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moondirti · 11 months

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animalic (1)

series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 1.9k summary: he won't stop until he gets you warnings: enemies to lovers, injuries, kissing, minor ATSV spoilers, size kink (?), mentions of gore and death, not spell checked nor edited, honestly not my best work but the horny is all that matters notes: stayed up all night for this because i had to get it out of my system before finals. there'll be a few more parts, i promise i'm not this cruel haha

“I thought grace was a prerequisite for your little spider-club.”

Your quip sounds disjointed – even to your own ears – entwined with wheezes that rattle your splintered rib cage. In all honesty, the circumstances don’t seem to be favouring you; he’s got you confined upon the wreckage of your own fight, hanging off the remnants of a crane that dangerously tips over a quarry. And though this isn’t the worst you’ve faced, Miguel’s presence always seems to make things more complicated than they need to be.

You’d had a stable hold on the beam, ready to pull yourself up and dematerialise to wherever he wasn’t. Until, of course, the asshole kicked your elbows off. Now, your fingers remain as your only attachment to the structure, shaking violently with their diminishing strength. Your torso isn’t faring any better, either – the bleeding both internal and trickling from the gashes in your hoodie.

(You wonder if he’s toying with you, like a panther with its food. Of the rare times he’s assigned another spiderman to pursue you, they didn’t tend to drag it out for this long.

But, you suppose, Miguel’s different.)

He takes a small step forward, lifting his foot over your digits. He could crush them like this, turn the bone to powder and keep pressing until it macerates in the gore. You can’t put it past him, really, not if you utter one more self-sabotaging word. You’ve seen him rip through steel and silk alike, fueled on the resentment that simmers deep within his very essence. Yours is merely the same fate that’s befallen every other obstacle that’s dared to come his way.

But the tension buzzes between you two, thickening until it’s palpable enough to taste. Miguel is quiet as ever, completely still save for the flickering light of his dimensional travel watch. You envy his position – that resolute stature, brimful of power as his shoulders square, his calf rippling with subdued strength, still stretched over your hand. You blame that, or the mask, slick with sweat and humid as it sticks to your nose. Or the glasses that slowly slip to reveal your squinting eyes. You blame anything apart from what it is; that fear that steadily begins to flood your senses, numbing it all into one, cohesive panic.

You’ve never been good at life or death scenarios.

“Or, maybe, the big boss thinks he can break his own rules?”

The air snaps. With an infuriated roar, he lunges at you, razor-sharp talons swiping at your face. In your frenzied dunk to avoid them, your fingers drop.

You plunge to the bottomless chasm below.

Okay. Let’s try to get this right, one last time.

Your name doesn’t matter. It hasn’t, not for a while now.

For the past year, you’ve been on the run from the Spider Society. You don’t exactly blame them for it, either. Every world you’ve crashed has gone to shit, despite serious lack of trying. Food-barren wastelands, borderless warzones. Truthfully, after the mantle of Earth 7BB-1 convected in on itself, you were inclined to turn yourself in.

Independant of the fact that Nueva York seems to be the only place you can’t fuck up. Regardless of the relatability you have with the residents of its lobby. You were bitten by a radioactive spider just the same, and for all the good you’ve tried to do, you’ve never been a spider-hero. If it meant that no one else got hurt, you really would have been able to cope with lifetime confinement.

(Greater good and all that.)

Would’ve. Could’ve. If it weren’t for Miguel O’Hara’s interjection, and his goddamn alternative solution, things just might have turned out that way.

You’re not dead.

The realisation whips your consciousness into high alert, eyes snapping open to survey your surroundings. You process the light first, its brilliance piercing through the bromine-doused cotton that stuffs your skull. Then, it’s the pain that, up until this point, had been thrumming in the background. It crackles, marrow-deep, tearing down the tendons in your shoulders to the throbbing area around your ribs. They’re in doubtlessly worse shape than they had been at the quarry, the ache searing across to engulf your spine too.

He had let you fall on your back, that dickhead.

But–

You’re not dead.

It doesn’t take you long to figure out why that is.

A red forcefield entraps you, droning its monotonous hum, partially obscuring everything beyond your own reflection. You can see the faint impression of a silhouette – no, multiple – stalking you on the other end, a great shadow court. They warp and grow with every passing second, gorging on your offered vulnerability, awaiting some wordless signal from the harbinger of death, to execute justice upon the one who’s been causing them so much trouble. Jess Drew. Hobie Brown. Ben Reilly.

(They’d been more forgiving, once. Willing to negotiate peace, to treat you more than the screw up you’ve proven to be.

His voice overrode theirs. Always.)

It’s easier to make out the devil himself – more so than the others. You’ve come to memorise the slope of those shoulders, how his fists clench at his sides as he circles you. You imagine the smug set of his jaw and those eyes, just as luminous as the cage you curl within. The puck at the base is recognisable, akin to the capture weapons he’s thrown at you previously. He’d saved your life, then.

On a technicality. You’ll bury that thought to rage over later.

“How–”

The question hardly forms before you’re ripped in two, the atoms of all but your spirit splicing into one another in a defect of blue and orange. The glitch exacerbates the fractures that threaten to knock you out, racking through your system as it rearranges your matter into amorphous forms. It’s only when something is thrown into the enclosure do you snap back to. A bracelet clatters to the floor.

“Didn’t know whether you’d be used to the glitching yet.” A disembodied voice remarks. It’s at a particularly whiny pitch – you assign it to Ben.

“We… tried to get it on you, kid. But you–” A feminine inflection crops up. Jess sounds the same since the last you spoke.

You glower at them from the corner of your eye – unsure if they can actually see you – and snap the day pass on. Your spectral abilities were handy at the best of times; to shift from the corporeal, coming into immateriality, makes the most complicated situations evadeable. You credit it for your continued survival, if nothing else. Yet to speak like you could control it, especially while unconscious, was pushing it. You clearly weren’t able to activate it when you needed it the most.

And now you’re here.

“I’m not going to ask what you want, so let’s keep this short– y-yeah? Either you let me go, or this Earth’ll be the next to unravel.” Despite your intentions, the demand escapes you in a long-winded croak. You hear Hobie snicker, the laugh teetering the edge of approval. Anyone can tell the promise has no foundation.

“That won’t be happ–”

“Leave us.”

