kaminari? Touching yourself so well for me too." He lets out a whimper, both at your praise and how his thumb runs over the tip of his dick. His pre cum runs down his hand and the wet sounds of his hand on his dick increases in volume.

"Only I can see how pretty you are in this, right? I'm not even touching you myself and you're falling apart just from your hand. Such a pretty whore for me." He gasps when your praise and degradation sends shocks to his body.

You can't help it when you grab your phone nearby and snap a few pictures of him, making sure to not leave out his thrown back head and his hard dick in it. How could you resist when he just looks so good in the lingerie?

"Tell me when you're close, alright?" He nods but you're not sure if he even heard it properly. Not when it looks like he's already lost himself to the pleasure with his eyes almost rolled back all the way and his legs spread out as apart as they could be, giving you a perfect view of his dick.

It's not long till he mumbles out a 'i'm close.' A little teasing never hurts anyone, you think.

"Do you think you deserve to cum, hm?" Kaminari cries out. "Please? I've been g-good ah! Can I c-cum please?"

A smile makes its way onto your face. "Well you are putting on a adorable show for me so I guess I'll allow you to cum, okay?" He nods and thanks you over and over again, letting out a groan when his orgasm hits him hard. He makes a mess over himself, staining the covers underneath him along with his body and you watch in awe as his eyes roll back. The lingerie gets stained but you both don't care at the moment.

As he's still recovering from his release with ragged breaths escaping him, you make your way towards him and grab his half hard dick into your hand. Kaminari lets out a gasp that turns into a whine when you run your hand against his sensitive dick.

"W-Wait [name]! I'm s-still sensitive o-oh god-" The glint in your eyes makes him whimper. Your hand begins to lazily pump his dick and he swears that he's about to cum again.

"Don't think you're done yet, kaminari. I didn't get a chance to play with you yet and why would I miss this chance?" He shivers at the way you're staring him down. It's safe to say that you really like his surprise.

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ellephlox · 7 months

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Head Over Heels

Summary: It's technically not your fault that you sprained your ankle, but Matt's annoyed with you anyway (at least, he pretends to be annoyed with you — but you know better).

Pairing: Matt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: A few swears, but otherwise just a whole lot of whumptober fluff!

"You're going to hurt yourself."

"I am not."

"I just heard you nearly fall over in the bathroom—"

"Because I'm rushing, Matt, that's what happens when your partner holds you captive for too long in bed and makes you late for work!"

Matt was in the process of buttoning his work shirt, a task that you noticed was taking him nearly triple the time it usually took, because his attention was entirely on you. "No one at the presentation will care if you're not wearing heels, sweetheart."

"I care!" You jangled your keys, checked your pockets again for your wallet, and slipped on a jacket. "It's a fashion thing. High heels equal professionalism."

"I like to think that I'm a professional lawyer, and not once in my life have I ever had to wear high heels to court."

"You're overreacting. I'm like a gymnast in heels. Ready? Watch this."

Your stilettos clacking against the floor, you performed several twirls, rotating as though you were a ballerina. For the first few, Matt said nothing, but then he reached out and stopped you with a firm hand on your shoulder.

"The heels sound like precarious twigs," he said.

"They're not precarious and they're not twigs. They're pretty." For added effect you started to skip by him towards your purse.

"Just — please stop," Matt said, finishing with his last button and gesturing downward. "Walk like a normal person, at least?"

"Don't worry. I wasn't planning on skipping into the office," you assured him. "Look, I'll see you for lunch, okay? I've got to split."

"Twelve o'clock. And also promise me you won't twirl like that during your presentation," he said, and leaned in to kiss you before you left.

It was another of those impossibly busy days when you and Matt wouldn't be able to spend much time together. He was going to be in court the entire afternoon, and you had a major annual presentation for work, meaning that you'd both be out overtime and wouldn't get home until late. The bright side was that you both had an opening at noon to meet at a small diner in Hell's Kitchen and catch up over lunch.

You cursed your high heels as you tried to speed down the stairs of Matt's apartment. They really weren't conducive for someone who was running late. Halfway down, you lost your footing; the stem of the heel missed the edge of the step and you jolted downward.

And, mercifully, caught yourself on the railing.

Knowing for certain that Matt was listening to you and likely heard your misstep — as well as the way your heart was hammering from the adrenaline of nearly falling down a flight of stairs — you muttered aloud, "See? Everything's fine," and continued on your way. Shortly after, your phone vibrated with a text from Matt:

Are you trying to give me a heart attack?

Laughing to yourself, you stowed your phone back in your purse.

And the high heels did work out, for most of the morning. You gave your presentation and then buried yourself at your desk in paperwork, confined to work for the rest of the day on everything you'd fallen behind in while prepping for the presentation. You couldn't help but glance at the clock every ten minutes; noon was going to be the breath of fresh air in an otherwise stressful day.

Fifteen minutes to noon you got up from your desk and made your way out onto the street. The sun was shining, a soft balmy breeze carried the fragrance of blooming lilacs as you passed a small garden, and plush clouds drifted overhead idly.

And then, just as you were hurrying to crossing the street — technically the pedestrian light was red, but you had a solid seven seconds before the approaching car would actually reach you — there was an ominous snap, and you found yourself falling onto the pavement, your ankle rolling in the process.

Well, not just rolling. It felt more like your ankle was jerked down into a direction it definitely shouldn't have been in, accompanied by a soft pop and a flaring of sharp, throbbing pain.

The car that you would have easily made it past had to brake, honking angrily at you, and you waved vehemently in apology as you struggled to your feet — shit shit shit that hurts — and hobbled out of the street.

"Bitch!" the man shouted from his window as he accelerated by you, tossing a middle finger at you.

Usually that would probably be enough to ruin your day, being yelled at by a stranger, but you were much more preoccupied with the stabbing pain in your ankle. Did I break it? Should sprains hurt this much? You stared, stunned, at the broken stiletto that was half-dangling from your shoe. It had simply snapped in half, for no reason at all.

"Traitor," you muttered to it, taking shelter in the shade of a building to assess your ankle. Gingerly you tried touching it, but it flashed with pain as you pressed on it. Inhaling deeply and tilting your head backwards — do NOT cry don't cry don't cry don't cry— you began to continue your way to the diner.

Matt wasn't going to be happy about this. And you already knew there was no way you could hide it from him. You were limping so badly that it was difficult to walk; each movement felt as though you were tearing your ankle again. If you could arrive at the diner first and get yourself seated, then maybe you had a small chance of the injury going unnoticed, but your limping must have delayed you just enough, because you could see Matt through the window of the restaurant — he'd already arrived.

And his head was already tilted in a way that meant, yep, he's definitely onto me, he can already hear me.

"Hi," you greeted him weakly as you walked in, ignoring the fact that tears were spiking in your eyes. Matt was already on his feet, grabbing his cane almost as an afterthought and approaching you quickly.

"I didn't think it was you at first," he said, quietly so that other patrons in the diner wouldn't hear. "Your gait was so different. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's not so bad," you said, knowing he'd hear right through the lie, but not caring much in the moment.

"Let me feel it."

There was no sense in objecting; Matt, you knew, wouldn't be satisfied until he'd done his radar scanning of it so that he could know precisely what was going on in your ankle. "Okay," you agreed. "But let's use the bathroom. These people trying to enjoy their meals don't need to see you feeling up my ankle."

It was a single-user bathroom, fortunately. Matt entered first and held the door open for you, and only once it was shut and locked did he abandon his cane and stoop by your feet. You leaned against the sink as his fingers grazed your ankle.

"What's my diagnosis, Mr. X-Ray?" you asked, trying to come off as playful, but it was hard hiding the pain in your voice. It didn't help that Matt wasn't having it. He stood up, hands on his hips, jaw twitching.

"You fully tore the ligament," he said. "I told you that those heels would get you hurt."

"Whoa, excuse me. This was not my fault. I didn't trip. The heel just happened to snap on me, so it is one hundred percent, completely, utterly, not my fault."

"You knowingly wore dangerous shoes," Matt insisted.

"Stilettos aren't inherently dangerous, Matt! They're shoes! I just got a bit unlucky—"

"Unlucky? You can hardly walk."

"I'm fine," you said, a bit more firmly, and tried, recklessly, to do the twirl you had done that morning to prove it, but had to stop immediately because it sent a rocketing flare of pain through your leg. "Ow. Shit."

Matt steadied you instinctively. "You should take the rest of the day off and go to the doctor."

"No way. I'm so far behind in work. Besides, I'm good once I'm sitting, it's just walking that's hard."

Matt said nothing at first, but helped you get from the bathroom to the booth, one hand loosely holding his cane and the other supporting you as you leaned on him. You were grateful for his strength practically holding you up; already your ankle was swelling and walking alone would have made a scene. Still, it earned a few stares from several of the other people eating in the diner, but you ignored them.

"I guess I should clarify," Matt said, only once you were seated. "You are taking the rest of the day off."

You furrowed your brow, outraged. "You can't tell me what to do."

"And I'd really recommend seeing a doctor," he continued, "because—"

"Last week you—" You realized your voice was loud and lowered it to a whisper. "Last month you came flopping onto the bed at three in the morning, gasping for breath because you fractured a rib, and when I begged you to see a doctor, you said, 'I'm fine. Don't worry about me so much.' Don't you see how much of a hypocrite you are?"

"I don't care whether or not I'm a hypocrite, I care that you go to the doctor," he said, then added, "But if you don't, you're at least not going back to work. You need to rest, elevate the ankle, and ice it."

You bit your lip. "What if I simply refuse?"

"Then I'll call Claire and make her come pay us a visit tonight to check on you."

The thought of burdening Claire with having to make a trip out to Matt's apartment just for your sake was enough to make your cheeks burn. "You wouldn't."

"I would," he said. "Unless you at the very least stay home the rest of the day and ice your ankle."

"I can't believe you." You fell into silence, punctuated only by the waitress coming to take your beverage orders. Once she left, you tried to brighten things a bit, because Matt's mouth was curved in such an unhappy frown that it was beginning to stress you out. "At least it wasn't my favorite pair of stilettos. If it had been, I might be tempted to try super-gluing the heel back on."

It didn't seem to improve his mood, because Matt didn't smile. "I'd prefer if you just stuck to flats from now on."

"That's a lie. I know you love my heels," you said, impetuously leaning across the table to grab his hands. "You may not be able to see my legs, but I know you can sense them, and I know that stilettos make them, like, ten times sexier."

"You know what's not sexy? A sprained ankle."

"Wow. Thanks for really bulldozing my self-esteem." You paused. "If my ankle makes me so un-sexy, then maybe I'll just... sleep on the couch tonight instead. Wouldn't want you to be near me if I'm all sprained-ankle-ish."

"You're impossible."

"I have a better idea. I can be bait," you said, watching Matt's expression carefully. "I'll stumble out onto the streets tonight — you know, all 'Woe is me, I've got a sprained ankle' �� and that'll attract every mugger in the vicinity, seeing a vulnerable girl alone. They won't be able to help themselves, they'll just be dying to come over and rob me. And then, lo and behold! Daredevil dives in and catches all of Hell's Kitchen's criminals in one fell swoop."

Sure enough, you could see an irritated amusement in Matt's mouth, the type that meant he was torn between smiling and getting annoyed. "I'll agree to that plan when Foggy learns how to meditate for more than five minutes at a time."

The waitress arrived and took your orders. You sipped on the water she had delivered, your eyes not leaving Matt's face.

"What is it?" he said, finally. "You're dying to say something."

"Yeah. I want you to admit that it's not my poor high heels you're angry with. You're just worried about me."

"Can't it be both?"

"Leave my high heels out of this and admit it, Matt."

"Fine. I'm worried about you. Does that make you happy?"

"Sure does," you said, squeezing his hands and smiling. "By the way... did I ever mention that I'm head over heels in love with you?"

"Oh, my God."

A/N: This was just a short piece inspired by two separate asks I received that fit together quite well:

Prompt 1: hi!!! could you do a hurt/comfort where reader breaks her heel and sprains her ankle while walking home and matt finds her??

Prompt 2: May I request a Matt fic? I've been seeing girls on YouTube that test their heels out by running around in front of their s/o, and I thought it would be really funny with a clumsy reader and Matt having an absolute heart attack. Thanks!

Just realized that I completely altered the first prompt by having them meet at a diner rather than Matt finding her, so I apologize! I hope it was still alright to read :) happy whumptober, everyone!

#fluff #whump #whumptober #matt murdock #marvel #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #reader insert #reader #mcu #x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader

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lovebugism · 1 year

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✶ ┄ FIX IT !

summary: you thought you were over it, the whole steve-and-nancy thing. spoiler alert: you aren't. pairing: steve harrington / f!reader word count: 3.5k warning: angst. gut wrenching angst. with a sort of happy ending. a/n: i'm such a sucker for angst it's gotta be unhealthy at this point. anyway, shout out to all my angsty fic enjoyers. let's read this and cry together <3

Having four roommates and only two bathrooms was worth it if it meant getting out of Hawkins. The apartment was a quaint little thing just outside of Indianapolis — up four flights of stairs with no elevator, cracks in the walls, and a stellar view of an alleyway.

But it was nice to have a place all your own. Sharing it with all your best friends was even better. That was the dream after all, wasn’t it? And being with Steve — that was just the cherry on top of it all.

So you weren’t going to let your mean, green, and envious heart ruin the new life you and your friends were trying to build in this tiny apartment.

You didn’t even think yourself the jealous type. Not until you realized that Steve was going to live under the same roof as his ex-girlfriend. It was dumb and it was irrational and you just couldn’t shake it.

It was probably a whole lot harder for Steve than it was for you, really. Besides, it had been years since they were together. Both of them had moved on, both of them had new and blossoming relationships.

Jonathan was good to Nancy. And to you, Steve was… well he was perfect. More importantly, he was yours.

So it really shouldn’t bother you.

And it didn’t. Not for a while.

Not until Nancy and Jonathan broke up out of nowhere and he’d announced to all of you on movie night that he was moving out.

He said that he missed California too much, that Argyle was getting lonely all the way out there, and that he had a spare room at his place. You couldn’t tell if that was the truth or just some bullshit excuse.

Maybe both.

What made it worse is that Nancy hadn’t seemed all that upset about it. Hell, you were more sad about him leaving than she was.

She told you as much during your weekly designated wine night (the one where you and her and Robin got drunk on cheap wine, while the rest of the boys fucked off and got drunker on cheaper beer).

“It didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would,” she’d confessed with a shrug, only slightly tipsy and cheeks pink with it. “We… drifted apart, I guess. Just felt right to end it.”

You and Robin spent the rest of the night comforting her, anyway.

She loved Jonathan, everyone knew that. It sort of came with the whole shared trauma thing. She had to be at least a little bit sad that her person was gone, but she hid it away from the rest of you like it was her job.

But when the days got really bad, and she found herself missing Jonathan more than she liked, she sought refuge in Steve. Your Steve.

And it made sense. He knew her better than the rest of you.

But it didn’t mean it hurt any less.

A sick feeling twists in your stomach when Steve accompanies the girl on a liquor store run without her having to ask. You watch with your heart in your throat when he leaves with her in the dead of night — a swirling bubble of jealousy in the pit of your chest with an ache so palpable you can taste it.

You spend the next several minutes trying not to look as sad as you feel while Eddie can’t stop debating on what the two of them might be talking about.

Nancy had been more reserved as of late, carrying a rain cloud over her as she wandered through the apartment like a ghost — he concludes they’re just going out to spill some hot goss. Robin makes him promise to never say those string of words ever again while you quietly dismiss yourself to your bedroom.

Nancy and Steve have been gone for an hour.

Lying in the dark and staring up at the textured, water-stained ceiling, you start to do the math. Fifteen minutes there, fifteen minutes back with traffic — but the streets are usually bare after nine o’clock. Either way, that leaves a half hour spent trying to choose what alcohol to splurge on.

You’ve seen Nancy try to pick out wine, she’s indecisive and a perfectionist to boot. She could spend hours dissecting each bottle to find the perfect one, if Robin wasn’t constantly over her shoulder rushing her.

Maybe that’s why Nancy had declined when the girl offered to tag along with them.

Or maybe she just wanted to be alone with Steve—

You have to physically shake that thought from your head. But even when you shut your eyes, it’s like the image of him and Nancy making out in the back of her Station Wagon is ingrained in the depths of your mind.

You curl into yourself and bathe in the depths of the dark abyss you’ve created in your bedroom, trying to see your way out of your handcrafted turmoil like a bad cold.

When Nancy and Steve return, they come cradling paper bags in their arms like babies.

Robin relieves the latter of the load in his hands and follows the darker-haired girl into the kitchen connected to the living room, no larger than a decent-sized closet.

Steve notices the lack of your presence as soon as he walks through the door. When he’d left, the three of you were pregaming — a feat that often led to Eddie breaking out his guitar and you and him singing terribly off-key to whatever was playing on the radio.

Now you’re nowhere to be found, and he feels it like a missed meal. He feels the ache of your absence like an empty stomach.

“Where’d she go?” Steve asks Eddie, who’s lounging on the couch and taking up the entire space — legs spread and arms thrown over the back.

The curly-haired boy takes a noisy sip of his nearly gone beer. Then exhales rather dramatically when he sits the can on his thigh. It leaves a damp ring on the denim. “Hey, buddy... Just blow in from stupid town?”

“…What?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, already annoyed and knowing more than he lets on. “She’s in her room, dingus.”

“She okay?” Steve wonders with furrowed brows, uncaring of the use of the stupid nickname because there’s bigger things to worry about apparently.

It wasn’t like you to miss a night of drinking. He gets momentarily fearful that you’d gotten sick while he was away, that he wasn’t around to help you if you had.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Eddie lilts with wide eyes, like it’s a bright idea that neither of them would’ve thought of otherwise.

His sarcasm makes Steve roll his eyes, but he heeds the boy’s words anyway.

Through the short hallway and the last door on the right, he finds you in the darkness of your shared bedroom, illuminated only by the orange streetlight that filters through the blinds. You're hid beneath the covers, a little lump on the mattress.

He idles in the doorway and waits for you to react to his presence.

You don’t.

“Hey, babe,” he greets cautiously after concluding you just hadn’t heard the door squeak open upon his arrival. “You feel okay?”

You mumble something he can’t quite make out. He takes the raised infliction as an affirmative and shifts his weight on his feet because it’s unlike you to be so one-note with him.

“Well, I, uh— I bought some of that wine you like... I couldn’t remember if you liked the blackberry or blueberry, so I ended up just getting both, you know, just in case.”

“Okay,” you respond after several agonizing seconds. Your voice sounds so fragile in the still darkness. Like he didn’t already know something was wrong.

He so desperately wants to pry but chooses to err on the side of caution for now, out of fear of turning the bad, worse.

“You wanna come down and try it with me? If you don’t like it we can always go back—”

“I’m okay,” you interrupt gently, with a tone so soft and coated with so much emotion that it makes his heart sink. You’re anything but and he knows it.

“Okay,” he nods anyway with the hope that he can pull you from this funk you’d managed to fall into. “Do you, uh… Do you want me to stay in here with you?”

He hears your deep sigh and sees the way the wad of blankets rises and falls again. A telltale sign of your annoyance. He knows then that he’s overstayed his welcome.

Your voice remains quiet but loses its kindness when you tell him: “You can do whatever you want, Steve.”

He’s hurt by the way you’re so suddenly short with him, then angered because he didn’t do anything to deserve it in the first place.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you? What did I do?”

You don’t answer. You just sigh again, the same really big, dramatic one that’s more to showcase your irritation with him than anything else.

You’re more than keen to end the conversation right there, but Steve isn’t. Not when something’s eating you away from the inside out and he can’t do anything to help you because you won’t let him.

