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jamminvroomvroom · 7 months

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big dad vibes.

dad!ln x fem!reader

in which lando becomes a dad, and a series of moments that follow

back with more brainrot! this time it’s for dad!lando bc the baby fever is fevering and lando just had to go and talk about having kids on that podcast. my first time using social media elements as well so i hope you enjoy! ALSO! huge thank you for 3k, love you all and i cannot thank you enough for your support! 💘

warnings: minors pls dni with my work! mentions of pregnancy, children, minor angst, super duper fluff, suggestive jokes here and there, dilf!lando

1. the birth

lando’s legs couldn’t have carried him any faster than they already were. the hospital rooms disappeared past in a flash, his eyes scanning the hallways for one door. everything he’d ever wanted waited for him on the other side of that one door.

it was typical, really, that the one time he’d left your side since the season ended, you went into labour. he’d begdrudgingly listened when you told him to go to his meeting, despite the feeling in his gut that told him not to. lando knew, now, that his instincts were right.

the second he’d seen your face flash up on his phone, he was out of the conference room. you wouldn’t have called him unless it was an emergency. everything seemed to be moving in slow motion when he put the phone down, but then he was sprinting, through the double doors before him, past the line of cars, and out towards his car, speeding away from the MTC. the traffic fine he knew he was in for was worth it.

your words rang in his ears.

“lando… it’s time.” you’d breathed down the phone, accompanied by a shaky laugh.

and now he was looking at the door. it opened, slowly, and there you were, draped in a hospital gown, tired eyes bloodshot and soft. you were smiling, crying, and he fell to his knees before you.

“someone wants to meet you.” you cooed, and then he was crying too.

lando squeezed your knee, trying to pull himself together but it was futile. the most precious ray of light stirred in your arms, how would he ever be able to stop crying? you’d created that, you and him, and now she was here.

“can i…?” lando stood from where he was worshipping you, hoodie sleeve mopping up his tears.

“take all that off.” you replied.

“trying to get me naked already? i thought it would be at least six weeks-“ he teased.

“no, you sod. skin on skin contact.” you groaned, grinning helplessly at the man that had made you a mother.

he laughed along with you quietly, stripping the layers and sitting beside you on the hospital bed. you searched his excited eyes, melting as you placed your little girl in his awaiting arms.

and then he was falling in love.

the winter sunlight streamed through the window, a soft glow encapsulating your little family. lando sat next to you in dead silence, counting ten little fingers, ten little toes, memorising the dimpled curve of two lips, the crease between two softly shut eyes. his heart was bursting in a way it never had before, a new lease of life breathed into his body that fulfilled him more than anything ever had.

“are you okay, baby? i’m so sorry i wasn’t here.” lando mumbled, kissing your shoulder. he looked up at you, scanning your tired face, knowing that you’d never looked so beautiful. you cupped his cheek, pressing your forehead against his.

“the pain was worth it.” you quirked your lips, tilting your head so that you could kiss him. you felt his fresh tears wetting your cheeks, and you smiled into the kiss.

“i got here as quick as i could, i’m so sorry i wasn’t here to hold your hand.” lando was heartbroken to have missed the birth of his first child, guilty even, but you wouldn’t let that feeling linger.

“i’m just happy that you’re here now, i promise. we’ve gotta name this little love.” you pecked his lips again, cuddling into his side.

you’d been backwards and forwards on names for months, never landing on anything that seemed to fit. you’d read countless lists of names, brainstormed names of people you loved, but you just couldn’t agree.

“can we talk about it later? just wanna look at her for a bit longer. like, forever.” lando mumbled, and as if she recognised her daddy’s voice, your baby’s grey blue eyes fluttered open.

“oh.” he gasped.

you watched in pure adoration as they stared at each other, neither of them willing to look away first. a bond was forming before your eyes, and you felt like the earth was moving under your feet.

lando knew, staring into big blue eyes, that nothing would ever be the same again.

landonorris via instagram

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landonorris: welcome to the world, the one and only matilda norris ❤️

2. the race

“lando, you cannot take her into the bloody media pen!” you scolded, ignoring the bark of a laugh he let out in response.

you were midway through changing matilda’s nappy, dressing her in the tiny mclaren t-shirt that the team had gifted you when you welcomed her to the world.

she was nearly six months old now, with the cutest smile and a laugh that could bring an entire room to tears. you were at your home in monaco, preparing to descend down the hills towards the marina where the race would be. this would be her first race weekend, and lando couldn’t have been more excited for her to make her debut at the track.

he also couldn’t have been more nervous.

the idea of putting your baby into such a hectic environment made lando sweat, which was why you’d left it until monaco, so that you had a home base to sneak away to if it all got too much.

“are you nearly ready to go, baby?” lando came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. he was peering over your shoulder, gazing at the giggling baby on her changing mat. “and what about you, matty? you ready to watch daddy drive?”

“i’m sure you’ll have her undivided attention.” you joked, turning your head to kiss his jaw. “can you put her in the car?”

lando scooped up his daughter, placing her gently into the baby carrier. you grabbed the changing bag and followed him out of the apartment, smiling hard at the quiet nursery rhyme he was singing. you locked up and trailed behind the duo, watching intently as he secured matilda’s car seat.

“see something you like?”lando called behind him, shaking his ass at you cheekily.

“you know i do, that’s how i got pregnant.” you stuck your tongue out at him.

the entire weekend was hectic, lando having the time of his life. he’d put his mclaren on the front row, the race flying by where he claimed second place and a rightful spot of the podium. you’d kissed him hard, matilda’s grabby hands tugging at his curls when he’d dipped down to press his lips to yours. he smirked, scheming something, and then he took the infant from under your arm, whisking her over to his interview.

“lando norris, what a race that was for you!” jenson button bellowed into the mic. “and it looks like you’ve been busy off track, too! who’s this little one?”

“the one and only matilda norris.” lando replied, pearly whites on display. he’d never looked happier, and you could feel your eyes welling with tears. lando grabbed her little hand softly, making her wave at the camera. “proud of daddy, matty?” he cooed, and you were a wreck.

landonorris via instagram

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landonorris: matty’s first race 🏎️ 🧡

3. that time matilda crawled

“babe!” lando’s voice echoed through the house, up into your bedroom. you were fresh out of the shower, wringing your hair dry with a towel, nearly jumping out of your skin when he called.

“what is it, honey?” you shouted back, grabbing your (his) robe from the back of the door.

“you gotta come see this.” he sounded giddy and you bounded down the stairs, speeding into the living room.

“what’s going on?” you asked him, watching him practically jumping up and down with excitement.

“matty crawled.” lando beamed.

your eyes flitted to your daughter, sat quite casually on her play-mat.

“uh…” you said slowly. you wanted to believe him, but the evidence was not lining up. she was getting closer each day, but still seemed to be a tad far off of going the full stretch.

“she did! i swear!” he turned his attention back to matilda, dropping to the floor beside her. “c’mon matty, show mummy! i know you can do it, sweetie.” lando cooed.

“can i finish getting ready?”

“baby, she’s gonna do it again and you’re gonna miss it!”

“okay, just shout if she starts spitting bars.” you teased, turning to leave.

lando was pouting, but as if she sensed her fathers frustration, matilda had a point to prove. she pushed herself up from her tummy, fighting her way towards you.

“oh, my love.” you cooed, hand splayed over your mouth. she was growing up way too fast, but that was eclipsed by the pride bubbling hot in your chest.

“see?” lando pulled you into his side, gleeful. you moulded into him, lip quivering as you watched her wriggle around. “oh, baby, don’t cry.” he pressed a kiss to your hairline.

“happy tears, i promise.”

“she’s so clever, just like her mama.”

5. the backlash

the clips circulating online made you feel ill.

lando had just done another podcast, and the topic of his family had come up. they’d set the trap, and he’d fallen right into it, pressuring him about how he approached racing and being a father. he’d tried, bless him, but the way they’d cut the interview made it look like little matty played second fiddle to daddy’s racing car.

you’d been in the studio while your baby slept peacefully beside you, you knew exactly what he’d said, and now the tweets circulating about your boyfriend made you want to scream.

you were no stranger to the occasional landogate, but he’d gotten a lot better over the years. lando didn’t care much for the way the media twisted his words anymore, but when it came to his family, his flesh and blood, he quite simply couldn’t take it.

lando hadn’t come out of his gaming room all day. you’d let him marinate for a few hours, but you hadn’t seen him in too long, and you were starting to panic. matty kept spitting out little strings of words, dadadada spluttering out her little mouth. she wanted him, and you needed him, so you swept her up in your arms and carried her up the stairs.

you tapped on the door, pushing it open before you got a response. he was slumped in his gaming chair, hood up, spinning around aimlessly. he looked so deflated, staring at nothing, manufactured guilt eating him up.

“hey, honey. matty wants her daddy.” you called softly, wading into the room. lando sighed, but took her out of your arms immediately.

“better take what i can get, before she realises what a terrible father i am.” he mumbled sarcastically.

“hey, no. don’t do that, lando. don’t fall into this mindset. you and i both know that you’re a fucking amazing father.” you wagged your finger at him as you spoke. he just slumped further into his seat, letting matty pull at the drawstrings of his hoodie.

“maybe they’re right, though. i was always so scared of this part. what if she grows up and is ashamed of me?” he whispered, eyes honing in on his daughter.

“oh, baby.” it physically hurt you to see him so down on himself. you were ready to burn twitter to the fucking ground. “you’re the best father i could have wished for. she’s literally a little lando! god, honey, she loves you so much. and of course she would - you’re her whole world.”

“when she won’t sleep with me, ten seconds in your arms, and she conked out. when she’s bored, she only wants her dad. don’t even get me started on that annoying stubborn streak she’s showing. lando, she could never be ashamed of you. she is you.” you continued.

lando sighed shakily, pressing a kiss to matty’s forehead before placing her carefully on the ground. some of her toys were scattered there, so she made a beeline for her orange teddy, without a care in the world for you and lando. he spread his arms for you, ushering you in and you sat on his lap, cuddling into him.

“i love you, baby. you don’t know how thankful i am that you gave me this life.” he said into your chest, kissing right over your heart.

you knew everything would be okay, anyone with eyes could see how much he adored his little girl. and anyway, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought; all that mattered was that you had each other, and that was more than enough for lando.

5. matty’s first birthday!

your house was full of laughter, shades of pink, purple and yellow decorating every surface. balloons covered the ceiling, a big 1 taking up half your kitchen. and in the middle of all the colourful chaos, your boyfriend held your one year old daughter, bouncing her on his knee.

they were a picture, a truly stunning one, two identical sets of eyes crinkling at the corners while they laughed together. your heart was bursting, nothing able to contain the butterflies in your stomach as you watched the two greatest loves of your life.

stuffed toys and little pairs of shoes covered every surface, wrapped up with big ribbons. all of your favourite people were in one room, your families coming together with all of your friends to celebrate 365 days of matilda.

matty had spent her day playing with sylvie, george’s young daughter, while lando took photos from every angle humanly possible. then there was the cake, which lando had let the little girl smash all over her face. you’d scold him later, the moment was far too precious.

you were caught up watching lando play with matilda, when max came up to you.

“never seen him happier.” max beamed, pulling you into a side hug. you ruffled his hair in response.

“can’t believe we made her.” you muttered, head falling against his shoulder. you were awestruck.

“when are you having another one? he’s gagging for it.” max was joking with you, but the look you gave him made him do a double, triple, quadruple take. you were smirking. “wait… wait what?”

“sooner than you might think.” you patted your tummy slyly. “he doesn’t know yet, i only just found out last night. wanted matty to have her day and then i’ll tell him when she’s gone to sleep.”

max was staring at you, bewildered. you may have even seen a tear in his eye.

“oh, i love you guys. so fucking happy for you.” he whispered.

you caught sight of lando watching, his head tilted in confusion. you just winked at him.

“she went down easy. think today really took it out of her.” lando said as he walked into your bedroom. you were sat waiting for him, hands resting behind your back.

“thank you for today, it was perfect.” you beamed when he leaned down to kiss you.

you watched him get ready for bed, stripping down to just his sweats, and then he joined you, lounging across the foot of the bed.

“hey, what were you talking to max about, babe?” lando asked.

“a gift that i got you.” you replied coyly.

“a gift?” lando looked confused, and the confusion only grew when you pulled your hands from behind your back, placing a little gift bag in front of him.

“yep. hope you like it.” you kept your expression neutral.

he picked up the bag, rustling through the tissue paper, and then he found it.

a little white stick.

lando stared blankly, eyes flitting rapidly between your face and the pregnancy test in his hand.

“baby…” he started, but he lost his train of thought. instead, he launched himself at you, cuddling you into the mattress. you were laughing while he pressed his lips all over your face, your neck, ending with your belly.

“good gift?” you giggled, watching as his hand smoothed over the soft skin of your tummy.

“the fucking best.”

landonorris and youruser via instagram

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landonorris: for matty’s first birthday, we’re giving her a sibling 🫶

6. family sized

lando norris, father of two, reporting for duty.

leo norris was born under the english sun, the late august heat making your labour a difficult one.

from the minute he was born, leo had a personality, angry, passionate eyes glaring at you and lando, a cry tearing from him that could end wars. he was gonna be a force, that little boy, not that you were complaining.

lando had fallen in love again, only having a few days to adjust before he was racing around europe, but he always found a way to slip into bed with you in the early hours of monday mornings, leo sprawled across his tanned chest. he’d watch the two of you sleep, listening out for matty down the hall.

and then she’d wake up, and lando would lay leo by your side, padding next door to your daughters bedroom. the pitter patter of her little feet and lando’s big laugh would wake you up. mornings were the best part of your day, all four of you tucked up in bed together before the chaos began.

it was hard sometimes, but life was bliss. you had the most wonderful partner, two gorgeous children, happiness that you couldn’t have ever fathomed right at your fingertips.

lando finally realised how big the world was, now that his family was often on the other side of it. he ached every second his heart was away from his kids but watching them grow, getting to see them smile, matilda clinging to his legs the second he came home, made it all worth it.

and god, coming home to you, whether you were waiting with open arms at the door or tucked up in white linen bedsheets in one of his t-shirts, was fucking delightful. you were his person, the one that gave him a reason to get up and smile, and he’d do quite possibly anything to keep you happy until you were old and grey by his side.

“matty, what do you say when we say goodbye to chat?” lando asked his little girl.

he was wrapping up a stream, matilda finding her rightful place as his new cohost - max was hardly coping with being replaced but that was a separate issue.

lando bowed his head, looking at matty encouragingly and she beamed hard at the screen. she was two years old, with the bubbliest personality and the brightest eyes in the entire world.

“gg boys.” she grinned toothily at the camera, and lando’s squawk of a laugh summoned you into the room.

lando was logging off when you walked in, watching from the doorway. leo was down for his nap, and matty was soon due hers.

“what are you two getting up to?” you chimed in, leaning into the wall.

“matty’s gonna be a gamer.” lando said in his sing-song voice, the one he reserved for when one of his kids did something that made his eyes sparkle.

“no call of duty.” you said sternly, looking at him pointedly.

“don’t worry, baby. f1 game only, she’s gonna be a racing driver.”

“just like her daddy.” you whispered, watching the duo high five in their matching hoodies.

landonorris via instagram

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landonorris: @/mclaren i’m gonna need a bigger car

youruser via instagram

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youruser: big dad vibes 💘

7. long time coming

lando held his son tight, watching you and matty examine tiny sea shells in the little rock pools that were forming. the sun was setting over the monegasque beach, beams of pink and orange light bathing your family as it bounced off the soft waves.

leo was wriggling in lando’s arms, the two year old boy desperate to join his mother and his sister splashing around in the shallows, but lando kept a hold of him. leo was too mischievous for his own good, cheekier than the average two year old. perhaps it had something to do with who his father was.

“daddy, come look.” matty called, so lando waded into the water, ankle deep. that little girl had him wrapped around her finger. he cast his eyes over matilda’s inquisitive face, glancing at you for just a second, and that’s all it took for you to steal the air from his lungs.

you were more radiant than ever, as beautiful as the day he’d met you and fallen so helplessly in love. he hadn’t stopped falling in love since. you’d made him a father, you’d given him a family, you’d taught him what it was to be truly, unequivocally happy.

and now all you had to say was yes.

“that’s lovely, sweetie.” lando cooed at matty, eyeing the handful of seashells she’d collected. “wanna go play on the sand? we have that gift to give mummy.” lando winked at the little girl, who took off running, splashing sea water over you both.

once she was out of earshot, you turned to lando.

“you’re not pregnant, are you?” you teased, thinking back to the gift you’d given him those years ago, who was now tucked sleepily into lando’s chest.

“how did you know?” lando joked back.

he grabbed your hand, toes sinking into the sand as you made your way towards matty, who was fidgeting on the picnic blanket you’d laid out earlier. as soon as you reached her, lando gave her the sly nod, the signal that he’d taught her over the last few days, and her sweet little voice called out to you.

“mummy?”

“yes, my love?” you kneeled down on the blanket, eye level with your daughter.

“daddy wants to ask you something.” her doe blue eyes twinkled in the setting sun, and you whipped your head around to look at lando.

lando, who was down on one knee, balancing his son in one hand and the biggest fucking diamond ring you’d ever seen in the other.

“should’ve done this about four years ago, but we were busy popping out kids.” lando breathed, his eyes watery. you were already in tears. “my love, where do i even begin? i’m nothing without you, and every time i leave you, i leave my entire heart behind, so please, will you marry me?”

tears streamed down your face, and lando sat the squirmy toddler down next to his sister, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

you surged forward, the force of your movement leaving you both in the sand. you clung to him, lips meeting his with sweet urgency. you mumbled a million yes’s into the kiss, no one left in the world but you and him, and your two beautiful children.

and when you pulled away, you scooped your babies into your arms, holding them tight, knowing that you were in the presence of the purest form of love.

your little family, complete…

…for now.

youruser and landonorris via instagram

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youruser: family day out 🥹🫠❤️‍🔥

i don’t know how to write fluff lol

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4K notes · View notes

toji-bunny-girl · 5 months

Text

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓✩’𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓

CHARACTERS— Santa!Gojo Satoru x pretty sexy gorgeous fem!reader SUMMARY— Supposedly another Christmas night being lonely and horny, you’re suddenly woken up by Santa coming to claim you your Christmas gift. WORD COUNT— 3k+ CONTENT WARNING— slight angst, swearing, smut, porn with plot, virginity lost, fingering, clit sucking, oral sex, no protection A/N— Merry Christmas, my fellow bitchless angels 😔 Ya’ll better not let this shit flop or else I’m going insane. btw guys God literally told me face-to-face that my dog is cuter than your pet 😨 it’s true tho

“So,” your co-worker, Mina started as she haled the roll-up gate down, flipping her long extensions behind her shoulder before grabbing the lock from your extended hand, “got any plans this Christmas?”

“I don’t know…I’ll probably go out with my friends to the new cat cafe. You?” you watched as her fingers worked deftly to lock the gate before trying to pull it open in an attempt to make sure she got it locked.

“Kai wants to visit Ginzan Onsen, said it’ll be the best place to ‘make love’ or something. I mean, long story short he thinks it’s a cute place to fuck,” Mina apprised, always a little bit too forward with her wordings—her bold personality and style amolous from yours.

Albeit she’s amiable and kind, you still couldn’t quite get used to her blatant forwardness despite working with her for the past 5 months. And Mina loved teasing you about how sensitive you are; already blushing from the mere word ‘fuck’.

“Look at how cute you are, (Y/N). Your face is starting to get red!” she giggled, pointing as you hit her arm, feeling your cheeks warming against the cold winter air. “You know, they say the shy-est are usually the kinkiest…”

“Just leave me alone, Mina!” you embarrassingly whined, slapping a palm over her glossed lips before pushing her away. She lets out a few satisfied laughs before raising her hands up in capitulation, already knowing when to stop before you get irritated at her.

“Alright, I’m sorry, ‘kay baby?” she cooed, plump lower lips jutting out into a pout as she wrapped her arms around your waist.

“You keep teasing me,” you frowned and pushed her stubborn hands off of you before you began walking towards the train station.

“Cuz’ you’re so cute. You’re always acting like such a virgin,” her arm hung over your shoulders and your body sunk forward at the sudden weight.

“Now, is there a problem with that…” you spoke lowly, flickering your sight towards her, wary of her reaction.

“You cannot be shitting me?!” Mina widened her eyes, two elder couples turning their attention on her egregious tone, “I mean like, look at you! You’re so pretty and such a good girl. Who wouldn’t want you?! I want you!”

“I don’t know…I just haven’t met the one.”

“There’s tons of guys who want you, (Y/N)! You gotta be a little bold, get out of your shell if you wanna meet ‘your one’.”

“Man…I just wish someone perfect for me who isn’t a creep would come to me,” you sighed, your hand holding onto Mina’s dangling one over your neck. Nearing the station, you could see Kai, her boyfriend already waiting by the entrance for her—probably heading to dinner together later on.

“You’ll find one for sure,” she glanced at you, a bright reassuring smile on her face, and you returned her one before feeling the weight on your shoulders lifted when she pulled her arm away, then waved at Kai.

“So, how was work today?” the male strode over, his two hands reaching out to hold Mina’s from the pockets of his coat before turning to greet you.

“It’s fine, lots of couples today,” she replied, following as you passed the ticket gate and rode the escalator up to the platform. “And as usual, we got a few single lads asking for our pretty girl’s Line today.”

“Yeah, and you forgot to add that they’re either delinquents or high school boys,” the two couples chortled as you sighed, tired of how you’re always attracting guys who are definitely not your type.

“We’re gonna have to get security for our candy shop because of our (Y/N), huh?” Mina joked, nudging Kai’s side with her shoulder as you rolled your eyes.

Within seconds, the bells signaling the coming arrival of the train started, the train announcer apprising the next destination as Shinjuku-sanchōme—20 minutes until you reach your home station.

“Sorry, (Y/N). Kai and I are gonna ride another train to Shinbashi so we can’t go in with you,” the train had arrived and the doors slid open as workmen and women surged in like sea waves.

“No, no! It’s fine. Happy holidays, guys,” you smiled as you began to follow the crowd into the half-packed train.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N)!” the two bid, Mina waving all the while.

“Enjoy your trip to Ginzan, you two!” you giggled, slightly waving back before jumping onto the train just as its doors began to slide close. The smell of heater and sweat filled your nose and as you swiftly scanned your sight around, you saw most smiling at their phones, probably texting their loved ones, and a few couples giggling in their seats.

Another lonely Christmas, you thought.

Your stomach was growling as you prowled the streets for the nearest convenience store. The sky was already blanketed with darkness and you thought visiting any restaurant would only mount your forlornness, so you figured a quick meal from the store would do for your hunger.

The luminously salient sign of your local convenience store caught your eyes from a distance away, and you hurriedly scorched towards the store. Entering, the cashier greeted you when the automated door slid open with a ding to announce your presence, and you nodded your head with a smile before trodding your way to the back where packed bentos were.

Your eyes raked over the bentos, looking for your favourite Katsudon to find it absent from the display. A surge of annoyance rose in you as your brow knitted into a frown, ‘Can’t even have my Katsudon, huh?’. Grabbing the nearest bento instead, you made your way to the cashier while rummaging through your bag for your wallet.

“Do you want your bento heated up, miss?” the male mooted, a serviceable smile on his face. He caught your affirmative hum before setting the food in the microwave, and silence then transpired between the two of you.

The smell of the heating fried rice pervaded through the air in the wake of the anticipated ‘ding’. The cashier took out the bento and wrapped it in a plastic bag before handing you both the plastic and a card, “Thank you for your purchase, and Merry Christmas!”

You thanked the male and claimed your things before heading out of the store with another ‘ding’, throwing the card into the plastic bag and burying your hands deep in the warmth of your pockets.

What seemed to be your wontedly peaceful route back home suddenly became a path of silent lonesomeness. At that moment, you must be colder than anyone else in Japan. While they have the love and heat of a lover to warm them up—you had no one but yourself.

The walk home was longer than usual and you immediately turned on the heater when you entered your apartment, feeling your limbs beginning to numb. Taking out a few beer cans from the fridge, you set them on the small chabudai along with your cooling packed dinner—ready to scarf down your meal.

It took you an empty bento box and two beer cans to notice the Christmas card the cashier gave you on the wooden floor, probably dropped when you took the packaged meal out of the plastic bag. You could feel yourself getting tipsy as the alcohol set in your veins, rushing to your brain and making it all light and woozy.

“Christmas…Wish?” you read the bold, cursive title aloud, eyes absorbing the contents on the card.

Write a wish on this card and Santa shall grant what you seek!

Aren’t these for kids or something? Why would the cashier give you something like this? It’s obviously fake, but for you to think of a wish…you would love to be a millionaire. Or a billionaire. Or have a pet cat. Or…

Heading to your bedroom to get your pen, you trodded back to the chabudai where the card was, taking your time to ruminate on what to write just for the fun of it. Perhaps it was the alcohol thumping in your pulse, absorbing whatever sense you have in your head as it passed your bloodstream—you found yourself injudiciously scribbling something you normally wouldn’t.

Lose my virginity.

Fire popped beneath the skin of your cheeks as you stared at the piece of card with your writing on it. “I must have gotten insane…” you sighed, rubbing your eyebrows.

Maybe a wash would clear your head, you thought. The beer was making you drowsy and you’d better have an early night. You don’t take long with your shower and you were quick to set your things aside and take out the trash.

It was only 10 but you’ve already settled yourself in your bed, sleepiness blanketing over your head. Your eyelids began to shut, sending you to an abyss of peace and dream.

Then, there was shuffling. And mumbles.

Your consciousness drew back to reality and through your dazed state—you tried to make sense of the noises. Until you began to sober up, there was no one but you in your apartment. No pets nor roommates to be making up all these sounds.

“Who’s there?” you panicked, straining your eyes through the dark, to find a tall silhouette in your room. A sense of aghast rumbled through your being and a shriek ripped itself out of your throat.

You fumbled for something from your bedside table to act as a weapon, and the most threatening object there was was your lamp. At least you could smash it against the intruder and bolt out of your apartment for help.

And as you tried to rip the lamp’s cord out of the socket, its light turned on—revealing the stranger to be…Santa?

“(Y/N), is it?” the male chuckled, rubbing his nape.

“Who are you?!” you screamed, pointing the lamp at him. “Get out of my house, please!”

“Just relax, man. I’m Santa, here to grant you your Christmas wish!”

“Look, I’m just a broke college student! I-I don’t have anything with me. Just leave and I won’t call the cops,” you tried to reason, already starting to break down into hiccups and tears

“Well, I'm sorry. It’s my policy to not leave a house unless I’ve successfully fulfilled one’s desires. So, I won’t be leaving anytime soon!”

“W-What…?” you were beyond dumbfounded, trying to make sense of the random lunatic standing in your room.

“This,” he pointed at the card from the convenience store. “Here, your wish says…to lose your virginity,” the male cladded in his Santa suit bemusedly read aloud.

“No…! I wrote that as a joke!”

“Well, I don’t take Christmas wishes as a joke,” he lifted an eyebrow, resting his hands on his hips.

“Just cut it out, Santa isn’t real,” you retorted, tightening your grip on the handle of the lamp.

