#it won’t be the new year for like six more hours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wife-of-all-dilfs · 9 months

Text

pretty fixation, wicked temptation | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season six - one-hundred-and-twenty-five years in cryosleep made both you and bellamy crave each other’s touch, but you need a place to satisfy your urges without disruption. perhaps a new planet would do the trick. and what better way to heighten the anticipation than with a little challenge?

warnings: porn with plot, sexual crying??, teasing/taunting, mild gore, mild exhibitionism, murphy being a cockblock, mild size kink, mild bdsm, begging

note: this is the first one-shot/smut I’ve ever written so I kinda went overboard, but I promise it’s worth it in the end. you can imagine a different season of bellamy if you want (fuck you) but I personally think he’s extremely hot in season 6.

word count: 16.7k

“…I hope your lives there will be as happy as mine has been,” an aged Monty spoke on the monitor. “Be the good guys. May we meet again.”

You stared out the window of Eligius IV in awe, arms crossed over your chest whilst taking in the view of the planet you would soon call home. Plant Alpha. A place where, hopefully, everyone could find redemption. For you, it would be a place where you would find peace with your friends and family. And your boyfriend, Bellamy Blake.

“I know this is a lot to process,” Bellamy’s deep voice spoke to the group. “Take an hour, and then meet in the mess. We need to game this out.”

A few people in the room had a short dispute, but you tuned out their bickering, gaze locked on the view outside. Everyone began to disperse, leaving the room to gather their thoughts about what the future held for the last remnants of humanity. Everyone but you and Bellamy.

Your vision shifted from focusing on Planet Alpha to watching Bellamy walk towards you in the window’s reflection. He had changed drastically since the day you and the other Ark prisoners were sent to the ground. His body was broader, and more muscular due to the unrelenting battles he fought on Earth. His arms were bigger, stronger, and probably capable of carrying the weight of two people at once. And his hands, god, his hands—they were your ultimate weakness. They were much bigger compared to your own; his fingers were thicker and longer as well, and the things he could do with them… indescribable.

He now had a short, dark beard that circled his mouth and sparsely covered the sides of his jaw. You always loved the way it tickled your face whenever he kissed you and when it rubbed against your inner thighs whilst he went down on you.

What had changed the most was his mentality, which somehow made you fall even deeper in love with him. Bellamy Blake may have been twenty-three when you first met him, but he was then still just a boy. Now, he was a man.

“You okay?” he asked, his arm snaking around your waist as his towering frame stood beside you.

Leaning into his body, you both soaked in the rays of the two suns shining through the ship’s window.

“Just hoping we don’t make the same mistakes we did back on Earth,” you spoke. “There are a lot of people on this ship in need of a second chance.”

Bellamy chuckled. “Yeah. More like a fifth chance.”

You smiled, humming in agreement.

“This time will be different,” he continued, eyes narrowed at the planet in front of them. “We can’t keep making the same mistakes without learning from them. We won’t have bombs, or missiles, or war. I’ll make sure of it; if not for the last of humanity, then for you.”

You turned your head to look at him. Such a softie.

“I ever tell you how much I love you?” You reached one of your crossed arms across your torso and rested it on his which was cupping your waist.

In response, Bellamy’s hold tightened just a little bit more, causing your heart to fumble from the affectionate gesture. “On a few occasions.”

However short the one-hundred-and-twenty-five years in cryosleep felt to your mind, your body could feel the effects of lacking physical touch for such a long time. Bellamy’s touch. Apparently, he felt the exact same way.

“I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in over a century.” His voice became soft. He turned your body to face him with his back now facing the window. Dark brown eyes gazed down at you with an intensity only he could create, sending a sudden desire to let him absolutely ravage you right where you stood. His free hand reached up to your face and gently stroked the side of your cheek, the other now caressing the exposed skin of your waist. “Or touched you.”

Closing your eyes, you focused on the areas in which his skin connected with yours. Having been in a relationship with him for a few years, his touch became a familiar sensation. Despite that, on a purely physical level, your body had forgotten the pleasure-filled heights to which he could take you. Everything seemed new again, like the very first time he touched you.

And no matter the fact that time in cryosleep seemed like it passed instantaneously, neither of you could deny the obvious pining your bodies felt for one another.

You stepped closer, hands moving to rest on his chest. The distance between your bodies closed and you whispered, “Or felt me.”

His hands stilled, realising what you had meant. He leaned backwards, enough to get a good view of the look in your eyes. It was something deep and hungry for release. Sure, you’ve both had sex plenty of times; you’ve fucked rough and fast, made love sweet and slow—however many other variations there were, you’d done it—but Bellamy had never seen your desire for him appear as powerful as this.

Your eyes were swirling with a dark passion, like rolling waves in desperate need of a crest. Your cheeks were flushed, pupils so dilated your irises were almost obscured, and lips reddened and becoming plump even despite having made no contact with his own yet. It was no doubt a mirror of what you were feeling inside.

He took in a long deep breath, eyebrows furrowed as he took in your appearance, trying to steady his heartbeat which was raging out of control. You looked so beautiful. All the blood in his body drained to the lower half of him, leaving him light-headed and fuzzy, lust being the only thing to fill the contents of his mind. Bellamy could never stop lusting after you, he had just learned to control it. A one-hundred-year wait seemed like a perfectly acceptable reason to let loose a little.

“Fuck,” was all he said before his lips came crashing down onto yours.

It didn’t start slow, but rather fast and desperate. So desperate. Even so, your mouth moved in sync with his, alternating between sucking in quick breaths of air, kissing his soft yet rough lips, and allowing him to run his tongue over your own. Your hands moved up into his pushed-back hair, fingers delving between his brown waves to give a small tug, pulling a groan from inside him that buzzed against your lips.

He pulled you closer to his body with strong arms wrapped around your back, the sensitivity between your thighs coming into contact with his hardness. The material of your pants rubbing against you only enhanced the shiver-inducing sensation.

You reigned your focus back onto his lips. His mouth was hot against yours, unrelenting, catching your lips with his between each frantic breath of air. His tongue rolled over your own, so intricate and possessive as it pushed into your mouth.

Before you knew it, his hands had moved to the backs of your thighs and lifted you into his arms; your lips never disconnected. This was a movement you had both performed many times, so it wasn’t done without skill. He took a few steps forward before placing you on the control bench behind you. You hoped there were no important buttons beneath you that would cause End of Humanity 4.0.

His mouth moved from yours and down to your jaw, cupping his hand on the side of your neck to keep your head steady. You couldn’t tell if it was a moan or a sigh that escaped you. Maybe it was a mix of both, but whatever it was, it egged him on further. He had moved down to your neck, sucking and nipping at the soft, delicate skin. This time you were sure it was a moan you let out.

He curled his hand around your neck just below your jaw, careful not to apply too much pressure, but just enough to remain in control. He loved to be in control; he also knew how much you enjoyed it too. You loved how small he made you feel compared to him, how he could dominate you without an ounce of effort.

Your legs and his were in between one another like two puzzle pieces fit together, his knee between your thighs and pressing against your clit without him even realising it. Grabbing onto his shoulders for support, you pushed yourself further onto his knee, beginning to grind yourself against him as he continued to press kisses to your neck.

“Eager, huh?” his voice vibrated against your skin.

Now he knew.

Having realised what you were doing, he pushed further onto you, heightening the pressure as you rolled your hips against him. Your head fell back. It had been so long since your body had experienced such pleasure; you knew it wouldn’t take much to reach climax. Not that it mattered. It always took you both a few rounds before you were too exhausted to move anymore. Sometimes, even fatigue couldn’t stop you two.

After deciding enough damage was done to your neck, he returned to your mouth, this time slower and more sensual.

You could have easily come undone the way you were going, grinding yourself against him but knew it would be nothing compared to the release given by his hands. Greedy as you were, you wanted—needed—more, and you knew he would never deny such a request. Your satisfaction was his own after all.

“Bellamy,” you breathed against his lips. “Touch me.”

His forehead came to rest against your own, he too breathless from the heat of the situation.

“Didn’t know you were into exhibitionism, princess,” he spoke lowly with a smirk.

“Who said I was?”

“Well, technically, we have a whole world watching us.”

You rolled your eyes, a playful grin stretching across your lips only to be intersected by a short gasp as you felt his hand slip through the waistband of your pants and press against your clit.

The second you felt his fingers apply pressure and begin to move, the door to the room burst open.

“Hey, you guys need… Jesus Christ!”

Bellamy’s hand left you quicker than it came, or quicker than you came to be more exact. The both of you jumped up from your positions and turned to see Murphy standing at the door, eyes squeezed shut.

“You ever heard of knocking, Murphy,” Bellamy grumbled.

“It’s the fucking comms room!” he complained. “Just–we need you guys out in the mess hall. Now. Oh my god.”

He made quick work of leaving the room, mumbling something about rather having a missile dropped on him than ever having to witness that again.

You looked at Bellamy who seemed to share the same flustered state as you.

He blew out a stabilising breath and placed a hand behind your back. “Come on, we should see what they want.”

Still slightly trembling, you nodded, allowing him to guide the both of you out of the room as you attempted to fix your dishevelled hair. After walking together down a few hallways in tense silence, you both reached the mess hall to see the group sitting around a table, discussing something quietly among themselves. Among them was Murphy, who overdramatically shuddered at the sight of you two.

Before you could walk over, Bellamy grabbed your upper arm, leaning down until his hair brushed against your temple and he whispered, “I’m not done with you.”

He slid past you and walked towards everyone else, acting casual as they all burst into conversation. A minute or two passed until you had regained enough composure to join the group.

**********

It had been about two hours since the incident in the comms room. A plan had been set in place regarding their journey to the ground. One minute, you were safe and sound on Eligius IV, and the next, you and a small group were descending into the atmosphere of Planet Alpha in a ship.

There was a giant, wall-length window on the front of the ship that revealed the outside surroundings once you dipped below the clouds. This world was… otherworldly. Literally. The largest sun bathed the world in a constant orange glow, and the surface was covered in an abundance of vibrant green trees that sat atop various hills and rocky snow-covered mountains. All the clouds were a light orange; the sky was more pink and orange than blue. It was like they had entered a landscape painting depicting heaven.

Everyone seemed to share the same look of astonishment.

Shaw turned in his seat to face everyone. “Boys and girls, meet Planet Alpha.”

With a shudder, the ship finally planted itself on the ground, the machine hum cutting off as the rockets stopped firing. Belt buckles clicked as everybody stood from their seats, moving in front of the door, awaiting its opening. You looked beside you to see Bellamy with that same tiny grin he had the first time they opened the dropship doors. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. Technically, it was well over a lifetime ago.

He pulled down the lever and the door began to fall open. A gust of breathable fresh air wafted in your face and you inhaled deeply. It was sweet and unpolluted. Everyone remained still as they took in the incredible scenery. There were no words to describe it.

“Anyone got anything better than ‘we’re back bitches’?” Miller jested.

“Yeah,” you spoke. “Let’s not bite the apple this time.”

There were a few chuckles, a few sentimental words exchanged, along with a few heated words spoken between Shaw and Clarke. Some people were still upset over her betrayal back on Earth. What they were yet to realise was that this was not Earth, this was someplace new, a place for second chances and new beginnings.

They were supposed to be looking for a beacon that depicted a safe place for them to take up residence. Shaw, along with his tracking device, began heading in the beacon’s direction and soon enough everyone else followed suit.

You took a few moments for yourself to take in the surroundings and silently thank Monty and Harper for their sacrifice. A bittersweet smile sat on your lips and a single tear slipped down your cheek. A Garden of Eden this was, and they’d be damned if they let another serpent in.

Without even realising it, Bellamy had stood beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulder before pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“We’ll do better this time,” he reassured as if he could read your mind.

You turned your head and pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder.

His eyes crinkled as a soft smile grew on his lips. “Come on, let's catch up to the others.”

And so, you did.

Following Bellamy until you caught up with the rest of the group, you began the journey to the beacon, trekking through the new and undisturbed forest. Though it was beautiful, you still had a lingering fear of what might lurking in the thick clusters of trees. Maybe there were Grounders here too. At least they were human beings with actual consciences. This was an entirely new planet in an entirely new solar system so there could be animals or beings they had never encountered before.

All you could do was pray you weren’t on the bottom of the food chain.

An hour or two passed before the forest began to thin out and give way to a lake of pristine blue water surrounded by overlooking mountains.

“Looks like we found a water source,” Bellamy spoke as they stepped onto the tan sand. “We’ll camp here tonight and continue on at first light.”

They were confronted wave after wave with the planet’s beauty without end. It almost seemed too perfect. As everyone was distracted by the new view, Murphy began walking towards the water, removing a piece of clothing with each step, completely disregarding the fact that he had healing bullet holes on his body.

You stepped forward to stop him just as the others did. “Murphy, wait, your–”

He glanced back at you, cutting your sentence off. “Comms room!”

That shut you up, as well as causing your face to redden intensely.

Clarke stepped beside you, watching as Murphy took off his shirt and stepped into the water, diving beneath the surface. “What was that about?”

“Uh, nothing.” You side-eyed Bellamy who was shifting his weight, clearly uncomfortable.

Soon enough, Murphy had resurfaced, his wounds bleeding and turning the water around him a faint rust colour. Not that he cared.

“Come on in, the water’s fine!” he shouted.

Emori was next to enter the water, though not entirely at her own will. It was nice to see her and Murphy enjoying themselves, but who said they could have all the fun?

Without a second thought, you unclipped your backpack and dropped it to the ground, tying your hair into a low bun with the band on your wrist. You lifted your long-sleeve shirt over your head, leaving you only in your low-cut tank top. You had thought it would have been Bellamy who was first to notice, except it was Clarke whose eyes were now trained on your chest.

Brows raised, you motioned to your eyes with two fingers. “Eyes up here, Clarke.”

She cleared her throat and mumbled an apology, focusing back on Emori and Murphy.

You walked over to Bellamy, standing beside him as he watched the scene in front of him. His attention quickly shifted to you as your hip brushed against his hand.

“What d’you say, Blake?” You unbuttoned your jeans, pushing them down to your ankles and stepping out. “Up for a swim?”

His lips parted as he stared down at your half-naked figure. Before he had a chance to answer, you were making your way down to the water with a tantalising grin. You were nothing if not a tease and he knew that firsthand. A little extra sway in your hips was all it took for him to start removing his own backpack and undressing his upper body.

The water had reached up to your hips before a pair of hands abruptly grabbed onto your waist. A short shriek escaped your throat before you were tackled beneath the water. Resurfacing, you wiped the water from your eyes, coming face-to-face with an amused Bellamy.

“Asshole!” You attempted to push his chest, but he didn’t budge, instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist again and began dragging you both further out.

“So easily riled up,” he teased with a smirk.

Sighing defeatedly, you leaned into his grasp, allowing him to keep you both afloat. Bellamy could just touch the lake floor, so you knew if he let you go, you would be drowning. Swimming wasn’t exactly anyone’s strong suit, so you just hoped you hadn’t done anything previously to piss him off.

Your legs curled around his torso. At first, the action was innocent, but then you realised that the little performance you made on the beach had consequences. Hard consequences that he seemed to be very aware of. Eyes blown wide with surprise, you squeezed your legs around his hips, grounding yourself onto him.

He grunted softly, tightening his hold on you. “You do that again and I won’t care if everyone is watching.”

The deep sense of possession enveloped in his voice sent warm tingles running down your spine, replacing the coldness of the water surrounding your body. Knowing him, he probably wasn’t lying either, especially given both of your rising desires for each other. For a split second, you were ready to test the legitimacy of his threat, but rationality was quick to jump in.

As you loosened your hold around him, you were unsure whether the look he gave you was of praise or displeasure. If you couldn’t do that, then you would at least take advantage of the opportunity for another type of intimacy.

Placing a hand on either side of his jaw, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his which he was quick to reciprocate. Droplets of fresh water dripped from the wet strands across his forehead, mixing between your skin and his, and alleviating the heat of each other’s desire.

His hands ran up and down your back underneath your saturated tank top, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake. Over and over, you kissed him and then you’d take a split second to get some air. It quickly became a pattern yet each time your lips met became more and more exhilarating.

The moment was rapidly becoming more fervent with each passing second. Soon enough, you were clinging onto each other, the water rippling from your bodies moving ever-so-slightly against one another to create some kind of friction. You could hear Bellamy’s breathing become quick and uneven, just like your own. You could feel his tongue glide across your bottom lip as if to knock before entering. And just before you could let him in, you were pulled apart…

“Hey. Hey! None of that shit,” Murphy demanded from a distance.

Bellamy pulled away first, visibly frustrated as he turned his head to your interrupter.

You simply pinched the bridge of your nose and groaned, one hand still holding onto his shoulder.

“Shut up, Murphy!” you and Bellamy shouted in unison.

Even Emori was quick to come to your aid. “Come on, John, they were just kissing.”

“You haven’t seen the things I’ve seen,” you heard him murmur to her.

**********

The sky was blanketed in darkness long after the two suns dipped below the horizon. Insects were chirping, a small fire was crackling in the centre of the group, and tiny waves were cresting on the shore. You were leaning against a log of driftwood, legs extended in front of you as you gazed at the giant, ringed planet in the sky, its purple and pink hue reflecting on the lake’s surface.

Peace. Or so it would have been if not for the chaos running rampant in your mind.

Bellamy’s lips. Bellamy’s hands. Bellamy’s fingers. Your eyes fluttered shut. Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy–

A loud pop from the fire sounded which startled you from your thoughts.

Opening your eyes, you looked around the camp. Everybody else seemed to be in their own little worlds too, unable to shake the incredulity of knowing they were now on an alien planet. Clarke was on her back, gazing up at the foreign sky above; Jackson was enthusing about the unfamiliar wildlife. Echo simply admired the tall mountains that encompassed the lake, an expression of gratitude reflecting on her face. You would feel the same way too if your hormones weren’t raging like that of a teenage boy’s.

To add fuel to the fire—quite literally—Bellamy was bent over the flames, cyan blue sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and feeding more wood to the blaze. His dark curls were pushed back from his face apart from a few stray strands. His skin was shining from the humidity, sending your mind spiralling into a visualisation of the times he was on top of you, all sweaty and hitting that eye-rolling spot inside of you over and over.

You sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. This was ridiculous; he was your boyfriend and yet every time he was near, your body responded to him like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Something on your mind?”

He had sat down beside you, your shoulders now pushed up against one another.

More like ‘someone’, you thought.

“Nope.” You crossed your legs over one another, thighs squeezing together in the hopes of providing some kind of relief. You couldn’t even bear to look at him, afraid that your willpower would come crumbling to ruins. “No thoughts up here.”

Bellamy eyed your visibly flustered state, one cocky eyebrow raised.

His hand moved onto your leg. “Liar. I know your tells. And this,” he murmured whilst squeezing the inner plush of your thigh, “is one of them.”

Finally, your gaze met his, almost like you were in a standoff. He knew how much you were suffering. Mostly because he was too.

“Bellamy,” you warned.

He turned back to the fire, slowly kneading your inner thigh. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh oh.”

The flickering flames reflecting in his dark brown irises turned them a blazing orange but did nothing to alleviate the darkness that was sitting just behind his eyes. Taunting him probably wasn’t the brightest idea at that moment.

Then again, it also held the potential to be a fantastic idea. You knew how he got when pushed to his limits.

“Seems like we can’t go five minutes without being interrupted,” he began, curling his hand around your thigh. “So, I figured we may as well turn it into a challenge.”

“A challenge?” you asked, moving your hand on top of his and taking control.

He nodded.

Slowly, you began to guide his hand further up your thigh, inch by inch. As expected, he showed no resistance. You could even see the imprint on the front of his pants which were now tight for the third time that day. “And what exactly does this challenge involve?”

As you got closer to the destination you craved most, your movements became slower, and more delayed, contrasting to the increasing pace of your chest rising and falling. Your shoulders pushed back against the driftwood, your body reclining just a tiny bit further as you stared up at him, lips parted.

Bellamy watched his hand travel beneath your own, completely transfixed. “We, uh, see who can last longer without…” he trailed off as your thighs clamped tighter around him.

The side of his hand brushed against your clit through the material of your pants and your breath hitched. Thank god everyone else was too distracted to notice the situation unfolding before them. The fire was probably doing you both some favours as well.

“Without…?” you coaxed him on.

You pressed him firmer against you, rolling your hips in small circles to create the sensation you’d been longing for. He didn’t move, only allowing you to use him for your own pleasure. The muscles in your stomach flexed as tingles quickly spread across the lower half of your body, from your toes to beneath Bellamy’s hand. You’d give anything to let him give you your release then and there, but you knew an audience wasn’t exactly favourable.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the build-up.

God, Bellamy was right. You really were into exhibitionism.

By the way his brows were pulled together and his eyes looked almost pained, you swore he was about to come undone just at the sight of you.

He clenched his jaw and managed to ground out, “Without touching each other.”

Your eyes flickered between his, showing no sign of stopping your movements even when he finally managed to get out his explanation. You slightly bucked your hips forward, pulling him in further to which he inhaled sharply. Truth be told, Bellamy was the most stubborn person you had ever met, excluding his sister, Octavia. But there was one thing that could overrule Bellamy’s unwavering resolve, and that was you. Hell, on multiple occasions all you had to do was ask and he would be on his knees, mouth between your thighs in the blink of an eye, so he should have known the minute he announced his little game, you had already won.

“Okay,” you whispered with an innocent smile.

Within seconds, you had shot up onto your feet, now hovering over him.

Instinctively, he too moved into a standing position as if under threat. He stood so close that your torso was nearly touching his.

“What are you doing?” He leaned in close, voice low to prevent attracting any attention from the others.

“Um, winning?”

He scoffed. “Yeah, right. I’ve gone over a century without you; I can last a little longer.”

You took one step closer until you were flush against him. How could you not? It’s not like he’d expect you to make it easy on him.

“Only a little? Oh, come on Blake, have a bit of faith in yourself. You can last longer than that.” You looked him up and down. “I would know.”

He peered down at you, eyes half-lidded, and hummed a chuckle, one that was meant to say, ‘You are in way over your head, princess’. Maybe you were or maybe he was. What you both knew for sure was how the game was going to end, and despite your determination to win, that moment couldn’t come soon enough.

His body left yours and he backed away, a smug smirk resting on his face. He retreated over to Murphy and Emori, sitting on the log beside them and began engaging in their conversation.

You turned to face the fire, letting out a shaky breath you were hoping he couldn’t hear. It had become quiet now, the surrounding area seemed different compared to just a few minutes prior, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. The small waves were still rolling onto the shore; the campfire was still crackling.

Something was missing.

You scanned the area for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing.

“Ow!”

Your eyes snapped to the sudden voice. Clarke was sitting on a plank of wood, rubbing the back of her neck with her brows furrowed together.

Walking over, you sat on a log adjacent to her. “What happened?”

“Oh, just got bit by a bug.” She gestured to the dead insect lying on the wood beside her.

It had big, round eyes, and wings like a fly. Wouldn’t have been a cause for concern if it weren’t the size of your palm and had a tail like a scorpion.

“Some bug.”

That’s when you realised—all the insects had stopped chirping.

Almost on command, Jackson and Miller stumbled over to the campfire, gaining everyone’s attention as Jackson rambled on about how he had captured the same bug in a glass jar and its behaviour had randomly become erratic. People began rising from their seats and crowding to watch the insect smash itself against the glass. Clarke and you shared a concerned look.

The air, which once was silent and peaceful, began to buzz like you were all surrounded by a cluster of beehives. Reality was much worse.

“What the hell is that?” Emori spoke.

As if to answer her question, the sky suddenly filled with hundreds, no, thousands of winged insects, which seemed to follow each other in groups that formed large patterns in the air. You were willing to bet your life on them being the same as the one that bit Clarke. Great—man-eating bugs.

“Swarm.”

“Everybody cover up! We’re heading to the beacon now!” Bellamy commanded.

You snatched your backpack from the ground, pulling out a black cotton scarf before slinging the bag straps over your shoulders. Not long passed before the others did the same and you were all running for your lives through the dense thicket of trees. Branches snagged on your clothes, shredding them to bits as you struggled not to run face-first into a tree. You wouldn’t be the first to do it, though…. Murphy.

Your breathing was becoming irregular as your body pushed to its limits. As awful as it sounded, when Emori tripped over a fallen branch and the group had to stop and help her, you praised the lord. Everyone huddled together, the bugs now surrounding the group, flying past and leaving bite marks on your bodies. Luckily, Clarke had the idea to light a flare.

“They hate fire! Light the flares!” she shouted.

Someone came running toward you from where Emori had tripped, placing a hand on each of your upper arms. Upon seeing their eyes, you knew it was Bellamy. He wordlessly scanned your features for any wounds, his gaze a mixture of concentration and worry. You nodded as if to tell him you were alright, and he did the same.

After the ten seconds you were provided to catch your breath passed, you were on the move again, the flares now protecting the group from the swarm. The trees were becoming less and less, and the ground under your feet had turned into a wide gravel path that ended at a large field of crops surrounded by metal rod towers.

You continued running forward, following the others as the field grew closer. In front was Shaw, who was multi-tasking between tracking the beacon on his device and leading the group to safety.

“Here! The beacon’s here!” he shouted.

Just as he passed through the towers that bordered the crop field, a bolt of what looked like lightning struck him. He was sent flying back into the group with a yell, landing at your feet.

“Shaw!” You crouched down, observing the minor burns that were littered across his cheeks and forehead.

He groaned, pulling himself back onto his feet with your assistance. “I’m alright.”

Jackson rushed to his side, immediately pulling out his med pack and assessing his wounds. The damage wasn’t lethal but if they couldn’t find a way to get through to the other side, they would have more to be worried about than burnt flesh.

Clarke was already searching for an answer to their escape and once again, she found it.

“It’s radiation.” She looked around as the bugs began to circle them, blocking their long-distance view. “We need to get through. It won’t affect me.”

Before anyone could stop her, she was running through the shield-like fence.

“Clarke, wait!”

“Get back here!”

To everyone’s surprise, she made it out the other side without a scratch. But how was everyone else supposed to get through without Nightblood?

You felt a warm hand slip into your own, offering a small amount of comfort. You didn’t need to look to know whose it belonged.

“Clarke, the tower—its Eligius tech. You need the failsafe code to turn off the shield!” Shaw yelled out. “Four-seven-eight-one-five!”

Exhaling a sigh of relief, you squeezed Bellamy’s hand. There’s a failsafe code.

Clarke rushed to one of the metal towers, opened the control panel and punched in the code. The energy sources atop each tower dissipated, signalling the shield's termination.

“It’s down! Come on!”

Murphy was the first to pass through, dragging Emori behind him. Copying his actions, Bellamy tugged you forward, the both of you passing through the towers together. Once everyone made it through, Clarke powered up the defence again, causing the swarm of insects to disintegrate upon meeting the shield’s radiation bolts.

No one said a word. Instead, they used the time to catch their breaths, some laying on the ground and others dropping to their knees. You tugged the covering off your head and placed your hands on your thighs for support. Multiple strands of hair fell around your face as you bent over, trying to replace the air your lungs lost, a few strings of curses spilling out in between.

Bellamy, who was so inconceivably fit that his breathing was already slow and even, placed a hand on your shoulder. “You okay?”

Lifting a shaky arm from your leg, you gave him the thumbs up.

He tenderly massaged your shoulder and scanned the group to make sure everyone else was alright.

“What the hell was that?” Echo huffed.

**********

Night cycles on Planet Alpha operated very differently compared to Earth—darkness held the sky for a good five hours before the two suns rose again, much unlike the twelve hours everyone was accustomed to back on Earth. That and this planet sent man-eating swarms of insects whenever night fell. Or so you assumed.

The suns peaked through the distant treetops; orange beams of light were spread across the fields you had walked. A few hours had gone by since you first stepped through the radiation shields. A few hours of walking got you and the others atop a small mountain that seemed to be centred within the large circle of towers, providing a good bird's eye view of the fields of crops below.

You continued trekking up the well-trodden path on the hill, Bellamy and Clarke on either side of you. The last time you interacted with Bellamy was when you entered the protected area, but since then, you had avoided eye contact, physical touch, and conversation. You knew yourself; one wrong move and you would lose his game. Despite almost being eaten alive, you were still determined to stick to the rules, and even though innocent affection and conversation were allowed, you didn’t want to risk it.

Plus, total avoidance would only make him crave you more—the basic rule of men, unfortunately.

Emori walked a few steps in front of the group, her movements quickening as they reached a rounded corner. “Guys, look. Stairs.”

Orange-brick stairs came into view and you watched as Emori began ascending them, everyone else following behind her. You climbed up the stairs, Bellamy ahead of you by a step or two. Not for long though. Your pace increased until you were shoulder-to-shoulder, but only for a split second before you placed a hand on his bicep, dragging your palm across as you moved a few steps ahead of him. You could hear his breath hitch and a small smirk teased the corner of your lips. Now he was the one behind you—how he usually liked it.

If you weren’t going to interact with him, the least you could do was give him a good view.

Once you reached the top of the stairs, everyone stood side-by-side, taking in the view in front of them. It was incredible. It was like all the beauty on that planet had been condensed, thrown into a single area and turned into a village. That was what it was—a village. Plus, a castle?

“They have a castle,” Murphy said in wonder.

It looked like something from medieval times crossed with The Hobbit. The windows were circular and made of multi-coloured glass panes. The structure was made of bricks and rounded towers with various intricate patterns decorating different areas, and two round staircases curving up to a second-level balcony. It was so striking it had to have belonged to some divine being because no one else could have deserved such a beautiful palace. Well, there was one exception.

You glanced at Bellamy whose face was lit up with the brightest grin you had ever seen as he too let the beauty sink in. Your heart skipped a beat and you had to turn away. So, you turned to Murphy.

“Perfect for you, Murphy,” you jested. “King of the cockroaches.”

“Careful. Roaches bite, you know,” he retorted

You raised your hands in faux fear.

Clarke stepped forward. “Come on. Let’s see if anyone’s home.”

Most of the buildings looked modern and were made of glass and coloured wood or shipping containers, surrounded and covered by different types of flora. Flowers were not in short supply there, that was for sure; every garden held a new and exotic type. Even the pond in the middle of the village had flowers in it. There were coloured banners everywhere as well—some that hung from each building, and some that were standalone's. The suns’ light just made everything seem so much more vibrant and enchanting.

You and the others were going door-to-door, knocking on each one to see if anyone was there. So far, you had no luck, if that’s even what it was. Almost every home had been checked, but there was no one. The last house to be checked came by and apparently Murphy ran out of patience for simple pleasantries. He kicked the front doors open.

“Well, look at that.” He turned to the group. “This one’s unlocked.”

He stepped inside and began rummaging through the owner’s belongings, not that it surprised anyone very much. You watched as he bent over and picked up something that looked like a neck cuff connected to chains on a wall.

“Hm. Kinky.” He turned back to the group with a devious grin on his face. His eyes flickered between you and Bellamy. “Any takers?”

He gestured between the two of you with the chains as if he were offering them. Oh, you were so tempted to pull a knife on him.

Your eyes went wide, and Bellamy almost choked on his own breath. All eyes were now on you and him.

You took off in the opposite direction before anyone could say a word. “I’m–I’m gonna find a change of clothes.”

It was a perfectly reasonable excuse to leave anyway. Your clothes were practically threadbare from the rough escape through the forest. Thankfully, you could hear the group begin talking about something completely unrelated before you were out of hearing distance. You weren’t sure where you were headed in particular. Anywhere that wasn’t near Murphy or Bellamy would suffice.

You didn’t want to be apart from Bellamy at all. Quite the opposite. You wanted him. You wanted his hands to roam all over your body, to feel his arms tight around your waist as he thrust deep inside you from beneath, and to have his name dripping from your tongue as he made it impossible for you to distinguish the meaning between the words ‘love’ and ‘lust’.

(If only you knew that he was suffering the exact same way.)

However, his ego was much too inflated for you to let him win. It was a sacrifice for the greater good. The greater good being not having to constantly listen to him tease you for losing in the future. But as time went on and your body started physically reacting to the separation, losing started to seem like not such a terrible idea. You were conflicted. Give in, or push on? The decision was painfully frustrating and also just downright painful.

While amidst your thoughts, your feet had carried you to the opposite side of the village until you were standing outside a dark red-wooded house. Covering the poles that held up the structure’s second story were apple blossoms. “Let’s not bite the apple this time.” That was the first thing you had said after stepping onto the ground—a reference to the story of Adam and Eve. Now here you were, contemplating handing yourself over to desire. A literal bite of the apple.

