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#or she doesn’t see me in bed and gets Spooked
thetriumphantpanda · 6 days
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Baby Love | Joel Miller
A Trial & Error One Shot
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Summary | It's coming to the end of lambing season, but there's one sheep left to give birth. Noticing she's struggling, you spend the night trying to soothe her, reflecting on your own experiences in her position.
Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader
Word Count | 2.7k
Warnings | Joel & Pretty Girl are still as horny as ever for each other so this is explicit. Mentions of ranching, sheep and animals giving birth. Mentions of human childbirth and pregnancy (I have never had my own children so please go easy on me), also mentions of how dirty it is when a sheep gives birth (blood/guts ect). Explicit smut including oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PiV smut IN THE BARN, creampie, Joel being a menace, PRETTY GIRL ALSO BEING A MENACE. No use of Y/N, no-outbreak AU.
Authors Note | It has been such a joy to write Pretty Girl again, I've missed her something terrible, and I'm so happy that the dynamic between her and Joel is still going strong, even if I have abandoned them for a while. I really hope you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed writing it, and if there are any aspects of this families lives that you'd like to see, feel free to request it in my ask box!
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi
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Lambing season is coming to an end - something you’re eternally grateful for. It’s been a busy few weeks - early mornings and late nights for both Joel and Tommy, leaving you with the twins, Joshua and Ellie to keep entertained. Not that you’d have it any other way - your dysfunctional little family makes you happy every day.
With Joshua at school and the twins with Joel as he took Ellie into town for an appointment, you’re out in the fields with Tommy, making sure the remaining sheep yet to give birth are doing alright. You don’t profess to being an expert, but you’d like to think that your motherly instincts can go beyond humans, knowing when certain sheep are due and when some of them are starting to struggle.
It’s been an easy lambing season this year - most of the girls are seasoned professionals by now, needing only a light touch and a refill of their water more than anything, but there’s one sheep you are worried about. She was from lambing season a few years ago and this will be her first time. When you head into the barn, she’s stood in the corner of one of the pens, moving very little but bleating every once in a while. You know it’ll happen soon, but you’re worried about her.
“Don’t worry your head, sugar,” Tommy soothes, running a hand down the back of your head when it’s time to leave, “It’s nature, she’ll know what to do.”
But, led in bed that night, there’s something that you can’t push from the back of your mind. This worry that takes over you. She’ll be on her own in there, being one of the very last to give birth, and what if she’s scared? What if something goes wrong? You remember how scared you’d been when it came to having Joshua.
So you sigh, push back the sheets, and get dressed. You leave Tommy a note in case he wakes in the night and worries about where you are. You can’t say the horses in the small stable next to the house are enthused about having a torched shined at them in the middle of the night, but thankfully yours doesn’t put up much fuss when you saddle it and make the journey through the dark fields to the barn.
Flicking on the lights, you’re immediately glad you came. The sheep in question is led on her side, breathing laboured and fast. As you walk towards her, she kicks her legs a little and lets out a pained bleat.
“I know baby,” You coo, making sure the gate is shut behind you, “Hurts, doesn’t it?”
You fall to your knees in the soft hay a little way from her, hoping not to spook her, but she doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence. She’s led down near the wall, so you crawl over a little and lean your back against it, stretching your legs out, just to be near her if she needs you.
The sheep lets out another pained bleat but she moves a little, up from her side and onto her feet. She walks closer to you, leaning down to prod your hand with her nose. You let out a little chuckle, letting your hand run down her head. The ranch dog likes when you scratch behind his ears, so you do the same here, which has her settling back down onto her side with her head on your thigh.
“It’s one of the most wonderful things,” You speak to her softly, continuing to pet at her head, “Having babies, but they always forget to mention how much it fucking hurts.”
She lets out another soft bleat, moving her body a little to get comfortable, or as comfortable as is possible when you’re in labour.
Watching her, you can’t help but let your mind wander back to your experience in her position. The first twinges of pain, low in your back that turned into pain everywhere. There wasn't a single position that was comfortable, no way to sit or lie or stand that could take the pain away. Then there was the exhaustion - after hours of waiting and more time pushing and pushing, there were moments when you didn’t think you could do it anymore, that you’d just close your eyes, drift off and wake up with a lovely, healthy baby perched in your arms.
But then, there’s that moment of relief, when the midwife had told you it’s okay honey, one more push and it’ll be done and it was and you could hear him crying and then he was on your chest and you were crying and so was Tommy. No-one ever mentions that bit either - how within seconds you could look down at a baby, your baby, and be completely and utterly in love with him. That’s what made it all worth it. That’s what made you want to do it again. It’s what makes you think you’d do it for the rest of your life if you could, just to have that one moment where that baby is in your arms for the first time.
“It’s worth it though,” You speak down to the sheep, “All this pain will be worth it in the end when we’ve got your beautiful little lamb with us.”
And it is. It’s all a bit dramatic in the end. The lamb gets stuck and you need to offer a helping hand to get it out, but almost immediately the mother sheep is doing exactly what she should, cleaning it off as you do the thing you’ve seen Joel do to help clear it’s airways, sticking a little bit of hay up one of it’s nostrils.
“Look mama,” You coo at the older sheep, a hand on her head as she works to get her little lamb clean, “Look what you did, you clever girl.”
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Joel doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the barn that morning, but it certainly wasn’t to see you on your knees in the hay, rubbing a newborn lamb with straw. He can see from this angle that your clothes are filthy, covered in blood and God knows what else. Did you…? Have you….?
“Pretty girl,” He speaks softly, not sure you know he’s there, “What are you doing?”
You turn to him and it’s clear to see you’ve done exactly what he thinks you have and helped this sheep give birth, the gunk all over your clothes is also wiped across your cheek and forehead.
“She-” You trail off, “The sheep, she was struggling and I didn’t want her to be on her own.”
He opens the gate to the pen, walking in to fall beside you on his knees, “Have you been here all night?” He asks, letting his hands give the small lamb the once over.
“Pretty much,” You nod, “We had a lovely talk, didn’t we?” You ask to the mother sheep who is standing a few steps away, carefully observing Joel as he looks at her lamb.
“Did she do okay?”
“I had to get in there at the end,” You explain to him, “I think it was stuck, so I just gave her a little helping hand.”
Once he’s satisfied that the lamb is okay he shuffles back a little, watching as you do the same, letting the mother sheep have some time with her baby, “You did a good job,” He praises, letting his hand run down the back of you head, “Proud of you, pretty girl.”
He helps you to you feet, bends a little to brush as much stray hay from your jeans as he can before he steps back and really takes you in. It’s unconventional, but there’s something about the fact that you’ve got your hands dirty, spent your night here on your own to help one of his sheep, and the fact that you’re covered in dirt and hay, something about it all makes his jeans go a little tighter, something that he’s not quick enough to hide.
“Are you hard, cowboy?” He hears you tease before you’re stepping forward, “Does the sight of me covered in blood and guts turn you on?”
He rolls his eyes and turns his back on you, leaving the pen now he’s satisfied the sheep will be okay, but he can hear your feet following him and then your hand on his arm to get him to stop.
“You’ve not gone all shy on me, have you?” You speak softly, gently moving him so he turns a little.
“Have I ever been shy, pretty girl?”
“Then tell me,” You shrug, smirk plastered across your face, “Does this,” He watches as you drag a hand over the mess that is your clothes, “Turn you on?”
“You wanna know the truth?” He asks, voice low, “I wanna bend you over and get you to shut the hell up.”
Joel can’t help but let his own smirk show when your eyebrows raise, but it’s a fleeting later in your guise, because you’re turning around, showing him your back as you walk towards the stacked bales of hay in the corner. He can hear the clinking of your belt buckle and the telltale sound of you unzipping your jeans.
He’s stuck to the ground as he watches you pull down your jeans and your underwear, baring your backside to him. You pull them all the way down, letting them pool at your ankles as you spread your legs a little wider, bending yourself over the hay in the exact position he had in his head.
“Come on then cowboy,” You say, head turned over your shoulder to speak to him, “Come and shut me the hell up.”
It’s been an automatic response of his for years now, that when you present yourself to him, in any way, he falls to his knees like someone praying to an altar, and today is no different. He’s on his knees behind you, at just the right height to grip his palms to your ass, spread you open wide for him.
He wastes no time, he rarely does anymore, letting his mouth close over the hole of your pussy, somehow already weeping for him. He lets his tongue dip inside, lapping at your slick. It’s been years and he still doesn’t think he’ll get over how good you taste, how it lingers on his tongue for hours whilst he goes about his day.
Whilst he’s lapping up your slick, he lets one of his hands reach around, thumb searching out your clit, little circles rubbed across the little bud. He listens, feeling his cock throb in his jeans when you let out a gasp and a little moan.
“Not so talkative now, are we, pretty girl?” He mumbles, barely pulling off your pussy to speak, before he’s switching his hand and his mouth, leaning just enough so his tongue can flick against your clit, one of his fingers slipping inside you easily.
He chuckles against you when you moan at the curling of his fingers inside you - he loves when he can reduce you to a whimpering mess in seconds. It doesn’t take him long to feel the telltale signs that he’s going to make you come either. He can feel you start to fluttering around the two fingers he now has buried inside you, can feel the way you try and tighten your thighs around his face, so he carries on exactly how he is - suckling at your clit and moving his fingers in and out of your cunt until you’re coming for him, a high-pitched moan of his name from your mouth.
Joel doesn’t wait, he can’t wait. He stands, making quick work of pushing his own jeans and underwear from his body, finally freeing his aching cock from the tight confines of his trousers. He spits obscenely into his palm, running a tight fist up and down his length a few times before he’s dipping his knees, rubbing the head of his cock against the slick hole of your cunt, listening as he pushes himself inside you, giving you every inch of him as slowly as he possibly can, until he’s sheathed inside your tight heat.
He leans forward, covering your body with his own, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as he gets used to the feeling of you clenching and fluttering around him. He can feel you wiggling a little under him, trying to get him to move, so he brings one of his hands to the nape of your neck, squeezing a little, stopping your movements altogether.
“Keep still,” He warns, “You need to keep still a minute, baby.”
There’s never going to be a time where he doesn’t need to do this. The soft, wet heat of your cunt and those first movements inside you that make him feel like he’s eighteen again, ready to come with a few thrusts.
He gives himself another minute before he starts pulling his cock out of you, slowly dragging through your slick until just the tip is left inside you, then he’s slamming himself back into you, setting a bruising pace.
The sound is obscene - there’s the wet squelch he can hear whenever he pushes his cock back into you, the slapping of his skin against yours and the way you both sound when you’re moaning each others names. He’s not going to last long, he knows it. All of this combined with the fact that anyone could wander in and see you has a thrill settling across his spine.
Joel leans forward again, letting his teeth bite down gently on the skin of your neck. He can feel the way your cunt is clenching, if he can just hold on, just a little longer, he can get another one from you, he knows it.
“Tell me,” He chokes out into your ear, “Tell me how to get you there.”
You let out a loud moan, turning your face to his, kissing him, all teeth and tongue and clumsy, “Bite me again.”
So he does, he lets his teeth sink into the delicate skin of your neck, sucking gently, sure to leave a mark, his hand slinking underneath your belly and down to your pussy, soaked bud of nerves exposed just right for him to use his fingers to swirl across it a few times.
“Oh my God-” He can hear you moaning, “Joel, fuck, please, don’t stop, just like that.”
Within seconds, he can feel you coming on his cock - cunt pulled tight, sucking him in. He feels the gush of slick from your pussy too, cock angled just right to have you squirting for him, something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. It’s the tightening of your walls around him that sets his own orgasm off - that flush of pleasure across his body that blooms even more as he empties himself inside you. He can feel everything, the way your pussy clenches every time he gives you more, sucking his spend in as deep as possible.
He pushes himself up off you a little, hands on your hips, frantically sucking in air. He groans a little as he pulls himself from your cunt, standing back to admire how his cum drips from you. He doesn’t linger long, bending down to pull your clothes back up, gentle kiss pressed to the swell of your bottom as he does. He lets you zip yourself up whilst he puts himself right.
“Well, that was a great start to the morning.” You muse, pressing up on your tiptoes, gripping at his flannel shirt.
He’s about to speak when there’s a bleating from the sheep in the pen behind you, you both laugh, “Someone else agrees.”
He dips down, kisses your mouth slowly, gently, “Go and get clean,” He speaks against your lips, turning you around and giving you a tap on your ass as he does, “You’re filthy.”
“Still turns you on though.”
“Go on, get outta here.”
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thezatannaprint · 28 days
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the way coriolanus snow loves me
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coriolanus x plinth!reader
cw: forced marriage, misogynistic attitudes, eventual smut(?), coryo is toxic and manipulative (what’s new?),
you lay in bed thinking of sejanus, it’s been two months since he died and his death left an emptiness in your home. ma was always sad and your father showed no emotion, he shed no tears but you know he loved sejanus and he misses him as much as you and ma do. you were ripped from your thoughts when you heard knocking at your door. you slid on your slippers and your sea blue robe. “just a minute” you sigh, you opened the door to see your ma.
“my beautiful daughter.” your ma looked sadder than usual, she carried a tray of tea and biscuits in her hands. you took the tray from her shaky hands and put it down on your tea table, only y/n plinth would have a dedicated spot for drinking tea in her bedroom, your brother used to tease you for it a million times. “what’s going on ma?” you questioned. “your father is coming with.. news.” she gestured you to sit, you nodded and took a seat in one of your comfy chair. “should i be worried-”
you ask and she just looks down, you felt your stomach fill with nerves. “am i in trouble?” you don’t remember doing anything wrong that would earn you a talking to from your father. who knows maybe you rejecting luca cardew and embarrassing him in front of everyone somehow got back to your father, but why would he care about academy drama? you were a senior you had to be focusing on studying anyway.
just as your ma was about to tell you your father entered your room without knocking, he looked tired and determined. oh… oh no you know that look. “did you tell her?” he looked at your ma and she shook her head. “tell me what? i would like to know..” you chuckled dryly. “you’re the plinth heir, my heir.” he sat down and glared at the tea pot, you took it as a sign to pour him a cup. “i know. im waiting for the day you teach me the ins and outs of weapon manufacturing.” you grabbed a biscuit off the tray.
“there’s no easy way to say this-“ he sighed rubbing the back of his neck. “just tell her strabo- please it’s eating me up inside.” your ma raised her voice and you flinched. “fine. coriolanus snow is getting on a train back to capital as we speak- you two are going to be joint heirs.” he looked almost relieved to say that. your heart dropped, joint heirs? but why? you are capable of being a good heir. “father- no. i feel as if i’m being usurped.” you looked at your ma for help but she just sipped on her tea. “you’re a girl, a beautiful gentle girl… you aren’t meant for this kind of work.” his compliments sounded like the reason why he was doing this, because you were a women.
“pa-“ you looked at him with pleading eyes, it used to work when you were younger. “coriolanus will take good care of the company and you.” ma stretches her hand to gentle touch your shoulder. “and me? what are-“ you felt like this was one big joke, one huge jest. “don’t fret you’ll have a role in the company then once you step into the mother role naturally you’ll allow him to handle everything.” your father cuts you off. “mother role?” you looked like a spooked horse, what was he fucking taking about.
“you and coriolanus are betrothed, we’ll discuss more when he gets back.” pa looked almost hopeful about this whole thing. “you’ll marry after graduation, a july wedding sounds lovely doesn’t it?.” ma smiled and took a bite of her biscuit. “if i marry coriolanus… i will no longer be a plinth.” this wasn’t a cruel joke or a bad dream. “you’d be a snow.” he nodded. “y/n snow.. suits you perfectly.” ma tried to cheer you up but tears filled your eyes.
“the plinth name will die..” you said through tears, your father handed you his pocket square to wipe your tears. “you’re a girl.. which means regardless the plinth name will die. trust me this marriage will do us some good.” he smiled.. for the first time since sejanus died, it was an emotion. “all of us.” ma said.
you weren’t supposed to be a wife this early, you wanted to go to university and be a- well you didn’t know what you wanted to be exactly but you were certain that you didn’t want to be a wife especially not coriolanus snows wife. coriolanus and you didn’t interact unless sejanus was there practically forcing it. the relationship never really went pass a “hello” or a “morning” in the academy hallways. what did he have to offer? you knew the snow name didn’t mean much anymore, what could he bring to the table? 
you didn’t know much about him but you know he was smart and was sejanus best friend- his only friend. “get some sleep, he’ll be here in the morning.” your pa got up and so did your ma, they linked arms. “night sweetie.” ma looked sympathetic. “goodnight.” you walked them to the door and locked it behind them. you ran to your bed and shoved a pillow in your face “AHHHHHHH!”.
early morning
coriolanus stepped off the train, breathing the crisp capital air. he made his way to the citadel to see dr. gaul he was certain she was behind his return, he felt powerful because the staff at the citadel greeted him with more respect. “you passed all my tests- from now on you’ll be studying under me at the university, we’ve asked president ravinstill and he’s granted you a full pardon” dr gaul grinned as he walked over to her, “we asked” who was we? he thought. “i can’t afford university.” he said but she chuckled at that like he was making an obvious joke. “a certain mr. strabo plinth has offered to pay for everything you need while your there… he’s offered that and more..” dr. gaul pulled out a picture out of her pocket and handed it to him, it was a note and a picture of you. “y/n plinth?” his eyebrows furrowed what did you have to do with this, you were just a girl. he would read the letter on his way out.