“Babe, c’mon. I get it, alright? You’re mad at me. Just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.”

“You can’t fix it,” you monotone, stifled beneath the covers.

“I can’t fix it?” he repeats with furrowed brows. “What do you mean, I can’t fix it?”

You use your silence as an answer, as a weapon. It’s almost worse than any silver-tongued reply you could've given him. The quiet forces him to think for himself and imagine all the things he could’ve done wrong that he can’t take back. It feels like quicksand.

Did he forgot to kiss you good morning? Of course, he didn’t — actually, he gets mad at you for forgetting — and you were golden before he left. Eddie probably said something stupid, that was likely. Or maybe Robin made a joke that upset you, that was even more likely.

He figures it’s something in between all those. Something silly that feels like the end of the world. He can make it better. He always makes it better.

Steve lifts the lump of covers you shield yourself with and crawls beneath them with the intention of pulling you out of the void you’ve sunken into.

It’s not so comfortable, lying in bed in socks and jeans and a collared shirt, but he doesn’t need to feel good right now — you do. He’ll be content if he can just hold you in his arms for a couple of hours, the rest of the night if that’s what you need.

But he can’t even do that.

He reaches for your arm, fingers just barely trailing across the warm skin there, and you jerk away from him like he’s shocked you.

It startles him, how quick you are to avoid him. It has him jerking back too, because you’ve never denied him the opportunity to touch you. He becomes the same sort of storm cloud that you are now, because he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. Any of it.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks you, less soft than he’d been before.

You sniffle. “I told you I didn’t want you going out alone with Nancy anymore,” you mumble, face still shoved into your pillow. The words are slightly muffled but he can hear the tears that coat your voice.

“That’s what this is about?” he wonders, not as empathetic as you’d hoped he might be, but genuinely confused. With your back to him, you don’t see the smile pulling at his lips while he shakes his head, like it’s funny to him. “Babe, we were just getting drinks. It’s no different than you going out with Robin.”

“It’s totally different! Because I was never in love with Robin. She was never in love with me—”

“Well, I beg to differ,” he murmurs in a soft laugh.

“It’s not funny, Steve,” you retort wetly and then sniffle again. When you turn to face him, he sees for the first time what he’s done to you.

The orange of the streetlight lamp outside bathes you in a sunset shade of neon — your eyes are glassy with tears that gather at your lashes. Emotions glow at the tip of your nose and your cheeks. Your skin would be hot to the touch if he felt you now.

“Do you know how weird it is for me? To watch my boyfriend and his ex go fuck around with me?” you ask him with a scrunched nose and brows, like your trying to keep yourself from falling apart in front of him.

“It’s not like that and you know it,” Steve scolds. “She just wanted to get alcohol for tonight and had some shit to get off her chest. I mean, she’s been having a really hard time lately—”

“It’s not your job to take care of her, Steve!” you shout before you even realize you’re shouting. You take in a shuddered breath and let it out in a trembling sigh, shining eyes flitted away from him and towards the ceiling as you calm yourself down.

When you start your lament again, you’re quieter.

“You can’t just be this, like, emotional crutch for her every single time something’s wrong. She’ll just get invested in you all over again and…”

Steve watches from beside you, propped up on his elbow, as you trail off. The frown between your eyebrows deepens, a great and inquisitive crevice, while your eyes widen and your mouth falls softly agape — like you’ve discovered something in the midst of your rant.

“Is— Is that what you want?” you ask him then. “Do you, like, need her attention to feed your ego or something?”

He’s too offended by your words to tell you all the ways they aren’t true. “What? No! Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s embarrassing, Steve.”

“What is?”

“Watching you and her together!” you admit through a tightening throat. You rise from where you’d been laying down and Steve follows you, settling in front of you as you wrap your arms around your knees. “When I have to sit here, by myself, while you guys spend time alone. When she always knows what you’re up to, and I don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quietly, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“—It’s not fair. She’s not your girlfriend, Steve, I am. It’s your job to take care of me, not her.”

Steve deflates like a popped balloon. His chin falls to his chest and his eyes squeeze shut at the weight of your words.

It’s like you’re reminding him that he’s supposed to be in love with you and not someone he cared for a long time ago. Like you felt the need to remind him because you thought he’d forgotten somewhere down the line.

It hurts him too. It feels like you’ve got his heart in your hands and you're wringing it in your grip.

“You’re right,” Steve concedes with a nod. “I just... I guess, I never thought about it like that.”

He feels the same way, too, sometimes. When you and Eddie go all buddy-buddy mode and want to spend time together.

When you’re out all night with him at band practice. When you’re attached at the hip and having sleepovers in his room to talk about everything and nothing for hours until you fall asleep when the sun rises. When you both come down at one in the afternoon the next day for breakfast, giggling about the thing you said the night before.

It makes him feel like he’s missing out. Like you’re sharing parts of yourself with someone else and he isn’t allowed to see it.

And sometimes he gets irrational — keeps himself up all night as he imagines you and Eddie making out on his floor after going through all his new tapes or fucking in his unmade bed while he keeps a hand on your mouth to keep you quiet.

Steve concocts waking nightmares for himself whenever you’re not beside him.

But even then, it’s different. Because he used to do all that shit with Nancy. They fell in love, made out for hours because they didn’t want to stop feeling each other, had sex on a twin-sized bed and tried to keep from falling out of it while they did.

You’d never done that shit with Eddie — or with anyone you’re now sharing a home with. Besides Steve.

Because he’s yours now. And you’re his.

But you can’t stop thinking about how he used to be Nancy’s too.

“I don’t need you to tell me that I’m right,” you murmur with the childlike shake of your head, slow and lazy, as you wipe your wet cheek on your shoulder. “I need you to do something about it— I needed you to do something about it a long time ago.”

“I will, okay? I will. I promise. I’ll fix it,” Steve assures you quickly, with wide and hopeful eyes and a nodding head that makes his hair flop against his forehead.

He can see you losing hope in front of him, like a flame going slowly out. You’re slipping away. He keeps fighting to keep a hold of you.

“No.”

“…No?”

“You can’t,” you sniffle. “You can’t fix it.”

“Baby—”

“It’s not fair. To either of us,” you tell him, looking at him through clumped together lashes and heavy, sparkling eyes. “And it’s not your fault, okay? But I can’t keep feeling this like. It’s not healthy— this isn’t… this is what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like. It shouldn’t feel like this.”

Steve blinks back stinging tears. He brings his hand to his face and rubs the back of it against his burning nose. He feels a bit like you do now, hopeless. You’re slipping away and he is too and you both just keep on slipping, just going going going.

“You’re not even—” he clears his throat when his voice breaks halfway through. “You’re not even gonna let me try?”

You shrug weakly. Tears burn as they gather at your waterline. You revel in the sting because it’s better than the hole ripping through your chest.

“I don’t know. I think… I think it’s too late.”

“Why would you say that?” Steve agonizes with the shake of his head, looking like a wounded puppy as he gaze at you with brown eyes full of hurt. “Don’t say that. Don’t.”

“Steve—”

“No,” he interjects firmly, stopping the spiral before it can start again.

He positions himself so he’s sitting further ahead of you and holds your arms in his numbing hands, ducking down to catch your gaze when you try to look away from him.

“I love you, okay? I’m an idiot and I’m sorry and I'm stupid, alright? I wasn’t thinking. But we can’t just… It’s not too late. I can fix this. I promise I can fix this.”

Your chest aches at his plea, at the way he still doesn’t understand.

It’s not his fault you feel this way, not entirely. It’s not anyone’s fault and that’s what’s so scary. There’s no one to blame the pain on, no root to cut out and put an end to it. You’re frightened that it’s always going to be there, constantly in the way, forbidding either of you from ever moving on.

“Steve...” you murmur through tears while the boy gathers you in his arms. You try to stop him but your voice gets caught in your throat halfway through. Because you don’t want him to stop. Not ever.

He nurses you into his velvet hold, wrapping a pair of strong arms around you to cage you against him. He presses his nose into your temple while he rocks you back and forth. “I promise. Everything’s okay. I’ll fix it.”

He repeats that like a mantra while you keep your head pressed against his chest — everything’s gonna be okay, I can fix it, I love you.

It’s a promise. One that he’d rather die than break.

You stay there, curled against his chest, while dark feelings ebb and flow in a constant and bitter cycle.

You hope he’s right. That these big feelings are just big stupid feelings that'll pass come the pink and blue sunrise. That everything really is going to be okay and that he really can fix it.

Because even now, all hopeless and full of doom and gloom, you feel soothed in his hold. You’ve never felt safer anywhere else. You’ve built a home in the peace of Steve’s arms and you want to keep on living in them.

“I’m gonna make it better,” he whispers against the crown of your head. If you’ll let me.

He feels you nod lazily against him. “Okay.”

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stevie oneshot #published by bug #st oneshots

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magicalmysteries777 · 3 months

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"You're clueless, you know that?" - Reader x Eddie Munson & Reader x Steve Harrington (fake)

Summary: You agree to accompany Steve to Enzo's for Valentine's Day with only one shared goal in mind - to make Eddie so jealous he has no choice but to have the one conversation he's being avoiding.

Pairings: F!Reader x Steve Harrington & F!Reader x Eddie Munson.

Chapter: 1 of 1.

W/C: 2314.

A/N: Happy Valentines Day, besties! This trope paired with Steve and Eddie has had me in a chokehold for a while now and I'm so happy that the lil ADHD gremlin in my brain has finally let me write the damn thing. <3

This one-shot can also be found on AO3 here.

“You really think that’ll work? Pretending to go on a date with you?” you asked, leaning against the counter at Family Video.

“It better work. Personally, I’m sick of hearing you pine over him. He’s had a thing for you ever since you joined Hellfire but he’s completely clueless when it comes to all the hints you’ve dropped,” Robin chimed in without looking up from the ‘returns’ pile of videotapes she was sorting through.

Clueless didn’t even begin to cut it.

You’d known about Eddie’s crush on you for months now, ever since Dustin slipped up and spilled the beans at lunch one day. The poor kid made you swear on your own life that you wouldn’t tell Eddie you knew.

True to your word, you kept the secret and began dropping hints instead. Eddie couldn’t read the room to save his life.

Any time you caught him staring, he’d break eye contact before you could smile back at him. Any time your hands accidentally touched, he’d move his hand away and play it off if you didn’t keep your hand perfectly still.

“I think it’s perfect,” Steve smiled. “There’s nothing like a bit of jealously to make you realise what you want.”

“I dunno,” you mumbled, chewing your cheek while you weighed up your options.

“When he sees you all dolled up, thinking it’s for me, the dots will connect. Trust me.”

“Fine, I’ll find out when he’s working.”

Steve’s plan had been in the back of your mind the whole time you’d been sitting around the table with your fellow Hellfire members. It was a long game of highs and lows all night. Despite the distraction, you’d manage to come out of the battle victorious with a mere five health points left. The party, albeit a little bruised and battered, was one step closer to defeating Myrkul and Eddie was in a good mood.

It took the usual fifteen minutes to pack up Eddie’s maps, dice, tokens, and other various game pieces before you climbed into the passenger side of his van. “Sorry for the mess,” Eddie apologised.

“You say that every week and yet you never clean it.”

“I do, it just gets messy again,” he smirked.

You were halfway home when you glanced over at Eddie. His hair was frizzy, sticking up in places from all the near misses in battle where he’d had his hands running through it. The rings on his left hand were glowing gently from the reflection of his lit cigarette as he used it to control the steering wheel. His right hand was methodically fiddling with the busted cassette player that he’d been meaning to fix for months. As always when Eddie was concentrating, his tongue was sticking out and resting against his top lip.

“Got it!” he exclaimed as Rainbow in the Dark started blasting from the speaker, a huge grin spread across his face.

“When are you going to buy a new one?” you chuckled, prodding at the battered box.

“Stop touching it,” he slapped your hand away. “It’ll start crackling again. I’ve picked up some overtime next weekend, I’m hoping the gents will be tipping big to impress their dates.”

“No Valentine’s plan with anyone special then?”

“Nope, just work. Doubt there’s anyone out there who would want to spend their Valentine’s Day with the ‘Freak of Hawkins’ anyway.”

“You’d be surprised, some people like their men a little freaky.”

“What about you? Any plans?” he asked, the change in tone rather subtle.

For a moment, you weren’t sure if you were going to go through with the plan. Steve’s words echoed through your mind listed the pros and cons. ‘Trust me.’

“Yeah, I’ve got a date at Enzo's. At least I don’t have to worry about it going bad now if you’re working, you can come over and scare him off for me.”

“That’s great. Wow, a date. Um, yeah, I’ll fend him off for you if things go pear-shaped. Do I, uh, know the guy?” he stuttered.

“I don’t want to jinx it,” you answered, remembering Robin's claims that a little bit of mystery would be the key to the whole plan working.

“Of course,” Eddie agreed, a sarcastically dumb look plastered on his face. You couldn’t help but notice that this was exactly how he used to act when Dustin mentioned Steve. “Would you look at that? Here we are. Once again, dropped off in one piece, as requested.”

“You okay, Ed?” you ask, one eyebrow raised.

“Yep. Fine. Tired,” he mumbled through an unconvincing yawn. “Long game. I’m gonna go and, uh, get some sleep. Night.”

“And he said it exactly like that?” Steve asked.

“Yes, Steve, how many times do I have to go through it? He basically kicked me out of the van,” you answered.

“It’s definitely working.”

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. Wait until he finds out it’s me, he’s gonna freak.”

“He might not react at all. Believe it or not, he is professional at work.”

“Bet on it?”

“Shut up.”

Eddie had been an asshole all week.

Jeff and Gareth got the worst of it. You, however, had been getting the silent treatment. It was Thursday lunchtime when Eddie finally acknowledged you again.

“So, what are your plans this weekend?” Dustin asked Mike.

“Movies with El then dinner, you?”

“Arcade with Will. What about you, Eddie?”

“Work and band, why?”

“It’s called small talk,” Dustin answered. “What is with you this week?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he snapped.

“Tell your face that, man,” added Jeff.

“Lay off it. Why don’t you ask her what she’s doing this weekend instead and leave me alone?” Eddie prompted, gesturing in your direction. He did not stick around to hear the answer, walking away dramatically.

“Well, what are you doing?” asked Dustin.

“I’ve got a date,” you answered quickly and quietly, sinking into your seat as a sense of guilt began to creep up on you.

“You what?!” asked Gareth.

“I said I’ve got a date.”

“Yeah, I heard you. The fuck do you mean you’ve got a date? With who?”

“Does it matter?” you ask asked.

“Evidently it does. I’ve been taking the brunt of his crap all week and you’re telling me it’s because you’re going on a date?”

“How was I supposed to know he’d react like this?” you quickly try to defend yourself.

“Are you blind?” Jeff asks.

“No, but he is. I’ve dropped hints. Lots of them. If he doesn’t want to acknowledge it then that’s on him.”

“Wow,” smiled Steve, looking you up and down. He took your hand, albeit rather dramatically, and began leading you to the car.

“Save it for the restaurant, you dingus. Does this look okay then?” you ask.

“The dress alone might kill him, never mind the heels and hair.”

Ten minutes later, Steve parked up outside Enzo's.

“When we get in there, sit with your back to the bar. You’re about to get the full Harrington charm, okay?” he asked.

“Got it.”

“Hi there, table for two under Harrington,” Steve told the hostess.

“Follow me.”

“Here we are,” the hostess said as she gestured to a small table. “Here are your menus, the waiter will be over to take your order shortly.”

“Thank you,” you replied, taking the seat that Steve had pulled out for you.

“So,” you began.

“So,” Steve replied with a grin.

“I’m not going to lie, Steve, I feel really awkward.”

“I can tell,” he responded. “Relax. We’re just two friends, dressed up, and having a nice meal. Loosen up a little and have fun, or this isn’t going to work.”

You tried to relax, really, you did. But you couldn’t help shake the feeling that Eddie was burning holes into the back of your head with his staring.

“Welcome to Enzo's, my name is Ruben and I’ll be your server this evening. Any drinks to start?”

“Sparkling water for me, and…” Steve prompted.

“Lemonade, please.”

“Awesome, I’ll get that put in at the bar for you. Any starters today?”

“Do you-” Steve began, turning his attention back to you.

“More of a dessert person,” you answer.

“Me too,” smiled Ruben. “What mains would you like?”

“Lasagne for me, please,” answered Steve.

“Chicken Alfredo, please.”

“Awesome. I’ll get all that put in for you, enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, ‘preciate that,” Steve told him before he left the table.

After a couple of minutes of the usual “how was work?” and “how was school?” small talk, Steve’s gaze quickly shot behind you as he sat up a little bit straighter.

“Here’s your lemonade,” Eddie announced, placing the glass down in front of you.

“Thanks, Eddie. How’s your shift?” you asked with a smile.

“So-so. Started going downhill about twenty minutes ago,” he answered.

“Nothing worse than a shitty Friday shift,” Steve chimed in.

“Evening rush,” Eddie responded, unwilling to meet Steve’s gaze. “Everything okay over here?”

“Great, thank you,” you respond.

“Harrington,” Eddie muttered, placing Steve’s water in front of him with a little bit more force than he did the lemonade, before heading back to the bar.

“He won’t even look at me, this is working even better than I thought,” Steve chuckled.

One hour and one chicken alfredo later, Ruben returned.

“Well you two are looking cosy over here,” he told you. Steve had been giving you cues on how to sit and when to laugh all evening. “How about that dessert? I highly recommend the ‘brownie and ice cream for two.’ Chef special tonight.”

“Sounds perfect,” answered Steve.

“Alrighty, that’ll be about ten to fifteen minutes. Any more drinks?”

“The same again, please,” you answer.

A couple of minutes later, Steve gave another instruction.

“Rest your left arm on the table.”

“What?”

“Now.”

Steve let out a sudden laugh and adjusted himself in his seat. He placed his arm on the table, his fingertips slightly brushing against your own.

A loud crashing noise from behind you had heads rolling to see what was going on. Every pair of eyes in the restaurant landed on Eddie.

“Sorry folks,” he announced. Eddie quickly began picking up the larger shards of glass whilst another bartender brought over cloths and a broom.

“Hook, line, and sinker,” Steve whispered, loud enough for only you to hear.

You really were getting the full Harrington charm, as promised. Steve had been feeding you brownie on and off for ten minutes, his glancing over to Eddie quickly now and again.

“It’s almost time,” Steve whispered.

“Time for what?”

“The grand finale.”

Steve leaned in slightly and wiped the side of your mouth gently with his thumb. “Ice cream,” he smirked.

“Is that really necessary?”

“One hundred percent. On my cue, you’re going to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom,” he began.

“But-”

“If this whole fake date has gone to plan, which by the way has been lovely, then I do believe Munson won’t let you make it that far. Go now.”

As instructed, you excused yourself from the table and made your way towards the bathroom. Just as you got to the door you felt a hand close softly around your wrist.

“Hey, can we talk?” Eddie asked.

“Everything okay?”

“No, actually, it’s not,” he answered. Eddie glanced around before pulling you through a door labelled ‘staff only’.

“Eddie, wha-”

“You can’t date Steve.”

“I can date whoever I like Eddie,” you respond.

“Why him?” he asked, his hand still wrapped lightly around your wrist.

“Why not?”

“Because,” he began, pausing in thought. “Because he’s… he’s got a reputation. Surely you’ve heard all the rumours?”

“And we both know him well enough to know he’s not that person anymore,” you answer, your gaze locking with Eddie’s who, surprisingly, held it.

“You just can’t, please,” he pleaded.

“Give me a good enough reason as to why I shouldn’t go back out there and I won’t.”