You shook your head, pulling down the door handle to the red house and it opened. Locks didn’t exist in this place it seemed. Stepping inside, you noticed several cardboard boxes on the ground both opened and unopened. There was furnishing such as couches, bookcases, a round glass dining table, and leather seats, but they were all scattered across the room and half had white sheets covering them. It looked like the owner had just been moving in.

As you assessed the room, you noticed a floor-length mirror attached to one of the walls, so naturally, you moved yourself in front of it. The reflection did not match the person you were before leaving Eligius IV. Your bun wasn’t even a bun anymore; half of it had fallen out whilst the other struggled to stay within the hair band. Your clothes had more holes than you could count and were covered in a thick layer of dirt and insect blood. A grimace fell across your face. Gross.

At your feet was another cardboard box; it was opened with a variety of fabrics spilling out. Crouching down, you pulled out the black material at the top to find that it was a long-sleeve off-the-shoulder shirt. It wasn’t exactly practical, but it beat wearing insect organs. You exchanged your two previous shirts for the black shirt; the material stretched around your curves, clinging to your body like a second skin.

Next was a change of pants. You kicked off your shoes and peeled off your jeans, leaving you only in your black underwear and socks. And so, the search began. A good ten minutes went by and you found nothing but long skirts and dresses. You were not about to walk outside dressed up like some grounder princess. Not now at least. Maybe there were more boxes upstairs?

After locating the staircase to the second story, you began to climb. Just like the first level, there were boxes and furnishings. There was a large thigh-high mattress against the back wall with two glass doors on either side leading to a balcony. The mattress was covered in several different blankets consisting of shades between white and purple with a mountain of matching pillows at the head of the bed. On the wall facing the mattress was another floor-length mirror. These people had a vanity problem.

Much to your displeasure, none of the boxes upstairs contained any pants either, so there you stood in the middle of the room wearing only a tight shirt and underwear. You sighed in frustration, tugging your hair band from the bun and letting your locks cascade over your shoulders and down your back. With nothing else to do, you decided you might as well go outside and see what the others were doing. You stepped out onto the balcony; the house’s architect had the right idea by designing it with a concrete fence that covered your lower half.

The others were still lingering on the other side of the village. You rested your forearms on the balcony fence, watching as Murphy signalled for Shaw and Bellamy’s assistance with pulling a heavy wooden crate from inside one of the houses. Knowing Murphy, it was probably full of stuff he was going to take for himself, which would have explained Bellamy’s reluctant stance. There was also something else that seemed to be troubling him. He looked distracted, almost torn between choices, his eyes occasionally wandering to the opposite side of the village where you had previously walked off to. Nevertheless, he eventually did give in to helping Murphy.

And then suddenly time all around you began to slow down. You were in a trance and it was no one but Bellamy’s fault.

He shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, exposing his tanned and veiny arms beneath. He placed his hands underneath the crate and lifted in time with Murphy and Shaw. Even from such a distance, you could see his muscles tense and flex under the weight, the size of his biceps nearly doubling and bursting through the seams of his shirt. His face carried a strained expression, something you had seen many times before but in very different circumstances.

Your skin flushed with heat, and your bottom lip curled between your teeth as you struggled to keep your breathing under control. Blood was buzzing in your ears; you felt fucking intoxicated. You were aware of how feral your behaviour had become but it was inevitable. In a game like this, it had to be.

Once the crate was outside, he and Murphy placed it on the ground. Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, his gaze already beginning to wander once again. As if he could feel your stare burning straight through him, his eyes found your distant ones up on the balcony. The feeling of a hole being burnt through him was understandable because your eyes were ablaze with sin. That had to have been the tenth time you’d made him hard now and it was becoming painful.

You weren’t embarrassed to be caught staring, instead, you were intrigued as to what his next movements would be. But he made none. He simply stared at you over his shoulder, eyes stern and calculating. Who was going to win wasn’t the question anymore. The question was: How could either of you prepare for what was coming? A century’s worth of abstinence was also a century’s worth of build-up, meaning the release would be messy, and Bellamy wasn’t one to hold back.

Finally, he broke the eye contact, but only for a few seconds. His eyes moved to the building beside him and then back to you as if he were trying to get you to follow his gaze. So, you did. What he had gestured to was another pair of chains and handcuffs connected to a wall. Instinctively, you gasped, feeling a pulse in your stomach which you knew was his exact objective. You looked back at him, seeing the self-satisfied grin plastered on his face before he turned back to the group.

That son of a bitch.

Your back slid down the concrete fence until your ass hit the cold marble floor. He was driving you to sex-crazed insanity and you didn’t know how to fight against it. You needed something. Anything to relieve the torment. But you knew if you started, your hands would never stop, not until they were replaced with his.

Maybe the cuffs weren’t such a bad idea.

“No!” you had to verbally reprimand yourself.

Your head fell in your hands. This was all getting too much for you. One-hundred-and-twenty-five years… and a day! You wouldn’t call yourself a nymphomaniac but holy fuck. It was getting to the point that even his name had you aching, tearing yourself to shreds. You couldn’t take it any longer.

Moving onto your hands and knees, you began crawling—yes, crawling—back inside. You managed to pull yourself up onto the mattress with trembling arms and fell back against the quilt and cushions in the middle of the bed. A shaky breath left your lips. If Bellamy couldn’t be there to take care of you, then you would finish the job yourself.

You slipped a hand beneath the thin fabric covering your heat, fingers racing to meet the spot you needed. Back arching into the bed and stomach tightening—that is what you expected to happen when your fingers began circling your clit, but it was nothing of the sort. All you felt was skin on skin and the slightest of sensations. Even when you pressed harder, and moved faster, there was nothing.

Letting out a quiet, distressed cry, you readjusted your position and switched hands. You began rubbing back and forth, side-to-side, every way that had gotten the job done in the past. You moved one hand under your shirt and began massaging your breast, pinching and grazing your nipple, trying to replicate all the moves Bellamy had pulled on you before.

Still, there was no relief from the ache you felt. You needed to go further. Your hand moved lower, fingers hovering over your slick opening before sliding one in. This was never your forte; it was Bellamy’s. Whenever you needed to pleasure yourself, you would stick with outside stimulation, so all you knew was what he had done to you. After sliding your finger in and out a few times, you added another, but it still didn’t feel right. There was something you were missing that he usually did.

He took over your thoughts and you tried to imagine it was his hands instead of your own, but you were just fooling yourself. They were your fingers, not his. You were alone and you were desperate. No one could make you feel as close to heaven as him, not even yourself. Somehow, he knew the workings of your body even better than you did. Without him there in your desperate time of need, it was useless…

So, you started crying—like, actual tears-running-down-cheeks-and-sniffling crying. You felt utterly pathetic and that was all you felt. There was nothing you could do to help yourself. Bellamy was outside with the others, and it wasn’t like you could just waltz out there without pants on and ask him to fuck you incoherent.

Your fingers slipped out from inside you, wet and splayed across your bare stomach as you stared up at the ceiling, condemned to the unshakable longing within. Too distracted by your inability to satisfy yourself and your attempts to stop the tears from flowing, you didn’t hear the door downstairs open and closd. You sniffled, continuing to feel sorry for yourself.

Footsteps were coming up the staircase, but you didn’t hear them either. Nor did you notice the familiar figure that was now leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, feeling that same terrible longing that had led him to you. Only when he cleared his throat did you shoot up into a sitting position.

Bellamy.

“Bellamy,” you whispered, eyes wide and full of new-found hope.

He didn’t say anything, just simply observed you. First, he noticed the sparse clothing on the bottom half of your body; his pants became the tiniest bit tighter. Then he saw your eager expression—even tighter. And then, his eyes found the fingers lying in your lap, coated in a shine that had his entire body pulsing.

The drying tears on your cheeks were a dead giveaway of the desperation you had for him. He tilted his head, insincere pity washing across his features that you knew was only meant to taunt you. “What did you do?”

Your mouth opened to speak but you couldn’t find the words. “I–I–”

He pushed off the doorway and slowly walked over to you, each step measured in regard to prolonging the time it took for the distance between you and him to close.

You moved onto your knees as he got closer.

Once he finally stopped beside the mattress where you were sitting, he peered down at you. “Just couldn’t wait, could you?”

His arms were doing that thing again where they bulged beneath his shirt. He was right in front of you, all you had to do was reach out and touch. So, you did. You reached for his arm, but he was quick to intercept, catching your wrist in his hand. He looked like he was holding back a smirk, but his scheming eyes revealed how he felt. Smug.

For a moment, he moved his attention to your hand, turning it side-to-side to watch the light catch on the wetness. His eyes returned to yours and it was suddenly impossible to guess what he was thinking. He gently began to pull you forward, guiding you off the bed and you let him, oblivious as to where he was taking you.

When your feet hit the ground, he led you towards the wall. What you had failed to notice when you first entered the room was that there was another pair of chains connected to a handcuff. Scratch what you had thought before—these people had a bigger kink problem than vanity. Before you even had a chance to think, the leather cuff was bound around both your wrists.

You looked up at Bellamy. “Wait, wha–what are you doing?”

He sat back on the edge of the mattress. “Giving you another chance to win.”

The game. You had almost forgotten.

Winning and losing were a foreign concept to your mind now. All you wanted was Bellamy and he knew it which was why he found teasing you so entertaining. You tugged on the chains, trying to reach out to him even though you knew it was useless.

“Don’t think that will work, princess.”

You stared at him, exhaling sharply. Frustration was quickly building, and you wondered how long it would take until you were in tears again.

He looked around the room as though he hadn’t a worry in the world.

“It’s kinda hot in here, don’t you think?” he asked, brows furrowed.

Then he was pulling his shirt over his head and you were sinking to your knees. That was just cruel. His entire torso was exposed now, from his well-defined abs and chest to his broad and muscular shoulders. So cruel.

Your head fell back against the wall. “Bell–”

“What were you thinking about?” he interrupted, arms crossed over his chest again. There was no material preventing you from watching his muscles expand, from seeing the crafted curves of his toned arms. “Before I came in.”

I was pretending it was you who was touching me, you thought of saying, but your voice failed you.

He leaned forward, forearms resting on his spread knees. Staring at you expectantly, he was quick to realise he wasn’t getting an explanation. He nodded as if to say, ‘I see how it is’.

“Was it my fingers…?” He began cracking his knuckles one finger at a time, gaining all of your attention. “Or was I inside you?”

Your walls spasmed at the thought and you sighed softly.

“Were you imagining what it would feel like to have me between your legs after so long?” You closed your eyes, listening to him put the images in your mind. “How good I can make you feel? How fast?”

Goosebumps spread all over your body, your skin tingling with anticipation. You heard the bedsheets ruffling. He had moved off the mattress, now crouched in front of you, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about it too.” His voice was a low murmur now. “I can’t stop.”

He watched your eyes screw shut even tighter as he got closer. You looked like you were hurting, and he almost gave in, with heavy emphasis on the ‘almost’. Instead, he ghosted a finger across your collarbone. “I think about kissing you here.” He trailed up your neck. “Here.”

You could feel the air flexing between your lips and his finger, and you shivered. “And here.”

Your eyes slowly peeled open to see his face in front of yours. His dark eyes flickered between your own, peering deep into your soul which was entwined with him. He was already inside you without even touching you; he was inside your mind and under your skin. Your body was his and his body was yours. You loved him so intensely that whenever he fucked you, you forgot you were two different people instead of one.

To Hell with the challenge. To Hell with losing. He was your Heaven, and such torturous deterrents wouldn’t keep you away from the rapture he gave.

In a single move, you leaned forward and crashed your lips to his. Your body curved into him and he caught you with both arms, holding you upright against him. There was a split second before Bellamy responded as realised you finally gave in which meant he could too, and his lips began moving against yours. Just like the first kiss you shared on Eligius IV after waking up, this one was hungry, but that word sounded inadequate compared to what it really was. ‘Ravenous’ was more accurate.

You moaned into his mouth, your body feeling like it was coming alive.

His movements were intoxicating and so were the small sounds he made when he tried to fill his lungs with air. There was a rumbling in his chest, and he sounded almost primal. He brought a hand to the side of your head, fingers buried beneath your hair as he deepened the kiss, merging your lips with his.

Your bodies rocked backwards and forwards, your cuffed hands pressed against his chest meanwhile his were around your back and the other was in your hair. Bellamy’s hand moved to squeeze your waist and your mouth opened, giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue inside and meet your own.

He rolled his tongue over yours during one kiss, and the next, yours had asserted dominance. You swirled around him, tasting him, mixing with him. During the time you took to explore the inside of his mouth, the floor beneath you had disappeared and was replaced with his arms. Your back was against the wall and if he wanted to, he could have dropped you at his feet; you had no way of holding on except for your legs which were wrapped around his hips.

You returned the power to him for a few seconds only to then lightly bite down on his bottom lip. He let out a quiet groan and slowly drew back to press his forehead to yours. For a while, you both stayed like this, breathing in each other’s breaths with your eyes closed.

Everything around you began to spin, and your head felt euphoric as you used his air as your own. The sensation spread through your body, it coursed through your veins and you needed to move, to feel it come to life. Your hips bucked forward but he was quick to push back, pinning you against the wall with a small grunt. His erection pressed between your legs, but he didn’t move. Eyes snapping open, you sent him a pleading look. How much longer was he going to make you wait? You tried to move your cuffed hands between your bodies, but he held them to his chest with one hand.

You wiggled against him, but it was futile.

“Bell,” you almost sobbed. “Bellamy, please.”

He lifted a finger beneath your chin, watching your reddened lips whisper the word ‘please’. He watched your eyes water, tears threatening to spill over the edge. You begged him over and over, and he allowed you to. He let you humiliate yourself in the hopes that he would give you what you wanted. You had completely fallen apart, and now he was going to piece you back together.

“What do you want?” His thumb brushed across your lips.

“Just touch me,” you pleaded.

A few more moments passed of you both just staring at each other, and then it was like something finally snapped in his eyes. He set you down on your feet. At first, you thought he was going to sit back on the bed, and you nearly choked out an objection. That isn’t what happened.

Instead, he pressed another tender kiss to your lips, then to your jaw, your neck, and down your clothed chest. His hands moved down either side of your body as he sunk to his knees in front of you and trailed kisses across your exposed stomach.

Your breaths started coming out in shorter, shallower intervals as he moved further down.

His hands squeezed your hips as he kissed the skin below your navel, causing your eyes to nearly roll back then and there. Finally, he made it to just above the waistband of your underwear. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly now. So close. His hands moved onto your thighs and he leaned in, briefly pressing his warm lips to your thinly covered heat. A jolt of pleasure moved up your body and you gasped. You could feel it—him.

He glanced up at your impatient expression before pulling the underwear down your legs, lifting each foot until it was completely discarded. He eyed the soaking mess that you already were and licked his bottom lip. This was all because of him. His eyes found yours once more, this time wordlessly asking for access despite your obvious enthusiasm.

All you managed to get out was a frantic, “Please”.

And when his mouth finally found your clit, a tear fell from your eye.

Your bound hands fell on top of his head, tugging at the soft waves as his tongue delved between your folds and flicked across your clit. His warm hands moved to the backs of your thighs, burying his face even deeper, exploring you even further. He moved down to your opening, spreading his tongue flat against it and dragging up to collect the mess that you were already becoming. Once he had returned to your clit, his mouth suctioned, sucking with pressure that caused you to let out a cry.

It wasn’t long before you felt the ghost of your orgasm begin to slowly step into the white light. The muscles in your stomach were tensing and rubbing together, preparing for a release that they were guaranteed to have.

Your back arched off the wall as you felt Bellamy’s teeth softly graze against the most sensitive part of your clit. He circled the surrounding area, the nerves beneath your skin setting alight with pleasure under his tongue, burning you from the inside out. When he mumbled something against you, you could feel the vibrations of his voice bury itself deep inside you, and you couldn’t hold back the filthy moan that had been begging to escape.

He pulled back an inch, your hips unconsciously following him as he said, “You lose.”

His mouth returned to your heat, focusing his attention on your throbbing clit, switching between flicking it with his tongue and sucking it into his mouth.

“No,” you managed to breathe out. There was no way something like this could be called ‘losing’. You were the one who got to feel Bellamy’s mouth between your thighs, bringing you to an extreme state of ecstasy. You were the one who had him on his knees before you. “I win.”

He groaned at the sound of your voice and you felt the pleasure move up another level. Your legs buckled beneath you as you tried to grind on his tongue. He took that as a hint to haul one of your legs over his broad shoulder. Now you were another level higher. Your hips bucked against him, feeling almost like you were vibrating as he continued his movements.

Just when you thought the sensation couldn’t get any better, you felt his thick finger suddenly slide deep into your opening and curl. Another tear ran down your cheek and you gripped onto his hair as your head fell back against the wall. You couldn’t even moan; there was only a chorus of strangled noises leaving your throat. He pushed upwards into the soft fleshy wall inside you over and over at a fast and steady pace, and suddenly, you were on the edge of pure bliss, ready to dive into the consuming waters.

His mouth sucked on your clit, tongue circling its peak, meanwhile, he added another finger to pump inside of you.

“Fuck, Bellamy!” Your voice had risen an octave, all breathy and needy.

Like a heartbeat, you could feel yourself throbbing, pleasure building more intensely with each pulse. The muscles in your stomach were so tight it felt like they were being burned with a white-hot flame. Your insides were twisting and coiling and with every curl of his fingers, the feeling only intensified.

Bellamy glanced up at you from below, your eyes meeting in a short exchange.

It all happened so fast.

“I’m–” Before you could finish your sentence, you were shot back up into space, seeing stars.

Your legs tensed up, heel digging into his back as your body began to shake. The coil inside your stomach unravelled, exiting through your opening but not before aggressively rubbing at your insides on the way out. For a moment, you forgot where you were. All you knew was the release, the buzzing in your ears and the way your vision swayed through half-lidded eyes.

Bellamy’s name flowed past your lips like a mantra. He didn’t stop; he kept pumping, kept sucking, prolonging the sensation for as long as he could. Everything was pulsing—the air, his fingers, your pussy. Everything. You would’ve thought you had ascended to a higher dimension if it weren’t for the man beneath you.

You felt his mouth disconnect from your body, fingers still moving inside, although, his pace was beginning to slow and so was your orgasm. The feeling was fading away, leaving you with an overwhelming feeling of weakness in the lower half of your body. Bellamy could feel your legs shaking, so he slid his fingers out. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore and the next thing you knew, your legs buckled, and you were collapsing to the ground

Bellamy caught you in his arms, pulling you into his lap. He watched your thighs tremble as aftershocks washed over you, creamy liquid dripping down your skin. Your furrowed brows, half-closed eyes, and parted lips were a sight to see; he’d never witnessed anything more beautiful in his life.

You peered up at him through your lashes, cuffed hands resting on your stomach, and you smiled. Then you laughed, and then he was laughing too. His chest vibrated against your skin. Your hands reached up to push back a strand of his hair from his face and suddenly you were kissing again.

He placed a hand on your back and guided you until you were sitting sideways on his lap. Your taste was on his tongue and you loved it. You felt it seep into your own tastebuds as you rewound back to when you came on his fingers. You used his chest as support to help swing your legs on either side of his folded thighs so that you were now facing him.

His hands ran down your sides, stopping at the hem of your shirt before pulling it up over your head, exposing your naked breasts to the warm air. Bras were impractical when you were Bellamy Blake’s girlfriend; he’d always find some way of removing them anyway. Hell, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had burned all the ones you used to wear.

He lowered his head to your chest, hair tickling your neck as he began making it his mission to cover your breasts in bruises that marked you as his. Despite feeling like your ability to walk was eradicated, you could feel yourself craving more of him, more of his sex. As previously disclaimed, sometimes fatigue didn’t stop you two from going multiple rounds and this time wasn’t an exception.

If only your hands weren’t bound. You wanted to touch him the way he did you. You wanted him to feel the world disappear and be replaced with a mind-numbing sense of sinful pleasure. You wanted to give that to him, but you couldn’t. Your hands were cuffed, and he had the key.

“Uncuff me, Blake,” you whispered.

His head lifted from your breasts, reluctant eyes meeting your own. “Why should I?”

You rolled your eyes at his stubbornness and turned your head away from him, but he was quick to pull you back with two fingers on the side of your jaw.

“You still lost, remember?” he added.

As if you didn’t already know that. “That was not my definition of losing.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes and even though you were supposed to be in a minor disagreement, you couldn’t help but think about how fucking sexy he looked. You leaned forward, lips ghosting over his. “Uncuff me, Blake.”

His jaw clenched and he leaned in, but you quickly pulled away. His eyes narrowed at you and the smirk you were biting back. He had played the ‘humiliation game’ with you and now it was time for payback. Bellamy may have been the one with the keys, but it was you who now had the control.

“C’mon, we both know you’ll give in before me,” he said, arrogantly.

Always count on Bellamy to be egotistical, even in bed. Well, ‘on the floor’ would be more accurate.

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

You hummed, placing your restrained hands on his chest and slowly grazing them down his torso. When you reached his stomach, you made sure to slow down and drag your nails across his skin.

He inhaled sharply when your nails scratched the area above his pants’ waistband. “Very conceited for a boy who can’t even handle being touched.”

His chuckle came out as a harsh exhale. “‘Boy’?”

“A man would take these chains off me.”

“You think taunting me will get me to break?”

Provoking words wasn’t what was going to break him; you knew that. It was underestimation that was going to be his fall. When it came down to it, men were very simple creatures. They chased after pleasure like it was the one thing that kept them alive, and you knew each and every weakness this man had. He thought just because he won the game, he also won the war. Well, guess again. You were going to knock him right off his high horse.

Your fingers dipped into his waistband. His hand quickly clamped over one of your wrists, pulling it away from his pants. Not that it mattered; you didn’t need your hands. He held your hands in the space between your bodies, his chest rising a little more irregularly than before.

You leaned forward, tantalisingly slow. This time he made sure not to move a muscle, allowing you to do exactly what you wanted. Your mouth hovered in front of his and you could feel his warm breath fan across your lips. Softly, almost as if the moment had become sugary and sweet, you pressed a kiss to his lips, a tender closed-mouth moan buzzing in your throat upon contact. He responded with the same energy.

And then the mood abruptly shifted as you glided your tongue across his bottom lip.

You could feel his cock twitch beneath you, and you knew you were headed in the right direction. Grinding down on his lap, you managed to slip your tongue into his mouth as he grunted. One weakness down; four to go. Your tongue swirled around his with each open-mouth kiss, and he had no choice—you both knew he was having the time of his life—but to reciprocate since he had already given up that area of defence.

Your hips continued to rock back and forth across his lap, occasionally applying a bit more pressure in the hopes he would be triggered to move. He wasn’t. Yet. So, you left his lips and moved down to his neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. His head tilted to the side with a sigh, allowing you easier access. This spot was not your main target, though. Your kisses trailed up to his jaw, running along the sides and the curve of his jawline before dipping just beneath the area where his jaw and neck connected. That was one of his weak spots.

His next exhale was shaky, paired with the quietest of groans. Two down. Then you moved on to the next target: just below his ear. Your tongue grazed the area before you left your mark by sucking on his soft skin. He was louder this time and your confidence soared higher. Three; two to go.

He had let go of your wrists now, resting his hands on the curves of your hips with his eyes closed. So much for the whole my-willpower-is-stronger-than-yours dispute. You watched his face as you dragged yourself back and forth over his erection. His eyes screwed shut, brows pulling together, and his fingers pressing hard into the soft plush of your hips.

Come on. Come on, you thought.

“Let go, Bell,” you purred into his ear. Your entire body weight shifted onto his lap and you almost revealed the same weakness you were trying to pull from him. He was so incredibly hard now that it probably wasn’t even healthy. He would have to unchain you soon. And just to pour gasoline on an already roaring fire, you added, “I want to feel you inside me.”

That was it. He couldn’t deny himself the heaven you were giving anymore. His hips bucked up into you, creating a pseudo-sensation of sliding between your folds—an action that erupted a full-fledged moan from his lips, causing your inner walls to flutter and your stomach to drop.

Weak point four—check.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath before suddenly snatching the knife from the holster on his belt and splitting the leather cuffs around your wrists.

And five. Check yes Juliet.

Wow. he couldn’t even manage to grab the keys.

Your hands were free at last, and you wasted no time in using them. They rushed down to unbuckle his belt and tossed it on the floor with a clink. Before you could continue any further, Bellamy rolled you over so that you were now lying caged beneath him. His lips came down on yours in a flurry of passion.

Now that you had full-body autonomy, you couldn’t help but explore every inch of him that you were once denied of touching. Your fingertips ran over his back, over the ridges of his shoulder blades, and around his large biceps. You wove your fingers into the roots of his hair and tugged just because you could.

He reached under the curve on your back, pulling your body up into his, your pelvis’ meeting in a rough collision. He was a mess of grunts and groans and you were quickly inhaling more air than you needed.

You moved a hand to his cheek to deepen the kiss as your touch explored his body further, slipping between your bodies and settling on unbuttoning his pants. Unzipping his flier with one-handed skill, your warm, soft hand slipped into his boxers, finally coming into contact with his hard cock.

His head fell to your chest with a broken moan.

Your fingers curled around him, beginning to stroke up and down his length. Bellamy had taken many of your firsts, including your first time so you had no one to compare him to. However, you were well aware that he was bigger than average. Even if he hadn’t been, you were certain he would satisfy you the same; he was just that good.

He managed to lift his head back up and return to your lips as your arm pumped up and down. His hips lurched forward as your grip increased. All he could think about was how good you were going to feel when it was your heat that was engulfing him, how wet and warm you always were.

Your hand reached the head of his cock, thumb rubbing circles over his tip as you felt drops of precum coat your fingertip. He was usually able to last a long time, just like you, but this was different. Everything inside him was built up for a century, and it would not take much until he was coming in your hand. You wanted him to reach that point as soon as possible.

You left pecks trailing from his mouth, across his cheek, and to the side of his jaw. The bone of his jaw fell victim to your grazing tongue as your pace increased along with the pressure of your grip. He was breathing heavily now, every second breath mixed with a low, breathy moan or grunt. You were throbbing just listening to the sounds he made.

A few curses left his mouth, revealing how close he was—that and the way his cock was practically pulsating in your hand. You twisted your hand with each stroke, effortlessly gliding your palm down his large veiny length. Your thumb grazed over the sensitive band of skin beneath the head of his cock, and his entire body flinched.

He was almost over the edge; all you had to do was give him a little push. Wanting to see his face one last time before you did, you leaned back, cradling his jaw in one hand whilst the other continued below. His eyes were shut, inner brows pulled upwards in a painfully blissful expression and strands of dishevelled dark hair had fallen across his forehead. God, he was gorgeous. What you wouldn’t give to…

No. You had your pleasure; now it was his turn. With each jerk and twist of your hand, your fingers ran over his tip then moved back down to lightly squeeze and repeat. You pressed one last peck to his lips before travelling to that spot below his ear, running your tongue over the skin and then sucked.

His cock twitched in your hand, stomach tensing against your forearm before he finally let go. He let out a loud guttural moan of your name, almost a cry, as he released onto both your hand and the inside of his pants. His head fell forward into the space between your neck and shoulder, groaning into your heated skin which sent vibrations down to your breast.

He remained in that spot for a few moments as you continued to slowly pump him up and down whilst pressing kisses to his shoulder. As he attempted to get his breath back, you removed your hand from his pants and moved both onto his back, lightly dragging your nails over his skin.

Now you were both even, but it was clear this was far from over.

Warm pants fanned across your face after he recovered enough to hover over your body. You were about to tease him for coming quicker than you did, but his tongue was suddenly in your mouth, rolling around your own. And then you felt it—he was already hard again.

That’s a lot of stamina for a hundred-and-fifty-one-year-old man.

He left your lips again and rose to his knees. His carnally intense eyes never left yours as he pulled both his pants and boxers down to his lower thighs. You watched as his cock sprang from his boxers and bounced off his toned stomach. Still looking good for a hundred-and-fifty-one-year-old man too. Extremely good. Like, actually drool-worthy good.

And it seemed he was thinking the very same thing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he spoke, almost like he couldn’t believe the fact himself before he descended back down to you, mouth hot on yours.

His hands were on the floor on either side of your shoulders, essentially trapping you beneath him. You loved how small he made you feel compared to him; almost like he could hold you in the palm of his hand like a little china doll. The treatment he gave you was also like that of a china doll—such a delicate and treasured touch. Though, there were times when he would practically throw you around like a rag doll, mostly when you were both deep in an intense fuck session.

The length of his cock glided over your stomach as he moved his body into each kiss. It was so close to where you needed it, yet still so far. Your legs curled around his hips in an attempt to guide him to your entrance, but he showed slight resistance. His tip was just pushing through your folds, sliding across with each movement he made. It was torture.

You pulled back from his lips, hands almost clawing at the sides of his chest. “Please, Bell, just–”

A gasp escaped you both as Bellamy finally pushed inside you in one fluid movement, his hips almost meeting yours as he filled you as much as your previously abstinent body allowed. Your walls welcomed him and the long-awaited feeling of his cock brushing against that back-arching spot deep within you. He hadn’t even moved yet, but your eyes were fluttering, and your throat was already tightening as you struggled to let out a moan.

Neither of you could do anything but struggle to keep your composure, waiting for the overwhelming heat of pleasure to subdue just the tiniest bit so your bodies could start moving without the world crashing down around you. After moments of stillness passed, Bellamy finally began to move, his pace slow but so, so deep. His gaze was intense as he found his rhythm, sliding almost completely out and then pushing himself back inside you. Fuck, the way your warmth consumed him was hypnotic.

It was kind of like the first time you had slept together those many years ago, minus the nearly unbearable pain when he first entered you, of course. It was intense yet still so full of adoration.

Your body soon grew accustomed to the feeling of his cock stretching you open, making room for him to bury even deeper, to feel your walls completely swallow him whole. That is when his pace started to increase. Your arms hooked around his biceps, bringing him closer as he continued his thrusts.

Not long passed before his hips were snapping against yours; he wasn’t just sliding in and out of you anymore—he was fucking you, pounding into you. Each time he buried himself deep, the area above his cock ground against your clit, stimulating you from the inside and out, so much that it was impossible to hold back a moan.

He moved a strand of hair away from your face, nodding his head as if to praise your vocalisation. The sight of him praising you for simply enjoying yourself as he fucked you was something that turned you on beyond belief. Not that you needed any more turning on at that point, but still, the reaction stood firm.

You wanted him deeper, in any way that was still physically possible.

And then, a sudden, lust-bound thought entered your mind and before you could even ponder it, you had used all your strength to roll yourself on top of his body. Now, his hands were on your hips, head thrown back on the floor and mouth hung open as you rode his cock.

“Oh, fuck!” Bellamy groaned.

Your hands were on his thighs as to hold up your half-reclined position and you were bouncing up and down, rolling your hips so you could feel him everywhere inside you.

A shudder ran down your body, peaking the nipples of your bouncing breasts. You swore you could almost feel him in your stomach. You shifted your body weight into your arms and pushed yourself upwards, sliding his cock nearly all the way out, circling your entrance around his tip before sinking back down to his base.

The both of you let out a synced noise of satisfaction.

His eyes followed each roll of your breasts in a trance, and then he cupped one in his hand, circling his thumb around your sensitive nipple. You gave Bellamy a smile, one that was so sweet and unintentionally seductive. He let out a half chuckle, half groan.

Your legs began to burn, a reminder of the experience you had with Bellamy’s tongue just before this. The way your clit was slapping against his pelvis each time you dropped mimicked the way his tongue had previously flicked and rolled around it. Your pace was beginning to slow, and your rhythm faltered, but you didn’t want the sensation to stop. Instead, you let yourself sink fully down on his cock, and your eyes rolled back. Ok, now he had to be in your stomach because there was no other explanation for the deepness you felt.

He was permanently in that spot that had blood rushing to your head, and with your hips rocking back and forth the way they were, your gut was throbbing with a build-up of ecstasy.

“I–” you panted. “I can’t hold myself up much longer.”

You squeezed his thighs, surely leaving behind red marks as you tried to push yourself up and down a few more times, pleasure and pain fuelling each of your repetitions. It was no use; your arms were trembling, and muscles were burning.

Bellamy was quick to your aid. “I’ve got you, princess, don’t worry.”

His hands moved to your back, pulling you forward, and colliding your breasts into his chest. Next thing you knew, he was pounding hard up into your pussy, his movements so fast you couldn’t even count the number of thrusts he made every five seconds, but it felt so good. So good that you almost screamed.

Your clit was throbbing, inner walls clenching around his unrelenting cock. You were hot, your body slick with sweat, but it wasn’t just that; there was also a fire pooling at the bottom of your abdomen, spreading through your muscles, through every fibre of your being and you didn’t want it to stop.