“before I take you under my wing let me ask one final time, what are the hunger games for? dr. gaul smiled her eyes gleamed with excitement. so he told her and she was grinning ear to ear, after all this time he finally got it. “and who are you?” her curiosity was peaked and she couldn’t contain her pride. “the victor.” coriolanus said plainly. “welcome home mr. snow.” he did it he passed dr. gaul’s mind game.
“you should take a trip to the plinth residence.” she was hiding something and he knew it, what was the price of your father’s kindness. “ok.” he agreed and nodded to the older women. “come and see me after the good news” she said in a sing songy tone,
he shoved the picture and the letter in his pocket and walked out of the citadel feeling quite accomplished, snow lands on top! he’d finally have the life he truly deserved. he wondered why gaul gave him your picture, he pulled out the letter and read it.
dear coriolanus,
me and dr.gaul have advocated for you with president ravinstill and now you have a full pardon, so when you read this you’ll be back in the capital. i was made aware of your talents and potential by dr.gaul and i was beyond impressed, i will pay for your university tuition and give you housing for you and your family. you’ll get the prize that was meant to be yours in the first place. if you accept a betrothal between you and my daughter y/n i will make you and y/n joint heirs. she’s beautiful and gentle at heart, she’ll be graduating soon. you should know that me offering up my only daughter to you is an honor, she means more to me than my fortune. she’s all yours if you want her, come over to discuss all the details. - strabo plinth
he folded up the letter and placed it in his pocket. lucy gray had made his heart cold so a marriage of convenience to you would be more practical, you were wealthy and he hate to admit it but you were beautiful, you’d do very well as his first lady. yeah you’d do nicely on his arm. “snow lands on top.” he dryly chucked as he kept walking, changing his direction to the direction of the plinth residence.
PART TWO
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luveline · 4 days
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I used to send you lots of requests before, but haven't sent you requests for a long time for exams, really missed it babe:) Can I ask for a Steve x reader kbd where our favourite Bethie catches reader at night staying up to do work, but we know how silent she is, so probably she doesn't tell reader about it? I just really wanna see one where reader overworks herself which not even Steve knows, but Beth finds out, really wanna see how her point of view changes on her mother. Hope this makes sense. Love you lots, Jade, and your pretty little kbd universe:)
love you !!!!!!! kbd — beth and dad!steve catch you working late at night, mom!reader. 1.4k
The day Steve takes the baby gates down is the best day of Bethie’s life. They’ve been up and down and up again, but now Dove is old enough to manage the stairs by herself without danger (just about) and Wren won’t be able to crawl for months, they’re back in the basement. 
Bethie can go downstairs whenever she wants. She doesn’t have to wait for Avery’s help on the funny top latch. 
She can tell already that Steve is sleeping, your bedroom door open, her father curled on his side with his hand stretched out across the empty side where you’d usually be snoring. The baby bassinet by Steve’s side has its own soft snoring, baby Wren fast asleep too. 
Beth has to find you, then. The bathroom door is closed (though she’s now allowed in there at night on account of needing to pee and her promise not to touch the washing machine again). Avery’s door is ajar, but when Bethie peeks inside, you’re not there either. Dove is half hanging off her toddler bed and you’re not there scooping her up, so where are you? 
Beth’s getting spooked, until she hears the sound of paper being shuffled downstairs. 
She holds the rungs of the stair bannister and sneaks carefully. Through the hallway and into the kitchen, she finds you at the dinner table with a frown on your lips so similar to her own. She loves looking like her mommy, even if the rest of her sisters look more like Steve. 
You’re working, she thinks. She’s not sure. It looks like you are. On rare occasions you’ve needed to finish things after dinner and her dad corrals them into the living room for TV, Beth has seen you crowded at the table with a pen and a weary expression. It can’t be much fun, work.
She isn’t sure how long she watches you. A weird feeling gathers in her chest, and she thinks about speaking up. You look upset at times. You bite your bottom lip like Avery does when she’s sad. 
It’s one of the first times Bethie's really looked at you and worried you weren’t happy.  
She doesn’t know why she goes back upstairs. She’s a bit scared, perhaps, to see you that way, without Steve by your side. 
He’s still sleeping, arm still looking for you in the dark. Bethie climbs up into bed with him and pushes her way under his arm, to which she is immediately pulled into his chest, squished and too warm. 
“Avery?” he mumbles. Then, a moment later. “No, that’s my Beth.” He peels one eye open, a smile taking slow form on his lips. “What’s wrong, babe?” 
“Mommy’s downstairs.” 
He peers past her head. “Oh. What for?”
“Don’t know. She looks sad.” 
“You think so?” He blinks. Bethie thinks her dad is the most love they can put into one person besides you, and she doesn’t usually look at him and see handsome or tired or anything, she just sees dad. Right now, though, he looks befuzzled. “Should we go see?” 
“Um. Well…” 
He kisses her forehead. “You tired, baby? You can sleep here if you want. Let me just go see if mommy’s okay. Go to sleep, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.” He kisses her cheek. “It’s okay, baby. Just sleep. It’s so late.” 
Steve tucks her in. She doesn’t look very tired, but she closes her eyes obligingly. 
Steve doesn’t know what you’re doing out of bed. He hadn’t felt you go. The only times he can remember you getting up in the middle of the night would be with pregnancy cravings, and you definitely aren’t pregnant, Wren’s still too small to support her own head. Plus, Steve’s sure he would’ve guessed. He knows you pretty well by now. 
You hear him coming down the stairs but you aren’t quick enough putting your things away to hide that you’re working. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice rough. “It’s one in the morning.” 
“I couldn’t sleep,” you lie, “figured I’d get this done.” 
Steve leans on the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest. “Really?” 
“Yeah, really.” 
You’re still lying. 
“I think Beth is upset,” he suggests.
“What for?” 
“She’s been down here. You didn’t hear her?” 
You flatten your pile of papers unhappily. “No, do I ever? She’s my mouse.” 
Steve abandons his interrogative pose to hug you. It hadn’t been working, anyways. He put his arm behind your neck and rests his cheek against your temple, the other arm across your chest, your elbow clutched in his hand. “Do you do this a lot?” he asks quietly. 
“Not much.” 
“Let me take you to bed,” he says. 
“Yeah, I just have to finish this.” 
“Wasn’t a question. Bed, now.” He rubs your arm. “Please.” 
Steve’s looked out for you since he met you, of course, but you’re the first person who taught him what it was like to be intrinsically taken care of, and he’s tried to pay that back for the last eight years. It’s hard to explain the incredible value of love, because it’s without transaction, completely paradoxical. He can’t pay it back. There’s nothing to be paid. But he can help you up the stairs, and he can worry for your sake about work and why you’re doing it in the middle of the night. 
“You need to sleep, babe, I mean it,” he says quietly, not wanting to disturb the other sleeping girls as you crest the last stairs onto the landing.
“I know. I’ll sleep. I’m sleeping.” 
He pinches your sides from behind.
“I love you,” he says, stopping you before you can get to the bedroom door. “Please don’t stay up late. We’ll make you more time if you need it in the daytime. I’ll make it for you.” 
You accept his promise and his kiss with a gluey smile. “Okay, H. No more staying up. I got it.” You drop your forehead to his shoulder quickly. “Thanks.” 
“Yeah. Well, go ahead, there’s a Beth in need of scrunching on your side of the bed.” And he needs to pass out. 
Steve crashes into his own side of the bed, and he gives Beth a good kiss, and then suddenly he’s sleeping before you’ve fully settled. 
You slide down onto your back. Bethie breathes too softly to be sleeping, her head off of the pillows and the legs of her pyjama pants ridden up her calves where she’s kicked her legs out of the blankets. 
“Bethie?” you whisper. 
“Mommy.” 
“Hey, sweet girl.” You peek at her. She’s peeking at you. “Daddy said you came downstairs. I wish you would’ve said hello.” 
“You…” She eyes your sleeve. “Busy.” 
“I’m never too busy for you if you need me. Are you okay? You don’t usually stay up this late.” 
“You don’t, too.” 
You slip your hand under her shoulders and lift her up onto the pillows. Careful, you pull the blanket from under her legs, smooth out her pants, and pull the blankets back over the both of you, enclosing you in a warm bubble. “Wanna cuddle with mommy?” you whisper. 
“Will dad be lonely?” 
“No, sweetheart. Are you lonely, sometimes, sleeping by yourself?” 
“Sometimes.” 
You might regret this, but Bethie’s your world. You hate thinking about her having such a horrible feeling and not telling you.
“If you’re ever lonely,” you begin gently, tracing the little remnants of your husband where they glow in the colour of her irises and her shy smile, “that’s what me and daddy are here for. If you’re lonely at bed time, you can come and cuddle with me. It doesn’t have to be all night long, just until the feeling goes away.” 
“Are you lonely when you’re in the kitchen?” she asks. 
Her whispers are sweet for how much effort she puts into them. Avery can’t whisper, not really, and Dove wouldn’t even try, but Bethie talks so quietly you strain to hear her under Steve’s harsher breathing. 
“I’m never lonely when I have you and your sisters and your daddy in the house. Just knowing you’re upstairs makes me feel better.” You kiss the tip of her nose with a whispered ‘mwah’. “But I’m best when you’re right here.”
“I don’t want you to be lonely.” She grins at you, eyes fluttering, “I love you, mom.” 
“I love you, too,” you whisper back.  
She curls onto her side to lay her arm over you. You bring her in for your cuddle, your knuckles brushing Steve’s arm. “Should we go to sleep now?” she asks. 
“Good idea, lovely girl.”
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Platonic Stobin Mind-Reading AU Part 2
Part 1
The house is quiet when Steve slips in. It always is, now.
He toes his shoes off, unable to bend over enough to untie the laces. His ribs protest the slight hunch of his shoulders, stomach roiling in queasy warning to not curl in further.
The house is quiet, but Steve can almost feel the warmth of an arm around his shoulders. And he doesn’t feel alone. He looks around the foyer, almost waiting for his parents, or hell, the ghost of Hopper to appear. Nothing does.
He’s leaving smatterings of blood and mud with every step, speckling the white carpet in signs of life as he flicks on every lightswitch on his way toward the stairs. He pauses at the bottom, staring up at the insurmountable obstacle to his bed. With a sigh, he turns his back on the climb and stumbles his way toward the couch in the living room, collapsing down into it. Blood is already smearing into the velvety green of its cushions. He ignores the little voice in his head that sounds alarmingly like his Mother, berating him for leaving so many signs of life in her pristine house for lifeless dolls.
Steve falls asleep, alone in his empty house. The comforting weight is still around his shoulders.
It’s still dark when he wakes up, gasping around a nightmare he doesn’t remember having. His stomach roils with fear, like he’s still down in the Russian bunker, begging to keep his fingernails attached to his body. There’s no more comforting weight across his shoulders. He still doesn’t feel alone.
Steve leans across the couch and vomits. There’s very little left in him, popcorn dissolved into green stomach acid. The carpet’s beginning to look like Christmas come early. If she comes back, his Mother will not be pleased.
He doesn’t get up to clean it, exhaustion hitting hard even as the fear persists. He falls back asleep, wakes up mid-nightmare to a pounding at the door.
He stares at the ceiling, stuck still half in nightmare with the pounding of demodog feet echoing through the bunker where Robin and Steve are still tied back to back, her head pressed to the back of his own, Dustin’s screams filling the air as Steve writhes desperately to free himself and protect the kid.
Someone is still pounding at his door. He stumbles off the couch, ribs screaming, head spinning, ears buzzing, eyes half closed against the light as he opens the door, unable to even see who’s in front of him.
“Dingus, where have you been?” they say. Steve forces his eyes open wider past the light and pulsing of his head, willing his swollen eyes to make out Robin’s face. “I’ve been knocking for like five minutes! I was starting to think you were dead! And I was getting so scared that you’d gone off in the woods to die. Cats do that, you know.”
Steve blinks at her, struggling to keep up with her tirade. “Huh?”
Robin rolls her eyes. She steps into the house, making to shove past him where he’s blocking her entry. “Oh just let me in, it’s so hot out–”
She stops talking when her elbow hits his forearm. Stops moving too. Steve stares past her into the empty driveway, wisps of her hair tickling his cheek.
There’s relief coursing through him, thoughts running through his mind that can’t be his own–Thank god he’s alright, I thought he died, what would I have done? Thank god–can’t believe I care about Steve the hair Harrington enough to show up at his house uninvited, what kind of bizarro world are we living in, this is weirder than that flesh monster I swear to god–
Steve stumbles back, spine connecting painfully with the doorknob as the door swings back loudly into the wall with the force of his weight. Robin’s looking at him, eyes wide. There’s a bruise blooming on her cheekbone. Even past the confusion, he’s overwhelmed with the relief that she’s here, standing in front of him, whole and alive.
She reaches her hand out slowly, like he’s a stray cat that could be spooked at any moment. Her fingers latch onto his forearm, curling around it tight enough that her fingers dig into his flesh.
–that supposed to be what a demodog looks like? Dustin was really underselling it, I think I’d take Russian’s any day, aww Dingus was worried about me, wait wait wait, how do I know that he, did he sleep in that stupid outfit? where are his parents? why can I see–
Steve wrenches his arm free, ignoring the stinging of Robin’s fingernails scraping across his flesh. They stare at each other. Steve can feel himself breathing too fast. Wisps of Robin’s hair are sticking to her forehead with sweat. The door is still open.
“Dingus?”
“Good thing you’ve gotta breathe or I don’t think I’d ever get a word in,” Steve says without thought.
Robin brings her hand up to her mouth, eyes widening impossibly further. “Were you thinking about the demodogs?”
“Were you thinking that us being friends is weirder than the mind flayer?”
Robin drops her hand and smiles. “We’re friends?” she asks, voice chipper. “Wait, no! What is going on!”
They stare at each other some more. Robin looks manic, like she’s trying to pop her eyes out of her skull with the force of her stare. Steve, without looking away, reaches behind himself for the knob still pressed into his spin and slowly closes the door.
“Did you have a nightmare last night and throw up?” Robin nods. “Did your Dad have his arm around your shoulders?” Nod. “Well, shit.”
He finally turns away, stumbling back to the couch and gently settling down, leaving enough room for Robin beside him.
They settle like two, hunched quotations, knees settled together, hair brushing with how closely they’re eying each other.
“Anything?” Robin asks.
Steve hums, squinting his eyes with the focus of his concentration. Her eyes are blue, unlined but all but the barest remnants of smudges from her usual make-up. She looks a wreck. He’s pretty sure he loves her.
Are you excited right now?” he asks because he feels it bubbling up his throat, like someone’s just barely holding back a deluge of words, and it’s not him.
She scoffs, rolling her eyes up toward her head. “How are you not?” she demands, pulling her hands away from her knees to gesticulate in the scant air separating their bodies. “This is like superpower territory, Steve! We can read minds!”
Steve swallows around the excitement, feels his own warmth curl up in his chest at her joy. “So far only each others.”
Robin jolts, hands coming to clutch at the fabric across her chest, fist tight. “Oh,” she breathes. “Is that what you’re feeling?”
There’s something else clogging up his throat now. Not words. Tears, maybe. Steve looks down at his own bloody hands, trying to make words where only feelings exist, then remembers he doesn’t have to. He reaches out, snatches her hand, and lets himself feel.
“Why are you picturing us making Thanksgiving dinner together?” she asks, laughing even as tears bubble out of her eyes. Always a sympathetic crier, his own begin to well.
“We’re like, stuck together now, right?” He lets go of her hand, gets rid of the distracting feedback loop of two minds thinking around each other. “That like makes us–family?”
Robin sobs and launches herself into his arms. Unfortunately, the pressure on his ribs is violent enough to almost make him vomit again. Maybe he makes a noise of pain, or maybe she gets some sense of the way his vision is whiting out from pain through his thoughts, but she scrabbles backwards instantly, hands shuffling her further and further away until her back hits the armrest at the other side of the couch.
“Sorry! I’m sorry! I just got caught up in the moment, and forgot you’re totally fucked, and dingus! Shouldn’t you be in the hospital? Because all I saw there was a white light, and that doesn’t mean you’re dying, does it? Did I kill you?”
Steve laughs but it comes out more as a cough as agony falls back into the bearable threshold of pain. “I’m fine, Robin,” he says, eyes squeezed closed as he eases himself back into a fully seated position. “I got checked out in the ambulance, same as you.”
Robin, uncharacteristically, doesn’t respond. When Steve opens his eyes, all signs of tears are gone from her face, replaced with a look that clearly shows how done with his bullshit he feels. “And they told you that you were fine?” she demands.
“This all just needs to heal on its own,” he says, gesturing from his face down his torso.
Robin scoots back over to poke his cheek with her finger. He can hear her thinking about the likelihood of him being full of shit, the pros and cons of kidnapping him via her Dad’s SUV. Steve slaps her finger away, but whatever she must’ve gleaned from his own mind satisfied her enough that she doesn’t make a move toward the door or the phone.