Eddie stayed silent for a few moments, his big, brown eyes locked on yours. The small staff room became stuffy all of a sudden, the air so thick it felt like you could barely breathe. You held your ground, waiting for him to speak, but he didn’t. You stared back at Eddie, your eyes pleading with him to just say something. Anything.

You broke your gaze from Eddie’s and turned towards the door, ready to give up and go home. Eddie’s grip on your wrist tightened and he pulled you back towards him, using his free hand to cup your face as his lips met yours.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been there, Eddie kissing you, but it felt like forever. The tension in the air vanished, leaving you with a cozy feeling deep in your stomach, where the butterflies used to live.

“You can do better than him. You deserve better than him. You deserve someone who knows that you take extra sugar in your coffee when you’re studying. Someone who knows that you’re a completely evil genius in the best way possible when it comes to D&D. Someone who knows you’d rather be in bed with a book at-” he glanced at his watch, “nine o’clock at night. Someone who apparently isn’t very good at making the first move.”

“You’re clueless, you know that?”

“I am?”

“Yeah,” you replied, leaning in to kiss him again.

If it wasn’t for Ruben who knows how long you would have stood there, entwined together, lost in the moment.

“Hey man, you heading home?” Eddie asked casually, placing a little distance between the two of you.

“I was, but turns out I’m staying late. Guy with the hair on table twelve tipped me a hundred bucks to finish your bar shift and fetch a fresh brownie out. Said you ‘owe him one’ and you can ‘square it up later’. Brownie will be out in five. Enjoy.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #fluff #fake date #fake dating #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddies a big baby #smart steve #platonic steve harrington

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damiansgoodgirll · 2 months

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can you please write an Damian Priest X Fem Reader Fic,

Both are dating, and they are at Dom's Wedding and when they are sitting together at there table Damian takes her hand kissed her knuckles and said "next time I'm wearing a suit will be our wedding"

(no engagement just damian admitting he wants to spend the rest of his life with her)

love this request

damian priest x reader

in love with this pic

my forever

“they’re so beautiful…” you whispered watching with teary eyes marie and dom dancing together. deep down you always wanted something like that too. your happy ending, spending the rest of your life with your forever person.

you were almost sure that you found that person in damian.

almost.

you’ve been dating for the past three years and even in it wasn’t that long, you dreamed every night about being married to damian and having your own little family.

maybe with a dog, a few cats and a baby. that was your dream but you didn’t know if he felt the same. watching how buddy and rhea had been together for less than you two and they were next on the altar made you think that maybe damian wasn’t that kind of person. you thought that maybe having you by his side was enough for him.

but you couldn’t stop imagining yourself with a diamond ring and a white wedding dress, saying yes to the love of your life.

“yes…they are” he said watching proudly damian dancing with the beautiful bride.

“plus…look at the dress” you laughed “it’s amazing! it looks so good on her” and damian smiled agreeing with you.

“well…i kinda prefer the blue dress you’re wearing tonight…” he teased making you chuckle.

“you look pretty handsome tonight…” you teased back but before he could answer, austin called him cause they needed to take a few pictures with dom.

“i’ll be back” he said getting up from his chair, leaving you there, watching how everyone was approaching the bride, complimenting her, making her feel special.

you shouldn’t be upset so why were you? was it selfish wishing you would experience the same thing?

you smiled at her when she waved at you, not wanting you to feel excluded.

but you were dying to be in her shoes.

it took a good fifteen minutes to finish up with the photoshoot when you saw damian walking back at your table with a glass of champagne for you.

“for the most beautiful woman in the room” he whispered in your ear, making you laugh.

“you shouldn’t say things like this at someone’s wedding…the bride could hear you” you joked.

“can’t help it when you really are the most beautiful woman in this room…in the entire world” he said again, making you laugh even more.

maybe you didn’t need to marry him, you felt good about your relationship that maybe you didn’t need to have a wedding, in the end it’s you and him right?

while you were overthinking damian slowly grabbed your hand “what are you thinking about mi amor?” he asked seeing how you’ve been acting off the whole wedding ceremony.

“nothing important…it’s just an emotional day…weddings always make me cry and laugh at the same time, and then cry again…plus i can’t tear my eyes away from how good that suit looks good on you…” you teased again.

“next time i’m wearing a suit will be at our wedding” he said kissing your hand.

“what?”

“you heard me right…” he smiled.

you were speechless.

“you want to marry me? like…do you really want to get married? i thought-…” you couldn’t even speak.

“i know i know, the rockstar lifestyle thing” he joked “but i love you, i love you more than anything in the world…and i want to spend the rest of my life with you…so yes, if you want it…”

“of course…” you said not thinking about it twice.

“you’ll be the one in white…” he whispered into your ear.

“i’ll be the one in white…” you repeated, still shocked about what just happened.

you’ll be the one in white and you couldn’t wait for it to happen.

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 2 months

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⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ My Grease-Covered Hero

content: leo valdez x daughter of posiedon! reader fic warnings: language and fast pace fr author's note: this is me core at its finest. this is me as a person. wouldn't be caught dead in sweatpants unless i am flying or dying. and i have nothing against people in sweatpants, in fact i am a bit jealous. but some people just never get over winning best dressed as a senior superlative (its me, i'm some people)

can i get a kiss? and can you make it last forever? i said I'm 'bout to go to war (uh-huh) and I don't know if i'ma see you again can I get a kiss? (can I?)

leo was woken up by his phone buzzing and ringing out the chorus of ‘see you again’ by tyler, the creator. only one person in his phone had a specialized ringtone, which is why his hands were blindly searching through his sheets to find the little metal box. finally, his fingers managed to grasp the phone and he pulled it up to his ear, yawning against the back of his hand as he slowly sat up in bed.

“hey, mamacita,” he spoke, clearing his throat to lose the morning voice even though he knew she loved it.

“leo, i’m sorry, i know you’ve got late mornings on thursdays but-” the girl heaved into the phone, getting cut off by stuttering breaths and the sniffling of her nose. leo was instantly awake, his brows furrowing at her state.

“y/n, you need to breathe, honey. it’s okay, no ones mad, just talk to me,” leo comforted, picturing tears rolling down her cheeks and her bloodshot eyes which felt like a knife to his heart. he often had to tell y/n that no one was upset with her, a normal assumption she had picked up from her mother and father, the temperamental sea god. he listened as y/n took a few deep breaths through the phone before trying again.

“my car is making a weird noise, i woke up late, the outfit i planned out last night looked so bad this morning that i’m in sweatpants. sweatpants, leo, sweatpants. i have like fifteen minutes to get to my class but i can’t stop crying in the parking lot and- and i hate sweatpants,” y/n moaned into the phone, a new wave of tears brimming her eyes. he could see her, curled up in the driver seat with the phone held in her shaky hands.

“okay, okay, i've got a plan. you go to class, i’ll come by at lunch, check out the car and bring you a change of clothes. how’s that sound, baby?” leo offered, knowing he had nothing going on today. he was enrolled in some fancy block schedule high school, which gave him thursdays off every week. which he was grateful for on a whole new level today, the sound of y/n’s relieved tears sounding like it was straight from the heavens.

“thank you, thank you, thank you,” y/n mused into the phone, over exaggerated kissing noises as well. leo laughed, shaking his curls out as he glanced out at the rising sun.

“yeah, yeah. i’ll text when i’m there, okay? enjoy your class, love you,” leo mused into the phone, smiling wider at her laughs.

“okay, hammer head, i’ll see you later. i love you more,” she laughed into the phone, promptly ending the call before leo had time to argue.

he rolled his eyes at her, shooting off a text claiming he loved her most before crawling out of bed. he got dressed quickly, grabbing his tool bag and keys as he left, informing his foster parents of his plans as he scampered out of the door. he pulled up outside of the jackson-blofis household, producing a key that sally had insisted leo take, sick of the climbing through the windows from both him and annabeth. he opened the door, walking in and being met by a surpirsed paul, who held a sandwich in one hand and a baby bottle in the other.

“…hey, leo,” paul prompted, nervously glancing about.

“oh, hey, sir, i’ve just come to get some clothes for y/n. she’s having a rough day,” leo explained, rocking on the balls of his feet. he’s met y/n’s biological father and been less nervous around him. and he's a god that could smite leo for sneezing wrong.

“that would explain the stomping around this morning. poor girl,” replied paul before waving leo off to y/n’s room as estella whined and made grabby hands towards the man.

leo waved to the little girl as he easily made this way through the apartment, swinging y/n’s door open. he walked in, shaking his head at the pile of clothes on her bed, surely from the morning. she usually kept her room painfully organized, which leo had a habit of messing up, not that she cared much. leo dug through the pile for a moment before pulling her pair of flare leggings out, remembering she told him once they went with everything. he grabbed one of her tops, a low neck dark red one that he loved. finally, he made the impromptu decision to grab her makeup bag, knowing she’d want to at least fix her mascara. he shoved it all into a tote bag and began to make his way out of the apartment.

“thanks, sir, i’m off,” leo called and paul called with similar wishes of safe travels.

leo, knowing he still had some time, made a sneaky stop for iced coffee for her before making his way to her college campus. she had texted him her lot and spot earlier. plus, it was a cobalt blue vw beetle, kinda hard to miss. he pulled up next to it, scrolling through his phone to pass the time until he heard her voice approaching.

“oh, don’t even worry about it, katie! i don’t even use my physical copy anymore, the online version is just easier for me,” y/n’s voice mused and leo couldn’t stop the smile that took over his lips as he leapt out of his truck, approaching her car with her tote bag and coffee in hand. she was, in fact, in a pair of sweatpants but leo still thought she was the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen. and he’d seen the goddess of beauty (who took a striking resemblance to y/n when they’d met but he's sure that's unrelated.)

“there’s my sweet girl,” he spoke, y/n’s eyes instant darting from her classmate to leo, a large smile taking over her face.

“leo!! aww, you didn’t have to get me coffee,” the girl whined, though she quickly stole it from his hands and took a sip while leaning into his side. he rolled his eyes at her words with a smile.

“please, you love coffee more than you love me,” he huffed, winking jokingly over at her friend. leo briefly introduced himself and shook her hand, katie responding similarly but she was clearly shy.

“that could change if you can fix my car,” y/n sang jokingly, tossing him her car keys as she pulled the passenger door open, dropping her stuff off into the seat before reaching into the back and producing some book. leo had popped the hood already, looking around for problems and what not.

“here, katie. keep it for as long as you need. oh, and i already started highlighting before i got the online version, i think to chapter three,” stated y/n, setting the book into the girl’s hands. she looked up at y/n like she’d hung the stars in the sky.

“thank you, y/n, truely,” katie managed to get out, returning the bright smile y/n gave her.

“of course! if you wanna plan a study session for that book, just shoot me a text,” y/n replied, waving the girl off before turning to leo, who was deep inside her car's engine.

“hey, lee? you got my clothes?” she questioned, folding her arms on the car before resting her head against. leo glanced over at her with a smile, reaching into his tool belt for something which he managed to magically produce.

“yeah, i put it in your driver's seat. leggings and that red top,” leo huffed, pulling out a flashlight and somehow going even deeper into the car.

“the one you love?” she asked with a smirk and leo pretended not to hear her as his cheeks began to tint red. y/n laughed before walking away, to assumable change in his car, which had more space. a few minutes later, y/n came bounding up to him as he was no longer leaning into the car. she collided with his side, leo laughing as he wrapped his arm around her but kept his fingers away to avoid getting grease on her.

“better?” he asked and she nodded against his chest, causing the boy to press a kiss to her temple.

“good, because your tits look great,” leo joked with a wink, y/n laughing with a shake of her head.

“i’m not wearing a bra, leo,” she told him, glancing down to see what all the fuss was about.

“i think we should abolish bras then. let's start with yours, i'm your guy if you wanna burn 'em,” continued leo, getting more joy from hearing her little giggles.

“did you fix my car or not, repair boy?” y/n mocked, earning her a playful smack against her hip.

“you know i hate that nickname,” he huffed with a smile, knowing he only liked it out of her pretty lips but shaking his head at the girl, “and yes, i did fix it.”

“awww, my grease-covered hero,” y/n mused, taking his face into her hands, holding him a few inches away from her before pressing their lips together. leo leaned into her lips easily, enjoying the lip gloss that transferred to his lips and the way her hands felt against his cheeks. and even though he hated coffee, he thought it was becoming his new favorite as he could taste it on the girl’s lips.

“you got time to catch lunch?” leo asked as they pulled apart, opening his eyes to see the lovestruck look she was giving him.

“for you? always.”

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez

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darlingdarkly · 4 months

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New Year, New You Part 3

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

4.7k Words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes

Part 2, 4

The next day is what you can only describe as controlled chaos. The office is a whirlwind of papers, people and pieces of presentation sent to and fro across the building. Maureen in marketing needs approval from Mark in finance who’s busy balancing the budget for this year and the spreadsheets from last year. Sharon has been on the phone for Three. Whole. Hours. trying to make sure the prototypes will be ready before noon tomorrow.

Tom called in sick and Mrs. Magna told Nancy to tell him that if he doesn’t show up today to never show up again. Period. That was ensued by a thirty minute yelling match between Nancy and Tom that ended when you gently took the phone from Nancy’s white-knuckle grip and told Tom if he didn’t come in you’d personally shove your foot up his ass.

Tom was in the office fifteen minutes later, quarantined in the conference room with his laptop, a growing mountain of crumbled Kleenex and very, very, grumpy. The day dragged on and on and while people who had finished with their portion of the project headed home for the day you stayed, even after your piece of the pie was secure, because at the end of it all you knew it fell to Nancy to review and review and review the final product for any mistakes and you weren’t about to let her do it alone.

As you worked, you caught up with each other, not having time to really talk since the white elephant party over a week ago. “So how was break?” You asked as you filed away two early projection models in their appropriate folders. She sat cross legged in front of you, stapling documents together. “It was nice, mom came this year, and I thought it would be a lot more barbaric but it actually was very civil. I'm proud of them for working out their differences. The way it went down last year I was still cleaning fruit cake off my ceiling a month later, remember?”

You giggled together because you did remember. That was Nancy’s Christmas reunion debacle from the previous year. You hadn’t been there but you did drop by to help her clean up and have a little wine. A bottle and a half in you both were too drunk and giggly to climb the ladder and scrap the candied fruit and cake from the ceiling.

“What about you? Did you go see your parents?” You smiled and answered. “Yeah they’re doing good, they said to tell you hello by the way. My brother too.” And the side eye she gave you was hilarious and aggravated all in one. “What? He still asks about you.” She rolled her eyes and restacked the papers in her hands. “Well he can stop.” You laughed as she shook her head. “He’s still got a crush on me after all this time.”

“Yes! He’s obsessed! I don’t know why you won’t go for him, it’s not like you’re seeing anyone anyways.” She scoffed at you. “I am not dating your brother. Not after what he did.” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Nance, you can’t still be on that.” She looked offended. “After we both nearly drowned at the lake that summer. You remember, he practically pulled me under!”

You laughed remembering. “He was trying to save you!” She laughed with you and pushed on your arm. “Yeah well he sucked at it. We both nearly died.” You both were in fits of giggles at this point, papers nearly forgotten in the glow of your memories. “Besides, how do you know I’m not seeing anyone?”

Your eyebrows raised at this. “Ohhh, something to confess?” She looked up from her work, eyes sparkling. “You know the guy that moved in across the hall?” You did. You both had run into him one day coming back to her place for a drink after a Saturday outing together. “You mean Mr. Dark Eyes, the one who came over and fixed your window for you?”

She practically beamed. “That’s the one. He asked me out for drinks tomorrow night.” You waggled your eyebrows at her and she laughed and rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that. He’s just being nice.” It was your turn to give her an accusatory look. “It’s absolutely like that Nancy! He’s into you. I can see it! I think you should go for it, I’m glad for you, it’s time you got a little action.”

She picked up the stack she’d finished stapling and set it to the side, beginning another. “You and I both. I mean it’s not like you’ve been seeing anyone either.” You paused, thinking of Johnny. You wouldn’t call it seeing someone, but there was something between the two of you, it was momentary, your lapse in response but enough for her to notice and immediately catch on.

“Oh my god, wait. You have been seeing someone haven’t you?” You immediately refuse. “No.” “Bullshit.” “Seriously! It’s nothing.” And she wouldn’t stop until she’d pried it out of you so you began recounting your encounter at the gym, leaving nothing out.

“You’re fucking with me.” You shake your head. “No, I’m serious. Just like I told you.” She put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. “He legit did all that?” You nodded and she smiled. “I think you should go for it.” Your jaw dropped. “You’re serious?” She nodded. “Oh yeah, he’s totally into you. All that weird shit just means he’s obsessed. Is he hot?”

You immediately nodded. “Oh yeah, he’s strong and tan. He’s got this pretty white smile and dark hair. I knew he was a personal trainer the minute I saw him.” She hummed approval. “Definitely go for it.” You laughed nervously. “I don’t know, we'll see where it goes.”

The sun had long descended past the horizon, but you had it done. Two hundred and fifteen pages of statistics and sales projections that concluded the project. You both cleaned up the papers and put everything away. She turned to you when the elevator had stopped at the ground floor and the cold night air chilled you as the doors opened. “Wanna go out for a drink, I know I sure could use one.”

You shook your head. “I’m beat, I’m going home, eating and sliding into bed.” She nodded in understanding. “Don’t forget your homework.” She winked at you mischievously and giggled as you let out a frustrated groan. “I’m thinking about skipping it.” She shook her head. “Better not, with what you’ve told me so far it seems like there’d be consequences.” And she was right, who knew what kind of thing he’d cook up if you slacked out on it. You said your goodbyes and headed home.

You find yourself in front of your door, mentally exhausted. You slide the key in the lock and feel it give as you push the door open and walk into the cool interior of your home. Flipping the lights on you drop your purse and jacket on the couch and head for the kitchen. It’s been a long day and you hadn’t even had a chance to go grocery shopping this week but you’re pretty sure you at least had a couple of eggs left in the fridge.

If all you could manage was a few scrambled eggs before you did your homework and fell into bed then so be it. You’d eat better tomorrow. You open the door on the fridge and are immediately taken aback by what you see. It’s fully stocked. There’s a whole pack of water bottles on the bottom shelf of your fridge. The chiller drawer is packed with spinach, sweet peppers, broccoli and carrots. There’s deli meat and boneless skinless chicken breasts, a few types of cheese and a new gallon of milk. Individual packs of yogurt and gatorades in all different flavors.

You open the door on your freezer to find a few more frozen packs of chicken breasts, pounds of lean hamburger meat and sausage. Rushing to the cabinets you pull them open and find low carb tortilla wraps and bread, granola bars and some kind of chips called “Veggie Straws” that you’ve always seen on the shelf but never tried.

As you turn around you finally notice the bowl of fruit on your counter. How could you have overlooked it walking in? Bananas and apples and oranges, all ripe and fresh. You didn’t do this. Either you were losing your mind and key moments in your life we’re missing like puzzle pieces lost or someone had been in your house.

Your eyes widen, breath hitched. They could still be in the house. You turn around and survey the space around you, the dark comforting tone had a queer eerie feeling setting in around the edges. The corners and shadows leering with the unknown. Nothing looked out of place or was missing, but what kind of a person came into a home to stock the fridge and leave without taking anything?

You checked the doors, the windows, no broken locks or pried open hinges, no immediate signs of forced entry. Your shoulders stiffened when the realization hits you, it takes your overworked mind a moment to remember but there it was. Your gym bag, you were nearly certain you had closed it but it was open when you opened your locker to change. Johnny.