“But I am real,” his voice suddenly became closer, and more lucid, his frame had disappeared from your sight—as if he was suddenly gone and had dissipated into space. Whipping your head behind, you found him just there and a scream cracked out of your lungs as you tumbled out of your bed.

“H-How…Wha—“

“I can teleport, y’know?” he smiled, reaching out a hand to pull you up from the floor. “And I can make anything out of thin air,” his other hand rose to have a random Dior bag in his grasp as you stared, shocked and finding it hard to register the scene in front of you.

“So, you’re really…Santa Claus?”

“Yes, and my real name’s Gojo Satoru—at your service,” he slurred, and you found his voice smooth like freshly woven silk. You were silent and still, eyes widening at the white-haired male in front of you. “Speaking of your Christmas wish…”

Your face burst into florid red as you awkwardly laughed, “Could you please just forget about that?”

“Now, if you’ve read carefully; no changing or refusing of wishes once you’ve written ‘em down,” he pointed at the small text at the bottom of the card, “You must’ve missed it just now.”

Thinking over the situation, something in you cracked as you realised—you were going to lose your virginity to Santa Claus. Your eyelids twitched as you nervously chuckled. This gotta be a heck of a joke.

“Hey, don’t underestimate me!” Gojo had caught your expression, and as if he was reading your thoughts, his eyebrows knitted into a frown.

“T-Then what are we supposed to do now?” you asked, switching your gaze away and feeling hot embarrassment tickling your skin.

“No need to worry,” Gojo gave a reassuring smirk, “just trust me.”

Alright, trust.

You felt the bed shift with his weight, and he was hovering over you—face mere inches away. His eyes seemed to sparkle like those of a diamond; blue stars orbiting in his orbs, and you note the plump shape of his lips, so visually kissable.

For the second time, as if he had caught your thoughts, he let his lips mould into yours. He felt soft and plump like peach, and he smelled like a merge of snow and warmth.

Your lips danced in the dark, and your body leaned forward towards him as he fell back, something about the kiss was unbreakable. It felt so soft, it felt so good.

You let his hands wander around your curves from underneath your pyjamas, meet the shape of your hips and dips of your waist, then the roundness of your breasts. You let him study your body with the cold tips of his fingers and slip your clothes off when he wanted to.

A soft moan slipped out of your tongue when the cold December air hit your nipples, and Gojo took no time to let his tongue play with your buds. His hands continued to roam around your body, pressing a finger against the wet spot through your pants.

“You fine with this?” he pointed at the way his fingers slid over your clothed core. You wordlessly nodded, drifting your sight away before you felt yourself benignly pushed onto your back, your pants slowly slipping off of your legs along with your panties.

You were bare, in front of a man you’ve met tonight. But at the same time, you felt oddly safe with him. This was only a wish come true and nothing more, you affirmed.

His long fingers began to reach deep inside, and your nerves tingled at where they caressed your walls. His pace switched after a few pumps and his fingers were dextrously pistoning in and out of your cunt. You could hear your erotic slick coating his digits as it follows his rhythm, and your cheeks burn hot in shyness.

His face lowered to your pussy, and his tongue began playing with your clit. A sharp mewl escaped from your lips as his cheeks hallowed from sucking on your nub and his fingers paced up over the gummy spot deep inside.

Pleasure began amassing in your nerves and you could feel yourself brimming over the edge of lucidity. Gojo didn’t stop and instead, fastened his digits in and out of you, the sound of sex was loud through your state of delirium and he was coaxing all the pleasure there was in you.

Then, you spilled. Your thighs tightened around his head, fingers gripping onto his white locks as you’re sent to a world of blank bliss. Gojo peeks up at you as you pause with your lips parted, edges of eyebrows sewn to the stars, and half a wail stayed choked in your throat.

“You alright?” he chuckled, raising his upper body to your blushed face. You didn't say a word and drove your tongue into his mouth, arms locking him closer to you. The shared heat between your two bodies warmed the air around you, and you thought maybe that’s what it feels like to have a lover.

“Yeah,” you breathed, still ever so shy yet for once, a daring timbre crawled through your tone. “I think I’m ready…”

“If princess wants it,” his lips crack into a smile against yours, pants pulled down and hand pumping his length, fat tip lined against your entrance. Peeking down, regret almost settled into your being when you saw his size. Would it fit?

Then, he saw you and reassured you that he would go slow. No need to worry and to trust. So, you did. Bashfully spreading your thighs open for him.

Your muscles squeezed when he first entered, and he let out a long groan with a pause to his hips. It took a few seconds until he began to move, this time with a thumb rolling your clit to loosen your grip. Every inch of his cock stretched into your cunt made you go almost insane—the pain that first came was soon replaced with a delicate buzz of pleasure.

His hips were slow to thrust at first, gentle and soft until your walls had adjusted to his girth. Your little moans began to fill the chilly air when he slowly started to quicken up, and the bed began to squeak along with his rhythm.

“You look so pretty, y’know?” like silk, slinking through the hot air and into your ears. Every time his curved tip kisses your G-spot, you feel blank—blank of pleasure and stimulation. He could see it in your face, always able to read your features so well.

“Mmhp—” you let out a moan when he pulled your hips closer to him, fucking deep into your squelching cunt. Your back arched from the way his cock rubbed against your walls, hands over your mouth to muffle your whines.

“I wanna hear your pretty moans, (Y/N),” Gojo teased, softly leading your hands into his before fucking himself harder, deeper inside of you.

“Nngh! Feels s-so good—haa!” your hips began to move with his, legs hugging him closer to you and the world seemed to be on vertigo. Pleasure pervaded through every single cell in your body and your blood was pumping loud in your ears. “Please, I wanna cum!”

“Whatever princess says,” you could hear the smirk in his quivering tone, and with a few deep thrusts, the coil inside of your womb snapped—and your essence wet his thighs; your shaky moans high-pitched and sharp. “Yeah, pretty girl. Just like that.”

Static shot through your nerves, and your clit throbs against the hot air. Gojo let a thumb circle your nub, rubbing it through your climax as your nails sink into the skin of his arm. You could feel the warm mix of cum slipping out of your lips, running down your skin and into the bedsheet.

Once again, you felt the bed shift, and the warmth that held you lifted away. Through your hazy sight, you saw his figure rising, “Merry Christmas, pretty.”

@coolpizzazonkplaid @byhuenii @idkmanimreallysleepy @stainednailpolishremover @jxnyi @peachtreexoxo @yaygurist @lalaloverss @aexlime @naruucore @sathavious @guillermowhatwedointheshadows @mistygrovesarchive @glittercums @altmoo @lollixgoddess @victoriak01 @kimminjulvr @ghostlyluminarycloud @satorminniett @someonewhotendstowrite @buhdussy @ichirasblog @kokomisworld @magiouu @bobbicore @xxshiino @urmommyzhot @jjkwhor3 @erostaeyong @tojisprincesa @edgyficuselastica @clemianna @fromthechaoticmind @idkcoolise @fallinlovewithbeelzebub @sirshitsalot12 @kuraa01 @awyunh @lxvegojo

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gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

Note

werebear!price getting extra adamant on feeding you as winter approaches. Gotta stock up before hibernation.

I bet he’d enjoy an extra sleepy pet if he went pet shopping

One of the main reasons he picked you in the human pet shop is because you proceeded to sleep through whatever he was doing. Price isn't the most subtle being in this building - he is heavy and imposing, even if his human form, and he by no means is trying to make himself smaller. It doesn't bother little sleepy you - not even when your cellmates are pushing and screaming, either trying to get away or as close to a possible ticket to freedom as possible. You were...sleepy. Always tired and exhausted, you're no match to his boys - especially to Soap's bursts of energy and Gaz's desire to hunt for his mate through the woods. They still adore you, obviously, they love to tease and to make you scared of them, but you eventually fall into this sleepy hazy state, and now you belong to your big bear. Fully. Price makes sure to bring you the best blankets he could find - he digs up scales and weight you before the hibernation starts because he is scared of you being starved back in the shop, that you need to take on a bit more kilos until you can be safely tucked away under his arm. He loves to just make you hang out in his office, you're chained to the floor on a warm, fuzzy carpet - you're so sleepy when you just lay next to his thigh, snoring softly, a warm blanket draped over your shoulders. He doesn't keep you on his lap because he wants to be able to go out of the room without disturbing sleepy little you - you're always so weak and pathetic after you wake up, your poor attempts at hiding from your new life aren't working because you wake up and it's the same people, all over again. You wake up and you're still his pet...so you just fall asleep again.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere price #price x reader #yandere 141 #monster!141 #monster!price #tw: monster fucking

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bucknastysbabe · 9 months

Text

I knew at once, I knew he needed me

B. Barnes x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Canon-ish universe, friends to lovers, Bucky’s last trauma, flagsmashers debacle, TW: Bucks past non-con but no detail, blowjobs, fluff and smut, MAN TEARS, sexual dysfunction, Bucky Needs Orders, soft domme, Subby Bucky, Bucky is the sweetest sad meow meow who loves his girl, dry-humping, super-soldier loads amirite

Mood board under cut

Something about Bucky shifted when he went off on the Flag Smasher’s ordeal. You’d gotten a debrief back at HQ. No, you were not super powered. Simply a secretary who once upon a time was a SHIELD agent. But you’d got to know the reclusive former Winter Soldier bits and pieces at first.

Sam shoved him in charge of the Compound while he was dealing with things as the Falcon. Therefore you had to deal with a very surly one-hundred something man who had a staring problem and vocalized all of about 10 words— variants of no. You felt for the poor guy, he’s out of time, his best friend dipped off, and now the government owns him again.

You’d be tired and grumpy too.

But eventually your clipped conversations had turned into iPhone lessons along other modern world curiosities. The recruits were, safe to say, a bunch of jackasses and Bucky would come sit with you to have some coffee and mellow out as you typed. He’d grumble and rave, metal hand whining and whirring.

Then he asked you on a date.

Date turned to more dates.

More dates turned into ‘going steady’ and being ‘his best girl’. It was cotton candy sweet how kind and gentle he was. You knew there was a fear lingering he would hurt you on accident or go haywire. That somehow those words would come back— but they were gone.

You’d remind him sweetly with a squeeze of left inorganic hand and a peck on his pouty lips. He’d walk you back to your apartment and had been in there before for dinner, but was reluctant to stay the night. Reluctant to get anything but a little handsy while making out.

That was okay, he’d been through a lot. You didn’t mind, it was fun exploring with Bucky to find his sexuality, what felt good, what made him tick. Sometimes it could be frustrating but a vibe would do the trick until further notice.

On a miserable day Buck informed you he had to go with Sam on a mission. That mission turned into an entire ordeal, you keeping your head down and doing what you did. The Avenger’s secretary, oft dealing with the wonkiest of adventures under the guidance of Pepper.

Buck had left a message now and then, missing you dearly. The video of John Walker made you sick and worried to the point that Pep had you take the day off. The fact that Zemo was cavorting around with Sam and Bucky was it’s own nightmare.

You managed to reach Bucky on an encrypted line, begging for him to be safe. The soldier had chuckled blithely and replied, “I’m trying my best. No Zemo isn’t trying to kill me. That jackass Walker is going down though. Gonna’ get this under control and get back to you, sweet pea. I-,” he paused on the line, “I love you. I miss you too. Take care of yourself, gotta go okay?”

You blubbered back an ‘I love you’ and ate a pint of ice cream that night, wearing his shirt, watching that familiar face on the news. Hopefully they would get this Karli girl arrested and end any source of new serum. Put that asshole fake Cap away too.

It did. Sam emerging as the new Captain America, you jumping and cheering alone in the apartment with Alpine. Bucky was smirking in the back. You’d get to see him soon. He left a message he had to sort out one more thing before going home.

A little disappointed, you were glad Bucky went to help Sam’s family out. But you did have a job. On the bright side you could talk to your boyfriend every day. He seemed keen to get home, rambling about things he missed, things he remembered on the worldwide adventure. When Bucky would get off in his thoughts, his voice would get so soft and breathy, making your cheeks flush.

He groaned, “Soon babydoll, soon, I think I’m going to strap you to my side and we’ll catch up on all these movies from the journal.”

“I can’t wait.”

As stated before, there was a shift in Buck. Not bad. Something occurred though. And you couldn’t complain when he had you pinned to the couch, hands roving your body, breathing down your neck, “Oh god, missed you s’much, so damn cold most of the time.”

His toned thighs held yours spread out, hot length pressed to your core, only thin pairs of underwear as a barrier. Things were getting wet down there every rut of his hips. Bucky moaned in frustration, almost trying to bury himself in your skin.

Grabbing scruffy chin you refocused hazy eyes to you. Softly you murmured, “Slow down handsome. I’m not going anywhere. You okay?” Bucky blinked a bit and blushed, sheepishly apologizing with closed eyes, “I- baby- sorry. I don’t know either, jus’ want you. Life’s too short.”

You narrowed your eyes and prodded, “Don’t rush through something you’re not ready for yet.”

Bucky’s blues peered dead into your being this time as he swore, “Been living in fear since I got brought back. I know that I want you, and god it feels Fuckin’ good.” You kissed him passionately after that, tightening your thighs around trim waist.

Bucky hiccuped and heaved when he spilled all over your clothed cunt, sweetly begging for more. You scratched softly at his scalp, ushering the needy thing along. The brunette slid against his own spend and your slick panties, breath hitching. He whined, “S’good, s’good, wet, ff-fuck!”

You ended up spasming and cumming on Buck’s fourth orgasm, so goddamn slick between the pair of you now. He shook down to his toes, holding you tight as he mewled, “Oh god, oh god, fffucking hurts, can’t stop, baby y-ya feel s’good.”

Poor baby had milked himself dry after two more loads, gasping and making the prettiest little hitched noises. You’d led the pliant super soldier to the shower and tended to him, Buck was out to the park after all that intense sensation, hell, sensuality.

He’d softly thank you over and over again between apologies, until the big teddy fell asleep in your arms, puffing softly. Buck wouldn’t have a nightmare that night. Nor many another night after wearing himself out.

No penetration yet, but fucking close. He wasn’t quite ready for that. You knew he was in some sort of phase, spurred on by whatever occurred in Madripoor. He wouldn’t elaborate but said it made him want human touch again. He’d fess up when he was ready, because then you’d let the needy baby fuck.

Walking into your apartment with a sprawled Bucky red faced and teary made you wonder if he was ready. His cock was red and obscenely engorged, leaking copious precum, balls just as heavy looking. The soldier had pushed his briefs down and looked like he’d been at it for awhile based on the redness and his sweaty chest. You swallowed back some drool. Fuck.

“Honey? Bucky? What’s going on?”

A divine whimper graced your senses. His lashes were thick and clumped from tears. Bucky whined, “Need you, my h-hands, fuck!” He bit down on his lip roughly, obviously frustrated. Blood dribbled down Buck’s stubbled chin.

Dropping your stuff and bolting over to your lover had him barely relax, hiccuping a bit. You straddled his lap, careful not to irritate or stimulate too much. Grabbing his gorgeous face with two hands you stared calmly, as one would to a child coming down from a tantrum, “Baby. Need you to take a couple breaths and tell me what’s going on.”

His chest stuttered, breath thin, you instructing some box breathing, counting for Bucky. You could feel him relax underneath you, pulse lowering, that residual twitching dying down. Your lover blinked a couple of times, lips pulled into a frown.

Now gently scratching his scalp you tried again, “Can you tell me what’s going on sweetheart? Something happened in Madripoor. I want to help, I can help if you just talk baby boy.”

His gaze held your own, a gritting of his jaw and slow exhale. Bucky’s mismatched hands slid carefully up the tops of your thighs to grip your hips. The brunette rasped, “We did a ploy. I played…him..to get information we needed. Whole set up with Zemo trying to sell me. It reminded me of my,” he gulped, “other uses.”

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry, no,” you rambled while pulling him in closer. Bucky eased back and shook his head, “You make it easier. I just…I..I have trouble doing anything without orders right now. I’ve been too- ugh fuck- embarrassed to say anything. But goddamn if I’m not horny all the time, it’s so twisted.” He tucked wet lashes against your neck, steadying his breathing.

You did some deductions in your head. Bucky had been sating any sort of carnal urges on his own. The little ploy had switched that button deep in Buck’s brain that he needed orders to cum. No wonder he’d been so needy, begging you for release, your lover had been in a mindfuck for two months.

You cooed, “Oh Buck, you can tell me anything, c’mon now. I’m not shaming you one bit. If we need to work through this we will.” Poor thing looked like he was going to cry again, nipping that swollen bottom lip. You shoved your thumb between those pretty lips and hummed, “Stop beating yourself up. I’m more than happy to order my handsome boy around.”

Bucky had instinctively opened to accept your digit, cheeks flaming harder than before. You softly pressed down on his tongue, the brunette drooling and jerking underneath you. The tension seemed to melt out of his body with this one authoritative action.

“Such a sweetheart, can’t help it, don’t worry, we’ll get you back in charge in no time. But just relax for now,” you swiped a tear away, “I’m not going to hurt a hair on your pretty head. Thank you for telling me.”

He whined around your thumb, more and more drool leaking onto a strong chest. You hummed, “I’m going to suck your cock.” It felt almost dirty but Bucky whimpering around your thumb was a relief, a gargled, “Pleaaaaseee.”

Sliding your thumb out of his puffy lips, Bucky made another pitiful noise at the loss. When your slick thumb swirled around his purpling cockhead the brunette shouted in surprise, hands gripping into the couch cushions.

“Going to suck your cock and you’re gonna love it, pretty boy,” you cooed, breathing over where he needed it most. A dollop of pre dribbled out, your tongue lapping it up gently. Buck’s thighs twitched and he moaned, throwing his head back. The cushion ripped on his left side.

You swirled your tongue around the bulbous tip, lapping on the underside just to hear him gasp your name. Popping off you rasped, “Grab my hair, you can move me to your pace.” He nodded disjointedly, flesh hand ever so carefully rerouting to your ponytail.

You began to bob down the length on him, other hand crawling up to caress and gently squeeze his hefty balls. Poor Buck, all backed up. He needed to cum bad. His voice came out as a thin whine, “Ohaaaahhh- wha- I’ve never.” You couldn’t help but smile at being his first.

Satisfaction that no one forcibly took this intimate act from him, not to mention you beat out likely someone’s great grandmother to suck the great Bucky Barnes’ dick. Licking and humming on a vein had your own throat stretching and slick, drool collecting around your obscenely stretched lips.

You fucking loved sucking cock. Especially such a big boy’s like Bucky’s. His hips jerked, forcing the blunt tip down your throat, you finally swallowing him down the best you could. Swallow swallow swallow, this was for your baby. Bucky’s built chest shuddered with his staccato breath, babbling, “So good baby s’good s’good, ohmyfuck.”

He whined again when you came up for air, drooling and heaving over that gorgeous prick. Bucky whimpered, “You look pretty, can I cum? Soon? Please?” You nodded, voice hoarse, “No more deep but I want you to fill my throat with all that cum. You have all the permission, actually, an order to cum.”

It didn’t take long of you humming and shallowly bobbing on his rapidly swelling cock for the first load to come. Bucky’s heavy balls contracted and drew tight under your palm, sending hot seed down your throat. You eagerly swallowed, sucking harder if anything. Bucky moaned and cried, squirming, legs sluttily spreading by the second climax.

You so desperately wanted to fuck around with that tender skin behind his balls but stuck to rolling and squeezing. You suckled on the crown, flicking tongue at the quickest speed, the poor thing warning with a sob, “Again!” He filled your mouth up this round, a fucking surprise, damn super soldiers. Dutifully gulping it again you slurped up excess drool and slowed the pace until Bucky was shying away, mewling.

Gently tucking him back in you wiped your mouth, laughing softly at the drool covering your blouse. God knows how wet your panties were. Bucky panted and hugged you oh-so-tight, warbling the cutest thanks. Wrapping back around Buck you curled the hair growing out around his ears and pressed little kisses to his cheeks.

“I’ve got you baby, we can do orders until you’re up to par. Feeling better?”

He rasped softly, “So much better, god, thank you.”

“No need, I love you. You know that. I’m quite satisfied I was the first to give you head.”

Pressing your lips to another stray tear he repeated it back, “Love you too, angel.” He smiled dopily, “The last too, that mouth works wonders.”

#bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #sub bucky barnes

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consistencynevermether · 6 months

Text

Ice cold: Astarion x reader

content: ascended Astarion x gn tav, angst, tav is goin through it in this one yall, i give karlach a more hopeful ending in the background bc i just want her to be happy, karlach and tav besties agenda, sfw, cannon typical violence

summary: after breaking it off with ascended Astarion, you meet again at a winter ball

word count: 6k (apparently i cant shut up about this man)

a/n: man i gotta write more happy Astarion content fr i keep putting this man in situations.

How many years had it been since you’d seen Astarion? 3? 5? Maybe more? You try to remember what your last moments with him were like before you decided to break things off. It was definitely after he ascended, but was it before you had gotten rid of the tadpole, or after? Honestly, after a while things had started to blur together really. After so many years, only the painful parts remained clear in your memory. How you, with tears in your eyes, had told him you couldn’t do this anymore. And the look of condescending and uncaring as he stared back. It had shattered you into a million pieces to end things with Astarion, but it would have hurt even more if you had stayed. Whoever he had become after he ascended, it wasn’t your astarion, not really.

Why were you reminiscing about your lost love? Well because after all these years apart, he was now standing about 5 feet away from you. Gods above how did you get yourself in this situation?

Let’s start a few years back after Astarion had left to be the new lord of Baldur’s Gate and you had stayed, shattered. Having to pick up the broken pieces of what you once were, having to figure out who you would be without him. You probably should have taken some time alone, now that you think about it. Processed your emotions, talked to a professional, properly mourned what you had lost before continuing on.

Of course, you had done the opposite and instead had decided to travel with Karlach and Wyll to Avernus. Going to hell is probably not the best way to cope with a breakup, but that was the only option anyone could think of to try and save Karlach from the fate of the engine in her chest. And after what had happened to Astarion you just-

You just couldn’t

You couldn’t lose someone else, if you did, you felt like you would have been shattered past the point of repair. You couldn’t take losing one of your only friends right after losing your love. So you gathered up the broken pieces of yourself and headed straight into the hells.

You were down there for a few years probably.

Maybe?

Honestly, you didn’t remember. Time became sluggish and foggy after Astarion had left because it kept marching forward, away from your time together with him.

Yet in the end, Karlach had gotten her engine fixed and all 3 of you had climbed out of hell. A few more burn marks and scars, but nothing more than that had changed. Physically at least.

You had somehow managed to put your broken pieces back together, but you weren’t the same as before. You didn’t feel complete, more like a jumble of razor-sharp shards being forcefully welded together trying to imitate what you once were. But now you were jagged, and cracked, and tired

Gods, you were tired. The dark circles under your eyes never left, no matter how much you slept. Or tried to sleep that is.

Sometimes in the dead of night, you would replay Astarion's ascendance in your mind over and over again, wondering what you could have done differently then. Or even before. Where had you gone wrong? Was there another outcome that you failed to make happen? Was there another reality where the two of you were happy together? Gods how that thought hurt.

Sometimes, you thought about the what-ifs. You imagined what would have happened if he hadn’t chosen to ascend. What both of you could have been. What you so desperately wanted but could never reach. Eventually, you stopped that line of thought at night. It was too crushing to imagine how things could have been different. What you could have done differently.

After emerging from hell, you had on and off traveled with some of your previous party.

You and Wyll had headed to Waterdeep once to help Gale with a sea monster problem

In an amusing team-up, you had helped Halsin and Lazel find an enchanted bracelet they were both searching for, though they both argued on how to act upon most things during that entire adventure, so you had felt almost like it was a babysitting gig the entire trip.

There was also that time you helped Minsc dispose of some bandits robbing people near Baldur's gate, but you had dealt with that sorry lot fairly quickly and got far away from Baldur's Gate even quicker. You didn’t want to accidentally run into a certain lord.

And now you had an entirely new quest, in the bitter cold land of Sossal. A few weeks ago, you met back up with Karlach who apparently had been looking for you.

It’s not that you disliked seeing Karlach at all, in fact, you were both very close, which was part of the problem really. Part of why it stung a little to see her.

She saw you. She saw how much you hurt even after all this time. Your other friends seemed to have assumed that you had gotten better. That over time you had healed and it had gotten easier for you to come to terms with leaving Astarion. But Karlach knew the truth, She saw right through you, and it was mortifying. That every day the hole inside your heart had just got wider. She feared it would swallow you up one day, and you didn’t blame her. It didn’t help that being around her just made you feel so

Pathetic.

She had been to literal Hell and back and could still smile and laugh, while you had only lost one person and had cracked and splintered like glass. It hurt to see the light that shined off her while you could only fall deeper into darkness.

Of course, you knew none of that was her fault, you only had yourself to blame for who you were, so when she came asking for help, you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

She was having engine troubles again. It wasn’t as bad as before, thank the gods, but it did have a tendency to overheat ever so slightly whenever she felt a strong emotion, and if you didn’t do something one wrong spook could set her ablaze. Luckily she had gone to Gale first and discovered a gem Called the frostbite tear. He could attune the gem to Karlach and make it so that every time her engine began to overheat, the jewel would immediately cool it down, negating the problem before it became a real issue like when you had first met her. Last anyone had heard of the gem it was with some noble in Sossal.

So here you were. You, Karlach, Shadowheart, and Gale all together at the midwinters ball held here in the capital. Gale had procured the invites for you all, and every noble in Sossal, plus some from other territories, would be here for this celebration. Gale had even been nice enough to give you a beautiful outfit for the ball, made of silvery-white sparking silk. It reminded you of fresh snowfall on a winter's night. Admittedly it wasn’t very practical, and Gale did make you shower before putting it on. (Rude. You didn’t think you smelled t h a t bad.)

You were so focused on helping find this noble (and robbing him of the frostbite tear) that you hadn’t even considered Astarion might be here.

Not up until the moment that his vibrant red eyes locked onto yours across the room.

You couldn’t move. Everything was moving too fast and also in slow motion. Your legs felt like lead and your mouth was bone dry. The numbness that had settled in your chest for years now cracked open with new pain, and you weren’t sure which of the sensations you hated more.

All all this panic and emotions, and yet in your mind all you could think of was how he looked just the same as the day you left. He hadn’t changed. And that made it all the harder. Because now it was easier to forget all the years between you two. He still looked the same as what you saw when you closed your eyes each night. It was Astarion. But on closer examination, not your Astarion.

There was a coldness to him now. A certain reservation in his smile that made you feel like you would be a mere annoyance to him if you dared to approach. He seemed sharper somehow as well, like a finely honed blade. And his attire was extravagantly beautiful, the white fur-lined cloak he was wearing was probably more expensive than anything you had ever owned, including your current attire.

You were so busy taking this all in mentally that when you went to glance at him again he was gone. For a split second, you genuinely wondered if you had finally snapped and just hallucinated all of that when an all too familiar hand took yours.

You hadn't looked away for more than a second and astarion was right there in front of you, kissing your knuckles. The brush of his lips on your skin was nearly enough to bring you to your knees. All these years, and he still had so much power over you with one little motion.