She eyes him up and down, gaze traveling down his bloody form, to the splotches he’s left on the couch, and the slowly-developing stains on the carpet, grimacing in disgust.
“Okay, Dingus,” she says, clapping her hands sharply enough to make his ears ring. “Game plan time. You need a shower and a change of clothes pronto. Then–have you eaten?”
“I’ll be in trouble if I don’t clean this up.” He’s too worn out to even bother gesturing at the carnage surrounding them, much less bending around his ribs to scrub.
A furrow forms between Robin’s eyebrows as she contemplates him, mouth pursed like she’s trying to solve complex algebra. Or no, she’smart enough for that to be a breeze. So more like she’s trying to figure out how to scoop his brain out and blow on it until it works better.
“Where are your cleaning supplies?” she asks.
“Robin–”
“No. You’re hurt, and I’m fine. Go take a shower.” Like she can sense him looking, her hand jumps up to cover the singular bruise on her cheekbone. “It’s not the same. Where are the cleaning supplies?”
Her words are so harsh, that he speaks before thinking: “down the hallway in the closet.”
She jumps up, walking with her usual frenetic energy as Steve tries and fails to will himself to get up and stop her. It’s only a few moments after he hears the closet door click open that she shouts, “go shower!”
He goes.
Steve has to peel his uniform off. Mud and puke and blood have dried and merged to his skin. Scabs open where he pulls until he can leave the whole thing crumpled into the smallest ball he can manage in the trash can, salvaging only his nametag as a keepsake, wondering idly if Robin will switch him.
The shower hurts, but he feels divinely clean as he bends over just enough to shuffle into clean sweatpants and an old Hawkins swim team shirt from sophomore year, washed and worn enough to be soft against his skin. He doesn’t put products in his hair, doesn’t even brush it, all remaining energy used in stumbling down the stairs to stop Robin from overworking herself needlessly.
The air smells like a janitor’s closet, enough concoctions mixed together on his Mother’s carpet to wage chemical warfare. Robin’s on her hands and knees, scrubbing ferociously with a scrub brush at the grout between tiles at the entryway. Steve steps around the couch, peering down at the carpet, off-color with cleaner instead of his various bodily fluids. The couch is similarly immaculate, velvety cushions rubbed roughly against the grain from Robin’s ruthless cleaning.
“I threw away your shoes,” Robin calls as she gathers up the cleaning supplies surrounding her and stumbles her way back toward the closet. “There was a concerning amount of blood pooled in the soles, Dingus. Ain’t no way that was all coming out.”
Steve looks around at his clean living room again. All this work, and all he can feel from Robin is pleased satisfaction. Steve feels like he’s going to cry.
“I threw away my uniform.”
Robin laughs. “It’s not like we’re gonna need them anymore.”
Steve pulls the nametag out of his pocket. The stupid anchor is flecked with blood but otherwise it’s pristine. He holds it out to Robin when she troops back into the room.
“You can be me,” he says.
Her eyes light up as she takes it and immediately affixes it onto the front of her shirt. She shuffles back to the side of the couch where she’d tucked her backpack and riffles through it, murmuring quietly enough that he can’t quite make it out. She gives a cute little Ah-ha! When she finds whatever she’s looking for before skipping back over to him, grin crooked it’s so big.
“We can trade.” And there, tucked in her palm is her own, slightly charred name tag. She pins it to his shirt, pricking him with the pointy end before finally settling it in place. “You can be Robin, and I can be Steve!”
It settles easy around his shoulders, like he really can take a step back. Be someone else. Breathe. “I’m Robin,” he murmurs.
She smacks his chest over the nametag, gentle enough to barely hurt.
“Well Robin, what’s for lunch?”
They eat sandwiches in front of the TV. Robin complains about his movie collection, even as she jumps up and down excitedly and puts in Grease. It’s comfortable, easy to forget who’s dead, and who’s injured, and how fucked up their brains are now. It’s between The Breakfast Club and Fast Times that Robin gasps, sitting bolt upright and slapping his thigh.
“Truth serum, Steve! It was truth serum!”
“What was?”
“They wanted to open our minds!”
Steve, up until this point, had thought that was obvious, didn’t realize that for once she was trailing just a bit behind him in the obvious revelations category. “Yeah, and they did.” Robin’s nodding like she can’t stop. He puts his palm flat on her head and holds it still. “Opened them so wide we swallowed each others.”
Steve can’t tell who’s thinking it, but suddenly he's picturing two brains in horrible sailor outfits and terrible mouths that hit a little too close to the demogorgon. One’s mouth is open wide enough to eat the other whole. Then they’re laughing, uproariously, like they’re watching the same funny little show, like the television hasn’t turned to static in front of them.
“Now we can’t keep any of the truths from each other,” Robin says at the same time she’s thinking about that embarrassing crush she’d had on her seventh grade teacher.
In a bid to even the playing field, Steve thinks about little Sally Perkins who he’d liked so much in fourth grade that he’d smashed a grasshopper into her hair and had to miss out on the rest of recess. She’d never talked to him again.
Robin laughs but still shuffles away so his fingers aren’t touching her scalp anymore. Her thoughts flit away, but her hazy contentment lingers.
Steve gets up to switch out the movies, brain buzzing away. “Okay so I feel what you feel, right?” he asks, not waiting for a response. “And I can hear what you’re thinking when we touch.”
“You can hear it?”
Steve starts up the movie and sits back in his place on the couch. Robin looks horrified by this. “You can’t?”
“No!” she shouts, forgetting herself enough to smack her hand into his shoulder, jostling his numerous injuries. Robin grimaces, “Sorry, it’s just, you can just hear what I’m thinking? You can’t like, see anything?”
“You can see things?” Steven demands.
“Holy shit!” Robin bounces up on her knees and just keeps doing it, like a kid excited to open presents on Christmas. “Do you know what this means?”
Steve looks over at her, eyebrow furrowed. “That you’re a–girl?”
“No!” Robin stops bouncing. “I mean, yeah. But no, Steve. What the fuck?”
“I just mean that’s like the only difference between us, right? What else could it be?”
He can feel amusement bubbling up in her stomach, but Robin just stares at him, like she’s too stunned to laugh. “I just meant that some smarty pants scientist should like study us. Because like, we’re proof that some people think differently right? Me all in words and you all in these fancy schmancy pictures! That has nothing to do with our genders, Harrington. That shit’s made up!”
Steve doesn’t know how he feels about being studied by scientists. He’d heard about mini Byers time with those Upside Down quacks and wasn’t sure he was interested in his own stay. It would be nice to have someone who knew what they were doing to help them navigate whatever minefield they’d found themselves in but not at the cost of Robin’s safety. But if they just need a smarty pants who think they know everything then–”Henderson’s smart.”
“You want to call your children?” Robin asks, laughing.
“Think about it!” he replies, slapping the couch. “The lab people are all sketchy, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to be locked up without sunlight for the next hundred years.”
“Okay, yeah but–”
“Your parents aren’t in the know, and I’m practically an orphan. Hopper died.” Steve cuts out, choked up over the thought just like he had been in the mall parking lot when he’d first been told. Robin squeezes his calf. “That takes Joyce out of the running since she's grieving and shit. That just leaves the kids!”
“What about Nan–”
“Things are still kind of weird with Nancy and Jonathan, Rob!” he says, running his fingers through his hair and pulling sharp enough to burn. “If we have to, sure, call her, but I don’t know if this counts as the kind of life or death scenario I would do that in.”
Robin sighs, folding over until her head’s on his thigh, stomach pressed into his calves. “Can we call him tomorrow?” she asks, voice muffled by the cotton of his sweatpants. “My head’s killing me and that kid is so shrill.”
Steve runs his fingers through her hair, coming it back from her face. His fingers come in contact with her forehead long enough to get a quick burst of–feels nice, I wonder if this is why all the girls liked him, or if it was all those rumors I heard about his mouth, eww eww gross don’t think about–before her thoughts cut out. “Tomorrow,” he agrees.
They settle in to keep vegetating, Steve slumping further into the arm rest, Robin turning her head and wrapping her arms around his calf. The quiet lasts for ten more minutes before Steve just has to ask, “What do you mean gender is made up?”
Robin cackles.
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princessbrunette · 3 months
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JJ who is thirsting and horny after the pretty daughter of the Kook family he works for but gets cornered and roughed up by Rafe andhis croonies bc it's Rafe who 'deserves you since you're basically of the same breed, not a dirty Pogue like him', plus you're too good for someone like JJ who only wants you for pussy and money while Rafe is a born protector, all aggressive and territorial, so he's obviously the better choice for you.
I think the boys would genuinely start tweaking if you ever pranced around in that pretty pink frily bikini of yours in your garden amd send them a wave and sweet smile :/
ohhhhh my god. oh my god im obsessed . “while rafe is a born protector, all aggressive and territorial” what if i nutted
୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆
rafe literally wanting to explode when jj shows up as a waiter at midsummers and you all but squeal and run over to him and throw your arms around his neck so excited to see him !! and rafe tugs you away by the arm, gritting his teeth like “you’re here with me, remember?” giving your arm a threatening squeeze but like technically your parents set that up n you can hug who u want !! 🙄
jayj getting kinda spooked when you hug him like that in public because he’s so conscious about your family seeing, he doesn’t wanna get in trouble bc he really needs his job! so he kinda just gives your waist a little squeeze like “uh—hey there, sweetheart, oop, watch the hands— kinda on the clock here but uh, you havin’ fun?” conversing w you before you get yanked away by rafe … 🙄
rafe and his friends roughing him up in the bathroom whilst rafe lectures him :(( “talk t’me, pogue —what is it you really want, nah nah, it’s all good. we’re all guys here.” getting in his face. “is it money? know you don’t have much of that. hey, if i had my wallet, id definitely donate a lil’ something to your cause but uh, this is a new suit.” he pats himself down.
“think i’ll have to pass on that.” jj strains, struggling in kelces headlock.
“what is it then… is it pussy? you…” he huffs out a laugh. “you think she’s gonna give it up for a dirtbag like you? dirtyin’ up that pretty pink bed of hers?” jj doesn’t say anything, continuing to try and fight his way out and rafe just laughs. “knew it, s’always pussy man. you just wanna get right up in there, don’t you maybank. spread those legs and go to town, probably never had anything like that huh? just busted dirty pogue pussy. listen man i— i almost feel sorry for you... it’s so not happening.”
and then jj spits in his face which makes rafe laugh again, pulling back and wiping his face with an amused “oh?”
ofc you walk in at the worst time, brows all furrowed playing with the material of your dress. “what’s going on?” looking between the boys. rafe of course swoops in, joining you at your side with a hand at your lower back.
“i dunno! came in here n’your friend started tweakin’ out, swinging on me. you probably shouldn’t talk to him anymore, babe.”
୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆
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hobisstar · 6 months
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What are you hiding from love?| Yandere!Jk x Reader
Summary: Being in a relationship with Jungkook you’ve always noticed the signs, the red flags if you will. Being so in love with him you ignored them, until the people you loved dearly started disappearing one by one.
Warnings: Murder, Jungkook victim blaming ( like he will say i killed you because you are too stupid or whatever), Possessiveness, Mentions of Smut, Controlling, Locking up YN.
Taglist: vante 🫶🏾
A/N: This is made to be scary! That is all. I honestly dont like mixing smut with yandere because i read yandere fics to be spooked not horny lol.
5 years,
5 long years, of nothing but love and trust but more than that. Of course honesty, right?
Well on yn’s end there was definitely honesty. Jungkook’s? Not so much. You see there is this dark secret that jungkook has been hiding since they met 6 years ago…
It’s so deadly that it could possibly end their relationship if she found out about it.
She was so beautiful, so calm and gentle with him, he loved that side of her. Hes never seen her angry, sad, or even hurt. He never wants to see that side of her.
Jungkook doesn’t want to be the reason he sees that side of her.
Like now, There are siting on their shared bed, in their shared bedroom, in their shared apartment. Telling the truth, would risk him loosing all of this. He cant have that.
Jungkook looked at her then smiled, “ You are so beautiful you know?” He smiled, kissing the top of her head. YN blushed lightly staring up at him.
YN was quite literally everyone’s dream girl. Maybe that was the problem to Jungkook.
She was too good to everyone including himself and he hated. He knows she has a bad side but he never gets to see it so when he knows someone else gets to experience that mean side of her, he’s instantly jealous.
Who got his baby so pissed that she called you a dumb cunt? A fucking bitch? Who dares piss off his queen?
He will deal with them, with torture. Slow, painful, evil, demented, twisted death.
That was the other side of him he need to never be shown to his lover. It scared him that in any means possible she found out about his… hobby.
Nevertheless, Jungkook admires yn. How she can keep it together in every situation. Worships her to be exact.
“Stop calling be beautiful and get ready for work, handsome.” Yn responded while patting his back.
Right, work. Besides his hobby, he works at a flower shop while yn works at a cafe during the weekend. It’s enough to keep food on their table, to the rent, gas but also enough for simply living. Jungkook owns the flower shop so, he makes a whole lot of money.
There are so many things that yn doesn’t know about Jungkooks basically second life. How deadly it is.
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jk: I miss you, baby~
I hate this fucking job
What are you doing?
Is bam stilling your attention from my text?
Babbbbbbbbyyyyy
yn
yn
yn
yn answer the phone
yn: sorry baby! I was feeding bam and fixing me something to eat!
I left my phone in the bathroom
yn: j, you just got to work babes 🤨, how do you miss me already?
You didn’t even clock in yet SILLY!
jk: I can’t miss you now?
Since when did you feel like that?
yn: Jeon I never once said you couldn’t, don’t say that.
jk: but you where implying that…
yn: Jeon Jungkook, clock in, put your phone down, see you when you get home 😕🩷
jk: smh, why that face? Why that reply?
He waited for a reply but he never received one, instead he heard someone clear his throat. He looked up and saw it was a woman probably in her 30s, staring at him like he was a snack.
“Hi! JK right? I came in here a few days ago looking for some flowers for my sisters birthday! I doubt you remember me but I want to come back to get some for myself!” The lady bit her lip and looked Jungkook up then down and Jungkook thought he could be sick.
He forced a half smile, “ Yeah yeah, I don’t remember you. You can get them for yourself, I don’t remember the flower you got last time.” He looked back down at the book he was original decorating with different flower pictures but got bored so he texted his lover.
“oh.. I was hoping you could pick them for me, fresh ones. I know you all do that-,” “ we do but not this early.” He interrupted still looking down, knowing he is hurting the poor woman’s feelings for not even recognizing her or remembering the flower or even falling for her shitty attempt to flirt.
“Okay, ah well I’ll go grab them and pay for them.” She said waiting for a respond or even a nod but she didn’t even get that. She walked over there and grabbed them then returning to the register. While she put her things on the counter, she saw a glimpse of Jungkooks Lock Screen which so happens to be a picture of yn and bam sleeping on the couch. “ Your sister?” She asked, hoping she was right. “ My wife actually and our son.” He scanned the flowers and roughly wrapped them. Roses, it’s be sad if he left a thorn on them. He turned around and slightly cut the stem but enough to keep the thorn nice and sharp.
Jungkook turned back around and handed them to her. As soon as the woman grabbed them she gasped, in pain he assumed. He pretended to be concerned but when he saw the palm of her hand leaking red liquid, he smiled on inside.
“ Oh! Im so sorry! I thought I got all the thorns, out…” he looked up at her then saying “ I guess one snuck away.” giving her the most creepiest blank face the woman has ever seen. She then realized he left the thorn on on purpose. He even sharpened it. “ I can fix that for you-,” “ No! I-It’s fine! Thank you so much! See you!” She some what screamed and hurried out the store frightened.
“ too bad..” Jungkook mumbled and chuckled continuing to put pictures in the decorating book.
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“Bam! You just keep growing!” Yn said as she walked into the kitchen smiling while seeing him staring at the spare room. It’s Jungkooks office. “ What’s the matter? You know your dad doesn’t like you going in there.Not even me.” She stooped to his level and petted his back but only received a whimper in return.
Yn stared at the door. It’s taunting her with its unlocked door handle. She looked at the time, it was only 5 pm, Jungkook wouldn’t be home for a few more hours.
“ A peak wouldn’t hurt us right?” Looking at Bam and he barked as if he understood her.
Yn stood up and opened the door walking in. It was a nice little tidy office.
It would be comforting even if it wasn’t so cold. She has to remember to turn on the air for this room once exiting.
She turned around seeing if Bam followed her inside but he was at his bowl slurping up some water.
Looking at the closet door she opened it up and turned on the light. “since when did he make this a dark room?” The red light was a little hard to see in but her eyes soon adjusted quickly.
Spooky wasn’t the feeling that she was feeling but more so unsettled. Yn looked at the photos on the table and quite literally almost vomited.
“ what… what is that?” Stammering as her eyes scanned over the photos laid out on the table.
Pictures of people being hurt, harmed. There were far more worse ones that she doesn’t even want to even mention. Gazing up on the line looking at the ones drying where pictures of, her.
This wouldn’t be weird if it wasn’t of her sleeping, in the shower, getting dressed, even at work.
“Did jungkook take these?… no way…”
Yn was flabbergasted,
Was her boyfriend of 5 years, a serial killer? A psychopath? A fucking weirdo? I mean she saw the signs but thought she was tripping.