The room clips into white noise. You fail to focus on anything but that echoing order.

His voice comes across clearer than all else, too, cadence resonating past any natural boundary, tugging your heart right where it’s tender. There’s that fear again, that singular dread, only ever triggered by his indifference. Perhaps more potent than fury, his patience gives away an all-assured determination. Deadly.

You bite your cheek, steeling your expression into one of similar apathy. It feels like a child’s attempt at dress up, grubby hands clutched around mother’s lipstick, painting on a clown’s complexion. Crackling apprehension brushes across your most vulnerable parts; layer by layer, you’re skinned as the group files out. Bare nerves are all that’s left for your faceoff with the hulking man.

He throws another puck to the floor. His own forcefield conjoins to yours.

His cheeks have gotten hollower, you notice, emphasising the cheekbones that are just as keen as everything else about him. He offers no smile, no grand boast of victory. Instead, he breathes – calmly, fixedly, and lets you absorb the overwhelming magnitude of his size once more. He’s aware of what it strikes in you, can see it in the way you falter upon every reintroduction. Miguel is colossal, a reality that has never been more apparent than in this cramped enclosure.

You know that if you stop to ponder it, it’ll ruin you.

Rearing on your heels, you bounce from your place on the ground, making a grab for his watch. He anticipates it, having caught the decision blaze in your pupils, and side steps, pivoting to gain the upper hand while your back is still turned. You rebound off the field wall, stumbling back when he yanks you by your hoodie. Your shoulder presses into his chest, and he moves to wrap himself around your form.

Your skin prickles. His body passes right through you.

His recovery time is nearly nonexistent relative to your last fight – quick learner – but you’re still swift on your feet, bolting to his watch again. It’s a millisecond too slow, for his talons sink into your forearm when you start to pull away.

Your pained yelp loses momentum as he slams your back against the wall, using a knee to pin your other arm in place, his free hand wrapping around your neck.

He’s close. Too close. Your stomach flips, pushing up on your oesophagus until you choke with the bile that sears its lining. Your breaths are as deep enough as his clutch will allow, index and thumb cutting off the circulation on both sides of your neck.

Ichor blooms from the puncture points at your wrist, the warmth puddling at your palm, not yet heavy enough to drip down onto the floor. You don’t think he realises how deep his claws are, how near he is to scratching bone. You don’t think you do, either. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and while you’re sure you’ll regret not prioritising it sooner, you don’t think– Don’t think–

“I-I’m not goi…going home,” You gasp.

“It’s not up to you, Wraith.” Miguel growls, chokehold loosening.

It hits you, then. Animalic. He smells addictingly animalic. Like musk, a blend of brine and hot air and hints of a patchouli aftershave that still clings to his jaw. Your eyes flutter, seeking all you can get of the latter. Unwittingly, you move in closer.

You haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time.

His expression oscillates between a sneer and a grimace, nose pulling up to reveal the very pointed ends of his two canines. Set side by side with plush lips, you zero in on the thought of experiencing the contrast with your own.

He’s huge.

Closer.

Completely overwhelms you, in size and presence and–

Closer.

Your ribs ache. Your back groans. You’re quickly losing feeling in your fingers, and movement – soon – if you don’t do something.

Your breath weaves with his. He doesn’t reciprocate when your lips brush, but he doesn’t pull away, either.

You kiss him for longer than you should. Longer than you need to. It’s firm, and not unlike what you expected.

(World-shattering, all the same.)

Your skin prickles. It takes all of your rationale to pull away – dematerializing out of his grasp, and into the portal you’d activated from his wrist.

chapter 2 →

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pandoraslxna · 11 months

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ok but w step bro! neteyam w/ “just the tip” 👀

Infected

Stepbro Neteyam x female omatikaya reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: While on a hunt with your stepbrother Neteyam, he comes in contact with something that makes him act… strange.

Warnings: explicit smut, stepcest (means they’re not siblings related by blood, reader is adopted!), aged up characters, sex pollen, mild dub-con, dry humping, p in v, quickie, semi-public, creampie

Notes: gif made by the amazing @eclipseatsea <3 Anyways, I wrote this in one sitting wtf??🧍🏻‍♀️

Na‘vi translations:

Thanì - little star

Neteyam is hot. No, not that kind of hot— I mean yes, that kind too, but right now he feels hot. Feverish even.

His skin is glistening in a thin layer of sweat, breathing slightly uneven and rapid and eyes almost fully blown. The yellow of his iris has decreased into a thin ring around his pitch black pupils.

You hastily blurt the information of your stepbrothers condition into your throat comm, pacing back and forth in worry. Occasionally, you glance back at Neteyam, who was barely able to hold himself up on his feet, his back now resting against a tree trunk. Every time you looked at him over your shoulder, he seemed to slide further down the trunk, until he was finally sitting down on the ground. His eyes were still glued on you the whole time, following your every movement. You saw the way his nose scrunched and his ears laid flat against his head, his tail trashing against the ground behind his back and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought that he was still hunting.

"Sweetheart, listen", Jakes voice finally snapped you out of your thoughts, "That sounds like he’s been infected with something. Did you two touch or eat anything strange? Got stung by something?"

"No? I- I don’t know, dad, I really don’t", you sigh, "How much longer until you’re here?"

"Twenty… maybe thirty minutes." Not before the eclipse starts, you think, chewing on your bottom lip as the anxiety grows worse. "Make sure he doesn’t fall asleep until I’m there and try to get him some water."

"Yes, yes okay, alright." You nod, even though he couldn’t see it. "Please hurry."

"Breathe, don’t panic, babygirl. It’s going to be alright, I’m sure it’s nothing bad", your stepfather reassures you and the soothing tone in voice actually helps you calm down a bit. "Check him for any stings, wounds or other injuries, okay? And if you find anything, report it back to me."

"Yes, sir."

You tried to focus on that order, because if you were to think even for one second about anything else, you would’ve lost your composure once and for all. Immediately after the line went dead, you turn back to Neteyam. He’s still sitting there, silent, unmoving, just looking at you.

"Dad will be here soon", you mumble, more to comfort yourself than him, as you step closer. "He said I need to check you for injuries."