Bellamy’s arms were wrapped around your waist, rendering you immobile to each of his insatiable thrusts but it made you feel all the more incredible. He was hitting that soft, fleshy spot inside you over and over again, and you felt like you were going to burst. Your stomach was fluttering, his cock was pulsing inside you, and you were a mess of whines and moans.

“You feel–” he couldn’t even speak without releasing a rough moan. His arms tightened around you, mouth moving against your shoulder to say, “Feel so good.”

You couldn’t help but cry out at his words; he sounded so drunk on pleasure.

He began pressing rough kisses to your neck and the noises leaving your throat were utterly impure. His knees bent inwards, allowing him to thrust even faster into you. You were both overcome with desire, hellbent on chasing your release that was taunting you from the shadows. Bellamy seemed almost animalistic, sucking and biting at the skin of your neck whilst pounding into you from below.

Like always, he had made it so that you didn’t have to lift a finger, and he liked it that way. He was making you feel like you had slipped into heaven, and only he could do that. One of his many sources of joy was that your body only knew his cock, and it would forever only know his because that was how long he planned to love you.

You placed a hand on the floor beside his head, hovering your face above his. His eyes were quick to find yours as you gazed down at him.

In between each of his thrusts, you breathed out, “I–love–you.”

He looked so flustered, so puffed out. He was unable to repeat the words back without them sounding like a laboured breath of air so instead, he jerked forward and latched his mouth on the bone of your jaw, turning your skin red and purple.

Your head turned to the side to give him easier access only to unexpectedly come face-to-face with yourself being absolutely destroyed in the mirror’s reflection.

Well… It sure wasn’t a vanity problem these people had, you knew that now.

“Bellamy, look,” you gasped.

His entire body stilled at the sound of your voice and he eyed you with a worried expression. “Did I do something?”

“No,” you tilted his head with your hand so that he was looking at the mirror too. “I just…”

He didn’t need to hear more; Bellamy knew exactly what you wanted—to watch. Watch as his cock plunged in and out of your pussy, watch it curve into your entrance, watch your body bounce on top of his with each thrust. Damn, he’d wished either of you had noticed the mirror before so he could have watched you ride him from two point-of-views.

His gaze returned to you. “Hop off.” You were about to protest, but he beat you to it by clamping a large hand over your mouth. “Trust me.”

You gave him a puzzled, hesitant look but eventually submitted to his command, sliding off him and onto the hard marble floor. His body had left yours entirely, leaving you feeling cold and empty, inside and out.

It wasn’t long before he positioned himself to face the mirror, kneeling in front of it. He curled an arm around your waist and slid you across the floor towards him. Like a rag doll. He pulled you backwards onto his lap so that your back was almost against his chest and your thighs were spread open on either side of his.

“Lean back,” he said, and you did.

Your back was flush against him, and you could feel his racing heart reverberating in your ribcage. His arms wrapped around the space beneath your breasts and he pulled you upwards, supporting your weight, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up.

“Ready?” he whispered into your ear as you watched him in the reflection.

You nodded, reaching around to rest a hand on the side of his neck.

He kissed your cheek and your eyes closed at the sweet act of affection. One of his hands moved beneath you as he guided himself to your entrance, his tip pushing against your wet folds. Bellamy watched over your shoulder, his eyes focusing on the way his cock teased opening.

He finally slid inside, and you instantly fell further against him. Muscles were very handy in this kind of situation. You were captivated—his length disappeared into your body and then returned almost to the tip, covered in a thin layer of both your juices. His movements continued over and over, but you never found yourself bored or wanting to look away. Neither did he.

Your lips parted with a moan when he abruptly took one hard thrust up into you. You looked up at your reflection, seeing the expression on your face, seeing your dishevelled hair… your bouncing breasts. Not that you would say it aloud, but you looked sexy. For a split second, you found yourself finally understanding the attraction Bellamy had to you, and then your mind was torn apart once again.

His speed increased and he was hitting your insides harder and harder with each passing second. You saw your thighs slightly jiggling and weren’t insecure or afraid of Bellamy noticing, but instead found yourself feeling even more turned on.

The room was full of sex—the sounds were wet and harsh, the smell of your pheromones clung to the wall, and the visuals were etched into the mirror in front of your bodies. It was beautiful.

You moved your gaze up to Bellamy’s eyes, seeing him just as captivated as you were, alternating between watching himself slip in and out of your pussy and watching your breasts recoil from each bounce. He then met your gaze, talking to you through unspoken communication. Though you were unsure of the specifics, you were certain he was telling you how much he loved you, how beautiful you looked with his cock inside you, how no one else could ever compare.

His tip repeatedly curved into your G-spot, the rest of his length rubbing against your walls, causing the flames in your stomach to start rising. Bellamy could see the fire in your eyes, and he was ready to turn it into a blazing inferno. He shifted his hold on you into one arm, reaching around your body with the other. His fingers found your clit, instantly applying pressure as he rubbed fast circles around it. That was the gasoline.

Your orgasm was no longer creeping up inside you, but rather rocketing to the surface. You were pulsing around Bellamy’s cock, driving him even closer to his own high. His hips were slapping the skin of your ass as they kept snapping upwards. His abs were more defined as the muscles in his stomach tensed up, trying to keep you upright whilst fucking into you and controlling the orgasm that was threatening to release. You always came before him. Always.

His fingers pressed harder into you, moving side-to-side. Your G-spot was being hit without mercy, only intensifying the pleasure you felt as he rubbed your clit. You alternated between holding your breath and letting out shallow, laboured breaths, signalling how close you were.

You could feel it, Bellamy could feel it—you were pretty sure everyone outside could feel it too, feel the powerful energy leaking from the house you were in. That is what it felt like. Powerful. And now it was about to take over your entire body.

“Bell, I’m gonna–”

“I know,” he panted. “Me too.”

Your hand fell over his, pushing down on it, applying more force even though you weren’t sure he could even press any harder. His hand was almost blurring in the mirror, and his cock was pounding. He was breathing so heavily against your back and into your ear that it sounded like he couldn’t even control the grunts and moans leaving his mouth anymore.

He circled your clit a few more times before your hand moved further down to the place you both connected. Your fingers found the area between his cock and your pussy, feeling him slide over your fingertips as he moved in and out. That was what sent you over the edge.

The blaze in your stomach exploded, sending sparks throughout your body. Your moans were uncontrollable, rebounding off every corner of the room. Your ears were buzzing with overwhelming silence, your vision partially blacked out and you felt so, so good. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, but you hardly noticed, unable to think about anything except Bellamy’s cock. You had ascended to a higher dimension and he was right there with you, endlessly pounding up into you, prolonging your mind-numbing high.

Feeling your walls clenching around him was all it took for Bellamy to fill you up with his come. His cock twitched, and the warm liquid came rushing out in spurts, coating your insides with white—with him. The thick warmth of your mixed juices leaked from your opening and dripped down his length. Your inner thighs were drenched.

His thrusts were sloppy and rough, desperate to keep the feeling coursing through his body as long as possible. The sounds he made were so guttural and raw that you weren’t sure if they made you come again or if they just prolonged the orgasm you were already having.

Somehow, in the midst of both your highs, you had ended up on the floor, partially laying on each other whilst frantically gulping down air.

You couldn’t move. One of your legs was tangled between his, and one arm was thrown across his chest. Your breasts were pressed against the hard ground, head turned to the side facing Bellamy. Everything was shaking, or maybe it was just your entire body uncontrollably quivering. Even your pussy was still clenching, causing you to flinch with each fraction of a movement it made.

Bellamy had a forearm over his eyes, panting heavily; his other arm was still wrapped around your waist.

The both of you just lay there for a few minutes, not talking, not moving, just recovering. Eventually, Bellamy gained back enough strength to speak.

“We didn’t even make it to the bed,” he chuckled.

You then realised you were both literally lying naked on a stranger’s bedroom floor and laughed. “We would’ve ruined the sheets anyway.”

“Probably,” he sighed, contently. He pulled you further onto his chest, bringing your face to nuzzle into his neck. He pressed a kiss into your hair. “I love you too, princess.”

You smiled into his skin, remembering the declaration you previously made. Tilting your head up and resting your chin on his chest, you stared up at him, eyes full of reverence. He peered down at you with a grin, and then his lips were on yours again, soft and slow; so tender that you–

“Oh, come on!”

You both pulled apart at the sudden new voice. In the doorway stood a very irritated Murphy. He seemed too shocked—more like too horrified—to even look away.

Bellamy ripped a blanket from the edge of the mattress and pulled it over your body. “Murphy, I swear to god I’m gonna kill you! Get out!”

“Oh my god!” he shouted in response. “I can’t catch a fucking break around here!”

His voice echoed down the staircase as he fled the building. Someone probably needed to find him a shrink after the number of times he had walked in on you both. He had made it back outside, returning to the rest of the group, though not far enough away for you to miss his very loud complaints.

“Where are the damn carnivorous bugs when you need them?!”

“What’s wrong?” you heard someone ask him.

“What’s wrong? They’re fucking animals, that’s what’s wrong!”

You turned back to face Bellamy, grinning in a daze. “I’ll say.”

Bellamy smirked, humming in agreement as he rolled back on top of you.

It was hard to say how many more rounds you went. The only time you stopped was when your bodies were screaming for a break, and during that time, all you could think was thank god for contraceptive implants.

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️#bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake x y/n #bellamy blake smut #bellamy blake fanfiction #the 100 #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy x reader #bellamy blake drabble #bellamy x clarke #bellarke #bob morley #bob morley smut #the100edit #clarke griffin #john murphy

2K notes · View notes

ilguna · 7 months

Text

☼ whisper of the beast (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; on your own, you try to find your boyfriend in the arena. instead, you run across something much, much worse.

warnings; swearing, death, weapon usage, ehhh gore, blood mention.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 11. "Just keep breathing. In and out. You're doing great."

—

There is something seriously horrifying going on with this arena, and each time you think you get close to figuring it out—it changes.

The only consistent factor in each of your theories is the jungle, and that’s because it’s the root of the fear. When you travel through the greenery for long periods of time, a creeping feeling grows on you, one that you can’t shake unless you make your way back to the beach.

Which is far from safe, itself. Especially since there are nine other tributes alive here, roaming around, hunting for lone victors. For it only being the second day of the Games, it’s remarkable that so many are dead, already. With six of them dying today, alone.

It makes you think that you’re being overly paranoid, because you’re out here by yourself. It’s a completely new experience to you. The first time around, during your Games, the Career alliance lasted up until the very last second. You never had to keep an eye out for yourself, because you had others with you that were doing the same thing.

You were under the impression that you’d be doing that for these Games, too, but nothing has gone according to plan. You and Finnick had a long discussion the night of the interviews on what to expect regarding corralling Katniss and Peeta into the alliance. Neither of you thought it would be easy. Worst case scenario, you’d grab one and he’d get the other, and the two of you would meet up somewhere in the middle.

The Gamemakers really must have it out for you this year, determined to keep you and Finnick apart. That’s why they decided to put you on the opposite side of the Cornucopia, keeping you from seeing Finnick. While also putting Brutus in your water wedge, to ensure that you wouldn’t be able to reach him.

By the time you fought off Brutus and got to the Cornucopia, all three of them were gone. The only option you had left was to wait for Johanna and Blight, but with them still in the water and the Careers coming to take over, you had to leave. There wasn’t a choice in the matter.

Since, you’ve spent your time traveling through the jungle and taking the occasional rest on the beach, in the hopes that you’ll run across your boyfriend. The search was casual yesterday, as you were more worried about finding drinking water than the rebel alliance. Now that the numbers are spiraling, you know that the rescue plan is right around the corner.

You’re confident enough to say that they won’t do it today, but it’s got to be tomorrow or the day after. They won’t have Katniss and Peeta openly in danger like this for longer than they have to. You likely have less than forty-eight hours to find them, or else you’ll get trapped in here and taken by the Capitol.

You would say that you wish you had a general idea on which direction they went in yesterday, but it probably won’t make much of a difference. With the amount of people dying in these trees, you’re sure Finnick is directing them the opposite way, just in case.

It’s another reason why you can’t stand to be in the jungle for long periods of time. From what you’ve gathered, at least half of the tributes that have died today so far, have come from somewhere in the trees. It makes you think that something is out here, and it’s more than just a rogue tribute.

In fact, it would make more sense for it to be a mutt of some kind. In the last Quarter Quell, they were everywhere. There was not a single animal that a tribute could trust to be friendly. On top of that, there were aspects of the arena that took them by surprise.

It appeared to be the most breathtaking place imaginable. The Cornucopia was in the middle of a vibrantly green meadow, the sky a perfect blue, with fluffy white clouds. In the distance, there was a snow capped mountain, one that looked straight out of a picture book. On the other side, a healthy forest with plants you couldn’t name.

Of course, it was all too good to be true. The mountain was revealed to be a deadly volcano, the plants were poisonous, the water was infected with a disease, the insects stung and the flowers could kill when inhaled too closely. Everything that was placed in that arena was working against them.

Who’s to say it’s not the same for this one?

You pause next to a nearby tree to rest your feet, because they’re throbbing in your shoes. You lift one, stretching your thigh, feeling the immediate relief that comes with being off the foot. After a minute, you switch, but it doesn’t feel as good this time around.

When you reach up to run a hand through your hair to smooth it back, you find that your scalp is wet, soaked from sweating so much. It feels much hotter today than it was yesterday, like the Gamemakers are trying to boil you alive. It’s brutal enough being in here, do they really need to make it any worse?

You dip your head, eyes closed while you take a deep breath, sighing it out. You return to walking, paying attention to where you place your feet.

It might make more sense for you to go down to the beach and wait for Finnick, Katniss and Peeta to show up. The issue is that you’re not willing to take the risk of the Careers spotting you while you’re down there. The four of them could easily get you pinned down. You’ll be dead before you can call for help.

A branch rustling behind you makes your next step stutter. Your eyes widen, as you slowly look across the fern in front of you, to the left of your vision. With sensitive ears, you adjust the spear in your hand, turning your body halfway to look behind you, at the tree you were just standing at.

There’s nothing.

You take a minute to search the trees around you, backtracking to get a better look. Even if it’s just a critter, you want to know. If there’s living animals out here, that means there’s a water source—and you won’t have to depend on your sponsors to keep you hydrated.

There’s not a trace. At least, that’s what you think, until your eyes catch the hoof print in the mud. Your face contorts, you drop into a crouch to get closer, curious on what could’ve made a mark like this. As far as your knowledge on the jungle goes, there shouldn’t be anything that could leave this behind.

The goosebumps that crawl up your arms are involuntary, stomach dropping. The safety blanket that the jungle had been providing seconds ago, is gone now. There’s something in here with you, and it was smart enough to run when it made noise.

You raise your head, thinking about the best way to handle this situation, when your heart seizes in your chest.

What the fuck is that.

In one fluid movement, you jump to your feet, turning in the direction of the beach, and beginning to sprint down the slope. A screech cuts through the previously quiet air, piercing your ears enough to make you wince at the pitch.

And then you can hear it galloping behind you, hands and feet pounding against the spongy jungle ground. A scream rises in your throat, terrified to look behind you to see how fast this thing actually is.

You take the chance when you swing around a tree, stealing a glance over your shoulder.

Whatever it is, it’s demonic.

You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s coming at you on all fours, there’s hooves where its feet should be, with long and pointed nails on its fingers. Its fur is so black that you can’t make out where its eyes are, or if it has any skin exposed at all. It’s a beast straight out of one of your nightmares.

It isn’t fast by any means, but it’s not slow, either.

You can hear it tearing up a path behind you, trampling through the bushes, ripping bark off trees. As the path between the trees narrows, the jungle becomes more condensed. You hear less of it coming in contact with the ground, thumping replacing the noise.

Until it stops altogether.

Your instincts take over, jerking to the right, shoulder slamming into the tree. You watch in silence as the beast flies by where you were a second ago, claws out and ready to latch on. It comes into contact with the ground about ten feet away, head whipping unnaturally to see over its shoulder.

“No, no!” You let out, beginning to weave through the trees.

A snarl rips through its throat at the idea of you outsmarting it. It’s coming for you, and there’s nothing you can do besides run for your life and dodge it each time it tries to attack.

You play this game for what feels like an hour, but it can’t be more than twenty minutes. You make it half a mile down the slope, knowing that the beach can’t be that far away from where you are, when you realize that it’s gone. The monster that has been chasing you has given up.

You lean over your knees, mouth watering, throat beginning to close. As you gasp for air, your body tries to expel some of the heat by making you sweat, but all that’s doing is making you sick. You think you might throw up.

Right as you’ve come to terms with losing all the water and food in your body, spit falling from your mouth in long strings, a shadow on the ground grows larger. Your face twists, thinking that something must be falling, like a leaf.

It hits you, literally, flattening you against the ground, head hitting the dirt. It digs in, nails cutting through skin as it tears through your back and arms, shredding your jumpsuit. A scream leaves your lips, a white hot and blinding pain smothering you all at once.

Your hand tightens around the spear, cheek against Earth as the beast presses into your shoulders, keeping you from moving. Still, with the small amount of mobility you have, you swing the head of the spear up, toward yourself, narrowly missing your left shoulder.

It lodges into the beast, causing it to roar in pain. You shove the pole further back, hoping that it pushes into its body deeper. The weight on your shoulders disappears, you can hear it stumbling away.

In the window you have, you get back to your feet, ignoring the screaming pain your entire backside is in. You just need to make it to the beach, it’s not that far away, you’ve covered this distance in your sleep before. It’s harder to do, though, when every hard step you take makes you grit your teeth to keep from crying out.

The beast is catching up with you, recovering from its wound. It’s faster than you are, and it’s completely disregarding everything in its path. Nothing can slow it down. You can see the golden sand through the trees, you’re almost there.

A body jumps out from behind a bush, making you run into it. For a moment, you’re sure that it’s an exact replica of the monster behind you, but once you realize that you’re staring at another tribute jumpsuit, the panic subsides. But only for a second.

“Move!” You shriek, trying to get around him. He grabs the sides of your arms, holding you there.

You look up, finding that you’re standing face to face with the male tribute from Ten—someone who is not part of the rebel alliance, and doesn’t care whether or not you make it out alive. When you glance over your shoulder, you can see that the beast is getting closer. It’s not going to stop until it gets its hands on somebody.

And it won’t be you.

The only choice you have is to sacrifice him, so that’s exactly what you do. You jerk him around, switching places with him, forcing his back to the beast. His eyes widen, mouth opening to say something, when you pull back from him, lifting your leg to kick him in the chest.

The beast takes him gratefully, landing on his back. He stumbles forward, struggling under the weight of the beast. You watch in horror as its jaws unhinge, revealing razor sharp teeth. It throws its head back, before whipping forward, mouth securing around the tribute’s neck.

And with no resistance, he rips out a chunk of the flesh. A spray of blood hits you in the face, and it coats the jungle floor. You back away with wide eyes, watching as Ten’s legs can’t hold him up anymore, body collapsing in the dirt beneath the beast.

A cannon fires.

You turn, making the final push for the beach before it can come after you, too.

The moment your feet hit the sand, it begins to drag you down, keeping you from running as far away as your mind is screaming for you to go. You make it a few feet before landing on your hands and knees, sucking in sharp breaths and letting them out aggressively.

That was almost you. That could’ve been you.

You try to crawl, hands forming in fists in the sand, tears falling from your eyes.

“(Y/n)?” You hear. There’s a headache forming, black spots coming to eat away at the corners of your vision. “(Y/n), hey.”

A hand touching your lower back makes you swing a hand up to get them off. Your wrist is caught, eyes meeting Finnick’s, finding him worried.

“You’re okay, honey. I’m right here.” He pulls at your elbow to make you sit up on your knees.

You grab onto his shoulder, struggling to breathe, “It—it… The—”

Finnick takes your hand placing it against his chest. “Follow me.” He takes a deep breath, you try to follow, stuttering. He blows it out, you sob. “Come on, (Y/n). Just keep breathing. In and out.” You mimic his breaths, allowing them to even out. “You’re doing great.”

“Finnick.” You cry, head falling forward.

He cups your face with both hands, lifting your head. He’s only a couple inches away from you. “You’re safe with me, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He wipes your tears away with his thumbs. “Do you want to tell me what’s in there?”

You look away, eyes too intense to stare into. “A monster.”

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

1K notes · View notes

livwritesstuff · 2 months

Text

Steve’s oldest daughter Moe is unusually quiet on the drive home from her college apartment in New York City.

She was supposed to be doing this drive with her younger sister Robbie (who had bullied Steve and Eddie into letting her bring a car with her to college), but then Robbie and her friends had actually managed to squirrel away enough money for an impromptu trip to D.C. for their spring break, and Moe had still wanted to visit home even without a ride.

Steve had made a whole show acting all put out over having to make the four hour drive between her school in NYC and their house in the Massachusetts suburbs (twice, he’ll add — he’s been on the road for six hours so far with a couple more to go) but, truthfully, there isn’t much he wouldn’t do to spend time with his kids, especially since the older two have firmly graduated to young-adult status, and he easily could have put her on a train.

“So what’s goin’ on with you, Moe?” he finally asks when the quiet stretches a little to far.

Moe shrugs, and then she says, “I was wondering something.”

“Go for it.”

“You and Dad, like…you were older when you started dating, right?”

Steve pauses for a moment, allowing himself to consider what might qualify as older to his twenty-one-year-old daughter.

“I guess it depends on what you mean by older,” he settles on telling her.

“I mean, you weren’t in high school anymore, even though you knew each other in high school.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, “I was halfway through grad school, so twenty-six, I think, and you know Dad’s not even a year older than me.”

Moe nods in return, and then she asks, “And you were friends before anything else happened? Like, for a while?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve replies, “Dad, and Aunt Nancy, and Aunt Robin were my best friends. Still are, obviously, just…different over time.”

“But, like, how–” Moe stops, and Steve can tell without needing to look away from the road to check the way her eyebrows are furrowed, the way they’re crinkled in the middle just like they always are on the rare occasions Moe can’t find the words she needs. She lets out a short exhale, “How did you know that it changed?” Before Steve can answer, Moe shakes her head, “How did you know that what you were feeling wasn’t, like, friend things anymore? Or, like, that it was more than just friend things.”

“Uh,” Steve pauses, running a hand through his hair, “Honestly, Nancy kind of told me.”

Moe’s head turns in his direction.

“Aunt Nancy told you?” she asks, “Pop…that’s so lame.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happened.”

“Why?”

Steve thinks about it for a second. It’s funny, he doesn’t actually put too much thought into that time in his life – the seven years that had lapsed between becoming friends with Eddie in the aftermath of everything with the Upside Down and when they’d finally gotten together. That was nearly thirty years ago, after all, and Steve hasn’t ever really been the type to dwell on the past. He takes a moment to dwell on it now and remembers how long it had taken him to notice the dull ache behind his ribs and the anxious somersault his stomach had done every time Eddie so much as looked his way.

“I mean – yeah, you’re right. It’s…it’s not easy when you’re close with someone for a long time and then the way you feel about them changes, because, you know, it’s not – I mean, it’s not like it changes overnight. It’s gradual, so…yeah, it’s not easy.”

“Yeah,” she quietly agrees.

“Nance, just – well, you know Nance. She just clocked it before I did, and I guess she didn’t have the patience to wait it out. Once I knew though, it was, like, super fucking obvious. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t known before.”

Moe’s laugh is nervous in a way Steve isn’t sure he’s ever heard before, and if there’s a friend of Moe’s she might be feeling differently for, he thinks he might have an idea which one. Moe is a hell of a lot smarter than him though, and this conversation is telling enough that she won’t need things spelled out for her in the way he had with Eddie thirty years ago.

“It was hard,” he continues, because he has a feeling Moe might need to hear more even if she isn’t asking for anything specific, “I – I mean, I actually liked dating when I was your age, believe it or not. I thought it was fun, or whatever, and it wasn’t really a thing that made me nervous, you know? With your dad, though…shit, I was terrified, because it’s a different kind of risk than just shooting your shot with someone you run into and hit it off with.”

Moe nods.

“I think the reason it’s so freaky is because falling for someone you’re friends with is never just a crush. I knew there was something big there. I know you guys hate when Dad and I are all sappy, but he was never just some guy I was dating. He was it for me from the very beginning.”

Moe mumbles something under her breath that Steve doesn’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

“I don’t hate it,” she says, her voice still pretty low, and Steve knows that must have been difficult for her to admit so he doesn’t comment on it (though he will be telling Eddie as soon as he possibly can – obviously).

“Well, I’m just saying,” he replies, “I wasn’t feeling that way for nothing, and things turned out pretty good in the end. If someone was in a similar situation, I’d tell them…” he pauses, and then laughs as he says, “I’d tell them to not wait seven years to get a good thing started.”

“Alright,” she replies, “I’ll…yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

#idk what this is #ur a real one if you know who moe is talking about lol #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

492 notes · View notes

aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 5 months

Text

WILDEST DREAMS.

Modern!Aegon II Targaryen x pregnant!Reader

Neither of you would have thought you‘d ever end up like this — dating for hardly a year and you pregnant with Aegon‘s child. Yet he still has another surprise up his sleeve.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; p in v, pregnant sex, pregnancy, lactation kink, semi public sex, daddy kink, breeding kink, praise kink

WORDS: 3.5 K

NOTES: Thanks to @lovelykhaleesiii for this amazing request! This can be read as part of the Mine and Mine only universe. 🤭

White Harbor has never looked more peaceful than it does at this moment.

Just two days ago, the sky above the harbor was lit up by fireworks with thousands of people watching, and now the only lights you can see are the ones on the docked boats, and the street lights and buildings surrounding the harbor.

Instead of a formal dinner with his friends, just like he has celebrated every year, Aegon has chosen to invite his younger siblings and their respective families to White Harbor to celebrate the New Year, renting a penthouse overlooking the impressive harbor. It was meant to be a trip no longer than three days, however, all parties involved have quickly decided that it would be better to extend the trip by a few more.

You and Aegon have been dating for hardly a year, meeting by chance in the very same spot you sit in right now, and, after you have found out that you both live in King’s Landing, decided to enter a situationship because you enjoyed each other’s company but weren’t looking for something serious.

Until he got you pregnant by accident.

After you both agreed to keep the child, you could swear you had spotted a few tears brimming in his eyes as you handed him the positive pregnancy test, you could observe from day to day how he became more and more absorbed in the father’s role.

You’re seven months pregnant by now, and, except for the ridiculous amount of milk your body already provides for the child, you have little to no symptoms. The child has been moving quite a bit ever since you’ve hit the six month mark, but you have gotten used to it by now.

Aegon’s arm is draped over the back of your chair with his fingers drawing mindless patterns along your upper arm, and you two bask in each other’s company and the silence surrounding you. You’re nursing your second glass of non-alcoholic wine, one hand resting on the swell of your bump and feeling the kicks of your child.

While your eyes are fixed on the tv in the adjoining living room, the Disney movie still running that was meant to keep Helaena’s children occupied during dinner, Aegon has his eyes solely locked on you, watching you gently caress your protruding bump.

He places his hand over yours, the sudden warmth prompting you to meet his loving gaze.

You lean into his embrace, and he presses a chaste kiss to your temple, before you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling his all too familiar, comforting scent.

“You know they won’t come back, right?” you ask, voice slightly muffled because of the position of your face.

Aemond and his wife left two hours ago to feed their little boy and bring him to bed, and have not returned ever since to do God-knows-what. Helaena and Cregan were a bit more persistent with both their children occupied by the television, before they eventually departed to bring them to bed, too.

That left Aegon and you all by yourself without the hurry to get to bed.

He chuckles at your words. “I figured as much,” he says, pinching your chin to bring your lips up to his. “We have this evening all to ourselves now.”

Knowing exactly what he is hinting at, your eyes take over a half-lidded gaze almost immediately, your hormones having you feel positively bubbly.

“And I suppose there are plenty of ways we can entertain ourselves in the meantime,” you purr against his lips, pecking them once. He has parted his lips when you pull back, clearly having anticipated you to deepen the kiss and not pull away after just one chaste peck.

A growl rumbles in his chest as he’s figured out your teasing, and his voice is husky when he speaks again, “are there now?”

His eyes spark with the joy of mischief at his own words, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

Aegon’s hand drops lower onto your hip, drawing you closer to him to the point you have to get up to straddle his lap. Just at the sight of the pregnant you climbing him, he could feel his crotch growing tighter, much more at the realization that it was his seed doing this to you.

The skirt of your dress rides up your thighs as you make yourself comfortable to accommodate the space your bump creates. The fabric rucks up just below your belly, and your bare skin is too inviting for your boyfriend not to rub his hands up and down the outsides of your thighs.

You rest your hands on his shoulders, and lean in to connect your lips with his. Aegon meets the kiss with passion, his arms snaking around your frame to pull you closer. Your lips press together with urgency, your tongues exploring each other’s mouths.

You run your fingers through his short, silver curls and hold him tight to you as the kiss deepens. You’re both eager to get as close as possible to each other, and you feel the evidence of your proximity and his desire pressing against your clothed and swollen pussy.

Aegon draws back slightly, and you chase his lips for another kiss. It was passionate but short-lived with him lowering his head to kiss your jaw.

He caresses the swell of your belly as he trails his lips to your neck, shoulder and then your collarbone. You whimper and whine at the heat on your skin that follows his lips, tilting your head to the side to grant him even more access.

Teasingly slow, he hooks his index finger beneath the strap of your dress and drags it down your shoulder, completely unphased as he starts to nibble your skin. He proceeds to do the same with the other strap, letting them dangle in the cooks of your elbows with your arms bent.

He brushes his hand over the side of your bump up to your heavy breast, cupping it through the fabric. “You haven’t worn a bra all day long,” he rasps against your collar bone, looking up at you with dark blown eyes. “Such a little minx. Bet you didn’t even think about how badly I would have to hold myself back, huh?”

The touch to your breast sends a tremble through your body, and you arch your back into it. Biting your lip as you look down at him, you whisper teasingly, though there is a hint of glee audible in your words, “not one second.”

His piercing blue eyes widen for a moment, the true meaning behind your words slowly settling. When he squeezes your breast, you tug on his hair in return, causing him to groan, and with his head already tilted up, he presses his lips to your jaw.

“You’re a very, very naughty girl… mommy.” His voice is hoarse when he speaks, and his words make your body hum with desire.

You lick your lips, and bow your head to meet his, kissing him deeply. You start to grind over his clothed cock, eliciting sharp and heavy breaths from him and quiet whines from yourself whenever your lips parted for air.

Resting your forehead against his, you rub your hands over his shoulders, squeezing them. “Mommy can be very naughty,” you say, pecking his lips once. “If she gets what she wants…”

“And what does she want?” The grin he has on his lips is perfectly audible, you don’t even have to see it. He knows all too well what you’re going to say, he just wants to hear it.

“You, daddy.”

You can tell he’s taken by surprise at the nickname, since you’ve never used it with him before, his eyes widen as he pulls back to regard you. But nevertheless, a low groan leaves his lips.

Having always been insatiable and hungry for each other, it’s no surprise which direction it all takes when Aegon cups your ass and lifts you up to carefully sit you down on the table, standing between your parted legs. You bury your fingers in the hairs on the back of his neck again, and watch him carefully.

“Say that again.”

With a cheeky grin on your lips, your eyes visibly trail from his to his lips and then down to his crotch, the bulge perfectly visible. “Daddy,” you reply to the command, innocently batting your eyelashes at him.

Aegon groans again, and when his hands tug on the front of your dress, you shimmy out of the straps to allow him to free your full breasts. It’s impossible for him to tear his eyes off of them, watching mesmerized how your nipples harden as the chill air hits them.

You don’t even have to say anything for him to lean in and wrap his lips around one bud, skipping the teasing to suck on it immediately, swallowing your milk like a man starved. The stimulation and relief it brings has your back arching once again, all but shoving your breasts against his lips and into his hand.

He’s pinching your other nipple between his fingers, coaxing drops of your milk to dribble down the curve of your breast while his lips greedily lap at your other.

“Fuck,” you mewl, scratching your fingers over his scalp in a comforting manner.

Aegon’s spurred on by the way your body writhes beneath his touch and your legs clamp around his hips, locking him in and prompting him to rut his hard cock against your clothed pussy.

But as much as you yearn for the relief his lips bring you, the aching between your legs is too much and needs to be soothed by him.

“I need you, Aeg,” you whine, grinding yourself against his hard-on.

A deep groan rumbles in his chest at your words, stoking the already blazing need you have for each other. To your surprise, he pulls back from your breast with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your hard bud and his swollen lips.