Days where he would come home with blood and dirt on his hands and clothes. He would always say it was his and it came from the thorns he dealt with at work.
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“yn! I’m home!” Jungkook shouted. As he walked in and smiled when he saw Bam sitting on the couch peacefully sleeping.
It’s where yn and bam usually cuddle so, where is she at?
“Did she leave you by yourself?” He asked Bam who was waking up from sleep. Walking towards the kitchen he saw dinner was made and a note on the fridge door.
“ Welcome home babes! Sorry I couldn’t be home to greet you, I went out to go get a few things but my sister called and said she wanted to have a little sibling time! Ha. Be back by 11 pm! Dinners fixed but do warm it up, then shower and get some sleep! See you later,
Love, Yn <3”
“Ah, I guess she did leave us by ourselves tonight Bam.” He chuckled and took off his jacket. He felt weird though.
Since when did her sister want to hang out so late? This is the first he ever heard of it. Pondering, he grabbed his phone and called yn’s sister.
“Hello? Jungkook?” She answered confused as ever at this late ass call. “Hey, sorry to call so late. is yn with you?” Jungkook asked but his full attention was on his office door.
“What? No she’s not. Why?” Without missing a beat Jungkook hung up the phone right after. He dialed yn’s number. What he wasn’t expecting was to hear her phone sitting right on the couch next to Bam. He watched it ring and sighed. Maybe she just went out and forgot it on accident, no need to panic.
For some reason in the back of his mind he felt as though she found out. She went into his forbidden office. Jungkook chuckled, “ she would never disobey me.” He warmed his food up then sat at the table but he couldn’t eat.
Nor could the feeling of her going in his office go away. He stood up and walked to the door and opened it.
At first he didn’t notice anything out of place until he realized it was warm in the room. He never turns the air on in this room. Jungkook looked around about to leave until something so obvious caught his eyes.
The red light illuminating on the other side of the closet door. With quick steps, he opened the door well threw it open. Nothing was touched but the light alone was a clear sign that someone was in there.
He mentally and physically cursed himself.
“ She knows, she fucking knows.” He calmly stated but boy was he heated.
“ I need to fucking find her…now.”
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To be continued…
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laundrybiscuits · 7 months
Text
(young man what do you wanna be tag | Ch1-2 on AO3)
“Hey, did you and Jonathan tell Will to ask me about—” Steve glances around like the world’s worst spy, and leans close even though they’re the only living souls in the trailer. “About gay things?”
“Uh,” Eddie says. “No? Wait, Jonathan might’ve.”
Steve pushes both his hands through his hair. “Why would you do that! Shit!”
“Again, I did nothing in this scenario,” says Eddie. “I’m pretty sure this one specific thing is not my fault.”
“He asked me about our relationship,” says Steve. “He wanted gay advice.”
Eddie swallows down his first impulse, which is to demand to know whether Eddie’s advice isn’t good enough for Will all of a sudden. “Okay,” he says instead. “What did you tell him?”
“I don’t know! I quit giving Dustin advice on girls, like, years ago! By the time I was Will’s age, I was pretty busy fucking up the only serious relationship I ever had.”
“Sure, maybe, but you can’t think about age that way. It’s like…” Eddie tilts his head. “For a lot of us, there’s a—a late start, right? It’s like a whole different time scale, because we gotta figure ourselves out first. We don’t get the manual to all this shit, so we either waste our time chasing some kind of picket fence life that we don’t actually want, or we just make it up from scratch.”
“Right, cool, okay,” says Steve. “I didn’t say anything like that. I told him to keep his chin up. I—think I called him slugger.”
Eddie pats him on the shoulder sympathetically, definitely not feeling at all vindicated about the fact that he’s clearly winning at gay mentorship. “Could be worse. What did the littlest Byers say?”
“He’s taller than Jonathan now,” says Steve.
“So not the point, sweetheart.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “C’mon, how’d it go?”
“Shit, I don’t know.” Steve huffs out a breath and pushes his hand through his hair. “Not good, I don’t think. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with that kid. He just wanted to know how I figured stuff out, and like—why I wouldn’t just go with girls.”
“Yeah, uh, on that note,” says Eddie. “Is this a new development? Like.”
He pauses, trying to figure out the exact right arrangement of words.
“Like…” he says, slowly. “I’m just wondering, you know, why it hasn’t come up before. I mean, you already know about me, everybody knows about me. Is it—”
Did you not want me to think—
Did you not want—
“Pretty new, I guess,” says Steve. He lies back, arms folded behind his head, taking up more than his fair share of Eddie’s bed. Eddie climbs over him and takes his usual place tucked up against the wall, keeping a careful distance.
Steve’s parents are leaving again tomorrow, so this might be the last time for a while. It’s not like they won’t be seeing each other all the time; at this point, they’re so tangled up in each other’s lives that it’s not so unusual for them to hang out every day for weeks without even trying.
But it might be the last time for a while that they lie here like this, in a shadowy space where the line between thoughts and words gets slippery enough to cross. Eddie tries real hard not to think of it as anything special; it’s just his stupid fucking heart running away with him, the way it always does.
“Okay,” says Eddie.
After a while, he says, “Goodnight.” Steve doesn’t answer.
———
“Eddie!” Robin hollers from across the store. “We’re enemies now!”
“Okay!” he yells back. “Why?”
“Why do you think, asshole!”
This is getting unsustainable, so Eddie wanders over to the counter where Robin’s cashing out.
“Is it because I’m giving you a ride home out of the goodness of my heart? Unconventional, but I respect that.”
She chucks a balled-up receipt at his head. “Steve, dumbass.”
“Whoa, whoa,” he says, ducking out of the way and holding up his hands like he’s trying to soothe a spooked horse. “I dunno what he told you, but I didn’t do anything to him.”
“Exactly,” snaps Robin.
“Robin,” he whines, switching tactics. “C’mon, don’t be pissed at me. You know you’re my favorite lesbian in the whole wide world. You’re the cheese in my burger, the fries in my shake. My wretched soul cannot bear the weight of your scorn.”
He can tell she’s still trying to be mad, but the corner of her mouth is twitching, so he drapes himself over the counter and wails, “Milady Robin! Say only that you can forgive my dark and unworthy deeds, whatever they may be, or I shall perish right here in this fine establishment.”
“You really don’t know what you did, huh,” she sighs. “God, you’re the worst.”
Eddie peeks up at her through his hair. “Planning to enlighten me any time soon? Or are we going straight to pistols at dawn?”
“We are going to be driving me home,” says Robin. “And we’re going through Taco Bell on the way. We’re still gonna be enemies, but you can purchase a temporary peace treaty for the low, low price of two chalupas and a large Sprite.”
———
“Hey, Harrington, why’s Robin mad at me?”
“Mad at—? Oh. Uh, I think she misunderstood some stuff.”
Eddie groans. “Is this about the fake dating thing again?”
Steve looks a little pained. “Maybe?”
“Byers needs to go his own way! Call it another—lonely day, or—you know what I mean. Buckley can’t take in every wounded baby bunny that stumbles across her path.”
“I don’t think that’s what’s happening.”
“Sure, okay. So, do I need to defend my honor by finding Will a boyfriend or something?” Eddie pauses. “I realize that sounds like an insane scheme, but consider this: it’s still better than Operation Happy Ending, so I’m standing by it.”
“Not cool, man,” calls Argyle from the floor. Eddie has a theory that Argyle likes lying down on the floor because he’s tall. It’s not a very well-developed theory.
“No, no, I’m fully on board with the name,” Eddie assures him. “Baller name. You hit it out of the park on that one, dude.”
“Righteous,” says Argyle. “Appreciate the support.”
“The idea still sucks,” says Eddie. “But that is one hundred percent the fault of Jonathan Byers, and you remain the utterly blameless light of my life.”
A sudden thought strikes him, and he sits up, dislodging Steve’s hand in his hair.
“Hang on, Steve—did you ever actually tell Will that we’re not dating?”
“What? Yeah, of course.” Steve frowns. “Uh, probably? Man, I don’t really remember.”
Eddie shoots him a squinty look, and Steve holds his hands up. “Dude, I don’t know! I wasn’t trying to lie to the kid, there was a lot going on. Don’t know why he didn’t go ask Argyle instead.”
“Oh, he totally did, my bro,” says Argyle. “I think he’s, like, doing the rounds. I just told him not to worry about a thing and let the Lady Fate lead the way. I dunno if he was ready to embrace the Lady, though. He didn't really seem to get it.”
“Fucking great.” Steve leans back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “Between the three of us, maybe he’ll get some kind of actual goddamn life lesson or whatever.”
“Fuck you, I am an amazing Gandalf. I mean mentor,” says Eddie. "Wait, shit. Does that mean Byers has been getting most of his actual gay advice from me? Holy shit, we can't let that happen. I'm like—the worst possible future for that kid. Steve, you gotta go back and try again."
He smacks Steve's shoulder. "Go back and tell him some real stuff! And tell him we're not dating, or he'll think he has to settle for the first loser that threatens him with a broken bottle!"
"Wait, is that—you don't actually think that, do you?"
"I mean, I'd like to say nobody will ever threaten him with a broken bottle, but Lady Fate works in mysterious ways. And frankly, given his whole…" Eddie waves a diffident hand. "Penchant for sniffing out trouble like a bloodhound after a T-bone, he's definitely going to wind up on the wrong end of a bar fight at least once or twice."
He pauses. "Don't tell Jon I said that, he'll wig out."
"Okay, but like—you know you're not—a loser, right?"
Steve touches Eddie’s back, a warm brush of fingers, and Eddie shrugs uncomfortably. "Just a figure of speech, Harrington. Don't worry your pretty little head about my ego, I'm doing great."
"Hell yeah you are," says Argyle. "Great as Gandalf."
Eddie is like 90% sure Argyle doesn't actually know who Gandalf is, but he appreciates the gesture.
"Thanks, dude," he says, poking Argyle’s head with his foot affectionately. "You're a great Gandalf too. The most Gandalferous."
"Can everyone stop saying Gandalf please," says Steve, so obviously Eddie has to bellow "Gandalf Gandalf Gandalf" right in his ear until Steve puts him in a headlock.
It's a pretty good afternoon.
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chiefdirector · 21 days
Text
Playing | Tim Bradford | The Rookie
Act One | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26
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The cell was everything (Y/N) had expected.
The small six by eight foot cell was kept in meticulous condition. The bed was made without a crease in the cheap prison linen, a singular spare uniform folded precisely at the foot of the bed, and a small stack of books tucked onto the far corner of the tiny desk.
It was exactly what (Y/N) had expected from a woman like Rosalind Dyer. She craved control. She was trying to take control of (Y/N)’s life, almost as if she was a puppet master pulling every single string.
Rosalind Dyer needed control, and (Y/N) was not one to be controlled.
Rosalind did well to mostly cover the fleeting shock on her face when (Y/N) entered the cell before making a quick and smooth recovery. “Hello Detective Bradford, what a nice surprise.”
“Let’s skip the formality Dyer.” (Y/N) said, keeping her tone cool.
“If you insist.” Rosalind gestured for (Y/N) to sit down next to her on the bed, smiling as the detective refused. “What brings you to my neck of the woods then? I don’t suppose it’s a social call?”
“Even if I wanted to, you’re not the type to have friends… or to be able to keep them anyways.”
“Snarky. I like that; but it won’t get you very far. So I’ll ask again, Detective. Why are you here? Because I’m quite sure that pretty husband of yours wouldn’t approve.”
“What he doesn’t know…” (Y/N) let her words drift off as she walked into the room, peering around, trying to find any form of imperfection. A crack in Rosalind’s armour. “I’ve come to ask you something.
Rosalind nodded. “Ask away. Although you may not like the answer.”
It was (Y/N)’s turn to smile as she could see Rosalind starting her infamous mind games. “Why me?”
“I’m not sure I’m following. Care to elaborate some?”
“Why me,” Bradford repeated. “Out of anyone in the department, in the LAPD as a whole, and you pick me. I just don’t get it.”
“Don’t put yourself down so much. You should think much more highly of yourself. Why wouldn’t I pick you? You’re clever, cunning even. And you would be good to ruin.”
(Y/N) chuckled at this although she didn’t find humour in the given answer at all. The two of them both knew that they had to keep a cool and calm facade, and her small laugh caused Rosalind’s to falter.
“What’s so funny, detective?”
“Nothing,” (Y/N) continued to chuckle, although her laughs had begun to soften as her words grew more taunting. “I just thought that you would have something to gain. I mean you’re the great Rosalind Dyer. You had the nation fearful for their lives, and yet the most you can do is fail to spook me. Even worse, your motivation is because I’m ‘special.’ thought you would be cleverer than that.”
“And who said I don’t?” Dyer snapped, rising from the bed, leaving behind creases from where she had sat. “I could just be having you on, playing the long game.”
“What is the long game for you?”
“Freedom.”
(Y/N) snorted this time. “Unlikely. If there was something you wanted from me, you would’ve made a play by now. I may not know you, but I know your type Rosalind.”
Rosalind’s eyes darted away at (Y/N)’s words before they focused back on the Detective. “If you know my type,” Rosalind said, moving forward, causing (Y/N) to take a step back, “then you would know I don’t lose. Now I suppose it’s time you take your leave, don’t you?”
(Y/N) nodded, as she turned towards the cell door. “Have a good day, and thank you for our chat, it’s been very…insightful.”
———-
Fishing the small phone out of her pocket, (Y/N) quickly dialled Grey’s number as she walked through the parking lot towards the nearest bus stop. She listened as the phone rang and went to voicemail.
“Grey,” she said after the tone went, “it’s Bradford. Call me. I’ve got a lead.”
Pressing the end call button, (Y/N) continued to walk until she heard a whistle from behind her. Spinning on her heel, she was greeted by Nyla, leaning on her car.
“What are you doing here?” (Y/N) said, approaching the woman.
“I would ask you the same thing, but I already know. Get in.” Harper snapped, moving round to the driver's side of the car. (Y/N) followed, slipping into the vehicle.
“Here, take my phone. Call Tim. He’s going out of his mind.” Harper pulled out of the car park. “He had half the department at your house earlier. Thankfully, I was one step ahead and covered for your ass. The last time I do so though.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me; call your husband before I rat on you.”
(Y/N) just hummed as she dialled the familiar number and lifted the phone to her ear.
——
“Okay, I love you. Bye, bye.” Tim hung up the phone, sliding it back into his trouser pocket as he walked towards Grey’s office. Knocking, he entered as the Watch Commander beckoned him in.
“Harper was right, I presume.” Grey said, looking up from his computer.
“Yeah, she was. Just got off the phone with (Y/N). They’ll be back by midday.” Tim let his words drift off, the silent worry hung heavily in the air.
Grey looked at Tim with knowing eyes, holding back any form of sympathy. Officer Bradford had never appreciated it before, and he wouldn’t start now. But Grey could only imagine how he was feeling. The Watch Commander knew all too well what it felt like to be shut out of Morgan’s inner workings, the detective was far too independent and it would be her downfall.
“What’s bothering you? Is it the trip this morning?”
“Yes-no. Maybe” Tim stuttered, taking a seat in front of the desk as Grey gestured for him to do. “It’s just that we promised no more secrets and I wake up and she’s gone. And it’s like nothing changed. She doesn’t trust me.”
“Yes she does. You know she does.” Grey reassured, spinning slightly in his chair. “(Y/N) is still on high alert. And you know her best, Tim. Put yourself in her shoes. If someone like Dyer was on the warpath for you, and Morgan was in the line of fire…”
“I would make sure she wasn’t involved. Keep her away.”
Grey shrugged as his point set in. “Look, I’m not saying that she was right. But she had Harper there. She wasn’t alone. Besides, if she had told you, or me for that matter, what would’ve happened?”
“I would’ve stopped her. Or at least gone with her.”
“Exactly. Don’t be too hard on her. That’s my job. She broke so many protocols, she’ll be doing paperwork for today into retirement.”
Tim chuckled at the thought. Thanking the Sargent, he stood and made his way out of the office and towards his boot who was waiting expectedly for him.
tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @rookietrek @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4 @starstruckchopshoptyphoon @alessiamargaux @rexit-mo
Masterlist
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vodika-vibes · 2 months
Note
Omggg I was melting from flirtatious Seventeen, I love him being a shameless flirt 😫 Could you please do one where reader is very self conscious and just doesn’t see what 17 sees so she thinks he’s just messing with her when he says suggestive things? Maybe reader has an obvious crush on him so she assumes that because 17 knows he just flirts with her to embarrass her or try to get with her. Sorry if this is really long and specific😅, we all love everything you do btw! Thanks!
For Them
Summary: Alpha-17 has been driving you insane for ages now, and that mixed with the stress of your current responsibility is just too much.
Pairing: Alpha-17 x Reader
Word Count: 1358
Warnings: Kaminoans are assholes who experiment on babies
Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni
A/N: So...I kind of went a little off the rails on this one. I had a plan, and then I started writing, and I got distracted by clone babies. Sorry.
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Sometimes you hate the fact that you’re so easy to read. If you were just a little better at hiding your emotions, you wouldn’t be in this situation. Well, you hope you wouldn’t be in this situation.