To any outsider, this looked like quite the cute interaction really. The handsome new lord of Baldur's gate spots an incomparable beauty from across the room and is instantly smitten, so he effortlessly woes them the second he steps into the ballroom. But life is no romantic play.

“Hello darling, it certainly has been a while. We simply must catch up”

Before you could even attempt to respond, his hands were around your waist, guiding you to the dancefloor as the orchestra began to play, and other couples began to join the dancefloor as well.

You’d hoped maybe the dance would save you from the conversation, but it seemed the opposite was what occurred, as Astarion leaned closer to your ear to whisper, “So, 7 years without a trace, and suddenly you show up looking positively exquisite. Do tell me what you’ve been up to.”

Your mouth opens to respond, but you realize you have no idea what to say. What could you possibly say to him, and why would you even say it?

Luckily you were spared any more torture when you noticed Astarion staring intently at your neck. The sight reminded you of that night you found out he was a vampire spawn, and you had let him drink from you for the first time. But instead of hunger Astarions brown was furrowed with another emotion. Annoyance? Concern? Worry? You couldn’t tell anymore. It had been years since you could tell what Astarion was thinking

His voice broke the silence once again.

“Is this new?” His long pale fingers brushed across the burn scar near your collarbone.

Ah. So that’s what he was staring at.

“Well it’s been there a few years, so I wouldn’t really consider it new but-“ you shrug at the end of your sentence, and you both know what you meant. It was only new to him. He may have stayed unchanged all these years, but you certainly hadn’t. And it seemed Astarion was beginning to notice.

His eyes raked over you, taking in the changes. You were a bit more muscular now, all that constant fighting no doubt. Your new(er) scars were more visible in this outfit, which admittedly was a little revealing and definitely not meant to withstand the harsh outside winter. And the years now showed in the tired look in your eyes. You imagine that your eyes aged you quite a bit honestly, maybe you should be shocked he even recognized you now.

“So”, he started, decidedly keeping his hand firmly around your waist so you couldn’t run from the conversation, “when you made my undead heart beat again only to toss it on the ground at my feet again like it was nothing all those years ago, I always imagined how nice it would feel to see you struggle while I thrived as lord of Baldur's Gate.”

Wow. Impressively bad flirting. Had he gotten worse at this over the years? Or maybe he just detested you so much he didn’t even think there was a point in even pretending to like you anymore.

“But now that I’m actually here and you look-“

He gestured at you vaguely

“Well a bit like you’d been the one who got dumped, it doesn’t feel very satisfying.”

“Mhm,” you responded, in a stroke of pure poetry.

“Darling, you have to give me more than that. The silent treatment after all this time is just petty, even for me.”

He had a point. And part of you did want to know-

“How have you been, Astarion?”

His steps faltered a little when you said his name, but he quickly recovered, smoothly continuing the dance

He smirked, his fangs visible on one side “Well certainly better than you if I had to wager, the stuff under my eyes is eyeliner, not sleep deprivation side effects.”

You close the distance between you two involuntarily to get a closer look at his face. He was wearing some sort of golden liquid as eyeliner on his bottom lids. It was subtle but beautiful, and it shined when the light hit his face just right. On instinct, you began to reach towards his face, but you quickly stopped yourself. You needed to stay focused, damnit. You were here to help Karlach.

Astarion's smooth voice cut in once again. “Still making me do all the talking? Honestly, I don’t ever remember you being this quiet before.”

You startled and realized you had been staring at his face for a while, and then trying to snap yourself out of it, all while not making a sound

Gods you don’t remember it being this hard to talk to him. But then again, you found it harder to talk to anyone these days. you just-

You just didn’t expect that to also apply to Astarion. Further proof that despite him looking the same, there was distance now. A silent gaping chasm that you had no way to cross. But that is what you wanted, wasn't it? To get away from this Astarion. The one who considered you a pet, or an object to be displayed. Treasured, and loved, but never his equal. Never fully having free will, everything you would have done would have had to be something he approved of.

You loved him, more than anything. You still did. Deep down you knew you would die for this twisted version of your love, and if he asked you to rip out your own heart and serve it to him, you would. But you couldn’t be with him. Everything else you would do for him, but that was where you drew the line. It hurt too much, to be reminded every day of what you had lost. Of what you have failed to protect. That sweet high elf with a silver tongue and a heart of gold he let so few see. The one who wished for freedom more than anything, but still stuck by your side. Because at some point, he wanted to be free with you. And that was not this Astarion.

Despite all that, just for this moment, you wanted to forget it all. To be held in his arms once again. Maybe, if the gods blessed you, see a real smile of his. You just wanted this one moment. Then your greedy heart would be satisfied. You could burn this image of the two of you dancing forever in your mind and have it sustain you. You’d gladly take another trip to the hells if it meant just a moment where you could pretend you were with your astarion. The one that lived on in your memories. Though you didn’t dare hope that he was still in there somewhere, you don’t think your heart could take it.

You inhale deeply and begin to talk. You tell him about the quests you’ve been on, the adventures you’ve had, what you’ve been up to these past years. Including why you were here, and your quest to help Karlach and find the frostbite tear.

Eventually, you get to the point where you tell him why you're here, and what you're looking for. But as you do you see a scowl twist on his face.

“Astarion?” You question, “What’s bothering you?”

He huffs in reply, and you can’t help but smirk.

“I’m sorry but I do remember someone just talking about how petty the silent treatment is.” You prod, and lock eyes, a sign for him to tell you what’s on his mind

He rolls his eyes at your persistence, but nonetheless, he begins to speak.

“Hm. Just seems like you and Karlach are so very happy together. A bit of a downgrade if you ask me, but that’s certainly no fault of hers. I mean, once you’ve had me, all you can do is go down from there.”

“Karlach and I aren’t dating.” You deadpan.

She was more like a sister to you than anything, and besides you’re pretty sure she already has eyes for someone.

“Oh?” Astarions eyebrow raises. “So who have you been shagging all these years then? Wyll? Shadowheart? Surely not Gale. Oh please tell me it’s not Gale, I think that might actually hurt my feelings a little if we both shared being to your tastes.”

“Be nice. Gales is a good friend. FRIEND. They all are. And to answer your prying question, I’m not with anyone. Not since you.”

It was true. You hadn’t loved anyone since astarion. It just didn’t feel right. Even the idea of a casual fling didn’t feel at all satisfying. And there was no way you would actually consider dating someone again. Not when Astarion still held your heart.

You could see a few emotions go across Astarion’s face, but you couldn’t recognize them. You remember when you used to be able to know what he was thinking, when he was lying or not. But not anymore. Maybe it was because he was always putting on some act now.

As you stared, his hand wrapped around your waist and for a breathless moment, he effortlessly lifted you up into the air, gently twirling you around him. then he put you down and smoothly continued the dance as if that was always part of the steps.

Your face flushed at the amount of contact, and the smirk once again graced Astarion’s lips.

“So, nobody since me? Seems like someone’s not quite over the Lord of Baldur’s Gate.” He singsonged, taking great pleasure in how momentarily flustered you were. “It's ok if you're not over me darling, I can’t blame you.”

Clearly, he meant this as a joke, one you were supposed to roll your eyes at and ignore. But there was no point in lying, so you just nodded and continued the steps of the dance.

Astarion stopped dead in his tracks.

“I-

Wait what? You're still-

Ah-

You're not over me?”

“Astarion, the song isn’t over.” You tried to nudge him back into the dance, but his feet were planted firmly, and he wasn’t going to budge.

“Answer me.”

You sigh. He wasn’t going to move. So now you were just standing here. In the middle of a ballroom. With everyone else dancing around you. Great. This was super inconspicuous and undercover.

“I will only continue to talk if you move your damn feet Astarion. Hells I’m supposed to be blending in not standing out.” You hiss and kick at the side of his shoes to indicate for him to get moving.

He recognizes the determination in your eyes and you can see him deciding mentally that he’ll probably get his answer sooner if he does as you ask, so he picks up the dance once again. His grip on your waist is now like iron though, not painful in any way, but there’s absolutely no way you could get out of his grasp now. Not even if you put all your efforts into trying.

His eyes never left yours, his intense stare practically commanding you to talk.

Which you did say you would do.

“I still love you.” You shrug. “Never stopped loving you.”

“Then why did you leave?” The hurt in his voice is evident, and you immediately feel like someone hurled a spear of ice directly into your chest.

You can barely raise your voice above a whisper without it cracking. “You know why. I already told you when I left.”

“Bullshit. Because you loved the person that I was? He was pathetic. Only a fool would want the lesser version.” His voice was like ice, you could feel the hatred he held for himself.

And you instantly felt your anger flare up at his words.

“Don’t you ever talk about-

About him like that”

It felt weird referring to past Astarion as someone else. But it was true. They were two completely different people now. And honestly, you didn’t care about the semantics, your blood was practically boiling.

“He was the love of my life. He was everything to me. So don’t you dare insult him.” You spat, practically seeing red

Astarion's face twisted in rage.

“Maybe you liked me pathetic, hm? Maybe the only way you could possibly love me was if I was beneath you. A precious pet spawn, entirely dependent on you, living in your shadow to protect me from the sun that I now bask in.” He sneered, meeting your rage with his own.

And just like that, you had shattered all over again.

It was your turn to stop dancing now, unmoving in the sea of swaying nobles.

Astarion's rage seemed to have flickered out seeing the look on your face.

What did your face look like? Were you shocked? Were you crying? Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could register the feeling of hot tears down your cheeks, but you paid it no heed.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around Astarion, putting your face in the crook of his neck.

Astarion completely froze at the sudden contact, not even taking a breath. Although he probably didn’t need to actually breathe anyways so maybe that was normal.

“I’m sorry. If-

-If you truly believe that I ever thought that way about you, then I messed up beyond repair. I'm so sorry.”

You tried to continue, to apologize for all the times you had failed him. For making him feel like that. But you realized you couldn’t speak. Your body was silently heaving with sobs, tears flowing down your face and ruining Astarion's nice clothing.

Great. You couldn’t even cry without screwing him over. And this was definitely not inconspicuous.

You lifted your head, making a move to step away, but as you did you saw a blue glint on one of the lapels of some well-dressed lord.

Holy shit.

The frostbite tear. You had found it. And all it took was sobbing on your ex to spot the damn thing. That didn’t make you feel pathetic at all. Though admittedly this was the perfect distraction from this soul-crushing conversation. Maybe with any luck you wouldn’t even have to address that embarrassing display that no doubt disgusted astarion, he was probably hoping you’d get the hell off him already.

So you did just that, jerking back from the hug and keeping your eyes glued on the gem.

“Astarion look. It’s the frostbite tear. On that lord.”

But you could tell Astarion’s eyes were firmly glued to your face.

You tried to slip away, to follow the frostbite tears owner and relieve him from its ownership, whether that be by swiping it, lying, or just straight up threatening the guy. But Astarion held you firmly in place.

“What are you doing?” You whispered, to not startle your target. “He’s right there. Let go.”

“You can’t just drop that on me and leave” he whisper-yelled back

“I’m not leaving, I’m just grabbing something real quick. Now let go, it’ll take 5 minutes tops.”

“What if you decide you don’t wanna talk again and run off?” He countered

“Then you can corner me because you're the vampire ascendant.”

“What if he catches you and you get arrested?”

“Then you can visit me in jail because you're the vampire ascendant.”

“What if-“

Oh for fucks sake.

“Whatever happens, I assure you, you will be able to say whatever you want to me after because you are the vampire ascendant. You made that fact very clear to me when we were together. Now let go.” You cut him off, and then try once again to move towards the target. But his grip remained firm

You look up at him, now filled with annoyance and desperation. The noble could escape if you didn’t do something now, and yet Astarion seemed insistent on trapping you.

“Just one more dance, alright?” He bargained.

Unbelievable. That was his priority? You knew it had been a while but you never expected him to disregard a former ally so blatantly. Karlach needed this.

But upon closer inspection, he almost looked… a little guilty? Worried maybe? That didn’t seem right. What on earth?

Just then, Astarion pushed your face into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, almost protective. Protective but restrictive. You couldn’t move away no matter how much you pushed on his chest or tried to slip out of his hold.

“Astarion. Let. Go.” You hissed.

But your attempts at breaking free immediately stopped when you heard an ear-piercing screech and the sound of heavy footsteps.

On instinct, you reached for where your weapon would normally be, but you had nothing on you. Shadowheart had a few small weapons concealed on her in case things got messy, considering her attire was a bit more conservative than yours, but she wasn’t anywhere near you now.

Damnit. On instinct, you tried to twist around in Astarion's grasp to a more protective stance. Of course, you knew he didn’t need your protection at all, it was just a base instinct kicking in. Unfortunately, he didn’t allow you to move out of his grasp, so all you could do was squirm.

“What is wrong with you??” You practically shouted. If there was danger, then just standing here like this would leave you both wide open. Had he lost all common sense?

Unless-

At that exact point, a guard of the lord of Sossal burst through the doors, covered in blood.

“Vampire spawn are attacking the gates!” She exclaimed, cradling her arm, which was profusely bleeding.

“I didn’t know you would be here.” He murmurs, almost as if he’s telling this to himself more than you.

He wasn’t trying to keep you here, you realize. He was protecting you. None of the spawn would dare come near you if they saw Astarion holding you like this.

But at this moment you didn’t care. For years you had mourned over the loss of your Astarion. You had tried so hard, attempting to separate him from this ascended Astarion. But you had never been truly able to get over him, to accept he was gone. Because deep, deep down, no matter what you told yourself, you still believed he was in there somewhere. Behind all the silks and sharp gazes.

And you felt that hope die as you heard the hissing of the dozens of spawn outside, mingled with the screams and cries of the guards. He was gone. And your heart was shattered all over again.

But it was different this time. Before, you had pulled yourself together again, deformed and jagged, but still together. You couldn’t do that this time. There was no coming back from this. You could feel it. This pain wouldn’t fade. But there was something else there that wasn’t there before. Anger.

Astarion was protecting you, yes, but Gale, Shadowheart, and Karlach were here too. If the spawn got into the ballroom, they would be in danger. Not to mention this made procuring the frostbite tear infinitely more difficult.

Rage burned in your eyes, and for the first time, you saw the great vampire ascendant stumble over his words a little, as he tried to explain something about how the lord of Sossal had insulted him, but you weren’t listening.

While Astarion was struggling to explain himself, you realized he wasn’t paying as much attention to you. Good.

In one swift movement, you slipped out of his grasp and frantically looked around, searching for your friends. It was nearly impossible to hear anything over the screaming and panic of the nobles. It also wasn’t helping that Astarion was probably going to be right on your heels the second he recovered. Or maybe he’d just leave you to be eaten by his spawn. You didn’t really care.

After continuing to weave your way past frantic nobles and shouting their names, you were able to see a red hand waving you down from the far left balcony. It was Karlach, and she was with Gale and Shadowheart. Good. With all 3 of them together any spawn that came after them would be screwed. But you still had a mission to complete.

You looked up at Shadowheart and held your hand out for a weapon. You were going to track down that damn gem if it killed you. That noble was about to have a very bad day. Well. A worse day.

You were focusing all your hurt onto this, all your rage. But you needed to. You needed it because you had no idea what else you could do now. You needed something to focus on. Something to distract you from your shattered heart.

Shadowheart saw your determination and tossed a short sword down to you. Not your preferred weapon of choice, but it would do.

You whipped around, hand around the short sword at the ready, but also because it felt grounding, to be fighting once again. Now it was time to hunt down your prey.

You quickly ran in the direction you’d last seen, glancing over every lapel for that glowing blue light. It was hard, many of the nobles were dressed in a winter theme, so shades of white, silver, and blue were all too common in the sea of panic.

You continued to push past nobles, searching for that faint blue glow. You refused to let this go, you would not let Karlach down. You fought for too many years in hell getting the engine in her repaired to go all the way back to square one again.

You feel yourself tunnel vision on finding a blue light, your head whipping back and forth on the hunt, it felt good to let everything else fade away into numbness as your only thought is tracking down this gem.

A glimmer out of the corner of your eye. A flash of blue. The shine of fine silk. There he was. In a crowd of panicked nobles trying to run into other parts of the castle and hide from Astarion's horde gathering outside. Honestly, it was a pretty understandable reaction, you didn't blame him for running at all, but you needed that gem. You hope he survived honestly.

Survived.

Because Astarion planned to turn this place into a bloodbath. Your Astarion. The one who you had sat under the stars with, and he would teach you all the constellations whose names you didn't know, his silky voice lulling you to sleep when insomnia or worry had hit you.

You'd rather still be in the hells honestly.

You took a deep breath, centering yourself back to the present. Get the gem.

You dashed after the noble, drawing your shortsword and charging at the man. If possible, you'd do this quickly.

Ducking under the other guests, you grab this unfortunate noble by the collar, the moment you do he screeches, clearly fearing the worst. Luckily for him, you were only after his gem, not his blood. With one slice you cut the gem off the cloak, shredding the beautiful white fabric.

Not even bothering to explain yourself to him, you pocket your prize and turn on your heel, heading back in your friend's direction, when all of a sudden you hear the noble you had just stolen from scream again. But this time it was followed by the screams of a few others

You look back and that’s when you see her. A vampire spawn. Clearly on her way to the ballroom, but judging by her smile, it was clear she had just found some horderves.

You could have run. You were the only person with a weapon and the farthest away from her. She definitely wouldn’t pick you as her first target, she’d go for one of the defenseless nobles right next to her. You should have met up with the others and gotten the hells out of this place.

But the noble whose lapel you had just torn apart was so young. They were people. Scared people who got unlucky and were about to die because someone had offended the great vampire ascendant. Maybe you wanted to save them. But more likely, you just wanted something to take your anger out on. Or maybe you were just dumb as a rock.

But regardless you turned around and began to sprint towards the spawn instead of away, angling your weapon so that you would have the perfect angle to go for her collarbone.

Yet as soon as you locked her on as a target, her eyes went wide with..fear? She was a vampire spawn, surely she’d had a few of her victims fight back yes? Was this her first hunt?

Soon you realized that wasn’t the case at all as you felt a chill run down your spine. Even now with all his power, it wasn’t hard for you to identify the presence now standing menacingly right behind you. The familiar smell of bergamot filled your senses with the closeness. You could feel his chest pressed against your back. You didn’t know what kind of face Astarion was making right now, but whatever it was, it terrified the vampire spawn, her form now shaking and cowering before her master.

Funny. Even now after everything, you couldn’t find astarion scary. You probably should, considering how he just appeared behind you. But after everything you still couldn’t.

There was no point in delaying this any further. You turn around, and as you do his eyes immediately move from the spawn back to you. And his gaze softened. Before this whole ordeal that single action probably would have caused you to melt. But now it was different. You had already resigned yourself to being without him. You couldn’t turn back time. You couldn’t save him. All you could do now was try and find a way forward. And you certainly wouldn’t find that staring into his crimson eyes.

This felt awful. You felt awful. Walking away from him now didn’t feel like closure, it felt like someone had just stopped writing on the page mid-sentence. But you had to stop. Just stop. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life like this, mourning what you lost. Astarion would have an eternity to forget about you, but you only had this one life. And for the first time in a long time, you finally felt like you wanted to move forward with your life. To start living again. You were still mad. And upset. And it still hurt. But you wanted to get better.

So you turned around, not looking at Astarion, and left. Walked right past him without saying a word. You didn’t know what he would do. Let you leave and forget you ever existed? Grab your arm and try to talk again? Decide he had had enough and just drain you dry? You honestly had no idea anymore. But you knew one thing.

You wouldn’t be the one to look back.

part 2 here :)

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munson-blurbs · 2 years

Text

Oh, Baby (Dad!Eddie x Mom!Reader)

First installment in my Dad!Eddie series. Feedback and suggestions are super appreciated :)

Warnings: language, pregnancy, allusions to sex, allusions to abortion, mentions of Eddie’s deadbeat dad

WC: 1.5k

February 1992

It’s Saturday, a day where you normally slept in, but you’re abuzz with nerves that wake you at 7:00 AM. Your husband, Eddie, sleeps soundly next to you, arms splayed across the pillow and sheets bunched around his waist. His long curly hair is pulled back in a ponytail, though strands have fallen out of the holder in his sleep. He’s oblivious, blissfully unaware of the emotions that pang through your body. For a man who prides himself on being so in tune with you, whose tagline is “I know your body better than you do, babe,” he hasn’t picked up on the fact that you’ve been eating your pasta with butter because you suddenly can’t stand the smell of marinara sauce, or that you come home from work and immediately fall asleep on the couch, or that you didn’t ask him to pick up tampons from the pharmacy next to his record store this month.

You creep out of bed and tiptoe into the bathroom, digging quietly in the back of a drawer where you’ve hidden the EPT box. A few weeks ago, you would’ve been excited at the prospect of being pregnant with Eddie’s baby. Then he’d made an off-handed comment about not wanting to be a dad because he didn’t know how to be one, and that he was happy for it to be just you and him forever.

It’s the longest five minutes of your life, but when your watch finally signals that it’s time to look, you take a deep breath and peer at the counter.

Two pink lines.

A sob escapes your lips and you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from waking Eddie. You have no idea what you’re going to do. It feels wrong ending the pregnancy without telling him, but you also don’t want him to feel any pressure to be a dad. His own father had repeatedly told him that he was a mistake, that he was a burden, and you didn’t want to risk repeating the cycle.

You’re still mulling over your options when you hear the sound of footsteps shuffling towards the bathroom door. You cap the test and shove it in the waistband of your underwear, hoping it’s covered by your oversized T-shirt.

Knock knock knock.

“Sweetheart, I gotta come in,” Eddie mumbles sleepily. You can picture him rubbing his eyes and stretching, thinking about injecting caffeine directly into his bloodstream to wake him up. He’d been promoted to manager at the record store, and while the extra income was certainly helpful, it also means he’s a lot busier.

You open the door and smile weakly. He blinks a few times and asks, “Are you crying?”

“Just allergies, I think,” you offer, lying through your teeth.

“In February?”

“Yeah...winter allergies.” It’s pathetic, but luckily he’s still tired enough to leave the matter alone.

“Okay. Go back to sleep and get some rest. You need any medicine or tissues?”

You shake your head and pad on back to bed. The pregnancy test is still pressed up against you, and you shove it under your pillow as soon as you climb under the covers.

“Hey, Munson! Got anything new for us to listen to?” Steve Harrington walks into the record store around 11:00 AM, hoisting his son on his hip. “Maybe something with Elmo for Andy to rock out to?” He tickles the toddler, who lets out an excited giggle.

Before Eddie can respond, Andy wriggles out of his father’s grasp and makes a beeline for Eddie, crashing into his legs with a laugh.

“Hey there, bulldozer!” Eddie scoops Andy up as the boy tugs on a lock of his hair. “‘Course I got something for ya! Saved it in the back because I had a feeling Dad would be bringing you by today.” Steve always stopped by on Saturdays. It gave Nancy some time to herself, and Andy loved seeing his Uncle Eddie.

Steve, Eddie, and Andy walk to the back where Eddie’s stashed away a Sesame Street cassette. Andy’s face lights up when he spots the familiar Muppets on the cover.

“Ed, do you and Y/N wanna swing by later for pizza?” Steve asks. Andy nods his head vigorously, which makes Eddie’s heart melt.

“I’d love to, but Y/N has been real weird about food lately,” he states.

“Weird how?”

“Like she doesn’t really have much of an appetite, and normal foods gross her out. Y’know, all of a sudden I can’t put cream cheese on a bagel because the smell makes her throw up.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Sounds like she’s pregnant, dude. Nancy had the same thing...I think they’re called aversions?”

Eddie practically falls over. “No, she can’t be...” But then it all clicks into place: the exhaustion, the short tempers, the nausea. “Oh, fu-fudge,” he amends, acutely aware of Andy’s presence.

Steve laughs and claps Eddie on the back. “Congratulations! Maybe pick up a test for her on your way home.” He notices that his friend is eerily quiet.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, taking Andy from him. “You’re gonna be a kick-ass dad.”

"No. I’m not,” Eddie argues, trying not to raise his voice. “I don’t even know how to be a dad. Mine jumped ship. Would rather rot in prison than raise his own kid.”

Steve sighs and tells Andy to go sit on the couch for a few minutes. “Listen, Eddie,” he starts. “You are not your dad. Not even close. You have a job that you like and you’re great at. You’re kind and patient with your wife. And, don’t tell Dustin, but I’m pretty sure you’re Andy’s favorite uncle.”

That elicits a small chuckle from Eddie, but he’s still ambivalent. “Sure, I can be a good uncle. But taking care of my own kid? That’s...terrifying.”

“Y’know, Munson, a few years ago, I also would’ve been terrified at the idea of you being a dad,” Steve jokes lightly, “but now? Seeing who you’ve become? You went from slacker metalhead to...well, responsible metalhead. And while your old man ran away from the challenges of fatherhood, you’re gonna stick around and fight like hell for your kid. I guarantee it.”

Saturdays at the store usually fly by, busy with customers, but today’s shift seemingly dragged on forever. Before jumping into his van and racing home to you, Eddie pops into the drugstore next door and grabs a pregnancy test. His hands are shaking as he counts out the change at the register.

He finds you at home, asleep on the couch with reruns of some black-and-white show playing on the TV in front of you. He loves the coziness of the apartment that he calls home. You’re what makes it ‘home.’

Where are we gonna fit a baby? Eddie wonders silently before gently rocking you awake. “Babe, can I ask a favor?”

“Mm, Eds, too tired,” you think he’s asking for something sexual as you curl up into the blanket.

“No, no. Not that.” You hear the sound of a plastic bag and see that he pulls out an EPT box identical to the one you’d hidden in the bathroom. “Can you just take this for me real quick?” You seem confused, so he explains. “I was telling Steve about how you haven’t been feeling well, and he thought...maybe...” he trails off, shoving the box towards you.

“I’m not taking that,” you declare adamantly, determined to get back to your nap.

“Please, Y/N? Just so we know.”

“I already know,” you snap without thinking. “I’m pregnant. I have a doctor’s appointment next week to confirm and discuss my options, okay?”

“Y-you’re...wait, options?” He sits down next to you, rubbing your calf with his thumb.

You force yourself to sit up, and it takes all of your energy. “I know you don’t wanna be a dad, Eddie. I wasn’t gonna say anything until I was sure, but I’m not going to keep a baby that you don’t want. That won’t be fair to any of us.”

Tears pool in his eyes. “Listen, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared to death about having a baby. But I talked to Steve, and he helped me realize that I’m not like my own dad. If anything, I’m like Wayne, just looking out for the little lost sheep of the world. I want our place to be where our kid’s friends can come to be safe and just relax, maybe play a little D&D...” he smiles as he kisses your lips softly. “Our home isn’t going to be one to run away from. It’s gonna be the one people run to.”

You grab his hand and look deep in his big brown doe eyes. “So...we’re doing this? We’re actually going to bring a little Munson into the world?”

Eddie kisses you harder this time, gently placing his hand on your stomach. “I’m all in.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fluff #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #fanfic #stranger things #dad!eddie series

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louloulemons-posts · 5 months

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The Criminal And The Princess I

Grumpy!College!Eddie X Sunshine!Skater!Reader

Summary : The second year of college life is starting and Eden Bennett is already swamped, but when she meets her new partner in history class, will that all change?