They are curled into a smug smirk, the expression that so often blesses his chiseled features. “What was that?”

You sigh, biting your bottom lip to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. You know what he wants to hear. “I need you… daddy.”

Like a man possessed, Aegon pushes the skirt of your dress up and reveals your cotton panties. You haven’t worn thongs in ages, and he’s used to them by now, though it took him some while.

Noticing the damp spot in the center of them, Aegon scoffs. “God, fuck, how I‘ve missed you,“ he husks, his eyes solely focused on the outlines of your swollen folds against the cotton. He‘s not talking to you, obviously. “So eager to be filled by me, baby, mh?”

He fists the fabric between his fingers and just rips it apart as if it‘s nothing, briefly meeting your pouting gaze. “I’ll buy you prettier ones,” he replies.

His hands curl around your thighs to pull you closer towards the edge of the table, and you lean back and prop yourself on your hands, watching almost eagerly as he undoes the zipper of his pants and pulls out his cock. The tip is covered in an angry red, beads of pre cum glistening at the slit, looking all too painful and begging for relief.

Fisting the base of his cock, he drags it through your swollen folds, soaking it in your arousal before he presses the tip against your entrance, meeting resistance. You brace yourself for the delicious stretch, and release a shuddered breath when he finally breeches your hole.

Aegon doesn’t know where to look and touch you. Every inch of your body looks far too inviting, and he’s sure he could cum just knowing that he’s the one responsible for the swelling of your body. The half lidded gaze you flash at him doesn’t help either, driving him mad.

A husky groan slips past his lips as your walls squeeze him ever so tightly, throbbing and twitching as you choke him like a vice. “Fuck, keep squeezing me like that and I’m not gonna last long,” he rasps.

One hand comes up to grope at your breast, while the other rests on the swell of your bump, splaying over it.

As he pulls his hips back, you wrap your legs around them in a fruitless effort to force him back into you, but he is stronger and merely keeps the tip of his cock inside of you.

“So eager to have me inside of you?” he teases, and your reply dies on your tongue as he thrusts sharply back into you.

There’s a suppressed urgency in the way Aegon snaps his hips into yours so quickly and harshly, repeatedly bullying the sweet spot inside of you that makes you putty in his hands. The vigorous pace of his pounding leaves you scrambling for support, and you opt to prop yourself up on your elbows instead of your hands to steady yourself.

Your head tilts back, and your mouth falls open, but you quickly clamp it shut to stop any wanton moans to fall from your lips. You can’t risk being too loud, as you don’t want anyone in the bedrooms far down the hallway to hear what you’re up to.

The pleasure envelops you, and when you look at him, you spot him biting his bottom lip harshly, clearly struggling with staying quiet just as much as you do. What seems to distract him at least a bit is the way your breasts jiggle each time his hips meet yours, sending tremors through your body.

Toe curling pleasure overtakes your body, and you can’t help but fondle the breast that isn’t groped by him, teasing your nipple to the point beads of your milk dribbled out of it again. The sight has him groan out, a tad too loud for the both of you.

“So fucking pretty carrying my child,” Aegon grunts, the praise making your pussy throb with pleasure and your head fuzzy. He gathers some of your milk on the pad of his thumb, bringing it up to his lips to suck his digit clean. “Pussy or tit – you just taste divine.”

The obscenity of his words coax a renewed wave of your arousal to ooze out of your cunt, soaking his throbbing cock and the table below. You don’t want it to end just yet, but with the knot in your belly tightening, there’s no way to escape.

Your heels dig into Aegon’s ass cheeks to slightly decelerate the pace of his thrusts and force him to go even deeper, intensifying the sensations you feel.

“Fuck… please,” you whimper with your face contored in pleasure.

Aegon wrinkles his nose, looking at you from under the strands of hair that have fallen into his face. “Need something, mommy?”

Your hips roll against his as best as they can, the swollen belly not making it easy, and your mouth falls open again with breathy whimpers leaving it. “I-I’m close,” you mewl, looking up at him with hooded eyes. “Wanna cum, daddy… please.”

You spot the hint of a smile dancing over his features, before he peels your hand off of your breast to bring it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

His other hand has found its way down to your pussy, skilled fingers dragging over your bundle in the rhythm they have long internalized. He knows you like clockwork, knows what gets you going and what makes you take just a little longer.

“Cum for me,” he pants against the back of your hand, not once breaking eye contact with you.

You collapse on the tabletop, the coldness of the wood hitting your flushed skin sending a shiver up your spine that goes so devilishly well with the fire that suddenly courses through your veins.

Just in time with your orgasm washing over you, Aegon places his hand over your mouth to stifle the loud moans and whines, knowing damn well that even though he can hold himself back, the same doesn’t apply to you.

You squeeze his cock so tightly as you fall apart beneath him, your back inevitably arching off of the table.

“That’s it, mommy,” he coos while he fucks you through the orgasm, the toe-curling pleasure overtaking your every being. He watches in awe as your face contorts in pleasure, taking pride in it since it’s him that’s responsible for it.

Only as he feels your body relax and your breathing turn more shallow than heavy does he bring his hand back down to your breast, the aftershocks of your high clearly subsiding.

Aegon keeps on going despite the overstimulation taking its toll on your body now, clearly racing for his own completion. His other hand shows mercy on your sensitive clit and instead pays attention to your hip, fingers digging into your flesh.

“Taking me so well, fuck, just a little longer,” he rambles, his head bowing forward to watch where he‘s repeatedly disappearing inside of your tightness.

Your head lulls back again, and your walls flutter and clench from the overstimulation, in dire need to take his seed and bring it to an end. Both your hands fly to the edge of the table for leverage, while his hands grope every inch of your body they could grasp.

Being overstimulated by him isn’t new to you, yet the moment the discomfort melts into plain pleasure always mesmerizes you.

Your body feels as if it’s on fire with the knot in your belly tightening for a second time, the high approaching faster and harder than before.

“Would’ve fucked a child in you if you weren’t pregnant already,” Aegon mumbles, and you can hear the strain in his voice, seemingly having troubles staying quiet.

You whine in return, and it must have been the way your walls choke him for a second time, but Aegon brings his hand between your bodies again, pressing his thumb to your sensitive clit.

“Cum with me,” you all but whine, eager to have his seed paint your walls. “Fill me up, daddy, pleasepleaseplease.”

The interplay of his cock bullying your sweet spot and his thumb dragging over your clit has you toppling over the edge once again, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to silence yourself.

But even if you wanted to moan, you couldn’t, not with the white, hot pleasure coursing through your veins.

Your lips part with no sounds leaving them, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

It’s not long after that Aegon comes undone, announcing his own orgasm with a stutter of his hips and a hoarse “Fuck, I–” escaping his throat.

Your clenching walls are milking him for all he got, making sure every drop of his cum is accommodated and doesn’t go to waste.

Two more thrusts are given to your fluttering pussy before Aegon stills his hips, collapsing forwards with his hands braced right next to the swell of your bump.

He’s towering over you, a lazy smirk on his lips as he meets your gaze, and beads of sweat cling to his flushed skin.

You rub your bump in circles as you look up at him, calming yourself as you regain your breathing.

And you want to speak, but Aegon beats you to it.

“Marry me.”

A gasp escapes you as you process the words, and your belly immediately churns with arousal and desire.

As his words ring in your ears, you lick your lips and gaze up at him lovingly, though something mischievous glints in your eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

His face softens, but his lips curl into a smirk. “I was waiting for the right time, but I didn’t know whether it would come at all.”

You giggle at his words, and also roll your eyes, as it was typical Aegon. But even if the moment isn’t perfect, your heart still beats rapidly, having a hard time to handle the overwhelming emotions his proposal causes you.

“But there’s still going to be a real proposal, right? With a ring and all that?” you tease playfully.

Aegon chuckles and helps you sit upright again, cupping your belly with both hands. “Of course, you’ll get a beautiful ring and everything else that comes with it. You really think I’d half-ass something like this? You deserve the most extravagant proposal.”

You sigh, savoring the feeling of his hands on your body, his softening cock still inside of you and the weight of his words.

“Yes. Yes, I will.”

Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @melsunshine @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1 @hypocritic-trash-baby @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @connorsui @valeskafics

774 notes · View notes

souliebird · 8 days

Text

[[and then I met you || ch. 21]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4k

ao3 link

“Ahhhh.”

You open your mouth wide so Doctor Minnie can shine her flashlight down your throat. She hums and haws as she peers in, looking for who knows what, and when she concludes her search, she scribbles on your chart. Your chart is a piece of notebook paper with a wonderfully drawn crayon portrait in the corner, your name carefully written out across the top, and timestamps with detailed notes of each check up you have received today. These notes include squiggles that could be interpreted as cursive and the letters a, m, and q repeated over and over.

“You needs to drink more water and puts the towel on your ear,” your daughter tells you seriously. It is the same treatment you have gotten all morning, so you are well prepared for it.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Minnie gives you a big smile, then whirls around to bark orders, “Nurse! We needs more water! Please, thank you!”

Matt is on the other side of the coffee table, sitting cross legged as he manipulates pipe cleaners around popsicle sticks. He and Minnie have been working on an art project for the better part of the morning - between your hourly check ups. He got his own checkup this morning and earned a band-aid on his cheek, but your daughter has been obsessed with making sure you are okay.

You are in no way complaining over her dotting - you more than understand this is how she is coping with what happened and you are more than happy to receive fake shots and orders to stay sitting on the couch. Whatever makes her feel safe and happy.

You know her father feels the same way.

He raises himself into standing, the smallest smile forming on his lips as he falls into his role, “Yes, Doctor. How many ccs?”

Minnie rubs her chin in thought, and you have to bite your lip so you won’t start laughing. She’s been so intense playing doctor, and you don’t want to discourage her. You are worried any teasing might upset her and that is the last thing you want to do at the moment, especially given the circumstances.

She finally decides on a number and declares, “Six!”

“Six ccs of water coming right up,” Matt tells her. He plucks your still half-full water bottle from the coffee table and starts towards the kitchen. Mouse watches him go, squinting her little eyes like she’s either judging him or trying to remember something.

Apparently, it is the latter, as she gasps, then calls after him, “And appy juice!”

Matt gives a dramatic gasp and turns to face the both of you, “And appy juice? Are you sure, Doctor?”

Minnie giggles, clearly amused by her Daddy’s antics. There’s a difference between teasing and playing along, and Matt is king at being Mouse’s partner in crime. You’ve seen a different side of your daughter come out when she’s around him - a little bolder and more sure of herself - and you want nothing more than to encourage that.

“It’s for me!” Your little one says between her laughs and that makes Matt smile brighter.

“Ah, a drink after a hard day's work. Six ccs of water for Mommy and one appy juice for the Doctor.”

“What do you say, Mouse?”

“Thank you, Nurse!”

As Matt gets your drinks together, you help Minnie out of her Doctor’s coat and you fuss with folding it as she starts to put her check-up toys back into their bag. She must be getting tired if she is asking for her juice, but she looks completely alert and like she could keep playing for another hour or so before slowing down. She woke up at her normal time this morning, but at some point in the night she wound up in your bed. You don’t blame her at all for that.

You’ve been on your own roller coaster of emotions this morning.

You woke up in a cold sweat - memories of being strangled flying through your mind - and the only thing that had been able to calm you was Matt’s arm around you. It helped to keep you grounded - remind you that you weren’t alone and that you were safe.

(“I love you.”)

No one can touch you or your baby if he is there and it isn’t some hindbrain ‘man protect woman’ nonsense.

Matt is a superhero in the most literal sense.

He has powers and an armored suit and fights bad guys.

It is hard to wrap your mind around and you have so many questions, but you both agreed to wait until Minnie took her nap to talk. This isn’t a conversation you can have over her head.

Minnie finishes picking up her toys just as Matt returns from his task. He lets her climb up onto the couch and settle against your side before handing over her juice. Your water gets placed on the table and you thank him before turning your eyes to your daughter.

“What do you want to watch, sweetie?”

“Penguins,” she answers, right before starting to nurse her juice. You found a video about the life of penguins that is toddler friendly a few days prior and it is quickly becoming a favorite. The documentary is a nice change from the cartoons that usually make up your television time and you are fine to watch it for the upteenth time.

Matt takes his place on Minnie’s other side, practically squishing her between you, and the three of you begin to quietly learn about the flightless tuxedo wearing birds. The video is a little less than thirty minutes long and by the time it is wrapping up, Mouse’s chin is on her chest, and she is snoring. In a silent agreement, you let Matt take care of putting her into bed for her nap. Though he has done it a few times now, he still cherishes the moment in a way you no longer do.

Your heart beats a little harder when Matt and Minnie disappear down the hallway. Your stomach swirls with anxiety over the talk you know is coming - though in a strange way you are not scared. You trust Matt to tell you the truth, but you are not sure you want to learn those truths. Doors you never even knew existed are opening to you and part of you wants to stay naive to the ongoings around you, but you know you can’t do that.

This is part of Matt’s world, and if he wants to be in Minnie’s, you need to know everything about it.

As you wait for Matt to return, you close your eyes and try to take a few deep breaths. It does nothing to calm your heart or mind, but it gives you something to focus on. You do not want to work yourself up by overthinking - that would just make things worse for everyone. So you count to five between inhales and exhales until you hear the door to the bedroom close.

(“I love you.”)

It feels like you stop breathing until the cushion beside you dips.

Your anxiety is flaring - your throat feels so tight and there is so much pressure on your chest. You know there isn’t a reason for your body to be reacting like this, but you don’t know how to stop it. You feel like you are trapped under your own worries, and you can’t escape.

“You’re terrified,” Matt says in a dull voice from beside you and you have to pry your eyes open to look at him. He looks so resigned and neutral, and your heart manages to pang for him between being crushed.

You don’t know what he could possibly be going through - you are finally alone with him, and your mind has decided you need to have an anxiety attack. Does he think you think he’ll hurt you or something just as ridiculous?

You may have only known Matt for a short time, but you trust him. He hasn’t done anything to break that trust and he has shown you he cares. He sat with you in the hospital and stayed with you after until he knew you were okay to be on your own.

He’s gone out of his way for you on so many occasions.

He’s made you feel safe.

Wanted.

Loved.

(“I love you.”)

Your mind is spinning and panicking and everything is so intense, but your mouth, as always, decides to work without permission.

“Will you hold me?”

The words shock you. You’ve never asked anyone to hold you - you generally don’t like to be touched - but when Matt’s arms are around you, the world seems a little more stable.

Matt seems just as taken aback as you are over the request. It takes him a moment to act, but then he chokes out, “Of course,” and opens his arms to you.

You turn towards each other, you bringing one leg up to tuck under yourself, and slot together. Your arms go around his middle and you press your face into his neck, while one of his hands goes to your hair to hold you in place and the other starts rubbing up and down your spine.

The relief is almost instant.

You release a long shaky breath and nuzzle yourself closer to him. He smells like your body wash and coffee, and he feels so solid against you. You feel like a shield has wrapped around you and nothing can get to you - not the all the day to day things you worry about like bills and messages you need to respond to nor all the evil things that lurk in the shadows.

For once in your life, you feel like you're not alone.

“I’ve got you,” Matt breathes into your ear and you believe him.

“You’ve got me,” you repeat into his shoulder. You can hear how watery your voice sounds and you tell yourself you won’t cry.

(“I love you.”)

You fall into a brief silence - you need a moment to recenter yourself and Matt seems to realize that. You feel him press a kiss to the side of your head as he continues to pet you and you have no idea why that helps to soothe your nerves. You let your eyes fall shut and focus on only him.

Once you don’t feel like you’ll get choked up if you start talking, you ask, “Is it okay if we talk like this?”

“Perfectly fine with me,” he whispers against you and you decide to just dive into it.

“You’re Daredevil.”

“I am,” he confirms.

“Will you tell me about it? From the start?”

You feel Matt take a deep breath and to offer him some sort of comfort, you curl your fingers into his shirt, holding onto him a little bit tighter.

“After I lost my dad and went to St. Agnes, they didn’t know how to deal with me. I didn’t have control over my senses, and I was angry at everything. I still don’t know how, but they found a man, Stick, to come help me - to teach me how to be Blind. He taught me more than that. He focused my senses, showed me I had control over them and how I could use them. And he taught me how to fight.” Matt’s words are steady and firm, but you can feel his heart pounding against you.

You absorb the words, a frown forming on your lips, “he taught you to fight? As a child?”

He sighs against you, then nods, “Yes. Stick believed there was a war coming between the Hand and the Chaste and they needed soldiers for the Chaste. I’ll…I can tell you more about that later.”

“Okay.” You want to know more about whatever the Hand and the Chaste are, but you can tell that is an entirely different conversation. One you aren’t quite ready for, yet.

“Stick taught me how to fight and how to use my senses to my advantage. He taught me how to channel my anger. My…my grandmother used to tell me the Devil was in the Murdock boys. And it’s true. I have the Devil in me - all my anger and rage. Stick taught me control. Then he left and I was angry he left, but I kept up my training. I didn’t need to enroll in martial arts classes to be able to learn - I could do it from blocks away. The boxing ring my Dad used to train at let me come in and use the mats and bags and I just kept at it.”

“Were you able to practice with people?” You ask. You know learning things in theory is way different than learning for practicality and fighting doesn’t seem like something you can just know in theory if you are a superhero.

Matt chuckles into your hair, “I got into a lot of fights in the schoolyard. I didn’t put up with bullies and no one wanted to admit I kicked their ass, so I never really got in trouble.”

With what you know of Matt and his personality and sense of justice, that makes perfect sense to you, and you say as much. He kisses your hair again before continuing on.

“When I reached college, I could…understand all the things I was hearing. All of the crime. I did everything I could - legally. I called the cops, I made reports, but more often than not, nothing ever happened. It made me angry - so angry - but my dad never wanted me to fight with my fists. He wanted me to use my head, do things the right way - so I tried. I really tried. For years. Then Foggy and I decided to start our own firm, to help the people in Hell’s Kitchen, really help them, and I couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t listen to the cries of kids being abused by their parents and people getting mugged and my city, the city I love, being poisoned. So, I let the Devil out.”

“And became Daredevil?”

“I did not choose that name,” Matt huffs, “But yes.”

You don’t remember much from when Daredevil first started appearing on the news - you were pregnant the first time you saw him, but you couldn’t pinpoint it. You have no idea what he was doing then.

So, you ask.

“How? How did you let the Devil out?”

Matt doesn’t answer you right away. He noses at your hair and traces his fingers up and down your spine and you have the feeling he’s thinking over his answer.

“I went after all the people poisoning my city. Not just the muggers and abusers. The drug and weapons dealers. The corrupt. There was a man named Fisk who was trying to take over the city, turn it into something it isn’t.”

“I know that name,” you say against him, “I read about it. There were…two cases? Legal ones.”

“Yeah. It was…complicated. It is complicated. We went against him as Nelson and Murdock and I went against him as Daredevil. He’s in prison now and he’ll be staying there,” Matt tells you and you have the feeling you will have to have a whole different discussion about Fisk in the future.

“But what about now? You are still out there fighting.”

“The city still needs protecting.”

It does, you know it does. Your attack is proof of that. You don’t want to think about it and the hands around your throat, so you press your face more into Matt’s neck and force yourself to fast-forward through the memory to something relevant to your current talk.

“You work with other…superheroes?” You ask. “Like Frank?”

“Frank isn’t a superhero and neither am I,” Matt scoffs, “But yes..I’m…learning to work with others. It’s not something I’m used to yet.”

“Tell me about them.”

He hums against you, then starts slowly, “You met Frank. He’s…we don’t get along. We have very different philosophies about how things should work, but he’s a good man. I’d rather be with him than against him and…I trust him to protect the people I care about. He’d fight tooth and nail for Karen - he has, and if I had to choose someone, besides myself, to protect you and Minnie, it would be him.”

Again, you believe Matt. From what you have seen of Frank, and not the Punisher, you think that trust is well earned. If Matt trusts him, you think you should too.

“And there’s Jessica. She is a private investigator and….very strong. Luke is also strong and..uh..bulletproof. He’s dating Claire, who you also met, she’s a nurse who got wrapped up in everything and helps when we get injured. And then Danny and Colleen. They are…” he trails off, like he’s unsure how to describe them and you do not push. You can’t imagine having to describe superheroes.

“What about Foggy and Karen?”

Matt shakes his head, “I try to not involve them in Daredevil things, but it ends up overlapping. They want to help, but I want them to be safe.” He pauses and you can feel him swallow, like he’s nervous. “I tell them everything, though. I used to think I had to keep my lives separate - one as Matt Murdock and one as Daredevil. I’ve tried to live as only Matt and I’ve tried to live as only Daredevil, but neither worked. I’m still finding the balance of living as both, and they help me. They give me rules to follow, make sure the plans I come up with are sound and that all options are considered. That is what I want with you. I want to be open. I want to be able to tell you everything and not keep secrets. I have seen what that does to people in my life and I don’t want that with you.”

You take in his words and let them mull over in your mind.

You can’t ask Matt to stop being Daredevil - you know you can’t. You heard what he said about why he needed to be Daredevil, and you understand that. He can’t sit by and do nothing, and by what he is telling you, he’s trying to be smart about it. He works with people to protect the city - to protect you. Yes, it scares you about all the risks he is taking and how they will translate into your life, but ultimately, the decision is his. If he wanted to keep you in the dark about everything, it would be a different story, but he doesn’t seem to want that. That makes it easier to accept and process - having as many pieces of the puzzle as you can helps you see the whole picture.

You shift slightly in his arms, tucking yourself even closer to him, and ask, “What are you working on now? With Frank?”

Again, he doesn’t answer right away. You let him think over his words as you process. Your anxiety has definitely decreased - you feel like you can breathe and that things are going to be manageable. You can speak with Foggy and Karen and get their perspective on things and it can help you come up with a game plan.

Having a plan is step one in everything being okay.

(“I love you.”)

“Jess, Frank, and I are…,” Matt starts slowly, “trying to help some street kids. They live in the sewers and don't trust the System or cops, but a few of them have gone missing and one has been killed, and they are scared. There's been guys in suits lurking near one of their hang outs and they don't appear in any government database, so we've been trying to track them down.”

Horror runs through you at his words. Someone has been hurting kids? Minnie’s face flashes through your mind and you press yourself closer to Matt.

“Street kids?”

“Mostly teens,” Matt amends. “I gave them information about St. Agnes but I more than get why they don't trust it. The System is horrible. The sewers are the only place they feel safe.” You feel him lick his lips again, then to your surprise, his voice changes from serious to almost fond. “They have a tent city. They let us come down there and bring supplies last week. Blankets and food and stuff. Frank got them a cellphone, so they'll be able to contact us if anything happens.”

Your mind spins at the idea of a bunch of kids living in the sewers. You knew it happened - New York is full of homeless people - but you never thought about it before. Guilt plagues you and you can't help but ask, “Can we help in other ways?”

Matt shakes his head, “Not in the ways you are thinking. We're going to find these guys and put a stop to whatever they are doing and right now that's the best we can do for them. They don't want to come up to the surface and if we try to force them, they'll move and still be in danger. After they know they can trust us and we put a stop to what is happening, we can start the next steps.”

“You'll protect them?” You ask, wanting to hear him say it.

“The kids may be under the streets of Hell's Kitchen, but they are still mine to protect.” His arms tighten around you, and you feel yourself melt against his chest, “And you are mine to protect.”

(“I love you.”)

“How do we protect you?” You ask, wanting to help in some way.

“Like this,” he hums, his fingers tangling into your hair a bit. “By reminding me what I am fighting for. Giving me a reason to live. I’ve been in the depths of Hell, just wanting to give up - give my life over to the Devil and go until my body stopped. I’ve been bloody and broken and alone. I don’t want that again. I want to be here with you. With Minnie. You’re my reason to get back up.”

(“I love you.”)

You press your face flush against his neck, your cheeks heating up at words. “Should I get a better first aid kit? Take CPR classes?”

He chuckles against you, and you feel it vibrate down into his chest, “That wouldn’t be a bad idea.” He pauses then tells you quietly, “Minnie has seen me in my armor, but I’m going to be doing my best to avoid getting injured in a way she can see. I have been working more on my defense - something I never really practiced.”

At the mention of your daughter, you pull back so you can look Matt in the face. Talking where you don’t need to look at his face has been helpful in calming your anxiety, but when it comes to Minnie, you need to look him in his sightless eyes.

“Are you going to train Minnie -”

“No.” Matt cuts you off before you can get the question out. “I’ll teach her how to cartwheel and other fun things, but I will never teach her to fight. I think everyone should take a defensive course to learn to get away, but I don’t want her to punch. I don’t want this anger inside of her. Minnie doesn’t have the Devil in her, and I won’t be the one to put him in her.”

You search his face and know he is telling the truth. You want your daughter to grow up to be a good person, to have as much passion as Matt does about helping the world, but the idea of her suiting up and fighting crime terrifies you. You are glad Matt feels the same way.

“Will you teach me?” You ask after a hesitant moment. “I was pretty abysmal at defending myself.”

He raises his eyebrows at the question, “You want to learn how to defend yourself?”

You shake your head, then lick your lips before dropping your voice just a touch, “I want to protect the people I care about, too.”

Matt tugs you forward gently until your foreheads are touching. You close your eyes again and let yourself start to smile.

“I’ll teach you whatever you want to learn.”

(“I love you.”)

a/n: we're over 100k words :')

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath

@allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies

@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @ astridstark13

@lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #and then i met you

338 notes · View notes

repulsiveliquidation · 5 months

Text

If I have to ask, I don’t want it.

Alexia Putellas x Reader [ANGST.]

Years into married life, Alexia gets bored of you. Based on a quote from Frida Kahlo.

I’m not asking you to kiss me, nor apologize to me when I think you’re wrong.

“Where the hell were you?” you ask Alexia, confronting her after she walks into the house way past midnight. It’s four hours past she promised to be home, having gone out with the girls for a drink after training. You were home all day waiting for her but she sounded like she needed some time to relax after being cooped up at home from her surgery so you told her to have fun and sorted yourself out. She had promised to only be an hour or two, but it turned into six hours without even a phone call or text.

“Don’t start with me, I’m not in the fucking mood for one of your lectures,” she growls, throwing her bag down and walking into the house without even a glance at you. Your eyes fill with tears, hands clenched into tight fists by your side as she slams the bedroom door behind her.

You follow her, tears flowing down your face. She’s in the bathroom brushing her teeth, rolling her eyes when she sees your crying state in the doorway.

“What does that mean?” you ask her, arms crossed before wiping away your tears.

“I wanted to drink, it’s none of your business what I do.”

“You promised me you’d be home by 8.”

“I’d rather be out with them than stuck at home with you.”

I won’t even ask you to hug me when I need it most.

Tears rolled down your cheeks when the doctors told you you couldn’t have children. Your heart shattered into a million pieces when he uttered those words to you and your wife. Alexia looked almost distant, you figured that she was simply devastated by the news and didn’t know how to process it. The moment you got home though, she had lots to say.

“You’re telling me you didn’t fucking know?” she yelled the moment the front door closed.

“Ale, I’ve never had problems before! I-”

“Save it. You know I wanted to start a family and now you fuck things up.”

“Ale, I’m sorry…I’m so so sorry,” you tell her, moving closer to her. you reach out for her hand but she flinches away.

“Save your apologies for someone who cares.”

I don’t ask you to tell me how beautiful I am, even if it’s a lie, nor write me anything beautiful.

You’re at an award ceremony with Alexia, she’s sat at the table chatting away with Aitana while you are backstage waiting to receive an award. The beige dress you had on matched Alexia’s suit, there were many compliments hurled your way the entire night. One person hadn’t said anything to you yet, not one compliment from the person that mattered the most to you. Even if you knew that you didn’t come close to being hers.

“She looks stunning in that dress, doesn’t she?” Aitana compliments you as you walk out on stage. Alexia is on her phone, texting someone who’s clearly more interesting than her wife receiving an award on stage.

Aitana slaps her arm, getting more and more annoyed at her friend.

“What?” Alexia says angrily, Aitana just rolls her eyes.

“Alexia. She’s looking at you.”

Alexia looks up at the stage just in time to hear you thanking her for being her beautiful wife and for sticking with her through all the rough patches throughout your career. She forced a smile, knowing that there was surely a camera on her.

You know her well, and that itself hurts because it’s when you walk off stage and you see her smiling at her phone that you know you’ve lost her.

I won't even ask you to call me to tell me how your day went, nor tell me you miss me.

Three days. It’s been three days since you last heard from Alexia. You were both on international duty, the England camp was going smoothly when Sarina called for a quick break. You sit beside Leah and go on your phone, hoping to see if Alexia has texted you. Nothing. Your shoulders slump a little and your best friend notices, a look of concern across her face.

“What’s up?” Leah asks, genuinely curious.

“Nothing, it’s,” you contemplate telling her. telling her that you know Alexia is seeing someone else. Loving someone else. Kissing someone else. Fucking someone else. But you hold your tongue. You force a smile like you’ve seen Alexia do in front of you lately, hoping it’s enough to convince your best friend. She doesn’t buy it but knows not to pry, especially when she can see that you’re hurting.

“It’s nothing.”

I won’t ask you to thank me for everything I do for you, nor care about me when my soul is down.

“Dinner’s on the table,” you tell Alexia as she walks into the kitchen. You look up to see her all dressed and ready to go out, your expression changes to one of sadness.

“You go ahead,” she says, grabbing her car keys. “I’m meeting someone for dinner.”

“Is it the woman you’re always texting?” you ask quietly, back turned to her. You were a coward, your mind told you; you couldn’t even bear to see the expression of pure surprise on her face that quickly turned into one that was serious.

“I am texting no one,” the front door opens, “Don’t stay up.”

I won’t ask you to support me in my decisions.

Having requested to be loaned for the rest of the season, you were excited to see what clubs would want to have you for a while. Arsenal had always been interested in you, having played alongside Leah in the academy when you were younger. So when their legal team got into negotiations with Barça, you immediately agreed.

Things at home hadn’t at all improved, you figured that some time apart would be good for you both.

“Can I speak with you for a second?” you sheepishly ask Alexia who was sitting in the living room on her laptop working away.

She doesn’t even look up at you, nodding her head for you to continue.

“I’m moving to Arsenal for the rest of the season.”

“Why?” she asks with a sharp tone, eyes narrowing in an accusatory fashion.

“They don’t need me here at Barça, besides, it’s not like you need me either.”

“So your solution when we’re having issues is to run away to England? You’ve always thought about yourself and not the team.”

“Don’t you dare say that, I have given this team my everything.”

“And yet here you are, throwing it away because you’re mad at me!”

“Who the hell says I’m doing this for you?” she looks taken aback when you raise your voice. You rarely did, and it takes her by surprise.

“I am doing this for us. You can’t even LOOK at me without looking like you’re disgusted by me. I am going, whether you fucking approve or not.”

I won’t even ask you to listen to me when I have a thousand stories to tell you.

“She’s having the time of her life there! Did you see that goal she scored over the weekend, that’s goal of the year material no?” Patri talks to Lucy and Ona about you, the girls missing you, and having spent the weekend bonding and watching your game against Watford.

“Sí, it was perfect. She is thriving at Arsenal, but I hope they give her back!” Ona says with a light chuckle, leaning into Lucy’s side in the locker room after training.

Alexia walks in, Patri yelling at her to join in on the conversation. It was her wife they were talking about anyway.

“Did you talk to your wife at all today? She called me last night and said that she misses you.” Lucy tells her, watching the captain sit in her cubby and undo her shoes. Alexia shakes her head, immediately getting on her phone.

“No, I didn’t have time last night. I’ll text her.”

“What could you possibly be doing except sulking when she’s not at home? You didn’t have a drink with us either, quite frankly you seemed eager to leave after watching the game yesterday.”

“What I do or where I go is none of your fucking business,” Alexia stands and walks across the room to them. She shakes with rage, eyes filled with pure anger at the insinuation of her being unfaithful. She was, but the thought of her friends finding out that she was doing this to you ate at her. You were perfect in their eyes, the person who would be there for anyone, no matter what. And there she was, being the very thing she promised never to do to you the day you got married.

I won’t ask you to do anything, not even be my side forever.

Divorce. That was where your marriage was headed. As you sat in your lawyer's office drawing up the documents, you were devastated. Pictures of Alexia with another woman surfaced just before you got home for Christmas. The plane ride was the worst 2 hours of your life. Alexia and you were through. She hadn’t loved you for a very long time but you had tried so hard to ignore it and convince yourself that it wasn’t true. Those pictures were a slap to your face.

She looked happy with her.

She looked content with her.

She looked in love.

You set the papers in front of her at lunch with the girls. They sat in silence as she read the stack, slowly realizing what you had just handed to her. She tried to get you to take them back and work things out but you firmly held your own.