There’s the slightest movement, barely even a nod from Neteyam as you kneel down in front of him, giving you permission to touch him. With shaky fingers and your heart pounding inside your chest hard enough to break your ribs, you reach out for his hands. You feel his palms first, then his wrist, but nothing. Your hands move further up, checking his arms, shoulders, his chest. Your mouths feels dry, but again, you can’t find anything. Not even a splinter or the tiniest scratch. He seems completely fine. You would’ve thought that there was nothing wrong with him, if it wasn’t so obvious that there was clearly something very wrong with him.

It’s when you’re about to check his back, shuffling closer and leaning forward for a better view, that he suddenly pulls you by your wrists and makes you straddle his lap. The air around you both felt electrifying now, every one of your senses coming alive all at once. You gasped his name in surprise, your face turning bright red from the intimate position you found yourself in, with both of his arms encircled tightly around your middle.

It’s been a while since someone was last this close to you and you couldn’t help but notice every single inch of bare skin that was now touching yours. Your thighs on his, his arms around your middle, your hands on his chest—

But then Neteyam hisses through clenched teeth and buries his face in the crock of your neck and it immediately snaps you back to the fact that your stepbrother was sick. He was sick or injured or eywa knows what he was going through, but it seemingly caused him this much pain and distress, that he was seeking comfort in you.

Cause that’s what it was, right? That’s why he pulled you into his lap. Right?

"A-Are you in pain?"

What a stupid question, you thought, face scrunching up in embarrassment. Of course he was, you knew that already. But what else were you supposed to say to him? You just had to say something, because sitting in a position like this with someone you considered family and not saying anything would’ve made this even more awkward than it already was.

"Hmh", Neteyam only hums. His breath is warm against the skin of your throat, a constant reminder of how close he was to you like this.

"Where?"

Why did that even matter? Maybe you thought, hoped, that he could show you where, that he would point to somewhere and help you understand what was wrong with him.

Well, lucky for you, that’s exactly what he did. With his arms still wrapped around your middle, Neteyam pushed you down harder against his lap, his own hips rising just enough to grind his hard cock against your clothed cunt. "Right there", he groans lowly and in that moment, it felt like all the blood in your veins rushed straight to your head, making you feel dizzy with heat.

You don’t even know why, but instinctively, you try to push yourself off and away from him. Okay scratch that— you knew exactly why. It’s not that it didn’t feel good, it was the fact that it didn’t feel right. Neteyam was your stepbrother, someone you weren’t even supposed to touch like this! Whatever it was, that made him act the way he did, he surely wasn’t himself right now. He would’ve never… or would he?

You shake your head as if to shake the thoughts out of it, hands finding purchase on his shoulders and you attempt to lift yourself off of him again, but his arms hold you secured against him. "Stay. Please", Neteyam murmurs against your collarbone, "You make me feel better."

"I, uhm… I don’t think that’s a good ide—"

You’re interrupted by the sound of your own surprised squeak, when he suddenly lifts you up and quickly, probably a little too quick, lays you down against the ground with a thud. Your back was pressed against the soft grass now and his full body weight laid on top of you, his arms on either side of your head caging you in completely.

Your heart races, hammers against your ribs like a Fkio in a small cage. A new wave of heat spreads all over your body when Neteyam presses his nose against the skin of throat, inhaling as deep as his lungs could expand.

Your arousal and natural scent were so potent on his nose, it was making his mind hazy and his cock strained against his loincloth so tightly, he thought it would tear the fabric at any second. You were trying so hard to hide your own arousal, but he could smell you— could see your flushed face, hear your panting and feel how you tried to squeeze your thighs together, if it weren’t for his hips to be settled in between them.

Neteyam inhales again and his eyes flutter close. He does so, while he continues to grind his cock against your core. The outline of his length getting dragged over your folds and his tip bumping against your clothed clit makes you whimper softly, your noises only egging him on more.

"W-What are you doing?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. You sound so small and uncertain– uncertain if you could allow yourself to feel good, to enjoy this, despite the guilt of doing something so forbidden with him.

"I’m sorry. Feels better when i do that", Neteyam responds, burying his apologies into your skin, "Makes it hurt less." He doesn’t sound uncertain, or guilty for that matter. He sounds desperate, breathless. Like he’s holding himself back.

You could feel Neteyams tail wrap itself around your calf and his breath ghost over the shell of your ear, but then you shake your head and swallow thickly, like it pains you to say this, "You should… probably get off of me."

Not even a second passes, before you feel him grind himself between your thighs again, hard cock gliding over your most private parts, the fabric of your loincloths only adding further to the rough friction and you could feel the wetness pool right there, soaking the fabric.

"Sorry I just… I can’t think. Can’t stop." Neteyam whispers, sending a shiver throughout your entire body.

It was the truth. He had tried to downplay the effects so as not to worry you even more, but ever since he had accidentally inhaled that weird pink dust of this strange looking flower, the one he wanted to pick for you when you had your back turned to him, it had been hard to breath. His lungs, loins, skin, everything felt on fire.

The first touch of your hands on him, skin to skin, had felt like a mouthful of fresh water, cooling down his insides. The first relief he‘s had in hours.

But it still wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed you.

"It’s okay, i know you’re in pain but—"

You nearly moan, just barely managing to catch it before the sound leaves your throat, when he bumps against your clit again. The sounds he coaxed out of you made his blood boil inside his veins.

You had to remind yourself that this wasn’t supposed to feel good, that you were in the middle of the forest, that he was your stepbrother, that his father, your stepfather was on his way to your position, but eywa— eywa, does it feel good when he moves like this…

Neteyam growls into the crook of your neck, bucking his hips just a little harder against you, and it sounds strained, reflecting the state of his body perfectly. "Please, thanì, c‘mon. Fuck. Just the tip, please."

"Teyam, we… we shouldn’t. Dad– Dad will be here a-any minute now." It’s a weak attempt to try and reason him. You’re not even convinced to stop this yourself, if you were being completely honest with yourself. Biting your lip, you had to conceal another whimper from escaping, as he continues to hump you like he was experiencing his rut. At this point, you weren’t sure how much more you could take of this, without giving in to your desires— to his desires.

Neteyam should feel sick about this. He should feel sick about it, but all he could feel was the heat in his guts, the painful throbbing of his cock and the soft of your skin pressed tight against his body.