Word Count : 1.6k

Warnings : introduction piece, not much eddie, edens dad is a prick, talk of dead parent, talk of food issues, swearing, billy hargrove

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

I felt like I’d settled into college pretty well, I’d successfully gotten through my first year and was starting my second today.

“I’m so glad we’ve gotten a bigger apartment,” Nancy laughed, coming out of her room with an empty box. “I know right,” Robin said, throwing herself on the green couch.

“We were lucky to find this place,” I spoke.

“You mean, we’re lucky your dad’s part of the education board.” I rolled my eyes, that was true. Mainly focused on sports but he played rolls in other places around campus.

“Yeah that too,” I began, “Listen I’ve gotta go to the rink, I’ll see you later.” Grabbing my duffle I headed out. Honestly the apartment was more of a home for Nancy and Robin, than myself, the rink was my home.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“You’re late,” my dad spoke as I walked into the rink. “Sorry, we were unpacking.”

“Just get your skates on,” he waved you off, walking up to his office.

Throwing my bag down I pulled my trainers off, taking off my hoodie and laced up my skates. My hair was tired up into a bun and the guards came off my skates.

Being on ice was easier than being on solid ground. Sliding onto the ice, I put my earphones in, letting the music take over.

There was an upcoming championship, and training was had, dad told me that my axles had gotten sloppy, that’s where I began.

I don’t know how long I was skating for, but when the lights were being flicked at me, I looked up spotting my dad stood on the edge of the ice.

Putting my earphones away, I skated over to him with ease. “They’re getting better,” He said, “But the hockey boys are gonna be here soon.”

“Right, yeah I’ll get off then.”

“You coming for dinner on Friday?”

“Do you really want me too?” I asked.

“Of course I do Eden.”

Giving him a nod, I began to untie my skates, throwing my trainers back, along with my hoodie.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” dad spoke.

“Tomorrow? My classes start tomorrow.”

The man let out a sigh, “Eden, regionals are coming up, your training isn’t changing. 6am.”

With a huff I nodded, heading out of the rink. “Coach!” I heard a voice call, making me speed up. Billy Hargrove. Resident asshole, and dad’s star player on the hockey team, along with the one and only …

“E!” Steve Harrington.

“Hey,” I smiled at him, giving him a quick squeeze. “How’s the moving in going?”

“It’s gone, we’re all settled in. You got a match coming up?”

“Friday.”

“I’ll be there,” I smiled.

“Course you will, Robin won’t come alone.”

I laughed, nodding, “That’s true. Good luck on your practice. Billy seems more asshole-ish today.”

Steve cocked him brow as me, making me shake my head, “I know, when is he not?” Saying my goodbyes to Steve I headed out to my car, sighing as I sat down, my feet aching from the skates.

I did love to skate, I did. I always wanted to be on the ice, in the winter I’d skate by the lake near our with mom. Sometimes dad would join us.

Mom had wanted to go pro, well she had, until she met dad and had me. We skated together for fun, but when she passed, dad kept pushing, got me a proper trainer. I was with professional skaters more than my dad.

I loved to skate, but I didn’t want to go pro, that’s why I went to college. I was studying history, wanting to work in a museum and go and find hidden treasures.

Dad didn’t want that for me though, he wanted me to skate, wanted me to be what mom never was. An olympian. And if I ever said no … well then came the guilt trips and “Eden think of your mother.”

Shockingly, maybe even to my dad’s surprise, there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of her.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Pushing through the front door, I called out, “It’s only me!” Sliding my shoes off I threw them by Robins beat up docs and a pair of trainers owned by Nancy.

“Just in time! Dinner!” The curly haired girl smiled, her head popping round the door into the hallway. “I’ll be right there, just gonna take my bag to my room.”

“Well don’t take too long! The lasagna will go cold.” Nancy Wheeler was one of the kindest souls, she was also a total badass.

Dropping back on my bed with a groan, I let my bag fall to the floor. It wasn’t really my room yet, I was still trying to find a home for everything, the walls were bare, and hospital like.

The only thing that said me, were the countless medals and trophies scattered here and there. Along with the picture of me sat on my mom’s lap on my desk.

With a sigh I rubbed my thumb across the photo, she was beautiful.

“Eden!” Robin shouted, making me jump slightly. “Yeah I’m coming!” Putting the photo down I flicked the light off and headed to the girls.

Heading to the kitchen I sat down at our dining table, the chairs mismatched. “Uh I don’t think I can have the lasagna,” I said. Nancy stopped plating up my dinner.

“You okay?” Robin asked.

“Is it one of those days?”

Both girls were very aware of my issues with food, you had to look a certain way to skate, had to be a certain weight for a partner to lift you - something my dad never failed in reminding me.

“My dad’s not letting up on the training, so I’ve just gotta watch what I eat,” I sighed, giving the pair a sad shrug. I saw the girls share a glance.

“Eden-“ Nancy began.

“I’m not gonna do what I did last time, I’ll eat with you, I just can’t have what you have.” Robin sighed shaking her head,

“I swear next time I see your dad I’m kicking him in the throat.”

I laughed. “E, I’m saying this cause I love you, eat the fucking lasagna, fuck your dad-“ me and Robin gasped, Nancy barely swore, “Shush, the pair of you. You need to get better, analysing everything you eat will make you sick again.”

Under Nancy stern glaze and Robins smirk, “Give me the fucking lasagna.”

“Language!” Nancy scolded, making Robin cackle.

They really were the best friends I could ever ask for.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Sat in class, our professor spoke to us about our first assignment, that we’d have to a presentation about an influential history figure - someone who was important to us. Only catch, she had pre-assigned partners for us.

A lot of groans rang out through the room, I didn’t mind, I was in class with a girl Robin was head over heels for, Vickie, but I assumed I wouldn’t be lucky enough to be paired with her.

“Victoria Carmichael and James Morgans.” What did I tell you?

“We’ve got Edward Munson and Eden Bennett,” the woman spoke. I looked up meeting a pair of dark eyes, I hadn’t ever really spoke to Eddie. “Now if you could please move to sit next to your partners.”

I threw my bag over my shoulder, grabbing my laptop, notebook and pen heading a few rows up to the boy. “Hey,” I offered him a smile, sitting down next to him. “Hi,” he grunted.

“I know you’ve all come back from your break, so this class can be used for planning your assignment and presentation. Next class we’ll be back to our regular schedule.”

“So Edward-“ I began.

“Eddie,” he cut me off.

“Hm?” He looked up at me, his face looked tired. “Nobody calls me Edward.” I nodded my head, “Ah okay, well Eddie. Any ideas who you want to study?”

He sighed, rubbing his face, “Queen Victoria?” I snorted a laugh, making him scowl at me. “What?”

“Just wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“Something against Queen Victoria?”

I smiled at him, shaking my head, “No not at all, you sure you wanna study her? How about you make a list of people, I’ll do the same, and the we can choose one randomly?”

“Sure,” he turned from me, picking up his pen and began writing in his notebook. I did the same, giving us both a few minutes. “You ready?” I asked him.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, close your eyes.”

“What?” he asked with scrunched brows. “Close your eyes and point at any name.”

He sighed, shaking his head, making curls fall out of the bun at the base of his neck. He closed his eyes, and slammed his finger down onto my list instead of his.

“Oh cool!” I said, clasping my hands.

“Wow is it, Florence Nightingale? Cause she wasn’t all shes cracked up to be-“

“James Hetfield, he’s in Metallica.”

He looked at me with wide eyes, “You know James Hetfield?” I laughed, shaking my head in a yes motion. “Shocking I know, but I don’t live under a rock, my mom loves Metallica.”

“Oh right.”

“So, is that good for you?” He hummed nodding, “Y-yeah that’s fine.”

“Great could we swap numbers just so we can plan when to work on stuff together?”

“Sure?”

“You don’t sound sure?” I smiled, “We can swap emails if you want?”

“No, phone number is fine.” Ripping the paper from the bottom of my list off, I wrote my number down, giving it to Eddie.

“Just text me when you’re free and we can figure stuff out.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Okay guys that’s all for today!” the professor said loudly. I packed up my stuff, throwing my back on my shoulder, “It was nice meeting you Eddie, make sure to let me know when you’re free,” I smiled, before heading over to Vickie.

“Yeah, bye,” he said quietly, packing up his own things.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

I hope you enjoyed the first part of The Criminal and The Princess! More will be coming soon 🫶🏻

taglist : @gnrquinn @flawiette @taylorswiftsloverfr @mygirlchaos @marvelcasey05 @ali-r3n

let me know if you want to be added 🤍

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averagewriter-inthedark · 1 year

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Rooster’s Ballerina 🩰 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw Headcanon

Link to my TGM Masterlist

Rooster dating a professional ballerina would look like:

Majoring in dance at UVA, you met Rooster when he and some of his buddies decided to attend the university’s annual ballet rendition of “The Nutcracker,” their senior year because his friend was dating a dance student. You played the Sugar Plum Fairy & to be honest, Rooster was close to falling asleep until it his eyes landed on you, captivating the future pilot during your solo. Rooster could not keep his eyes off of you, leaning toward is friend to ask, “who’s she?” His friend replied, “oh that’s, Y/n L/n. She’s a junior I believe—and word on the street is the New York City Ballet Company has their eyes on her for when she graduates.” Rooster didn’t have to be a dancer to know that was a big deal, just the way his friend said it was enough to figure out the company was the best of the best. Kinda like how Top Gun was the best of the best for fighter pilots.

Your talent for the art of ballet was evident right from the moment you stepped foot in a ballet studio. So much so that your parents homeschooled you up until high school so you could dedicate all your time and energy into ballet. At one point you got the chance to audition for Juliard, but an injury to your ankle resulted in you having to miss out. Thankfully UVA had sent a scout to your hometown after your instructor emailed a bunch of universities to come see you perform when you were healed, and they offered you a full ride under their program.

After the show ended, Rooster couldn’t get you out of his mind. Even when he left to his apartment and throughout winter break, he often thought of you and the way you glided across the stage. The sparkles of your outfit shined against the light, pulling in everyone’s attention. Smile bright and eyes glowing, you were like a siren luring him in, moving so effortlessly Rooster never wanted you to stop. He could watch you dance forever.

Spring semester came around and Rooster couldn’t believe his luck when you were standing behind him in the Starbucks early one morning. Feeling bold, he whispered to the cashier, “this is to cover the lady behind me,” handing over an extra $10 bill on top of the payment for his order. The cashier gave a knowing look, Bradley moving to the side to wait for his coffee and trying (but failing) to not watch your reaction. A smirk had already made its way onto his face when you strolled up, “i don’t know if I should feel flattered or offended that you payed for my drink, Mr…..” “Bradley Bradshaw.” “Well, Bradley, care to explain why over our cups of coffee?”

Basically Rooster came clean to you saying he was the friend of your classmates boyfriend and saw you perform at the winter recital. “I’m sorry if you find it weird, but when I recognized you in line….I felt drawn to you. I just would love to get to know you better if you’d let me.” Needless to say that unintentional coffee date was the beginning of your love story with Bradley. You two were inseparable after that, falling in love each day and knowing you two were each other’s soulmate.

You attended his graduation and commission ceremonies and Bradley went to every recital/show you were in. Sometimes he’d pick you up from practice and would just watch you with absolute awe, other times he’d ask to lift you just for the hell of it. Always bringing you snacks, Bradley would scold you if you missed a meal because you were in a hurry or had a busy day and forgot. “Babydoll you gotta be fed before you train otherwise you’ll be tired quicker and feeling like crap.” You weren’t on a diet or anything so sometimes he’d bring you fast food or pick up a sandwich/salad at a grocery store just so you has some food in you.

Bradley was so supportive of you, and you were of him. A difficult time in your relationship was having to be long distance for about three years after you graduated. Bradley was finished with flight school, now an active duty naval fighter pilot which had him bouncing between bases whenever an assignment came up. You were recruited to the New York City Ballet Company, a dream of yours since beginning ballet, and was not going to pass up the opportunity of a lifetime. That meant you would be living in New York, while Bradley could end up who knows where. Thankfully his first duty station was on the east coast so he got to visit you a lot. And Rooster never missed a show—especially when you were the lead role. He was your biggest fan, giving you a standing ovation when no else would. “You were incredible, babydoll. The best ballerina out there—I’m so proud of you.”

Rooster is the type of guy who would have your picture on his desk/nightstand. The one at work is you during your performance of Swan Lake, which he loves to brag about when coworkers point it out. “Oh that’s my ballerina. She’s amazing—the best in the country.” On his nightstand is a black and white photo of you during practice up on arabesque, smiling at the camera. It’s one of his favorites and also keeps it as his screensaver.

After doing some time with the NYC Ballet Company, you wanted to be closer to Rooster, satisfied you lived your dream of dancing with the best dance company in the country, and had the honor of being the lead in Swan Lake & Gisele, while also being the Sugar Plum Fairy and Snow Queen in The Nutcracker. There were plenty of other dance companies in the country, plus you always dreamed of opening your own dance studio—but that would come once Rooster retires and you two found a place to settle.

So, after you left the NYC Ballet Company you and Rooster got married after 5 years of dating and you followed him wherever he went. When he went to San Diego for Top Gun, you found a studio where the owner allowed you to practice free of charge if you helped teach the students. Of course you agreed and it just reaffirmed your dream of opening your own studio. The kids were so amazing and you loved sharing the art of ballet with them. Many asked for you to tell stories of your time in New York & asked you to dance for them after their lessons concluded. “What’s your favorite ballet, Miss. Y/n?” “Oh that is difficult to answer. I love all of them, but my absolute favorite of all time is Swan Lake.”

After several years of traveling with Rooster, he could tell you were longing to be part of a company again. So when the orders came he was assigned to the Strike Fighter Squadron 87 at NAS Oceana, he looked to the skies and thanked whoever above because it meant you could go back to New York & he would be in Virginia again. You nearly cried when he told you, especially when he encouraged to audition again, “really? You’re sure you wont mind? I know we talked about—.” “Baby, you’ve spent your whole life wanting to dance for them—you left once to support me, now i’m going to support you. We survived doing three years of it, we can do it again and I will be at every show cheering you on.”

Rooster kept his promise. You couldn’t believe the company accepted you back again, especially after so many years had passed and you weren’t 22-24 anymore. You were now pushing early thirties—but still danced like you did in college. A lot of the younger girls and guys looked up to you, asking for advice or a second opinion on where improvement was needed. Every Friday night Rooster was leaving Virginia for New York & would stay the entire weekend. You two would always explore, go on dates, and Rooster would even sit in on your afternoon practice—-which the younger girls would get flustered much to your amusement. “Your husband is very handsome, Y/n.” “I love how he’s so supportive of you. I wish my boyfriend was like that.” “Honey, if your man isn’t supportive of you and your career, then you deserve better.”

When Rooster was selected for the 2019 Top Gun special detachment, it had only been two years since you returned to NYC. Rooster encouraged you to stay, not wanting you to leave again after you’d been selected as the Sugar Plum Fairy once again for the upcoming performance of ‘The Nutcracker’. “It’s three weeks, Y/n. Before you know it I’ll be back. They wouldn’t have called me if they didn’t think I could get the job done.” “If they’re not telling you the details right now then it’s gotta be serious, Bradley. What if—what if I never you see you again. You’re my husband dammit—I’m not gonna sit here, on the other end of the country, worried out of my mind.”

In the end he won the argument, but on the condition he kept you updated with the details of the mission. FaceTimes were every night, with Rooster telling you on day one of training that Maverick was the instructor. You’d never met the man, meeting Bradley after their falling out, but had knowledge of all their history. When he told you Phoenix was there you had a sense of relief. Natasha was someone you could trust and would tell you if Rooster was hiding something. Worry filled you at the mention of Hangman being a candidate, well aware the pilot was a ‘every man for himself.’ You never formally met him, but the stories were enough for you to not trust him to have your husbands back.

Speaking of worry, you were worried to the point of throwing up when Rooster told you he was selected for the mission after confessing it was so high-risk, the higher up’s saw it as a suicide mission. Tears were shed over the phone, Rooster promising to come back to you. “I promise, baby, im gonna come home to you. I have to so I can watch you dance—I promised you all those years ago i would never miss a show.”

When he did return home, you nearly slapped him after he told you what he did. Disobeying orders to save Maverick and getting shot down. You were furious with him. “Were you out of your mind?! You could’ve fucking died, Bradley!!! What the hell were you thinking?!” “Mav told me not to think……”

A month later it was Christmas in New York. The night of the show you were backstage in your robe with hair and makeup done when the stage assistant said, “Mrs. Bradshaw, there’s some people here for you.” Following them out, your jaw dropped at the sight of the group standing in the backstage lounge. Rooster, Maverick and a group of gentleman—including Hangman—were dressed in their Dress Blues, each holding a red rose, and Phoenix wearing a gorgeous red gown. “Oh my gosh, what is this?!” You went to Rooster’s embrace, the man kissing your cheek to not mess up your lipstick. Taking the rose, you then greeted Nat—who also had a rose.

After the mission was a success, Rooster let it skip he was married when he said, “although I survived, I feel my wife is gonna kill me when I tell her what I did.” Immediately everyone—including Mav—was like, “Hold up, you got a wife?!” That then had an hour long monologue from Rooster basically telling y’all’s love story….and making it well known you were one of the best ballerinas in the country. “Damn, Bradshaw,” some said when he showed the program of the show you headlines. “Can I have some of that game you have?” The second he mentioned you had a performance coming up the squad was like, “looks like we’re going on a road-trip to see a ballet show.”

Introducing you to the squad, Bob, Fanboy, Hangman, Coyote, and Payback each shook your hand and presented the rose. You pretty much had a bouquet at that point with all of them together. “So nice to meet the lady who captured Bradshaw’s heart,” Hangman smiled, surprising you with how genuine he was. When you looked at Bradley, his nod signified he was cool with the pilot, so you welcomed Hangman with an open mind. Mav was really excited to meet you, shaking your hand while saying, “it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Y/n—.” You surprised the captain by pulling him into a hug, “thank you. Thank you for saving him.”

After some small talk and wishing you luck, you were called to dress and the audience was to take their seats. Rooster gave you a soft kiss, whispering, “you’re going to do amazing, baby. Good luck and dance your heart out.” Thanking him, you kissed him again and waved goodbye as the stage assistant ushered them to their seats.

Rooster wasn’t kidding when he told the squad you were one of best ballerinas in the country. You lived up to the reputation he had given you. Dancing to the music, the light bouncing off the sparkles of your outfit, they were captivated by you, just like Rooster was the first time he saw you dance. “Wow,” they all murmured during your solo. Hangman leaned into Coyote to whisper, “well there’s one thing for sure, if they have babies, they’re gonna be talented in whatever they do.”

It was deja vu for Rooster, coming full circle because once again he watched you as the Sugar Plum Fairy—only this time you were his wife and soulmate, not just the girl he admired and only knew by name. You were his ballerina.

……………..

TGM Tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001

#bradley bradshaw headcanon #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw #lt bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick headcanon #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick #dancer!reader #fluff #ballerina!reader #rooster headcanon #rooster imagine #rooster x reader

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cecilysass · 2 months

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Shine On (4/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 4: The Art of Profiling

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 20, 2015

The pizza that Fox Mulder ordered isn’t from a pizza place Jackson has ever heard of, like Domino’s or Pizza Hut, but it’s really good anyway. Or at least it tastes good to someone who hasn’t eaten all day. Jackson eats the first piece really quickly, then he grabs for a second without thinking, forgetting his manners. When he realizes what he’s done, he hesitates.

“Go for it,” the older man says, his eyes darting sharply back and forth between the pizza and Jackson’s face. “Eat as much as you want.”

Fox Mulder has been acting much more intense ever since Jackson told him about the red-headed lady.

Jackson’s tired, and he has only barely skimmed the surface of the man’s difficult mind, but he can tell that the guy’s stunned by the news. Fox Mulder’s mind is channeling down a dozen different paths right now: fast, mazelike thoughts, like bobsleds going down tracks. A current of sharp worry running through like a winter chill.

It’s honestly exhausting to try to figure out. Jackson closes off the shine for now, takes another big bite of pizza. This sausage is a little spicy, which is exactly how he likes it.

“I have a lot of questions for you,” Fox Mulder says, his voice low. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. But I … gotta ask some of them.”

Jackson nods reluctantly, his mouth full. He doesn’t feel like answering questions at all. Still, he supposes the more he gets out of the way, the better.

“You said you have visions,” the man says, setting his own piece of pizza down. “Do you have other … abilities?”

Jackson studies him cautiously as he finishes chewing his bite of pizza. He’s not in the habit of discussing what he can do. It’s only really ever been trouble when he has, so he’s almost instinctively secretive about it. But things are different now. And Fox Mulder, well, he seems to know all about this kind of thing.

“Yeah,” Jackson says carefully. “I do.”

The man runs his hand over his mouth. Jackson notices he’s only eaten half of his slice of pizza. Either he’s not hungry, or he’s too distracted.

“You can read thoughts,” Fox Mulder guesses, leaning back, speaking with certainty. He folds his hands in front of him. “You can focus on other people’s thoughts. Not just one person, but several at once.”

Jackson sets his slice of pizza down in shock. “How did you know that?”

“You can move objects, too.”

Jackson blinks at him. “I have been able to do that. Some. I could do it easier when I was little.”

“What else?”

“I can, like, change people’s perceptions. What they see. Not for forever, just for a little while. So, if I, like, need a distraction in class or something, I can make the teacher think someone opened the door and mooned us. Stupid stuff like that.”

Fox Mulder looks undeniably fascinated. “Wow,” he says. “Interesting.” He taps his fingers on the table. Jackson doesn’t have to use his shine to see that the man is thinking this over. “So does that mean you could effectively shapeshift? If you wanted to?”

“Yeah,” admits Jackson. “At least I can make other people think I look like someone else.”

“Huh,” the man says, squinting thoughtfully. He tilts his head, looking at Jackson again. “Are you reading my mind right now?”

“No,” Jackson says honestly.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired,” Jackson says. “It’s work, sometimes. And no offense, but you’re kind of complicated and hard.”

Fox Mulder chuckles. “I don’t know if I should take offense at that or not.”

“I did read your mind earlier,” Jackson confesses. “And the red-haired lady …. she was really easy. I hardly had to try with her at all. It was like her thoughts just flew at me. I was wondering if that was because she was my birth mom. Do you think that could be right?”

The man stares at him blankly, not directly answering. “Her name is Dana Scully.”

“Dana Scully,” repeats Jackson.

“Have you ever heard that name before?”

“No,” Jackson says. “I don’t think so.”

“Did your parents tell you anything about your birth parents? Who they were, where you were from?”

“I don’t think they knew anything about them,” Jackson says. “It was a closed adoption.”

Fox Mulder nods, scratching his chin. “Yeah,” he says. It’s like a cloud of sadness has fallen over him. “Yeah, it would have been.” He fixes Jackson with a curious look. “Do you … have any questions for me? About any of this?”

“Uh. Sure.” Jackson looks around the room, slowly, as if the best question to ask might be scrawled on the walls. The faces peering out of the framed photos draw his attention again, but it’s all so much. He looks away, back at the box of pizza in front of them instead. “Is it… okay if I have another slice, Mr. Mulder?”

The man laughs a little, crossing his arms. “You can just call me Mulder.”

“I think I’m eating more than you, Mulder,” Jackson points out seriously. “It doesn’t seem fair. It’s your pizza.”

“I told you, eat as much as you want.”

Jackson feels like he has been polite enough. He shrugs. “Thanks,” Jackson says, taking another slice.

“Jackson,” Mulder says, watching him eat, his voice suddenly too casual. “Do you have any idea who your birth father is?”

Jackson picks up his piece of pizza and studies it, pulling off a particularly delicious-looking piece of sausage and sampling it. “Well,” he says, through a mouthful, “I’ve got a guess. Based on certain clues. But I don’t know for sure.”

“Clues you’ve read in people’s minds? Or clues you’ve noticed?”

Jackson shrugs again. “Both, I guess.” He gives Mulder a look, raising his eyebrows.

There’s a pause.

“What clues?”

“Well, I’m not stupid,” Jackson says matter-of-factly. “That woman, Dana Scully, was here, fighting with you. Lots of big feelings. Then, the way you’re acting now. Like you think I’m a brand new iPhone and you can’t stop looking at me. And how you seem to know things about me. That’s a bunch of clues.”

Mulder has been sitting with his arms crossed, and he hasn’t moved the entire time Jackson’s been talking. But now Jackson can see a tear sprouting in his eye. It surprises him. Wayne Van De Kamp, his father, would never have cried in front of him. Mulder blots it with his sleeve, and Jackson sees his hands are shaking, too.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that so carelessly, kind of flippantly. It’s obviously a big deal to Mulder. Really, truthfully, it’s a big deal to Jackson, too—something he’s wondered about his whole life. But right now he just can’t have everything feel like a big deal all at once. Or he’ll explode or something.

He meets the man’s damp eyes.

“Yeah,” Mulder says roughly, trying to smile. “Okay. A lot of clues.” He pauses, uncrosses his arms, places his hands on the table. “I get the sense you can’t handle a lot more emotional drama right now, Jackson, and I get that, I really do. Believe it or not, I’ve been in that place myself.”

Jackson’s speechless. It’s like the man read his mind, but that’s not possible.

“I just want to say, we can talk about it whenever you want to,” Mulder adds. “No pressure.”

Jackson nods his head up and down, licking his lips nervously.

***

After dinner, they go back into the part of the room with the couch, which is surrounded by all the messy piles of books. Jackson sits on the floor and starts picking up volumes curiously. “The Art of Profiling?” he says. “Is that an art book?”

“No,” Mulder says with a smile, trying to kick piles out of the way. “It’s psychological profiling. Like for criminals.”

“Oh,” Jackson says, making a connection. “Like on Criminal Minds.”

“What’s that? A TV show?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “My parents love it. It’s about a team of FBI agents who profile dangerous criminals.” An exciting thought occurs to him. “Wait, is that what you did?”

“Yes,” Mulder says. “No. Kind of. I was a profiler, years and years ago. But then I was put on the X-files, where I investigated cases that had unexplainable, supernatural associations.”

“That’s why you have books like this,” Jackson says. He lifts the book Sasquatch: Diverse Perspectives. “Or this?” Extraterrestrial Abductions Beyond the Media.

“Yeah,” Mulder says, a self-deprecating shrug. “That’s right.”

“That’s badass,” Jackson says, a root of an idea occurring to him. He belatedly realizes his mistake. “I mean, that’s cool. Very cool,” he corrects himself.

“It was badass,” Mulder agrees, seemingly unaffected by Jackson’s profanity. “Although… it could be difficult. We went through a lot, working on the X-files. Scully and me.”

Jackson absorbs this information. “So you and Dana Scully worked together on the X-files. In the F.B.I.. That’s how you knew one another?”

“We were partners,” Mulder says with quiet precision, like this sentence is very important.

They’re just three words—we were partners—but Jackson can tell they tell an entire complicated story the length of a book or more. His shine cries out to be used, but Jackson pushes it aside.

“Mulder,” Jackson says slowly. “Is it a coincidence that you and my birth mom worked on these X-files … and that I have these abilities?”

“No, Jackson,” Mulder says, sighing heavily. “It’s probably not a coincidence.” He sits on the couch, looking down at Jackson still sitting on the floor. “There are things that both of us were exposed to that could have … caused the abilities.”