You knew your worth.

You didn’t need her anymore.

You didn’t need to ask for her love ever again.

Because if I have to ask you, I don’t want it anymore.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas angst #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #fc barca femeni #woso #woso community #womens football #liquidation writes

909 notes · View notes

bangtanflirt · 9 months

Text

(Un)natural Instincts (Part 5)

*Series taglist is closed.

angst, fluff, smut

Pairings: OT7 x Fem Reader, Human CEO Reader, Human Assistant Yoongi, Wolf Hybrids Joon, Jin, Hobi, Jimin, Tae, and Kook.

Basic premise: You and your assistant end up rescuing six wolf hybrids. No part of the process is easy.

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4 > Part 5 > Part 6

General Warnings: Hybrid abuse and lab experimentation, hybrids as second-class citizens/owned property, future smut (Minors DNI, 18+ content)

Specific Warnings: brief mention of the lasting effects of performing sexual acts under the influence of the synthetic hormones (aka dubcon), slight daddy issues

____

Yoongi wakes up to the sound of his phone alarm blaring in his ear. It takes him a moment to remember he’s not in his room, the chandelier on the ceiling making that evident. No matter how many times he sleeps in this room, the extravagance of it will always startle him. You really were not one for subtlety when it came to home décor (or at least, twenty-one-year-old you wasn’t).

He looks at the door and remembers the reason he’s here…how there’s six wolf hybrids on the other side. Sure, they’re about as docile as a box of puppies at the moment, but it’s only a handful of more days until that changes. And worst of all, he still has to go to work and leave you alone with them for hours—especially now that you’ve paused housekeeping and chef visits. Even if you didn’t pause them, they’d stop coming on their own; no one sane would take a chance around a 40% wolf pack slowly remembering their natural instincts. Hell, the security services he’s looked at won’t even take that risk. No matter how many times he tells you how insane of a decision this is, your stubbornness will always win out in the end. He’s never been able to stop you when you’re determined to do something.

Yoongi wishes he could stay here with you, but he knows there’s no way you’d rest easy without him keeping you updated on business. He’s always been your right-hand, and while others might find the role burdensome, he prides himself on it. You don’t keep people close often, having your guard set up higher than the Great Wall of China, and it feels nice knowing he can see a side of you others don’t. Yes, it’s probably the feelings talking—feelings he’s tried to shoo away for a long time now—but that doesn’t make it any less true. He likes this job, and being by your side every day, far too much to risk it by trying anything. And he sure as hell won’t be put in the box of men who constantly hit on you during work, knowing far too well how much you hate their gazes and remarks.

It's when he’s making his way to the kitchen for his morning coffee does he lock eyes with Jimin, who’s already bright-eyed and making pancakes.

“Good morning, Sir! Would you like some pancakes and bacon?”

Yoongi doesn’t normally eat breakfast, but he does not have it in him to say no to the cheery wolf.

“Um…sure, thank you.”

“My pleasure. Anything else I can get you? Juice? Coffee?”

“I can make my own coffee but thank you for offering.”

“No please, I insist!”

He doesn’t leave any room for objections as he races over to the coffee machine, keeping a skillful eye on the pancake on the stove while brewing a new pot.

Yoongi watches awkwardly, not really knowing what to do in this situation. He’s never really talked to a hybrid before.

Do I just talk like I would to another person? Should I howl? No, dumbass, don’t howl. That’s weird.

He opts to stay silent as Jimin prepares his meal.

The wolf is in a visibly cheery mood, as evident by the soft whistling he does while making his way around the kitchen. The cause of this mood is simple: his hyung was still not in the room when he woke up. If you’re using Hoseok’s services, then that’s one step closer to getting you to use the whole pack. Which means they have a chance at staying here. Hoseok hyung did his part, now it’s Jimin’s turn. So he woke up early, memorized where everything in the kitchen was, and started working his magic.

And the fruit—or pancake—of his labor is sitting pretty on a plate, served with a cup of hot coffee on the side. He waits eagerly for Yoongi to take his first bite, which the man does quickly under the expecting gaze.

“This is really good, thank you.” He mumbles between mouthfuls, making the younger man break into a wide grin.

“Thank you for enjoying it Sir! I can make it again for breakfast tomorrow, or eggs, or toas—”

“Just Yoongi is fine. ‘Sir’ isn’t necessary. And thank you again for the food, but there’s no need to cook every morning. I usually prefer to make my own coffee and head out.”

“Oh…then I’ll just prepare the coffee for you! It’ll be in your hand right when you walk out your room!”

Yoongi waves his hand dismissively,

“No need. I’ll make it myself.”

Jimin looks for any sign of a trick. He remembers things like this from the lab, where they’d give him trick scenarios to see if he was smart enough to catch on. But Yoongi’s face doesn’t indicate anything.

He seems awkward, so maybe he just doesn’t know how to use a hybrid yet? I should let him know how to use me.

“But I’m here to serve y/n, and you’re y/n’s guest. This is what I’m made to do.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, it’s too damn early in the morning for a conversation like this.

“Neither y/n nor I are expecting any services from you or the others. This house is a place for you to recover and rest.”

Now the wolf looks even more perplexed.

“But y/n is using our services. She let Jin hyung do the dishes yesterday, Jungkook helped move furniture around, and Hoseok hyung was with her all night. So why can’t I make you a cup of coffee every morning?”

Yoongi halts his motions, replaying what he just heard in his head.

Hoseok hyung was with her all night.

Hoseok…the “romantic” hybrid?

No. It couldn’t be.

You wouldn’t do something like that.

“What do you mean he was with her all night?”

“Hyung went over last night. He’s still in the room with her now.” He says if it’s most casual thing in the world.

Yoongi’s legs work faster than his brain at that moment, as he’s already rushing to your door in an instant, leaving an oblivious Jimin to clean up in the kitchen.

He knocks but you don’t answer, so he knocks louder. It’s Hoseok who delicately opens the door, making Yoongi feel like he’s about to vomit the entire breakfast he’s just had.

He practically bulldozes his way in, looking around for you before hearing the water running from the bathroom.

“Y-y/n is in the shower. D-did you need anything, Sir?”

“Don’t call me Sir.” He snaps.

Hoseok doesn’t know what to do. This is his first time talking to this man, and it’s clear he’s already in his bad graces. It feels as if his feet are stuck in one place.

“What happened last night, between the two of you?”

Hoseok knows it’s wrong to lie, especially to a guest brought by his owner. He knows he should say what really happened: how you and him slept on opposite sides of the bed and didn’t even touch the entire night, how he didn’t even have a single thought of touching you nor the desire to have sex with anyone anymore—but how could he, a romantic, trained to do just that, admit this? How could he admit it to himself, let alone Yoongi?

So he doesn’t.

“I-I w-was g-good for her the whole n-night. She was happy with my s-service.”

What the fuck y/n.

Yoongi’s seeing red, leaving the house as soon as possible and not sparing Jimin a single glance as the wolf exclaims a “Have a good day at work!” on his way out.

___

Something feels off when you text Yoongi this morning. He’s usually not the most expressive texter, but his tone feels cold even for him. So you ask if he’s free for a call, which he says he’s too busy for. That’s the second red flag. Yoongi never declines your calls unless he’s with his mother in the hospital.

Maybe there’s problems with her health again? Maybe it’s got him distracted at work?

Your worries keep you too occupied to realize how eagerly Jimin is standing there, waiting for praise for his creation. It’s only when the wolf’s nervous fidgeting becomes unavoidable do you look up and get the cue.

“Thank you so much for breakfast Jimin. It was delicious.”

His heart swells at the compliment.

“Did Yoongi eat this before he left?”

He nods.

“How did he seem? His mood, I mean.”

Jimin stares up for a moment, recalling the interaction.

“He seemed okay? He said he liked the food, but then he got up really quickly to go somewhere…back to his room I think? I’m not sure. Then he left the house really fast.”

“I see.”

You wrack your brain, trying to think of what could have happened in the morning. But you have to remind yourself that it’s Yoongi, and one thing about Yoongi is that he opens up on his own terms—something you both have in common—so all you can really do is wait until he’s ready to talk about whatever’s on his mind. Hopefully it’s something you can help out with.

“Is everyone else awake? Have they already had breakfast?”

“We’re allowed to have breakfast too?” His pupils dilate at the thought. No one thought breakfast would be on the table when you were already being so generous with lunch and dinner. He’s been staring at each pancake he’s flipped, desire in his eyes as thick as the maple syrup he drizzled.

“Yes Jimin, breakfast is for everyone here.”

“I’ll get the others right now! Thank you so much!”

You watch fondly as he does a half-walk half-skip out of sight.

“Guys! Y/n said we can eat breakfast, come on out!” It doesn’t take long until the four from the hybrid room come out, and Hoseok makes his way out from your room, instantly receiving proud looks and pats on the back from his packmates.

“What did she say about last night?!” Taehyung wastes no time in inquiring from his hyung.

Hoseok chuckles nervously, wanting nothing to get the five pairs of eyes off of him.

“She was very satisfied.” The words are bitter as they leave his mouth.

“I knew it! No one can resist our Hobi! Good job hyung!”

Namjoon is simultaneously relieved yet disappointed. Relieved that there’s a chance to stay, but disappointed with himself that he couldn’t step up and be the reason. He can’t help but feel like he let Hoseok down by relying on him. He’s the Alpha. He’s supposed to be the reliable one.

“Come on guys, let’s go eat.”

___

“Thank you so much for the meal y/n. We’ll wash up first then assist you in any way you need.”

“You can use the other three vacant bathrooms if you don’t want to wait on each other. There’s fresh towels under each sink.”

“Oh just one bathroom is enough. We’re used to showering together.”

You don’t miss the way Jungkook recoils at the mention of a shower.

“Jungkook doesn’t like showers. He prefers baths.” You state matter-of-factly, surprising Namjoon.

Has his pup been going around demanding things from you? He knows better than to do that.

Jungkook writhes under his Alpha’s gaze, unable to handle disappointing him.

He knows he’ll have to go back to showers with the others now, but there’s a selfish voice in the back of his head wishing he didn’t.

“He’s fine with showers, aren’t you Koo?”

Jungkook nods quick, but you’re not buying it.

“Jungkook, don’t lie to me. Are you sure you’re okay with taking a shower?”

His throat goes dry. He can’t lie to you but he also knows what he’s about to say will disappoint his packmates—make him look like a spoiled brat.

“N-not really. I-I’d like to take a bath please—if that’s allowed.”

“Jungkook. We are not going to waste y/n’s water by washing up separately. You know better.” Namjoon’s voice is low and solemn, making the other hybrids watch with bated breaths. He feels bad, knowing why Jungkook is so afraid. The labs used to only let them have freezing cold showers. The researchers didn’t like how he would shiver in the stall, something the rest were much better at controlling. They called it misbehaving and made him stay behind to hose him down with even colder water.

So, no one really blames Jungkook for not wanting to take a shower here, but it’s about principle. Sure, it seemed you were lenient enough to let Jungkook have his way on some matters, but that was when it was just the two of you. What if the others follow his example and start asking for special treatment? There’s only so much you’d allow before getting fed up with them. No, he has to snip it off at the bud, make sure everyone is behaving perfectly for you.

Jungkook’s floundering, looking for any way out, but thankfully you step in.

“It’s okay Namjoon, really. Everyone’s free to use either one, and please feel free to take individual showers. You could each take twelve hour showers and I’d still have more than enough money for the water bill, I promise.”

Namjoon examines your face carefully, seeing nothing but sincerity.

“Are you sure?”

“One thousand percent.”

The atmosphere lightens up enough for Taehyung to speak up from the back.

“W-what about warm water? Is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

Namjoon looks at you with a sliver of solace, but still on guard for the slightest hint of a trap.

___

The rest of the day goes by with the hybrids focusing on little tasks you’ve allocated.

Jungkook’s still making his way through Extraordinary Woo, Hoseok joining in with his own little notebook. You still can’t look the older one in the eye after last night, feeling like shit for even considering what he was offering you. Thank god you snapped out of it quick, or you could never forgive yourself. You still need to find a good time to sit them around and tell them nothing happened; as dumb of a decision you made to let him sleep over, the last thing you want is for anyone to actually think you did anything more than just sleeping. Every time you tried to bring up the topic at breakfast, however, Hoseok asked you some other question to distract you, never quite letting you get the words out.

Jin, Jimin, and Taehyung are tucked away in an abandoned study room, organizing your extensive book collection. It was Jin who suggested it, having his hands itching to clean the moment you showed the room during last night’s tour. It’s not hard labor, so you agree to appease them.

Namjoon prefers to keep by your side in your home office, working on a rather difficult puzzle you laid out for him. It’s endearing to watch his chin protrude as he scans the image on the box and the 250 pieces scattered on the table.

Even though you’re technically on vacation, work never really stops, as evident by the documents that need your approval piling in the database. Yoongi texts you updates of a couple of ventures, but it’s with the same stand-offish tone. It makes you more upset than you care to admit, not receiving his little sarcastic quips throughout the day.

You’re scanning through some current market trends when you receive the call you’ve been dreading: your father. You clear your throat before answering, trying to come off as confident as you can.

“Hello father.”

Namjoon’s ears perk up at that. He knows he shouldn’t use his hybrid hearing right now, keep everything filtered to his immediate surroundings like they taught at the lab (no one likes a nosy pet), but his curiosity gets the best of him. He almost jumps at the yelling on the other side of the phone, your father clearly not happy with you at the moment. He doesn’t make it obvious that he’s listening in, only sparing the shortest glances your way in between the puzzle. Your face is aloof through it all, showing no indication that you’re being so harshly berated at the moment; it’s an expression he’s all too familiar with. It’s one that was trained into him perfectly at the lab; stoic, statue-esque features to never show you’re scared—never show weakness. Namjoon, who’s had it beaten and drugged into him, can’t help but wonder what circumstances made you have the same expression.

You hang up just as calmly as you picked up, only indication of your actual mood being your nervously tapping foot.

“Is everything alright? Anything I can help with?”

He knows nothing is alright, considering you’ve spent the last fifteen minutes with your father telling you how spineless you’re being.

“The people at my company don’t like me right now. If you know how to change that, I’m very much all ears.”

He’s surprised to receive a real answer, expecting you to give him an unconvincing “Everything’s fine” at the best and a “None of your fucking business” at the worst. Not many people actually answer hybrids, he’s learned since entering captivity. In the wild, where no one would dare dismiss a wolf hybrid, he was used to having his thoughts valued at the highest regard. However, the human world taught him quickly that hybrids weren’t meant to be talked to as equals—it will always be a master/pet relationship.

It's been a while since someone other than his packmates have earnestly asked for his opinion.

“Can’t you fire them if they don’t agree with you?”

You smile at him, but not the mocking “that’s a stupid idea” smile he’s used to with humans, but rather a sad “I wish it was that simple” smile.

“As much as it is my company on paper, my father still impacts a lot of the decisions I make. I can’t really fire them for stuff he doesn’t think 'important'. If I do, he’ll fly out to the next shareholder meeting at literal superspeed, I’m sure. If they don’t violate any major laws or policies, I basically have my hands tied. Just have to pretend everything is okay.”

The wolf’s features soften, weirdly understanding where you’re coming from. He feels the same, with his “Alpha” position holding no real value anymore. He’s only the leader of his pack on paper, but it’s you who provides for them. It’s you who they follow.

“That sounds really rough, especially having to pretend you’re okay when you’re not.” He doesn’t know what else to say. He wishes he could give you some genius solution that would prove to you how useful he is, but that’s all that comes out.

“We both do that well, don’t we? I think that’s why I’m drawn to you the most.”

It’s evident on Namjoon’s face that that’s the last thing he was expecting to hear from you—or from anyone really. If you should be drawn to anyone it should be Jungkook with his doe eyes and unadulterated innocence, or Hoseok with his irresistible charisma, or Jin, Jimin, and Taehyung with their soft and loving temperaments. Not him. Not him who’s rough and rigid and the least fun. Not him who does nothing but worry all day yet put up a front that he’s strong and in-charge.

“You seem surprised to hear that.”

“I’m usually not what people are drawn to.”

“People like us never are, are we? I wouldn’t tell my worries so candidly to most people you know, but I see so much of myself in you.”

People like us. Not pet and owner…both people.

Again, he doesn’t know what the right thing to say is.

____

A/N: Hope you are liking the story so far! Please interact if you can 💞 have a great rest of your day!! 🫶🏽

Permanent Taglist: @skyys-universe @morelovefortn @seagulljk

Series Taglist [CLOSED]: @welcometomyworld13 @kalala22 @fxirytaetae @btsfluffsworld @belikejk @shycreationdreamland @danielle143 @singukieee @blackrockshooter780 @g-b-artist @i-have-no-life-charlie @sopemee @no-regrets-just-confusion @acciocriativity @ldysmfrst @amara-mars @caelumwrites @estrellaburnxd @borahaetelevision @on-1ce @fuckthinking @jaiele

*If Tumblr doesn't let me tag you for some reason, I'll send you a DM instead!

#bts hybrid au #bts hybrid x reader #poly ot7 #ot7 x reader #hurt/comfort #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #unnatural instincts

981 notes · View notes

azsazz · 5 months

Text

Little Sneak

Daddy!Azriel x Mommy!Reader [Zuzu Centric]

Summary: Anon Req: What about a part 2 to Sticking Together where all the children are older and Zuzu is upset about not being able to go to the camps like her brothers and cousins. Maybe she ends up sneaking off and gets hurt or something. Some lovely angst would be appreciated. Only if you want to of course, pls and thank you.

Warnings: Angst, suggestions of a child going to be harmed (child is not actually harmed)

Word Count: 2,357

_________________________________________

“Why must all my children defy me?” Azriel questions, pacing the length of the room. You’re almost dizzy with it, how long his strides are and how short the path he’s making is. He’s nearly turning in circles now, wings flared with agitation, growing larger and larger the more he works himself up. When he nearly knocks a lamp burning low with a single faelight over, you slip from the bed.

You halt your mate with a soft hand to his shoulder. His wings tuck in tight, not because you’re going to touch them, because his body automatically moves to give you room. You take it, curling yourself against his chest, hands snaking around his waist and thumbing soothing patterns across the dip of his back.

You can feel his muscles contract as he shifts his wings to cocoon the both of you. Darkness shrouds you, but the light casts red through the membranous skin.

It’s a safe place for the both of you, tucked away from the rest of the world without actually removing yourselves from situations where you’re needed. You and Azriel had found yourselves in this position many times—when you first found out you were pregnant with Wren and Azriel was worried you’d have trouble delivering a babe with wings, when Baz nearly burned his hand on an unattended fire. When you had found out that Knox wasn’t going to be able to speak, and when your eldest sons wanted to be allowed to train in the Illyrian camps.

It’s funny that you find yourself here for the exact same reason. Your daughter, Zuzu, Mother bless her, yearns to join her brothers. Both Wren and Baz have completed a year, along with Nyx and Gideon. The four have formed a group just as their fathers had, not taking anyone’s shit no matter how much larger in size they may be. With the High Lord on their side, the young boys got away with much more than they should, though Rhysand does his best not to stick his nose into matters that should be left to camp leaders.

They’ve found their places as young warriors, and though they often get into trouble, you and Azriel are able to spend more time in Velaris, working on a schedule with both Cassian and Rhys, so that one of them is always staying in the family cabins when the boys are in training.

The beat of Azriel’s steady heart is strong, comforting, even though you know he feels as helpless as you do. Each and every one of your children are as stubborn as their father, even the more stoic of the six, like Jax and the twins. Malos could hold a grudge for ages, even against her own siblings. And poor Azriel refuses to admit that it’s a trait he’s bestowed upon the shadowsinger clan.

You squeeze your mate tighter, breathing in his comforting scent. Night-chilled mist from the long fly he’d had to take when Zuzu had told him the news. He hadn’t wanted to hear any part of it; his firstborn daughter wanted to train with males in the camps that will do nothing to look after her well-being. They won’t care if she’s beaten into the snow until she’s unable to move, if she can train as hard as the males, if she can do aerial maneuvers better than them. All they’ll see is a little girl who should be put in her place by the only means they know how.

The females won’t take kindly to her either. They’ll likely be jealous of the girl who’s wings are in perfect shape, who has the ability to fly and train and doesn’t have to spend back-breaking hours washing or cooking. No one but her brothers and cousins will be nice to her.

But she’s determined and headstrong. She’d confided in you first, and while you’d tried to talk her into joining Valkyrie training, she insisted that if there were young girls here willing to fight and join such a cause, why wouldn’t they extend the opportunity to those in the mountains? Your heart aches for your little girl, who wants to see the best in people, give them the chances they’ve long since needed. If she can encourage a single girl in the camps to join them as warriors, she will be proud.

“She means well,” you sigh against Azriel’s chest, hugging him tighter.

“Does she have to mean this well?” he asks, exasperation lining the frown on his face. He rubs your back in a soothing motion, and you know it’s helping him as much as it helps you. His chin rests on top of your head and a moment of silence stretches on as his shadows crawl from the walls, whispering in his ears, reporting back to him on how all of his children are under one roof, sleeping peacefully in their beds. “In a few years, Asteria will want to follow, and I think Rhys will actually kill me.”

“I won’t let him,” you grumble stubbornly, but it doesn’t carve a smile on Azriel’s face like it normally would. “And neither will Zuz.”

All your mate can do is sigh and hold you closer. “I hate that they’re growing up.”

“Me too,” you answer sadly, rocking in place with Az. He caresses the nape of your neck, tilting your face to meet his sad, hazel gaze. “Why didn’t anyone prepare us for the part where our children start growing up?”

Azriel shakes his head, dipping down to kiss you softly, tenderly. You are always his rock in the storms of his life. Always will be.

“I don’t know,” he pecks you on the mouth again, and there’s a glint in his eyes that has your body growing warm. “I do know that we can have another. Then we’ll have a little babe. It will make me feel like I’m not so old, that our youngest aren’t five-years-old.” He says it with a grimace.

The time is flying by, watching your children grow. Wren is a teenager now. A teenager, Mother help you all. And Baz is only growing rowdier with age. Zuzu wants to join her brothers and cousins in the camps, and Jax is still the stoic little boy you’ve ever seen, focused on working through his powers daily. He still struggles sometimes, needs to cuddle up with his father or you for a moment's peace, and he hasn’t shown any interest in being a warrior like his elder siblings, though if Azriel allows Zuzu to join, you’re sure he won’t be far along after. The twins are as inseparable as ever, stirring up mischief with their pesky little shadows. It’s nice to have them all still so close, but you know it won’t be that way soon.

“Can you imagine another one?” You ask, amused at the thought. More chaos, and you’re not entirely sure how your six children would react. You already have so many, what would they think?

“Yes,” Azriel answers, tone heated. He presses his hips more firmly against your own and you can feel the hardness of his cock in his pants. It makes your thighs go molten, especially when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’s going to both devour and worship you all night long. “Let’s put this conversation on hold.”

You can’t disagree with that.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

His shadows wake him up.

Azriel has gotten used to their presence, but his body is accustomed to them, awakening at the slightest sort of unease from them. Like right now.

He bolts from the bed, awakening you in the process. He almost feels bad at the hammering of your heart he can feel echoing in his chest, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been alerted that one of his children is currently missing from his home, and she hasn’t been located in the darkness of the camp yet.

“What’s going on?” You’re alert now. There’s something seriously wrong, by the look on Azriel’s face. The way that it’s set in stone yet his brows are furrowed with worry. Not the kind of worry where something is amiss in Velaris, but it looks like he had when Knox had been taken from you, the horror riddling his hazel gaze makes your stomach plummet.

“Zuzu isn’t in her bed,” Azriel answers, and he’s already dressed and heading out into the cold. You don’t expect him to wait for you, the both of you have a way of attacking these things as a team now, and you’re safer here with the rest of the children, anyway, and he curses himself once again for allowing his children to train at the Illyrian camps.

He doesn’t know how she’s managed to evade his shadows this time. His children are sneaky, quickly learning and testing how to keep from his radar, but Azriel is 500 years old and prides himself on his alertness.

Up until now.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. His mind is a mess with ‘what if’s’ and he can’t allow himself to begin pulling at that thread or he might very well decimate this entire camp.

He very well might, anyway.

Azriel’s already reaching out to Rhysand, waking him from his deep slumber and alerting the Inner Circle. He knows the High Lord will be here within minutes on a plume of black that no one wants to see. Zuzu has been Rhysand’s favorite from the moment she decided to toddle behind him into the longest meeting he’s ever had the displeasure of attending. But Zuzu had made it bearable, sitting in his lap and cuddling up in his arms like he wasn’t discussing convicts in the Prison nor how his armies might be able to help Springs.

A soft yelp is carried on a wisp of darkness from his shadows, his head whipping to where they’re alerting him. It’s Zuzu, and she’s whimpering a little as sharp nails dig into her coat, despite the thick jacket she’s pulled haphazardly around her shoulders. Her boots are untied, and the powdery snow is downtrodden with her footprints.

Azriel moves as quick as the night. He’s known for being undetectable, a whisper of a chilled breeze chasing through the trees. Tonight, though, he doesn’t mask the crunch of his boots in the snow, doesn’t smother the bright blue beaming from the seven stones adorning his armor. His knives are unsheathed at his side, steel singing for the promise of blood.

There’s a soft sound, like his daughter's cry has been muffled, and it fuels his anger, letting his body fill with black ink. It spills off of Azriel in waves, a death god come to seek his vengeance.

The clearing is a circlet of trees and fresh snow. The moon drips down into the open field, where Zuzu scratches at her captor. The female trying to pin his little girl to the ground hisses as her skin breaks beneath Zuzu’s nails. Azriel’s heart swells with pride as his daughter fights back, but this moment alone has made him realize that she does need proper training, and if she wants to join the ranks with her brothers and show all of these Illyrian swill what she’s made of, she will get that.

Azriel doesn’t recognize the female as he rips her away from his daughter by a fistful of hair. The female yelps in surprise, then screams in fear as she topples backwards, the avenging shadowsinger towering over her.

As if she thought she could get away with attempting to harm one of his children.

He feels the night air shifting behind him as he makes sure that his daughter is okay. Rhysand and Cassian appear before the female can gain her footing and take off, Cassian planting a foot in the middle of her back to keep her pinned to the frozen ground while Azriel consoles his daughter. Zuzu’s sniveling, fat tears rolling down her red cheeks as they escape. She doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want to show her father that she’s scared, but they fall without her permission anyway.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

Azriel’s heart cracks a little, molten lava of anger filling the cracks. This female won’t last the fucking night. And if she does, it’s because he’s going to make her death last as long as possible for even thinking of touching his daughter. For making her cry.

He hushes her, a soft noise that makes her clutch onto his shoulders tighter. Azriel’s not wearing a coat, but he’s used to the temperatures, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins helps quell the bitter chill. He sends a reassuring feeling down the bond to you and your relief flushes his body tenfold, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“Are you okay, my love?” Azriel asks her, wiping the tears from Zuzu’s eyes. He swings her up into his arms, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead as he pins the female to her spot in the snow with furious golden eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Zuzu shakes her head and his knees nearly give out with relief. He sways them back and forth, whispering reassurances into Zuzu’s ears until she’s calmed down, before passing her off to Rhys who holds her just as tightly.

“Uncle Rhys is going to take you back to mommy, okay, Zuz? I’ll be back in a little bit.”

She agrees, blinking up at him with her big eyes. Azriel watches her try to look over her uncle's shoulder to see the female spitting vitriol at Cassian. Rhys doesn’t allow her gaze to see what’s going on over there, instead drawing her attention to him, shifting her so she can’t see, and disappearing into the night to bring Zuzu home.

Cassian crouches down to the female, grinding her face into the snow to stop the comments spewing from her lips. He whispers something so low that makes her entire body freeze, then thrash as if she actually has a chance of escaping.

Azriel steps up to her, a murderous look in his eyes, and he lets his blades do the talking.

#azriel x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel/reader #daddy!azriel #azsazz zuzu

501 notes · View notes

swordsandholly · 4 days

Text

On the Mend

Ao3 | Chapter One | Next

Captain John Price x fem!plus size!reader

Word Count: 4.1k

MDNI | cw: referenced cheating, divorce, implied alcoholism, age gap, blood/minor injury

Summary: Following his divorce, John Price is adrift - strong armed into going on leave, he decides to use the time to renovate a run down family lake house. He finds himself drawn into an unexpected bond with his peculiar new neighbor who seems equally unable to leave him alone.

When John came home to papers and a set of silver rings on the kitchen counter he didn’t feel surprised. No sense of despair at the lack of shoes by the door or empty closet. No betrayal at the slight layer of dust covering the flat. A layer that had accumulated over the course of coming home two weeks later than planned. Just a a wave of numbness. That sick sort of relief when the bad thing you knew would happen finally does. Something that twists in his gut and hollows out his bones. He knew it was coming sooner or later.

Looks like sooner.

It started in the early fall - though, if he’s honest, he should have seen it coming long before then. Nearly a year of cold shoulders and whispers over the phone spoken in the other room during late hours. Passive nudges and snide comments. Nights spent alone more than together. New clothes and lingerie that he only spotted in passing on laundry day. All his time in the SAS and he didn’t see what was right under his nose. Five simple words that spelled out the end.

“I found someone else, John.”

That’s it. The grand finale to thirteen years.

Of course it’s never simple. What followed was weeks of arguing between - and during - his deployments. Months of lawyers sending information and communications back and forth because face to face talks were no longer getting them anywhere. It’s difficult to process so many years falling apart in such little time. It’s harder still to get over the hurled insults and accusations of stolen youth. The insinuation that he ruined her. The allegation that he never loved her in the first place. That this has been broken for a long, long time, John. How do you not see that?

How didn’t he see it?

At the end of the day, John is good at two things: compartmentalizing and work. It’s just convenient that those two qualities happen to go hand in hand right now. John lives on base full time - got out of that flat as soon as the lease ran out. It’s a waste of money sitting empty for most of the year. More often than that, really, considering he spends every waking moment - when not deployed - in his office or running drills. Never mind the fact that he couldn’t step past the threshold without feeling something shatter in his chest.

Now, six months since the final signatures, the walls John carefully built around the issue have started to wear. Coming loose at the seams - all crumbling brick and thinning mortar. He’s agitated. Frayed at the edges. You wouldn’t know it to look at him. John’s uniform remains crisp as always. His belongings placed in exact order - including the ever growing collection of liquor. His hair is perfectly kept. At a glance, he’s the same as always.

It’s those closest to him that can see it. That take the brunt of it.

Harsh, barking orders at Ghost that would have previously been calm instruction. Sharp reprimands that leave Soap jumpy and flinching. Both give him a wide berth when they can. His drills for the newer recruits became far more difficult with tougher punishments for any sort of acting out. Gaz has avoided his growing wrath for the most part - good at keeping his head down and following orders as needed.

Until today, it seems. An accidental, near deadly failure. The perfect boiling point.

While clearing a building currently housing a potential terrorist cell, one man managed to slip past Gaz. All of them, really, but it was his floor to clear. The man got a shot off on Soap after the Scot tackled him - luckily his vest stopped it. Ghost dropped the adversary and Soap won’t have more than a bruised rib and a couple weeks of rest but it could have been worse. Much, much worse.

Gaz knew he was fucked when the Captain went silent. John barely looked him in the eye and didn’t say anything more than necessary on their way back to base. A single grunt of “my office” and the sergeant’s fate became sealed.

“Sir.” Gaz prays that the quaver he feels in his voice doesn’t come through. He’s never been here before, standing stiffly across from the Captain. Not like this at least - waiting for the hand he’s about to be dealt.

“Donnae worry tae much, lad.” Soap had given him a rough slap on the back. “Price’s all bark an’ no bite.”

Right now standing across from The Captain, all he can see is a bite risk.

“You know why I’ve called you in, Sergeant.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes, sir.” Gaz shifts ever so slightly. “I wasn’t successful in clearing my floor-“

“And nearly compromised a teammate because of your carelessness.” John crosses his arms, a snarl in his tone. His nerves are fried - every bit of frustration and hurt that’s been pushed down and allowed to fester over the last several months bubbling up to the surface.

John can’t lose anyone else.

By the time he’s done with his verbal lashing Gaz looks like he wants to run for the hills and never come back. As good as the boy is at masking his reaction externally, just as any military man does, his eyes never hide anything. There’s a sheen over them that has John pausing, stepping it back and sighing heavily. He never raises his voice - doesn’t find it useful long term - but he has a skill for putting together strings of words that stab right to the heart. Gaz is an empathetic kid - a trait easily exploited to pour gallons of guilt on the sergeant.