You grabbed your purse and pulled your phone out, flicking through your contacts and hovering over his name. You momentarily waver between calling him or the police. What were you going to say? Yes officer, my home has been broken into. Did they take anything? Well, no. The opposite really. What did they leave? Groceries. Lots of them, stocked my whole kitchen with fresh meats, veggies and fruit. Yeah, we’ll get right on catching the ever elusive grocery fairy, ma’am. Top priority, don't you worry.

You started the call and he answered on the second ring, tone light and cheery with enthusiasm. “Bonnie! How was work?” You skip the pleasantries. “Do you have something to tell me, Johnny?” And you don’t know why you expected him to take the matter seriously.

“Aye lass, I did think about ye all day, sometimes with mah cock in hand, how’d ye know?” His response momentarily scatters your thoughts to the wind but you take hold of them once more and push on. “What? No! Johnny, have you been in my house?” He laughs, actually laughs. “Oh that. Yeah, did you check the fridge?”

Your brow furrowed in frustration, of course he doesn’t see it as an intrusion instead of some kind of regular thing. “Johnny, how did you get into my house?” You sit down in a chair and what he says makes you bolt upright again. “Easy, hen. I just made a key.” You’re pacing now. “You made a key to my house! How?”

And he says it casually like he’s explaining how to tie a shoe or giving someone easy directions. “I went into yer bag, found yer keys, pressed it into a mold and had one made. Simple really.”

“You can’t do that Johnny.” He interrupts. “S’alright Bonnie, I’m yer personal trainer.” There it is again. That phrase, like it’s the simplest thing to understand in the world, normal even. He’d picked you out, told you he was going to train you, you didn’t exactly protest and now anything was fair game, including crossing every single kind of boundary you could have and making copies of the keys to your home so he can come and go as he pleases.

“Besides, yer fridge was empty. What were ye gonna have fer dinner?”

“None of your business. And what if I don’t know how to cook? Did you think about that Johnny?” And this seems to be the first real thing to give him pause. “Yer right, lass. I didn’t even think about that. I’m about five minutes away, I’ll be right over.” Your eyes widen in panic. “No Johnny! Don’t come over!”

“S’alright lass, it’s really no trouble. I’ll be right there.” The last thing you needed was him showing up at the door. “No! Johnny I’m serious, don’t.”

He’s quiet for a moment and it feels long, you almost expect a knock at the door, even though he couldn’t possibly be there that fast, unless of course he was lying about being five minutes away and was actually right outside the whole time, or even in the house still.

“Alright. I won’t come over on one condition.” You grab for it, ready to agree to anything that will keep him from showing up. “Yes, anything.”

“I want ye tae FaceTime me while ye do yer homework.” And you’re almost relieved with the simplicity of it, but there was an underlying unease that you couldn’t shake, what was he up to? You answer slowly when you can’t come up with a good reason to say no. “Ok, I’ll call you back.”

But before you can hang up he interjects. “No. Don’t hang up, talk to me.”

“Talk to you? About what Johnny?” You start to look around the kitchen for what you’re gonna have, if he’s making you talk to him the whole way through it then it’s better to get started now. “For starters, How yer day was.”

It starts slow, your relinquishing of the accounts of the day, but as time went on and you kept talking it all just came to the surface. The stress of the day, the brutal meticulousness of it, and he made it so easy, he was so attentive, listening and responding, asking questions and letting you vent it. He even laughed so hard when you told him about threatening Tom that you couldn’t help but laugh with him, bent over in front of the stove as you let the stress bleed out of you.

It felt good, right even, like something you'd been missing out on, a key component you hadn't realized you’d been without for so long. And you found a peculiar twinge of adoration for him in the bottom of your heart, like tea leaves spelling out your heart's true desires, whether you like what you read in them or not, there they were.

You sat down to eat and he told you about his day as you ate. It was much more appetizing than a plate of scrambled eggs, you had to admit. You nearly choke on a cherry tomato when he tells you he missed you. “It’s only been a day since you last saw me Johnny, you can’t miss me.” And is there longing in his voice, or just your tired mind playing tricks again? “Aye, but I did.”

There’s a momentary pause, a space of uninterrupted silence, pregnant with things unsaid. You finally break it. “Well, I’ve got dishes and then I’ll do my homework.” What he says next makes you smile, and you’re glad he’s not able to see it. “How will I know ye’ll call me back?”

“Don’t be stupid, I’ll call you. If not, you'll be pounding at my door, won’t you?” You can hear the smile in his response. “Better believe it, lass. Call me.” And he hangs up.

You quickly finish up your dishes, change into something comfortable, just a tank top and shorts, and prop your phone up. Pressing the call button on Johnny’s name in the contact list you see the screen go black as you wait for him to pick up. Your image is reflected back at you in a little square in the top right of the screen and you use the time to adjust your hair and pull the hem of your shorts down lower to cover more of your thighs.

His face pops into frame and he’s smiling ear to ear and you ignore the eruption of goosebumps on your arms when you see it. “Hi, lass” You back away from the screen and into the open space you’ve made in your living room to do your exercises. “Hi Johnny.”

“God yer beautiful.” And you feel your cheeks heating under his compliment. “Stop it, Johnny. Let’s crack on.” You see him sit back on his bed as he responds. “Alright lass. Start.” So you do, starting with the sit ups. You don’t have him there to hold your feet so you slide them under the couch to hold you steady as you do the exercise. He talks you through it, counting for you so you can focus on just your movements, keeping track of your pauses in between sets so they’re evenly spaced and consistent.

“Good lass, now yer toe touches.” You rise and face the camera, bending down with legs straight as your fingertips brush your toes. “Good, just like that.” And each line of praise is like a shot of vodka, a shock of ambrosia to your system, intoxicating. You know he’s looking down your shirt with each rep, but it’s a thrill you find exhilarating instead of embarrassing for once. Halfway through he has you turn around so he can make sure you’re not dipping at the knees.

You do the first one and he groans, quiet but you still catch it. You call over your shoulder and ask if he’s ok and he clears his throat, voice full of audible gravel even in his one word response. “Aye.” You finish and all that’s left is your lunges and stretches. You bend your knees and step into the first lunge, one leg at a time til you reach your goal of ten.

You’re finished and you turn to face the camera, you see he’s laid down on the bed, eyes intense and holding yours even from the small screen of the phone across the room. “Stretches now, lass.” He sounds out of breath and you wonder what you’d see if he flipped the view to his back camera.

You sit on the floor, legs V’d and begin to stretch them wider and wider. You curse your decision for shorts and blame it on being tired and not thinking it through. You know the crotch of your shorts is pulling taut against your pussy, barely covering your panties as you stretch further and further. You start to strain, little puffs of breath and groans escaping your lips as you widen your stretch. “Hold it, bonnie.” And you do just as he asks, holding it against the potent pain accumulating in your calves and inner thighs. “Just a little more, doing so good fer me.”

You hold it for another five seconds and he finally lets you release. You’re breathing heavily as you draw your legs back together and if you aren’t mistaken you think you can hear his labored breathing as well. “Johnny.” His voice is thick with strain. “Aye, lass.”

“What are you doing?” His smirk is devastatingly handsome as he speaks. “Nothing yet, lass.” You feel emboldened and press your luck, eyes connected with his as you command him. “Flip your camera Johnny.” His eyes hold yours raptly for a few seconds before he does as you ask and the shot flips to his chest and legs lying on his bed. He’s got a dark blue comforter and you can see in the frame a pull up bar and a few weights on a rack in the corner, just what you’d expect but the first thing to catch your eye is the raging bulge in his gray sweats and your breath hitches as his hand comes into view, wrapping around the base of the stretched fabric and adjusts it to better accommodate his length.

“See what ye do tae me, hen?” You do see, you can’t look away as his hand squeezes himself through the cloth cage. Your mind, overworked and fried is trying to get you to say something, anything, but the only thing that will compute is his name. “Johnny.”

“Get up and sit down on the couch, lass.” His voice holds a tone of gentle authority, you could probably protest but you’re tired and trying to swim against the current of what your body wants is a task you’re not up for at the moment, so you give in and let him command you.

You sit on the couch at first, eyes still glued to where he’s fisting his cock through his clothes. “Sit back, hen and spread your legs.” You do sit back but you don’t spread your legs, at first. “Come on, bonnie. Jus’ like we practiced.” So you do, not as wide as you would when stretching but enough to give him a view and the tingles of anticipation thrumming through you has you on edge, like you’re standing before a cliff and about to jump, there’s no going back from this.

He groans and you watch with keen eyes as he pulls his sweats down until he’s just in his boxers, the same dark blue shade as his bed spread. “Ye wanna see more, lass?” He’s tempting you and it’s working, you do wanna see more but it’ll come at a price. “Yes.” He wraps a fist around his cock and you shift uncomfortably as your panties dampen. “Take yer shorts off.”

You sit up and tug your shorts down your legs, feeling dirty but heightened as you do, like you’re liberating something inside yourself even you don’t quite understand. He hisses air through his teeth as he spots the wet patch quickly growing and soaking the gusset of your panties.

He pulls his boxers down and his cock springs up into view, finally free and it makes you bite your lip. He’s thick and has length to boot, a good seven inches of it guessing by the comparison of his hand up against it.

There’s a neatly trimmed patch of dark hair spreading out from the base and you can’t help but moan as he wraps his hand around it and begins to tug lazily. His voice is husky and deep when he speaks.

“So pretty, hen. Are you that wet all fer me?” And you’re beyond words so you just nod, eyes glued to the way he tugs on himself. He curses under his breath and your pussy aches from the lack of stimulation. You snake a hand down your chest, descending toward the pain, itching to relieve the tension. “That’s it, lass. Let me see ye touch yerself fer me.”

So you do, just overtop of the fabric, a roll of your fingertips overtop your clit, enough to make your head tip back and moan blissfully. “Good girl.” You look back up to see him working his shaft in earnest, firm grip and steady movements. You feel emboldened by his reactions and lean forward again to rid yourself of the cloth barrier. He stops and watches as your pussy comes into view for the first time.

“Steamin’ Jesus. Fucking gorgeous.” He resumes his movements as your fingers settle over top your bare clit and you start to rub tight little circles over it, just how you like. “Show me Bonnie, show me just how you like it.” The sexual tension between the two of you, the stress of the day all come to a head and you reach down to spread your wetness up and around your clit, moaning low and sultry as he watches you play with yourself.

You reach your other hand up and squeeze one of your breasts through your top and look back up into the screen. Watching him pick up the pace, making fast even strokes over the tip of his cock with each movement. The motion of his hands, the way his tip disappears into his fist and reappears with each pass is mesmerizing. You can feel the beginnings of an orgasm building and it just drives you on as you think about coming in front of him for the first time.

Your fingers pick up speed and your moans rise in pitch as he talks you through it. “Mmm such a bonnie little pussy. I wanna see ye come for me lass. Can ye do that fer me? Come nice and hard fer me?” You suck in a deep breath as you work your body into a frenzy, pinching a nipple between your fingers as you feel yourself nearing the edge.

You look up to see him vigorously stroking his cock. His breathing is heavy and loud through the speakers and you wonder if he’ll be loud when he comes. You’re close and even though he’s not even in the same room as you he can tell, spurring you on. “That’s it hen. Just like that. Do it. Cum fer me.”

It’s all it takes to send you spiraling. Your pussy clenching around nothing as you fall over the edge and succumb to the pleasure. You let out a long drawn out moan as you do, body tensing as you pant and writhe on the couch in full view.

You look up when he calls your name, watch as his strokes quicken and shorten and then all at once he’s coming undone, legs tensing and white hot cum shooting from the tip of his hard cock. It arcs through the air before landing in spattered lines across his thighs. The guttural yell that falls from his lips as he does is loud, just as you’d expected and you wish you could feel it, the rumble of his chest when it sounds.

You’re both breathing heavily and coming down when it hits you, the post nut clarity. You just had very raw, hardcore phone sex with a man who made a copy of the keys to your home, came over without you knowing while you were at work and invaded your personal space.

You’re ashamed and a little sickened by what you’ve just done. Quickly closing yourself off from view you snatch your panties and shorts from the ground and redress. “Fuck, lass. That was fucking amazing.” You’re already working on damage control in your mind, blocking out the experience, no matter how much you enjoyed it, it was wrong.

“No Johnny. It wasn’t.” You can see him switch the camera around and he’s way more relaxed now, smile a mile wide on his face. “Aye, it was. Cannae wait tae see ye, tomorrow.”

You don’t even know if you’ll show up now, how could you after that? It was just a mistake you told yourself, a tired slip up, absolutely a one time thing. You close your eyes and when you open them he’s looking at you and you swear you can his adoration for you swimming in them. “Go to sleep, lass. I wanna see ye tomorrow at 4:30.”

You say nothing and hang up. It’s very late before you fall asleep that night, debating whether or not the consequences of not showing up tomorrow are something you can afford to risk. If you don’t show up he could just pop into your house at any time. It’d be better to just show up and act like nothing happened, that was the key, just brush it under the rug and hope he’ll do the same.

You’re nervous about it all day at work, and you know Nancy knows something is wrong but you insist everything’s ok. You’re too ashamed to tell her about any of it and she relents and leaves you alone but she knows you’re lying. When four o’clock hits you’re out the door, won’t be able to stop this frenzied state of mind until you can clear things up with him and make things go back to normal.

The next day when you walk in the door and sign in he meets you at the desk and before you even have a chance to say anything he’s on you, lips crashing into yours in a passionate and very explicit kiss right in the lobby of the building surrounded by patrons and gawking onlookers.

He doesn’t even give you room to breathe let alone get a word in as his body presses up against yours and he grabs ahold of the back of your neck to keep you locked against him. When he pulls away you’re shell shocked and silent. As he pulls you against him and walks you further into the building you know things have taken an irrevocable turn.

#cod x reader #soap x reader #dark!johnny #dubcon #dark fic #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #cod #cod soap #twdubcon

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southpawbitch · 7 months

Text

One More Night | Jake Seresin x Reader

(18+, minors dni)

word count: 3.1k

summary: a surprise wedding forces you and jake to pretend like everything is fine

warnings: drinking (that's mostly it), mention of parental death, aruguing, this is...sad

A/N: my first one shot!!! how?? idk. I have so many of these sitting in my google drive, so I'm going to start making my way thru them. pls let me know what you think :) x MJ

You have your whole speech planned out, running over it in your head again and again as you wait at the bar of your favorite spot for after work drinks with Nat, the best friend and coworker you could’ve ever asked for when you were first stationed here a while back. So much has changed since then–you, mainly. You were so young when you arrived here, and so full of optimism. You knew what you wanted out of life, and you were determined to get it. Meeting Jake was the cream cheese icing on top of it all–your favorite. Despite his hard exterior and asshole tendencies, he warmed up to you immediately. The teasing nicknames and playful jabs turned into inside jokes and private chats away from the rest of the group, which turned into something you had only ever dreamed of. You’re not sure which one of you fell in love first, but you’re certain you fell harder. Five years later, and it’s hard to even recognize who the two of you are anymore. Somewhere along the way you must have turned into someone new.

You pick up the glass sitting in front of the seat you’ve saved for her, downing it as fast as you possibly can. You’ve been waiting for longer than usual, and you’re anxious as hell to tell her the news. Your palms are so sweaty that you had to ask the bartender for extra napkins just to keep them dry enough for the glass to not slip out of your hands. You tap the screen of your phone that lays face up. It’s fifteen minutes past when she said she’d be here. You have a plethora of notifications. You haven’t opened your work friends group chat since Monday. In fact, you’ve barely done anything outside of work until today. You go to base in the mornings and get all your tasks for the day completed before you drive back to your empty house, drink half a bottle of wine, and fall asleep on the sofa. Your neck should ache from the awkward position you find yourself in every morning, but you’re too numb to feel anything–even the buzz from the two cocktails you’ve had in the past twenty minutes.

A tap on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts. You turn slowly, preparing yourself for the conversation you know you’re about to have with her, but instead of coming face to face with just one person, you’re met with two. Nat and Javy are grinning from ear to ear, bouncing on their feet and clinging to each other.

“We’re engaged!” She squeals, throwing her left hand out towards you. You clumsily grab onto her hand, staring at the rock on her ring finger as your mind spins. You’re happy for her, completely and utterly happy for her, but your life as you knew it just last week is now crumbling down around you. Tears prick at your eyes, and you attempt to hide the sadness in your voice.

“It’s beautiful, oh my god, guys!” You push off the stool and wrap your arms around Nat’s neck. “I’m so happy for you.” You pull away with your best fake smile and teary eyes. She’s having the same reaction now. You’ve never seen her happier, which takes some of the weight off your shoulders. She’s too happy to notice the two empty glasses sitting on the counter next to you or your bleeding nail beds from days of anxious picking. She can’t tell that your hair pulled back into a claw clip is greasy because you haven’t had the energy to wash it for the past few days, or that the small locket you used to wear around your neck isn’t there anymore.

“Do you want to get a table or–”

“We can’t wait!” Nat blurts out, looking up at Javy with a grin that’s practically stretching across her whole face. “We’re flying to Vegas tonight, and Jake is already in the car. Let’s go!” She leans over and grabs your wrist, pulling you towards the doors before you can even react. Jake’s dark gray Jeep is sitting right outside the building. Nat lets go of your hand to slide in the back seat with Javy, leaving you to take your spot up front. You take a breath and open the door, avoiding eye contact as you settle into the seat and buckle up. The last time you were in his car was last Friday after a particularly wonderful dinner. You felt great after having a few glasses of wine, just tipsy enough to be talking nonstop on the way home.

“I saw that blue house on Laurel is for sale. Maybe we could go to the open house on Sunday.” You suggest, smiling softly as you turn your head to face Jake as he’s driving. Your head is leaned up against the headrest lazily. He keeps his gaze on the road ahead. It’s dark, so you can’t see much except the outline of his features.

“All the way out in Escondido?” He questions, furrowing his brow as if he doesn’t remember the beautiful home out in the suburbs that reminds you of your childhood home on Cape Cod. You couldn’t believe your eyes when you stumbled across the gorgeous house with East Coast architecture last year. You decided then that it had to be yours. The pictures on Zillow of the interior are incredible, too. Four bedrooms, a spacious kitchen, and the most luscious, tree-filled yard that you’ve ever seen in Southern California. It’s perfect.

“Yeah, you know the one that looks like the beach house.” You remind him. Jake’s been to your parents’ place a few times, but you don’t get out there often. You’ve only been to his parents’ ranch in Texas one singular time in the five years you’ve been dating. Everyone’s just so busy with their own things. His sisters have kids and his parents go on more vacations in a year than you’ve been on in your entire life. Everyone’s happy, it seems, and the two of you are satisfied with your life out here.

“We can’t buy a house, babe.” He looks over and sees your small pout. It’s cute, but he’s firm in his thoughts on the topic. “Because, okay, what…we buy a house, and then we get married, and have kids and turn into those people we never wanted to be.” His words cut a little too deep. When you first got together, sure, you thought that way. You hated what everyone turned into once they got married and had kids and other commitments. You two never wanted to be boring. You’re the couple that’s closing down the bar every Saturday night and pregaming work parties–not the kind of couple that doesn’t want to get out once they’re already at home. In fact, you’re barely at your condo as it is.

But somewhere along the way you changed your mind, and you thought that maybe he’d had done the same.

“We don’t have to turn into those people, but we’re not getting any younger, Jake, and my biological clock is unfortunately ticking.” You sigh, turning your head to look out the window instead of at him. “I know I’ve never really cared about having kids, but I don’t know…I think I want them with you.”