“But you guys don’t have them yourselves, right?”

“No. Not like you.”

It’s a frustrating answer. “Not like me? Or not at all?”

“Some things I want to wait to talk to you about,” Mulder replies. “Until we’ve had a chance to talk to your mother, too.”

Your mother.

Jackson inhales sharply, the words sending an unexpected shock through him.

“I meant Scully, of course,” Mulder says quickly, noticing his reaction. “I’m sorry.”

“Dana Scully isn’t my mother,” Jackson says with emphasis. “I have a mother.”

“I know.” Mulder’s eyes look impossibly sad. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I know.”

“I’m not looking to replace my parents,” Jackson says tightly. “That’s not why I’m here or what this is about. They’ll always be my parents. I love them.”

Mulder appears to sink further into the couch. “Yeah,” he says. “I can tell you do.”

Jackson looks down quickly at the stack of books again, playing silently with the cover of Criminology Through The Ages. He knows he shouldn’t have gotten angry. He knows Mulder didn’t mean anything by it, and he’s having to struggle with his shine now to keep from sensing any bad feelings or thoughts coming off of Mulder.

It’s just Jackson feels almost disloyal, sitting here talking to this man, learning this information about his birth parents’ lives, when his parents just died. When they probably died because of him.

“Jackson.” Mulder’s voice is kind. “What were they like? Your parents. Do you want to … tell me about them? I don’t know anything about them.”

Jackson pauses, still staring at the book in his hand. “Yeah,” he says. He tries to find the right words. He has to be the person who remembers them, who speaks for them to the world now. “They were … they weren’t anything like me. But they were great.”

Mulder waits patiently, his soft eyes on Jackson. Jackson puts the book back carefully on top of a pile.

“My dad was the shop teacher at Rawlins High School. He was good at woodworking, cabinetry. He was always trying to teach me.”

“Were you good at it, too?”

“No,” Jackson says with a tiny smile. “I was really, really bad at it.”

“Oh yeah?” Mulder echoes the tiny smile.

“I couldn’t cut straight. I forgot to measure,” Jackson says, shaking his head. “I was always disappointing him.”

“Not really,” Mulder guesses softly.

“No,” Jackson agrees, just as softly. “Not really.” He’s quiet, thinking more about his goofy, sweater-vested dad. “He was always cheerful. He thought you should look on the positive side of things, you know? Really into baseball. He coached my Little League team for a while.”

“That’s good,” Mulder says encouragingly. “It’s good to play sports.” He’s quiet, too. “And your mom?”

“Her job was running the church preschool,” Jackson says. “She was always singing. She loved holiday decorations, and to cook and bake.” He feels tears threatening. “She is just … she was a really good mom to me. Like, she hugged me all the time. I acted like I didn’t like it, but I did.”

“I’m glad she did that,” Mulder whispers. “I’m so glad.”

“She was really Christian. Really into church. They both were.”

“You were raised religious?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “Lutheran.” He glances at Mulder wryly. “But I was really bad at that, too.”

Mulder returns the look. “I’m not very good at that myself,” he says. “Scully’s religious, in her own way. But I��ve never been … that kind of believer. It’s just never made sense to me”

Something warm blooms in Jackson at being understood in this way. It’s never made sense to him, either.

“What are you good at?” Mulder asks. His tone is gentle, but Jackson’s shine is suddenly alert, suddenly aware of what’s underneath the man’s exterior. Mulder is hungry to know more about him, desperate for any detail. His need is so overwhelming, Jackson closes the door on it quickly.

“I don’t know,” Jackson says casually. “I’m good at math, I guess. Math comes easy to me.”

Mulder’s face lights up. “Scully’s amazing at math.” Looking over at Jackson, he seems to regret his words. His scolding to himself shines through. —stop making everything he says about me and Scully. “Sorry. You’re telling me about yourself.”

“I like to run,” Jackson continues. “I’m pretty fast, and I think I’m a good distance runner. I was thinking maybe I’d try out for the track team in high school.” He pauses. “But I guess I’m not going to high school now.”

“Come on,” Mulder says. “Of course you’re going to high school. Your life isn’t over.”

“I’m most likely going to prison,” Jackson mumbles darkly.

“Nah. Not going to happen.”

“I don’t even know where I’m going to live,” Jackson adds. “Where I’m going to stay tonight.”

“You’re obviously going to stay here tonight,” Mulder insists. “After that, we’ll figure it out.”

The lightning-fast image of a school building with a sign— Farrs Corner High School—and then another fast image, the two of them, Mulder and Jackson, running side by side on a country road, a road that looks a lot like the road right outside the farmhouse. Then almost instantly, more scolding in Mulder’s mind: Way ahead of yourself. Stop it. Haven’t even told Scully. Need to confirm.

“How will we confirm?” Jackson asks quickly. “What does that mean?”

Mulder’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Sorry,” Jackson says. “That was kind of rude of me, probably.”

“I have to remind myself you’re listening,” Mulder says with a small smile.

“I normally try to hide it more,” Jackson says. He stands up, stepping around the books to sit next to Mulder on the couch. “But I mean … what’s the point if you already know, right?”

“I was just thinking that before we introduce you to Scully, we should run DNA,” Mulder says. “Yours against mine. To confirm it.”

“Why?” Jackson says, frowning. “You don’t believe me?”

“Can’t you tell that I believe you?”

Jackson sighs. “Yeah, I think you do.” He kicks out his long legs and leans his head back against the back of the couch. “But like I said, you’re not the easiest.”

“The people that Scully and I used to be involved with,” Mulder says, “were the kind of people who would go to extremes. Even extremes like convincing a kid his birth mother was someone she wasn’t. Like planting ideas into people’s heads. I don’t think you’re lying, but I think it would be smart to know for sure.”

Jackson swings his head to look at Mulder. “Who were these people?”

Mulder regards him with a troubled expression. “I’ll answer that, Jackson. But I think you need to answer this, too: who drove you here? To Virginia?”

“I told you,” Jackson says, folding his arms defensively, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?” Mulder’s eyebrows draw together in concern. “It worries me a little. Did the person who drove you ask you not to tell me?”

“Yeah, they did,” Jackson admits. “But I don’t think they’re one of these bad people you’re talking about. They were just trying to help me.”

“But Jackson,” Mulder says urgently, “you need to understand that—”

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” Jackson insists, and his voice sounds younger than he intends. “Please. Just trust me.”

Mulder rubs his temple with one finger. “Okay,” he says simply. “I can do trust.” He leans forward on his forearms. “But still, Jackson, I think we gotta do the DNA test. If you’re not … the person we think you are—and who Scully thinks you are, it would be too hard for her.”

“She’s been wanting to see me that bad?”

Mulder is surprised. “Of course she has. Of course.”

“But it was a closed adoption. Her choice.”

Mulder opens and closes his mouth, again seeming not to know what to say. “Since the second she let you go,” he says, his voice strained, “she’s been wanting to see you again.”

Jackson’s shine pulls in an image then of a baby in a crib, crying, and then the woman Mulder calls Scully, younger, crying and crying, inconsolable.

It’s all too sad, and Jackson is sad already.

“Okay. DNA test tomorrow then,” Jackson says, shrugging. “No big deal.”

“Great,” Mulder says, standing up. “Now I thought I’d show you where you’ll be sleeping if you want. I’ll have to put sheets on the guest bed first. Maybe you can help me. This place used to be a little more organized when Scully lived here.”

“You have a guest room, huh?” Jackson says. “Fancy.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says in a strange voice. “It’s just an extra bedroom. Small. Not too fancy.”

It was supposed to be your room. In case we got you back somehow. Mulder’s thoughts are suddenly and unexpectedly clear.

“Then I guess I better sleep in it,” Jackson responds flatly, following along behind him.

***

#xfiles fanfic #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #x files #xf fanfic #msr #jackson van de kamp

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ladylooch · 2 months

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How Country Feels - [Mack X David]

A/N: I am so excited to bring this to you today for many reasons. First of all, it’s Mack and David in Iowa. So we know it’s smutty and adorable. BUT! Mostly I am excited to give this as a gift to my bestest bestie @casualhilarity. You graduated!!!!! From your really tough 6 week training program and I am so so so so so so proud of you! There was never a doubt that you would be successful in this adventure. This step is just the beginning for you. I cannot wait to see what is next! In the meantime, please enjoy our thoughts on Iowa coming to life in the longest post I have ever made on Tumblr 🥹💜

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: mentions of death, cancer, grief, smut (18+ content)

10,000 feet above Des Moines, Iowa, Mackenzie Hischier looks out the window as her plane begins to descend from her connecting flight from LAX. She has been flying across the world for almost 18 hours trying to get here. Queenstown, New Zealand was home for her the past three weeks. Her internal clock is all sorts of fucked up from the massive time swing she is going through, but she was able to sleep in sync with the Central Time Zone on her first flight. She is hopeful that will curb some of her jet lag.

The landscape below is much different from the crystal blue water and rigid mountain peaks she came from. Instead, it is flat and vast, various different shades of greens and brows. It’s also windy. She scrunches her nose as the plane swings a bit to the left before continuing on at a smoother pace. There is not much out here to block the wind, but thousands of windmills dot the prairie below them to capture the best energy source nature can give this area. Mack has never been to Iowa, or the Midwest outside of Chicago, which doesn’t feel or look anything like what she is seeing.

Shortly after landing, Mack walks out of the secure area, heading down to baggage claim 2. As she gets closer to the carousal, she sees a tall man with a thick black mustache, blue jeans, and a plain white t-shirt stretched across his broad chest. His hands are stuffed in his pockets as he leans against the wall by baggage claim 2, boot clad feet crossed over at the ankles. A worn, NYR baseball cap is on his head, hiding his green eyes that are devouring her even as they hide in the shadow of the bill. Mack can see the toothpick in his mouth as she gets closer. He pushes off from the wall, starting to walk towards her. Never in her life did she think she would do this, but her pace quickens and she hustles her ass across that tiled floor to be picked up by him.

“Hi!” She exclaims as she throws herself at him. He catches her easily, hauling her up his chest, both big hands clutching her ass.

“Hi honey.” He grins up at her. Mack licks her lips, then puts them on his. He squeezes her tighter into their kiss. “Mmm, missed that. Missed you.” He lets her slide down his body, Vans hitting the tile again. “Thought it was winter in New Zealand. How are you so tan?”

“There was so much sun! We got lucky pretty much the whole trip.” This trip was with two of her colleagues because it is a big feature with the magazine. Mack is grateful they had a photographer so she could focus more on the stories of the locals and less about getting the perfect shot for print.

“Good. Glad it worked out for you, baby.” He says, wrapping an around around her shoulders. “You tired?”

“Um, yeah. Don’t let me fall asleep.” She mumbles into his side.

“I won’t. You’re in Iowa now. We gotta work when we get back to the farm.” Mack’s eyes widen. She looks up at him with concern. David starts to laugh.

“I’m kidding. Work is done for the day.”

“But tomorrow?”

“It begins all over again. Gotta feed the cows, let the chickens roam, check fence, and a thousand other tasks.”

“Hard working boy.”

“Yeah.” He grins proudly. The beeping of the baggage claim alerts them before the metal begin to turn. David sees Mack’s bag and steps forward, easily hauling it off. “Just this?” Mack nods. “Let’s go baby.” He holds a hand out for her to take. She laces their fingers together, surprised at how rough his hands feel. Her gaze travels up his arm to his bicep, noting it is rock hard and bulging even without flexing.

“How long of a drive is it?” She asks after they are tucked into David’s big, black truck. He whips it fast and easy out of the parking spot, then roars the diesel engine out of the parking ramp.

“Ah, about an hour.” He tells her, sliding his hand over to cup her thigh. She weaves her fingers through his. He squeezes them tight. “Plenty of time for you to tell me everything about your trip.” Mack smiles, adjusting herself in the passenger seat so she can look at him while she talks. She loves talking to David. As great as everything else is with him, he is a great listener and always asks the best, most insightful questions about her work. She could talk to him for hours. When she is done, she switches the topic of conversation to him.

“Tell me about the farm. What can I expect?”

“Um,” He chuckles, nudging his hat up off his forehead to scratch an itch. “Well, it’s pretty quiet out there. We are about 15 minutes south of the town closest to us. It has been hot this summer, so I hope you got some summer clothes in there.” Mack does. She packed as accordingly as she could. “Hours are long. I’ll be up before you and come back around dinner time.”

“Oh, I thought you have staff?” Mack questions.

“I do, but someone needs to manage them.” David says. “My farm manager is off on vacation right now. Usually takes the whole month of August off and leaves it to me before he is back to managing it on his own when I head East.”

“Oooo, you’re the boss.” Mack giggles.

“Yeah of the farm and you.” He quips. Mack rolls her eyes. He is not the boss of her, but he can keep pretending he is.

“Am I gonna see you while I’m here?” She jokes. David licks his lips and nods.

“Yeah, I’ll be able to step away. I have some things planned for us too. Figure I could take you back up to the state fair next week. Get you something on a stick.” Mack gives him a weird look. “You ever been to a state fair? County fair? Nothing?” Mack shakes her head no to both. “Holy shit.” He chuckles.

“At least I don’t think we did when we lived in Jersey. I don’t know that was a long time ago.”

“A fair is where you eat fried food, mostly on a stick, and play games to win prizes, drinks some beer or other frozen drinks to stay cool. Farmers and 4H kids bring their animals to the fair to be judged.”

“What is 4H?” Mack wrinkles her nose in confusion. David looks slack jawed at her.

“Oh baby. It’s gonna be a whole different world here for you.” He laughs like it’s cute to him.

Mack feels the first itch of apprehension tickle her spine.

She has been all over the world, but she may be completely out of her league here.

- - -

The moment Mack steps out of David’s truck in the parking lot of the local watering hole, she can hear the consistent beat of the country song thumping in the tiny bar. David says its a bar, but to Mack it honestly looks like a shack she would avoid if she was alone. After getting a tour of the farm earlier, David informed Mack they were going to be meeting his friends for drinks. He has been talking her up all summer and they’re all eager to get a glimpse of this mystery woman who has stolen David’s heart.

Mack purses her lips for a moment, then looks down at her outfit. She is dressed in a flowing black, long sleeved top from Dior and Black frayed shorts from a boutique in Paris, paired with a Gucci belt. On her feet are black and white Nike Air Force ones. She has on various expensive, designer jewelry and a Prada cross-body bag her mom and dad got her for her last birthday. David had told her she looked good for where he was taking her. She feels very, very overdressed, like even her silk pajamas would be too fancy for this place.

“David.” Mack mumbles when she meets him at the back of the truck. He grabs her hand in his.

“What?” He asks. He is in dark jeans with a blue and white, light weight flannel. His sleeves are rolled up his forearms, exposing his tattoos and the tan skin from a summer of hard work. He took a shower and styled his hair perfectly with a crisp part and a perfect swoop.

“I am so overdressed.”

“What do you mean?” He asks. “You look great?” Mack doesn’t know how to tell him that she is pretty sure her outfit costs more than this bar does. “Don’t worry about it. You’re beautiful and sexy and you’re walking in on my arm. No one is going to mess with you.” Mack snorts and then starts to laugh.

“I wasn’t thinking that, but I’m trying to make a good impression.”

“Babe, they are going to love you. Trust me.”

Within an hour, Mack senses that isn’t going to be the case.

She can feel the judgement. Detect the way it crawls over her body from his friends. The looks of “not one of us” and the whispers between the girls. She has been talked about enough behind her back throughout life to know when it’s happening right in front of her face. It started when she tried to order a Paloma. The bartender had looked at her like she grew a second head. She glances at David nervously.

“Curley, it’s tequila, grapefruit juice and lime. You got all that shit behind the bar.” David gestures to the wall of liquor.

“You wanna come make it David?” Curley asks.

“Fuck. Sure.” David shrugs, going behind the bar and showing Curley how to put the drink together. “You think you got that for next time?” Curley did not look like he had it for next time, so Mack switches to tequila and soda instead.

The conversation around her has centered on all things farm and rural life. What so and so is up to now. Who had a baby. Who just got divorced. Who was cheating on who. It all seemed very juvenile and uninteresting to Mack. David stayed out of it for the most part, listening along with Mack until his friends, Cody and Trevor, started talking Iowa Hawkeye football. Then she lost him to that.

Mack fingers the cocktail napkin that is soaked with condensation below her glass. It’s times like these where Mack feels so out of place in a country she is a citizen off. She knows this isn’t a full, direct correlation of America, but how can she be more out of place here than when she was in Tokyo last year? Or she can get down and dirty in the rice fields of Thailand and feel more connection with locals who don’t speak the same language than she can in the center of the country she was born in.

David’s lips on her temple break her internal discourse. Mack smiles at him. He rubs her shoulder as if to ask “you good?” She nods at him, smiling reassuringly.

Dun, nu, nu sounds through the bar speakers, then the whole group slaps their hands on the table. “Woo!” They yell. Then Dun, Nu, Nu. Slap, “Woo!” The whole table erupts excitedly, as a man begins to drawl over the sound system. The table turns to look at David, screaming out the next lyrics, “You were raised on an asphalt farm!” Mack blinks, feeling lost. David tips his head back, laughing loudly.

“Davey! It’s your song!” A girl who Mack can’t remember her name, screams then chugs more of her Miller Lite.

“Get up and swing your asphalt girl around.” Mack’s eyes widen. David chuckles, tapping her thigh assuringly.

“No, we are good.” David knows Mack would rather be a metal sign on the wall of the bar than get up when no one else is dancing. Being on display is not her thing. She is grateful for that until she sees the sneering glares of the two women at the end of the table.

“Oh, she’s too good for dancing too.” Mack faintly hears.

Mack looks at David. She can tell he didn’t hear what she heard. Not surprising with how loud his other male friends are signing along to the country song. Mack looks down at the girls, noticing how they avoid direct eye contact with her. The blonde one puts her hand up to her mouth, whispering in the red head’s ear. Then they both giggle.

“No, let’s dance.” Mack suddenly says to David. She isn’t going to let two, small town, hick bitches intimidate her.

“What?” He responds, surprised.

“Yeah, show me what you got cowboy.” She jokes as she stands.

The entire table sucks in a huge, deep breath.

“Oooooooo She is in trouble.” One of the boys mumbles. David gives her a sympathetic smile.

“We aren’t cowboys, honey. We are farmers.”

“What is the difference?” Mack scoffs, laughing, thinking he is pulling her leg. David winces slightly at the large yelp of the table behind him, then grabs Mack, pushing her towards the center of the bar.

“I’ll show you later.” He chuckles, kissing her mouth.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Ah, no. They’re just sensitive. Don’t quite understand how other people are outside of these state lines.” Mack gets quiet, retreating into herself again. David practically drags her around in a circle because she is shutting down internally. “Hey…” He trails off. “This is all new to you. It’s okay.”

“They don’t like me.” She looks at the center of his chest as she says it, not wanting to see the confirmation on his face.

“Nah, they just don’t know you, sweetheart. A lot of layers to your onion.” David can twist into any which way that he wants, but they both know Mack is right. They don’t like her… right now at least.

When Mack and David head back to the table after their dance, the mood at the table has seemed to shift. Now, they all ignore her.

“How is the herd looking, Trent?” David asks the guy across from Mack. David’s hand is around her shoulder, rolling his fingers in a circle over the thin material of her shirt.

“Should be a good year.” Trent says. “We really need it. Been hurting the last few.”

“Yeah, we all have.” David nods. “Weather has been shit. Can’t out work that.”

“We can sure fucking try tho.” Trent grins, then clinks beer bottles with him. David brings his over to clink with Mack’s glass. She does so. Trent sucks at his teeth, making a slight slurping noise after swallowing more beer.

“Mack, where did you grow up?”

“In New Jersey before we moved back to where my dad is from in Switzerland.” He nods.

“You have a job growing up or anything?” David cocks his head to the side at Trent. “I’m just trynna find something to relate to her with.” He justifies.

“Um, no. My parents wanted us to focus on school.” Trent sighs like he is disappointed.

"Must be nice to have a daddy who was able to give you anything you wanted. Didn’t have to work your way through high school to make ends meet.”

“Trent, knock it off.” David snaps. “Mack knows what hard work is.”

“Does she? Cause the rest of us aren’t thinking she does.”

“Hey, don’t speak for all of us.” Cody snaps. “Drink your beer and shut up.”

“I’m just thinking that it must be nice to have an NHL daddy who can call in a favor to get you a job where you barely have to work as an adult too.” David stands up, chair knocking back to the floor. He reaches across the table to grab Trent, hauling him up to a standing position.

“Apologize, right now, and I won’t smear you into the wood floor your daddy installed.”

“I-I-I’m sorry. I think I’m drunk.”

“No shit.” David sneers, shoving Trent back into his chair. The rest of the table goes ghostly silent. Other bar patrons look over their shoulders at the group. Mack is flaming red over the embarrassment of the words thrown her direction and David’s intense reaction. She is equally mortified and turned on.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” Mack whispers as David kisses her cheek in reassurance. David gives her a sympathetic look, drowning apologetic eyes watching her as she heads to the back of the bar.

Mack goes into the first stall, leaning her back into the tiled wall and covering her face. She sucks in deep breaths, trying not to cry. This night could not get any worse. She wants to leave so bad, but she has never been one to back down from a fight. She isn’t going to start now. She doesn’t want them having the satisfaction of seeing her rattled and vulnerable. No, she’ll throw her walls up and fake charm the pants off them. But first, she is going to grab some fresh air.

She heads through the double wood doors, walking down the parking lot, away from the posse of smokers out front. Her arms are crossed over her chest tightly trying to fight off the chill. She doesn’t understand how it can be so hot in the afternoon, but cool down in the evening. Another thing about Iowa she just “can’t understand”. Tears sting her eyes a bit. She feels dumb. Why is this bothering her so much? That guy is a douche. She knows who she is. She shakes off his words, running her fingers through her hair. Mack knows its because she wants to belong here with David. And from her perspective, so far this trip has been less than successful.

A big, heavy jacket comes around her shoulders. She looks to her right, seeing David. His eyes are boring into her, studying her face.

"Looking at the stars?" He asks her.

"Mhm." She looks up at the millions of little dots. Now this reminds her of being in the Swiss Mountains. The same sort of inky black sky dotted with delicate twinkles. He runs his fingers along her shoulder, resting on the back of her neck. He guides her into his side.

"Talk to me, Hisch."

"I guess I don't have much in common with this version of you.” Her European accent drips into her voice. She is surprised to hear that. It only comes out when she is feeling emotional, creating a difficulty with keeping a Western dialect. David grabs the opening of his jacket on her, tugging so she turns completely towards him. He steps forward, crowding her space. He brings a big paw to her chin, tilting her face up to his.

“What version?” He asks, laughing it off. “Baby, I am who I am. No matter where I am.” He brushes her hair back behind her ear. “And you’re everything I’ve dreamed of.” Mack can see how much he means it. It’s in his touch on her cheek, in his gaze stroking along hers, in the sureness of his voice. She nods. He captures her lips. The kiss is soft, sweet sucks and gentle nudging of his tongue against her bottom lip. His other hand winds around her waist, pressing into her lower back to keep her tight to him.

David says the right things, but that kiss says more to Mack than his words ever could.

His lips on hers erase it all- the insecurity, the doubt, the not belonging, the not good enough.

He grounds her because he knows what she needs immediately, sometimes before she even knows. But tonight, it is his physical reassurance soothing her more than anything. He towers over her, shielding her from everything with his muscular body, and consumes her in a way that feels safe not smothering.

"Just say the word and I'll go back in there to straighten Trent out." Truthfully, having him storm back in there would be so fucking hot. She would get to watch him teach Trent a lesson and get all hot and bothered between her thighs.

“What is the other option?” She murmurs.

“I take you home. We can spend the rest of the night by ourselves.”

Mack contemplates what home entails. She wants him to hold her hand in his dark truck the whole way home. She craves for him to undress her slowly in that small house. His boots hitting the floor at the foot of the bed while he urges her to lay back so he can take his time undressing her. She needs his rough, calloused hands on her soft hips as he pulls her panties down her legs. Then she wants him soft and slow, gently thrusting deep into her in a missionary position as he irritates her lips with his mustache.

And that’s exactly what Mack gets.

“You look so good for me, honey. So wet and soft and perfect. Take me so well.” He praises her from where he holds his weight above her. His hot breath dances over her face, coated in light beer and her from his previous perch between her thighs. Mack is blissed out, drunk on him and the stroking of him against the walls of her pussy.

“David.” She sighs, collecting him to her chest. He presses his to hers and then rolls his tongue into her mouth. He gathers her moans, sucking them up greedily so they are only his tonight. He fucks her deeper, harder, perfect bucks into her wet heat. “Fuck you’re so good. So fucking good.” She cries.

“Yeah? Best?”

“Yeah!” She yells.

“Say my name, sweetheart. Say who makes you feel this good.”

“You! David!” She howls.

“Good girl. My girl.” He groans. Mack’s inner walls clench him, pulling him deeper with each flutter of her getting closer and closer to the edge. Her heels dig into his butt, forcing him to stay right fucking there. She turns her face into his neck, sinking her teeth into him as she comes.

Afterwards, David plays with her fingers as she lays on his sweaty chest. He kisses her forehead, inhaling the scent of her deeply. He keeps his face there afterwards, as Mack starts to go limp in his arms. Her eyelashes brush gently against his warm skin. He shifts her hips a bit, turning to the side so she can lay more comfortable in the crook of his arm.

“Goodnight, honey.” He whispers on her forehead. Then kisses her a final time before leaving her to her slumber.

- - -

Two weeks into her trip, Mack is still having some trouble adjusting to Iowa. Every thing is completely different here. The grocery store, the little town he took her into, the restaurant options and drinks, even the air is different! It’s laced with manure and dust, making her nose plugged up so she constantly has to drainage. Her eyes have been almost swollen shut every morning of that first week.

“Do you have allergies?” David had asked her. Mack didn’t think so, but she’s also never been to a place quite like this. After a few days of Zyrtec, Mack can finally breathe through both nostrils.

In celebration, and because she is admittedly very bored, she gets into the shower. It’s the only thing in the farm house that is modern. David likes to take long showers after working in the field all day to get clean and relax. He’ll bring a can of Coors Light in with him and have some alone time. Mack thinks is is adorable, getting to see his self-care routine in Iowa. He doesn’t do this after games in NYC, but she thinks that might be because his adrenaline is usually still roaring after hockey. His favorite post-game routing has seemingly been sex.

After getting clean and putting on some light make up, along with a sundress, Mack got to work putting together a meal for them. She opted for easily transported items like chips, sandwiches, and cut up fruit. Then she made some lemonade from the cup of lemonade mix she found in the pantry. David loves Lemonade down here. She is starting to enjoy it too. This time she puts fresh strawberries in for a little extra sweetness.

Mack glances out the front window to where two farm hands are working. She puts her feet in the cowboy boots David got her at the boot store in town when she first got here. They are more broken in now and are no longer hurting her feet, so she feels comfortable wearing them for today’s excursion. Then she grabs the basket and steps outside.

Mack covers her eyes with her hand, looking out at the vastness of the farm. David took her on a tour her second day here, but she doesn’t remember anything. She worries about getting lost out there. She double checks that she has her phone. At least she seems to have good service here.