“Don’t let it happen again.” John mutters, the fire gone. Doused out by the kicked puppy look Gaz wears. An itch of regret stings the back of his mind. “Dismissed.”

Based on the rhythm of footsteps the moment the office door closes behind Gaz, it really does sound like he’s running for the hills. John wouldn’t blame him. He doesn’t want to be around himself either.

John practically collapses into his office chair, finally letting his muscles relax. As much as they are physically capable of relaxing. These days his shoulders are always around his ears - hackles raised and hands flexing. He buries himself in the incident report - pouring hours into filling out bureaucratic red tape that he used to avoid at every turn.

The sun has set when a quiet but firm tap tap tap sounds at his door.

“Come in.” He grunts, knowing exactly who is about to walk through that door based entirely on the perfunctory knock.

“John.” Kate steps in, carefully shutting the door behind her before stepping forward.

“Kate.” He straightens in his seat.

“We need to talk.”

“I’ll apologize to Garrick tomorrow.” John waves her off, turning back to the files on his desk in a last ditch effort to make her leave. It’s a foolish attempt.

“You know that’s not what I’m going to say.” She crosses her arms.

“Do I?”

Kate stands over him, staring him down. It’s a position they find themselves in fairly often whether face to face or communicating from hundreds of miles away. There’s a new weight to it here. A far more personal tension than either are used to.

Kate pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m coming to you as a friend - not a coworker. You need to take some time.”

The last thing John needs is to ‘take some time.’ He just needs to focus. Get into the new swing of things. He hit the ground running now all he needs is to find his stride.

“I’m fine.” John snaps.

“You’re not.” She fires back. “It’s normal that you’re not but you need to deal with it.”

“I have dealt with it. It’s been dealt with for six months.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

John sighs heavily and scrubs a hand over his face. He has plenty of leave, really. About three months worth that haven’t been used. Months he was saving for a long vacation that won’t happen now. Ninety days that are wasting away on his employee profile - a fake number. It’s all bullshit anyway, right? The only thing that’s truly real is what he can accomplish here. Helping people and saving the world here. What good is he rotting at home for nine months?

He’s needed here.

John needs to be needed.

“John.” Kate sighs. Her voice is low - that of a disappointed mother. “Either you take your leave, or I get you sent on a mandatory mental health leave. I already have the paperwork drafted. You need to step away.”

The captain lets out another heavy sigh. Laswell has obviously made up her mind. There’s no changing it once she has the steel like gleam in her eyes.

“Fine. Give me a week to get things sorted.”

John doesn’t miss the slight quirk in the corner of Kate’s mouth. “Thank you.”

As usual, by the time he makes it back to his flat he’s completely worn through. Body and mind equally exhausted - just what he wants. John falls into his routine of pouring a glass of whatever he’s in the mood for, tonight it’s bourbon, apparently, and plopping onto the couch. Normally he’d turn on the television or grab a book or some other shite but all he can manage right now is a staring contest with the wall.

The hell is he supposed to do for three months? He can’t hang around here, that’s too pathetic. It’ll drive him mad. Could visit his mum, but she’s got a life of her own in that retirement community of hers. He wouldn’t want to disturb her peace for more than a week or two. That still leaves at least seventy-six days unaccounted for.

Somewhere during his wall-watching, he thinks it’s while taking in a particularly interesting mistake in the paint, an idea finally comes to him. A flimsy, probably stupid idea. John grabs his cell. It only rings once.

“Hey, mum.” John leans back on the shitty couch of his on base apartment. It’s minimal, but he doesn’t need much anymore, does he?

“Jack, love, how are you?” She says brightly. Always full of sunshine and excitement to hear from her only child.

“Fine.” He lies. As much as he hates lying to his mother and the acetic taste it leaves in his mouth, he just can’t handle her worry at the moment. John doesn’t need another reason to cry right now. “How are you?”

“Oh, lovely!” She replies. “I have the ladies knitting circle tomorrow - apparently there’s new developments about Harold and Linda.”

“Oh? What sort of developments?”

“The salacious sort.” She snickers.

John huffs out a laugh. The old gossip. “Mum, I was wonderin’… do we still have that old family home? By the lake?”

She hums, thinking for a moment. “Oh, yeah, we do. Though, technically it belongs to your Aunt Claudia - the old hag - love her dearly. It’s run down. No one’s been there in years.”

“Alright. Good.”

“Why do you ask?”

John sees no way out of giving into her prying just a bit. “I need a project.”

“A project?”

“I’ve been given some leave. Need something to pass the time.”

A short lapse of silence. “Jack?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

He sighs heavily, swirling the glass in his other hand absently. The breath comes out shaky and there’s a stinging in the corners of his eyes. “I’m really fine, ma.”

“I wish you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Wish you wouldn’t call me on it.” He chuckles bitterly.

“You’re my son, of course I’m going to call you on it.” She scoffs.

“I’ll…” John sighs. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will. You should talk about it, though. If not to me then to some friends.“

What friends? He wants to snap back. His ex-wife took all their mutual friends with her. The men on base aren’t his friends - can’t be with how he’s been treating them these past few months. There’s no fixing that. They’ll never trust him the same again.

Of course, he won’t tell her that. “I will, mum. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Goodnight.”

“Night.” The silence of the flat feels deafening as soon as the call ends. A reminder of all the things he isn’t - all the things he failed at. Nearly fourty years and nothing to show for it outside of his career. No one else is around to hear the poorly bitten back sobs and shaky gasps that echo through the bedroom until sleep finally overtakes him.

~~~

The home seems about as bad John assumed it to look when he pulls up. Bare patches where shingles have long fallen off spot the roof. The front porch has several posts missing from the railing and a few cracked boards. The steps creak worryingly under his boots but seem solid enough for now. John takes his time working through each room, just as he would on the job. Taking stock of damaged hinges and rusted pipes. At least the water runs and electric seems to be undamaged. Livable conditions even if it all needs a proper dusting and washing.

The interior is just as he remembers right down to the furniture. All family heirlooms with only a few updated pieces scattered throughout. Wicker chairs and heavy wood bed frames. The only truly new addition is the thick layer of dust and grime covering it all. If John were more poetic he may have something to say about that, but as it stands he is not and does not.

As he makes his way to the back, he comes across the majority of the damages to the property. The dock is missing a series of boards all the way down. The back porch has visibly rotting wood and most of the railing seems long gone. Weather battered and use torn. More shingles are missing from this side of the roof. The entire exterior needs a new paint job. Fixable enough with the right materials and some elbow grease. The perfect amount of work to fill the next ninety days.

As he makes his way through the overgrown back yard to look at the dock in more detail, movement catches his eye. A girl walking in the backyard of the house next door - a red, square little cabin that couldn’t house anything above two bedrooms at most. She stomps her way down the slight incline to the lake - carefully carrying a massive easel and canvas under one arm and a rectangular bag of what he assumes are art supplies under the other.

John isn’t sure what compels him to watch her. Maybe it’s the soft curve of her hips or the determined scrunch of her face - either way it takes longer than it should for him to tear his eyes away and head back into the lake house.

It’s easy enough to spend this first day busying himself with cleaning up the accumulated dirt. John ties a handkerchief over his face - more of a formality than a real barrier to keep from breathing too much in. He shouldn’t care. The man sucks down enough cigar smoke that even this dense sort of dust wouldn’t be more than a tickle. He sweeps and mops and throws some bedsheets in the wash. At least enough to last him until he can take the quilts outside and beat them properly.

Even as he climbs into the old but solid master bed he has lists running through his mind. Lists are good. Lists are a distraction. Sort of like counting sheep but more productive.

Needs a new hammer, nails, several lengths of screws. He’ll have to take into account the type of wood needed - might have to order the railing. The small town probably doesn’t have any that would match in person…

~~~

Even without an alarm John wakes at five am on the dot. After so many years of military life he has no hope of becoming a late sleeper. Even on lazy Sunday mornings, he’d wake first, stay in bed and wait for his ex-wife to wake. Often he would try to surprise her with breakfast…

John clears his throat and focuses on dressing for the day. Some old work jeans and a sturdy, standard issue t-shirt. He spends the morning finalizing his list, categorizing what he can most likely get in person and what will need to be ordered. He decides to get a calendar to plan out the repairs over the next three months, starting with the interior and working his way out. Methodical. Controlled. Just like he prefers.

Luckily the hardware store has more than he thought it would. Between the tools already in the lake house’s small garage and the few he needs to pick up, he should be well stocked for at least the first round of projects.

“New to town?” The older woman at the counter asks politely with minimal interest.

“Sort of. Fixin’ up a family home.” John grunts, dropping cash onto the counter.

“Ah.” She nods. “That’s good. So many places around here have been rotting away or getting bought up by vacation companies.”

John just hums in response. He doesn’t have much of an opinion on that. It’s not really his business what other people do. He shoves his change into the small tip jar on the counter and drags his supplies out to his truck.

He drives back in silence, opting to focus entirely on the empty country road. He hasn’t liked music much these days. John frowns as a figure making its way up the side of the road more into focus. The same girl from yesterday, the neighbor, pushes her bike along the side of the road. She’s limping slightly as she walks. Her legs and arms have a solid layer of dirt covering them. The front and back baskets of her bike are stuffed full of reusable grocery bags. She looks downright pissed as soon as he catches her face.

John slows when his truck finally catches up with her, rolling down the window. “You alright?”

“Fine!” You call back, obviously out of breath with a frustrated pinch to your face. You keep your eyes solidly forward. John glances down at your freshly skinned knees, wincing to himself.

“Y’don’t seem fine.”

“I am!” You turn up your nose, speeding up your walk ever so slightly. American. Interesting.

John lightly toes the gas to keep up. “Your knees look pretty banged up. I can give you a ride.”

You stop dead in your tracks. John barely has to touch the break to stop with you. There’s a fire in your eyes when you whirl on him - one that reminds him all too much of Soap when he gets the itch to blow something up. He takes you in piece by piece. He isn’t quite able to gauge how old you are. Younger than him, he thinks. Your face is soft despite the hard expression, body a graceful, continuously curved line. He snaps his eyes back to your face before you can catch him staring.

You raise your hand to point at him and then the little canister hanging from the carabiner hooked to your shorts. “I’m not going anywhere with you, old man! Try to make me and I’ll mace you.”

John blinks. Old man? He supposes it makes sense. To you he’s just a creepy guy trying to coax you into his beat up truck. “I, uh, saw you yesterday. Wait, wait! I’m fixing up the house next door. The blue one.”

That makes you pause your march again, turning to look at him slowly. You squint, eyes raking over the truck, the materials in the bed, and flicking around his face. A slow look of recognition dawns across your expression, the pinch of your lips changing into a gentle part.

“Oh. Yeah. I saw your truck.” There’s still a wariness in your tone, a shifting in your stance. Smart girl. He wonders if you can sense it. The things he’s done, the kind of man that he is. Does it roll off him in waves like he thinks? Would it surprise you?

“It’s still another five miles back. There’s room in the bed for your bike. Can’t be fun walking around all bruised up like that.” John nods to your knees again.

Your lip catches between your teeth, a sigh of defeat relaxes your shoulders. “Okay. I’ll still mace the fuck out of you if you get weird on me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” John chuckles.

You huff and load up your bike into the back of his truck. You’re stronger than he expected, throwing the bike and groceries around like they weigh almost nothing to you. The midday sun gives you a healthy glow despite the cuts a scrapes from your earlier fall.

“There’s a first aid kit in the glove box.” John says as you load up into the cab with him.

“Thanks.” You reach for it immediately, grabbing some disinfectant wipes and a few large bandaids. They’re still bleeding pretty badly - dripping down your dirt covered shins.

“What happened, anyway?” He asks as he starts down the old dirt road once again.

You hiss at the sting of the wipes. “My - ah fuck - bike chain snapped. Threw me off.”

“Y’don’t carry a back up?”

“Usually, but that’s the one that just broke. Piece of shit. Hadn’t gotten around to replacing it yet…” You keep your eyes down and pick at your confetti nail polish, obviously embarrassed.

John hums. “I might have one laying around the house. If not I can drive you to town to look for one.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that!”

“It’s no problem.” He chuckles. “If you don’t mind an old man driving you around, that is.”

“Y’know, on a closer inspection you’re not that old.” You grin. “Just the old-timey beard.”

“I’ve been told it’s distinguished.”

“That just means old.” You snicker.

A comfortable silence lapses between you - the only sound being that of the truck puttering down the dirt road. There’s a prickle on John’s skin and he glances over only to see your eyes dragging across his arm holding the steering wheel. You think you’re subtle, he’s sure, with the way you keep your face mostly forward and only look out of the corner of your eye. It’s hard to fool a SAS officer.

Who’s the creep now? John smiles and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from blurting it out.

You turn away to watch out the window as he pulls up just between your houses. A two hour walk reduced to all of ten minutes. “Glad to see that house finally getting fixed up. It’s depressing watching it decompose - even if it is kind of cool.”

John nods. “My family is small. Hasn’t seen a lot of use since my cousins and I were kids.”

“Just you?” You tilt your head, staring up at him with big doe eyes. “No wife or kids?”

“No.” He grunts, wincing internally at the harshness of it.

You don’t seem phased. If anything your smile gets just a hair wider. “Well, thanks for the ride. Glad you’re not a kidnapper.”

“Anytime.” He snorts, climbing out of the truck after you. “I’m John, by the way. John Price.”

“Oh! Didn’t even think to introduce myself.” You laugh and hold your hand as you give your name. It’s so much softer and smaller than his. He almost doesn’t want to let go.

Christ, is he really that fucking touch starved?

John clears his throat and sets his hands on his hips. “Need help carrying that in?”

“I can manage.” You look him over again. John can’t help but wonder what you see. Whatever it is, you smile and wave politely before disappearing into your cabin.

He’s still thinking about that as he gets ready for bed, staring at himself in the mirror. All he sees are the bags under his eyes and scars littering his torso. The grey hairs beginning to salt his beard and hair. The rough callouses on his hands from rougher work. A tired, grizzled officer with only work to look forward to. What did you like enough to stare at? He’s strong, sure, but no more than the next guy that works out or does physical labor.

John downs the last of his drink for the night, brushes his teeth and falls into bed. For once, there’s a relative peace as he falls asleep to the sounds of nature outside. No sounds of base to keep him awake, no itching sense of duty. Just frogs and crickets.

A/N: I know I have other stuff to work on but the brain worms are wriggling thinking about sad, lonely John Price.

#captain price x reader #captain john price #captain price #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #price x reader #fem reader #cw alcohol #plus size reader #fat reader #cod #reader insert

298 notes · View notes

gffa · 1 year

Text

You would think, after a month of voracious reading of BATFAMILY fic, that I would at least begin to slow down, because I still primarily read I’m Having Dick Grayson Feelings And I’m Making That Everyone Else’s Problem, but I have also discovered that I have Jason feelings, I have Tim feelings, and I have Damian feelings. Which of course I knew before, but what I really learned is that other people have made this my problem now, too. And by that I mean that there’s amazing fic on all of the Bat babies and I am not immune. So, you may still have to scroll a bit, but if there’s an idiot badass with black hair and blue eyes, you’ll hopefully find something here to cry about with me, because what are any of us even in this fandom for, if not for the Feelings Hell About Vigilantes With Emotional Problems? BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST FERAL ROBIN I’M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ it is with my whole life by dustorange, dick & bruce, 2.2k Nine-year-old Dick’s been kidnapped. Bruce tries not to fall apart. ✦ World’s Finest: Lake Weekend by WingFeathers, dick & bruce & clark (& clark/bruce), 10.3k Bruce and Dick invite Clark to the lakehouse for a long weekend around Rosh Hashanah, but Dick has trouble sleeping outside the Manor, and Bruce isn’t as available as he should be. And all of this brings up a question: what exactly are the three of them, a bat-vigilante and his ward and his superhero boyfriend? Could they be something like a family? (And how will they eat with Alfred not taking care of them?) ✦ Revision by takadainmate, dick & bruce, 3.8k New to Bruce Wayne, new to being Robin, new to being alone, Dick didn’t believe there would ever be anyone there for him again. ✦ count the stars by emavee, dick & bruce, 3.7k He doesn’t know what to do. It’s not like he can stop the storm. If he could wave a magic wand and make the sky clear—or even if he could call up someone from his large contact list full of metas who could control the weather—he would. He would honestly disrupt Gotham’s weather patterns if it meant Dick would stop crying. Or: Dick doesn’t like thunderstorms, so Bruce takes him somewhere where they can’t touch him. ✦ cautionary tale by drakefeathers, dick & bruce & young justice, 11.4k Q: “Why did Queen Bee want Robin taken in alive in Bereft?” A: “Think of Speedy as a cautionary tale.” ✦ batman & robin by chickenmuffinsoup55555, dick & bruce, 4.8k The Batman has a shadow. A shadow clad in reds and greens with a smile like sunshine. Bruce is adjusting. ✦ five times someone told Bruce he was a good dad… by emavee, dick & bruce & clark & selina & cast, 10.3k …and one time it mattered ✦ Phobias by RascalJoy (DarkQuill), dick & bruce & alfred, 18.4k wip It was stupid. It was irrational. Dick knew that. There was no good reason for him to be afraid; he had been doing this for most of his young life. And yet… Five times Dick fell, and the one time Robin didn’t. ✦ I Hate Dick by JeanjacketCarf, dick & bruce & talia, 3.7k “Robin wrapped his legs around the Bats’ neck and rested his head on top of the cowl. Then he stuck his tongue out at Talia. Talia felt her face growing hot with anger. She tried to restrain it. The Bat loved this child for some unholy reason.” ✦ shades of blue by thatsveryambitiousofyou, dick & bruce, 2.4k Dick Grayson has blue eyes. Or the one where Bruce tries harder BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ Withdrawal by Sohotthateveryonedied, dick & bruce & cast, 1.8k It’s been six hours since he got dosed. The green ring around his eyes has been faded since dawn. It won’t be long before the withdrawal hits him in full force. ✦ The Post-Mission Ponderings of Brucerman and NightBunny by Ptelea, dick & bruce, 4.8k This is just sheer (metaphorical) fluff to follow up on the (somewhat more literal) fluff of Wayne Family Adventures, season 2, episode 54, S'tel ees a cigam wohs! Heavy on the puns, even heavier on Bruce being struck by amazement at how much he loves his oldest son. ✦ gotta make a stand (but I am just a man) by CaptainOzone, dick & bruce & alfred, 2.3k Bruce makes it back to the Cave, injured and exhausted, but remarkably alive. He expects Alfred to meet him. He meets someone else. Or: a third credit scene in which Nightwing makes an appearance. ✦ The Hand in My Hand by audreycritter, dick & bruce, 4.4k Dick offers himself in exchange for some hostages and it does not go as planned. ✦ Yesterday by I_Have_To_Get_Off_This_Planet, dick & bruce, 1.5k Dick was pretty sure this was what dying felt like. He was curled up, almost in fetal position, on his bed in the Manor. He was there for the holidays, and he had been looking forward to their entire family being together for once. Even Jason had agreed to come. And now he was gonna die before Christmas even arrived. ✦ I Bet On Losing Dogs by Anonymous, dick & bruce, 2.5k (Or; Bruce’s relationship with his oldest and how it slowly starts to mend, with only a little push from his friends.) ✦ You can pick your battles but you can’t pick your poison by woodenwashbucket, dick & bruce, 1.8k “Hey, am I bleeding a lot somewhere?” Nightwing asked. Batman gave him an unimpressed look, but Nightwing shook his head. “Seriously. I feel off.” Nightwing wobbled. Batman grabbed him by the shoulders before they could find out if he would have fallen, and Nightwing met his eyes with undisguised alarm. “Ok, maybe worse than off,” he said. BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ what’s past is prologue by Icestorm238, dick & bruce & jason & damian, time travel, 18.1k Dick Grayson, bestowed with the memories of an alternate life, decides that things are going to go better this time. Priority number one: preventing Jason’s death. ✦ exactly how this grace thing works by irnan, dick & bruce & barbara & jason & cast, de-aged!dick, 22.7k Dick gets de-aged. You’d think this would be a routine thing. ✦ sick day by daringyounggrayson, dick & roy & titans, 1.2k Dick tries to power through a cold and lead a training session with the Teen Titans. It doesn’t exactly work out. ✦ The Gravity of Tempered Grace by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & selina, 10k He’s sick, he finally catches on, and at that moment, a cough builds up in his chest, and he barely has enough energy to sit up enough to let his lungs work properly. A coughing fit later, and Dick’s breaths are making a horrible wheezing sound that makes him sound like one of Titus’ chew toys. That’s bad. He’s pretty sure that’s bad. ✦ you swallowing matches by torielle, roy/dick & bruce, NSFW, 8.2k A month after being fired as Robin, Dick is forced to attend a Wayne gala, and is grateful for a particular friendly face. ✦ The Shape Of You (Was Jagged And Weak) by WinterSky101, dick & bruce & slade & jason & tim & damian & batfam, 40.6k Six months ago, Nightwing died. They never found the body. Last week, Deathstroke arrived in Gotham. He brought a partner with him. ✦ You say you wanna stay by my side (Darling, your head’s not right) by wlwintersoldier, roy/dick & lian & donna, 2.5k Dick is stupid and reckless on a mission, whats new, and Roy deals with the fallout ✦ Laundry Mishaps by JeanjacketCarf, dick/babs & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & duke, 3.5k Dick’s siblings often show up unannounced and take his stuff without asking. It’s how they show their love. Or Dick’s washing machine is commandeered for Steph’s laundry, his clothes disappear, he goes to girl’s night, has brunch, gets a little shot, and picks his baby brother up from school in about a week and a half while the secret group chat has a grand old time. BATFAM FIC RECS - JASON TODD IS AN ASSHOLE CAT, I’M GONNA THROW HIM AT DICK BECAUSE IT’S FUNNY (AND MAYBE SOME OF HIS OTHER SIBLINGS TOO): ✦ Two Dead Birds by InsaneTrollLogic, jason & dick & tim, time travel, 29k There’s some lunatic in a red helmet running through Jason’s territory. He wants to think it’s a copycat. He’s wrong. BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK AND DAMIAN WERE THE BEST BATMAN & ROBIN, I’M NOT HEARING ARGUMENTS ABOUT THAT EITHER: ✦ Won’t You Stay A While? by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian & cast, 2.8k Ric did not expect to find a child sitting on the hood of his cab. Damian did expect to get his brother back. ✦ birdgrief by windupclock, dick & bruce & damian, 1.5k How could you? Dick doesn’t say. Get out of my sight, Dick doesn’t say. What the hell is wrong with you? Dick doesn’t say. Tim storms out. Dick is left to deal with Damian. ✦ we’re like long lost brothers who found each other (and love each other like family) by drakefeathers, dick & damian, 9.3k ongoing collection of scenes set when Dick is Batman and Damian is his Robin, ranging from cute to sad (hopefully not too sad). not chronological. ✦ I’ll Carry You by BrickSheep, dick & damian & bruce & tim, 2.1k Dick Grayson will take every opportunity he can just to carry Damian in his arms. ✦ in my own imperfect way by notquiteaghost, dick & damian & bruce, 1.8k Dick jokes, a lot, about being the only reason Bruce still remembers how to talk to people. About breaking him in for everyone else. He was Robin first, and he was Robin longest, and he’s why Bruce took in the others, he’s why Bruce isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. And the jokes are funny! He’s never trying to be passive aggressive, or guilt trip, or whatever else. He and Bruce have spent enough time, now, pointedly not actually looking at each other, pulling words out in painful fits and starts. Dick knows where they stand. They’re good. But. ✦ (Un)Fortunate Son by Syl, dick & damian & bruce & cast, 26.1k wip Bruce reaches a decision about Damian. Dick disagrees and decides to do something about it. BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY’RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ Overcoming Our Antecedents by Batbirdies, jason & bruce & dick, 31.4k Bruce swallows, closing his eyes for a brief moment before he takes another, steadying breath and presses both hands to his face. He just needs a moment. Needs to remember where he is, what year it is, that Jason is not actually fifteen, he only looks like he is. This is temporary. This is just a temporary problem that needs to be contained until they can change Jason back. This is not a repeat of events already passed. This is not a second chance. ✦ what’s past is prologue by Icestorm238, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & barbara & steph & cast, time travel, 84.9k Dick Grayson, bestowed with the memories of an alternate life, decides that things are going to go better this time. Things take a few unintended turns, and the consequences of his actions ripple through his family. ✦ And the Scene Slips Away (To the Evenness I Fake) by Kirazalea, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & duke & alfred & cast, rape aftermath/read the tags, 37k One mistake is all it took to force Jason back into the wonderful world of the Wayne family. Now publicly and legally alive once more, he’s forced to spend the next two weeks of his life stuck in the Manor with the whole family. This leads to several strengthened relationships and the realization that maybe he’s missed a few things over the years. Things that he’s now determined to get to the bottom of. ✦ now the clock is melting (so’s my mouth and so’s my mind) by SilverSkiesAtMidnight, tim & bruce & dick & cast, 4.1k The League’s base is not built to welcome strangers. Bruce is not a stranger. ✦ what catches and who holds by victoria_p (musesfool), dick & cass, 3k Dick never wanted to be Batman. Cass always did. ✦ Bet on it by Lysical, jason & damian & jon, 2.4k Even Damian could admit that his older siblings occasionally had their uses. “I need your assistance,” Damian said, voice low and tense. “No,” Jason replied, and hung up. ✦ a soft place to land by unchosenone, dick & tim, 3k Tim rubs the back of his head, trying to affect a joking tone. “I knew I should’ve just gone for the new escrima sticks.” Dick is ready to be a good big brother to his grieving little bro. Tim flips the script. ✦ Consanguineous Ministrations by Briarwitched, bruce & kon-el & clark & dick, 23.9k “Who gave you a baby?” Dick demanded, the instant Bruce opened the front door, eyes drawn immediately to the sobbing infant on Bruce’s hip that he gently bounced to no avail. At the same time, Bruce muttered, “I told you, it’s fine, you didn’t have to come.” Alternatively titled, “Let’s give Batfleck alien baby problems”. ✦ The League of Extraordinary Bowling Bats by chibi_nightowl, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & alfred & cassandra & stephanie, 5k “What did Dickiebird do? Steal all your other shirts?” The shirt is bright green with wide yellow stripes pretending to be a pin stripe running vertically across it. On the back, in bright red letters, “Timmy” is spelled out. “You’re next,” he spits out, shooting Jason the worst glare he could muster. “He’s got one for you too.” ✦ a cheese raspberry flavored void (except not really) by dottie_dc (dottie_wan_kenobi), Marzue, SilverSkiesAtMidnight, Squintyfist (ErzasCake), dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & alfred & cast, 3k “Jason.” Dick walks up to the desk, suspiciously peering around. Jason jerks and attempts to get in his way, but Dick is quick and fully willing to vault over his brother. Only, Jason immediately latches onto him, and the momentum sends them stumbling back, knocking into the desk. It’s a good thing Jason stopped him, for right behind the desk, where Dick would’ve landed, is a swirling void. ✦ The Talk by InsaneTrollLogic, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian, 2k Bruce never gave Dick the Talk. Dick was grateful for that right up until the time Damian sat through his first health class and started asking questions. ✦ Brothers in War by IaMcHrIsSi, jason & dick & cast, 3.2k Jason, Cass and Damian ran from the League. In Bludhaven, they run into Dick. Literally. Dick just wanted to get breakfast. ✦ Baby I’m Bi Bi Bi by Sohotthateveryonedied, dick & steph, 1.5k Dick catches her staring. “Oh, yeah. Forgot I had that. I bought it for when Wally, Donna and I were planning to go to Gotham Pride last year but a Joker thing came up and I didn’t get to go. You can just toss it. I have a ton of other bi merch and I only bought that one because Donna pressured me into it, anyway.” Steph looks down at the t-shirt and bites her lip. “Actually…I think I’ll keep it, if you don’t mind.” ✦ two attempted robberies too many by tsuchann, dick & bruce & jason, 2.2k Dick could have knocked out the man before he had the chance to blink let alone pull the trigger, but he wasn’t dumb, and he worried his reaction would have caused the other robbers to shoot, because in the bank, at the middle of it all, with a gun pressed to his head, was Dick’s little brother. ✦ That the Ripest Might Fall by Ellegrine, TheFightingBull, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce, reverse robins, 2.4k Jason stared at the fallen chandelier. The priceless, fallen chandelier. They were dead. They were so, so dead! ✦ the butler’s neighbor by deargalileo, tim & alfred & bruce, 16.6k it starts with a baseball, thrown onto the wayne’s property. it’s alfred’s job to deal with such happenings, of course. but over tea and galas, it turns into so much more. after all, why should bruce be the only one allowed to adopt any child that he finds? ✦ the straw drawer by deargalileo, dick & bruce & jason & tim & alfred, 7.4k sometimes, love is stored in the straws. a story about family, traditions, and gifts, through the medium of crazy straws. (a companion piece to the butler’s neighbor, so i would suggest reading that first) ✦ you gotta push all the doubt to the side of your mouth by danishsweethearts, dick & stephanie & cast, 1.7k Steph practices mindfulness. BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK/BABS FOREVER AND YOU CAN SHUT IT IF YOU DISAGREE, THEY’RE ADORABLE TOGETHER: ✦ Crime and… by Ladymercury_10, dick/babs, 1.7k “Are you punishing me with glitter? That’s not a very good punishment, Babs.” ✦ the dickbabs baby au. by thychesters, dick/babs & batfam, 49.1k wip Telling Dick she’s pregnant is much more stressful than she was hoping it would be. Them telling the rest of their families and friends? Yeah, easier said than done. BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE’S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ buy back the secrets by sundiscus, tim/kon & bruce & clark & jason & cast, 48.1k wip He takes a long, slow breath. Ignores the glares from the other students. “Superboy,” he murmurs. “It’s me. If you’re listening, I could use some help.” Or: 5 times Superboy saves Tim Drake, and one time Tim Drake saves Superboy. ✦ Grevious Misuse of TTK (or, Alternate Uses for TTK) by Cfae8, tim/kon, NSFW, 1.4k Tim wakes up to someone touching him. But Kon’s hands haven’t moved. ✦ The Lost Art of Minding Your Goddamn Business by JpegDotJpeg, tim/kon & jason, 2k Tim just sputtered, looking thoroughly scandalized for someone standing in the middle of the irrefutable evidence of his own fornication. If the furniture looked this bad, Jason couldn’t imagine that little Timmy had escaped Superboy’s super cock completely unscathed. “It’s not that bad,” Tim said, gesturing to the carnage, but he didn’t even sound convinced of his own words. “It looks like the fucking honeymoon scene from Twilight in here.” ✦ Practice Makes Perfect by rotasha, tim/kon & jason, NSFW, 18.3k Kon is trying to seduce someone – he won’t tell Tim who – and he enlists Tim’s help to try to hone his flirtation skills. This surely won’t end in disaster for Tim, who’s had a thing for Kon practically since they met. BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT’S WHAT I’M HERE FOR: ✦ Wait, What? by PandasandDucks13, dick & bruce & titans, 2.4k Dick Grayson finds something interesting while applying for college. On a side note: He should really evaluate how many felonies he commits on a regular basis ✦ Dawn Breaks Through the Window by sElkieNight60, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian, depression/read the tags, 14.7k Without realizing it, Dick has fallen into a listless apathy, but when an incident cuts a little too close, Bruce and his brothers are there to remind him just how loved he is. ✦ Wisdom Always Chooses These Black Eyes and These Bruises by audreycritter, dick & bruce, 3.2k After a severe, life-changing injury, Dick and Bruce have an epic fight and then fall back together. Sometimes, family hurts you the most, but that doesn’t stop how much you need them. ✦ your continental divides by isawet, reisling, dick & bruce & damian & barbara & cassandra & stephanie & donna & roy & wally & artemis & cast, rape aftermath/read the tags, 26.7k When running doesn’t work and working doesn’t work, home is the place you go where they have to take you in. Dick’s home has never been Gotham; it’s always been the people.

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #timkon #fic recs #batman fic recs #long post #really long post

1K notes · View notes

dameronology · 1 year

Text

liar (bucky barnes)

based on the paramore song of the same name lol a.k.a the one where bucky barnes is scared of his own feelings a.k.a jazz is back in her bucky era

warnings; language

enjoy!!

-jazz

Bucky Barnes had never considered himself a liar.

If anything, he had a hard time not telling the truth. It escaped from his mouth before he even had the chance to think about; no, Steve, I think your new hair cut sucks and sorry Sam, she wasn’t actually checking you out, she was waving at the guy behind you. Call it a product of his years as an assassin - because he couldn’t recall being this truthful back in the war - but it was part of who he was now. Sometimes he thought it meant he should come with a warning; something to say don’t pull the pin on this grenade, because he won’t lie to your mum about liking her food. Would that have been the worst Tinder bio ever? Yeah, no doubt.