A warm breath tickles your throat once again, feeling Neteyam inhale and exhale deeply, nosing your skin as if he tried to imprint your scent on his nostrils.

"I‘ll be quick, I promise", he groans, "Eywa, you smell good, r-really good."

As his mouth wanders to your jawline, kissing and sucking, his forehead comes to rest against your cheek and you gasp. He’s burning, his skin feels like it’s been set aflame. This is worse than any fever, worse than any rut.

"O-Okay", you finally agree, all resolve shattering to pieces.

Neteyam moves quicker than you were expecting. One of his hands wedges itself between your bodies, hastily pulling your loincloth to the side, just enough to gain access where he needed to. There’s no time, it seems, no time to take it slow as he fumbles with his own loincloth, flicking the fabric up and out of the way, pulling his leaking cock out from under his coverings and lining himself up with your entrance. He really couldn't think anymore, not of any consequences, not with all the blood pounding through his angry cock, desperation clinging to his body, making his mind hazy and eyes half lidded.

When he pushes your legs up with his free hand, folding you nearly in half, you’re spread wide open for him to push inside, inch after inch. The stretch as he buries himself to the hilt drives every single thought, every worry, every ounce of guilt right out of your head. Neteyam moans, he moans loud and wanton and it’s a sound of relief followed by a deep groan rumbling in his chest.

You never imagined that there was so much space inside of you, but your stepbrother happily claimed all of it, every last bit.

Eywa help him if he doesn’t savor this, because he didn’t know the next time he’ll be able to do this again, if he was even ever allowed to. You’re warm and wet and soft and tight, so tight. Great mother, it felt like his mind was going into overdrive as he began to thrust into you.

His face was still buried into the space between your throat and shoulder and he didn’t plan on moving anytime soon. He’d stay like this forever if he could. Neteyam wants every single breath he takes to be filled with your scent from now on. Whatever it was, that made him act like this, it made him so painfully aware of how sweet his baby sister smelled. How good she tasted, when he ran his tongue over her pulse point and how incredible she felt, wrapped around his cock like a little sleeve made just for him.

"T-Teyam, f-fuck!", it’s a high-pitched whine, followed by a little punched out noise that doesn’t sound like anything that’s ever come out of your mouth before. His movements are jerky and rough, all for the purpose of chasing his own pleasure. The obscene squelching sound from him pounding into your pussy, mixed with streams of moans filled the air around you within seconds.

"Sorry, sorry, I’m— fuck, I’m sorry. You just feel so good, can’t slow down", Neteyam groans into your ear, his words being the complete opposite of his actions. The movement of his thrust are deep and fast, knocking the air from your lungs and causing your eyes to roll all the way back into your head. With the way he was hammering his cock into you, you could feel the mushroomy head of it kissing your cervix over and over again, pummeling against your g-spot on the way.

It’s okay, you want to say. You would, if you were still capable of forming any words on your tongue that weren’t just mewls and curses and brabbled nonsense.

Neteyam was surely aiming to fuck the very soul out of you like this. Your hands clawed at his back, nails digging into his skin and holding on for dear life as you felt your cunt turning into a gooey mess, thanks to the mixture of his pre-cum and your own slickness leaking out of you already.

"So good, feels so good, thanì", you hear him moan next to your ear, fangs grazing your skin as he licks and nibbles on your shoulder. "O-Oh fuck, you feel amazing. So wet and t-tight."

Between the thrill of being caught and Neteyams brutal pace, it didn’t take long for you to hit your peak. His cock expertly finds all the places you couldn’t reach yourself, all the spots that make pleasure curl your toes and starbursts explode behind your eyelids. Neteyam licks the sweat from your collarbones like it’s something to be savored, moaning at the feeling of you squeezing his cock like you were trying to milk him for all it’s worth.

"Teyam, Teyam I’m close, you’re gonna make me come!"

Right on cue, Neteyam hiked your leg up higher around his waist. The new angle allowed him even deeper access and you throw your head back at the new sensation. The second you felt his cock throb inside of you, your orgasm crashed down upon you like a sheet of ice– your legs squeezing around his waist, arms tightening around his neck so much that he had trouble breathing. But that didn’t stop him from fucking you like it was the only thing you were made for.

"Gonna.. haa fuck, I’m gonna cum inside you."

Neteyam feels his orgasm building like he’s been waiting for it for years, like someone had edged him, like he hasn’t had a release in forever and then it hits him like it never has before.

"Take it, shit, just take it, take my cum!"

He squeezes his eyes shut, biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood, because if he didn’t, he would’ve latched onto your shoulder like a palulukan into its prey. His hips stutter, abs tensing and then he slams into you as deep as he could go, groaning your name as rope after rope of his cum fills you.

And then, the heat inside of him was gone.

As the last droplet of his seed was successfully pumped into you, Neteyam finally felt his head clear up and he came back to himself. The both of you stayed like that for just a moment, with him panting into your neck, both of you trying not to think about what you had just done.

When Neteyam finally pulls out of you, it’s gingerly, tenderly even, almost like he didn’t want to hurt you. As terribly sore and used as you felt, somehow there was a secret shard of happiness under it all. You wondered, if his coy smirk was any indication that he felt the same.

By the time Jake finally arrived, the only evidence of your sins was his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the fabric of your loincloth.

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 9 months

Text

Nimona headcanons I wrote instead of sleeping

Sometimes the boys forget that Nimona isn’t human

Like they’re used to the shifting into animals aspect of Nimona because she does it as often as she breathes

But sometimes she’ll do some really creepy shit like make her arms longer to reach something when she’s too lazy to get up

One time they shifted just their neck to be like an owl so they could turn their head 180 degrees instead of just turning around cause that was “too boring”

Or he’ll mimic people’s voices without realizing it

Sometimes he’ll tell a story and suddenly he’s using Bal’s voice

The first time she did this Bal searched the whole house cause he was convinced that Todd has snuck in

Or she’ll grow an extra arm to hold more shit and they take a moment to realize “oh yeah we adopted a little weirdo”

They get used to it after a while and the arguments surrounding it are always funny because both the boys will complain and say “I don’t sound like that” and they have to be told “No love you do you really do”

You know those videos of babies reacting to their parents shaving their facial hair or putting on glasses