After all, if your crush on Alpha wasn’t so obvious, he wouldn’t have any reason to tease you so much, right?
Because there’s absolutely no way that he means what he says when he flirts with you, or makes those suggestive comments to you.
Best case scenario he’s just trying to get into your bed for a bit of quick fun. Worst case scenario, he’s trying to humiliate you. And if you didn’t need this job so badly, you would have transferred out to somewhere else.
Tragically, this job is the best one for you at the moment, and you can’t just leave the cadets-
You purse your lips as you focus your attention back on your datapad and the information on the screen. You need to focus, you can’t afford to be distracted by Alpha right now. The Kaminoans decided to play with the genetic makeup of some of the tubies, and it’s a whole thing.
Three of them are albino, which comes with its own host of health issues that need to be mitigated. Two were born totally blind, and another three are going to be blind unless you figure out a way to keep their immune system from attacking their eyes (honestly cybernetics for all five of them will probably be the easiest option, after all no one’s figured out how to keep human’s immune systems from attacking their eyes), and one was born without the ability to use his legs.
Honestly, the urge to take all 9 of them and flee Kamino is getting stronger with every passing day, but as of right now, there’s no way for you to get them off Kamino without drawing the ire of several very dangerous men, Alpha at the top of the list.
You push your fingers through your hair as you scan the medical data coming from CT-238-765’s (his name is Grim and you’re pretty sure you love him) cradle and you scowl. He’s never going to be able to walk. Maybe with surgery-
“If you keep scrunching your face up like that, you’re going to get wrinkles,” A deep voice says from the door, and you yelp and your datapad tumbles out of your hands.
You whip around, your eyes wide, and then you press your hand over your heart, “Don’t do that!”
Alpha-17 grins at you, “Did I spook you, mesh’la?”
You scowl at him and duck down to scoop the tablet back into your hands, turning the screen away from the larger man so he can’t see just how bad these tubies are, “Did you need something?”
He drags his gaze down your body, and you fold the datapad over your chest as you fight the urge to shift uncomfortably. His grin broadens, “Yeah, I can think of a thing or two that only you can help me with.”
Your face burns, “There are babies in the room,” You hiss at him.
“They’re too young to understand what I’m saying, sweetheart,” Alpha replies as he enters the room properly, and peers into one of the cradles, “Honestly, I could probably bend you over in here and none of them would even know it.”
You sputter, “You…you don’t know-that’s totally inappropriate-”
He laughs, and moves to peer into Grim’s cradle, and you immediately move to put yourself between Alpha and the infant, without thinking about it. “You’re not allowed to handle him. Technically, you’re not allowed to handle any of the babies. Remember?”
Alpha rolls his eyes and lightly nudges you to the side, “The rule was only enforced when the Prime was alive, which he’s not.” You move to the side as he nudges you, curse you for being so weak in his presence.
“Only because everyone else is afraid of you,”
“You’re not.” He grins at you, “You want to fuck me.”
Your face burns, and you glare up at him, “There. Are. Children. Present.” You hiss at him.
“Yeah, yeah. So you’ve said.” He regards Grim silently for a moment, “Also, that wasn’t a denial, gorgeous. Why isn’t he moving his legs?”
“He’s fine. And I’m not going to sleep with you just so you win whatever twisted game you're playing with me,” You snap, though you keep your voice quiet, “And don’t touch-” You sigh when Alpha reaches into the cradle and pokes the infant’s foot, and he doesn’t react.
“The fact that you think I’m  playing a game with you is hurtful, gorgeous.” Alpha replies, a frown crossing his scarred face as he looks down at the infant, “He can’t feel his legs.”
“He’s fine.” You say, your voice pitching a little higher in sudden panic, “They’re all fine. You can’t tell the longnecks. You can’t. They’ll decommission them.”
“Wait, wait. Hold on,” Alpha looks at you, suddenly no longer interested in teasing you based on the look on his face, “What…there’s something wrong with all of these tubies?”
“Winter, Snow, and Cin-” You motion to the three at the end, “Are all albino. The five in the middle are either blind, or are going blind, and then Grim here-”
Alpha holds up his hand, “What happened?”
“The Kaminoans were playing with their genes.” You say bitterly, “And now these kids are the ones who will suffer for it.” You carefully remove the monitors from Grim’s legs, and attach them to a different baby's legs, altering the data just enough.
Alpha stops you, “How long has this been happening?”
You shrug, “You know that CF-99 exists,” You point out, “They’re not the most popular because they’re assholes, but-”
“We’re all genetically predisposed to be assholes,” Alpha says dryly. His gaze lingers on the babies for a moment, “So, what’s the plan?”
“What?”
“For the tubies.”
You stare at him, “Um…so for the five that are blind, or going blind, I’m planning on making arrangements for them to get cybernetic eyes. As for Grim…I’m working on it-”
Alpha hums thoughtfully, “I have a better idea.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. How do you feel about taking the Tubies and leaving?”
You sputter, “I can’t raise 9 babies on my own without a job-”
“You won’t be raising them alone,” Alpha replies with a roll of his eyes, “I’ll be going with you.”
“...what.”
He looms over you, and you’re very glad that you’ve never been intimidated by Alpha, for all that he flusters you to high heaven. “You think I’m playing with you. That I don’t mean every word that I say to you. Maybe you have cause for that, I’m not going to judge. But I do mean every word, and if I have to run away with you and these kids to make you believe me, then so be it.”
“But…what about your other brothers?”
“They’ll be just fine without me.”
“But-”
“Yes or no, cyar’ika?” Alpha interrupts, “Do you want to ensure that these kids, kids that you named, have a proper life? Or do you want to run the risk of your manipulations getting exposed? And that’s not me threatening you. That’s me pointing out that you’re not going to be able to hide your lies forever.”
Your hands shake, “Of course I want them to grow up happy and healthy, but this is…”
Alpha stares at you and you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, thinking hard.
“Okay. Okay, but we have to be quick about it. If we get caught-”
“Don’t worry, cyar’ika. I can make sure that we don’t get caught.” He ducks down and brushes his lips against your temple, “Just be ready. We’re leaving tonight.”
And then Alpha is gone, leaving you alone with the 9 babies that you’re about to risk everything for. You sigh and turn to Grim, who looks up at you through big brown eyes, “You’re lucky I love you, kiddo.”
He flashes a toothless grin and grabs your finger, and you melt a little bit. You suppose it’s worth it.
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myreveriie · 10 months
Text
Meet The Parents: 2
summary: a short mini series where your boyfriend has to spend a week with your family. he has to find a way to impress your tough on nails father and your crazy family in order to be able to propose
requested: yes
⚠️: none
pairing: mason mount
authors note: part two! flashbacks and inner thoughts are in italics
-
It was safe to say that dinner was a complete failure.
The urn containing your grandmothers ashes?
Broken thanks to your cat that was spooked by Mason. Snowbell, the family cat jumped onto the mantle facing the dining table and ran across it, causing the urn to fall and shatter.
And then Mason lied. He lied to your family and you about him and his upbringings.
Dinner was cut short and the two of you were in your room, upstairs. Mason was brushing his teeth in your bathroom that connected to your room while you unpacked your bag.
When he finished, he walked back in and shrugged. “Engaged. That’s crazy.”
“Mason don’t even.”
“No.” he packed his toothbrush in the travel capsule. “You never told me you were engaged. Do you know how embarrassing it was hearing your family gush over some guy you were engaged to?”
-
“Y/n sweetie, you saw your sisters ring, right?” your mother started, taking a bite of her pot roast.
Nodding, you took a sip from your soda. “I saw, it’s gorgeous.”
“Mason, did you see it?” your father asked.
He shook his head no and your father pulled out his phone and pulled up a picture and showed it to your boyfriend.
“It’s very nice.” Mason said, trying to guess how many carats were in it.
“You know honey,” your father began, turning to you. “the man who designed it was the same one who made yours.”
“Dad.”
Mason shook his head. “I’m sorry, what? Yours? Y/n, what do you mean yours? You had a ring?”
The table fell silent and your father cleared his throat. “Oh I’m sorry, you must have no idea.”
“No idea? Of course I have no idea, What are you talking about?”
Ben leaned back in his seat. “My daughter was engaged before meeting you to a man she’d known her whole life. She didn’t tell you?”
Mason glanced at you. “No. She didn’t.”
Your mother stepped in. “Dessert?”
-
“You lied!”
“No I didn’t Mason.”
He scoffed, tossing his stuff in his open suitcase. “You told me there was no one before me!”
“Yeah, no one important Mason! It doesn’t matter!”
Mason let out a sigh. “You still lied to me.”
“Oh okay,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. “since we want to talk about lying, what’s this shit about you growing up in the countryside? Mason you grew up with money and football academies not sheep and hay.”
“Your dad backed me in a corner!”
“So you lied to get out of it?”
He nodded. “Yeah. And what’s this shit about you having asthma? You never fucking told me that?”
It fell silent until you laughed. “Mason, are you listening to yourself?” you stopped laughing and glared at him. “I don’t have fucking asthma!”
“Your dad said you do!”
“My dad-” you stopped yourself and took a deep breath. “Mase, my dad probably said that because he could smell the tobacco off your breath and I told you he hates smokers!”
“It’s chewing tobacco!”
“Same shit Mason!”
Mason rolled his eyes and bent down to his suitcase, grabbing at his night clothes and began changing into them. “And that’s another thing, another problem. Your dad.”
“My dad?”
“Yeah, your dad? Doesn’t like me. He threatened me and insulted me multiple times while you and mommy dearest said nothing!”
“Well, you did break nana’s urn.”
“I didn’t even know it was an urn! I thought it was one of those stupid cameras your wack job of a father has! And in my defense, it was your dumb cat you broke it and pissed on it! And don’t even get me started on the fact that he’s not really a collector! I gave him a rare item and he stared at it like an idiot! Any real collector would’ve jumped at it! So there. Is that something you wanna talk about? Another lie you want to enlighten me on?”
You sighed and sat on the edge of your bed. Patting the space beside you, a sigh escaped from your lips. “Sit down.”
“No. Your dad is crazy and I’m stuck in this web of lies and-”
“Please.”
He sighed and crossed the room, plopping beside you. “What? Wanna talk about another lie?”
“Yes.”
A groan fell from his lips and you brought a finger to his lips, your voice dropping to a whisper.
“My dad is not a collector. That’s his cover up because he was in the CIA. As an intelligence agent. He was linked with another agent who lived in Europe. That’s where his collection came from. I shouldn’t even be telling you this but it’s only fair you now know. That’s why he’s so weird and kinda mean. Because it’s what he does.”
“Is he retired?”
You nodded. “For fifteen years. So there you have it. No more lies.”
Mason moved close to you, his forehead against yours. “Can I get my jersey back?”
Laughing, you pressed a light kiss on his lips. “You’d have to ask him.”
He kissed your lips, this time the kiss was deeper and you tried to push him away.
“No way we’re doing this now, not here.”
“Why not?” he whispered, kissing your neck.
You stifled a moan. “Because this is my actual home Mase and I don’t think my parents who are three doors down, want to hear their sweet little girl getting fucked in her childhood bedroom.”
He shrugged. “We’ll be quiet.”
Mason pulled you in his lap and kissed you with a smile but the moment was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door. Your boyfriend threw you off of him in surprise and you fell to the floor.
“What the fuck?” you whisper yelled.
“Sorry.” he replied before getting up and going over to your door. Before he could open it, he was face to face with your parents.
Ben glared at Mason and pushed the door open to find you on the floor.
“Was looking for my earring.” you smiled.
“Uh huh, Mason, you don’t think you’re sleeping here right?”
Mason looked at you and you sighed.
“Of course not dad. I was thinking since Liv’s room is empty and has been for six years, Mase can sleep there.”
Lisa spoke up. “Honey, then where will Olivia and Jason sleep?”
You stared at her in disbelief. “They’re sharing a room?”
“They’re engaged.” you dad piped up. “Mason can sleep in the den.”
“The den?” you and Mason asked at the same time.
Ben shoved his hands in his pajama pockets. “It’s all set up for you. I’ll be down later to give you a tour.”
That was all he said and walked away. Your mother smiled at the both of you. “Goodnight you too.”
She left and Mason turned to you. “He hates me.”
“Give him some time.” you sighed, zipping up his suitcase.
“I’m here for a week, there’s no time.” he grumbled, grabbing his stuff. “Goodnight.”
“Love you.”
Mason huffed. “Love you too.”
You sighed as the door closed and plopped on your bed.
This was going to be the longest week of your life.
-
The den was alright. He had space and and the bed looked comfy.
Dropping his suitcase beside the bed, he sat down and looked around. The den had to be bugged. There was probably cameras all over the place.
A CIA intelligence agent. That’s who your dad was. He probably had a kill folder of Mason and knew everything there was to know about him.
His eye caught onto a beige cover over something on a table in the corner of the room. Mason squinted his eyes at the object as his curiosity piqued. He didn’t want to know what it was but it was like it was calling him.
What the heck.
Mason pushed himself off the bed and padded across the carpeted den and to the object in the corner. He lifted the cover and stared in shock.
A lie detector? This guy was insane.
Mason fobbed with the buttons until he heard the the clearing of a throat behind him.
There was no need to jump up and act surprised so Mason just turned around to face your dad.
“I see you found my machine. Have a seat.”
Your dad saw the hesitation on your boyfriends face and huffed, pointing at the small stool that was beside the detector.
“You know,” Mason began as he lowered himself on the stool. “this is the second time I’ve been forced to sit down to listen to something I really don’t wanna hear.”
Ben grabbed a folding chair from another corner of the room and opened it in front of Mason and ripped the cover completely off the detector before sitting down. “You have an attitude Mount and I’m not in the mood for it. Shut up.”
Mason clenched his jaw.
Your dad sighed. “I’m sorry. Look, Y/n told me what she told you about my job. Can I trust that you’ll keep this quiet?”
The Englishman gave a bored shrug.
“Good.” Ben smiled. “Give me your hands.”
“I’m sorry what?”
-
After an hour, Mason laid in bed exhausted.
A lie detector test? What bullshit.
The man grilled him on just about everything which led to Mason admitting that Lisa wasn’t a good cook.
“You had pot roast for dinner tonight, right?” your father asked, eyes on the machine.
Mason rolled his eyes. “Yeah. We all did.”
“And did you enjoy it?”
Silence.
Ben peered at Mason through his glasses. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes.”
“Liar. Did you enjoy it?”
This was ridiculous.
With a sigh, Mason shook his head. “No.”
That confession led to a long talk about being rude in a guests home and Mason bit back a snarky response the whole time.
He was being set up to fail in your home and you didn’t even realize it. Mason regretted even coming here after another hour of being wide awake in the stupid den, he forced himself to fall asleep.
Hours later, Mason woke up to something heavy on his stomach. Peeling his eyes open, he groaned in disgust at the sight of Snowbell resting on him.
“Get the fuck off.” Mason grumbled, pushing the cat off of him. He despised cats and after last night, he hated them even more.
After making a slow effort of brushing his teeth and washing his face, Mason dragged himself out of the den and to the kitchen only stopping short when he saw the dining room table full of people.
The conversations stopped and Mason slowly took in the scene.
“Well look who slept in!” your mother laughed. “Good morning Mason.”
“Hi babe.” you smiled.
Mason forced a smile. “Good morning everyone. I didn’t know we were having a family breakfast.”
“It’s called a family breakfast for a reason.” an older man joked.
Everyone at the table, except for you and your mother laughed and Ben spoke up.
“He’s kidding. Mason, this is Rick and Diane, Jason’s parents. And that’s Olivia, my first born.”
Jason only stared at Mason in boredom and your sister sent a friendly wave. Diane smiled and Rick looked like he was ready to laugh.
“Nice to meet everyone. Hey, why don’t I get ready and I’ll come down to finish breakfast with you all?” Mason suggested.
Rick stood up. “Actually we just finished. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
The rest of the table murmured in agreement and stood with him and began to clear out. Mason stood dumbfounded and you smiled at him.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked.
“Because you like to sleep in Mase.”
“Yeah, when I’m at my own house! Not a guests house! And what was that? A busy day? No one told me.”
“Because you slept in.”
His eye twitched. “You’re fucking me.”
You sighed. “Look, it’s going to be a long day but it’ll be good for you and dad, I promise.”
Your boyfriend rolled his eyes. “Yeah, did I tell you how he had me hooked up-” he stopped and chuckled to himself, knowing you’d call his bullshit. “You know what, never mind. I’m going to shower.”
“You can use my bathroom.”
“Trust me, I was going to.”
He stalked off and you followed him upstairs and the two of you got ready together. The shower was short and once everything was finished and you both were dressed, you looked at him.
“Babe, did you bring a jacket?”
Mason cocked his head. “No?”
“You’re gonna need one, we’re literally at the top of the United States, it’s not warm here.”
He watched as you slipped on your trainers and shook his head. “Before we left, you told me I’d just need a few sweaters. You said nothing about a jacket. Did you bring a jacket?”
“No because this is my home. All of my clothes are here.”
This was not a battle worth fighting and Mason sighed. “Fine. Where am I gonna find a jacket?”
“Uhh check Alex’s room.”