Bucky had a hard time even lying to himself. That had become clear as soon as you whirl-whinded into his life. That day was still as crystal clear in his head six months later. It had been an early morning at the SHIELD HQ - the F-train had been delayed an hour and he’d come sprinting into a national security meeting, Starbucks in one hand (he was already late, he figured five minutes more for a frappuccino wouldn’t hurt) and a jumbled apology ready to offer. Then, not two seconds later, you’d come sprinting through the door, smacking into the back of him and launching the iced coffee from his hand, into the air, and straight into the lap of the British prime minister.

Bucky was late, but you’d been even later. He liked that about you.

You were a whirl-wind in his life; his best friend from that day forward and the reason he could let go of the breath he’d been holding for so many years. Meetings were never boring with you, nor was the paperwork after long missions or the early starts. Every time he was late, he knew you’d take even longer because maybe his commute from Brooklyn was long but you lived three blocks away from work and managed to sleep through every goddamn alarm you’d set.

It was clear about exactly three seconds after you met that you and Bucky were not destined to just be friends. You knew it and he knew it but neither of you wanted to talk about it. Avoiding the truth wasn’t necessarily lying - Bucky was thankful for that, because he knew that if you asked, everything would come out. He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready for love.

So, you both left it to rest (and maybe to rot).

“I hate meetings,” you grumbled. It was eight o’clock on a Monday morning and thanks to a national security threat, you once again found yourself in the SHIELD meeting room earlier than you felt to be natural. “Can’t they just put this in an email?”

“Probably,” Bucky replied. “Hi guys, there’s a terrorist threat. If you see something, say something. Lots of love, the security council.”

You snorted. “Did you know I have all of their emails sent straight to my spam?”

“I would do the same but I can’t work out how the Facebook app works,” he muttered. “Why are there so many buttons? What are cookies?”

“Buck, why would you have the security council on Facebook?”

“Isn’t that…” he paused, scratching the back of his head. “Isn’t that where emails go?”

You dropped your head in your hands and let out a groan. “I only just got you used to Twitter. I’ll leave it a few weeks before I overwhelm you with any more social media apps.”

“What about TikTok?”

“I am never letting you download TikTok,” you said.

“Sam said that I should make thirst traps-”

“- please no!” you cut him off. “Never take life advice from Sam.”

Sam was sat across the table from you, a scowl on his face. He was a morning person - hell, the man had already been for a run that morning - but the combination of you and Bucky at any point in the day was enough to drive him up the wall. He glanced between you both, brown eyes calculating for a second, before a grin spread across his face.

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t,” Sam chirped. “Remember last week when I told you to do that thing, Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Shut up, Sam.”

“What thing?” you frowned.

“It’s not mine to share,” Sam shrugged. “But based on the last five minutes’ worth of interactions alone? I think it would be best to listen to me-”

“- I swear to god if you don’t stop talking!” Bucky cut him off; then he glanced at you, blue eyes wavering for a second. “Don’t listen to him.”

Sam knew that he was doing; playing devil’s advocate because a) it meant he could piss off Bucky and b) hopefully get two of his best friends to finally get together after months of pining. It had gotten to the point where him and Steve had literal bets on it. Not necessarily on if you would get together, but more on when.

“I’m not, but you’re acting weird,” you said. “Want to share with the class?”

“No,” Bucky firmly said.

“Buck,” you warned; it was clear by your voice that you weren’t fucking around. “I don’t know what immature high school bullshit is going on right now but I don’t appreciate it.”

“I’ll talk to you about it later, okay?” he said.

“You’re an ass,” you replied.

Picking up your bag and coffee, you shuffled over to the other side of the meeting table where Steve was sat. He hadn’t said a word in any of this; you quite often cursed the lack of boundaries amongst the four of you, but you couldn’t fault Steve that morning. He’d kept to himself, simply watching in awe at the chaos that had just unfolded.

You stopped in the seat beside him, glancing over at him. “If you say a word, I’ll hit you.”

“I’m not saying anything,” he held up his hands in defense.

The meeting was quick, thankfully. Even worse, it definitely could have been put in an email. You also couldn’t help but notice the British diplomats watching your coffee carefully every time you moved - that was a joke you could have made to Bucky, had he not managed to get himself into your bad books.

You’d barely been out the board room five minutes before you were practically wrestling him by the ear into a quiet corner. The meeting had been quick, thankfully. It hadn’t felt that way for Bucky, who’d been sat opposite you the entire time, barely avoiding your dagger-y gaze. If looks could kill, his vibranium arm would have had a fair few dents in it.

“So?” you asked. “What was that all about?”

“It’s nothing,” Bucky quickly replied. “I promise-”

“- bullshit!” you cut him off. “Why are you keeping things from me, Buck?”

“I’m not.”

“You are!” you exclaimed. “Look, I don’t even want to know what you and Sam were talking about but at least have the common decency not to keep me out of a conversation that’s about me!”

“Why aren’t you mad at Sam too?!”

“Believe me, I have it out for Sam too but it’s worse when this stuff comes from you!”

Bucky thinned his eyes at you. “Why?”

“You know why.”

He sighed, shifting from one foot to another. Eyes to the ceiling for a second, he took a deep breath.

“Sam told me last week that I should ask you out,” he said. “Said something about how everyone around us can see what we don’t, and that we’re kidding ourselves, and…”

You sniffed, trying to stay composed. It had been a long time coming, there was no denying that. Bucky had been avoiding the conversation because he wasn’t ready but you’d been avoiding it because you were terrified of the answer. Rejection from literally anyone else in the world would have been fine, but from him? There was no metaphor for that pain, or that fear.

“And what?” you asked. “What do you think of that?”

He shrugged. “I think it’s…”

You both waited for a second, the tension in the air almost suffocating.

“...dumb.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Dumb?!”

“Yeah?” Bucky sounded unsure. “We’re best friends, and-”

“- that’s bullshit!” you snapped. “Buck, I know you can be confusing but…if there’s one thing I am certain of, it’s that we are not just best friends and you know it!”

“Do I?”

You took a step back, sniffing. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”

“Wait, don’t be like that-”

“- it’s fine, James,” you sniffed. “I’ll see you around.”

“Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

(You weren’t good.)

“Okay, I’m glad. Call me later, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” you forced a smile.

(You weren’t going to call him.)

–

Five days.

That’s the longest Bucky had gone without talking to you since he’d met you and also the exact amount of time you’d been ignoring him for. He’d given in calling you after three days, and considered coming around your apartment after four, but then he got a last minute call onto a mission where your name was at the top of the call sheet. Fab.

Bucky liked to consider himself a good flier, but it certainly would have been easier to co-pilot a jet with someone who was actually willing to talk to him. It was quite amazing, actually, to see the lengths that you were willing to go to all in pursuit of icing him out.

“This is Barnes to air traffic control on QJ564. We’ll be approaching our destination in about five minutes, currently at 10,000 feet, over.”

“This is ATC to QJ564, you’re cleared for landing in Munich, runway four. Over.”

“This is Barnes to ATC on QJ564. Runway four confirmed, thank you. Could you also tell my co-pilot that I’m sorry and that I miss them? Over.”

“Uh…this is ATC to QJ564. Barnes says he’s sorry and that he misses you. Over.”

“This is Barnes’ co-pilot on QJ564, tell him that I think he’s a cun-”

“- this is Captain Rogers monitoring the channels for suspicious activity from the headquarters. May I remind the pilots aboard QJ564 of the appropriate workplace manners over professional channels? Over.”

After Steve’s voice, the lines went silent. Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrows raised.

“That was rude.”

You continued to ignore him, attention turned to landing the jet safety. It wasn’t hard - Tony Stark had built a jet that practically landed itself, but it was still a good enough excuse to blank out your best friend for the next five minutes. Still, none of that conversation was worth the absolute castigating you were about to receive from Captain America as soon as you were back in New York. He was no fun sometimes.

With the jet safely on the runway, you parked up at the airport and made your way down to the tarmac where the agents were waiting. All you had to do now was await instructions from headquarters on what to do next. That gave you more empty time with Bucky, who was stood next to you. So, you moved away and leant against the wheels of the plane, pulling out your phone to play Doodle Jump.

The call came through eventually, but it was to Bucky’s radio instead of yours.

“Right, agents,” he began, though it was more a sigh than anything. “Coulson is currently ten minutes out on another quinjet to lead the mission. Agent (Name) and I have been removed from this operation for the foreseeable future so that we can sit in the jet, man the communications systems and re-take the online seminar about appropriate workplace language.”

“What?!” you exclaimed. “Nice one, Barnes!”

Bucky forced a smile, trying not to crack up in front of the fifteen junior agents stood in front of you. “Why we have to retake it is a mystery to me.”

“Good luck out there, guys,” you huffed. With that, you spun around and stormed back on board the jet.

Bucky was hot on your heels, closing up the door behind him as he went. He didn’t really know what to say - somehow he’d made you angrier, now - but apolgoising profusely felt like a pretty good place to start.

“So you’re talking to me now?” he asked, following you through the fuselage.

“No!”

“You just did!”

“Fuck off, Bucky!”

“And again!”

“Leave me alone!”

He grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it,” you huffed.

Taking a seat, you curled your legs up in front of you. You didn’t try and swat (or hit) Bucky when he leant down in front of you, which he took as a good sign. It was time to pull out the big guns.

“Can I talk for just…maybe five seconds, possibly ten, without you interrupting?”

You nodded.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never want to hurt you because you’re the last person in the world I’d ever want to upset but I was put on the spot by what Sam said, and then by what you said, and it freaked me out a little,” he began. “You and I both know that he’s right - but never tell him I said that - and honestly, the silence you’ve given me over the last five days made me realise that more than ever.”

You smiled. “What are you saying, Buck?”

“I love you,” he said. It was plain and simple, completely without hesitation and entirely with conviction. “I’ve known that for a while but I just didn’t want to admit it to myself, but like I said…five days without you made me realise I don’t even want to go five seconds without you.”

“That’s how you apologise,” you gave him a watery grin, poking him in the chest.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Anything you want to say to that?”

“Oh, yeah!” you exclaimed. “I love you too.”

Bucky pulled you into a kiss; he held you flush against him, one hand holding the back of your neck, metal one gripping the back of your tac-vest. Despite everything, he was warm and you were certain then that you were never going to let him - if not a little ecstatic that you’d found a new way to shut him up.

You both jumped back when you heard the doors to the jet go, only to turn around and see Phil Coulson on the phone, a glare on his face.

“What is it with you two and inappropriate work place behaviour?”

2K notes · View notes

mvybanks · 11 months

Text

SOMEONE TO STAY - pt.1

a/n: i didn’t mean to make you wait 2 months but it’s here now!!! i really hope you guys like it and that it was worth the wait😫 (sorry if the ending looks rushed but it would’ve turned out way longer otherwise and i was already scared it was going to be boring oops)

warnings: mentions of cheating, abandonment issues (?)

word count: 3.5k

pairing: single dad!jj x babysitter!reader

nav someone to stay masterlist

add yourself to my taglist <3 (if you want to be added only to the taglist of the series you can specify it in the end note of this form!)

“This is getting ridiculous, JJ. Everyone is worried about you, man; you deserve to go out and have fun.”

It had been almost an hour since John B, JJ’s oldest friend, had called him to finally confront him about his lack of human interactions that hadn’t been with his own daughter, Isabella, lately. It had been seven months since Lily had left them on their own and for the blond-haired man moving on was harder than he had thought. After all she had been part of his life for five years and was engaged to him for six months prior to her sudden departure and abandonment not only of her soon-to-be-husband, but of their four-year-old daughter as well. He had never gotten an explanation from her, only the sight of an empty bed and a poor excuse of a message in his voicemail.

“I can’t do this anymore. It’s over.” that was all she’d had to say to him before bailing on her family.

He hadn’t been surprised, they’d had problems for quite some time, stuck in a loveless relationship that was kept alive for their daughter’s sake, born from an unplanned pregnancy. He had never seen Ella as a mistake; surely, he hadn’t planned to have a child with his girlfriend for they had been together for only a year, but Isabella had always and forever would be the best thing that had ever happened to him. Unfortunately, her mother didn’t feel the same way and it felt like a punch in the stomach to JJ, as he knew exactly what his little girl was going to go through, having experienced it himself; however, he was aware that, although she would feel the lack of her mom’s presence, Ella was going to receive all the love she deserved from her dad.

“I have to stay with Ella. She needs me,” JJ replied to his friend.

“JJ…You’re twenty-five! You’re allowed to meet new people, have new experiences and shit. We can help you find a babysitter for when you’re not around and it’ll be okay, trust me. This won’t change anything between you two.”

He couldn’t lie to himself, even though it did hurt him to admit it: John B was right. It wasn’t fair to himself if he kept going down that road, a life devoted to his daughter and to his daughter only, and hell, he was almost fine with it, she was his whole world after all, but he wanted to give life another try and listen to his best friend for once. Perhaps his biggest worry wasn’t his daughter; he knew with everything in him that no one and nothing could ever come between them, but he was afraid of what there was out there. He couldn’t face another delusion, another disappointment, one more relationship where he would have to ask, to beg for love.

However, he decided he was ready to let someone, other than his little girl, in his heart one last time before giving up on love. He owed it to himself, right?

“Fine,” he finally sighed. At his surrender, he could hear some noises on the other side, causing him to furrow his eyebrows in confusion, but no one was able to see him.

“Did you say ‘fine’? Are you going on a date?” John B excitedly asked again to make sure he had heard him correctly.

“Yeah…You gotta help me find a babysitter though!”

“I’ve got one for you!” An even more cheerful voice interjected, one that JJ recognized immediately as his best friend’s girlfriend; “A friend of mine knows this really great agency that you can call. Oh, and I’ve already got the perfect date for you, you’re going to love her!”

Although they couldn’t see him, JJ playfully rolled his eyes; of course Sarah had everything planned, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he found out that it had all been an idea of hers so that they could double date. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but smile as she talked his ear off about this woman she wanted him to meet, because he knew they were doing this for him, because they loved him and wished to see him happy, and that warmed his heart.

As he dialed the number into his phone, JJ had to remind himself that he wasn’t abandoning his little girl. It was for their own good, he told himself, and a sweet little girl as his daughter would’ve definitely become friends with her babysitter in no time.

‘Great references’ and ‘we’ve never had any complaint about her’ were what they had told him at the agency about the babysitter they were going to hire for him. He had read everything on her file, thoroughly, making sure she was good like everyone said, even though he knew Sarah’s friend had hired the same woman for her two kids and she had only good things to say about her, so what was he supposed to worry about?

“So, she can come over on Saturday, right?” he questioned the man on the other line for the umpteenth time.

“Of course, sir. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Finally, he realized that everything was taken care of and he didn’t have to keep pestering the poor man with questions anymore. It was done.

He walked into the living room of his home, looking for his daughter to give her the news. And there she was, his little angel drawing a picture as she sat on the ground, not even noticing the smile that her sight had provoked to her father.

“Hey, sweetie,” he made his presence known before sitting down next to her.

“Hi, daddy.”

“What you doing?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “Drawing.”

“I can see that. Who’s that?” He asked her as he pointed to the almost-unrecognizable figures.

“That’s me,” she said, directing her forefinger towards a small shape, “And that’s you!” And he could tell immediately because the other shape was three times as big as the little one, which made him chuckle.

He bent his head down to kiss her head while she went back to her masterpiece.

“Listen, I have to tell you something.”

She turned her head quickly to look at him, peering up at him with those big blue eyes that truly resembled her father’s, as she waited for his next words.

JJ knew that look too well and it made his chest squeeze; the same scared eyes she had given to him when he’d had to tell her about her mom not coming back anytime soon. Now, the fear that she might think that he could ever do the same made him sick to his stomach.

He picked her up and sat her on his lap, to remind her that he wasn’t going anywhere. “Daddy won’t be home this Saturday, but I called a great babysitter that will play and keep you company when I’m not home. Is that okay?” He tried to spill everything as fast as he could, not wanting to prolong this conversation; one look at her sad eyes would’ve made him pick his phone and call it off.

“Was I bad?” She asked, and he swore he heard his heart break.

He hugged her close to him before he began leaving countless kisses on her head and then on her face as she giggled. “You’re the best,” he said in between tickles and forehead kisses, “You did nothing bad, sweetie, I promise you. I will go out for a night, and I’ll kiss you goodnight as soon as I come back home, alright? You won’t even realize I was gone.”

She didn’t say anything else; she only showed him her little finger, silently asking him to pinky promise. Grinning, he latched his own fifth digit with hers before bringing it to his mouth to leave a quick peck.

“Char – Charlo – CHARLOTTE!” You snapped at your friend who kept rambling on the phone about what she had just done and in how much trouble she was in.

From what you had managed to gather from her words, she had been called in to babysit a new kid three days from then, but she was on a spontaneous vacation with her girlfriend and hadn’t told her boss about it. Charlotte had just had a whole weekend of babysitting the week before and she didn’t expect to be called for another Saturday, but there she was, freaking out and giving you a headache.

“You really can’t fly back in before this weekend?” You questioned, trying to reason with her.

“NO! There’s only one plane that could take us back, but it’s too expensive, neither of us can afford it.” She said with tears pricking at her eyes. “They’re gonna fire me. I don’t have a job, oh my God, oh my God- “

“Hey! Take deep breaths, okay?”

You could hear her hyperventilating. She had always been kind of a drama queen, however, it was impossible to not have the same reaction as her this time.

“You gotta help me, please,” she begged, and you knew if she had been there with you, she would’ve gotten on her knees.

“I don’t know what to do, Lottie.”

“Take my place! It’s a new family, they’ve never met me, they don’t know what I look like. I’ll give you the address, you’ll just have to watch a kid and pretend to be me. You’d get the money, of course, I just can’t lose this job, please.”

Although she couldn’t see you, your jaw dropped in disbelief. No way you were going to do that.

“I – I can’t to that. I don’t even feel like leaving the house-“

“Babe, if this is about Jake again, I swear to God…” She interrupted you immediately.

Charlotte wasn’t wrong; there was a reason why you didn’t want to go out and his name was, in fact, Jake, your ex-boyfriend. It had been two months since you had found him naked with another woman in his apartment…the one he had given you the key to. Nonetheless, you didn’t care about that anymore, not even about him in general. What was keeping you from leaving your bed those days was disappointment; why couldn’t you find a good guy? Someone who means what he says, who really loves you? And why was it impossible for you to find someone who was able to take your breath away? Was there something wrong with you?

“I love you, honey, I really do, but I won’t let you give up on love because of that jerk; if you do, I’ll haunt you forever.” And you knew she wasn’t kidding.

“ ‘Haunt me’ ? What are you? A ghost?”

“I will be if I don’t show up at that job.”

You sighed loudly before turning around in your bed. What was the worst that could happen?

“I’ll do it,” you groaned, surrendering to your pleading best friend.

“Are you serious? I love you, I love you, I love y-“ She kept screaming, possibly impairing your hearing by reaching ultrasonic sounds.

Maybe this was going to be good for you; it couldn’t have done more damage, right?

Walking up to the driveway of the Maybank’s household, you couldn’t help but think about why they would live in such a secluded area. It was beautiful, that was for sure.

The small and cozy white home was surrounded by green, all around it a beautiful garden, and you could tell that they had a good view of the ocean from inside; it was stunning.

Finally, you ringed the gold-colored doorbell that rested on the side of the front door and waited for someone to greet you, although your heart was beating like crazy from the anxiety. What if someone found out what you were doing? Wasn’t it a felony? It must have been, you thought. You were going to kill Charlotte; you couldn’t believe she had put you in such a difficult situa-

Well, you weren’t expecting to be met by the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. Perhaps your best friend was forgiven.

Wearing a white buttoned up shirt and casual jeans, JJ smiled at you. “Hi, you must be Charlotte Jones,” he said as he offered you his hand to shake, which you did politely. Your hands felt clammy as you took his palm in yours, hoping you weren’t shaking from the fear of him discovering your secret before you could’ve even stepped foot inside the house.

“Yes. And you must be Mr. Maybank, right?”

He chuckled, “You can call me JJ, we don’t have to be formal here.”

You nodded and showed him a soft smile while he gave you enough space to enter his home.

Alright, at least we’re in, you thought.

Like you had imagined, it was even more breathtaking inside, warm and made of wood. You understood why it was completely outside of reach from the city: that house was a safe little heaven. “You have a beautiful home, Mr. - JJ,” you corrected yourself and he was very thankful for that.

It was obvious you were pretty close in age, and he would’ve felt uncomfortable if you had continued calling him by his last name. He couldn’t help but notice how your eyes wandered around the room with curiosity, the way you gnawed on your bottom lip and played with one of your rings; were you nervous?

Suddenly, the sound of little feet running around the house filled your ears and a little girl with hair golden like the sun, and like the man beside you, came into view. She had big blue eyes and a sweet and genuine smile, the one that only kids can always wear with so much easiness.

The toddler walked to her dad and hugged his leg as she looked up at him. “Daddy, who is she?” she whispered, but you could hear her as well, loud and clear, which made you stifle a chuckle.

JJ grinned at his daughter before bending down to talk to her at her level. “She’s gonna be your babysitter, sweetie. Remember? We talked ‘bout that,” he spoke in a kind tone as he brushed some hairs out of the little girl’s face.

Was that man even real?

She seemed to think about her father’s words and then she turned to you, offering her small hand just like her father had had a minute before. “My name is Ella.”

You crouched down in front of her and accepted her hand. “Hi, Ella, I’m Charlotte. You’ve got a beautiful name, you know?”

“It’s short for Isabella, right honey?” JJ interjected and his daughter nodded furiously.

They looked like the cutest dad and daughter duo and that made your chest squeeze for multiple different reasons.

“You’re pretty,” Ella said, admiring your features.

Close to blushing at her words, after all kids always tell the truth, you added a soft “thank you. But you’re the prettiest.”

The man beside you could only agree with both statements as he realized how beautiful the woman that was about to spend every weekend, and probably weekdays as well, at his house was.

How was he supposed to go out on a date now?

Actually, scratch that because the most important question that was running in his head was another: why had a weird sensation settled at the pit of his stomach at the way you had simply tucked a strand of hair behind your ear?

You weren’t surprised to find out that JJ had left you a list of things his daughter liked to do and what her nightly routine was, in order to help her fall asleep faster, along with a post-it note attached to the refrigerator with his number written down on it; ‘in case of emergency, this is my number:’ it read. He had already ordered pizza for both you and the little girl, and you found amazing how much he was still taking care of Ella even when he wasn’t around. You realized that he was raising her on his own; you couldn’t tell what happened to her mother, but the lack of pictures of another woman made you suspect it shouldn’t have been an easy topic in that household.

Perhaps spending your Saturday night playing with dolls and drawing with a four year old hadn’t been in your plans, but it sure as hell turned out to be so much more fun than you had expected. Ella was the loveliest and sweetest kid you had ever met and you were glad to be the one to spend time with her. She talked your ear off about all of her stuffed animals, their names and about their likes and dislikes; she told you about her favorite shows and how she loved when her dad took her to the park or painted with her and about how he was building a doll house just for her. You couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that JJ Maybank was the best, most attractive dad you had ever had the pleasure to encounter, and you would’ve lied if you had said that you didn’t want to come back to that house to get to know the both of them better.

“Do you know how to braid your hair?” She asked you at some point.

You were tucking her into bed, carefully placing her stuffed animals next to her, when you looked down at her and smiled, “Yeah, of course. Why?”

“Daddy can’t do it…”

“I can braid your hair if you’d like,” You said, already knowing the answer to that. It was easy to understand, even after spending so little time with her, that she didn’t want to bother anyone and was scared to ask for stuff, so you realized it was easier to make it look like you were offering it to her in the first place. You couldn’t understand the reason behind that behavior, her father looked like he would’ve given her the sun and the moon if he could’ve, but it wasn’t something you were supposed to ask about.

She grinned up at you, nodding, before she turned around to let you work her hair into a braid. You gently combed your fingers through the blonde locks and got to work.

“You’ve got beautiful hair, you know?” You spoke softly.

“Thanks.”

You wrapped the end of the braid with your own hair tie, which was previously sitting on your wrist. “All done!”

Before you could understand what was happening, she sprinted to the bathroom, giggling in excitement as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Jumping up and down, she threw herself at you, having ran behind her, and, thankfully, you were quick to catch her as laughter filled the room.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She never stopped saying as she hugged your neck; your heart ached at the action. Why had it felt like such a bittersweet moment?

Following the instructions given by her father, Ella fell asleep pretty quickly, although she asked about her dad, but didn’t make a fuss about his absence. Nonetheless, JJ came back home at exactly 11 p.m., just like he had told you, and you couldn’t help but wonder how his date had gone, seen it seemed like he couldn’t wait to be welcomed into his home once again. However, it was none of your business, you shouldn’t have cared about his personal life and you shouldn’t have made any assumption.

“Hey,” he whispered as he closed the front door behind him as quietly as he could, “Everything okay?”

“Yes, of course. She was an angel,” you smiled, and he did the same.

The moment you had left the house, JJ ran to his daughter’s bedroom because, as promised, he had to kiss her goodnight. He knew she probably wouldn’t have even remembered it, but one thing about him was that he would always keep a promise to his little girl.

The date had gone worse than he could’ve imagined; nothing wrong about that woman, but he wasn’t interested, and he felt uncomfortable the whole time. But on that night, JJ learned that he was ready to get back to dating; he didn’t know how or why, he just felt ready. That meant he was going to need a babysitter more often, right? He would have the necessity to call you again soon. There was no point in changing babysitters after all.

Bending down to kiss Ella’s forehead, he noticed the way her hair had been wrapped in a braid and it brought tears to his eyes. It was something Lily used to do a lot, and since she had left, the little girl had been asking him to do the same but he couldn’t for the life of him and he dreaded the disappointing look in her eyes.

She slightly opened one eye to peer up at her dad, “Daddy,” she yawned.

“Ssh, go back to sleep, sweetie. It’s late.”

Nodding, the little girl obliged, not before she’d had the chance to add, “I love Charlotte. Can she come back?”

It was obvious she was still in a sleeping state, yet he didn’t miss the peaceful expression painting her features and he couldn’t deny her of that. “Of course.” He pecked her forehead once again, “Goodnight, sweetie.”

“Goodnight, daddy.”

Maybe John B and Sarah were right; someone out there was going to make him believe in love again, and perhaps that person was closer than he believed.

taglist:

@jjmaybankisbae @notslay-norcleor @poppet05 @solargazes @cindersnightmare @fairlymax @chaostudee @goldenroutledge @drewsgarfieid @taintedxkisses @uhcallmemommy @babypoguelife @screan @voguesir @vigilanteshitposting @kliness @gemofthenight @magnificantmermaid @f4ll-for-you @marzipaanz @sweetestdesire @guililove @freyawhitexxx1 @mistalli @shady-the-simp @fangirl-madz @one-sweet-gubler @camelliaflow3r @emery-333 @hallecarey1 @illicitfixations @dreamingwithrafe @maybankslover @jjgaybanklover @wildflwrdarlin @futurecorps3 @bxrbie1 @maybanksbabe @softcoremaybank @jjsbank444 @vivian-555 @jjfordays @highpope @livsters @starkeylover @peachpitlover @instabull @kentoswifeyy

#jj maybank #obx #outer banks #dad!jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank angst #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x oc #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x kook!reader #jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank x you #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #dad!jj #someone to stay series

540 notes · View notes

traveler-at-heart · 11 months

Text

What we were

Summary: After losing Clint, your marriage and family begins to fall apart. Will Natasha be able to go back to what you once were?

A/N: This is going to be four chapters, but most of it is written. It’s a mix of angst, hurt and comfort. Obvious warning, there’s a major character death. Natasha and R have a daughter.

Time was unforgiving.

It had been six months since you lost Clint. Two since you asked Natasha to move out.

Four hours of sleep was the most you could get each night.

Time heals everything, people say.

Then, how come, the more time passed, the worse you felt?

Thoughts like these invade your mind, even when doing the most mundane of tasks. Like now, when you’re waiting for your daughter’s school day to be over. Leaning over your black Mercedes, you wish that your injured leg could be less of a bother and instead of driving, you could walk to pick up Anya and get distracted by the sights of the city.

The school bell rings and the quiet classrooms are full of murmurs, books stored away and steps walking -some rushing eagerly- to the exit.

Impossible to miss, Anya’s red waves are the first thing you spot. Raising a hand, she says goodbye to her friends and walks your way.

“Hi, darling” you sigh against her head.

She’s getting taller and maybe next year she won’t let you hug her. Maybe she’ll even want to take the bus while you anxiously wait for her return home. But now, she’s still a sweet child and she still lets you run your hands through her hair.

“How was Debate Club?” it’s the first thing you ask, because she’d been preparing relentlessly to beat the other team.

“We won, obviously”

“We should celebrate” a voice joins the conversation. You’re so startled that you drop the car keys.

“Mom!” Anya says, wrapping her arms around Natasha.

It makes you happy that she’s not resentful even after everything that happened. That she can love so unconditionally.

She didn’t get that from you.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt” Natasha apologizes, finally looking at you. There’s a weak smile on your face, what else can you do? “I was thinking we could go shopping for that new game you wanted?”

“Can we please, Momma?” Anya turns to you.

“Sure. Have fun. But don’t spoil your appetite. We’re having lasagna”

“Mom, our favorite” Anya nudges the Russian and you look away.

“I’ll have her home by 6” Natasha saves you the embarrassment of being forced to invite her.

“Have fun” you wave goodbye, heart beating fast.

Breaking the speed limit, you rush home. But the tears start running long before you’re parked.

You look at your sad reflection in the rearview mirror.

Natasha looks better than the last time you saw each other.

Maybe all she needed was to be away from you, to be happy again.

Two glasses of wine later, you’re curled up on the sofa watching your favorite comfort show and feeling better.

“What’s up, Buck?” you answer at the second ring of your phone.

“Are you ok?”

You look at the half empty glass of wine and decide that no, you’re most definitely not ok.

“Sure, why you ask?”

“I just saw her driving with Anya”

“Mhm” you look at the clock. 5:55 PM. She’s trying to be a responsible parent, at least. “Yeah, she showed up at school today. It’s good that they spent time together”

“Want me to come over?”

“No, I don’t want you two fighting in my front yard. Thanks, though”

“I’ll stop by tomorrow, ok? And if you feel like it, we can go to that Broadway show on Saturday. I got us tickets”

“Thanks, Buck”

“Ok, she’s parking outside now”

“You followed them all the way here?” you jump out of the couch, looking out the window.

“What? I was worried!”

“Sometimes I think it’s not so great that you live a few blocks away, you weirdo”

“But then I bring coffee and scones and you change your mind”

“Yeap”

“See ya, doll”

“Bye, creep”

“Oh, come on!”

You let out a laugh at his protest. Wanda and Yelena have been texting you, so you scroll, smiling at the silly pictures of Fanny or the videos of Tommy and Billy doing their crazy science experiments.

“Hi, Ma” Anya rushes past you. “Gonna change for dinner”

“Mmkay” you nod, texting Bucky to make sure he’s actually back home, and not slashing Natasha’s tires.

“So…”

“Nat, jeez” you drop the phone, not even aware that she is still here. She looks at you across the kitchen island.

Don’t think how sad it is that she looks out of place here, where it used to be home.

Don’t cry in front of her.

Don’t.

“Sorry, I’ll say goodbye and leave”

“Anya, your mom’s leaving” you busy yourself in the kitchen, looking away.

“So soon?” the girl peeks around, pouting. “We haven’t even played the game yet”

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” you give up, unable to say no to your daughter.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m always making extra anyways”

Because you were used to cooking dinner for three.

Anya is happy to set the table, but you sit next to your daughter, leaving Natasha in front of her. You try to stay focused on Anya and school: the debate club, sports activities, a month in Europe for the best students.

“Mom, do you think I can reach out to aunt Carol? I have some Astronomy questions”

Natasha immediately looks at you, but you’re hyper focused on the bottle of wine and pouring the last of it until your glass is filled to the rim.

“Uh, she’s not... I’m not sure where Danvers is, sweetheart. She left Earth a while back”

“Oh, ok” the girl nods, looking at you with a frown. “Mom, what’s wrong? Is your leg hurting? What did Doctor Cho say?”

Crap.

“What’s wrong, det…?” Natasha asks, looking at you. The pet name almost rolled off her tongue.

Everything. Everything is wrong, Natasha.