Jake’s silence is more than enough to tell you that he doesn’t feel the same–that he hasn’t changed his mind at all. A tear falls down your cheek as the drive back to your shared condo continues. The realization that you want different things hits you hard. You and Jake have never been ones to fight. There won’t be any screaming or arguing or blaming. It almost makes it worse–that there’s nothing worth fighting for. That maybe you aren’t worth fighting for.

You cry the whole way home and he knows. He knows it’s over. He also knows he’s not going to change his mind, and he doesn’t expect you to, either. He feels a little blindsighted by your confession, but he knows he should’ve seen it coming. You’re always on Zillow, looking at houses that have been put up for sale in the area, and every time you’re out shopping, you’ll point out how tiny and cute the baby clothes are. You’ve been changing slowly but surely over the past year since your father passed away, but Jake’s own family issues are what made up his mind about marriage and kids many years ago–before he even met you. Before he fell in love with you. Before he would’ve done anything and everything to make you happy, but he knows he can’t do this. It’s just not a promise he can make.

Two hours later, you’re standing next to Jake in a short, black dress, holding a small bouquet of tulips from the flower shop next door. He’s wearing black pants and a white shirt. His hands are tucked in his pockets as the two of you stand off to the side while Nat and Javy exchange vows. They’re both teary-eyed and giggly and you remember being that happy with Jake not that long ago.

When you first met them, they would hardly speak to each other, but over time, much like you and Jake, they became one. Nat never thought she’d ever get into anything serious, especially with a coworker, but Javy rocked her world for the better. The two of them claim they have you and Jake to thank for the night that everything changed for them. The two of you threw a Halloween party for all your friends the first year you two lived together, and you may or may not have locked them outside to “make up” after a stupid argument over the game of beer pong that was being played. Maybe it was the full moon or the tight outfit that Nat was wearing, but Javy confessed that he had feelings for her, and well, the rest is history.

They’re holding hands and staring at each other with complete and utter adoration–they haven’t looked over at you or Jake once the entire time. They’re so in love. It makes you wonder how long it’s been since Jake has felt that way towards you. The way he stands next to you now is cold, as if you’re two strangers who don’t know a thing about each other, despite having lived together up until a week ago.

When Javy and Nat kiss, you feel a genuine smile spread across your face, clapping along with the officiant, and Jake, as they pull away and make their way over to you. The chapel photographer is snapping pics like crazy and before you know it, Nat is forcing you and Jake to embrace each other for a picture. His arm snakes around your waist, resting on the top of your thigh and pulling you close. You lean in, take a deep breath, smile, and just as quickly as his arm was around you, it’s gone.

“How are you doing?” He asks casually as the two of you stand at the bar together on a joint mission to order drinks and shots while Nat and Javy grope each other in the booth. He knows you could be doing better. When he walked in the house for the first time in almost a week, it felt different. Stained wine glasses and empty bottles were sitting on the coffee table, and the fuzzy blanket you only get out of storage for the holidays was thrown across the couch haphazardly. While you were changing into your dress, he opened the fridge to find it empty. His favorite beers were really the only thing in there.

He walked into the bedroom and stared at the half-made bed curiously. It looked the exact same as it did when he was in here packing a bag of things to take to the hotel last Saturday–almost like you haven’t been sleeping in it. You stepped out of the closet in his favorite dress of yours. The one you wore for your most recent anniversary dinner. You walked past him without saying a word, and he followed you back out to the car. Your friends didn’t suspect a thing.

“We don’t have to do this.” You say, turning your attention towards him. He looks more tired than you originally thought when you saw him earlier. The bags under his eyes tell you he hasn’t been sleeping well. You haven’t been, either. “Not right now, at least.” You say softly, turning to look at your friends over in the corner. Jake follows your gaze and lets out a sigh, not that you can hear it in this rowdy bar. “You take those, I’ll wait for the shots.” You instruct, pushing the drinks over to him. He doesn’t want to argue, so he nods his head and takes them back to the table while you wait.

“We have something to tell you guys.” Javy says nervously after all the alcohol has been consumed and you’re uncomfortably leaning on Jake in an attempt to act like you’re still together. His arm is practically stuck around your shoulder–unmoving. It’s natural for the two of you to fall back into your old habits because it’s only been a week and no one even knows about the break up, but you feel uncomfortable pretending that you’re happy. You feel Jake shift his body and nod his head, urging his friend to keep going. “We’re moving to Virginia Beach.”

Jake furrows his eyebrows. Javy has been dead set on retiring in Southern California for years. Him and Nat even joked about opening up a surf shop when they’re a little older.

“I know I always said I’d die in San Diego with you, J.” He smiles down at his wife as she’s looking up to him lovingly. “But Natasha wants to be close to her parents in D.C., and we can’t both get what we want.” He doesn’t sound bitter in the slightest as he speaks. He sounds happy. “We just wanted to let you guys know before we turn in our transfer papers.”

“We’re so glad the two of you came. It’s been such a crazy night, and we don’t want to end on a downer, so…” Nat perks up, standing up from her seat and pulling you out onto the dance floor where a large group of people are dancing. You laugh and smile, hiding the fact that Javy’s words are still burned into your brain. He’s right. You and Jake both can’t get what you want, and maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s the true testament of love–sacrifice. You feel a little lighter as you dance with your best friend, enjoying your time together while you still have it, and when it’s time to part ways in the hotel hallway, you pull Jake into yours quickly, letting the door slam behind you.

Your lips connect and it feels like the first time all over again. You’re all over each other like it’s been months–like that one time you were sent to Italy for eight weeks, and Jake couldn’t find the time to visit. These past seven days since your breakup has been the longest you’ve spent apart other than those eight weeks. Jake fumbles with his fingers trying to unzip your dress while keeping his lips attached to yours. You can feel the fire and the passion better than you have in months.

You don’t want this moment to end, but you want to get everything off your chest that you’ve been thinking of since you left the bar. It’s going to eat at you until you do, so you break away from Jake, breathing heavily as you look up to him. You can feel his hard length pressed against your leg, pinning you to the wall. He looks down at you and cocks an eyebrow, wondering if you’re now regretting what the two of you are doing.

“I don’t want this to be it–I don’t want to lose you. Javy was right, Jake. We can’t both get our way, so if you don’t want the house and the kids, that’s fine. As long as you still want me.” Your voice is hopeful, and you’re surprisingly confident in the proposition you’re suggesting. You want Jake. The guy you’ve loved for five years, and the only person you ever want to love like this at all. You’re more than willing to give everything else up for a life with him.

“Oh.” Jake moves his hand from your hip to your cheek and shakes his head. “I can’t let you do that, baby.” He says sadly. “I’d never forgive myself if I took that away from you. You deserve to have all of the things you want, and I just can’t give those to you.” Your heart breaks all over again. His soul-crushing words move through you slowly and powerfully. You’re back in the passenger seat of his car, crying on the way home from dinner. He’d rather not be with you at all. Tears prick at your eyes, but you will them to stay put.

“I just want you, Jake. You’re all I want.”

“No, I’m not.” He takes a step back and rubs his temple with his fingers. He’s trying to hold it together, he is. You’re just making it so hard. “You want the house and the kids and the marriage. You won’t be happy with me.” He’s trying to reason with you. He loves you tremendously. He has never been happier, but he knows what it’s like to grow up with parents who didn’t care whether or not they had kids. Parents who barely call, even when it’s his birthday. Parents who go on vacations instead of spending the holidays with the family they created. He worries that if you stay together and have a kid, he’s going to be that kind of parent. Distant and cold. As much as he loves you, he fears for being a failure as a spouse and a parent like it’s something that’s ingrained into his DNA. It’ll be better for everyone if he ends things now.

You don’t respond. You’re too hurt. You feel like screaming and crying and pitching an absolute fit, but you know Jake won’t respond well to that. It’ll push him further away than he already is. You’ve already lost him. The two of you stand in silence for a minute before he takes a step back, tucking part of his shirt back into his pants.

“I think I’m going to get a separate room.” And then he opens the door and leaves, letting it slam shut behind him. You slide down the wall and cry all night, thinking about how the happiest day for your best friends is always going to remind you of your worst.

#jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #Jake seresin imagine

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eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 1 year

Text

Dad!Eddie x Mom!Reader

Summary: it's your daughter's first day of school and Eddie isn't taking it too well.

Warnings: none some suggestive themes. just a small little fic. This is complete and utter fluff. Dad!Eddie has been on my brain all weekend.

Not proofread

Walking through your home with a clothes hamper on your hip. Hunting down various articles of clothing thrown about from your hectic morning. The first day of school is always stressful, but it wasn't too bad with just your son attending now it's your daughter too.

Getting them all up and ready was more than enough stress for you to begin the day with. Your daughter, who is like her father in so many ways, is NOT a morning person. While your son is a very bright, early, and chipper in the morning. After getting them ready for school, allowing Eddie to be the one to send Lily off this time around. You had the pleasure of sending your son James off to his first day of school last year.

Making your way to your kids' shared bedroom, you hear small sniffles emerging from the cracked door. These weren't sniffles of two sad little kids who didn't get their way. These were sniffles of their sad father who is having a tough time letting go. Eddie was the soft parent in your household. Anytime his little ones so much as poked out their little bottom lip, he was putty in their hands. Now, here he was sitting against your daughters bed, hugging her bat squishmallow to his chest.

"Hey Ed, everything okay?" You asked, sitting the laundry basket down on the floor.

"She's not ready yet. she's too small." His voice muffled in her favorite plush toy. Eddie had a very close bond with both of his children. But when Lily was born, it was like this whole other side of him came out. He became more aware of the world around him. Knowing it was going to treat her differently than it would your son. He became way more sensitive and understanding of her feelings, even if it was a small inconvenience.

"Eddie, she's five. I think she's ready." You said, taking a seat next to him on the floor.

He looks up from the plush bat that had stains of various glitter nail polishes. His eyes were red and puffy. His lips chapped and nose slightly runny. He wasn't taking this milestone well at all. His partners in crime were not making a mess in the living room like they usually did. They weren't running around screaming for Daddy to come and play. The house was quiet, and it hasn't been like this in six years.

"Tell me why you think she's not ready. This isn't just because she's small."

His chin wobbles just a bit, and he shakes his head. Clearing his throat, and you can tell he's struggling to get himself together. Now that you think of it, he's probably been a mess since watching her walk off with her kindergarten teacher. You'd never think this intimidating looking metal head you'd met years would be weeping in a stuffed animal.

"B-because no one is gonna protect her, how I can."

"Whose gonna spray the toilet for monsters?" He said, and you couldn't help but smile a little.

"You know how much the sound of a toilet flushing scares her. Who is gonna help her?" His voice sounding more and more frustrated as he spoke. Your daughter did have a hard time going to the bathroom. Anytime she went, either you or Eddie had to be on standby at the door while she went. She hated loud noises. If those noises weren't from your husband's guitar, she hated them.

"She's gonna have a total meltdown."

"Well, if she has a meltdown, I'm sure the school will call us." You reassured him.

He's not listening at this point hes just coming up with excuses to keep them home. Eddie wasn't good with change at all. When your son started school, he called them every fifteen minutes to check on him. Every day, during their nap time, he would call and ask the teachers to check and see if he was still breathing. That's just how he was with them. If they were not in his care hes freaking out. Like he said, no one can protect them the way he can. You couldn't help but fall in love with him more after seeing the way he is with your kids. He's attentive, playful, and a little too overprotective. You can tell the relationship he has with them is something he longed for growing up.

"You should have seen her. She looked so cute." He spoke up, interrupting your train of thought.

"Her backpack is way too big for her it looks like a little turtleshell." He smiled fondly and rested his head on your shoulder. You move your hand up and rub the side of his face. He moves the plush toy away from his chest to hug you close.

"She's growing up, Ed."

He groans when you tell him that. You can tell he's been battling with that realization for a while now. Today is just a reminder and confirmation of that. She's growing up, and soon, she'll be on her own. "My little Lily pad is gonna be all grown up one day."

He hugs you tighter, and you can hear him choke up again. Pulling away to look at him, you kiss the tears that have escaped the corners of his eyes. He's a mess and probably won't be over it until she walks through that front door again.

"That won't be for a while. Ed, don't rush it." You said as you peppered kisses to his face.

"I'm just not ready for that day yet, baby."

"This house is so lonely already without them here." He says as he begins to stand up and pulls you up with him. He tosses his daughters toy on her bed and pulls you in for a tight hug. The way he's holding you feels like if he lets go, you'll be gone, too. Eddie has always been a clingy man. That's something you always found endearingly beautiful about him. Eddie is a wonderful man and an even more wonderful husband. Sometimes, you see him play with your children and think about how lucky you all are to have him in your lives. People are too quick to judge him based on his hobbies and aesthetics. Those people have no idea what kind of person they are missing out on knowing. He's always been a very kind and generous person. Now add two little squealing children yelling for him 24/7, and those qualities are amplified to one hundred.

"Come on, we have two hours left before they are home."

"Ooh, what exactly are we gonna do in these two hours?" He said, wiggling his eyebrows at you suggestively. You laugh at him and pull away, trying to pick up the clothes basket. He grabs you from behind and pulls you tight against him. "We gonna make another one?"

"Oh no no no we're not." You said giggling as he buried his face in your neck.

"Oh, come on, it's too quiet around here, and I'm sad." He said as he playfully pouts.

Wiggling around, you finally break free of his grasp. Both of you are running around the house, giggling. Eddie finally grabs a hold of you and throws you over his should heading to your shared bedroom. What was supposed to be an intimate afternoon with one another ended up being an afternoon nap for you both. Wrapped in eachothers arms, getting some much needed rest until your kids burst through the front door.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #my writing #dad!eddie x mom!reader #dad!eddie #eddie munson fluff

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suzukiblu · 7 months

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i am literally for real obsessed with your timberkon pink kryptonite fic so i definitely would love to see another sneak peek, but i'm also loving all the superfam stuff you're putting out!!! something that i wish you would write because i love your works (and have since the darcy lewis stucky days) and i think you would do amazing things with the pairing is jaytim, but i know thats not everyones cup of tea

(i realize now that you were probably aiming for an ask rather than a reply so here it is in your inbox too hskdhsh)

Thank you! ❤️ And oh, asks and replies were both fine for this, no worries. I try to just specify in-post whenever I have a preference but it's not gonna bother me either way.

I DO like JayTim to read, but I've never really felt a particular bug to write it myself? At least not yet, anyway, that may one day change. Though I miiiiight still put Kon in the middle because I am who I am and all, haha.

I'm planning to update the pink K fic on AO3 tomorrow, though I'm pretty sure I've already posted enough of chapter two in excerpts on Tumblr to have posted basically all of it by now and I'm trying to avoid doing that with chapter three, sooooo instead please accept the beginning of this very niche Superfam omegaverse pack dynamics AU instead. I've been looking for an excuse to post this whole big long thing anyway, lol.

Read-more for length, 'cuz there's kind of a lot here, haha.

The representative from the wet nurse agency shows up fifteen minutes early with an unusual-seeming omega who can't be a day over nineteen, being generous. Bruce makes a note to look into the agency's hiring practices a little more closely. The current situation is something of an emergency, unfortunately, and he's only had time to run the intermediate-level background checks so far.

Maybe this isn't the prospective wet nurse, he halfheartedly hopes, and they're just another representative; one who's in training or just here as backup. The kid smells like milk, though, and also why the hell would the agency send out an omega representative? Omegas are typically secretaries and clerks and almost all do in-office jobs, where they're "protected" from the outside world.

The practice is stupid and demeaning and borderline abhorrent, but it's a step up from the days when an omega couldn't get any job that wasn't as a nanny or a sex worker or some fucked-up combination of the two. Clark being an actual reporter is something that was practically unheard of two lousy generations back, and even now Clark is still an unusual exception in his field. Typically, an omega writing for a newspaper would be doing gossip or advice or something domestic, not investigative journalism.

So no, there's no way that this particular omega is anything but a wet nurse candidate, unusual-seeming and concerningly young or not. And Bruce had insisted on the candidate coming to meet them in person, even when the agency had very unsubtly implied that it would be better to just have the milk delivered.

Bruce is absolutely looking into this agency's hiring practices. An omega this age should barely be presented. One who's already allegedly producing enough milk to be a viable wet nurse for what they're requesting . . .

It's concerning, yes.

"Master Bruce, the representative from the Waterton Agency and her associate," Alfred introduces politely, gesturing between Bruce and their guests. He doesn't look or smell disapproving, even in the mildest notes, but Bruce knows he is.

Of course he is, with an omega who might be being either abused or taken advantage of or outright trafficked in the manor.

Bruce should've run a better background check.

"Hello, Alpha Wayne. My name is Ellen Travers," the agency representative greets tightly as Bruce steps into the parlor. She's a harried-looking blonde beta with graying hair who looks very unhappy to be here and is doing a very bad job of hiding the nervous dissatisfaction in her scent.

She doesn't introduce the omega.

Bruce puts on his stupid "Brucie" grin and strides right up to Travers, sticking a hand out to shake. She puts on a weak attempt at a polite smile in return and takes it.

"Hello there, Beta Travers, thanks so much for coming out here on such short notice!" Bruce greets her with a lie of cheerfulness, but Travers continues to smell nervous and upset and her smile is no less forced. And the omega . . .

The kid smells downright sullen, which is not a typical scent to catch off an unfamiliar presented omega and doesn't do anything to make him seem any older.

And yes, he's definitely unusual. He's much taller than Travers–about Bruce's own height, in fact–and has a very broad build and a surprising amount of muscle on him on top of that. Bruce knows full-grown alphas who'd kill to be built like this kid. He's also much more "handsome" than "beautiful", and frankly couldn't look less like the kind of sweet and pretty little things the agency had advertised on their website if he tried, much less the soft and maternal type Bruce had been expecting to actually have show up, given the specific requests he'd made.

Well, it does make sense. Bruce obviously wasn't going to provide the agency with either a Kryptonian genetic profile or a Kryptonian pup's exact dietary needs in search of a suitable wet nurse, but the nutrient requests that they'd made would likely necessitate an omega of a similar build to Clark's to supply–hell, the kid even resembles him a bit, funnily enough. They've already had four agencies tell them that they simply didn't have an appropriate candidate on staff, and the milk samples they'd been able to provide hadn't proven very helpful.

Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, but Martha had at least had the advantage of having a pack bond with him. A packmate's milk always does miles better by a pup than a stranger's or any kind of formula ever could.

Though she'd had some very odd cravings while nursing him, she'd told them. And Clark had still grown up underfed, even with formula and yellow sunlight to supplement–the Fortress had observed marked evidence of childhood malnutrition in him, he'd said.

Occasionally Bruce wonders what a properly-nursed Kryptonian raised under a yellow sun from infancy would've actually turned out like.

The thought is . . . well. A thought.

A thought that still makes him leery of how Jon Kent might grow up, sometimes.

Those concerns aside, though, the really unusual thing about this omega isn't either his physique or his face. Bruce is perfectly used to omegas with "nontraditional" looks after knowing Clark and Diana this long, to say nothing of various other Justice League members or other superheroes and villains he's known, or of both raising and reuniting with Jason. But this omega isn't as demurely dressed as mild-mannered Clark Kent would be; he's wearing opaque sunglasses and an alpha-cut studded leather jacket and alpha-style jeans and an inconveniently inaccessible plain black T-shirt with no sign of a nursing bra underneath it, nothing soft or appealing in either his clothes or his posture. If anything, he looks aggressive; tense and guarded and ready to start some shit. Even Jason usually puts up a temporary illusion of traditional omega mannerisms when he's meeting strangers as a civilian, if only so he'll be underestimated. This kid isn't even pretending to make the attempt.