“Um, hi.” Mack says nervously as she walks up to the two farm hands by the barn.

“Hi Mackenzie.” They greet her happily. Something about being the boss’ girlfriend she is sure.

“Mack is fine. Um, do you know where I can find David?” She holds up the basket with their lunch. “I want to bring him lunch.”

“Oh, he is in the far back 40 on the edge of the farm property.” One of them says.

“Okay. And I can get there with that?” She points to the small utility vehicle they whip around on the front of the farm.

“Yeah….” They trial off, giving each other a look. “Do you know how to get there?”

“I know everything branches off from this road, she points to the left. But after that I am a little lost.”

“I can take you.” The older one, who seems to be more in charge says. “We can take the truck.” Mack nods. “I can put that in the bed for ya.” He hoists it over into the truck bed, then they both get into the cab.

“What is your name?” She asks once they start down the dirt road. Rocks kick up against the mud flaps and the underbelly of the truck, making her have to yell a bit over to him.

“Felix.”

“Nice to meet you.” She smiles politely. “Thank you for taking me.”

“Of course. Mr. David says you are our special guest. Can’t let you get lost out here.” Mack blushes, biting her bottom lip.

“Oh I don’t know about that. How long have you worked on the farm?”

“About 25 years. I worked for Mr. Chuck before Mr. David.” Mack knows Chuck is David’s dad. She doesn’t ask, but wonders if he was there when Chuck passed away on the farm.

“That is nice. You must like it here?”

“Yes, they are fair to their workers and their families. Last year, my wife had cancer. The treatment was expensive. We had to travel up to Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. But Mr. David paid for the whole thing and kept my job. My wife has now been in remission for five months.” Felix does the sign of a cross then kisses his lips in praise.

“Wow.” Mack murmurs. David never told her that.

“He is special. Nothing like his siblings.” Felix’s face seems to cloud over. “We are happy he bought them out of the farm.” Another thing Mack wasn’t aware of. “He has made changes, some hard to learn at first, but all have been good. For us and him. More money and security. People on other farms around here want to work for him the most.” Pride swells in Mack’s chest at hearing that.

Felix turns to the right, heading away from the road and out for a few minutes. They come over a hill, down into a valley where Mack see’s David’s black truck. She frowns, realizing he is out here working alone.

“Is he always out here alone?” She wonders.

“No, just today.” He says. “It’s a hard day for him.” Mack furrows her brows, but nods along. He didn’t say anything before they left. He seemed normal too.The truck comes to a slowed stop. David is working along the fence line. He wipes his forehead with his forearm, looking up at the truck. He sees Felix, then grins huge when he sees Mack.

“Felix! Look at you bringing me pretty little things after busting me for that in high school.” Felix roars with laughter, his big chest shaking as he leans out the rolled down window.

“This one seems a little less crazy.”

“Eh, you don’t know her like I do.” David winks. He tosses his tools into the cab of his truck. “Stay here, honey.” He says to her. Mack stays put, letting David come to her door. He opens it up, then gives her his hand to help pull her down safely from the high farm truck. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I brought lunch to you.”

“Oh?” He wiggles his eyebrows, then drags his gaze along her body in her blue, linen sundress.

“Actual food.” She fills him in. He quips a smirk at her, then leans down to kiss her.

“Basket in the back, sir.” Felix says.

“How many times do I have to say not to call me that?” David rolls his eyes.

“How many times I gotta tell you it’s about respect?” Felix quips back. Mack smiles. She likes Felix a lot. She can see herself getting to know him more over the next few weeks.

“Fine. Hey, when you get back up can you tell Becks to get to the N.E. pasture and start working some of the cows into N.D. pasture instead? I don’t think I’m going to get to that today.”

“You bet. I’ll have Reed go with him too. That kid needs to get the hell off my project.”

“He’s a little wild.” David acknowledges. “That’s why he is with you.” David reminds Felix who sighs heavily. “Look what you did with me.” He grins.

Felix waves and drives off back to the barn after David hauls the picnic basket out of the back.

“I brought a blanket too.” Mack pulls it out of her bag that she had slung across her shoulder. David drops the tailgate of his truck, then lays the blanket along the back.

“That’s good otherwise your thighs would be burning in that short dress.”

“Is it short?”

“Honey, you know it is.” He slaps her ass to prove his point, getting some of her bare cheek against his palm. Mack leans forward, feeling the fabric slide further up her thighs as she digs in the picnic basket. David runs his fingers up from her knee to cup her ass. He reaches for her arm, pulling her away from the food. “Want something else first.” He sighs against her mouth.

“What if someone comes to find you?” She weakly protests. She had this in mind for lunch too.

“They’ll call me.” He murmurs against her mouth. “Trust me, I don’t want any of my guys seeing you, honey. I wouldn’t take the chance if I didn’t think it was safe.” Mack nods, believing him completely.

He wraps an arm around her waist, pinning her tight to him. His hard cock protrudes from beneath his zipper, pulsing for Mack to touch. Her fingers, clutch the back of his neck, feeling his skin sweaty and hot beneath her fingers. He smells sexy like sweat and deodorant that works just as hard as her man. It’s hot, sexy as fuck to the point that Mack wraps her leg around his waist to grind against him.

David moves his mouth from hers and presses kisses along her throat. He sucks her skin hard into his mouth at the nook of her neck and shoulder, then continues down. Mack arches back, letting her head fall back so he can access her chest completely. His lips continue their path over the swell of her left breast, then he nudges the fabric to the side. Her nipple pebbles in the sunlight, pink and beautiful, just for him. He opens his lips, pulling it in. His tongue strokes over her sensitive peak, then creates a wet trail to the other one, grabbing it between his lips. He lets that one go with a final slurp, then goes back to kiss her mouth.

“Mmm.” Mack hums. Her fingers go to his belt, working it apart. She pulls his hard length out of his jeans and underwear, stroking along his shaft, feeling the velvet skin tight in her hand. She works her fingers up to his head, stroking until his slit releases pre-cum.

“Fuck.” He groans, breaking away from their kiss. David turns Mack, lifting her dress up over her ass and pulling her bare skin back to his. He works his cock between her ass, savoring how she grinds her cheeks against him while he holds her tight by her stomach. He kisses her shoulder, tasting her warm, vanilla skin.

“Bend over.” He growls before she reaches between their bodies and holds his balls, stealing his breath. She rolls them over in her hand as she lays forward obediently. Her right cheek presses into the blanket she brought. David moves her dress up, pulling her thong underwear down for her ankles to hold. David strokes his cock as he puts two fingers at Mack’s entrance, testing her. She is soaked, almost dripping down those creamy thighs for him. He curses again, then plunges into her welcoming heat.

Mack’s arms stretch above her head, gripping the blanket in her palms. Her hard nipples stroke against the ridges of the truck bed with each direct thrust of him into her. David works his hands off her hips to the front of her thighs, keeping his hands there to protect her from the lip of the tailgate. His lips kiss her spine, then he get into position to fuck her hard and fast just like she begs for. The truck suspension squeaks from his powerful pumps.

“So good.” Mack calls back. She opens her eyes, taking in the surrounding Iowa wilderness, grinning at how sexy it is to be fucked by this man right here. Maybe she could be a country girl after all. She giggles.

“What?” He asks her.

“Maybe I am a country girl.”

“By the time I’m done with you, you will be.” He laughs, slapping her ass with his abdomen with each drill of his cock into her.

“Oh.” She groans, felling like a completely, coming undone mess at what he is doing with her. His unhooked belt slaps the outside of her thigh as it swings. She moves one hand from above her head, bringing it to her clit to roll it in rapid circles. “David…” She moans loudly, letting her voice go, carrying out across the field.

“Mmm, yeah. Let the world hear you baby. Let everyone know who’s pussy this belongs to.” He brings a hand under her stomach, arching her lower back and hips up so he can drive at a different angle. Mack’s eyes roll into the back of her head, almost securing to her brain at how incredible his cock feels pressing into her velvet circle.

“Right there. Davey, please don’t stop. Never stop.” Mack wails.

“Not until you coat this cock, sweetheart.” He assures her. “This what you wanted, huh? Made your man a little meal so he would stuff you full of his thick cock?”

“Yeah!” Mack admits shamelessly. “Ohmyg-“ Mack chokes on the last word as the intensity of her orgasm rips the breath from her lungs.

“Oh fuck. Baby yes.” He moans, losing control at the hard flutters of her around him. “So fucking good, baby. Perfect for me.” His hoarse voice coos at her as he paints ropes of cum on her walls.

Their heavy breathing makes them hot, sweat beginning to bead along their spines as they lay limply against each other on the truck bed. Then, David straightens up, gliding himself out of Mack gently. She whimpers at the emptiness, wishing he would stay there for a little longer. He delicately drops her dress back over her butt after bringing her panties up into place. She turns, leaning on the tailgate as her legs shake. David tucks himself back into his pants, buckling his belt before focusing back on her. He grips her chin with his thumb and pointer finger, giving her a soft, wet kiss.

“You are amazing.” He sighs. Mack grins into their kiss.

“You too. Never felt like this.” She whispers, holding him by the back of his neck against her forehead. Never thought she would admit things like this to someone either. But as per usually, David is scratching out all of her rules and rewriting new ones, like spending weeks in America’s heartland and turning down jobs from her editor.

“I’m starving. What did you bring us?” David asks, picking her up and setting her on the tailgate behind her so she can reach the picnic basket. She brought them turkey sandwiches with fresh lettuce, tomatoes, and homemade pesto mayo she put together yesterday afternoon. All the flavors have marinated deliciously together, creating a flavor bomb in her mouth.

“Holy shit. This is amazing. Thank you!” His genuine appreciation makes Mack’s chest warm. She smiles coyly, with her mouth full of food. He leans down to kiss her. Mack gently chews the rest of her bite, looking over at David who is devouring his sandwich is two more huge bites. She chuckles, then licks her lips before speaking.

“So Felix said today is a hard day for you?” Everything about David’s demeanor changes like a snap. His face darkens. He begins to fidget next to her, slightly pulling away as his body gets rigid. He sniffs, then takes a big glug of lemonade from the mason jar.

“Yeah.” Mack hesitates, remaining quiet while watching him stuff some chips in his mouth. Then she puts her sandwich down on the plate next to her, turning to sit facing him. She puts her hand on his thigh, continuing to stay quiet until David sighs heavily. “My mom died ten years ago today.” Mack stills, then rolls her bottom lip into her mouth.

“I’m so sorry.” David nods, clearing his throat.

“This date every year I come out here and fix fence and talk to her. Tell her about what I’ve been up to the last year. Cry a little bit. Then go clean off her and dad’s grave and put some fresh flowers down from her rose garden by the house.”

“That sounds like a nice way to honor her.” Mack murmurs, moving her hand from his thigh to his hand, lacing their fingers together. He brings the back of her hand up to his mouth, kissing along her knuckles.

“It is. Unfortunately, I’ve had ten years to get the tradition perfect.” He sighs. “Every year on this date though, it feels like it just happened.” Mack can imagine so. “Sucks.” He sniffs again. Mack rubs her thumb along the tendons of his hand.

“Will you tell me about her?”

“She was hilarious. Spunky as shit. Had to be with how crazy my siblings and I were in our younger days. We used to pretend to be super heroes and jump off the barn into the hay. It was all fun and games unless you were a bit off…. Or got pushed off like me.” Mack’s eyes widen. “But my mom was always watching out the window and would rip my brothers a new asshole anytime they were picking on me. She was strong and full of joy. She loved worked in her garden. A few of the plants have died off over the years cause of deep freezes, but most of those rose bushes are hers. I hire Felix’s wife to tend to them in the summer so they’re always taken care of. Mom would have wanted that, since she isn’t here to do it…”

Mack squeezes his hand then brings her other hand up to run over his back. She rests her mouth on his bicep, continuing to listen while holding him.

“I think that’s why it was so hard when she got sick.” His voices starts to get tight. Tears pinch Mack’s eyes. “That… but also she has missed so much. She didn’t get to see me graduate from high school or college. Didn’t see me get drafted or my first game in the NHL. At least my dad was there for those, but it wasn’t the same. He didn’t have the words like she would have when I struggled to stay up in the NHL those first few years or the way he rode my ass when I was home every summer to be a better farmer.” David shakes his head.

“It’s like every year something happens that I’m sad she isn’t here for. This year, I’m sad she doesn’t get to know you.” Mack’s bottom lip shakes as two tears go down her cheeks. He turns his lips into her hair, then continues to talk against her head. “She would have loved you- strong, independent, sassy, and so pretty you could bring even the most stubborn man to his knees.” Mack smiles, cupping his cheek to hold him against her. “Those dimples… baby.” He sighs, “they get me every time.”

“I hope she still likes me now… even from wherever she is watching over you.”

“I think so.” He smiles.

“Could I go with you to their resting place?”

“Yes, of course you can. I just gotta check the rest of this fence and then we can go.”

“Thank you for telling me. I didn’t know…”

“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t like talking about it. Probably why Felix told you.” Mack nods, understanding that Felix was looking out for David too when he told Mack about today on the drive down.

Mack and David finished their lunches and she helps him check fence. She walked the line with him and pointed out normal fence she thought looked bad and he taught her about what to look for instead. When they were done, they loaded up into David’s truck, then drove back towards the house.

The house is just comes into view when David peels off to the right and drives to an open unassuming field. There is no fencing, just in ground stones that mark the Carlson members that are buried on the farm. David grabs a bucket full of cleaning supplies. He gives Mack the flowers he picked earlier that had been resting in a bucket of water, then takes her hand to walk over to his parents grave.

Mack begins to cry immediately, feeling so overwhelmed with sadness for David. And his parents. For everything they have missed. For the people she will never know. For all the moments that David will never get to have with them and how fucking cruel it is that he has to go through that for the rest of his life. All those happy days will have a shade of grey because of who is missing. It’s not fair. She wants to change that for him, ease some of that, but instead, all she can really do is cry sympathetically.

When they get to his father, Charles E. Carlson’s headstone, David drops her hand and puts his work gloves on. He uses his tools to cut away the over grown grass and weeds. Then he grabs the soapy water and rags to clean the dirty away from the head stone. Mack kneels off to the side, by his mother’s stone, watching quietly, sensing her help is not wanted. This seems methodical and therapeutic to David.

He rests his butt on his heels while he looks down. He presses his palm on his dad’s name, then works his way to his mom’s and does the same thing. This time, wet tear drops fall from his eyes onto the dusty stone as he cleans the grime off. Mack swallows hard, new tears of her own falling down. David puts his left hand on his mother’s name, Beatrice. Mack reaches out, putting hers on top of his. David opens his right arm for her to slide into his side. Then he holds her close.

Mack doesn’t know, but while he holds her tight, David is telling his mom, where ever she is resting, that the girl in his arms is the one.

- - -

Mack can’t believe it is her second to last night here.

As different as it all was when she first got here a month ago, her and David have settled into a nice routine. Every morning starts early, with a romp in the sheets. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, always incredible though. After that, Mack wanders down in his shirt to make him coffee and some eggs to wolf down fast after his shower. She sits with him at the table as he tells her all the different chores he has for the day. She asks questions. He patiently answers.

Then, after a long smooch with wandering calloused hands, he heads out to the field. Mack will meet him for lunch, or if it’s too hot, he comes into the kitchen to take a break in the air conditioning. They spend 10 minutes of his hour long lunch eating and the other 50 devouring each other. On the tail gate, on the kitchen table, on the kitchen floor, on the couch- wherever they can make it to before their clothes start falling to the floor.

David will return back to his chores, then come home around dinner time. Him and Mack trade off making dinner. He likes to grill for her as she tries different self- prepared marinades with fresh produce from the farm’s garden. Then they end the night watching the sunset on the front porch, which is where they are right now.

The porch swing sways gently from David’s light rocking. A calm, cooling breeze blows through the wrap around porch that hugs the white farmhouse his family built generations ago. Mack thinks about her flight in two days that is supposed to connect her with Newark before she will turn around in 24 hours to head towards Aruba. Dread pinches her stomach uncomfortably. She has started to fall in love with this place and all of it’s differences that she hated 4 weeks ago. David is staying here for two more weeks. He would be returning to New York a few days after she gets home from Aruba.

Mack looks down at his forearm across her stomach. Her fingers tips drag along his tanned skin, watching the goosebumps form on him from her touch. An emotional sigh falls from her lips. His lips touch her hair in recognition, fingers pressing deeper into her side.

“You okay?”

“I don’t want to leave.” She confesses. He moves so her back falls across his lap. His other arm catches her head in the cook of his elbow. “Wanna stay here with you.” She whispers, reaching up for his face.

“Baby, if you wanna stay you can, but if you need to go, that’s okay too. There is a whole life of yours outside of me.”

“I know. But it can wait until I’m ready to rejoin it.” David smiles down at her. His fingers run up from her stomach, along her left breast, to cup her cheek. Mack presses up to meet his lips. His hand tangles in her wild, country hair, gripping her tight to his mouth so he can taste her thoroughly.

“You’re sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay here.”

“I don’t.” She assures him, gripping his wrist where that hand still holds her face. His thumb rubs a track across her cheek bone, looking into her brown eyes.

“Okay. Then stay. I want that.” He admits. “Was feeling really sad in the field this morning, thinking about driving you up to the airport.” Mack smiles, nodding in agreement. He pulls her up to kiss him again, then lets her head settle in his lap as she wiggles down. Her hair splays across his thigh as he works his finger prints gently into her scalp. Her eyes flutter, wanting to close and give into how good this feels.

Mack loves the salty breeze off the ocean, the sand between her toes, and the way the pace of island life is unapologetically slow.

But not even that can compete with how good it feels here in David’s arms on his front porch swing.

More Mack & David can be found here.

#Mackdavid au #my writing #hockey fan fiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

Text

Hangover 2

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Please leave any and all feedback! 💚💚💚💚💚💚

Part of The Club AU

Another day down the drain. Your lower back aches as you clock out, pulling on your jacket as the new hire Elizabeth shadows Monica behind the counter. You just want to go home and fall into bed but Will is on his way home and you’re supposed to have dinner together. It’ll likely be your only time together before he catches up with his high school buddies.

You zip up the checkered pink fleece coat that’s seen you through a few too many winters. There’s a coffee stain on the pilly white collar and the cuffs fray around your hands. You say your goodbyes as you hitch up your large purse and push out into the frost of late fall.

As you turn down the street, the toot of a horn causes you to trip up. You glance over expecting some driver swerving but there are no screeching tires. Instead a cop cruiser sits by the curb, the door open and closing as an officer appears on the other side. He puts his hat on as he slams the door and rounds the hood. He’s familiar.

You recognise the man who’d left his breakfast spat up on his plate. The very same who passed out in the alley. He looks better than the last time you saw him but no less agitated.

“All done for the day?” He asks as he steps up onto the curb.

He looks younger without the hangover shadowed under his eyes. He has more colour in his cheeks too. You clutch the straps of your purse as you face him.

“Uh, yes, sir,” you answer. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t guess why he’s asking. Better yet, you wonder why he’s even there.

“Need a ride?” He puts his hand on the roof of the cruiser and tilts his head.

“Um,” you look up and down the sidewalk. Pedestrians pass by with their gazes averted or chins down. No one wants to deal with the cops, you’ve all heard the stories. “Sir, that’s nice of you but I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You don’t trust me? I’m a cop. I serve and protect,” he challenges.

“I didn’t say–”

“Don’t have to. I can see right through you,” he snips, “the other day, you felt bad for me, like I was a baby? Some stray dog on the street and now you’re acting all afraid when I’m here tryna repay a favour.”

“Well, uh, er, you don’t have to do all that,” you press your lips together, trying to wet them against the dry air. His antagonistic stance and tone counteract his words, “you know, I was just helping. I don’t expect–”

“Officer Storm,” he interjects, “that’s what you can call me.”

You swallow and wince. You lean back on your heel and his eyes drift down as he notes the subtle shift. He scoffs again.

“Officer Storm, I hope you’re feeling better but I gotta get home. My son–”

“Faster if you drive,” he lets his hand slide down the car and he pulls the handle on the back door, opening it a few inches, “so get in, honey.”

His last word drips with venom. He’s mocking you but you don’t know what you did to provoke him like this. He must be embarrassed. He’s not the first man with a fragile ego that you’ve dealt with. You married one. Divorced him too.

“You’re on duty, officer, I’d hate to get in the way–”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he opens the door all the way and steps closer, “I’m not usually this nice.”

You blink. You peer down the street again, searching for an escape. Running is no good. You’re not fast enough and running from a cop is a recipe for suspicion. You always told Will to just follow orders if he was pulled over. The thought of him in the same position turns your blood cold.

“Don’t look around, look at me,” Officer Storm orders. You obey as his other hand rests on his belt, just above his cuffs. Your eyes flick from the silver hoops to his face. He smirks. “Just a drive down the street, right?”

You shiver and cross your arms. You’re at a loss. There is no right choice.

“It’s cold out here,” he drawls in a sickeningly fake tone, “I’ll turn the heat up for you, honey.”

You almost tell him to stop, just like he had. Don’t call me honey. You push your shoulders back and unfold your arms to squeeze your purse straps tight. You just want to get home and see your son.

“Alright, Officer Storm, that’s very kind of you,” you eke out in a brittle chatter, “thank you.”

His brows pop up as his smirk spreads wider and he grips the top of the door as he leans on it. You step forward and dip your head through and slide onto the backseat. As you pull your legs in, he swings the door shut behind you. It slams and leaves you in the hollow quiet of the car.

You watch him stride around the hood and look at the interior of the door. No handles. Like a criminal, you’re locked in.

It’s okay. He’s just reminding you of his rank. Of his power. This is how men are, especially men with authority. You’re just an old woman, you’re harmless. He’s already scared you and he knows it.

He gets in and removes his hat. He tosses it into the passenger seat and checks his reflection in the rear view. He brushes his hands over his short hair and coughs. He sits back and turns the keys in the ignition. Neither of you say a word.

You hug your purse as he steers with one hand out into traffic. He doesn’t look, nearly sideswiping another car. No one is dumb enough to honk at a cop.

You reach into your purse and take out your phone to check the time. He stops, idling at the end of the street. He snaps his fingers so you glance up, jolting with surprise.

“Give me the phone,” he commands as he curls his arm awkwardly to slide open the small window in the partition.

“What?” You murmur, “I’m just looking at the time.”

“Give me the fucking phone,” he demands in a deeper timbre.

You shakily hand it over, putting it in his hand right before he retracts his grasp. He throws the phone onto the floor without a care. He slap the wheel, gripping it until the leather squeaks, leaning on the gas as he turns onto the next avenue.

He didn’t ask you where to go and he’s driving away from your neighbourhood. He’s not taking you home. You touch your throat as it tightens, your heart pounding against your ribs. Static crackles in your ears as your head swims.

“Sir, Officer Storm,” you gulp out, “where are you taking me?”

Silence. He lets it linger as he chuckles and reaches to flip on the stereo. He turns up the crashing rock music until your ears ring. He veers around the next corner so that your shoulder hits the door.

Shit.

#johnny storm #dark johnny storm #dark!johnny storm #johnny storm x reader #drabble #au #series #hangover #the club #fantastic four

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sarahowritesostucky · 1 month

Text

📖"Breeding the Winter Soldier"

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 7893

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: a/b/o, Omega Bucky, Alpha Steve, Hydra wins, dark AU, forced mating, breeding program, coerced sex, restraints, heats/ruts, forced to fuck, past Bucky x Brock, HTP adjacent, mind control, anal sex, hurt/comfort (mostly comfort)

A.N.: this was written all the way back in 2017!

Breeding the Winter Soldier

“Looks like they gave Cap his assignment,” Rollins chuckles from where he’s sitting, boots propped up on the observation room’s control panel. “Doesn’t seem too happy about being told he’s gotta breed ‘im.”

Brock scoffs lightly, unable to help himself from lighting up out of frustration as he stares through the one-way glass window at their prisoner. Smoking isn’t allowed inside the facility, but that’s never stopped Brock. “This is bullshit,” he complains around the cigarette between his lips, tossing the spent match to the floor as he gets a good first lungful of nicotine. Beyond the window, Captain fucking America—or what used to be Captain America— is pacing, pacing, pacing, distressed at the news. Brock seethes quietly. “Project Genesis is mine. He was supposed to be mine.”

And now Steven Grant Rogers is the one they want instead. The superior choice, apparently, for siring little super-soldiers. Brock had broken whatever he’d been holding when he’d first heard the order come down—a coffee mug, he thinks it was. The order strictly reassigned him as handler only to the asset, the one to supervise the project. Supervise. Brock cringes at the restriction of the word. He’s been the asset’s commanding officer for going on five years now. Unofficially, he’s been his alpha for two. He’s the one who knows the asset, understands him. He’s the only one who knows how to make him work right, how to get through to him. He’s the one who cares about him, who satisfies him through his heats. And now Hydra is forcing him to give that all away?

His mate is going to be so confused.

Rollins tells him to chill. “I’m sure they’ll still let you fuck around with him once he’s pupped a few litters.”

“That’s not the fucking point!” Brock roars, angry but not at Rollins. Jack seems to know this, as he doesn’t move at all from his lazy posture in the chair. “He’s my omega. I’m perfectly capable of breeding him, if that’s what they want.”

Rollins shrugs. “You ain’t got that super soldier sperm.”

“Captain. Hail Hydra.”

Steve looks up from where he’s been eating his breakfast and frowns at the sight of Rumlow. It’s strange and upsetting to see people that he knew from before. People who he’d thought were the good guys. Brock looks the same as he did a year ago. Same haircut, same face, same tactical gear that he used to wear when he was on Shield’s Strike team, when he was Steve’s friend. Only now there is no Shield, and there are no friends. Now they all belong to Hydra whether they want to or not.

“Hail Hydra,” Steve mumbles into the cold milk of his cereal.

“Gotta come with me, Cap,” Rumlow tells him. “Today’s the day.”

Steve looks up at him, eyes angry and tired. “I’m not doing it,” he says. He’s fucking not doing it. They can’t make him.

“I’m not in the mood for this today.” Rumlow calls in the four guards that he’s brought with him and has them stand there with their stun batons as a warning for Steve. Before, they never would’ve been enough to keep him subdued. But that was before. Steve knows it’ll be no use trying to fight them off. He lets his spoon drop into the cereal bowl.

They take him down to the wing where they keep Bucky, to a room with a bed, a minifridge and an exam chair. It’s a heat suite, where they intend to force him to do this, Steve supposes. Bucky’s not there. There’s a tech waiting for them and when Steve lays eyes on the prepped syringes he tenses, tries to turn around. He winds up with a stun baton jammed to his neck and the next thing he knows he’s restrained in the chair. The tech is bringing a needle over and Steve pulls with all his might against the mag restraints. They don’t budge. “Relax,” Rumlow says. He’s standing beside Steve. “It’s just something to help you.”

“Help me how?” Steve asks, afraid. He’s already drugged up six ways to Sunday. Drugs to keep him weak, drugs to keep him dazed, drugs to keep him calm. If he didn’t heal so rapidly his inner arms would look like pincushions by now. The injections erase who he is, erase any possibility of a fight, let alone an escape. He doesn’t want any more injections.