That’s Nimona's reaction every single time the boys change their appearance even the smallest bit they cant shave or wear their reading glasses because if they do he freaks out

Talking some “help me Nemesis I heard bosses voice but I can’t find him” while Bal was standing right in front of them

It was the first time he shaved his face in years and he’s never doing it again

Mostly cause Ambrosius kept telling him he looked like a teenager and it was freaking him out

I feel like Bal and Ambrosius are those kinds of people who will tell people about the little injuries but neglect the big ones

Like Bal mentioned that he thinks he sprained his ankle during the fight at the institute but he won’t mention that he’s pretty sure he got a concussion

(BECAUSE THIS MAN HEAD-BUTTED TWO PEOPLE WHEN HE HAS A METAL ARM)

(I’m bout to wrap this man in bubble wrap and give him a helmet because wtf)

Ambrosius will complain the whole day about the fact that he has a paper cut

But will completely neglect to inform his doctors “Oh yeah I can’t move my left arm higher than my waist without pain and I can’t see that well out of my left eye or hear that well out of my left ear do you think that’ll be a problem?”

It isn’t until Nimona makes an off handed comment about how this super weird that the laser did basically nothing to him that he told both of them

They literally dragged him to the ER because “Who thinks those symptoms are normal Nemesis what is wrong in that pretty little head of yours!!”

When Bal tells Nimona she’s being a bit of a hypocrite (cause who refers to an arrow as a splinter?) she turns to him and says “I know you’re not saying something Mr. Human battering ram”

It took literally everything in Ambrosius not to break down laughing

After that she forces them to have frequent checkups with the doctor because these dorks wouldn’t go otherwise

Honestly I'm fully convinced that some people in the kingdom don't know who Nimona is and are constantly confused why they let this little weirdo follow them around

And finally the curiosity will eat away at them and they’ll finally ask

Sometimes the boys will give some “normal” answers like “Oh that’s Nimona” and they won’t elaborate at all

Sometimes they’ll give funnier answers like “Oh that’s a raccoon we found in the garage who turned into a person one day” “I don’t know they just showed up in our living room” and their personal best “You see her too?”

And their favorite that they only started using a couple of years down the line “Oh that’s our kid”

#nimona 2023 #nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #I just know these accident-prone dorks don't go to the doctor #which i respect because neither do I #Ambrosius would rather memorize the eye chart than admit he needs glasses #and that is a hill I will die on #I feel like NImona freaks out at changes in appearance because it reminds her that things don't stay the same forever #she's immortal the boys arent #she forces them into frequent checkups because she doesn’t want to find out too late that something is wrong #she wants to know that they did everything in their power as soon as they could of something does come up #and best case scenario they live very long happy lives #but I like to believe that they get reincarnated and find each other in every life #because I'm sappy like that #excuse my sleep deprived rambling #I’ve found so many issues with this post

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sophiethewitch1 · 3 months

Text

What We Want - Chpt. 2 - First (Second) Introductions

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Tim Drake was an obsessive creature by nature. Ever since he was little, he’d always been easily swallowed by his obsessions. His wants and desires, the little things that fascinated him. And, more than that, he never fought it. He gave himself into it, wholly. It was how he’d gotten this far in life.

He’d taught himself how to code, how to hack. He discovered Batman and Nightwing’s true identities. He’d learnt how to fight, how to keep the city safe, how to fling oneself off a building without fainting. He’s taped the family back together again and again after every splinter. He was one of only two Robins left, and that would soon be the only once Bruce retired and Damian graduated.

And this was all done through obsession. And it was obsession. He was self-aware enough to know that. While the rest of the family often indulged in delusions, he never had the time for them. He’d spent countless nights pushing his lagging body along with caffeine and sheer willpower. He’d often forget to sleep or eat even on the calmer days. All that was to say, Tim Drake was obsessive.

But, his obsessions never lasted. Sure, he’d keep the skills and the relationships he’d make, but when the dust settled, he’d find himself feeling empty. Tim Drake was obsessive yes, but his true obsession was the conquest. The rush he’d get when he finally claimed a new skill, a new person, a new piece of knowledge or wisdom.

And then, too quickly, far too quickly, the rush would disappear. The tingle in his spine would leave, the energy would disappear, and that feverish nature of his would flatten. Cool down. The others in the family knew it as one of his ‘moods’, but Tim thought it was probably more than that. Still, he was definitely in one of them right now.

It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. The point was, right now, he was quite simply depressed. Bummed out, if you would. He’d finished a mission from Bruce, one that had taken him months of desperate, undying effort, and it was now done. And he didn’t have anything to do.

It sucked.

Boredom was a sinister demon. While Tim was by far the most emotionally stable of the family, he was still, well- not. Not by a long shot, honestly. The League’s mandatory therapy sessions had confirmed that. He just needed something to entertain himself, and quick. Usually, on a day like this, he’d be at home working on any random degree.

Unfortunately, he had responsibilities. He could not alleviate his boredom, because he was in the most boring place on earth.

A party. Not a party by any normal person’s standards, but one of his adoptive father’s galas. Even more horrifying, Bruce Wayne was in attendance. He was doing his billionaire playboy persona, and Tim couldn’t stomach it. It was no shock no one else had shown up. Even Dick was busy in Bludhaven, and he sometimes enjoyed these. Sometimes.

And once again, as every year, the birthday girl was nowhere to be seen.

Tim’s eyes rove over the very boring gala. Your gala, for your birthday. You weren’t here, because you never were. He couldn’t blame you. These balls sucked, even the better ones. This one was miserable, and the atmosphere was sombre. While it was your birthday, it was more than that, a day of death.

Your family had died, Bruce’s new wife had died, and all the siblings he never really got the opportunity to meet, gone in a brilliant flash.

And Jason. Jason, who now walked the earth again, flesh and blood. Jason, who tore himself through a wooden coffin and grave dirt. Jason, who even Dick couldn’t seem to bring back into the family. Jason, alive and well and probably spending the night at Roy’s house. It was still the anniversary of his death, and while Jason did his best to put on a front, anyone with half a brain could tell he found today… upsetting.

But, he was alive. That was more than Tim could say for your family.