“That old injury from our outlaw days. Doctor Cho gave me some pain killers. But I don’t think I’ll take them, they make me too sleepy”

“We’ll do the dishes” Natasha jumps in. “Don’t worry about it”

“Thanks”

The dishes are the least of your worries, but it’s still a nice gesture.

Maybe when she’s finally ready to ask you to divorce her, you’ll be able to coparent.

“Here, let me” she asks as you approach with the empty glass of wine. “Did Doctor Cho say anything else?”

You sigh, leaning against the counter, watching as she washes the dishes.

“She said surgery might make the pain go away. Actually, there’s a 90% chance it will work. But Anya’s got school and I’d have to do bed rest for at least five weeks. Maybe during winter break”

“I can take care of her. Drive her to school or cook dinner or…”

“You’re a terrible cook” you remind her. It’s meant to be a joke, but also a way to make her stop.

You don’t want to be a burden for someone who doesn’t want you anymore.

“Wanda could teach me”

“She’s too busy making sure the twins aren’t building a nuclear weapon in the garage”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks, almost afraid of your answer.

“Can you take her to school tomorrow?” you finally say, without providing further details.

The truth is, you’ll probably cry until you fall asleep, because you miss Natasha and this is the first time you’ve seen her in two months.

And it would be better if you could sleep in, make an appointment with your therapist and then find a way to look composed by the time you have to pick your daughter from school.

“Absolutely”

“Thank you”

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N”

The way she says your name makes you want to scream.

Natasha’s long gone, Anya sleeping peacefully back in her room.

You’re looking at the ceiling, tears rolling down your face and soaking your pillow.

You miss her so damn much. You love her so much.

And you also hate her. And you hate yourself for loving her.

There’s a soft knock at your door. You know it’s not Anya because she would have turned on the hallway light.

“Hey, weirdo” you look at Bucky from across the room, smiling sadly. He approaches you and wraps you in his arms. You sob against his chest, feeling like the sadness will last forever.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s ok. Let it all out. I’m here”

You don’t know when you fall asleep.

A lot has changed in such a short time, but by now, Anya is used to the sight of her uncle Bucky, rotating between the few breakfast foods he can make without burning everything.

“You read my mind” Anya watches as he makes blueberry pancakes.

“Has no one ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?” he mumbles, impressed at how silent she was.

“No, because my moms are spies and so is my uncle and my other aunt and basically half my family”

“Smart ass,” he chuckles. “Come on, eat your food before it gets cold”

“Did mom eat anything yet?” Anya sits on a stool, eating on the kitchen counter.

“Your mom’s asleep” Bucky says. In fact, you cried, had a panic attack, a couple of nightmares, woke up to drink some water and then fell asleep at 4 AM.

Basically, the usual for the past two months.

He’s so caught in his thoughts that he forgets to flip the last pancake. A knock on the front door snaps him back to reality.

“Can you turn off the stove? And pack your bag, we’re leaving in five…” Bucky yells over, opening the door without looking through the peephole first. He’s surprised to find Natasha on the other side “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to pick up my daughter”

“Does Y/N know?” He's holding on to the door so hard that the wood cracks.

“She asked me to drive Anya to school”

“Ok, I’m ready” Anya announces, aware that her mother and uncle aren’t on the best terms. She walks between them to make sure they won’t punch each other. “Bye, uncle, thanks for breakfast”

“Have a good day, sweetheart. See you Saturday”

“Right, for that musical, Beaglejuice”

“Shut up” he chuckles, kissing her forehead. Anya leans forward and hugs him goodbye.

Natasha is silent for most of the ride. Anya is looking out the window, uncertain of her mother’s mood. Maybe not saying anything is safer.

Three blocks away from school and Natasha hears herself blurting out what’s been on her mind this whole time.

“Does Barnes stay over a lot?”

“I guess” Anya mutters, still looking out the window.

“Well, do you know…”

The girl has enough, turning around to face her mother. There’s nothing but resentment in her eyes as she tells Natasha everything.

“Mom cries herself to sleep every night. Ever since you moved out, it's been hard for her to get up in the morning and act normal, let alone cook breakfast. So yeah, uncle Bucky is around all the time, just to make sure she’s at the very least alive. You’d know if you still cared about us”

“Anya…”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way, thanks for the ride” she mumbles, opening the door and rushing away. Natasha is stuck in traffic, so all she can do is watch her daughter from the car.

Just when she was starting to make things right, she fucks up again.

“Thanks for breakfast” you say, mouth full of pancakes.

“More like lunch” Bucky corrects.

You nod, reaching for the maple syrup.

“So, why’d you ask Natasha to drive Anya to school?”

“Is that why my door is almost broken in half?”

“I’ll fix it”

“You better” you mumble. He is still staring and you shrug your shoulders. “Just experimenting how co-parenting is gonna be when we officially divorce”

“So, you are asking her to divorce you?”

“She’s gonna ask me. Sooner or later” you keep your head down, playing with your food. You’re not hungry anymore.

“All things considered, the ball is in your court”

“Buck” you plead, dropping the fork.

“I’m just saying” he approaches your side. “You’ll only be able to heal once you know what you both want. But running away won’t help”

“You sound like my therapist”

“But does she cook you breakfast?”

“For what she’s charging me, she should, actually” both of you laugh. And damn it, you know he’s right. “Thank you, for worrying about me. And for taking care of us these past few months. I’m sorry I’m such a mess”

As if on cue, tears start streaming down your face. Bucky hugs you, kissing your head.

“It’s ok”

“I know you hate it when people cry, I’m sorry”

“Yeah, but I hate it a little bit more when you’re the one crying”

Luckily for your therapist, you’re all cried out by the time you reach her office. Instead, you discuss how it would be better to approach Natasha, who has always struggled with communication around difficult topics.

“I’m very happy with this session. We’ve made great progress” Doctor Thompson says and you put your fist forward.

“Fist bump” you encourage her.

“I’ll get my license taken away if we ever do this again”

For the first time in months, you leave her office feeling a little bit lighter.

Until you check your phone. 10 missed calls from Natasha.

“Nat?” you answer as she calls again.

“Is Anya with you?”

“I was about to pick her up from school” there’s a pause. “You did drive her to school, right?”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot” she shoots back.

“Well, I’m very confused because she’s only about to end her last class. Why would she be anywhere else, then?” you retort.

“Just meet me back home, ok?” she pleads.

“Fine”

She’s pacing on the sidewalk as you park.

“Care to explain?”

“The school called me an hour ago. She sneaked out after recess”

“Let’s just track her phone”

“It’s off”

“Well, fuck” you run your hand through your hair. “Did she say anything to you this morning? Did she seem upset?”

Natasha looks away, chewing on her bottom lip.

“I asked her if Barnes was staying over often”

“Natasha, for fuck’s sake” you sigh, turning away from her.

Don’t shout. You won’t solve anything by screaming at Natasha.

Your daughter is missing because your wife can’t keep her jealousy to herself. So fuck it.

“If you want to know anything, you ask me, Natasha, do you understand? You don’t go questioning our 13 year old daughter, who, by the way, has been through enough shit lately. I’m trying to protect her and you’re here implying I’m sleeping with the only friend who isn’t tired of me being a mess. Which, for the record, I’m not. And would never. Unlike you, I’m not going around fucking people outside my marriage because I’m having a hard time”

“I don’t know how to get close to you, Y/N. You pushed me out ever since…”

“No! You don’t get to put this on me. I tried for months. I tried everything. And you scoffed and ignored and stood me up. I gave up the moment I found you in bed with Carol”

Your voice breaks at the last part. That memory has been buried for so long; you want it to stay hidden, forever.

It doesn’t matter. You need to find Anya.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling Buck”

“I’m here. I’ll help you find her”

“I’ll find my daughter alone, thank you” you walk past her, waiting impatiently for your friend to pick up.

“She’s my daughter too”

“You sure as hell haven’t acted like her mother in a long time, Natalia”

You walk away, your back turned to her.

“Buck” you say, voice trembling.

“I know. She’s at the Met. Hasn’t left. I’m outside, just in case”

“How did you…?”

“I’m sorry. I was hoping I could convince her to come back before you found out she sneaked out of class”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can”

Again, those soft waves of red are the first thing you spot in the room. Her blue eyes are fixed on Degas and his Dance Class.

“Hey, kiddo” you stand next to her, understanding immediately why she’s looking at this painting. “We still have your ballerina shoes somewhere in a box. Your mom loved going to your recitals”

“I’m sorry for leaving school”

“I played hooky a couple of times. It’s part of life. I just want to make sure you’re ok”

“She doesn’t care if you’re able to get up in the morning but gets jealous because someone is taking care of us”

You sigh. Anya has Natasha’s heart, after all. She loves and protects fiercely.

“That’s not exactly true. Come with me” your daughter takes your hand as you leave the museum.

Central Park is still looking beautiful, even as fall approaches. Anya plops down on a bench and you take a seat next to her. A small groan leaves your lips. This damn leg.

“You know your mother was raised to be an assassin. The Red Room taught her that love was a weakness. And that she was incapable of having a family or people that cared about her. Even after all these years, insecurity can get the best of Nat sometimes”

“Why can’t we just… go back to what we used to be?” she mumbles, a tear rolling down her face.

“Oh, sweetheart” you hold her against your chest. “I want nothing more in this world”

“I miss her”

“Me too, Anya”

“It’s like we lost her the day uncle Clint died” she sobs.

“But she’s still here. And she still needs you, my sweet girl. I’m not saying you should forgive her right this second. But don’t build a wall around yourself, please”

“Ok”

“You know I lost my mom when I was 15. And a lot of that time I spent it angry at her for staying with a man that wasn’t good to us. But once she was gone, all I wished was that I had made her life a little easier”

“I’m sorry”

“It’s ok. I’m glad I’m here, to make sure you don’t make the same mistake I did. We’re gonna be alright, I promise”

“I love you”

“Love you too, kiddo” you keep her in your arms for as long as you can, but a light rain begins to fall. “Come on, now. Bucky’s been waiting for us”

“I know. I saw him following me on the bus here”

“My God, I don’t know which one of you is scarier”

Anya giggles, and you take her hand.

Even between all of this mess, she’s the one thing that makes everything worth it.

Anya was the one that texted her mother, apologizing and letting her know she was ok.

You didn’t reply to Natasha’s text. “I’m sorry” isn’t enough sometimes.

After pizza and an intense game of Jenga with Anya and Bucky, you call it a night.

You know what you’ll dream of tonight, but you’re too tired to care.

#Natasha Romanoff x Reader #Natasha Romanoff x y/N #Natasha Romanoff x You

476 notes · View notes

pawnshopbleus · 4 months

Text

Miller's Girl - Part One

Professor!Joel Miller x Fem!College Student!Reader Very Loosely based off of the new movie, Miller's Girl, starring Jenna Ortega and Martin Freeman

Summary - Your landlord decides to raise the rent in your studio apartment the day you are fired from your job. In need of money, you sign up for a babysitting service your friend suggested. You didn’t expect to get an offer so quickly, and you also didn’t expect to come from your professor.

Series contains - cursing, mature language, teacher x student relationship, age gap, smut, fluff, angst, non beta read chapters and everything else I forgot to mention

College, no outbreak, and modern AU

The record store in downtown Austin was filled to the brim with people excited to have their items signed by their favorite band. The crowd was a mix of teen girls with their dads and middle-aged men on their lonesome. The band in question was some underground band from the eighties that you had never heard of.

Your co-worker, Emma, was in charge of keeping the crowd in check while you were manning the register. This wasn’t the first time you had done these signings. In the two years that you have worked here, hundreds of artists have come in and out of those doors. They attract their loyal fans to the store which can give it more publicity and customers.

Your eyes scan the crowd. It was still pretty full, but the line had stopped trickling out of the doors and onto the sidewalk. You look over at Emma to see her standing with her weight on her left hip and her arms crossed. If you didn’t know her, you would have thought she looked like a bitch, but in all actuality, she is the nicest girl you know.

The doors open and the bell above it rings. Your boss comes in and surveys the store. His bald head nods as he skims it. Nothing had been stolen and the customers looked happy. When his eyes land on you, your heart drops. You know that look. It was the same look he gave your other co-worker that look right before he fired him. You cross your fingers under the counter and plaster a fake smile on your face.

Your entire world looks like it’s in slow motion. Your boss steps closer. Each step he takes makes your heart thump in your chest. The sound his thousand-dollar shoes make on the floor sounds like the bombs used on the battlefield.

You don’t know if you either blacked out or passed out, but the next thing you knew, you were in the staff room gathering your things. This would be the last time you would ever step foot in this record store as an employee, but that should have been the least of your worries. You needed this job. Without it, you won’t be able to afford rent. Luckily, you were smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship for the university you attended, but there were still other expenses that needed to be paid.

The hallway of your apartment building seemed colder than it usually is. The usual shushing of dogs who aren’t supposed to be in the apartment is replaced with static. The crickets weren’t even chirping. The sound of your breathing brought you out of your tiny rut. At least you were still alive.

The pink paper in front of your door made you stop in your tracks. You could read what it said from where you stood. ‘Rent will be increased to a thousand dollars a month’ was typed out in Times New Roman. Only pretentious bitches type in Times New Roman.

You were sure that this was the work of the couple that bought the building six months ago. They promised the residents who lived there that the rent would stay the same, but the promise had just been broken. You were worried for yourself, sure, but you were also worried about the elderly people who couldn’t afford to go anywhere else.

You wish nothing but the worst for the new landlords and make your way into your studio apartment. It’s a mess, just the way you left it this morning. Your cat, Bill, lays outstretched on your couch as if he were the one who just worked eight hours only to get fired at the end of it.

You flop on your couch and sigh. For the first time in a while, you don’t know what to do. You just got fired and your rent got increased. If you can’t pay rent then you’ll become another homeless college student. Just another statistic to the state and a burden to the university.

Your phone chimes and you almost cry with joy as you see your best friend’s caller ID flash across the screen.

You pick up the phone and she begins talking immediately. She goes on and on about some boy she saw a the mall. He had icy blonde hair, but his roots were showing which meant that he wasn’t a natural blonde. This was a good distraction for about a few minutes until you realized that you wouldn’t be able to afford to go to the mall anymore.

Your hot tears dribbled down your cheeks and fell onto your chest.

“Are you okay?”

“Cherry, I just got fired from my fucking job because my boss wants to buy more fucking shoes and my rent just got fucking increased because my landlords are fucking bastards!” You say through tears. “I think I just heard you say ‘fucking’ in that one sentence more times than I have heard you say it in your entire life,” Cherry laughs.

“It’s not funny, Cherry. I'm going to be homeless!”

“Stop being dramatic. Sign up for flowers for one dot com. It’s a babysitting website where single parents find a babysitter for their children. My cousin did it for about a year and made more money than she does at her regular job.”

For the first time in a very long time, Cherry gave you actual good advice. She gave you a solution to all of your problems.

“Thanks, Cher, bye.” You hang up before Cherry has a chance to say goodbye.

Your phone drops onto the couch and bounces off, falling on the floor. You suck in air through your teeth and grab your phone off the floor. You should be more gentle with it because you can’t afford to get a new one if it breaks.

Flowers for one dot com was a simple website. It got straight to the point. No fancy explanation of ‘who are we’ or ‘why do we do this.’ You include the fact that you are certified by the Red Cross in CPR and that you are a senior at The University of Texas at Austin. You also add that you are majoring in architecture and the fact that you want to become an interior designer.

Your profile is up and running in an hour. You look over it again and close your laptop. Your life is falling apart piece by piece, but maybe you should clean up a bit.

The dirty clothes that were being neglected in the corner of your room are now in your hamper. You can see the hardwood floor that you’ll be paying a thousand dollars a month for.

Your phone chimes once again, but this time it’s an email from the website. You almost drop your phone again as you read who it’s from.

Joel Miller, Professor of Architectural Studies at The University of Texas at Austin.

I'm the pretentious bitch that writes in Times New Roman 🙋🏿‍♀️

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou

167 notes · View notes

sunlightmurdock · 5 months

Text

Like This Forever | 0.3 | Jake Seresin x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Chapter Three. The early stages of pregnancy are really taking a toll on you. Jake’s got questions.

Warnings: talks of abortion / anti-abortion ideology. We’re pro-choice over here. This is an accidental pregnancy fic. Lying. Friends to lovers. WC: 3.6k.

…

Snickering had given the two of you away instantly. From the moment that Matthew Seresin had pushed open the door to the room, he had known that something was amiss. The house was uncharacteristically quiet for a Friday evening — those were the nights you stayed for dinner while your mother worked late, and you had spent hours with Matthew’s youngest brother causing nothing but trouble.

“If you’re in my room, I’m going to lock you out with the cows, you little freaks.” The then seventeen-year old had warned, his eyes narrowed warily as he tiptoed across the hardwood of his bedroom floor, aged floorboards creaking under his weight.

With that, a clammy little hand pressed itself firmly over your mouth. When you turned to look, Jake had been staring right at you, his cheeks dimpled with the sheer joy from his grin. A few more heavy steps and Matthew had dropped his old duffel packed full of wrestling gear to the floor.

Your nose had wrinkled at the smell. Disgusting, sweaty teenage boy athletic gear is a scent that doesn’t fade from memory.

“Last chance, you little germs.” Matthew had warned, craning his neck to check out his closet, then to squint at the open door to the bathroom he had Noah had shared.

From under his bed, you knew you were safe for at least a couple more minutes. As the oldest boy, and the messiest at the time, Matty’s room had plenty of hiding spots back then. Especially for two ten year olds who knew this old house inside and out. But, your window of opportunity was closing — there’s a fragile line between being able to scare the life out of Matthew Seresin, and just evoking his wrath. Back then, in all of his teenage hormonalism, the latter was much easier.

“Three,” Jake had mouthed to you, his shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes and his nose just a fraction too big for his face back then. “Two…”

The two of you had leapt out from opposite sides of Matthew’s double bed, scaring him so bad that he had lost balance in his gym socks, slipped on the wood and landed flat on his ass. He had been so angry that day — the two of you had slept out in Jake’s treehouse because you were so afraid of what Matty would do if he had gotten his hands on you.

Jake has always been a wriggly sleeper. He always tosses and turns, balls his hands into fists and stretches his arms out as wide as they’ll span. He has thought about joining you in your afternoon nap a couple of times now, as you stretch out along the plush bench opposite the kitchenette, but he won’t. All of his wriggling keeps you up, and he hasn’t ever seen you this tired. Even after the two of you had snuck off to Panama City Beach and spent thirty-six hours straight awake the summer after high school.

The tour has been electric so far, and Jake’s still waiting for the high of it all to wear off. His body feels like it’s vibrating as he plucks absently at the guitar strings, turning his head away from you and looking back out towards the open stretch of road. The first three dates have been everything Jake could ever have imagined. He has signed t-shirts, records, hats and skin and listened to crowds call back his lyrics for three nights consecutively. Currently, is a travel day. Seven hours from New Mexico and into Colorado. He’ll have tonight off and tomorrow, he’ll play his fourth gig in Boulder, CO. His eldest brother is going to be able to see him play.

Matt transports things outside of his work at the ranch. Just off season work to make sure his family can have the nice things he wants them to have. Jake can’t wait to see him.

The road ahead is stretching, flat and open. A couple of minutes back, the bus passed a sign informing them that the closest gas station was four miles away. Jake knows this because his driver, Pete, had announced it and interrupted Jake’s train of thought right in the middle of what could have been the best hook of Jake’s career.

With these roads out here, it’s a fifty-fifty gamble between potholes and cracks in the asphalt and smooth sailing. This road is perfectly smooth. It barely even feels like they’re moving. And yet, something wakes you up. You sit up quickly, trying to swallow through the thick churning feeling in your stomach. Your gaze flickers to the whirring air conditioning at the front of the bus as sweat slickens your forehead.

“Stop the bus!”

Pete turns in his seat, wide-eyed and ready to argue about making it before sunset, until he sees the sudden grey sheen to your skin. He doesn’t bother arguing, but his braking isn’t fast enough either.

“Pete, stop the fucking bus!”

Natasha, curled up on the bench beside you, is startled awake by the commotion. Jake’s face has already twisted into a concerned frown, his fingers stilling against the guitar strings as the bus jolts to a stop. As you leap upwards from the seat, there’s a familiar smell of dust that reminds you of that afternoon huddled under Matthew’s bed. The wild look of excitement in your best friend’s eyes are the furthest thing from your mind as you stumble forwards, two left feet trampling over each other and not enough floor space to accommodate the lack of coordination.

The door to the bus, much like the rest of it, is stiff, old and creaky. Your legs wobble down the two steps and your knees buckle, searching for the afternoon-warmed asphalt until your palms are on it too, your stomach twisting into a painful knot.

With how unceremoniously you threw yourself out of the door, Jake has to struggle to step around you without dropping himself boot-first into your breakfast. He winces, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Same old squeamish Jake. With one hand, he gets to work scooping your hair away from your neck and face and with the other, he puts a halt to the crew trying to exit the bus after you.

“Pete — you think there’s an emergency room anywhere near here?” He calls out, craning his neck to squint around the miles of fields and at the mountains in the distance.

First, you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, and then you sit back on your knees and swat Jake’s hand out of your hair. “I don’t need to go to an emergency room. I just ate something — and all the driving, and… bleh. I’m fine.”

“Yeah and the other day you were just too warm. You’ve been feeling weird for a couple of days, we’re getting you checked out.” With his hand now out of your hair, Jake has it free to rest against your forehead, checking impatiently for some kind of temperature he isn’t going to find. Sitting on your knees, squinting at him through the afternoon sun, finding nothing but that stubborn kind of worry that is only fuelled by love, it makes you feel sick all over again.

As much as you used to bicker and fight, and sometimes you still do, Jake’s light has always matched yours in a way that has been noticeable by everyone for your entire life. You’ve always been a duo, the perfect pair. It doesn’t seem quite right that now you know there’s a part of him that’s fused with you — that your body is reacting like this.

Truthfully, you can’t pretend that carrying Jake’s baby had ever occurred to you. The ‘B’ word, really truthfully, still makes you uncomfortable three days after finding out. But, if you had ever thought about carrying Jake’s baby, you would have assumed that it would just be… easier… than this.

“Sunny, hey, look at me.” Jake frowns down at you, all that worry materialising right in the pools of his green eyes as he squats down. Squeamish Jake who couldn’t even clean the mess up after he got sick last New Years’ Eve, squatting above a puddle of hot puke, just to get a better look at your face. “We’ve got the day off — let’s just see a doctor, get you fixed up. Alright?”

“Map says there’s an urgent care down the street from the motel.” Bob calls from inside the bus, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’s all faded denim and rolled up sleeves, a real hometown-comfort looking kind of guy. Not a rockstar by any means, but he and those drums seem to have a special arrangement. You’ve never been more grateful for him than you are right now; he just bought you another four hours.

“I can hang on ‘til then. I’ll take it easy,” You promise Jake, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears and wobbling to your feet. He presents both hands and breathes a sigh of relief as you brace yourself on his forearms. “It’s just a couple of hours — and I don’t see any hospitals around here anyway. Do you?”

Jake lets it go.

He boards the bus once again and sits with his elbows on his knees and watches you sleep for the next four hours. The way you’re moving, you’re going to drive that guy sick with worry — and Jake Seresin does not take kindly to being sick.

It’s got to be a sign, you think to yourself as you try to appear asleep. Your body rattles with the bus and the lack of the seatbelt, soft cushion under your back as you take up just about the only ‘tour bus-like’ commodity thag this old girl has to offer. Jake’s baby — fetus — clump of cells — whatever the fuck is chilling in there and ruining your day; you and that thing just aren’t compatible. It’s as simple as that.

It’s bringing you to your knees three days in. You haven’t slept, anything you eat won’t stay down, and your nerves are shot with the idea that you created a lifeform in the filthy back room of the Darkstar.

It’s not like you’re a teenager. You’re a grown up who is old enough to be moved out, old enough to be married. Hell, old enough to be a parent. By the standards of Driftwood, Texas, it’s about time you hitched a ride on the baby making bandwagon. Though, even in this more progressive times, the folks back home wouldn’t be too happy to hear that you just let any old guy knock you up.

That idea plays on your mind a lot at night now. The thought of walking down Main Street, all big and round in a pretty little dress, radiant and ready to be a mother. No husband waiting for you at home, no men in line to get down on one knee either. This clump of cells, or whatever, without a father. Poor thing. Well — that would make things even worse. It wouldn’t take long for people to figure out that your little mistake was a Seresin.

You hope that when they figured it out, they would understand. They would take one look at the photographs of you with Jake — all of those summers, and winters, and nights that weren’t captured by a lens, and know that you’re not just easy. Though — you are, you suppose. Jake hadn’t ever had to even ask. You’d agreed to it wordlessly before, or asked him expressly yourself. But that’s Jake. You hope they all know that’s what makes it different.

But you could save yourself all that explaining, all that hoping. With a small gulp, you know how easy it would be. You’re not that far along. All this sickness, and weakness and exhaustion would be gone in no time. You could just say you had a bug. Jake wouldn’t ever know, and his career would become everything he has ever wanted. You would get to remain part of it.

Maybe some day, you could do it the right way. Intentionally. That would feel better. You’d be prepared, the baby would be loved. This… baby — you’re not sure you could ever love something that threatens to rip away everything you and Jake have worked so hard for. Something insignificant that you hadn’t ever wanted, much less intended.

“How you feeling?” Natasha asks, crouched at your side with a glass of water and two ibuprofen in hand. Breaking into the hangover stash to ease your symptoms now. Not a good sign. You blink through the light, glancing over her head at Jake watching you through the rear view mirror, pretending to pluck at his guitar.

“I need someone to distract Jake when we get to the motel. You’ll take me to urgent care, right?” You ask her, dropping the two pills into your mouth and downing them with a strained gulp of water. Her soft brows draw together just slightly as she squeezes at your knee.

“Of course.”

Tbe plan, of course, was never to go to urgent care. While Jake’s stuck on the phone with his mother in a dingy motel room after a carefully timed ambush from Mickey, you’re across the town of Boulder, Colorado, sitting in the waiting area of a Planned Parenthood. The worst part is — Natasha doesn’t even know why it’s so important to keep Jake distracted.

As far as she knows, it’s because your best friend is over protective and because you’ve already got too much on your mind to deal with all the questions. It’s not entirely a lie.

The pen trembles between your fingers. A dotted line has never appeared to be quite so looming before today. All it asks for is your name, and you’re stumped. Outside, routine chanting presses on. Screeching, more like. They had caught you on the way in. People who looked far too similar to those from home, looking into your eyes, knowing exactly what you wanted so desperately to hide.

Baby. Baby. Baby. Your baby can feel already. Your baby has fingernails. Eyelashes. Heartbeat. The entire concept makes you shudder. All the times you’ve laid your head on Jake’s chest and steadied your breathing to the strong thrum of his steady heartbeat. You wonder if it sounds similar.

“It’s just a consultation.” You whisper. It isn’t until Natasha lifts her head and turns to look at you with those big, brown eyes that you realise you’ve said it outloud. One of her hands curls softly around your knee and squeezes softly. She nods. Not to you in particular.

It is just a consultation. Confirmation that you’re pregnant, a couple of questions about your permanent doctor. Whether you’ve ever been pregnant before. The doctor can see it on your face that this is uncharted territory for you. Talk about your vaccinations, your medical history.

“Okay, and is this pregnancy something that you’re looking to go through with?” You suppose there is no easy way to ask that question, and she doesn’t do it any better or worse than you would have expected. Still, it renders you totally silent. “It’s okay if the answer is no.”

“Will I be able to get pregnant again?” Your voice trembled. It’s a strange thing, finding yourself worry for something you had taken for granted until this point. The answer does nothing to reassure you.

“That’s not a very straightforward question. From the exam, I can’t see any reason why not, but things can change and age will be a factor in that.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m only twenty-six.”

It’s so casual. With a shrug, the doctor hums. “Just in the future. Something to be mindful of.”

You pick at your cuticles, staring towards the ground. “Do I have to decide today?”

“No. But I should advise you, it’s best to perform a termination as early as possible for safety and success.”

Without any of the answers you had been hoping for, you leave the office feeling substantially worse. You’ve been told that the entire crew are going out to a bar in town tonight. Your decision to lay in bed and wallow is both to ease Jake’s nerves and also, so that you don’t have to see his face. That doesn’t work out too well.

It’s just after six when he lets himself into your motel room and locks the door behind him. His smell fills the room, the sound of his boots tap softly against the floor. You squeeze your eyes shut as the bed dips with his weight.

“How ya feelin’, champ?”

A tired smile creeps across your face, even as you try to fight it. Jake worms his way into your bed until his face is opposite yours. Freckles on the bridge of his nose and a glint in his eye. A fond smile on his lips.

“Fine, like I told you.” You answer him. He doesn’t reach for you, but he wants to. He wants to grab both your cheeks in his hands and demand that you tell him everything the doctor told you. If you need more rest, or a certain vitamin, or if you’re allergic to the sun now or something.

As kids, you often discussed which superpower you would pick if you could have them. Right now, Jake has never wanted to be a mindreader more.

“Oh. So you don’t want the get-well treats that I got you, then?” There’s a faint rustling of a plastic bag at the bottom of his bed, purposely knocked by his leg to pique your interest.

“Depends what you got.” You both know exactly what he would have gotten you. It’s exactly what you would have gotten for yourself. Jake smiles as he sits up and pulls the bag between the two of you, setting it open to reveal the contents.

“If this doesn’t make you feel better, I think it’s time to call it. You had a good run, twenty-six isn’t a bad age.” He teases, already digging his hand through your bag of goodies to present you with the crème de le crème of gas station snacks. A warm, almost feverish, grin spreads across your lips as he hands you the chocolate bar.

Once it’s in your hands, Jake props himself up on his side and watches you take a bite. He studies you, slow and methodical, looking for any kind of discrepancy. Pain, fear — anything that will give him answers.

“You want a bite?” You offer him through a mouthful. Wordlessly, he leans in with that smirk plastered all over his face once again, and takes a bite from the top of the chocolate bar, then pulls back. Inches from your face, you watch him watching you.

“Haven’t lost your appetite. You’re warm but you don’t have a fever. Dizziness and nausea. You’d tell me if you were gonna die on me, right, Sunny girl?” With that, he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Maybe he needs the full picture to study your face better. You scoff, swallowing down a bite of the chocolate.

“I’m not dying.” It’s not the answer he’s looking for; you know you’re just inviting him to pester you more.

You think back to Matthew. You were twelve when he had to sit down his entire family and tell them that he had gotten his high school girlfriend pregnant. He was nineteen at the time. They had been together a long time, but it had seemed like such a bombshell. You remember how upset Jake’s parents were originally.

Matthew’s engagement was short. He married Isabelle before she was even in her second trimester. He works on the ranch through the year and picks up trucking jobs in the off season, now with three kids total. As much as Jake loves his oldest brother — you know that Matthew was his warning sign. Even now, Matt’s a sign to Jake of what he would have to give in to if he wasn’t careful.

Jake stares across at you, “Did they figure out what’s the matter with you?”

“Yeah.” You tell him, watching your hands pluck off a piece of the chocolate and place it into your mouth. Jake’s brows knit together as he watches you fight so calmly to avoid his gaze. He’s starting to look a lot like his big brother.

“Well? — Is it curable? — You’re freaking me out here.” He prompts you, just about ready to snatch the chocolate back out of your hands if it will get him an answer. You scoff quietly. Curable. Sure — to an extent.

You inhale deeply and hold it there. All of your secrets have always also been Jake’s. He’s waiting for an answer, trying not to panic.

“I’m pregnant.”

And there it is. Lingering in the air between you, you stare across at your best friend and watch those two words change absolutely everything. All at once, his face changes and his hands are reaching out for you. His hands curl around your waist, thumbs reaching towards the middle of your stomach. Jake hasn’t ever looked quite so much like his big brother.

In a split-second decision, you rush out a remedy. “It’s not yours.”

His hands still against your middle. The greens of his eyes are pale, empty, searching. He presses his lips into a line. “How can you know that?”

“The doctor said I’m ten weeks along already,” Your lie doesn’t feel good. As it’s leaving your lips, it feels hot and uncomfortable. It doesn’t change the look on Jake’s face at all. “It was before we even hooked up.”

taglist: @fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @ahoyyharrington @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot @mrsevans90 @springholland @kidd3ath @kissmecaiti @swiftsgirlfriend @emma8895eb

#Jake Seresin #Jake hangman Seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #Jake hangman Seresin x reader #Jake hangman Seresin x y/n #Glen powell #top gun: maverick #like this forever #countrysinger!jake

244 notes · View notes