“Something to kickstart your rut,” Brock says. He points to the other needles, one by one. “An aphrodisiac. A benzo to lower your inhibitions. Hormones to increase the chances of conceiving.”

Steve sneers. “I’m not doing it. I’m not hurting him.”

“You sure as hell better not,” Brock tells him, and there’s something about the way that he says it that has Steve paying closer attention. Steve takes notice of how tense Rumlow seems, upset almost. He smells the sour tint of possessiveness rolling off of him. “He’s mine,” Brock says. It’s obvious he’s not talking about his role as Bucky’s handler.

Steve squints for a moment. “…No,” he says, eyes widening. Rumlow smirks when he sees that Steve is finally figuring it out. “You’ve had him.”

“Wow. Took you long enough Cap. Thought you would’ve at least smelled him on me, all the times I fucked him before passing you in the hall.”

Steve grits his teeth, fury building in him in a way that he didn’t think was possible, not with all of the mood stabilizers Hydra’s got him on. “You fucking raped him?!” The tech comes over and jabs Steve while he’s distracted, not that he can move much in the restraints anyway. The needle stings going in, but the anger coursing through him is worse than the cold flush of medicine through his veins.

Brock looks at Steve with contempt. “I’m his handler. He hasn’t been raped since I started caring for him.”

Steve pants in his seat, feeling his temperature start to climb as the drugs work into his system. “Is that what you call it?” he sneers. “You think you’re taking care of him?”

“I know you’re not happy about this,” Brock tells him. “But let me tell you something: neither am I.”

“What are you talking about?”

Brock tells the tech to get out of the room. He orders the AI system that they stole from Stark Industries to stop monitoring them. Once they’re all alone he tells Steve, “He’s mine, Rogers.” Steve growls at him and that makes Rumlow roll his eyes. He drags a stool over to sit right in front of where Steve is restrained. “What you’re participating in? It’s called Project Genesis.”

“Yeah, trying to make baby supersoldiers, I get it,” Steve snaps. “I’m not doing it.”

“It’s the only fucking reason you’re alive right now,” Brock tells him. “And it’s the only reason he’s not gathering dust in some cryo vault.”

Steve can’t suppress his frown. “What?”

Brock sighs. “You’ve both been decommissioned. Hydra is a major world power now. One or two enhanced assets aren’t worth our time anymore. An army of supersoldiers, however, is. That’s what he’s still useful for.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Yeah? How do you think I feel?” Brock snaps. “I was the one who was supposed to breed him. Was working on it just fine till they brought you in. I’m sure you think he’ll be happy to see you but let me tell you, he won’t.” Brock can smell the change coming over the other alpha, can smell his body ramping up for a rut. Beneath the scent of sex hormones is the sour tinge of chemicals. It makes Brock want to curl his nose and bare his teeth in a challenge, or maybe turn away to escape the smell altogether. “He doesn’t know you Cap, and you’re just going to scare him if you come at him acting like he should be glad to see you.”

Steve glares at him. “He does remember me. He knew me on the helicarrier.” Bucky had known him. He had.

But Brock shakes his head. “No. He only has bits and pieces Rogers. He’s my omega. I bonded to him years ago.”

Steve growls and pulls at his restraints again. “No!”

“Calm the fuck down!” Brock leans in closer. He looks mad. Smells mad too. “This isn’t about you or me. It’s not up to us. Do you think I’d let you touch him if it was?”

“He’s not yours,” Steve grits out. “And I’m not going to touch him.”

Brock huffs. “You wait till those drugs kick in, you’ll be singing a different tune.” He looks at Steve seriously. “And just so you know, he’s already in heat.”

Steve’s eyes widen at that. “What?”

“Yeah. He’s hot and aching and he knows what his mission is. He’s not going to fight it,” Brock says. “But he’s expecting me. He’s expecting someone that he knows to help him feel better. And he’s going to be confused when I bring him in here and tell him that he has to let another alpha fuck him. A stranger. So I need for you to calm down. I don’t want him scared. You and I are going to talk to him together and you’re going to be gentle with him.”

Steve can feel arousal building in himself, and it’s strange to feel that while he’s sitting there next to Rumlow, being told all of this. The chemically-induced rut is coming on fast. “Shit,” he curses, head falling back to the chair behind him. He can feel himself firming up beneath the thin cotton of his sleep pants and he hates that he can’t hide it from Rumlow. “I can’t do this. Please don’t make me do this.”

“Get it together Cap,” Rumlow snaps, unhappy.

“Fuck you!” Steve spits.

Brock sighs. “I was hoping you’d shut up but I can see that’s not going to happen. He crosses the room only to return with a gag in his hands. He forces Steve’s jaw open and presses the ball gag in, saying nothing about the fight Steve puts up. Once it’s secured and Steve is heaving angry breaths at him, Brock says, “I’m going to get him now. If you care about him at all you won’t make this worse for him than it has to be.” He gets up and leaves through the room’s only door and Steve is forced to wait long minutes, panting and sweating at the oncoming rush of a forced rut.

The asset is relieved when its handler comes to retrieve it. It entered its heat hours ago and has had to wait, alone and aching, in the little room. “Come on James,” the handler says when the asset stands from its little cot, and the asset remembers that this is supposed to be its name. He’s never heard it before—not from anyone besides his handler. It's probably invented, but he likes that he uses it. Even if it’s made up, it’s something special between just the two of them.

Now they’ll go to the other room, the one where they always go when he is to be bred. James looks forward to it because he knows it’ll make him feel better. Brock (that’s his handler’s name. He’s allowed to use it when they’re alone) will give him everything he needs, will knot him and hopefully fill him with pups. That’s their mission. So far they’ve been unsuccessful but the asset thinks it’s because his heats used to be so unpredictable. Now he’s been out of cryo long enough that he’s cycling regularly again, his body ready for a pregnancy.

The asset has never thought about reproducing. An assassin doesn’t think of such things, a weapon certainly doesn’t. But James does. James doesn’t mind his new mission. He hasn’t told his handler, but he secretly prefers serving Hydra this way over what he used to do. This way he doesn’t have to go into the cold. And they don’t wipe him. And there’s someone who cares for him—his alpha. Deep down, he secretly likes the idea of having a baby, something that’s his that isn’t garbage or government-issued. Something that’s all his. He doesn’t tell his handler about this either.

They enter the other room and there is someone else there. It’s a man, an alpha. He’s restrained and in rut, that much is clear right away. The asset is nearly knocked back by the abrupt smell of him. Brock notices and laughs, reaching to grab him by the arm and pull him closer. “Easy babe.”

The asset scans his eyes over the man on the chair. He’s big. Tall and muscled, with blond hair and handsome features. He’s clearly upset. He struggles against his bonds as they approach, making useless sounds through the gag in his mouth. The asset looks questioningly at Brock. “Who is he?” He’s not really supposed to ask questions unprompted, but over time he’s learned that it’s okay with his handler, with Brock.

“His name is Captain Rogers,” Brock says. “Former SHIELD operative. He’s an enhanced like you are.”

The asset nods. He was unaware that there were others like himself. There used to be a program, but it had failed. He can remember helping, being tasked with training a group of men and women to make them stronger, better. But they’d gone wild and had been eliminated. The mission had failed.

“We have new orders,” Brock tells him, and this is when he takes his hand, squeezes it reassuringly. James purrs at the contact, moves to begin removing his clothes as is expected of him. But Brock stops him. “Wait, babe.”

The man in the chair growls at the pet name and James whines. He doesn’t want the other alpha to be there. He wants to be naked, in a bed, under his mate. “I’m hot,” he points out. “I need to get undressed.”

“You can,” Brock tells him. He pets the side of James’ face. “But I’m not going to be here with you.”

The asset frowns in confusion. “What?” He doesn’t understand. This is the breeding room. James is in heat. It’s their mission—they’ll be punished if they don’t complete it. The asset tilts his head, baring his neck, trying to show his alpha how ready he is. “Alpha please,” he whines. He’d hit the floor and present if not for the other alpha in the room. “I’m in heat. I need it.”

Brock shushes him, gentles a hand down his side. It feels good but it’s not nearly enough. “I know baby, I know. You’ll get a knot, just not mine.” The asset is confused again, but only for a second. His eyes dart over to where the other alpha is bound. Brock sees this and he nods, “Yeah baby, you’re going to mate with him.”

“What?” A low noise of distress leaves James’ throat, unbidden. He’s not supposed to make noises like that. But Brock never punishes him for such mistakes, not when it’s just the two of them. “No. You’re supposed to do it. You’re my mate,” he says, feeling scared. He’s not supposed to argue with directions. “Alpha?” he says, trying to press his nose into Brock’s neck, trying to ignore the other man in the room. “The mission,” he urges. “Breed me. Put pups in me.”

But Brock just kisses his temple and sets him back firmly. “Sorry babe,” he says. “It’s orders.”

Steve tries to speak through the gag but of course it’s no use.

He is forced to sit there and watch as Rumlow comes into the room with Bucky, holding his hand, for Christ’s sake. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind at all. He makes a pleased sound whenever Brock touches him, and when he calls him pet names. Steve feels his guts lurch at the obvious show of affection between them. He feels jealously flare up in his core like a rabid animal, wanting to kill the other alpha for touching Bucky, for trying to claim the omega that should be his.

That, he knows, is his rut talking. It’s gotten worse in the past ten minutes since Brock left him here, tied to the exam chair and gagged. Steve’s skin itches and his pulse throbs. Between his legs, he’s hard. And now that Bucky has come into the room, now that Steve can smell him, it’s so much worse. Bucky smells like damp, cloying earth. He smells like dark, cramped spaces and tangled up bodies. He smells like something Steve wants to bury his face in and not come up for air from. Steve takes one look at him and feels the urge to chase him, catch him, pin him down come unbidden. All he can do is wiggle ineffectively in his bonds.

In front of him, Brock is telling Bucky that he has to mate with Steve. Steve’s heart clenches when Bucky looks over to him, tense and afraid. His eyes do not hold recognition. Steve listens as Bucky pleads and whines to Brock, calling him his alpha, begging him to breed him instead. And Brock fucking comforts him, pets him and gives him a kiss and tells him it’s okay. Bucky looks like he never wants to leave Brock’s side. Steve clenches his eyes shut at the sight.

“Rogers.”

Steve’s eyes open. Brock is standing right in front of him. Bucky is still hanging back, looking unsure. “You see?” Brock says, and he’s not bragging or gloating or anything. He’s just trying to get Steve to listen. “He’s used to being with me, Cap. He doesn’t know you. Now are you gonna behave if I take that gag out? Not going to upset him?”

Steve glares at Rumlow, but after a moment manages a terse nod. The gag gets removed, and Steve takes a moment to swallow the spit in his mouth, lick his lips and crack his jaw. “Thanks,” he grunts, not feeling at all thankful.

Rumlow nods, chucks the gag away. “I’m not going to let you up from that chair yet,” he tells Steve. “That I’ll do remotely, once I’m out of the room.”

Steve sneers. “What? You afraid to be alone with me?”

Brock raises his eyebrows. “First of all, I’m not alone.” He nods back to Bucky. “I’ve got him. Don’t let his role in our breeding program fool you; he’s still perfectly capable of ending a man with his bare hands. If I give him the order to, that is. Secondly, I’m not going to let you out of that chair while I’m in the room because you’re in rut. A rut that we chemically engineered to match his heat. You’re geared up to attack any alpha that comes near him.”

Steve scoffs. “I’ve got better control than you, animal.”

Brock looks back at Bucky and calls him over, but he calls him James, and that rankles Steve more than anything else yet. “Come here James,” Rumlow says. He holds out his arm and Bucky comes over obediently. “This is Steve. He’s not a big fan of mine, I’m sure you can tell.”

“Bucky,” Steve says urgently. “Bucky I’m not going to hurt you. Okay? Don’t worry.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Bucky murmurs to Brock.

Brock glares at Steve. “I told you Cap. He doesn’t know any of that.” Brock pulls Bucky closer, encourages him to go up and touch Steve where he’s restrained to the chair. “Go ahead babe. You heard him: he won’t hurt you. Have a look at him.”

Bucky does. He inches closer until his leg hits the side of the chair. He reaches forward with careful fingers, as if Steve is a wild animal that might bite. Bucky’s eyes are cold and calculating as they pass over Steve, no recognition to them. Not like Steve wants. “He’s healthy,” Bucky murmurs, almost as if he’s afraid to say it. “Strong.” Behind, Brock chuckles a little.

“Yeah he is. Don’t worry though. He won’t be rough on you.” Brock meets Steve’s eyes over Bucky’s head. “I have it on good authority. He’s going to be real gentle.”

Bucky doesn’t react to this, and Steve feels as if he can hardly breathe as Bucky continues to examine him. He touches Steve’s arms, his legs, his chest. Steve is still clothed, but the touches ramp up the desire that the drugs have kickstarted. In his pants, he’s hard as a rock. Bucky leans down and sticks his nose into Steve’s neck, scenting at the glands there. It’s all Steve can do not to moan where he’s sitting, all he can do not to try and thrust his hips up the way his body wants to. After a long inspection, Bucky seems to make up his mind about Steve. He stands back and away, looks to Brock. “He’ll sire good pups. I understand why he’s been chosen.” He nods once to show his obedience in the matter. “I’ll complete the mission.”

Brock smiles at him. “Good boy.”

“Buck you don’t have to do anything these sacks of shit tell you to—”

“Cap,” Rumlow warns, “That ain’t the way. He WILL do what we tell him to. And if you’re resisting, he’ll take you by force. That how you want this to go?”

Steve grimaces at the threat, imagining the absurdity of Bucky raping him. “He should have a choice,” Steve tells Rumlow darkly, hating the man with every fiber of his being. “Does this make you proud?” he asks. “Treating him like a thing? Violating him?” Steve forces himself to meet Rumlow’s eyes in an imploring manner. “You said that you mated him. If that’s true, is this really what you want for him?”

Rumlow shakes his head, looks at Steve as if he’s incredibly thickheaded. “You just don’t get it, do ya Cap?” He walks over, takes a hold of Bucky’s neck and pulls him in for a deep kiss. Steve watches the display with horror, especially once Bucky brings both of his hands up to cradle Rumlow’s jaw. Brock pulls away from Bucky, their lips separating with a pop, and he glares at Steve. “This isn’t about ‘want’. It’s about following orders.” With that he pushes Bucky up to stand close to Steve, turning away before either man can stop him. “Now just shut up, lay back, and get him pregnant,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks out the door.

James tries not to feel anything when his mate leaves the room. He tries to slip back into the mindset of the Asset, a place where feelings are irrelevant. Brock has explained the parameters of the mission, has given the soldier his orders. Now James will execute. He tips his ear towards the door, his enhanced hearing helping him to pick up on the sounds of many intricate locking mechanisms being set. He flicks his gaze back up to the body of the other man—the man they’ve chosen to sire his pups.

James wants to sneer, feels like maybe he does. He shuffles uncomfortably in place, wetness already growing sticky and cool where it’s seeped into the back of his pants. He wonders if Captain Rogers can smell it. Stepping close to the chair where he’s restrained, James examines the mag cuffs that hold him in place. They’re similar to the ones that his handlers use on him. It makes James wonder just how strong this man is. Brock had said he was enhanced. He tilts his head in curiosity.

“… Bucky—”

“Directive clarification,” James calls out to the room, ignoring whatever the Captain had been about to say to him. James doesn’t wait for a response; he knows they’re being watched. “Am I to mount him like this?” he asks, not particularly caring either way. He shouldn’t care about this stranger’s comfort during the act—he’s not Brock. The soldier has his orders and James has no choice. He has to do it. A quick glance shows him what he can already smell: Captain Rogers is fully erect beneath his clothing. On the chair or in a bed, he’ll be easy enough for James to take inside of his body. But a crackle comes through the speakers in the ceiling, echoing Brock’s voice into the room:

“Use the bed if you want. He’s been chemically subdued so he shouldn’t be able to put up much a fight. Releasing mag cuffs in three, two...”

In the next second the restraints on the chair click open, and James turns back in time to see Captain Rogers pulling his arms away from the chair. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side. His bare feet touch the floor but he remains perched on the chair’s edge. For the first time, James realizes that the Captain is dressed in sleeping clothes. A standard issue tee shirt and cotton pants are all he wears. “Bucky,” he says again, holding out an arm in James’ direction. It is unclear if the gesture is meant to beckon James closer or to keep him at bay. James is not unaware that, omega or not, he presents a threatening image to most men. With this in mind he narrows his stance, draws his shoulders down to seem as small and nonthreatening as possible. Hopefully this will keep the Captain from trying to do something as counterproductive as running, or fighting.

“I realize you don’t recognize me, but don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Steve.

James blinks at him. He takes stock of the situation. Captain Rogers—Steve—has been made aware of his role in the breeding program. He’s been given his orders just like James has, but he’s resisting. James can smell it on him, the warring scents of desire and disgust. James steps closer, tilting his head to the side once he’s just in front of him. “Smell that?” he asks, being sure to keep his eyes cast down. The Captain’s hands are clenched tightly by his sides as James bares his neck in a submissive gesture. “Come on,” he says as gently as he can. “Alpha?”

“Don’t,” Steve bites out. He sounds pained. “Don’t call me that Buck.”

James bites his cheek, thinking he may just have to use physical force if this man won’t listen. “You’re in forced rut,” he says, trying again. “That can’t feel good.”

Steve huffs an abortive laugh. “Yeah.”

“You’re flushed,” James tells him. There is perspiration all along the collar of Steve’s tee. “And you’re hot. Burning-up-inside hot. Believe me I know how it feels. When you’re so desperate that you’re miserable?” He reaches for the hem of his own shirt, pulls it quickly over his head. He knows that the movement makes his scent burst into the air. Now his top half is exposed and James has to hold in the sigh that wants to come at the relief of having that much less clothing on his body. He tosses his shirt aside. In front of him, Steve’s nostrils are flaring. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” he tells him, “You can have me. It’ll help.”

Steve’s fingers sink into the chair’s cushion, little bits of foam padding ripping out and falling to the floor. His scent is soaring—a deep, rich scent like copper and burnt wood. James grits his teeth at the sudden urge to drop and present. He slowly reaches out with his flesh hand and touches Steve’s thigh. “Why are you afraid?” he asks. It’d be nice to know. Everyone always seems to know more than he does…

“I can’t hurt you like this Buck. I just can’t.”

James shushes him, ignores the continued use of that nonsensical name, Bucky. “You won’t,” he soothes, pulling lightly at the fabric of Steve’s pants in an effort to get him to slide off the chair. “I’m in heat. I’m ready. It won’t hurt.”

Steve scoffs, but he does allow himself to be moved. Standing barefoot, they come eye to eye. “That’s not the kind of hurt I meant.”

James ignores the clench his heart gives as he thinks of Brock. He wonders if his alpha is watching from another room, observing them through a little camera. He hopes not. “Come here,” James says, pulling Steve forward. Steve’s hands find their way to his hips, and James feels more slick rush out of his body at the contact. He whimpers without meaning to. “Scent me,” he says, tilting his head again. He’s pressing up against Steve, their bodies connected from thigh to chest. He can feel the alpha’s erection and he’s certain that Steve can feel his. But that hardly matters as Steve releases an answering growl somewhere in his throat. His head dips down and he buries his nose in the crook of James’ neck. James’ breath leaves him in a satisfied puff. He’s been in heat for nearly twenty-four hours with no relief until now. He’d been expecting Brock, his mate, but the mission has changed.

His body has already decided for him, he realizes. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t Brock. Doesn’t matter that it’s a stranger who’s been selected to put pups in him. James’ body recognizes this Steve for what he is; a strong, virile alpha.

The Asset grabs Steve with his metal hand, pushing him towards the bed before the other man can protest.

Steve stumbles over his own feet, not having been prepared for the rough grab and push of Bucky’s metal arm. He falls gracelessly back onto the room’s bed with a grunt. Bucky doesn’t give him time to recover. He’s there in a flash, one hand planted in the center of Steve’s chest and the other yanking down his pants. Bucky tosses them to the floor and reaches for Steve’s shirt. But Steve isn’t having it. He grabs Bucky’s arms and attempts to fight him. They grapple for all of three seconds before Bucky has him pinned, and Steve is panting furiously. The drugs make him so much weaker than before. With Bucky’s metal arm in play he doesn’t stand a chance. Begging is all he��s got left, it seems. “Please,” he says, staring imploringly. “You don’t want to do this.”

Bucky ignores him completely. He rips Steve’s tee shirt down the front like it’s paper, pulls it off of him and throws it somewhere in the general vicinity of where the pants had gone. Leaning forward over Steve’s now-naked body, he gives a very un-omega like growl. “Stay down.” He stands up and divests himself of the boots he’s wearing, then his pants.

Of course Steve doesn’t listen. He manages to prop himself up by the time Bucky’s taking his underwear off, and the scent that hits Steve then is so strong it makes him clench his eyes shut. “Fuck.” He can’t look at Bucky, he can’t or he’ll lose his shit. The bed dips and Steve jerks as Bucky pulls him to lie down again, too much naked skin pressed up along his own. “Bucky, don’t—” He’s cut off by lips crashing down on his own. Bucky wastes no time in forcing his way, mouthing and biting at Steve to make him open up. His hands pull at Steve’s hair and he fucks his tongue lewdly into his mouth. A garbled noise that probably would have been a moan had it been allowed to form leaves Steve, his hands grabbing the first part of Bucky they can find—his hips. Steve pulls on Bucky, whether to bring him closer or push him away he’s not sure, but he winds up tugging the other man fully atop him, and the second Steve feels him start rolling his hips downwards, he’s lost.

Bucky breaks the kiss, pulling away. Steve opens his eyes to see the omega staring at him, eyes a hard grey. He’s still fucking downwards, rubbing himself off against the crest of Steve’s groin, and his breath has become harsh. “This is our mission,” he breathes, sounding rough and desperate. “We have to. You have to.”

Steve feels sickness rise up and mingle with the desperation of his rut again. “No.”

“Yes.”

Steve repeats the ‘no’ several times more as Bucky continues to writhe against him, but his hands don’t loosen their hold on Bucky’s hips, and he doesn’t try to push Bucky off of him. “I can’t.”

Bucky makes an angry sound in his throat and yanks Steve’s head back with the grip he has on his hair. It’s his metal hand and it hurts. “You don’t have a choice,” he says. Steve growls at the dominant gesture, his hindbrain urging him to put the omega in his place. But Bucky leans closer again. For a second Steve thinks he’s going to kiss him, but he doesn’t. He puts his lips to Steve’s ear, the dark length of his hair falling around them. “Don’t make me take it,” he whispers, sounding desperate. His hips have not stopped moving. “Please. Alpha. You’re supposed to give it to me. Take me. Don’t make me do it.”

Steve groans. There’s nothing worse that Bucky could have said. He’s in heat, and Steve’s in rut, and now he’s calling Steve Alpha and begging Steve to mate with him the way that he wants it; to take him the way an alpha should take their omega. Steve opens his eyes to find Bucky staring at him once again, only this time his eyes are soft and his brow is pinched—pleading. He looks more like the Bucky that Steve remembers, and Steve can’t ignore the urge within himself to make that pleading look go away, to satisfy.

He flips them over. The only reason he’s able to do it is because he takes Bucky completely by surprise. Bucky’s eyes go wide for a moment, assessing a threat, before he realizes the move for what it is and he relaxes and purrs. Steve doubts himself immediately. He brings his hands to Bucky’s face, pleased when he’s not pushed away and Bucky fucking bends his neck to expose himself. “Alpha,” Bucky whines, but Steve’s not having it.

“You listen to me,” he says angrily, using the last goddamn piece of himself that he has left to convey seriousness in his tone. Bucky stares at him obediently and Steve swallows. “They don’t wipe my memory, got it? You may not remember me, but I remember you. And I won’t hurt you. I hurt you, you have to tell me. If you want to stop, you tell me. Got it?”

James frowns, even in his lust-ridden brain he knows he does. This stranger—no, some distant and unreachable part of his mind corrects, not a stranger—Steve—is referencing the wipes, is telling him that they’ve met before. James can’t disprove such a claim. He wonders if this Captain Rogers was once his handler, or possibly a target. He wonders if “Bucky” was his call sign then. Steve is still staring intently at him, waiting for his answer, and James shakes his head to get the thoughts to go away. They’re not important, not relevant to the mission. If his promise is all the Captain needs, then it means nothing to James to give it. “You won’t hurt me,” he says again, thinking that the alpha above him is stupid to imagine that he could, but adds, “I’ll tell you if you do.”

That seems to settle it for Steve. He comes down and kisses James’ forehead, leaves his lips to linger there in a manner that makes James distinctly uncomfortable—as if they are old friends, or family even. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Turn over.”

James flips, never having obeyed an order so quickly. He tries to push himself up to present but with Steve’s heavy weight at his back he can’t do it. Behind, he can feel the alpha’s hardness pressing between his cheeks and it makes him whine needily. This may be a mission, but he’s still been left wanting and unfulfilled for close to going on twenty four hours now. There are no feelings of doubt or discontent with the situation that James needs to force down to be a good soldier. He’s allowed to want this, and he does. “Alpha,” he urges when Steve doesn’t move to penetrate him. “Please. Now, please.”

He can feel the exact moment when Steve gives in. His hands are clamped tightly on James’ wrists to keep him still, but when James nearly begs to be fucked it seems to push the alpha off whatever edge of hesitance he’s still managing to hang onto. James can feel Steve’s cock on his ass as he allows himself to thrust at last. The teasing slide is made easier by the slick that’s gathered there. James groans in frustration, rubbing his face into the bed and fairly suffocating himself as he waits for the other man to get on with it and get inside of him. He’s aching for it, for the stretch and pressure of an alpha’s cock, for a knot. He knows he’ll start yelling in a moment if Steve doesn’t DO SOMETHING.

But he does, and James doesn’t have to yell at him after all. Steve presses up onto his arms, the sweaty warmth of his chest leaving James’ back. He positions himself, bumping against James’ hole, and it’s a relief that he forgoes the unnecessary gesture of using fingers first—James is sure he would snap at him if he tried. Steve presses inside, entering him slowly but never stopping until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with James’ ass. It’s not hard to take him in. James’ body is slick and ready for it and he groans lowly into the bed at the sheer relief of it. “Yesss,” he hisses, and turns his head as much as he can to look back at Steve. The man looks about as gone for it as James feels, and a dark thrill shoots through him at the thought that he’s about to be taken just the way he wants to be. Fucked and bred just the way his body is crying out for. It may not be Brock, but James has decided not to think about that. All he can think about in his current state is Steve; the smell of him, the feel of him, even the sounds he makes, it all feels too perfectly satisfying. Maybe it has something to do with the barrage of drugs the techs had shot him up with yesterday. Maybe. He’s not supposed to care though, and he doesn’t. He tries to thrust his hips backwards, wanting movement and having no idea how the other man can bear to hold so still now that they’re connected. There’s nowhere to go with Steve pinning him down at the hips, but he knows the Alpha feels him squirming, recognizes it for the request that it is. “Move,” James says, sounding more demanding than a good omega should. “God just…”

Steve has a hand in his hair and his nose in his neck before James can finish the sentence. A very low growl, almost a feeling more than a sound, is coming out steadily from his chest. It makes goosebumps break out on James’ arms. “Are you telling me what to do?” Steve asks.