None of these people knew that. They saw one of the great Wayne’s dead, and they mourned. They saw the new wife and step-children of Bruce Wayne dead, and they lamented. Tim was sure most of it was faked, at least in this gala. The rest of the city truly grieved the Wayne family's tragedy. Especially Jason, one of the princes of the city. But here? No, they just wanted to rub shoulders with Bruce.

The man you very clearly insisted had never been your father, and never would be, was… probably a little sad. Tim was probably a little sadistically pleased about that. He was bored, alright? Anyway, Bruce did not know how to deal with you, and you with him. Both of you were stubborn people, unable to communicate or reach a place of cooperation. You never showed up to the galas or the manor, you did everything in your power to never have to interact with anyone from the family. The only reason you even still lived in Gotham was to be close to your dead family. And above all, you made sure that everyone knew how much you hated Bruce. That the sight of his aging face made you nauseous. Everyone else found that hilarious, of course.

And Bruce, because he was stubborn, kept trying to reach you, despite your angry protests. Even if he had absolutely zero legal ties to you, he still kept trying. And so, another birthday party passes without its leading star. The memorial tomorrow would be missing you too. Christmas, easter, hanukkah, new years, Rosh Hashanah, you refused to show up to any of them.

Still, he had to agree with Bruce. They couldn’t just leave you. Not with the way you were.

You’d once quietly admitted to him that you hoped you’d one day go to sleep and not wake up. That you’d rot away in your room, disappear from the world entirely. That was one of the last few times he talked to you face-to-face. And then a few months after that, you’d blocked him on all social media.

He’d read hundreds of books on therapy, and he knew what suicidal idealisation looked like. Luckily for his sanity, he was not your therapist, nor was he your keeper.

That was poor old Dick’s job, and he was, hilariously, failing at it. Badly. Technically, you were the second massive failure Dick had taken on, and it was starting to show in his mental state. Old Dickie was spending more and more time in Bludhaven, preferring to patrol there instead of Gotham. Still, he insisted he could get through to you. Tim was doubtful. Dick had better luck with Jason, of all people.

Jason actually wanted to be a part of this family. You hated them all, viciously. And so, you’d obviously never show up at-

Wait. Wait, no. He definitely recognised that face. Why the hell were you here? Well, that was irritating. Tim prided himself on being prepared for any situation, for any unlikelihood. He was the son who would be taking over Wayne Enterprises, after all.

You being in the same room as Bruce Wayne was impossible. Completely impossible. At least willingly. You should be kicking and screaming, scratching like a hellcat at anyone who tried to make you stay. Instead, you’re standing in the middle of a crowd, chugging back champagne like your life depends on it. He could already imagine the chaos the media would be starting, to his misery. ‘Estranged ex-Wayne shows up at birthday gala and drinks like a fish’. Well, he had been complaining about being bored. Careful what you wish for, and all.

Shit. He was not prepared for this.

He was, despite it being your birthday, not at all expecting you to be here. He didn’t even have a present. Shit. He pulls out his phone and shoots off an order to his assistant, who would probably go to Dick’s for help.

He sees you over there, obviously uncomfortable, and realises he should probably rescue you. He tells himself he should, that he’s gonna get up and go do it.

Instead, he crosses his legs at the ankle, leans back in his chair, and watches. You won’t catch him off guard twice. He has his pride, after all.

You throw another glass of champagne back. Tim winces. Okay, maybe you might. This was all a bit of a shock. And the rest of the gala seemed just as surprised at your appearance as he was. They obviously didn’t know what to do about you, creating a wide ring of people who refused to step closer to you. And you seem oblivious to the social pariah you have suddenly become. Or maybe uncaring, as you’ve already claimed an entire buffet table and champagne tray for yourself.

Just… just drinking. You seem to only care about ingesting more alcohol and confectionaries. It’s your twenty-first, but uh… this definitely doesn’t look like the first time you’ve been drinking. Not that he cared if this was your first time drinking. He’d done his fair share of illegal activities. Sure, they were mostly superhero stuff, but still illegal. Frankly, it’s kind of impressive. You might even be able to drink Jason or Alfred under the table.

…Good for you, he guesses. A talent’s a talent.

He realises, after a few minutes, that you have absolutely zero plans of socialising. You’d showed up here of your own free will, and then just scared off anyone who’d talk to you. Not that there’d be many who’d be interested in talking to the swaying woman who looked like a threat to herself and everyone around her. No, you were still just drinking. You’d gotten halfway down the buffet table, trying every single cake and a few of the savoury items as well.

You kept circling back to have more champagne and Victorian sponge, and then you’d go back to wherever you were in the buffet and try something from there. Your choices seemed sporadic, and more than once you spat something back out into a napkin. You look at some of the dishes like you think they might be poisonous, taking wide circles around them.

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward to press his face to his intertwined fingers. He’s definitely past the point where he should go help you. You’re making a mess, both physically and socially, and yet, he still just sits there. He can’t help himself, it’s interesting.

“Tim.”

Uh oh, your knight in shining armor is here. Or well, dark. Bruce had never been known for pastels. Tim turns his head to the giant man blocking out the light, giving his father and leader a smile.

“Hey Dad,” he greets, in an open attempt at manipulation.

Bruce shakes his head, not caving begrudgingly like he usually did. Shit, that usually worked. Guess he must be actually mad. He glances from Tim to the object of Tim’s apt fascination. You. He turns back, looking down at Tim with his ‘I’m trying to be a good dad’ look. It’s not very convincing.

“How long has she been doing this?” Bruce asks, straight to the point as always.

“Twenty-seven minutes. You’re ruining my process,” Tim replies, telling B to screw off in the kindest way possible. He doesn’t take the hint, because he’s a bit of an ass. Even Batman fanboy Tim could recognise that.

“You can’t just count when someone is getting drunk in front of the public. You need to actually do something.” Bruce shakes his head, hand lifting to massage his brow. It was just that easy to give the old man a migraine. Poor baby probably needed some Ibruprofen. Tim had some in his pocket, but he wasn’t going to offer.

“I was going to eventually. And aren’t you curious? She refuses to show her face for months, and then pops out of the blue to… what? Steal from your liquor cabinet? She knows she doesn’t have to come to get whatever she wants,” Tim ignores B’s nagging, turning his gaze back to you. You’re having a love affair with that cake, honestly. Oh, you’re going for another shot… You do realise the stuff you’re chugging goes for millions, right?