“Alex? Alex as in your little brother that hides in his room every day? I’m not borrowing clothes from a child!”
You rolled your eyes. “Mason please. He’s seventeen and it’s either that or dad’s clothes. I’ll be downstairs.”
He mocked you. “Of course.”
Walking out of your room, he wandered to the end of the hall and looked up at the small camera that was resting in the top corner beside a picture. Shaking his head, he knocked on the boys door.
“Hey Alex, Y/n sent me in here.”
Silence.
Mason twisted the knob and pushed the door open. He whistled at the choice of decorations n the room and shut the door behind him.
Posters littered the wall and most of them weren’t the kinds any parents would want to see. Shaking his head, Mason began looking for a jacket until the window cracked open.
“Who the fuck are you?” the teen asked, climbing through the window and into the room.
Mason smiled. “Hi, your sister sent me-”
Alex laughed, cutting Mason off. “You’re that weird British guy that’s dating my sister! Shit, the accent is even funnier in person.”
The kid continued to laugh and Mason said nothing.
“I’m sorry, did you need something?” Alex asked between laughs.
“Yeah. A jacket.”
Pulling a random one from his bed, he threw it at the Englishman. “Don’t worry it’s clean.”
Mason gave a curt nod and turned around to leave before the kid called him.
“By the way,” Alex whispered. “Don’t say anything about me coming through the window, mom had me on house arrest since last week.”
Probably for a good reason.
“Sure.” Mason mumbled, escorting himself out of the room.
This is what he had to go through just to marry you. Unbelievable.
He went down the stairs and was greeted by a paper shoved in his face by your dad.
Taking the paper from his hands, Mason read it and looked up. “An itinerary?”
“Yes, we leave in five minutes Mount. Alex! Get down here.”
“Coming!” Alex’s voice rang from upstairs and you dad smiled.
“Four and a half.”
Mason smiled back and turned to you. “Your brother is an ass.”
You smiled. “He’s seventeen Mase, he’s not gonna take a lot of things serious. Are you riding with me?”
-
The day started off with fittings for the clothes for the wedding. Mason found himself on the one side of the parlor with the other men and was isolated the whole time. Rick and Jason wanted nothing to do with Mason and your dad kept them engaged in a conversation. Alex had to be in a corner snorting a line so Mason didn’t care much.
Inspecting his self in the mirror, he stepped out of the fitting room and looked at Jason. “This is it.”
Your dad looked from afar and nodded as the other men swarmed Mason and walked off before looking for his son.
Alex was hunched over the couch where all the jackets where and he seemed to be looking for something. Ben only stood behind him and waited before clearing his throat.
“Alexander.”
The boy jumped and turned around fast. “Yes sir? I mean, dad.” Alex smirked.
“Don’t be a jackass. What’s in your hand?”
“Uhh, what?”
Ben sighed. “In your hand. What is it?”
He reached forward and pulled his sons hand and his mouth fell open. Looking at his son for an explanation, he waited.
“I found it in that guys jacket. I was looking for my wallet in my jacket and that thing fell out.”
“What guy?” your dad asked.
Alex pointed at Mason. “The guy with the accent.”
Ben frowned and looked at the thing. The thing was a handheld bong and your dad nodded. “Alex, do you know what that is?”
“No dad, it looks like some science thing?” the teen scratched his head in fake confusion and your dad shook his head.
“It’s a bong. This is how you smoke marijuana son.”
Alex faked a gasp. “So Y/n’s boyfriend does drugs!”
Ben turned to Mason’s direction and watched as the man slipped back into his dressing room. “Appears so. Excuse me.” Turning away from his son, he missed the small smile that grew on the boy’s face as he stormed to Mason’s dressing room.
That Mount was dead.
-
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krmy2386 · 1 year
Text
Stupid Jar Opener
Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x reader
PLEASE DON’T STEAL!!!
Be kind😅 I wrote this in about 20 minutes…
I have had NO MOTIVATION recently… this is my attempt to get back to it❤️.
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Rooster woke up with the biggest smile on his face. He had been gone for almost three months on a deployment. He came home to his cozy house and his beautiful wife.
Rooster reached to feel for Y/N and was met with the cold bed. He smirked. Though he wished to hold on to her for a little bit longer this morning. He knew where she was. He knew that despite being separated for months, she wanted to keep their home as normal as possible for him. And on Saturdays, Y/N would wake up, start coffee and start to make breakfast.
Nothing too special, just eggs, bacon and toast. Bradley knew Y/N didn’t have to do this. He knew this wasn’t some kind of prehistoric mindset of women serving. He knew this was her own special way of showing love. Y/N was an incredibly independent person. But there was one thing. Every Saturday, like clock work, Rooster would be woken up by Y/N holding a jar of his favorite jam, pouting.
He knew it drove her crazy that as a strong adult woman, she couldn’t manage to open a jar. Bradley would gladly, and smugly, open it every time. All while silently praying Y/N never caught on to the fact he was secretly tightening it Friday nights before bed.
Bradley knew this was an insane thing to do. But since he was gone so much, he enjoyed feeling needed while he was at home. As he laid there the smile slowly faded from his face. It had been about 20 minutes and there was no Y/N and no jar.
He was about to get up and see is she had run away when the door opened. Bradley looked to the door and smirked, “Jar trouble again?”
Y/N rolled her eyes, “Not this time. Breakfast is ready.” She said sassily as she turned and walked away.
Bradley froze. ‘What?’ Roaster thought. ‘She doesn’t need me to open the jar? That is literally all I am good for around here!’
Bradley quickly got up and rushed to the kitchen. He stared at the table which had not one but three different jars of jams and jellies almost mocking him.
A smiling Y/N handed him a plate and he snapped, “Are you breaking up with me?”
“Bradley we’re married. What are you taking about?” Y/N asked.
“Then what the hell is this?” Bradley said starting to panic.
“Breakfast?” Y/N asked again, even more confused.
“I MEAN THE JARS! How did you open them?” Bradley said almost yelling.
Y/N looked at her husband’s very serious face and then broke into laughter.
She walked to the counter and opened a drawer revealing a plastic apparatus.
“It’s a jar opener.” Y/N said calmly, as if talking to a spooked animal. “I got it so I could still eat while you were gone.”
Bradley looked at the inanimate object and immediately recognized it as the enemy.
“No.” Bradley said, “Get rid of it! Opening jars is literally the only thing you need me for and I will not be replaced by a wannabe can opener!” Bradley was deathly serious.
Y/N, however, was in tears from laughter. She understood where Bradley was coming from and thought this might happen. But never fear, she had a plan.
“Well you two will have to learn to get along. Now eat before it gets cold.” Y/N said and then kissed his cheek.
Bradley pouted and sat down. ‘Now what will happen? She’s going to realize I’m useless around her and leave me!’ He thought.
Y/N could tell by his silence that her loving, but over dramatic, husband probably thought they were as good as divorced.
“Oh! While I’m thinking about it,” Y/N said, getting Rooster’s attention.
“The step-stool broke while you were gone and I haven’t been able to get a new one. Can you please check and change some of the lightbulbs when you get a chance?”
“YES!” Bradley shouted, “Absolutely! In fact I’ll go do that now!” He rushed off leaving half a plate of food.
‘Ha! Take that stupid jar opener!’ He thought to himself.
Y/N shook her head and smiled. She knew it would work.
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sodamnradd · 9 months
Text
Near midnight Draco yanks his front door open, wand in hand, suspicion etched all over his face.
Hermione stands on the top step, a rather sorry cupcake melting in her hand. “You didn’t come.”
She’s zipped into a little black dress with crisscross straps all along the sides and a swooping neckline he spends a breath too long gawking at.
“You never said it was mandatory.”
She wobbles on the edge of her heel, but when Draco reaches for her, she pulls back, scowling.
“Happy birthday.” She hands him the sorry cupcake.
He stares at the sticky mushy thing and notices a goopy swirl that might be a blazing comet on a bed of Slytherin green. “What’s that?”
“A Snitch. They ate the rest at the surprise party you didn’t show up to.”
His heart sinks. “I didn’t know.”
“Rather the point of a surprise party.”
“Who was there?”
He can’t imagine anyone showing up except for maybe Potter because she’s got some kind of magnetic pull over him. Draco suspects he’s suffering from a similar syndrome. Because, say, if Granger had insisted he show up tonight, Draco would have. He almost asks why she didn’t demand it of him.
“Everyone. My friends. Yours.”
“You spoke to my friends?” he asks, jarred.
“They were amused when we thought you were late. Then they all seemed sorry for me. Thought I was delusional for misinterpreting our relationship.”
“…our… relationship…” It’s not what she means. Of course, it isn’t.
‘Our’ pangs in his brain until it becomes rhythmic. A marching band beat of our, our, our.
His eyes wander. Her outfits are never so short, though they ought to be because Granger’s thighs are magnificent. He envisions dragging icing over them and running his tongue—
His face flames. “I’m sorry, Granger. I just wanted to spend my birthday alone.”
“Why? You love to be pampered.”
True. He grins. “Were you going to pamper me?”
A curl falls over her face as she lowers her chin, and he feels the burning need to tuck it behind her ear. But as the rest tumble forward, he realises she’s hiding. His chest tightens. He feels awful for making her feel small. She’s a mammoth in his mind. All five foot two of her. All the time.
“I don’t know why I came. See you on Monday.”
He feels like an arse. A tongue-tied, idiot arse who doesn’t know what to say to her and instead blurts out: “I didn’t want to spend my birthday watching every bloke at your party try to take you home. It’s bad enough at work. But when there’s liquor and strappy dresses and your thighs… I just needed a day off.”
“A day off from me.”
“From the side-effects of spending time with you.”
“Side-effects? Like I’m some sort of disease?”
“Probably!”
“Wow, Draco.” She glowers. “Just wow.”
“Nobody makes me feel this way. My palms are always sweaty. My stomach is in knots. I can’t speak properly around you half the time. It takes ages to focus because I’ll spot a lipstick stain on your stupid S.P.E.W mug and my mind launches into space. Like this fucking comet.”
“It’s a Snitch.” She steps forward, cat-like. Close enough to smell the perfume on her neck. His trousers are suddenly too tight. And that’s before she swirls her finger through the comet-Snitch icing and draws it to her mouth. “Butterscotch.”
He gulps. His favourite.
She drags her finger through it again, offering it to him. “Want some?”
His lips part and holy shit Hermione’s finger is in his mouth and he’s seconds away from coming in his fucking pants.
He tears back.
She steps forward.
“Granger,” he snipes like a spooked animal.
“Don’t be rude, Draco. I baked them just for you.”
Oh Gods.
She dunks her finger into the cupcake again. “Just a little more.”
“Stop.”
“Be that way.” She drags her finger between her lips and makes a moaning noise that joins ‘our’ in sounds he’ll never get out of his head.
“Ask me.” She’s looking up at him with her career confidence. Mouth wet.
He shakes his head, dazed. “What?”
“You said you didn’t want to see other blokes trying to take me home. Well, here I am at your doorstep and you haven’t even asked if I’d like to come inside.”
“Would you like to come inside?” he manages roughly, wondering if he’s hallucinating.
Hermione snatches the smeared cupcake from his hand and waves at the door. “It’s still your birthday for seven minutes. Think we can make them count?”
Oh, they make them count.
(768 words, prompt: you didn't come)
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chickenparm · 5 months
Text
Tiny Little Teeth (cat!Scara/f!Reader) Pt 2
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cat(boy)!Scaramouche/f!Reader - Reader is Traveler 2,628 Words - SFW (future NSFW) (no warnings this chapter - smut tags are on AO3)
---
Scarameow likes human food, you realize.
You try a few things, some of them he tastes, some he quite obviously doesn’t care for with how he bats at it. Eventually he settles on a sashimi platter, using some of the most expensive ingredients you have. As he sits on top of the table and eats, you prop your chin on your palm and watch with minor annoyance. 
“I can’t afford to feed you and Paimon. She eats extra portions, and you want the most expensive. You’re going to leave me destitute.”
Scarameow doesn’t even acknowledge you. But he does eat the entire portion you gave him, and you stash the rest in the ice box to feed him later. You can see his stomach is full, and as he sprawls lazily on the table you feel the urge to just squish him and kiss him a thousand times. But you don’t because as funny as it was at the beginning, his obvious annoyance started to make you feel kinda bad. 
But you do scoop him into your arms, holding him like a baby as he yowls and wiggles half-heartedly. Too full to really want to fight back, he finally settles as you shush him and say, “C’mon, let me get a few snuggles in. It’s not really so bad, is it?”
Those big wide eyes look up at you, still angry but less than before. At least he doesn’t bristle, and you feel pride at your little victory as it blooms in your chest with each step from the kitchen. The sun has long since set, and you make your way to the upper level of the home to your bedroom. 
Pushing the door open, you say, “Time for bed, I think. Or at least time to lay down and get comfortable. Down you go,” you say, setting him on your bed before turning to the wardrobe to get something more comfortable to sleep in. Slinging a few things over your elbow, you don’t think twice as you start to unlace your clothing and strip down. 
A startled sound comes from behind you, and you look over your shoulder to see him face-first in the pile of pillows, only his rear and tail sticking out. His puffed-up stail stands straight and on-end, like he’s terrified, and you hurry to finish dressing before heading over to him and scooping him once more to hold in your arms. 
“What’s got you worked up?” You ask with concern, and he seems to relax almost immediately upon looking at you. Confused, you look around to see what it might have been. A sudden appearance from Tubby or Paimon, maybe? But neither are nearby, and you don’t sense any other presence in your teapot, so you just sigh. 
Probably spooked himself. 
Sitting on the bed, you pull the blankets over yourself and look at him sitting near your feet, like he’s not sure what to do. Reaching a beckoning hand out, you say, “If you wanna cuddle, I won’t make fun of you. You’re still so small, you must not be used to being alone, huh?”
If cats could frown, he’d have one set deeply on his little face. You laugh lightly, wiggling your fingers as if to entice, “I won’t get your tummy, I promise.”
His ears flick back for a second at the mention of something so demeaning, but your promise makes him loosen up in the smallest increment. With careful steps he walks along the bed, each paw pressing tentatively before putting his weight down, like he’s nervous to step on you completely. Even if he did, you don’t mind, and as he gets closer you lay down to let him choose where he goes. 
You expect against your side, or your hip, or even in the crook of your arm if you were being wishful. But he instead walks along your stomach before settling right on your chest, tucking his legs and tail in as he looks down at your face with something almost challenging. Like he’s ready for you to make a joke or say something about how cute he is.
But you promised you wouldn’t make fun, so you just settle against the pillows and bring one arm up to make sure he doesn’t fall off. “Jeeze, you’re a warm little thing.”
A huff, as if to say, of course. He’s covered in fur, after all. You sneak a quick pet in with your fingers along his back, and he doesn’t fight you off, so you continue. “This is nice. I’ve never had a pet before, y’know?”
One paw reaches out, bopping you on the nose as if to admonish you, but you’re not sure about which part. Calling him a pet, you supposed, and once more you remark, “If I wasn’t sure the real Wanderer would have skinned me alive at this point, I’d almost say you must be him.”
The paw retracts, Scarameow’s head tilts. He doesn’t seem to mind it when you talk so much, and he’s a good enough listener that you find yourself dumping more of your nebulous feelings about the former Balladeer on him. At least he can’t call you stupid for feeling attached after such a short time, or say you’re crazy for even entertaining redemption for what he’s done in the past. 
“Can I say something silly?” You break the silence, and the kitten’s eyes open to look at you expectantly. Like he knows you’re going to say it no matter what answer he tries to give. You like this little guy quite a bit, actually. Turning your gaze to the far window, you murmur, ���I bet Wanderer would be a good cuddler.”
The kitten does nothing, says nothing, doesn’t even seem to breathe as if waiting for you to elaborate. Or maybe you’re projecting and are just looking for an outlet, but you take the chance anyway, “I just bet it’s been a long time. Or maybe not at all. I think he’d be a clinger.”
And then your cheeks warm a little at the mere thought of his limbs wrapping around you, tangling with your own and pulling you close enough that you’d nearly sink into his ribcage. Swallowing dryly, you murmur, “Bet he smells nice, too. Can’t imagine he’d ever stand for anything less than perfect hygiene. His hair always looks so soft.”
The kitten shifts, drawing your attention as you realize he’s pressed his face directly into your sternum, as if to hide. His tail is completely still, tucked tight against him. Even as your palm runs down his spine, he doesn’t unfurl, and you wonder if he’s just settling in to sleep. Placated in your worries, you sigh, “And he has a nice voice. A bit higher in tone but it has this scratchiness to it? It’s hard to explain. Jeeze, it was so hard to explain away my goosebumps to Paimon after the last time I saw him.”
The kitten shifts, one eye peeking at you, and you carefully run your thumb between his eyes, then over top of his head, marveling at the softness of his fur. You could pet him forever and not get tired of it, you think. A smile curls on your mouth, a thought coming to you, “I wonder if he’d be flattered or outraged that I’m saying all this. Probably call me a stupid human and something about how he’d never stoop so low.”
You’re not sure why you feel so at ease just saying all this out loud. But it all tumbles free, one confession after another, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been interested in anyone like this. It’s kind of embarrassing how much he’s in my head. Like… What kind of weirdo thinks about kissing a guy after just helping him with a really harrowing experience?”