And the kid smells completely and undeniably stray, too. Bruce can't catch a single note of packscent coming off him. Not even the scent of whatever pup got him milked up enough to qualify for this job. Unbred omegas sometimes lactate in heat or when under stress or if someone in their pack either has or adopts a pup, but a stray who doesn't smell particularly distressed or anything like he's on his cycle shouldn't be producing any milk at all.

At least not without using the kind of stimulants that Bruce explicitly forbade when filling out the agency application, anyway. Those medications are necessary for some omegas, obviously, but in this situation . . .

Kryptonian pups don't respond well to getting anything like that in their milk, they've already very thoroughly learned.

The omega also has spiked stainless steel piercings in his ears, snake bites under his mouth, and two curved barbells in his left eyebrow. All his other jewelry is heavy alpha-styled rings and bracelets, and his nails are painted a chipped black. And he is, notably, not wearing any kind of collar or necklace, and his neck is completely unmarked.

Bruce is in no way oblivious to the obvious message that an uncollared and unbitten omega's neck presents when left so obviously bared. Especially on a stray one who's dressed like an alpha and standing like he's expecting a fight.

He cannot imagine why this kid is working as a wet nurse.

None of the theories that come to mind bode particularly well, though.

"This omega is our most fitting candidate for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, her smile turning increasingly forced. Bruce thinks he can safely translate that expression as that of a beta who did not in any way agree with that assessment but was stuck following orders. "She fulfills all of your nutritional requests, including the necessary iron content and the prioritized fats and proteins, and, of course, is not taking any manner of lactation-inducing stimulants or supplements."

"He," the omega corrects, sounding dubious. Travers's mouth tightens. Bruce knows a lot of old-school traditionalists who won't call a male omega "he" or a female alpha "she", no matter what said omega or alpha's preferences happen to be, and makes another note about looking into this agency more thoroughly.

Much more thoroughly.

"She isn't available for direct nursing, unfortunately, but her milk is a perfect match to your requests and she produces both excellently and reliably; her supply will be more than enough for your needs," Travers continues as if the omega hadn't spoken, and the omega's lip curls in obvious annoyance as he rolls his eyes with no attempt to hide his exasperation even in the presence of an unfamiliar alpha.

Bruce thinks of Jason with a brief pang, and pushes the thought aside. It's not the time.

Maybe he could've asked Jason for help with this, if he'd been a better father. A better alpha. A better . . .

But he wasn't, so now there's an annoyed stranger standing in his parlor instead of a content packmate curled up in their nest.

"Really?" he asks, tilting his head and blinking down at Travers with a deliberately surprised expression. "The consultant made it sound like you'd need multiple donors, for the amount we're asking."

If one goddamn barely-presented kid is actually producing enough milk to even half-feed a Kryptonian pup . . .

"This omega produces sufficient quantities for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers replies with another forced smile. She must know how ridiculous a statement that is, when she's talking about a stray kid and not a fully mature omega with at least a couple of litters under their belt who's well-established in a stable pack, but she says it with conviction all the same.

"Oh, good!" Bruce says brightly, because he's supposed to be a stupid knotheaded playboy who wouldn't know a damn thing about nursing either way. "That'll be convenient, then."

Frankly, he only wishes one omega could produce what they need right now, but requesting that much milk from one agency for just one pup would be immediately flagged as suspicious, and definitely turned down outright. They're still looking for other candidates under false names, but at the rate they're going, they're going to need to keep supplementing with formula, which already hasn't been going well.

If Clark could get milked up himself, this wouldn't be a problem, of course. A Kryptonian omega could easily produce more than enough for one Kryptonian pup, especially under a yellow sun. Clark nursed Jon without a problem for years and was actually overproducing when he was, Bruce knows very well.

Unfortunately, that's not an option anymore. Not since . . .

Clark would never forgive himself if something like that happened again.

Never.

And Kara and Karen are both alphas, and Jon's a beta and only ten anyway, and the only other living Kryptonians they know of are either remorseless criminals imprisoned in the Phantom Zone or the sickly little pup who's slowly wasting away upstairs.

Formula and concentrated yellow sunlight haven't been enough. Clark can't get milked up anymore. They haven't been able to synthesize any appropriate supplements either in the Fortress or in working with the Justice League or STAR Labs or even in collaborating between them.

And the pup is just getting weaker, and quieter, and sicker.

A human wet nurse probably won't even help that much, at this point, but . . .

Well, it's the best chance they have to keep the pup alive until they can synthesize something. Maybe the only chance, now.

"We strive to provide to our clients' convenience, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, and the omega rolls his eyes again. Bruce is less and less convinced of him being an adult in any way but the presentation of his pheromones.

It's rude to address an unfamiliar unpacked omega directly, especially as an alpha. Technically Travers is chaperoning them in a professional situation, though, and Bruce has increasing suspicions about this omega's personal standards so far as "manners" go anyway.

And everyone knows Brucie Wayne is stupid and shameless, of course.

So he flashes the kid a grin, and he says, "Well, it's great to meet you, we appreciate you making the trip! What's your name, Mr. . . .?"

The kid blinks at him, clearly surprised both to be spoken to and to be called "Mr." instead of "Miss" or "Ms." or even "Omega". Travers looks absolutely scandalized.

Bruce really doesn't approve of the kind of traditionalists who won't introduce an omega or use their stated pronouns, though, so fuck if he cares.

"Her name is Carly, Alpha Wayne!" Travers interjects quickly, her tone a little bit too bright to be genuine. "Short for Caroline."

"Just Carl," the kid corrects, shaking his head. Travers's mouth tightens again. It's not a very typical omega name, so no surprise.

It occurs to Bruce to wonder if Carl might be a trans alpha, which he probably should've thought to wonder as soon as he saw how he was dressed and got an impression of his personality. Obviously the kid's at least not currently on HRT if he's working as a wet nurse, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of him being transgender all the same.

Actually, affording gender-affirming care is definitely a reason that a kid like this one would be working this job, especially if said kid's family weren't supporting them. Wet nurses make more money than most other fields that omegas without a diploma can expect to get into, at least short of sex work, and Carl is very obviously too young to have graduated college yet.

Actually, Bruce still isn't even sure if he's old enough to have graduated high school yet.

He's going to burn down this whole damn agency if they're knowingly employing a minor as a wet nurse.

"Nice to meet you, Carl," he says easily. Carl's eyes narrow consideringly, and then he folds his arms and smirks, crooked and casual.

"Sure," he says. "Nice to meet you too, Wayne."

Travers looks agonized. The last non-alpha stranger who called Bruce "Wayne" instead of "Alpha Wayne" was a beta terrorist who was in the middle of kidnapping him, and he's not sure any omega who wasn't an active supervillain ever has, so he's not surprised by her reaction.

Carl is still watching him with the same cocky smirk, though, an obvious challenge in the expression and his posture both. Bruce puts another point towards the possibility of him being a trans alpha, though he's not stupid enough to actually ask if he is, especially not in front of someone the kid works under. Presentation aside, Carl might not be out, and Travers is currently at least professionally following traditional manners, so Bruce doesn't have much hope for this agency being all that progressive and doesn't want to accidentally get the kid fired.

Though if Carl is a minor, Bruce is going to have to see if he can't slip him a business card and find him another job. Especially if he's going to be burning down the agency he's working for.

"Why aren't you available for direct nursing, if you don't mind me asking?" he asks in a curious tone, because he still can't smell a pup on the kid and most wet nurses who aren't nursing their own pups do direct nursing, and he wants intel about the agency's typical practices. Carl shrugs.

"Stubborn tits," he replies, pushing his chest out as he gestures at himself with no apparent sense of shame or self-consciousness, and Travers looks increasingly agonized. Bruce is just increasingly missing Jason, himself. "Milk flows too slow and the pups always get all fussy and stress out about it. Which, whatever, pups are weird anyway, they're not really my thing."

"'Weird'?" Bruce repeats, carefully noting the lack of possessives in reference to any potentially dysphoria-triggering anatomy. Still not a confirmation, but another point. Carl shrugs again.

"I'm afraid Carly doesn't bond appropriately with pups, Alpha Wayne," Travers interjects quickly, and Carl scowls at her. "She has an unfortunate detachment disorder."

"I 'attach' fine," Carl grumbles sourly, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets. "I just don't like kids."

Travers grimaces. Bruce keeps pretending to be an oblivious idiot. He has met omegas who don't like children. They exist.

They're just all deeply, deeply traumatized people. Or clinically insane.

Or both, frequently.

So . . . "detachment disorder" seems likely, yes.

Bruce doesn't consider either sex or gender to be the end-all be-all of a person, of course, but there are certain biological imperatives that no one can deny as existing, and a lactating omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–really, just about any omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–is not ever going to say they "just" don't like kids. Usually the problem with omega wet nurses is them liking kids too much, in fact, and getting distressed or depressed when the parents wean the pups and they won't be seeing them again. The decent agencies have psychological support for that in place and typically offer paid leave between long-term clients. The Waterton Agency does up to a month, which is one of the reasons Bruce chose it.

So yes, Carl is almost definitely traumatized.

Though really, a wet nurse who won't be around much isn't the worst thing, considering. Neither Clark nor Jon started developing any especially noticeable powers until they were older, but they can't assume anything based off a sample size of two, especially when said sample size is made up of biological relatives. And even if they didn't have to worry about that, well, the manor is frequently full of vigilantes and the cave is right underneath it. There's a lot that a regular guest could notice, especially over however long they might need to be nursing. Especially because nursing is a quiet, out-of-the-way activity that takes a while, and it would be very easy for someone to forget to keep their voice down or to not do a damn quadruple-backflip off a chandelier at the wrong moment.

And there's a reason Clark and Lois brought this problem to the shadows of Gotham, as opposed to staying in bright and sunny Metropolis with it. They've got something to hide right now, and a lot to figure out.

Plus if even a molecule of kryptonite gets involved in this situation, even secondhand . . .

Power Girl and Supergirl and Steel are the ones taking shifts watching Metropolis right now, and everyone is just going to leave it at that. Superman isn't coming out for anything less than the apocalypse.

"Well, the Lane-Kents will probably want you to meet the kiddo either way, if you don’t mind," Bruce tells Carl, offering an easy shrug. "Peace of mind, you know how it is."

"Not really," Carl says. Bruce debates slipping the kid a psychiatrist's business card, but he'd probably take it as an insult.

"Er, yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says awkwardly. "Actually, we were expecting Alpha Lane to be with you . . . ?"

"Lois is currently stuck in Metropolis traffic thanks to Metallo bashing up half of downtown this afternoon and Clark is upstairs getting the kiddo around. Little guy just woke up from his nap," Bruce replies with a pleasant smile, making another note of how Travers left off the omega member of the couple's last name, and also apparently doesn't expect to be meeting said omega at all. He is increasingly regretting choosing this agency, though he may yet manage to do some good in the world by subtly dismantling it. Or maybe just by buying it outright and doing a little restructuring.

Or a lot of restructuring.

"Wait, it's not your kid?" Carl asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression. Travers looks pained. The Waterton Agency isn't Gotham-based, so Bruce isn't sure why she apparently expects Carl to be up on the Wayne pack's current members, especially considering how she keeps talking over and outright ignoring him. Bruce has a hard time picturing her bothering to provide the information herself, at this point.

"Oh, no, just doing a favor for some visiting friends," he replies smoothly, still wearing the same pleasant smile. Which is a lie, of course, because actually the Lane-Kents are part of his secondary pack and "visiting friends" therefore in no way covers what they are to him. The Wayne pack is both his primary and his family pack, obviously, and the Justice League is a loosely-connected tertiary pack, but his secondary pack lacks both an official name and public recognition, because explaining to the public why Brucie Wayne's secondary pack is two award-winning reporters from Metropolis, a random museum curator in Gateway City, a decorated Navy SEAL, and occasionally a cat burglar with commitment issues is just not going to work out for anyone's secret identities.

And that even without counting how everyone knows about Lois Lane and Steve Trevor's respective very public connections to Superman and Wonder Woman, much less ever explaining anything about Selina. Bruce, meanwhile, still isn't sure how he ended up in a pack with any of these people. Clark and Diana definitely have a lot to answer for either way, though.

Mostly he blames Clark. Diana has more decorum. Clark is just . . . Clark, so now Bruce gets a scarf and cookies from Martha Kent every Christmas, never mind that he's technically Jewish, because God forbid he ever tells her that and she starts sending him Hanukkah presents instead. He cannot handle eight nights' worth of Martha Kent's colorfully-wrapped scarves and lovingly-packaged cookies. That's just not a thing he can do.

He doesn't even celebrate holidays, except when Dick cons him into it. Which admittedly he's been doing more often again the past few years, but–

This is off-topic, Bruce reminds himself, but then gets distracted as Carl cocks his head a little and frowns over something. Bruce instinctively wants to brace himself for trouble at the sight, because that frown actually very strongly reminds him of Clark's "what the hell weird and concerning thing did I just notice with my super-senses" frown, but A) Carl doesn't have super-senses and B) Bruce just heard the stairs creak, which means the actual Clark is finally on his way down to meet them. No one else in the manor would ever make the steps creak any way but deliberately except for Lois or Jon, and Jon is out on a walk with Damian and Titus while Lois is, again, currently stuck in Metropolis traffic. So: Clark, definitely.

Also Clark tends to make the stairs creak a lot louder than either Lois or Jon do, given the very notable size difference there.

"Has Alpha Lane authorized you to make decisions for his pup's care, Alpha Wayne?" Travers asks with another forced smile. Bruce is resolving to check specifically her background too, at this point.

"No, no, that won't be necessary, good ol' Clark's right here," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "It's his pup too, and he knows much more about ones this age than I do anyway."

"Yes, well, omegas tend to get a little . . . irrational about the idea of sharing their pups with a wet nurse," Travers says "politely", like she thinks she's stating a fact. Bruce would say something cheerful-sounding and subtly insulting back, typically, but Carl's frown is deepening and he looks a little bit . . . odd, maybe, or . . .

There's a strange little pup-call from the stairs, very quiet and echoing in unusual registers but still recognizably one all the same, and just as recognizably resigned-sounding. It's a pup-call that clearly expects to go unanswered, at this point, which is something that Bruce would like to never hear again in his life, given the option.

Though it's better than a pup who's given up on calling at all, he supposes.

He tries not to grimace at that thought, though he's sure Clark's grimacing enough for the both of them right now after hearing a call like that. The pup is starving, and they just can't feed him properly. At this point sending him back where he came from might be kinder.

Honestly, if Bruce didn't know exactly who his parents were, he might've already insisted on that.

It's just–

The pup calls again, even quieter. Travers looks perplexed.

"Er," she says. "I apologize, Alpha Wayne, but is the pup ill? We can't be around them if they are, it's against agency policy."

"Oh, the kiddo just sounds like that," Bruce replies dismissively, and then lies, "Vocal chord deformity, apparently. We're not sure what caused it, pediatrician thinks it's something genetic."

Well, it is genetic. Jon calls in exactly the same registers, and according to Martha and Jonathan so did Clark.

So it's genetic, yes. Just not a deformity.

Carl's expression looks–odd, still. Bruce isn't sure what to think of it, but it makes him a bit wary. A detachment disorder doesn't imply an actual negative reaction to the presence of a pup, obviously, but . . .

Clark steps into the parlor with Lor-Zod sitting on his hip, the pup no older than two or so and looking small and listless in his arms, his dark skin all washed out and his previously bright eyes gone dull and tired. When he first crash-landed in Metropolis in the rocket he'd been wrapped up inside, Clark said he'd popped out of it energetic and excited and clamoring for attention in toddler-level Kryptonian, but he's been slowly fading ever since, wasting away without the nutrients that they just can't provide him. He's probably only made it this long thanks to the sun.

Again, Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, though he was already at least three by the time they got him, which probably helped. A pup Lor's age is capable of eating solid food, obviously, but milk or formula is still a major part of a pup's diet until they're four or five, if not older, and the longer the better. Hell, most kids still at least semi-regularly nurse for as long as their dam can manage to stay milked up, or even until they present themselves. No one can wean a damn toddler and expect them to thrive.

Or even survive, in Lor's case.

Lor opens his mouth in another weak, resigned little pup-call, and Clark's own mouth tightens as he restrains himself from answering it and giving the pup false hope for milk he just doesn't have, and Bruce steels himself to–

Carl croons.

Travers startles. Bruce is . . . surprised, a bit. A detachment disorder doesn't really imply the kind of omega who'd croon at a pup they've never seen before in their life, after all.

It's an unusual and unpracticed croon, as if it's a sound Carl doesn't make very often, which Bruce supposes would make sense. Lor responds to it immediately, though, shifting weakly in Clark's arms and pup-calling again.

Carl, with absolutely no manners or decorum whatsoever, sweeps right past Travers and Bruce and Alfred and just plucks Lor straight out of Clark's arms. Which–forget the kid calling him "Wayne"; that's a damn etiquette breach. Hell, Clark probably only didn't take Carl's head off for snatching up his pup without permission because he's so clearly dumbfounded that he actually did it.

Bruce is slightly less dumbfounded due to having spent five seconds in the kid's presence, but still, what is he–

"Carly!" Travers chokes in horror. Carl very obviously doesn't even hear her and just starts purring at Lor and cuddling him close in a way that really doesn't even slightly imply "detachment disorder".

And then Bruce figures out what was "odd" about Carl's expression, before.

"Huh," he says, a little bemused. "Did he just go into feral drop?"

"Alpha Wayne, I assure you, this is not the Waterton Agency's standard of behavior!" Travers sputters, sounding even more horrified, and Clark just blinks and tilts his head.

"I think he did, yeah," he says, looking perplexed. Carl continues ignoring everyone in the room except for Lor and just purrs louder at him as they both nuzzle into each other. Lor makes more very distinctly Kryptonian pup-calls at him, and Carl croons back with no apparent concern over their strangeness, sounding absolutely goddamn enamored.

That is definitely not a detachment disorder, Bruce thinks. There is no possible way that an omega with a detachment disorder just went into full feral drop over a pup at first sight.

Or possibly first sound, he's realizing.

Bruce is perfectly aware that omegas can feral-bond with distressed pups whether they mean to or not, but he's never seen it happen this fast outside of a warzone or a natural disaster. He's heard hearsay and read studies about particularly compatible sets that have done it under less stressful circumstances, but distressed and starving pup or not, he wouldn't have even expected a human omega to be capable of bonding with a Kryptonian pup like that.

Or at all, frankly. Deliberately created and carefully cultivated pack bonds are one thing, but . . .

Lor chirps, the sound still a little quiet and fragile, a little weak, but also undeniably hopeful, and Carl gives him a low, rumbly purr in reply and yanks up his inconveniently-cut T-shirt to expose his chest with no trace of hesitation or modesty. He's already leaking sweetly-scented milk, already adjusting his grip on Lor to let the pup get at his chest as easily and comfortably as possible, and Lor latches without a moment's hesitation and immediately starts to nurse.

And then Lor purrs. Carl just watches him with undeniable adoration, still paying no attention whatsoever to anyone else in the room.

Alright, then, Bruce thinks carefully.

Well, that just happened.

"Thought you didn't like kids, Carl?" he inquires casually, putting on an easy grin, and Carl finally seems to come up enough to remember that the rest of them exist, though he still doesn't actually take his eyes off Lor.

"I would literally become a supervillain if this kid asked me to," he replies dreamily, keeping Lor cradled in one arm and tracing a finger down the pup's cheek with a soft, besotted expression that's unmistakable for what it is even with the sunglasses on. He looks like he might just burn down the world if someone tried to take Lor away from him right now, and his pheromones are so all-encompassing and so cloyingly sweet that Bruce genuinely might need to see a dentist after this.

"Well usually I'd say we keep Batman in the loop on that kind of thing around here, but if the kiddo asks, it only seems fair," he jokes with a laugh.