You probably don’t care. You never had about money.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s here, and we should be taking care of her. This is obviously her reaching out for help, and she obviously needs it,” B insists, splaying his worn and scarred hands over the table. Tim has the same hands, everyone in the family does. Vigilante work left scars and callouses.

“Then why hasn’t she come over here, yet? My theory is she’s just trying to smear your good image. Which doesn’t need smearing in the first place, but who understands the minds of young, drunk and miserable women?” Certainly not Tim, as he had proven in his relationship with Stephanie.

“Tim, enough with the sass. Go and help her.”

“She’s not your responsibility anymore, B.”

“Her mother would disagree. Now go,” Bruce orders, his words final. Because they always are, in the end.

Tim groans, letting his head fall back. He glares at the ceiling and all the sparkling diamonds strewn about, and then he pulls himself to his feet. Cracks his shoulders, and parts the Red Sea with a glance. The crowd in the gala splits so the young heir can easily find his way through, and he gives everyone he passes a kind smile.

He strides up to your side, calmly waiting for you to notice him. You’re still imbibing, completely oblivious to his presence. It’s funny. And fascinating. Usually, you were so paranoid that he wondered how you weren’t always a single breath away from a panic attack. Like a feral animal, ready at a moment’s notice to fight or flight.

He sees that you’re dealing with those social anxieties in a way befitting the Wayne name. Which is to say, absolutely shit. His head tilts eyes flickering over you. You don’t look too good, which is no real surprise. Even with your people’s perfect styling, they can’t cover up the shaking and sweating in your form. It might just be anxiety, but knowing you, it’s probably not. He wonders if you even notice how sick you are.

You don’t look like you notice much of anything. Maybe the cake, but that seemed to be pushing it.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” Tim starts but is unable to continue when you spin on your heel and drop your flute of champagne. It crashes to the ground, and he finds his socks becoming uncomfortably wet.

The two of you look up from the mess and meet gazes. Your mouth is open in horror, eyes comically wide. Tim has to bite the inside of his lip so as not to immediately burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, you do a weird crouch-pop-up movement, and then your eyes swivel around frantically, “I’m- am I supposed to clean this up? I can totally clean this up.”

You look just about ready to kneel into a pile of thin glass shards, so Tim stops you. Because God knows Bruce would hang him from the rafters if he didn’t.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Somebody else will handle this. It’s your birthday after all, right?” he says, giving you a charming smile. It’s sort of a shock when you don’t scoff at him, and instead just stand there with a deer-in-headlights sort of look.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tim asks when you don’t say anything else.

You startle, and then blink at him rapidly. Distracted and inebriated. Lovely. He doesn’t think you know what you’re doing here either, which was a bad sign for your mental health. Have you been refusing to go to your therapist again?

It wasn’t like he went either, so he couldn’t judge.

“I’m good,” you say, your words only slightly slurred. You blink again, your head cants towards the floor, and then you glance back up at him. You look like he’s caught you committing a crime. “Do you- uh, want some of the cake? Sorry for stealing it all, it’s really good.”

You were acting… really strange. Tim found himself with the undeniable urge to follow along with your strangeness.

“You know what? Yes, yes I would,” he says, taking one of the little plates of strawberry cake and a delicate three-tonged fork. He scoops up some of the cake, the cream and jam, and eats. Chewing he keeps staring at you, as you fidget awkwardly. It’s good, but all the food here’s good.

“Did you like it?” you try to smile at him, but it looks more like a grimace.

“I did. Javier did really well with these desserts,” Tim says, before waving over one of the staff to clean up the mess the two of you are ignoring. You look surprised when he offers an arm to guide you away, and he wonders if you’ll accept it. He can’t imagine a world where you would, but today seems to be full of surprises. In the end, you do, but it takes you a good five seconds of awkward staring before you take it.

He takes you over to one of the tables, careful to make sure you don’t slip and fall face-first into the spreading champagne puddle.

“Oh. Is he the chef?”

“He’s the pâtissier.”

You give him a blank stare. Right, you probably don't speak French.

“The pastry chef,” Tim clarifies, as he helps you find your chair. You slump down with zero grace, and for a second Tim thinks you’ll fall right off. You manage not to with a desperate grasp at the table. Good for you.

“Oh, cool. That’s super cool. I think I love this Javier guy, honestly.”

Tim snorts, taking his own seat, “He has that effect on people.”

You’re not looking at him, instead grimacing at the mess you made that two of the staff are cleaning up. Tim’s sort of surprised. It wasn’t that you had been particularly mean to the employees before, but you rarely acknowledged them. You had barely acknowledged anyone, completely unaware of your effect on the greater world. You didn’t care. To be fair, it didn’t seem like you cared about anything but your family’s gravestones and memorials.

Still, there was definitely something different about you, today. And he couldn’t blame it all on the alcohol. Today, you looked a little green about the whole accident. Like you actually gave a shit. Maybe you’d had a change of heart. He hoped you had, for Dick’s sake. You looked more alive, even if it was a confused, embarrassed, uncomfortable sort of alive. It was still an improvement. Usually, your expression was dead, a blank stare. It reminded him of Jason’s as he’d been lowered into the ground.

The two of you wouldn’t like that comparison. And it’s hypocritical too, Tim knows he sometimes resembles a zombie after one of his little sessions.

He can’t help himself. He’s curious, so damn curious. What had prompted this miraculous shift? And plus, you could still be planning something, even if it was seeming more and more like you’d stumbled in here drunk and confused, not able to remember you hated them all. Maybe you had a concussion or something. A head wound sounded like a good explanation for all this.

“Why’d you show up here today?” he finally asks, caving quickly to his need to understand.

You give him a weird look like he’s the one being strange.

“It’s my birthday.”

Tim tilts his head. “That it is.”

“Was that- that the wrong answer?”

“I don’t know, was it?” Tim knows he should stop playing with you. You’re making it far too easy, though. And he's bored, damn it.

“I don’t know either. That’s… that’s why I’m asking you.”

Before he can react to the strangeness of that comment some (awfully rudely, might he add) intrude on your conversation. One of the board members of W.E., someone he had to pay the proper respect to. When his hand slaps down on Tim’s shoulder, he has to suppress a withering sigh. There were less fun parts to his job, and this was one of them

“Drake! It’s so good to see you,” the old man greets, and it takes even Tim a second to remember his name.