Though his eye had been closing again, it opens once more and looks at you with such an odd expression that it gives you pause. Slowly he uncurls, shifting so he instead could turn his head to press against your chest, his ear over your heart. Then, his eyes close again, a huff leaving him and the prickle of claws against your skin. Don’t move, say nothing. It’s as if you can hear him meowing those words at you. 
What a cutie. 
---
The morning comes no earlier or later than when you wake up. Tubby has a way of knowing exactly when you’re on your way to rousing, and the sun starts to turn the sky grey with its arrival. A pleased sigh leaves you; it’s been a while since you were able to sleep in a real bed. 
Tugging the pillow closer you press your face in, just as another sigh harmonizes with your own. The kitten, you remember, and you’re on your side so he must have moved, right? Still too tired to really hunt him down, you start to relax again, just as something tickles at your mind. 
Your pillow is solid, shifting in your arms up and down in a gentle rhythm. It’s breathing. Your eyes snap open, and all you see is a mess of indigo hair in your face. All you feel is arms wrapped around your body, legs tangled with your own, steady open-mouthed breaths along your neck. 
Slowly, your hand reaches the nape of their neck. Soft hair meets your touch, and as soon as you thread through it, the person clinging to you shivers. Then a little groan in a painfully familiar voice, the sound pressed right against your pulse point and it travels through your veins.
There’s no mistaking it, and you try your best not to panic as he starts to shift, his face turning more for his nose to drag along your neck, arms pulling even tighter. Then, so quietly you almost think he’s just murmuring in his sleep, Wanderer says, “...Guess I am clingy.”
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luveline · 2 years
Text
bright white stars | sirius black x reader 
summary sirius wants you to sit on his face, and he’s very convincing
warnings nsfw (18+ please) shy!reader, fem!reader, oral fem receiving, idiots in love, praise, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader [word count: 2.9k]
<3
He convinces you like this.
You’re slouched on the sofa with him, sideways, your leg pulled over his leg, his hands absentminded but devout where they massage your thigh. He’s driving you insane in the way his pinky finger will occasionally brush up against the apex of your thighs because he genuinely doesn’t seem to notice that he’s doing it. 
You’re turned on to the point of no return. Luckily, the music he’s playing is enough to hide your rugged panting. It’s all over as soon as he turns his head — Sirius knows you too well. If he sees the look on your face, spots the amorous twisting of your traitorous mouth or the way your eyes are screwed closed, he’s going to tease you within an inch of your life. 
His hand pauses a hair's width from your core. You’re not sure if you should be relieved or disappointed. Disappointed, you decide, when he starts to talk like nothing has happened, thought to him nothing has happened. 
“I’ve been thinking about something,” he says, voice quiet but firm, more serious than he usually sounds. 
“Dangerous,” you say, a little breathless. 
“You think you’re so funny,” he says, though he’s smiling. You crane your head to watch him lick his lips. “You can say no, obviously.”
That doesn’t inspire confidence. 
“D’you wanna sit on my face?” he asks, finally turning to look at you. 
You suppose you’re still a mess from wanting, and though the suggestion horrifies you, you must look pretty turned on by the idea. A grin stretches across his lips, so pleased that you almost go along with it. 
“You want to?” he asks, excited. 
You wince. “Sirius, I can't.”
“You could.”
“I couldn't.” You shake your head. The idea is tantalising and taboo to you. Letting him eat you out is still new, still scary in its newness, even though you really, really enjoy it. 
He pouts. “It’s just like letting me eat you out, but you’re on top.”
“I’ll crush you,” you say with a nervous laugh.
He sighs forlornly but recovers fast, hand pushing up to your slick, clothed cunt as he squeezes your leg tightly. “That’s okay, sweetness. Tell me if you change your mind?”
You nod, biting your lip to stop from moaning aloud. He notices, smug son of a bitch, and squeezes harder. You’re unsurprised when he rubs against your cunt with the flat breadth of his palm and smiles, saying, “I got you so bad. You think I didn’t notice your little noises?”
It’s not long after that when he tries again. 
“What part are you afraid of, doll?”
Crushing you. Squishing you. Suffocating you, you think.
You don’t manage to say any of this. You’re in his bed, the two of you freshly showered. There’s been a smattering of sweet goodnight kisses and the lights are off — you hadn’t been expecting to continue this conversation tonight. 
“We could practice,” he says. You laugh under your breath at him and he smarts, “I’m serious. You don’t have to undress, just practice sitting on me. It’s not as scary as it sounds.”
He sounds so soft and you’re secretly desperate to try it under all your anxiety. You’re tentative as you say, “I’ll sit on your chest. Your chest.”
“Sounds perfect.”
It’s completely quiet, the only sound’s your breathing and the crinkling of fresh sheets being pushed back as you climb out from under them. Sirius gets comfortable and pats his tummy, voice quiet like he’s afraid to spook you. “You got it. Right here, sweet thing.”
Your legs fold, one on either side, thighs spread out over his ribs. You’re in your underwear and a small vest top, scanty enough to be embarrassed about. Still, it’s better than being naked. 
Sirius reaches out and flicks on the bedside lamp. You hold your breath as he takes you in, eyes running down the planes of your face, your chest, lingering on the flesh of your thighs. 
“My eyes are up here,” you mumble. 
He barks a laugh. “Sorry. How are you feeling? Wobbly?”
Far from it. Sirius has brought his hands to your waist, effectively clamping you down. Not that you’d fall without them, you’re hardly towering over him. This isn’t so different from straddling him. 
“Come closer?” he asks softly. 
You shift closer, your heartbeat loud in your ears. His hands move to your hips, the very tops of your thighs as you come into range, his mouth striving forward for a quick kiss against your leg. You go a bit blind, the idea that he’s so close to your core sending a rush of heat through you. 
Sirius runs his hands down your legs. You brush the long hair from his face carefully, distracted by his pretty face. You’re soft and slow as you go, tucking black kinks behind his ears with the barest touch of your fingertips. When you lean forward, you can feel your cunt press against his chest. You’re so embarrassed by this point you don’t think you'll ever be able to sit on his face, deep in your thoughts as he kisses your wrist, paused above his mouth. You pull it back, looking at your skin like there might be a mark, a kiss print, but of course there isn’t. 
Sirius smiles gently. “Get out of your head, pretty.”
“Are you sure I’m not too heavy?” you ask, too loud. Trying to draw away from your obvious arousal.
Your volume gives you away. His soft smile turns knowing, and his hands grow tighter on your thighs. He pulls one towards his searching mouth and you move closer still, sighing when his mouth connects, opens, and he plants big scraping kisses along your inner thigh, making his way slowly inwards. 
Your brain melts. You're worried about what he’ll find if he looks, knowing this anticipation is noticeably turning you on. He doesn’t look. He plants small chaste pecks over the lightly bruised flesh he’s left in his wake, your one thigh pulled so close to him that you’re skewed on top of him. 
His hand brushes the waistband of your underwear, fingers hooking in the elastic. He pulls them lightly away from your skin, teasing you as he runs his fingers back and forth. 
“Sirius,” you whisper, seeking comfort from your boyfriend, who also happens to be the one causing this overwhelming feeling. He nods into your skin to show he’s listening. “Siri, I can’t do this.”
He lets his head fall back into the pillow, looking at you with his face showing no emotion, his hand reassuring on your leg. “‘Cos you don’t like it or ‘cos you’re embarrassed?”
You hate him. “Can’t it be both?”
“Baby, we won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” he says, eyes locked with your eyes, nodding, “yeah? But…” His hands coast down your thighs and pull you in, your weight settled just before his neck. His eyes flick to your underwear and then back to your face, trying to hide his lopsided smile from you. “I can see that you like it.”
The time it takes you to understand his meaning is very small. You don’t mean to, but you bend over him and hide your face in the space to the right and above his head, groaning to yourself, alight with shame. Sirius says, “Oh, bub,” and his hands come up to your back. You can feel his lips and their heat on the slice of uncovered skin at your waist. 
This is it. This is the embarrassment you can’t recover from. 
“It’s okay,” Sirius says, laughing. You seize up, your arms wrapped around his head. You hide your lips in his hair and grumble, eyes burning. Sirius pulls you closer - and how much room could there possibly be left? - hugging your waist. 
It’s not the worst hug you’ve ever had. In fact, it’s a strange position, but it’s nice. 
“Is it bad?” you whisper. 
“No, my poor girl,” he laughs again, “just a little damp patch. I’ve done worse to you.”
"I'm sorry." 
"Why are you sorry?" he asks. You hear him catch himself, like he's going to leap into comforting you but thinks better of it. 
You flounder. "I didn't mean to." 
Sirius pats your back and you take it as a symbol to remove yourself, though he seems mildly frustrated when you move onto his ribs again. Too far away to cradle your face when he reaches, his hands find yours. He twines your fingers together, his eyebrows furrowed. 
"I like that you like this," he says. 
"But it was only supposed to be practice." 
"Loving you isn't something I need practice at.” You scowl at him because he's being cheesy for your sake, and he amends, "Okay, turning you on isn't something I need practice at. I'm actually quite good at it, wouldn't you say so?" 
You nod, your cheeks burning. 
"I meant what I said, I would never have you do something you don't want to do." 
"I know that," you say sheepishly. 
"I know you know. So we can go back to bed, if you want to. This was a good practice," he says, smiling. 
You bite the inside of your bottom lip, breathing harder than you realise. You squirm without thinking, uncomfortably wet. 
"Or I can take care of you. Whatever way you want," he says, quieter. "You don't have to-" 
"Okay," you say. "Okay." 
You use your knees to climb up and take off your underwear. It's difficult to do and you can't look at him as you go, but after a moment you find yourself with your knickers around one calf and your heat pressed to his shirt.
You chance a glance at your boyfriend. He looks surprised and pleased and dark, his eyes smug. 
You spread your hands open over his chest. "I love you," you say, though you meant to say something cool, like don't let me fall. 
Sirius grins. "I love you," he says. "Kiss?" 
You move cautiously down to kiss him, feeling like every brush of fabric is electric. He kisses you once, twice, his lips practiced. He knows everything you like. 
"Thanks, bub," he says as you pause, hovering just above him, "but that's not where I meant." 
He's a fucking liar but he knows how to get you. 
"Sirius-" 
"Come on, baby. I won't let you fall, alright? You know I won't." 
You take a deep breath, watch your own chest expand and shake your head, thinking, fuck it.  
You crawl towards Sirius' face. He smiles with his nose crinkled up, altogether too pleased as his arms slide under your thighs. You let him guide you down. 
"Tell me if you don't like it," he says, the heat of his breath on your cunt. 
You've just enough wits to say, "Okay," breathlessly.
He starts with a kiss. You're still hovering, refusing to put your full weight down on him, and you really can't look at him or you might burst. You stare at the wall with your eyebrows pushed up at the starts, hugging yourself. 
He's very slow. He kisses the skin outside of your clit, his open mouth burning hot as he presses his lips together over your skin. You shudder as he finds your clit, giving it a little kiss and then pulling the bead into his mouth. 
Your hands leap for the headboard. Sirius pulls your cunt to his face properly, fingers cruel in the dough of your thighs. You know he's saying relax. 
Your breath hitches and you feel his laugh vibrate through you, which causes another hitch. 
His tongue appears suddenly and searching, licking hot stripes from the well of slick at your entrance to your clit. He laps your cunt and his hands tighten like he can't get close enough. 
You gasp as he suckles on your clit, forcing yourself to look down. His eyes are closed, his face bobbing against you. You scoop the hair from in front of his face and hold it away, pulling a little as he nibbles you lightly. 
You make a sound you hate and he adores, his hand searching up your thigh. Your knees are either side of his head at this point, thighs already trembling from his ministrations. 
He kisses your skin, the bottom of his face shiny with a clear sheen. His eyes open to find you already staring at him pleadingly. 
Sirius grins. "You taste fucking amazing." You shake your head but he doesn't stop there, hand pulling at your arse, licking up a dribble of slick. His voice is husky when he says into your skin, "So fucking wet." More like he's talking to himself than you. "My pretty pussy, dripping all over me." 
He gets a glint in his eye, his hand coming up to play with your clit while he talks. While he teases. "Gotta kiss you all clean before you ruin the sheets, sweetheart." He laughs like he's having a really good time and you laugh, too. 
"Shush," you say, stroking his hairline.
"Alright, I'll be quiet. Y'make enough noise for the two of us, anyway," he mumbles, pressing his mouth to your heat again. 
You really do feel like he's kissing you clean, his mouth searching and licking all over you, sucking at your wet entrance, climbing over your clit. His suckling builds, your hips rock without meaning to and he groans into your heat at the sounds you're making, breathless moans, pleading little sounds for him to keep going. 
He hits a long pull of pleasure that has you seeing bright white stars, neck arching as your eyes close. His grip is bruising, keeping you still where every instinct is to squirm, ardent in his exploration. 
He hums into you. You keen, instinctively moving away. 
"Ah," you say, like you've been burned.
"Come back," he says jokingly, then with a small pout, "come back." 
"Don't do that," you admonish. 
"Why? Don't like it?"
"No, I'll…" 
"S'like that's the whole point!" he says, rolling his eyes. He braces his hands under your thighs and spreads you a little wider, giving your cunt a big kiss as he says, "You gonna cum on my face? Please?" 
"I hate you," you say, shuddering as he starts eating you out again. 
You whimper as he goes, knowing you're a slick mess and he's likely worse, rivers of pleasure moving all the way from your cunt where he laps to your chest to your throat, eyes slipping closed over and over. You fight the overwhelming pleasure, hand in his hair and hips twitching, cunt grinding against his mouth. 
You know what he's doing before he starts, almost singing into your clit. You wobble as his own body moves behind you, his hips searching upwards for you. You want more than anything to make him feel as good as you do right now but know the offer would be met with indignation, having tried before, especially when you're on the precipice of an orgasm and he's trying everything to give it to you. 
He pinches your clit between his lips and you feel the barest hint of teeth. You seize up around him, thighs squeezing his face and hips locking down, tugging his curls spitefully as you cum, moaning so loudly you have to bite your index finger to smother it. 
You pant over and over, bent, trying not to collapse. "Oh, Siri," you say tearfully. 
And then you remember your poor boyfriend underneath you.  "Oh!" You flinch and almost throw yourself backwards, a tangle of your legs and his arms as you roll off of him and onto the bed. 
“I’m sorry!” you say.
You think he might be dead for the split second he lies there motionless, then he sits up and his face is covered in you, and he wipes his face with the side of his hand and smiles a shark-tooth grin. 
You hold your hand to your sensitive cunt without thinking and his eyes follow. 
"You sound so fucking hot. You know that? Fuck, I'm gonna ruin you. Come here," he says. 
You smile despite yourself and crawl into his open arms, mess pressed over what you can feel is his hard cock in his boxers. You set about wiping his face dry with the end of your shirt.
"You just flashed me," he informs you kindly.
You flush from head to toe and drop the hem though he's laughing loudly, a barking chuckle that you adore. 
"No! Don't cover up, I wanna see 'em. They're just as pretty as your lovely cunt." 
You slap his chest lightly. "Stop it." 
He's smiling as he presses his lips to your warm cheeks, a peppering of kisses. His skin is wet despite your attempts to dry him off, and he smells unmistakably of sex. 
"You like it," he murmurs happily.
You wrap your arms around his neck and nestle your nose into his skin. "Nah." 
"Shut up. You're a fucking lousy liar."
That makes two of you.
You giggle, the high of being loved and being pleasured mixing into one. You push down into his lap and grin when he hisses, mocking as you say into his throat, "I was promised a ruining." 
"Now you're brave? Fine. Remember you asked for it." 
<3
𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍
thanks for reading ❤️
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zeestarfishalien · 1 year
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Part 4: Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust
The pull returns as soon as Jason steps foot outside the cemetery gates. Something in him urges him to hurry.
It doesn’t make logical sense. It’s just a dead body in an unmarked grave. That’s certainly nothing new or surprising for Gotham. Jason is not about to let it slip through the cracks but right now he has other more time-sensitive things to get done.
He slips on a comm.
“Hey O, you there?”
Her response takes less than 3 seconds. [What is it, Jaybird?]
“I’ve got an unmarked grave in a back corner of the Gotham City Cemetery. It’s at least a couple years old.” He pauses on the street corner to glance back at the cemetery gates. For just a second he thinks he spots a set of glowing green eyes but it's gone in a blink.
[And?]
Bab's question pulls Jason back out of his head.
“And I want to get a look at the body and everything so that the cops don’t conveniently miss anything.”
[You know what B is gonna ask,] she warns.
He sighs and drags a free hand down his face. “I know and I don’t have a good reason for why I was there. Just…gut feeling I guess.”
[We can keep this from him for now, at least until we go digging,] she replies.
This is why she's Jason's favorite pseudo-sibling. She's good at keeping secrets from B. He doesn't even have to ask most of the time. She just understands how much of a nosy bastard Bruce can be and more importantly, she understands that some things need to come out in their own time.
"Har har, O. You're hilarious," he deadpans back.
[Of course I am. Someone had to inherit Alfred's impeccable sense of humor.]