"I would drop-kick Batman off a roof for you," Carl informs Lor lovingly as he strokes his cheek again and then skims a fingertip along the little barely-visible scar splitting his eyebrow. Lor keeps purring sweetly and Alfred coughs to conceal a low chuckle. Clark looks a little pained to be watching one of his pups nurse from another omega so easily and eagerly, but his mouth quirks in amusement at the comment anyway. Bruce doesn't dignify any of them with a response, because he is an alpha with dignity and also is in no way threatened by a passing comment from a barely-presented kid who clearly isn't even combat-trained.

. . . although he also isn't going to be stupid enough to try coaxing Lor away from the omega he just feral-bonded with just yet either.

Then Tim walks by the doorway, takes one look at Carl with Lor, and trips over literally nothing and into a full faceplant on the foyer floor. Bruce pauses, then raises an eyebrow.

"Alright down there, Timmy?" he asks. Tim scrambles back to his feet, looking more genuinely mortified than he's ever seen him.

"Fine!" he blurts. "Fine. Everything's fine. All the things are fine. Uh. What? Who?"

"This is Carl," Bruce says, gesturing to the kid. "Wet nurse from the Waterton Agency. And his escort, Beta Travers. Carl, Beta Travers, this is my son, Tim Drake-Wayne. And also Clark Lane-Kent and his pup, Chris Lane-Kent, who I'm assuming you've figured out are your prospective clients."

"Yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says with a grimace. "We gathered."

"Ngh," Tim says, looking at literally everything but Carl and Lor. His face is bright red, which is an unusual amount of embarrassment for him to be showing just over tripping. Typically he masks that kind of thing a lot more effectively. Bruce would almost think he was actually embarrassed by watching Carl feed Lor, but Tim's literally never been affected by anything but passing curiosity when seeing a pup nurse before, so that seems unlikely. And he's a male beta, if still an unpresented one, so it's not like he's got any reason to care all that much about it anyway.

So his reaction does seem a little odd, yes.

Hm.

"Chris," Carl coos adoringly down at Lor. Bruce is in no way stupid enough to think that he absorbed any of the rest of that introduction or has even noticed Tim's presence at all. He wouldn't even put money on him having noticed Clark's presence, in fact, except as a pup-delivery system. The kid is very clearly in love with the pup in his arms and doesn't give a damn about any of the rest of them at all.

Detachment disorder. Sure.

#bruce wayne #kon el #clark kent #chris kent #tim drake #superfamily #timkon #lowkey but it's there lol #omegaverse #not sfw #this-was-a-terrible-idea #rinfic #wip: the wet nurse omegaverse

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cursedvida · 7 months

Text

SAD EYES, BROKEN SMILE p.II (Buggy x f!Reader)

HERE PART 1 // HERE PART III

Warnings: violence, swearing a lot, reader being a little tsunedere. Little age gap between the reader and Buggy, she's like 25/26.

A/N: i didn't plane this for having more than one chapter but here we go... Again sorry for the typos, English isn't my first language. I hope you enjoy this :D

You don't know much about seduction. In fact, you don't know anything. Throughout your life you've had very little interest in love affairs. You had a pretty rough teenage years, so you were too busy surviving to think about boys. Therefore, the whole thing with Buggy is something totally new to you. Not being in control of the situation gets on your nerves. It's irritating, nauseating. To think that right now you could have collected a nice reward and you could be quietly enjoying your money, but instead you're in that crew thinking about a clown all day is something your pride can't take. You often wonder how you could have stooped so low, but as soon as that red-nosed idiot pops into your head there is only room for daydreaming.

Now your goal is no longer to kidnap him and hand him over to people who will probably kill him, but to try to make him notice you. But really you, as a possible love interest, and that's much harder than your first mission. It's like ten billion times more complicated. Killing people is a lot easier than attracting them.

You were trained to kill people, so you're not a person who knows very well how to relate to others. Social skills aren't your strong suit and being nice for more than fifteen minutes isn't either. You've at least tried to be friendly with the rest of the crew, but by continuing to pretend you're a wimp you haven't had much chance to blend in either.

Today the whole crew went to the nearest tavern for a drink. Buggy claims to have landed a deal that will bring in a lot of money, so he's in a good mood. At first the tavern keeper didn't seem too happy to welcome a gang of pirates to his place, but Buggy can be quite persuasive when he wants to be.

Now they're all drunk. Buggy is the center of attention, as usual. He boasts of his great wit and everyone around him cheers him on. The alcohol causes all emotions to intensify. You watch him from the bar, this time you're drinking because it's the only way you don't feel ridiculous about being hopelessly attracted to that idiot.

You have conflicting feelings all the time. You like him, but you think he's a dumbass. You're attracted to him, but at the same time you think he does terribly ridiculous things. You have no idea how to handle all those emotions, but you're also unable to take your eyes off him or ask yourself absurd questions, like how experienced he should be, or how he should look without makeup. You also often think about whether he'll like younger girls, because he's got more than a decade on you and you might not be his type. In fact, what his type is also comes to your mind all too often.

Fuck, you're a mess.

You order another mug of beer, turning away from staring at Buggy with an intensity that could break solid concrete. You've always had a good tolerance for alcohol so you're not drunk, just dizzy enough to make it all the same to you. The perfect state.

"What's a girl like you doing surrounded by this bunch of weirdos?"

Suddenly you see a guy next to you, he doesn't belong to the crew. He's a big man, looking menacing. He must be one of the few people who have decided to stay in the bar despite the pirates. You decide to deliberately ignore him.

"Hey gorgeous, I'm talking to you.”

You take another swig of beer, completely evading. You decide to turn around again, now Buggy is doing some sort of demonstration. He has detached his hand from the rest of his arm and swings his clenched fist at full speed. You don't know what he's talking about, but he sure has exaggerated the whole thing. You smile to yourself.

"Who the fuck is that fucking clown?" asks the heavy one, still standing next to you.

You don't even deign to look at him.

"Shut the fuck up" You tell him in the coldest voice you can.

"Don't tell me you're going with him and his whole gang of freaks" The guy lets out a huge laugh "Honey, a beauty like you is wasted among all those creeps."

"And the oxygen you use is also a waste considering it could be useful to someone who isn't useless to society."

"But what the fuck is wrong with you, does it bother you that much that I pick on that loser?"

"I told you before to shut the fuck up" You repeat calmly and without raising your voice.

"Uh, you scare me" he laughs "almost as much as your big nosed captain".

"All right, you asked for it”

The guy can't even react, as soon as he wants to realize you've already stuck an ashtray in his mouth, wedging it in such a way that he can barely breathe. And, before the others can even realize what's happening, you grab one of the stools and hit him so hard in the stomach that the guy goes flying towards the other end of the bar, hitting the wall with such force that the ashtray comes out of his mouth.

You calmly return to your seat, taking another sip of beer as if nothing had happened. But it's at that moment that you come back to reality to realize that Buggy is no longer the center of attention, but you, and that everyone is staring at you in disbelief, including your captain.

Fucking shit, for fuck's sake.

Now you've really fucked up. You're supposed to be a rookie with barely any physical skills, not a killing machine. Let's see how you get out of this now, though at least Buggy is paying attention to you. God, you have to be a moron to think something like that at a time like that, you're totally losing your mind.

"What the hell was that?" Buggy ask to you.

You just answer simply, as if everything that just happened was not with you.

"He was bothering me"

Buggy approaches you, something that makes you nervous. Not because he might be angry, but to have him around. You almost killed a guy just two minutes ago but having the man you're obsessed with looking at you makes your legs tremble.

“You broke all his teeth, Y/N.”

You look at the man across the bar. It's true, you've left his mouth in a mess, all his clothes are stained by the blood that falls on him. But hey, he asked for it, you warned him.

"Why hadn't you said you knew how to fight like that?" He insists, and you don't know if right now he's thinking of killing you, kicking you out of the crew, or both.

You can't tell him that you were hired to hunt him down and that you've abandoned that task because you have a huge crush on him. Especially the crush part, you would never admit that, so you must think of a good excuse as soon as possible.

"My parents trained me" and that's not a lie "but they always said to only use my skills if necessary" that's a lie, and a big one at that.

Buggy looks you up and down, which makes your stomach tingle. You are so close to him that you can almost feel his breath on your skin. So close that it would be very easy to get a couple of centimeters closer and see what red lips taste like. You wonder what his skin must feel like against yours, or how your hands must feel tangled in his hair. You look like the narrator of a romance novel, it's pitiful but you can't help it.

"You've been swabbing the deck since you came in, how did it not occur to you to say you could be of more use to us?”

"I'm sorry, captain."

Buggy lets out a sigh, there is something paternalistic in his attitude, that condescension that is so typical of him. That makes you relax, he believed everything. Probably because he's drunk, but you don't care about that now.

Buggy puts his hands on your shoulders, making you jump. It's the most contact you've had since you've known him and it's not even real contact because he's wearing the fucking gloves.

"Y/N, look at me" And you obey, although the fact of having him so close to you, being able to smell his alcohol breath mixed with that smell of gunpowder that characterizes him makes you a little dazed. You feel more and more like kissing him. "You can't keep such important information to yourself. But don't worry, I'm going to look for a better position for you. With how good you are at fighting, we're going to do great things together, huh."

You nod without further ado. It's a shitty proposition, he's just telling you that he'll use you as a weapon, like he uses the strongest members of his crew. But you don't care, because Buggy is touching you and because from now on you will be able to talk to him a lot more.

Maybe you should go talk to that guy from earlier and thank him.

Oh, god. Yeah, you're definitely going from bad to worse.

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aftersamu · 1 year

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SPEAK NOW PARING: m.atsumu x gn!reader GENRE: hurt no comfort / angst

There you are.

Standing in front of a mirror, dressed up for a moment of a lifetime, the moment you've been waiting for your entire life. A moment that countless of movies were based off, a moment that has been cherished for centuries.

A moment with pretty white dresses and extravagant suits, a gathering of family and friends to celebrate this momentous occasion.

It's amazing.

You've never been so ready for this, to marry a person that you love so deeply with all your heart. A person who makes you laugh, smile, feel heard and appreciated. Someone that always listens to your day, and lights up the room the second he walks in.

He's good to you, everything you could have ever wished for. The man you wrote in your diary about, dreamed to have by your side since you were a child. He's everything you want.

He cooks dinner. Surprises you with breakfast in the morning. Makes you feel like you've never fallen in love before, like he's your first love. And you fall deeper and deeper in love with every passing day.

You could never imagine a better universe, a better life, a better person to spend the rest of your life with.

You could cry tears of joy.

For once, you're finally happy.

There's a knock at the door, and a head peeks through the open crack. You're greeted by blond hair, the best man. You spin around, a smile painting itself on your face from all the excitement and adrenaline. It's your wedding day.

"Hey 'Tsumu." You greet, watching the blond step into your room and close the door behind him. "Big day, am I right?"

"Yeah," he sighs, "how are you feeling?" He asks, having a lot weighing down his chest as he tries to muster up the courage to talk to you.

"I'm a little bit nervous, but I don't regret anything." You reply, "I'm shaking from all the excitement, I don't know how to feel, but I'm ready."

"Wow, really?" He asks, hands shaking as they grip onto the little velvet box in his pocket – starting to push it down further that it might rip a whole in his pants. "I never pictured you to be the settling down type."

"Neither did I, until now." You comment, "I don't know, Osamu changed my mind. I thought all the talk about finding the right person was bullshit, but I don't know anymore, this feels amazing."

"Never in a million years I thought you'd marry my brother," Atsumu remarks. He always thought it'd be him. "I figured one day we'd run off together," he laughs.

"Oh."

"You know, I haven't always been the best person." He begins, causing the wrong type of butterflies to explode in your stomach; the fear, anxiety, the scary kind.

"Atsumu, no." You say, "Don't start this now."

"No, no, I need to say this." He states, "I need to get it off my chest before it's too late, so please, please, listen to me."

"No, I don't want to hear it." You say, "Not on my wedding day, not when I'm about to go out in fifteen-minutes to marry your brother."

You know what he wants to say, you see it in his face. If it were a year ago, two years ago, three years ago, you wouldn't have hesitated. But he's not going to ruin your day, he's not going to ruin this for you. He doesn't get to be selfish.

"I love you."

"No! No, no, no, Atsumu you cannot do this right now." You huff, "You do not get to come in here and drop this fucking bomb on me, you do not have the right to come in here and expect me to listen to you–"

"And I've missed you everyday." He cuts you off, "I've never truly gotten over you, and I hate you for leaving me, I hate you for not choosing me, I hate that I still want to love you."

"Don't say that," you mumble, shaking your head. "Don't fucking say that Atsumu because you know that it isn't real."

"I know it's unrealistic, you're marrying my brother." He continues, ignoring the words you spoke, "but you were mine first, and I'll spend my life regretting I never had the chance to treat you right. And this is real, I want you to be mine, I want you to run away with me, I want you to marry me."

"No." You shake your head, "No, you cannot come in here after three years!" You yell, "You cannot decide that on my wedding day that you suddenly changed, that you suddenly know what you want, and that I am the one you want!"

"I didn't decide today! I've known from the moment you left." He argues, "You're marrying the wrong guy! You know it, I know it, even he knows it."

"No, Atsumu, you're the wrong guy." You state, placing your foot down, "You've always been the wrong guy. I don't believe you one bit when you say you want to be with me, and I do not want to be with you."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you never listened to me! You never gave me the time of day, you liked the chase, we were never meant to be together!"

"I changed, I know where I went wrong, and I can fix that."

"No, no you can't." You say, "You were always full of empty promises, and the grand gestures. But guess what?! The grand gestures don't always work, it takes effort! Something you never proved to me."

"Is that not what I'm doing now?" He huffs, pulling the ring out of his pocket, opening up that velvet case. "I want you, I want to change, I want you to be there."

"You're doing it, the grand gesture, the same grand gesture that is backed up with 'what if's' and 'maybes'. I don't want that," you explain. "I want someone reliable, someone who's there for me, who is consistent and doesn't make me feel less than. I want someone who has changed and doesn't 'want to' change."

"He won't love you like I can."

"He already does." You say, walking over to the door and opening it, "That's why I'm marrying him. Now, please leave before your brother finds out."

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu angst #haikyu x reader #atsumu #miya atsumu #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #haikyuu atsumu #hq atsumu #atsumu angst #hq #hq x reader #hq fanfic #hq x y/n #hq angst

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 3 months

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How bout teen!reader and the other women in the ROR family humiliating the men for teasing the reader after practically passing out from period cramps? Idk which men you'd think of when I say that it'd be like, them thinking that reader was just being overly dramatic and that the pain wasn’t so bad, and then Brunhilde and Shiva’s wives make them go through this things that you plug in your abdomen to simulate period cramps? Well, yeah, that and then they kund of understand why reader nearly died. I'm just venting because my colleagues are so annoying about this when they don’t even know what it feels like, lol <3

-You were curled up in Parvati’s arms, a pout on your face as you held the hot water bottle to your stomach while Brunnhilde was yelling at the male gods and warrior, the ones who laughed at you.

-Your unwanted monthly visitor was never the same, and this month, she decided to mess you up with such bad cramps that you nearly fainted, which was worrying for your family, but as soon as they knew you were all right, they found out why and many of the men in your family were quickly laughing.

-This wasn’t funny to you- this was torture, and it was only when you started crying, overwhelmed with emotions, that Aphrodite, Shiva’s wives, and the Valkyries stepped in to discipline the men.

-Kali gave the men all a lesson on what happens during a woman’s shark week, on how the uterus is basically trying to kill itself since it didn’t get what it wanted, and how no two women’s shark weeks were the same and some, like you, sometimes had severe symptoms.

-Some did sympathize with you and other women, but it was Aphrodite who suggested a more hands on approach to this lesson and produced a cramp simulator for every single person who laughed at you.

-Once they were all hooked up, a few, like Loki and QSH, complained, asking if they really had to do this.

-You were given a bowl of ice cream as you curled up on the couch as Brunnhilde took control of the remote, “Laugh by the end of this and you will be forgiven.”

-Twenty minutes later, you were the only laughing, along with the other women, as many of the men were unable to even move, after going from level one to level fifteen in cramps.

-You were pretty sure a few had passed out themselves, while others were shaking, sweating heavily, and gasping for air- this was not fun! This was torture!!

-Once the devices were removed, Aphrodite smirked down at all of them, once they were all awake, “Now then- would anyone like to laugh this time?”

-There was nothing but silence as her answer before Apollo spoke, “You have to deal with that every month?!”

-Durga gave a small nod, “Almost every woman does, but it’s never the same, one month it might be mild and only last three days, others you might be crippled and suffer for a whole week!”

-Eyes went wide- this wasn’t natural before Loki spoke, not being rude, “How do you guys handle this!” a few glances between the women were sent around before Parvati spoke up, “It’s expected of us to continue going about our lives as if nothing is wrong.”

-Eyes went wide, like they didn’t believe before the ladies all started taking turns telling the comments that you and they have been forced to endure, “It can’t be that bad!”, “You’re just faking it to get out of doing stuff.” “Still gotta go to work!”, “Need to take care of the kids!”, “Gotta clean the house!”, “Need to go to school.”, “Don’t talk about that- it’s gross and unnatural.”, “Oh you must be on your period!”, “Not to mention we have to deal with things like breakouts, headaches, and bloating- just to name a few.”

-You were the one who then finished the argument, “Even if we’re in pain, or like me when I almost passed out earlier- we’re expected to pretend that we’re okay as society expects that from us.”

-You’re pretty sure that you all got the point across, especially after Buddha cuddled you, hugging you while you were wrapped in a fluffy blanket. Shiva was showering his wives with affection, apologizing to them for every incident that he was insensitive towards them.

-Now if you could just get every other male on earth to understand what it feels like to have a period- then maybe more things would change.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror loki #ror buddha #ror shiva

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the-ace-with-spades · 6 months

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little snippet from a buddie outsider pov future fic that i probably won't ever finish because its part 3 of a series, or aka the Bobby-fication of Buck

"I was told to report to Captain Diaz?"

The man, with Diaz clearly written on his name tag, stares. It's not the most friendly of stares but it's not that kind of a stare and Kori had his fair share of them as a brown boy who consistently used public transport and worked night shifts. He'd expected to have a welcome that wasn't the warmest but he at least wanted some kind of verbal acknowledgment.

Well, this is awkward, he thinks, why is he not saying anything?

Kori woke up bright and early today, excited and anxious for his first day, over an hour before his alarm started blasting, and then made sure he had his bag packed with all the essentials he would need on a twenty-four shift. Four different sets of clothes, five meals in Tupperware, protein bars, a book, headphones, towel, shampoo and shower gel, the basic firefighting manual from the academy and his paramedic textbooks. He prepared to be too prepared rather than embarrass himself by asking to borrow shampoo on his first day.

He arrived at the firehouse via Uber because public transport in LA couldn't be reliable and he also couldn't afford a car and then he had stood panicked on the side of the truck bay for about fifteen minutes before checking his email again for the right names — Captain Diaz, 118 Ladder Company — all along to the schedule in his head.

And now the guy, he's just—standing there. Staring at Kori like he's debating whether he should eat him alive or roast in the oven beforehand.

The thing is, Kori knows he’s disappointing for a firefighter. He’s barely five foot seven, five foot six without the boots, really, and he’s lean and slim, in a way that would make some people doubt whether he can carry a person out of a burning building — he can — and he’s, well, he’s average.

But the One-Eighteen is stuck with him for the year, he might be average and disappointing, it just doesn’t matter. Because they are stuck with him.

He still hasn’t seen Firefighter Buckley.

"Are you Captain Diaz?"