Against the bed, Bucky’s mouth splits in a smug grin. This is what he wanted, what Brock would’ve done. At the height of his heats, all the asset wants, all James wants, is to be taken. To be held down and owned. James strains to look back over his shoulder. The angle is awkward but he ignores it, fixing Steve with what he hopes is a challenging stare. If he has to goad the alpha into a more feral headspace to get things done, then by god that’s exactly what he’ll do. “I came here to get fucked, so yeah, I am. Move,” he bites out, hoping that it will spur Steve into action. It does. He pulls out, ignoring James’ cry of protest. His big hands slide down to his hips and he gets onto his knees behind him. James follows, pressing back and presenting. He can feel Steve’s hands pulling him apart, baring his hole. There is silence and James knows without having to look that Steve is just staring at him. The thought of it makes him shudder. He presses his face into the bedding and whines.

“God,” Steve exclaims softly, dragging a thumb across his leaking hole. “You’re soaked.”

James cannot stop whining low, needy omega sounds. Then he feels the blunt head of Steve’s cock at his entrance and he moans. “Yes,” he hisses, though it’s muffled against the sheets. He presses his ass back harder, and that causes Steve to pop inside of him. The alpha grunts in surprise, but then he’s right back to thrusting, this time faster. Just as deep though, and god, if that isn’t exactly what James wants. “Oh, hugn—oh!” The noises he’s making are obscene but James hardly notices. They seem to drive Steve on, his hips slapping harder each time he moans particularly loud.

It goes on like this until James reaches for his own cock. He only gets a couple of strokes in before Steve is knocking his hand away. James cries out indignantly but then Steve pulls out, flips him over and pushes right back in. He wraps his hand around James’ cock, hips working at the same pace as his hand. He’s staring down at James with a burning intensity, breath heavy with his efforts. “Mine,” he growls, giving a calculated twist on the upstroke.

James’ eyes roll back in his head. “Ugh, fuuck.” It’s incredible and nothing he’s used to. No alpha has ever done this for him before, always leaving it to him to take care of. He can hardly thrust into the grip very well when he’s being fucked as hard as he is, but damn if he doesn’t try. “Please,” he groans, grappling at Steve’s shoulders for something to hold onto. He hardly knows what he’s asking for. The alpha is sweaty above him and James’ hands glide over the muscles in his back. “Please, Steve,”

Steve’s eyes shoot to his at the use of his name. Something raw and more intense than what they’re doing now passes through them, and before James knows what’s happening he’s being kissed. It’s not gentle. It’s plying, and insistent, and needy. God, is it needy. Steve is kissing him like it’s the answer to something and all James can do is go along for the ride.

“Bucky,” Steve is grunting at him when he finally parts enough to speak. James knows he’s speaking to him, so he opens his eyes to the nonsensical name. He doesn’t really care what this man calls him, so long as he never stops. “Buck I’m gonna,” Steve tells him, brow sweaty and pinched. “I have to.”

James groans, feeling how true the alpha’s words are. His knot is growing, tugging more insistently with every thrust. When it feels like Steve might pull away at the last second, James wraps his arms and legs around him in a fierce hold. “No,” he begs. “Inside me. I need it.” He’s not thinking even a little bit about the mission now, only the ache inside him. It’s an ache only a knot will fix, and he whimpers this to Steve as he holds him. “Knot me. Alpha, please. Want to feel it. Fill me up. Breed me.”

Steve makes a filthy sound and shoves forward, groaning long and low into James’ ear. His knot catches, fully blown as he climaxes. His hand has stopped moving over James’ cock but it hardly matters now. He’s rocking his hips shallowly, pulling his knot taut against James’ rim, pulsating it over his prostate again and again and again. James doesn’t need anything else to make him come spectacularly.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?”

Brock doesn’t turn around from the observation window. He figures Rollins is just here to taunt him anyway. “Nobody asked you to come in here,” he says quietly, attention still fixed on the pair in the next room.

“Yeah well…” Rollins comes up and stands right next to Brock, eyes taking in the same sight. “I was curious.” When Brock says nothing, he adds, “Looks like they’re finished.”

Brock scoffs and turns abruptly from the window, putting his back to it. “They’re not fucking finished.” Idiot, he wants to add. He scrubs his hands over his face and it occurs to him that he needs to shave. “That was just round one.” Brock doesn’t know about Rogers, but he is intimately familiar with his own omega’s stamina during a heat. “They’ll be in there for a good two days at least.”

“And you’re just going to stand here and watch?” Rollins rolls his eyes. “Stupid.”

“I can’t do anything else,” Brock snaps, irritated at his friend. “You’ve never been bonded. You wouldn’t understand.”

“No?”

“No.” He sighs. “You think what? It’s just jealousy?” He shakes his head. “I could handle that. But this… It’s like a physical ache.” He turns slightly to glance through the window again, thinks better of it, and turns back around. “Can’t stand it.”

“Can’t do anything to change it.” Rollins points out. “You never should’ve gotten so close. He’s just a thing, and at the end of the day he’s Hydra’s thing, not yours.”

“Yeah.” Brock really doesn’t have it in him to argue that point. He wants to, but he doesn’t. It isn’t like he doesn’t wish he could set the poor SOB free. But that’s never going to happen, and playing house with his bonded for the last six months has just been wishful thinking. “They still going at it?” he asks, unwilling to turn around and look again. He wasn’t exactly getting off on the sight before.

Rollins looks. “Naw. Resting.”

Brock grits his teeth, can’t keep the image of that goddamn super soldier, tied to his mate, out of his head.

“You think it’ll take?”

“Christ Rollins, you just don’t quit. Of course it will.” Pretty soon he’ll have to see the soldier, heavy with a litter of his pups. He hates it. Hates it more than anything.

Rollins shrugs and claps a hand onto Brock’s shoulder. “Don’t stay in here.” Another glance back. “He’s obviously not going to hurt ‘im. Leave them to it. Come and have a drink with me.”

Brock looks at Rollins then and really considers him. He calls him his friend, but the truth is the two of them are just the same as the Winter Soldier—property of Hydra. It’s taken years for him to realize it, but it’s true. Still, Rollins is offering him a drink now, and even more than that, a temporary escape. It’s the closest thing to friendly Brock’s ever gotten from the other man, and he figures it’s the best he’s going to get for a while. He might as well go. Because Rollins is right; he never should have gotten so close.

Brock sighs and nods at Rollins. Tells him, “Yeah. Yeah I think I will.”

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jungle-angel · 10 months

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His Little Doodlebug (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: There's a damn good reason you gave Amy the nickname "Doodlebug"

Rhett had always had a deep love-hate relationship with Wal Mart in the month of August. Usually you would go and take Amy on a little excursion by yourself while Rhett and Royal ran down to Tractor Supply to get parts for the neighbors' farming equipment, but ever since you had gotten pregnant, that task had fallen on Rhett while Wes, his best friend, had decided to help Royal.

Amy hurried off towards the clothing section, her little sandals flapping against the tiled floor with her little circus-clown ragdoll tucked under her arm. "Hey, slow down there Doodlebug," Rhett called after her.

Amy giggled, excited as ever as Rhett pushed the cart that already had a few extra garden things in it. He didn't really have much of an idea about what kinds of clothes would be the best fit for Amy, but he was damn sure gonna try.

It was a whole back and forth mess of texting you pictures of all the clothes he could find that hadn't already been cleared out, little pairs of shorts with the lace trim around the legs, pretty little gingham dresses in pink, blue, yellow, green, orange, purple and red, plenty of jeans and little sweaters that would serve her well in late fall and early winter. However, what you knew you couldn't get in the store, you'd make by hand which would include plenty of Irish knit sweaters for Amy and the new babies.

"Hey!" Rhett called playfully to Amy as she zoomed from one end of the aisle and back to him. "Don't you run from me Doodlebug."

Amy giggled again. "Can we get more clothes Daddy?"

"Not right now Doodlebug," Rhett told her. "We've still gotta go to the other place and get your other stuff for school."

"No we don't," Amy giggled.

"Yeah we do, you're goin into preschool at the hippie school where Momma teaches," Rhett told her.

Amy held onto her ragdoll with one hand and her other one gripping the beltloop of Rhett's jeans with her little fingers. As soon as the clothes and the plant stuff had been purchased, Rhett loaded Amy and the bags up into the truck to head for the next destination.

Back into the center of town he went with Amy in tow, to the little shop owned by Mrs. Newman, who in turn would be Amy's preschool teacher. You and Rhett absolutely loved her store and all the supplies she carried, the cozy building with its knotty pine floors, shelves full of yarn, brightly colored wools, stones, books, pastel colored cloth and a whole host of other things that the children at the school you taught at would need for the coming year.

Two boxes of block crayons, a little case of beeswax and a basket of wool later, Rhett finally had what he needed and even let Amy pick a few items for later. He thanked Mrs. Newman, promising that over the weekend he, Royal and Wes would be down to help her husband fix his horse trailer.

Home he went and finally pulled up the driveway just as the sun had begun to set. Wes's truck was no longer there, a sign that he had gone back over the hill to the reservation to bed down his own horses and cattle for the night, yet the porch light had remained on. Royal and Cecelia would most likely be sitting out in the porch rockers, Royal smoking a hand rolled cigar while Cecelia told him about everything that had happened in the day.

"Alright sweet pea, out," Rhett said, opening the truck door so Amy could get out.

Amy practically jumped out of the truck and ran for the house, yanking open the door as Rhett unloaded the truck and kicked off his shoes in the mudroom. The house smelled so good with the steaks just having been pulled off the grill along with the smells of white rice and green beans trailing it its wake.

"Oh jeez! Somebody's happy," Cecelia chuckled as Amy rushed to hug her.

"I was hoping the trip would tire her out," Rhett answered. "Hannah-Banana go to bed?"

"Nope," Cecelia answered. "She just ate, but I'll give her a bath in a few minutes."

"Thanks Ma," Rhett said, hugging his mother.

Cecelia took the clothing and supplies from him to put them away while he made Amy a plate full of steak, rice and green beans for her to eat before her bath.

Upstairs he went to his room, which had become your shared bedroom. Even though you were only five months along, you had already begun nesting, preparing the crib at the foot of the bed for the two little boys resting in your belly.

Rhett wrapped his arms around you and kissed your cheek, his hands coming to rest on your swollen bump. "Boys give you any trouble?" he asked.

You hummed, delighted by the warm breath on your cheek. "Not really," you sighed.

You two were yanked from the moment by the sound of Amy running through the upstairs hall in nothing but her pink wrap towel. "Daddy, can I use Momma's bubble bath?"

You two laughed and shook your heads. "Give Momma a minute honey," you told her.

Amy zoomed back into the bathroom as the bathtub filled up. You grabbed the pink grapefruit bubble bath out of the medicine cabinet and poured a little bit of the slimy pink liquid in for her and watched it foam.

"Guess someone had a bad case of the zoomies tonight," you laughed.

"Yep," Rhett answered. "Guess that's why we call her 'Doodlebug'."

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #amy abbott #royal abbott #cecelia abbott #royal x cecelia abbott

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hope7513 · 4 months

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The Music

An Ellie Williams x reader fanfiction

in which the reader is in love with her roommate includes : modern!ellie musician!ellie, composer!ellie, roommate!ellie, best friend!ellie, romantic/soft!ellie, angst, fluff, let me know if i missed anything. this is my first post so be nice

The soft, dampened sounds of Ellie’s work and thoughts being played through the small piano drifted in the air all that sunny, late-winter afternoon, wafting through the air, towards your door, and out the open window, to be replaced by a chilly breeze.

Ellie’s music was nothing new. She was constantly making something, working long term on musical projects and creations. It seemed as if she formed a bond with each one, never truly leaving them behind, while simultaneously falling in love with another of its kind.

And you listened. You grew and lived with each piece she made. Every day, the things Ellie created became more and more perfect, more and more enhanced and beautiful. You fell in love with the sounds, each of them outlining stories of experiences you shared with Ellie, the soundtracks to certain chapters yours and Ellie’s novel.

That certain day was one that was specifically tied with a song. Ellie’s current piece was unnamed as of yet, but you remembered it as one that was to be played warm and soft, while the harmonies danced around with each other in a way that created a beautiful friction— like of that between butter and toast.

You got up from your position of study to go out to get a snack, but also as an excuse to get closer to the blissful noises. As you walked out, you saw Ellie, somewhat disheveled; hair tied back but still messy, sleeves rolled up, glasses slipping down her nose. Yet, the closer your eyes got to the piano, the more peaceful the scene became: her arms moving and swaying along with the sway of the music, and closer yet, her fingers connecting with the music, in perfect harmony with the very things they were making.

As you opened the fridge, you heard the soft sounds of Ellie's playing stop, almost to your disappointment. "Hey," you heard her voice from where she sat. She sighed a small, tired sigh and asked, "How's your studying going?"

"Uh, fine, I guess. Really boring, though. What about, uh, that piece? It sounds really beautiful." Your awkward disposition only further cut off your ability to convey to Ellie how you truly felt towards her music.

"Uh, I don't know. Something isn't sitting right with me about it yet, but I can't figure out what it is." Ellie looked at you, her beautiful green eyes brewing up a request, sending a grin onto her face. She cocked her head, motioning for you to sit next to her on the small piano bench. "I think I might just need a fresh set of ears on it."

You took a spot next to Ellie, your right leg lightly toucher her left, and when Ellie was settled and ready, she began to play.

It was the same song as before, but an entirely different experience. The music seemed to be so much closer. In fact, it seemed not only to be embracing you, but even flowing into you as the vibrations of each note, soft and connected and warm. Ellie truly created a world with her music, and she had transported you into it.

By the time the piece was over, you knew you had to leave the magical world you had enjoyed so deeply, and give Ellie the advice she had asked for in the first place.

Luckily, even in your dreamy state, your mind was still able to be analytical about the music Ellie had played.

"It's the time signature," you said, pointing at the music. "You have it written in 4/4, but you're playing it in threes, so you gotta switch it to 9/8. That's why the downbeats are so fucked up."

This was when you got to see Ellies thinking process, through her facial expressions. At first she looked intently at her music with furrowed eyebrows, and then realization flashed across her face and she moved swiftly, changing the things that needed to be fixed. Once her process was over, she looked at me and smiled.

"That was exactly it," she smacked the side of your leg light-heartedly. You knew she was oblivious to the experience she had just given you. She stood up and stretched, groaning a tired groan.

You looked up at Ellie, admired at how she could produce something so beautiful so nonchalantly. "It really does sound beautiful," you said, standing up and gazing into Ellie's eyes. She met yours as well, matching you in meaning and intent. "How do you do it?" You ask.

She giggled and plopped onto the couch. "What are you talking about," she said with a grin and skeptical gaze.

"You know what you do." You try your best to shield your thoughts from how in love with her, and everything she did, you were.

"If you're talking about my music, uh.... I don't even know. It's a gift that I'm glad to have, though. It's like I just sit down with an idea-- like sometimes I look at a picture, or just sit by the piano after a nature walk-- and my thoughts just flow out through the music."

The two of you just sat for a moment until a question popped in your head. "What inspired this piece?"

A very light shade of pink flashed on Ellies face, but she brought out her phone and opened the photos app. She pulled up a picture of a sunset shining through a window, silhouetting a girl who looked down at the work in front of her. And that girl was- you...

You looked into her eyes and she only smiled back, looking just as deeply into yours, your faces hardly inches apart. The only way to interpret how you felt in that moment seemed through the music Ellie had played not too long ago.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams #wlw #ellie tlou #tlou #tlou2 #fanfic #x reader #first post #short story #part 1?#story #original story #fiction #writing #lesbian #fluff #angst

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neonponders · 1 year

Text

Inspired by @gorbovsky-l ‘s art ✨🏀

[ Steve goes to the s4 basketball game but it’s for Billy. ]

~ my drabbles anthology on ao3 ~

• • •

Steve was grumpy, he could admit that. Well, he could admit it now that it had been a few hours. That didn’t stop him and Robin having an immature spat in the car over over Fast Times with the word boobies flying around.

Then, “Just get whatever is occupying your braincell off your shoulders, already.”

Steve’s jaw had dropped, openly gaping at the road towards Hawkins High. “We’re talking about your love life - lack thereof.”

“Hush.”

“Oh, am I talking or hushing?”

Robin burst out into tired, 7am giggles. “You’re so petty when you miss him.”

Steve sighed through his nose in defeat. He did miss him. Between the summer, the school year starting for the new batch of seniors, and winter basketball camp, Steve felt like he rarely saw his boyfriend. He had a green Hargrove 7 jersey in his trunk since the team was using the white jerseys for their final game, and that in itself was annoying.

Come get your jersey.

Come see me.

Steve couldn’t even fault Billy for being committed to something. He just wished it was a little more Steve and a lot less basketball.

But everything was fine. The bubble was about to break. They were finally having a home game, and it was the championship to boot. Steve’s back seat was crowded to show for it with Robin’s band attire: feather duster helm and all.

Steve was a sap. He knew it. He was ready for something long haul, but he hadn’t grown too far from the feeling of being a senior. He knew what it felt like to be a strong, upperclassman. Looked up to. On the verge of the rest of his life. He didn’t want to steal that from Billy just because they’d spent the summer being split up by jobs, hospitals, school, basketball camp...saving the world from a catastrophe that nearly took Billy away forever.

Maybe Steve wasn’t being too unreasonable.

But it also meant that Billy needed normalcy more than ever. He certainly deserved it.

So Steve dropped Robin off, and he went to Family Video for the long wait before tonight’s basketball game. The phone usually wasn’t too busy during the day, but he could predict some noise around lunchtime and the end of his shift. Today, lunchtime rang.

“Family Video, this is Steve.”

“Steve! It’s me.”

“Oh, hey, Dustin,” Steve greeted in something just a little better than a monotone. As if Dustin didn’t call from the school’s payphone every other day. “What’s up?”

Steve slowly grimaced as Dustin told him he had to fill in for Lucas at that night’s D&D campaign. Dustin got demoted back to his last name.

“Henderson, I graduated. I can’t go to your silly club session.”

“Well, Lucas has his stupid basketball game!”

“It’s not stupid. It’s the championship. You, me, and Max all know how much work he and the team have been putting into this season.”

The team. Billy. Billy was the team. Even with his injuries, recovery, and hard ass mindset that made him a lousy patient, Billy still maintained the stage presence to run the court.

He was still an asshole, but an observant one that had him taking Steve’s place as captain instead of the entitled judge’s son, Jason Carver. Billy might’ve been mean on the court but he was indifferent - even nice - in the locker room. Carver played nice on the court but wasn’t so nice off stage. Everyone’s doubts at the start of the season had been quickly put to rest.

“It’s a game, Steve - ”

“And your weird board game isn’t?”

“D&D involves weeks of plot, strategy, improvisation, and the statistical gamble of dice - ”

“Yeah, I seem to remember weeks of planning, myself. Whatever, I’ll be at the school supporting your friend for you. Uh oh, customers. Gotta go. Bye.”

“No- Steve!”

He was pretty sure he could hear Dustin cussing him out even though the phone was back on its mount. He smiled at the customers and tried to keep his glances at the clock to a minimum.

The day was easy until 4pm. Steve almost leapt out of his skin when he realized school had ended. Old habits. Today, it did mean the end of his shift, though, so he clocked out and went home to freshen up.

Freshen up for what, he didn’t know. He might have some old habits but he’d forgotten how stuffy the gymnasium could get during a game. Probably because he usually spent games on the spacious court, not the stands -

“Hey, Steve!”

He rotated to see...Stacie. No. De-uh-B-Brenda! “Brenda, hi.”

Her teased and permed hair floated around her as she smiled and walked with him into the gym. “How are you? It’s so weird. Like, half our class is gone, and the rest are hard to find.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Steve said, even though he didn’t, really. All of his enduring friends were younger. With the exception of a very - tragic - few, they were somehow all alive, too.

Brenda meant alumni who had moved away. Steve didn’t contribute this much.

Predictably, spaces were available in the bleachers next to the band. People usually didn’t want to be right next to the noise, but this meant he could be close to Robin. He kept his tone jovial and polite as he curtly gestured at the bleachers. “I’m heading up.”

“Sure!” she chimed, accepting his hand for a boost. Not really his intention, but he’d never had any issue with Brenda. She was nice, smelled good. Great at math but just as crap as he was in Mrs. Click’s English. She tasted like bubble gum when they made out at a football game three years ago. All things considered, she and Steve were on easy footing.

Until Tammy Thomson showed up to sing the National Anthem.

He and Robin caught each other’s side-eye the same time. Told you, he mouthed. Muppet -

“Wow,” Brenda breathed. “She sounds amazing, doesn’t she?”

Steve smiled on autopilot, and just as quickly recoiled once her head had turned back to the performance.

He tried not to rock too strongly on his feet. He didn’t need everyone on the bleachers looking at him like x-ray vision, making him feel exposed and ready to scream over how he needed Robin’s sass, the weekend, a freaking burger, and Billy to run his mouth. A lot of mouth. A lot of...

Steve raked his hands through his hair, stuck between thinking the world of his boyfriend out there on the court and the fact that they were losing. The white jersey actually covered all of Billy’s scars, but Steve and Robin could see his fatigue arriving faster than the rest of the team. They glanced at each other, only interrupted by Max manifested between them.

“Hey,” Steve frowned. “Have you been here the whole time?”

She glanced at him, deadpan. “Duh. Which of us is going to convince him to sit on the bench?”

Steve blew air between his lips so they vibrated. “I thought you knew him better than I did. Billy doesn’t take losing well.”

Max glared at him. “He’s going to have a heart attack.”

“He’s in good hands,” Steve defended, but he could feel his confidence rapidly draining. “Peter Townsend is diabetic and the couches always kept an eye on him.”

Max grimaced at him like he had spoken another language, but as soon as she tried to say more, their coach called for a timeout. The team huddled up, and it wasn’t a big wonder why. Their best player had more than run out of steam, he’d overspent himself, and they only had a minute left to get anything done. Covered in sweat and rocking with their breaths, the team listened to Carver arguing with coach until a decision had been made. They needed a fresh player who could make the most out of a minute, and they had one.

“SINCLAIR! You’re in!”

Max and Steve heard the freshman gawk. “Huh?”

“You’re in! Son, let’s go!”

He ditched his warm-up jacket and ran into the huddle for the plan. Steve crossed his arms after giving Max a tug on her jacket so she would get off the stairs and stand with him. Billy would skin them alive later if they made a scene of approaching him on the bench, so they had to stay put.

To everyone’s trepidation, shock, and jubilant relief, Lucas delivered. Saving the world a few times had made him sharp, adaptable, and frugal with every second. The nerd managed to convert all of it into a game he had only started playing this summer.

And to top it off, he landed the final shot. Hawkins High won the game.

Steve exploded, jumping and yelling and waving his arms. Max screamed Lucas’s name, clapping her hands until her palms glowed scarlet. When the referee’s whistle coupled the scoreboard in announcing the game over, the team crowded around Lucas and Billy, and the court flooded with people.

Steve moved through the crowd easily with Max in tow, and finally - finally - got a face full of Billy. Running made his hair light and fluffy, eyes glowing as he realized who were holding onto him.

He called, “Hang on! Hang on!” and Steve let him go as the team finally set Lucas down onto his feet after hoisting him up. Billy gripped his shoulder for his attention, and Lucas accepted his hand. “Not bad, Sinclair. Not bad.”

Lucas beamed, only for his smile to drop into shock at seeing Max. “Max! You came?”

“Yeah, whatever,” she scoffed, but with a smile. Then Lucas hugged her and she looked ready to punch him. “Oh- Ew. Gross, you’re disgusting. How are you this sweaty after only a minute?”

The older teammates laughed for some reason but they all got hustled into the locker room - including Steve. He didn’t realize his blunder until the coach started doing a congratulatory speech to the team, and Steve slipped behind a wall of lockers to head toward the door...but he didn’t leave. He wanted to know what the coach had to say on Billy’s behalf. He wanted to know how the team treated him and Lucas.

He both got it and didn’t, since the coach tactfully uplifted everyone without dragging out everyone’s flaws. That was good. Billy couldn’t take a compliment without being reminded of how he had to sit out the rest of the game. More importantly, the coach spoke about how grateful he was to have the seniors under his wings after such a year.

For a gut-wrenching second, Steve thought the coach was going to mention the kids who were still “missing” from the summer.

He didn’t. He kept the room on high feelings, warning the rest of the team that winning a championship wouldn’t make things easy next season, and that they had summer training to look forward to. He reminded them to clean up after themselves, and saw himself out right as somebody unearthed a boombox from their gym bag.

“Why the hell did you bring that thing?”

“To either celebrate or wallow in our sorrows,” came the reply, followed by laughter and rowdy singing...

Steve looked up when a pair of pants was thrown over the wall of lockers. Right under the waistband of the sweatpants, was a Hawkins tiger, and a yellow number seven. Steve smiled and yanked it all the way onto his side.

Billy soon followed, coming around the lockers to find his pants in Steve’s hands. A bright smile flashed on his face before he reigned it in and sauntered toward him. He had to get close to be heard over the noise of music, singing, and locker rattling. “You’re a weird dust bunny.”

Thank goodness for the noise, because Steve snorted as he reached for him. “Come here.”

Billy let him. Billy never would’ve let him before July of 1985. But Billy let him now, cradling the sweaty-damp junction of his skull and neck, nuzzling his nose with Billy’s to encourage Billy to finish the distance. Billy’s lips were soft, unbearably soft and insistent. His arms initially went around Steve’s body, hands sliding over his shoulder blades and then down, down to give the hillocks of his ass cheeks a lift.

At least Billy had some tact, because the bubble burst and Steve tilted his head for more. Billy’s hands lifted up for his waist, incidentally hiking up Steve’s grey shirt but no further. Lockers chimed behind Billy’s back when Steve pushed him against them. Steve felt more than heard Billy’s low hum in his throat, the vibration on his lips and the breath from his nose.

Steve didn’t care that Billy had a game’s worth of sweat and filth on his skin. The only thing keeping him in check was his concern for Billy’s heart and lungs. Kissing made him out of breath, sometimes. For Steve it was as blissful as it was scary.

But this time, Billy chased his lips when he pulled back. His hand found Steve’s hair and Steve felt teeth in their kiss -

A locker slammed over the music, inducing someone to holler, “Sinclair! You comin’ tonight?”

“Uh, let me think on it. I’m gonna shower real fast!”

Billy stepped off where he’d been leaning against the lockers and Steve composed himself in time for Lucas to step into view. He tried to play it casual, but his wide eyes said, Scram, already!

Steve smiled bashfully and waved him away. To Billy, he asked, “Are you coming over?”

Billy scoffed and Steve couldn’t blame him. Big championship party tonight -

“You joking? I’m moving in. I’m exhausted and I want pancakes everyday for the next week.”

A stupid giggle spat out of him. He might’ve actually spit a little. Steve felt like he could cry. He didn’t, though. He’d cried enough for a whole summer.

“Deal... How do I get out of here?”

Billy smirked and nodded his head toward the bathroom side of the locker room. “We’re about to run Sinclair out of the showers.”

#harringrove #s4 #post s3 #neonponders

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