"Oh please, you wish." Jason snorts. "I gotta get back to business. Catch you on the flip side."
[I'll set up an algorithm to try to run through and narrow down footage from around the cemetery, but you better bring me some donuts when you next come by. The good ones from that shop near your place outside Burnley,] she orders and hangs up before Jason can respond, leaving him smiling as he removes his comm.
He has a few crime-time things to work out but then he can focus on the unmarked grave.
Things are a mess in his crew right now. Things are just not going Jason’s way today. A seller got spooked and dumped the product in the harbor. Bill’s wife went into labor prematurely, so there went one of Jason’s best henchmen. What? He’s not a monster. He did catch one of the new guys selling to kids and had to deal with that. By the time he finishes up a plenty eventful patrol, he is exhausted and pretty much just collapses in a pile of goo on his bed. Not even the insistent tug can keep him up beyond a passing thought to try to find more information later today when he wakes up.
The opening chords of Holding Out for a Hero -but not the original Bonnie Tyler version, oh no, it's the version from Shrek the musical- greets Jason's newly conscious mind. There's only one person in Jason's life with enough access and the gall to change their ringtone in his phone to this specific song.
"Dickwad, what do you want?"
[Awe, someone's grouchy. Not happy to hear from your favorite brother?] Dick's whine almost gets a chuckle out of Jason, but he'll deny that to his dying undying? breath.
"Holding Out for a Hero? Really?" Dick's cackle is a deranged sounding thing, especially over the phone. "What warranted a call this early in the afternoon? If it were for the laughs you would've done it where you could see my face when my phone rang."
[Ugh,] Dick complains, [this is why I hate being in a family of detectives.]
"So says the detective."
[Fine, fine. I just got some intel on a group trying to move a new strain of speed. It's some extra nasty stuff and they're looking at Gotham, specifically Crime Alley. I figured I'd see if you want in on it.]
"I'm busy right now, dead body."
[Oh shoot. How fresh?]
"Dunno," Jason sighs. "I found an unmarked grave, definitely old enough for the ground to have settled."
[Oh, if it's that, can't it wait? Body won't go anywhere. Better yet, tip the cops and let them get the initial legwork done,] Dick says lightly. [You can take it after that.]
The tugging in his gut protests at the thought of leaving the body in that grave to the cops, or anyone really.
"Gut says no."
[Jaybird...]
"There's something more here. I need to be the one digging it up, even if I leave it to the cops later on," Jason insists.
[How much of a risk is there of someone finding it in the meantime?] Dick has dropped into his professional voice now and it's weird how reassuring that is, Dick taking him seriously on something that seems so illogical.
"Low. It's tucked back in the far corner of the cemetery, surrounded by trees," he replies.
[Jay...you hate the cemetery. You hate going within three whole blocks of the cemetery. What were you doing there?]
"I needed to check something and that led me to the grave," Jason states vaguely. "Don't ask me how. I'm not sure I even have the words to explain it, especially not over the phone. It feels important Dickie. Logically I know it's just a long dead body, probably bones, but The Black Dog was there for a reason."
[The black dog? What black dog?]
"I think it's an actual church grim, or I guess a barghest in this case since it's a cemetery and not a graveyard.” He can practically feel Dick’s questions bubbling to the surface in the silence between them. “Just, go do some research. Look up Church Grims. I’ve got work to do, plans to dig up the cemetery.”
[Jay, I really think you should wait on this,] Dick begins softly, [take a step back to look objectively.]
“With all due respect Dickerson, shove it up your ass." Jason takes a breath to release the unreasonable annoyance. His voice drops to a soft rumble. "You didn’t see Spooky, the way they looked at me.”
[Oh no…you’ve already named it? We’re doomed!] There’s a pause before, [if you want help with the grave, I’m willing to help dig it up.]
Jason sighs softly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks Dickiebird. You take care out there. Don’t let that ass get shot, your rogues will cry.”
Dick scoffs but Jason hangs up before he can retort. Thus Jason begins his day, light pre-breakfast snack, warm-up workout, breakfast, the rest of his usual prep work for going out as Red Hood.
Jason swears, anytime he goes over with the intention to ask his information dealers about the unmarked grave, something comes up. None of the camera footage he's been sent to review so far has turned up anything. This whole week has been a bust and he's about ready to break out the shovel and go dig that grave up now. He knows it's illogical but he can barely sleep, the thought that he's missing something, that he needs to hurry hurry hurry, keeps him up and he's starting to feel like he's going insane. It's as he decides he going to return to the cemetery that his comm goes off. It's the emergency frequency, the emergency frequency specifically chosen for major Arkham breakouts. Fuck...
It takes the whole next week and a half for them to track down and re-lock up Gotham's worst offenders, even with Jason and Dick's help. Hell, Cass even flew in from Hong Kong. The chaos in the streets and destruction left in the wake of this event are taking even longer to resolve. What few hours rest Jason has been able to snag are plagued by dreams of Spooky and the unmarked grave. There's dreams of everything from the dog dissolving to someone trying to claw their way free of the grave. The latter one spooking Jason the most despite how his logic reminds him that such a thing is impossible. He and Babs have already ruled out the body being dumped recently. She checked the footage when Jason woke from the dream, of the victim being buried alive, for the first time and called her in his paranoid panic. They both understood that it was most likely the trauma, but she'd been kind enough to check just in case.
Jason wakes in a cold sweat to the sharp absence of that soul pull to the cemetery. It's very telling of how used to it he's grown that the absence of it nearly sends him into a state of panic. He's throwing on the closest clothes and nearly half-way out the door before he remembers that he should probably talk to someone. He races back for his phone and jabbing his finger at Alfred's contact before snagging his keys and throwing himself out the doors.
[Young Master Jason. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?]
"The pull is gone," Jason says with no preamble. Alfred is the only person he's gone into detail about the pull of the cemetery to. Even though he hasn't had a chance to speak with him about Spooky, Alfred will understand better than anyone. "Dickie there?"
[Yes, Young Master Richard is currently helping Young Master Damian with his animals out back. Shall I fetch him for you?]
"No, no, have him tell you about Spooky and the grave. You can call Babs in too. She's been helping me with trying to find more info." Jason checks his key chain for the keys to his main storage unit. He has a shovel there. "Also tell Dickie that I'll take him up on his offer to help me dig up a grave."
[Certainly Young Master Jason. Might we be keeping this event "on the down-low" so-to-speak as well?]
"Alfie, you're a godsend. Thank you."
SO! Good news and bad news. Bad news, I had to split this chapter so this is what you get. Good news, I've been on a massive writing spree so the next chapter is well over halfway done. This was honestly the best place to cut this chapter. I'll continue making each chapter it's own post now too, but I'll still link everything together. This chapter and most of the future chapters will probably be titled with lyrics from Momento Mori by Fish in a Birdcage bc it's insane how well that fits.
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jackiequick · 1 year
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Welcome to our lives, princess | Top Gun Maverick Fic 🧸
Top Gun AU series ✈️
Setting: After Top Gun, Pre-Top Gun Maverick
Summary: Pete Mitchell and his friends Tom Kazansky and Audrey Davidson didn’t expect in 1987 to be greeted warmly with a knock on his door at 4 in the morning by a social worker carrying a small bundle of joy and paperwork. In her arms, held the one and only daughter of Maverick Mitchell.
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The night was dead silent, having just arrived the last 24 hours before from a 4 week long deployment. The statement of the household wasn’t nothing grand but it was home, no one cared. Tom was dead asleep soundly in his bedroom, when the barking sound of the doorbell woke it him up. He wasn’t sure it was their drunk friends or some idiot freshman playing ding dong ditch on them again, either way he rolled out of bed slipping on a navy blue t-shirt and headed downstairs.
The moment he opened the door, he was greeted by a middle aged woman wearing glasses and a pencil skirt, with a very tight ponytail. She was holding a dark gray carrier but Tom wasn’t given a chance to full process the image in front of him. “Are you Mr. Peter Mitchell?” She asked, fixing her weight.
Tom furrowed his eyebrows and blinked a few times, “I’m sorry, who are you ma’am?”
“I’m Linda Colins. A social worker for California state, are you Mr. Mitchell, sir?”
“Ah um, no he’s upstairs asleep. He’s my roommate. I’ll get him for you.”
Tom lead the woman into the living room, watching her put the dark gray carrier carefully on coffee table. Once she did so, due to the fact of better lighting from the lamps, Tom was able to finally get a better view of the image in front of him. Inside the carrier held a small baby girl with some dark brown hair sticking up nicely and her skin was a light palette of oli tones. It matched his wingman perfectly, that was Pete’s daughter. He knew he had to call Audrey as soon as possible but first he had to get this gorgeous little girl’s daddy.
Iceman ran upstairs into Pete’s bedroom, quietly but quickly. He seemed so peaceful in his sleep, when Maverick wasn’t being chaotically charming, he was simply darling. Iceman rubbed his shoulder and whisper, “Mav, buddy wake up.” No response only a annoyed groan from his wingman, Iceman rolled his eyes and shock him again saying, “Maverick wake up. You can sleep later!”
Finally Pete Mitchell shot up from his bed grunting from being waken up at 4 in the god damn morning. He sent a sleepily glare to Ice and whisper yelling, “What the hell, Kazansky?!”
“You’ll see. Oh, before we go downstairs remember, your my great friend and I’ll love you all the same doesn’t matter your decision.”
“Okay? You’re being honest and weirdly confusing at the same time.”
Maverick followed his friend downstairs in utter confusion and still pissed off for being waken up this early in the morning. He rubbed his eyes a couple of time until he reached the living room, seeing the sight in front of him. The middle aged woman and the baby girl in the carrier. Pete Mitchell was spooked. He was speechless, he couldn’t speak, only listen to the lady speaking.
“Are you Pete Mitchell?” Said the social worker, holding a file.
Tom answered for him, “Yes he is.”
“Good. I’m going to cut to the chase, you are this little girl’s father. Can you confirm or deny this?”
“Who’s the mother?” Asked Tom once again, his eyes stayed on his friend who’s eyes were trained on the little girl in the carrier.
“Melissa Oxford.”
Pete snapped from his gazed taking a sharp breath and spoke, “Lissa? I um..yeah we met and dated a while back, nothing serious, i went to see her again months before deployment..she was gone, moved back to Indiana to get a job in her home town…or that’s at least what the neighbors told me…”
—-
Truth be told, Maverick wasn’t sure what happened to the woman, but he cared about the ladies he would spent time with even if it was only for a few weeks. Truly his heart belonged to Penny Benjamin but he knew he sadly couldn’t have her, due her father not liking him very much and the life that he tried his hardest lived. Iceman can see the gears and sadness pooling in his friends eyes, knowing he would’ve liked to know sooner and at a better time that his child existed.
The social worker, Linda, spoke again, “Yeah she was pregnant at the time and gave birth to your daughter. Sadly she died due to complications after the birth but said that if anyone deserved to take care of the kid, it should be her father.”
“And?” Pete asked, since he knew there was always a catch to theses things.
“She told the nurses, for me to tell you, that if you don’t want her she can be put up for adoption.”
Pete was frozen hearing all of this and trying to take in all it, he hasn’t even held his daughter yet but he’s being given all of theses information. It made him feel sick, he moved out of the spot he was placed in, moving over to the coffee table. He heard the social worker, Linda, speaking once again but he ignored her as Iceman decided to have a conversation with the woman instead. Tom wanted to give Maverick a clear solid moment with his daughter for himself.
Once Pete reached the coffee table, he pulled back the cover that mostly tried to shield the baby’s face from the light. Peeling over the straps that held the carrier together, he was finally able to take her in. He was met with a half sleep baby girl who yawn as her eyes fluttered gently as if trying to greet her daddy. Maverick can see the similarities between them.
Her color palette of soft oil skin, curled little nose that remind him of his baby pictures, and tucks of curly dark hair that sticked up ever so sweetly. Mostly her eyes said it all, they were a light shade of green that would grow to match his dark green ones. Maverick gently reached forward using the back of his pointing finger to gently and ever so softly run across her round cubby cheeks. Pete smiled as tears slowly appeared, he knew that this was his daughter, pride and joy. His little princess.
“..hi, baby girl. I’m your daddy..” Pete said, carefully taking her out of the carrier realizing that she must’ve been only 4-5 months at least, or he could be wrong. He heard her slight whimpers that soon hushed down once she safely curled in his arms. Her tiny face nuzzled into the crook of his shirt, near his neck as Maverick coo, “..aww sweetheart. I’m right here..don’t worry.”
It was a new kind of love that Maverick felt at the moment, he knew he would get disagreements from his friends about raising her but he didn’t care at the time. He fluttered small kisses onto her forehead and he could’ve swore he saw a tiny smile. He glances at a open file next to the carrier and the only thing that popped out was her last name. ‘Mitchell’ . Pete looked down at her and whispered, “You don’t got a first name, do you? That’s not right, sweetheart.”
He thought for a moment, trying to think of a few classic names for this little girl in his arms. His thoughts were interrupted when Tom came back in the room, taking a seat behind him, his eyes were trained on his friend and new found niece. It was the most adorable sight Iceman has ever seen in the years he’s seen Maverick. Yeah sure he seen Mav and little Bradley Bradshaw together but this was completely different from that. He rest his hand on his shoulder, leaning in to see the baby’s face. She was simply gorgeous.
“Hi princess, I’m your uncle Ice..” Tom said with a smile on his face, “..what we gonna name you?…you like a Penelope or a Nicole.”
Pete chuckled, shifting his quiet little girl who softly babbled in his arms. Mav thought for a moment, “…maybe Jennifer..Jenny?”
“Jenny? I like Penelope and Nicole better.”
“Jennifer P. Mitchell.”
Iceman smiled letting out a small joke, “I like it. But if you have another little girl who appears on our doorstep tomorrow, we’re naming her Nicole.”
“I doubt it, Ice. She’s the only baby girl in the world for this Naval family. Isn’t that right, Princess Jenny?” Maverick smiled, lifting her up as he stayed kissing her cubby cheek.
“She’s got you wrapped around your finger, Mav.”
“Just wait until you hold her, then she’ll be wrapped around your finger too.”
Later on the Linda returned from the kitchen after letting the roommate have a moment with the child, Maverick agreed signing the paperwork with Iceman who agreed to be this little girl’s uncle automatically. Linda Colins left both men with a baby bag and returned home at 5:45am.
Iceman and Maverick stayed up for an extra hour feeding, changing her diaper and putting sleep. Neither one of them really slept that night, taking in all the information and making room for the new attention to the house. Appears that baby Jen was a night owl, because the girl was a tricky one to get to sleep until Ice took it upon himself to sing a lullaby while Maverick took a small nap.
By the morning, 11:25am, the guys called up Slider, Carole and Audrey to tell them about the news. Slider decided to visit later that week, Carole was busy out of town with Bradley, meanwhile Audrey skipped work shortly after hearing the news and drive pasting a few red lights to the Kazansky-Mitchell household. She knocked on the door unable to believe the news until she saw it herself, believing it was kinda prank or that they stole a baby.
Audrey forgot she got keys to this house and once the door open her jaw dropped, having to pick it off the floor. A shocked chuckle escaped her lips at the sight of Iceman burping a adorable baby girl who babbled happily as if she was the princess of sun. The baby girl glowed a breathtaking smile and soft giggle utter under her breath, like she was speaking to Tom.
Maverick come out of the bathroom drying his hands after peeling on a clean burgundy t-shirt while wearing a pair of gray sweatpants smiling, “Hey Mama!”
Audrey snapped out of her trancelike state shaking her head and smiled sheepishly. “Hey—hi! So it’s true, huh? You didn’t steal her?” Audrey said, with a sunny smile taking a step over to her friends watching Maverick take the baby girl out from Ice’s arms.
“Nope. She’s mine and her name is Jenny. Jen, sweetheart, this is your Auntie Sunny! She will try to keep you out of a trouble when your toddler years arrive soon.”
“She’s adorable. Definitely your daughter, she has your eyes, c-can i?”
Maverick was more than happy, he gently set the baby in her auntie’s arms with such joy. Once the shock wiped away from her body, the love and laughter reached Sunset quicker than she imagined, little Jennifer Mitchell shined like the morning skies and babbled softly in her arms. She bounced her a bit as a small laughter escaped from Jenny’s body loving the attention and pure joy surrounding her. The baby girl was comfortable in all 3 of the adults arms, even she only spend half a day with them.
Maverick pulled out his camera snapping a couple of pictures of his daughter and her auntie, a few pictures were already taken of the small family. Pete Mitchell was already planning on buying a baby book this weekend and possibly tricky Slider into giving them a huge baby shower for they don’t have to buy too many stuff. To say Pete Maverick Mitchell was overwhelmed and overjoyed with this new found journey of fatherhood was something he couldn’t describe, especially knowing he had Audrey and Tom there every step of the way.
Thank you for reading this fic and hope you stick around for both in the future! Can’t wait to see your reactions to this haha
Fic tags: @topgun-imagines @mandylove1000 @gaminggirlsstuff @t-nd-rfoot @rooster-84 @theloveoftoms @hangmanbrainrot @msrochelleromanofffelton @hanlueluver @starkleila @gcthvile and etc.
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