He looks a bit young, for a captain, but he is pretty sure there have been younger ones in the history of LAFD. And Diaz is a common surname, in California, or common enough that it wouldn’t be impossible to have two people with it in the firehouse even if still a bit improbable.

"Oh," he says, looking down at the nametag on his chest, finally noticing where Kori's been glancing at the whole time. "Sorry, kid, that would be my husband. I'm Lieutenant Paramedic Diaz."

Kori, he must admit to himself, blinks at him like he had just spoken in Mandarin and not English. Because there are two Diazes in the firehouse. And both of them are his officers. And they’re married.

The—The lieutenant crosses his arms over his chest, puffing up like a peacock, and narrows his eyes. “Do we have a problem?”

“No, sir,” he says, immediately. “I didn’t know they allowed married couples to work together, that’s all.”

The lieutenant still looks at him like he's trying to assess the deepest secrets of his soul and raises one eyebrow at him like he expects a fight but his shoulders fall slightly. He's, uhm, very handsome, even this angry, in that foxy dad kind of way that Kori's never been interested in but knew it was a thing.

"My husband and I worked together for seven years before we married, I think we've proved we can stay professional," he says and it sounds a bit like a threat. "He's in the office downstairs. You should report to him before you're late to your first shift."

He smiles but Kori has a feeling it's a mean smile.

Kori does go back downstairs, passes the rest of the loft and walks past the kitchen where he sees three other firefighters, quietly eating breakfast. The conversation stops and they all collectively look up at him. He probably should say something or wave or anything so it's not awkward but no, he just speed-walks into the narrow corridor that — he hopes — leads to the offices.

He passes two doors before he finds the right one. There is a brand new plate hanging on the side of it, shiny and not dusty at all, with Capt. Diaz and Lt. Diaz written on it and the door is wide open — someone is in the closet in the back, from what it seems, going over documents or something that makes a similar rustling sound. Kori moves into the doorframe, going for a knock, when he realizes.

There's no door. Nothing, just an empty door frame with taped down hinges. There's no way for him to knock.

He clears his throat as loudly as he can.

There are two desks inside, one with a brand new plate of Capt. Diaz and one with slightly less shiny Lt Diaz on it. It looks like any other office, slightly bare on the shelves but also full of diplomas and official pictures of past officers hanging on the walls. There's also a framed drawing made by an elementary school kid, or Kori guessed it was an elementary school kid, of a firefighter in bunker gear, dead center on the wall behind the captain's desk, and a couple of photos of what he assumes is the station's crew, all in their dress uniforms — he can't see it very well.

The captain's desk is full, with another frame standing on the edge, three pencil holders filled to the brim, multiple kinds of colorful stationery, and stacks of documents and folders cluttering the countertop. There's even a freaking fidget spinner on it — he hasn't seen one since freshman year in high school. It's a mess but Kori knows that even being a probationary firefighter would mean way too much paperwork for a job that was technically blue collar. The new captain wasn't just a new captain, he was also newly-qualified to be a captain so Kori suspects he probably is barely keeping up with the forms and documents as of right now — it's a learning curve.

The lieutenant's desk also holds a couple of frames but there's only a small pencil case and a neatly arranged stack of folders lying in an even more neatly arranged corner.

And wow. That's Firefighter Buckley, even more awe-inspiring than he was eleven years ago

He looks at Kori with a half-smile stuck on his face but with a frown on his forehead. There are wrinkles around his eyes, forming like laughter lines. He tilts his head and Kori thinks—Kori thinks this is it, he remembers me, he—

"Khorshed Patwari, was it?" he asks and his grin looks the same, almost — there’s more wrinkles, around his eyes and on his forehead, and his face seems a bit softer, but it’s like a memory refresher. "Am I pronouncing it right?"

It's stupid — Firefighter Buckley saved probably hundreds if not thousands of people, he's been a firefighter for at least twelve years, probably, and Kori is just one of those faces he had seen for a minute or two. Easily forgotten. Average. It's understandable that he doesn't remember him, he would probably be more surprised if he did remember him.

"Everyone calls me Kori," he says, after clearing his throat. He knows he’s gaping like a fish, a bit, but he can’t help it — Firefighter Buckly looks almost unchanged and he can’t believe he’s here.

"With the h?"

He blinks. "Sorry?"

"Do you keep the h in Kori?" he clarified, huffing a small chuckle out. "I want to know how to spell it correctly in the future."

"Just Kori, uhm, K-O-R-I, is okay," he explains, still star-struck.

"Uhm," he says eloquently. "I'm looking for Captain Diaz? I was supposed to report to him?"

"That would be me," Firefighter Buckley says and—Oh. He’s a captain and he’s—he’s married to a man that’s the station's lieutenant. He's not really Firefighter Buckley anymore, is he? "Although most people just call me Buck, or Cap, if you really must."

#yes bobby took out the door to the office before he retired so buck and eddie wouldn't do the nasty in there #im saying goodbye to drafts that turned from wips into ufos #buddie #911 fox #911 abc #op #charlie writes

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sameschmidtdiffname · 3 months

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Can I get a Derek Danforth x shorter Male Reader where reader is like the only person Derek cares about. Reader is very cuddly but Derek isn’t big on PDA but when they are alone Derek loves holding the reader in his arms.

If not it’s ok!

OFC YOU CAN!!!

I had like fifteen different drafts for how this story could go and I couldn't make up my mind until literally last night, thus why it took so long. I hope this is okay!!!

Tangled

Derek Danforth x Male! Reader

Summery: The holidays are a miserable time of year, especially when ones mother won't even talk to them to let them know she's not coming, sending Derek into a breakdown and wrapping you up in the process.

Tags: No use of Y/N, short! Reader, hurt/comfort, mommy issues, drug use (marijuana), arguing, breakdown, banter, comedy, injury, eventual fluff, holiday fic. (I don't give a fuck that it's Febuary, shut it.)

Notes: honestly I was HYPED when I saw this request. I fucken GOT YOU babe and I am so sorry it took this long. I hope this was worth the wait <3

•°○《▪︎☆▪︎》○°•

I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest; who likes the holidays?

The decorations are nice. The food's better. But in the matter of family and visitation, could anyone honestly say they liked the whole routine? Picking who to see, booking flights, trying not to lose yourself in a bottle of liquor that you bought on the way to their house.

Maybe not every detail is the same, but you get the general idea.

"Please sit down," I begged Derek, watching him pace the floor. All week Derek had been in a mood, which isn't totally uncommon I will admit. But usually he could be coaxed out of it, sweet words whispered in his ear finally bringing him off whatever edge he was ready to fling off of and convince him death was for another day. This week however was different, Derek always tapping his foot, glaring at something. And pacing. Neverending, always thinking, lasts through the night pacing. I was beginning to feel sick from the anxiety, and my mood was making Derek even shorter in his.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"You're clearly not," I said. In his hand he gripped his pen, clicking it to life with five rapid clicks before taking a long pull like he couldn't breathe without it. "Derek."

"I said I'm fucking fine."

"I have never seen you as more of a mess, will you please just sit down for one moment?" I pleaded, shifting closer to the edge of the plush loveseat kept in front of our bed. "I'm worried about you."

He wants to snap. His jaw is tight, teeth gritted as he spins on the heel of his black, pointed boot, mouth opening as he begins to point one finger at me. But the minute he actually makes eye contact the edge drains, his shoulders sagging slightly as he exhales his smoke, bags appearing under his eyes. Derek had a reputation for being a hard-ass, but when we were alone and I grabbed his attention, his demeanor would shift into one more gentle, more honest. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he finally crossed over to me, sitting beside me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

"I'm fine," he said quietly, tucking my head under his chin. His hand strokes up and down my back, his heart still pounding but beginning to calm as the smoke begins to work into his bloodstream, allowing him to focus on me more than his thoughts. His cologne compliments mine, smelling mostly of cinnamon to match the winter season. The silk material of his red shirt is soothing against my skin, little silver snowflakes decorating it. Always a pattern with him.

"Is it your mother?" I asked quietly. He stiffened, his heart rate picking back up against my ear.

"I don't want to talk about this," he said quickly, beginning to pull away. I gently grab his arms, making him look down at me before he can close off once more.

"We've been together for almost a year and you won't say anything about your-"

"I said I don't want to talk about this."

"We have to talk about this at some point or you're going to have a giant fit and I won't be able to help you."

It isn't meant as an insult, but I hear it as soon as the words come out. Derek's eyes narrow into slits, bitterness seeping through.

"Fuck you. I don't throw fucking fits." He pulled away quickly, the battery of his pen glowing as he took another hit, long and deep, blinking rapidly to show he's hit his limit.

"You are on the cusp of one right now. You're in denial," I said concerningly.

This time he really is about to snap when someone knocks on the door, popping her head in to announce dinner will be ready shortly.

"Is she on her way?" Derek asked the redheaded assistant, blowing his smoke out through his nose, hands on his cocked hips. The woman presses her lips together tightly, glancing between the two of us before speaking.

"I haven't heard anything from President Danforth for a few hours, sir," she finally said. Derek sighed deeply, looking down and pinching the bridge of his straight nose as he taps his foot at impressive speed.

"Thank you," he said quickly, not meeting anyone's eyes. She takes the opportunity, quickly nodding at me and ducking out of the room with the quick click of the door, leaving us alone again.

I simply stare at him, hands folded on top of my lap as I wait for him to say something, do something. When he goes to take a third blinker, I finally stand.

"Don't you fuckin' dare," Derek warns me, holding out his palm.

"You are going to get stoned to the point that you'll fuck up this dinner the you have been worried over for the past week. What the fuck is wrong with you?" I hiss, stepping closer.

"There's no fuckin' point, she's not coming," he said, shrugging harshly and scoffing.

"And that bothers you. Will you just admit that?" I said. I step closer, close enough to reach for the pen, but I wait, letting him narrow his glazing eyes at me first.

"What is your obsession? You want me to break down? Cry? You wanna fix me, huh?" His tone is harsh, paranoia settling in as he takes a step towards me. "Whatever savior shit this is, I'm not taking."

I snatch the pen quickly from his grasp, only to have his hand grab my wrist without any real thought. Derek towers over me, gripping me tightly enough it hurts.

"Drop it," he growled.

"No," I growled back.

"I'm not asking."

"Tough shit."

"What is your-"

"Derek." The snap does something, my voice bouncing around in his ears as he glares at me, but releases my wrist nonetheless. I step away quickly, tucking the pen into the inside pocket of my evergreen blazer. "You'll get this back tonight," I tell him, not looking back. Derek mutters under his breath, brushing past me to exit the suite. Fine. Let him hate me. See if I care.

Derek never liked public affection in the first place. Growing up in a house with a politician for a mother he was hyperaware of all the right and wrongs to a public reputation. I think he also just had no desire to be seen as any kind of vulnerable in a crowd. But tonight it's different. Tonight there is a tinge of hate with the distance he creates, and my side feels cold without him. With each step forward he takes five back. People filter in and out of each room, some I'm sure just here with a friend of a friend for the free food. But if there's anyone I never see through the passing hours, it's Derek's mother. I can see him checking his phone every five, three, then every other minute.

It was a touchy subject. Derek loved his mother, adored the ground she walked on. And when she would visit him or welcome us over to wherever it was she was staying it was obvious she loved him too, allowing him to get away with things most mothers wouldn't. But her head was always in work, her eyes always scanning a document with a pen in her hand to sign off on anything at any given moment. There were times we'd spend the visit gathered in silence lest she retreat to an actual study, claiming she could not focus with our chatter. Derek loved his mother, but it was obvious he was neglected by her too.

He'd been planning the party meticulously. Ordering dozens of sample just for garland, asking my input on plates. Yes, Derek was known for throwing elaborate and wonderfully tasteful parties, but if he thought his mother would be in attendance he would go the extra mile, not sparing an inch of detail and making sure that it was so perfect she'd have no choice but to attend.

Problem is, Madame President has many choices for her perfect Christmas party.

It isn't until the clock strikes ten and security begins to push people out that he finally locks eyes with me, the hate draining and giving way to the exhaustion underneath. He disappears through a doorway, and I follow after him, watching his snow white suit that matches my shirt perfectly work its way quickly through the endless halls as I chase him down the rabbit hole. Oh yes, don't think I escaped his scrutiny just because I'm a living being. I didn't even know we'd have complimenting outfits until I stepped out of the shower that morning while he worked on a cigarette, waving it around between his fingers on one hand with the hangers in the other and a phone pressed between his shoulder as he shouted something in Spanish at the poor assistant on the other line.

He doesn't bother shutting the bedroom door behind him whether he knows I'm following him or not. But when I gently push the door shut behind me, finally turning away from him, I feel his warm body press against mine from behind. His arms wrap around me, one around my waist and the other around my shoulders, alcohol thick on his breath as he buries his head into the crook of my neck. His hand finds my hair, burying his long fingers in it as he takes a deep inhale of the pine scented cologne dabbled on my neck. His body is heavy against mine, swaying slightly from exhaustion.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi," I say just as soft, reaching up to find his curls. I smile slightly at the feeling of his fried ends, tainted from overprocessing. "You wanna talk?"

"No," he maintained. But his voice cracks, and the collar my shirt is starting to feel wet. Not to mention his arms are shaking.

"You wanna not talk on the bed?" I ask him.

"I'm fine right here," he says in a broken voice. But when he softly sniffles and takes a tiny gasp for air, he's finally done in and dragging me towards the oversized bed, not bothering to actually open the canopy as he flops himself down onto the lush, green and gold duvet.

"It's fine, I'm fine," he insists even though he's dragged half of a gold chiffon curtain down and around him and he's too high to figure out how to get it off. "She has meetings, this happens."

"Yeah, well. It happens a little too often," I say gently, trying to help him before he gets this thing wrapped around his neck. In his vulnerable and understandable fit he's making this curtain situation much worse, actively reweaving whatever I untangle from him in his blind confusion.

"I mean, I get it. Running the country, having a conversation with your own son, it's fine," Derek hiccuped as he gestures his hands like scales weighing the options, one drastically higher than the other. His face is as red as his shirt, large tears streaming down his face as he paws uselessly at the fabric. He swipes frantically at them, clearly becoming frustrated at being unable to control his raw emotions. "I mean, priorities shift so what the fuck am I complaining about?"

"Honey, I think you're sitting on it."

"What?"

"The curtain."

Derek moans inconsolably as he throws himself against the bed, taking down the rest of the gold chiffon and covering us both in the material.

"What does it matter?" Derek cries pathetically. "I could hang myself with this and she'd have a fucking meeting in Germany!"

"Your mother would come to your funeral," I say softly, stroking his hair as I press my lips together, letting him heave out his sobs. He brings a bundle of the fabric to his face, bunching it up and sobbing into it before raising his head once more for another comment.

"Probably have a flood in Uganda day of. I'd fuck up my own suicide day," he snaps to no one in particular.

"No you wouldn't," I say, continuing to run my hand through his hair. Derek sinks into the golden bundle once more, curling in on himself like a child. Then suddenly his eyes grow cold again.

"And the fucking appetizers were cold!"

The comment is so out of left field that a short laugh escapes me, my hand immediately covering my mouth. I instantly feel awful, looking away as I try to compose myself from the dramatic change in complaint.

"Don't laugh at me," Derek snaps. "I paid good money for those."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, that was just a bit random. Would you like to get off of the curtains you also paid for?" I ask him softly, fighting the fit of giggles his hateful eyes inspire to continue. I try to wrap my arms around him in comfort but he moves away in irritation. Or tries. This curtain is keeping us pretty close, which only adds to the whole thing.

"No," he says as he finally gives up. He crosses his arms in irritation and huffs, but after a long moment and a glance at my bemused face he moves to get the curtain off of his own. "Yes. Get this off of me!"

"Okay, I'm coming."

"Where the fuck is the end?"

"I told you, I think you're sitting on it."

"Your mother is sitting on it!"

"Let's not bring anymore mothers into this-"

We struggle in the cocoon of chiffon, twisting and turning in the same and opposite directions, both of us bickering over who has what and who's preventing our freedom.

"This shouldn't be fucking hard!"

"Quit moving, you're making it worse."

"Fuck you!"

"Hang on, I think I-"

With a forceful tug I pull the end out from underneath of Derek. Unfortunately, Derek had shifted himself to move off of the end at the same time, leaving me to fling off the side of the tall bed and hit the lush rug underneath that hardly cushions the oak floor with a loud 'thud' that makes the artifical blond gasp.

"Fuck! Are you okay-?"

Derek scrambles to the edge to look down at me, but he's too high to realize he's overshot his position and sends his larger body crashing on top of mine, making me cry out as I break his fall.

"Eat a salad," I groan, curling in on myself as I try to catch my breath.

"I did, that's why I'm the tall one." Derek and I are once again tangled in the curtain, laying on the floor in a pile of limbs and half of Derek's face is burned from the rug. "Are you okay?" He asks worriedly, looking over my body for obvious injury.

"Have roses at my funeral," I cough, clutching my stomach.

"Rose's are cliché."

"Rose's are fucking iconic."

"If you have basic taste, then yes."

"I don't mix snake and cheeta."

"It's French."

"Then get fucking cheeta print rose's."

"Don't be hysterical."

I shoot him a look and finally he manages a laugh, wiping at his nose with the cuff of his blazer and smiling.

"Maybe I'm a little hysterical," he offers.

"I think I have a concussion."

"Oh, you don't have a concussion," Derek says dismissively. He cups my cheeks gently, his soft hands forcing my eyelids open wide as he checks my eyes. "Oh, fuck. Yeah, you have a concussion."

I laugh, pulling him close and keeping my eyes closed to keep from getting sick.

"Mister 'I Don't Throw Fits,'" I tease.

"I can just not take you to the hospital."

"Bitch."

"Cunt."

"Dickhead."

"Fuckface."

"Fashionably handicapped."

"Poor."

Derek finally figures out how to free us from our prison, pulling away the fabric and looking down at me from above with a gentle smile on his tear stained face. "You've got good bone structure, though," he says.

"It's my daddy's," I tell him.

"I don't remember buying you that."

I smack Derek's chest playfully, groaning as I try (and fail) to sit up. "You're awful."

"You love me," Derek says softly, sitting beside me. The statement is true and meant as a playful reminder, but it's the way his bloodshot eyes still glisten with leftover moisture that makes me cup his face. Or try. I can't see.

"I love you," I say softly.

"That's my chest."

My hand moves.

"Knee."

My hand moves again.

"That's my dick."

"Jolly good friend," I say with a squeeze and overexaggerated British accent. This knocks the last bit of sorrow out of Derek, making him laugh loudly as he finally lays down beside me. He wraps his arms around my smaller frame, pulling me close to him as he presses a soft kiss to my forehead.

"I'm sorry,' he says softly.

"We really do need to talk about your mother at some point," I tell him, stroking his arm that lays across my chest.

"I know." Derek's voice is soft, his fingers playing with one of the buttons on my blazer.

The silence is sweet, the sound of Derek and I's breathing the only sound in the room. And the slight ringing in my head.

"I think you need to call someone," I tell him.

"My problems aren't that bad," Derek says in a hurt voice, moving to look down at me.

"For me."

"Oh!"

▪︎《•☆•》▪︎

I'm going to be so fr, I haven't watched 'The Beekeeper' since it was in theaters so if the mommy issues are inaccurate that's on me. But y'know what it works better for his character so it's °~*accurate to meee*~°

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

Masterlist

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson x you #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson the beekeeper #the beekeeper #the beekeeper fanfic #derek danforth beekeeper #derek danforth x you #derek danforth #derek danforth smut #derek danforth x reader #derek the beekeeper #derek danforth imagine #derek danforth x male reader #derek danforth fanfiction #jhutch #josh hutcherson fluff

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