“Lancaster! You as well,” Tim replies, noticing your barely there flinch.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you tonight. My project’s funds are running a little low, and everyone knows you’re the one to go to for an easier time. Bruce is a great leader but…” the man chuckles, and Tim grins at him. It’s fake, of course. When in Rome, they say.

“A bit strict, yes. I have struggled with his attitude before, too.” Understatement of the century.

Tim glances at your quiet form, eyes set on the tablecloth in front of you. Even still it’s obvious you’re listening to their conversation, head cocked just slightly to the right. The board member doesn’t even seem to notice you. Tim’s curious if he recognises you.

You’d been out of the public eye for so long he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. That’s the way you’d wanted it to be, after all.

“But let’s talk about this later, I’m entertaining a very tipsy birthday girl at the moment,” Tim says, hoping you don’t mind him using you as an excuse.

“Oh wow!” Lancaster cries, at your mere presence. Subtlety is not this man’s strength, “I didn’t see you there. Wow, jeez. Didn’t think you’d be here today. What made you change your mind?”

You give him a long, assessing look. Whatever you find makes you pull an expression like you sucked on a sour lemon.

“My assistant forced me to,” you answer honestly. Seems you’ve realised that ‘it’s your birthday’ isn’t an adequate reason. Not that you’ve never failed to reject any and all pressure to attend these events before. Like Tim had said, kicking and screaming.

“Ha! I know the feeling. Well, I’ll leave you two kids to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” the old man chortles, gives you a wink, and leaves. Your gaze follows him into the crowd, and stays there, even when he disappears behind it.

It’s quiet for a moment. Tim waits for you to speak first.

“Who was that man?” you finally ask.

“Charles Lancaster, one of the newest board members of Wayne Enterprises,” Tim says, surprised you’re curious. You’d never been interested in W.E. or anything involving the family. Surprised, surprised, surprised. He should just accept any odd behaviour from you at this point, start expecting it.

You slump in your chair, pressing your forehead against the table. Then, you let out a long, unhappy, groan. Tim gets it, he really does. He does not get what you do next.

Your hands slap against your cheeks, and Tim jerks in his seat. Okay, maybe Bruce was right, you probably do need help. He couldn’t imagine the big guy sending you to Arkham, though. It was obvious you were only a threat to yourself. You take a deep breath, completely ignore his confused stare and get to your feet.

And you immediately fall sideways.

Tim’s arm shoots out, grabbing yours before you crash into the shining marble floors. You look down at him, mirroring his shocked expression. You look down further down, and Tim follows your gaze.

Your stilettoed heel looks the same as it always does. Still, you stare at it like it’s a shark biting at your toes. Tim thinks this is one of the first real emotions you’ve shown in months, and it’s desperate fear of your shoes.

“I told her I can’t wear heels,” you say, more to yourself than him.

“What? Yes, you can. You wear heels to all these events,” he replies anyway.

“What- Well, I meant… heels this tall. They’re really tall.”

He just blinks at you, at the inanity of your statement. They were really tall, but Tim had seen you wear taller. Why were you lying about something like this? Had you drunk too much and were too embarrassed to mention it? Or maybe you’d hurt yourself?

He looks down at your ankle again. No, the flesh seems unharmed. And you hadn’t been walking with a limp earlier, you were just stumbling around now. Must really just be too much champagne. You’d already dropped a glass earlier and had been obviously embarrassed by it. Even if Jeanine had swept in just like she was supposed to, fixing the situation. You’d apologised profusely.

He’d never heard you apologise before. It’s… well, it’s strange. That’s the only way he can describe this encounter.

“You can let go of me now. Please?”

Tim lets you go, and you rub your arm. Shit, he grabbed you too hard. He knew you were on the delicate side, wasting away both mentally and physically. You didn’t take care of yourself and rarely even left your apartment. Even now you looked oddly sickly.

“I’m going to uh- I have to go pee,” you say, and immediately wince at your words.

Tim, without thinking, replies, “Go piss girl.”

You make a shocked choke of laughter, nod at him, and then run off as fast as you can while grasping every piece of furniture in your reach. You look genuinely ridiculous. Well, it’s not the first time a Wayne gala has turned into a clown show. Compared to Dick’s younger years, this was completely unnoticeable.

Bruce still loved to complain about the chandelier he’d broken in an impromptu trapeze show. It’d been diamond, and over a hundred years old. The ones above him now were just as expensive, but not vintage. Jason thought it was hilariously funny, and was always trying to get Dick to do it again. Luckily, Dick had matured, if only a little bit.

Speaking of which, this is a perfect opportunity to mess with Dick. He pulls out his phone and the secure channel they use to communicate. Dick was in Bludhaven right now, probably on patrol. Doing something fun. Sure, tonight had gotten more interesting, but you’d just run off and with you his only entertainment. Tim was bitterly envious of Dick’s fun, and because of that, he had to make Dick just a little more miserable. Just to make things even, of course.

‘Smartest_Robin’: guess who just showed up to her own birthday party?

‘Underwear_guy’: you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. why?

‘Smartest_Robin’: hell if I know. she’s drunk as hell lmao

‘Underwear_guy’: please don’t let her do anything stupid.

‘Smartest_Robin’: yeah, yeah. i’m the idiot who has to deal with the fallout anyway

‘Underwear_guy’: how’s it feel being the ‘favourite son’?

Tim snorts. The media often called him that, purely because it was well known he was the one inheriting W.E. It was hot gossip that it was Tim and not Damian, the proudly stated ‘blood son’. They didn’t know Damian was inheriting an even greater responsibility. And it wasn’t like he particularly wanted it, he just knew he was best for the job and it helped the time pass in between missions. It was fun sometimes, too. He enjoyed giving Luthor Corp a good thrashing every now and then.

‘Smartest_Robin’: same as always. im bored, anything interesting going on over there?

‘Underwear_guy’: bludhaven’s my city, dickhead. go do taxes or something

Tim sighs, and puts the phone back down. He had to try, at least. When it becomes obvious you are absolutely not returning from the bathrooms anytime soon, he gets up, adjusts his cuffs, and walks back off into the fray.

He greets and shakes hands, he takes photos and makes deals. It’s all a blur, really. He does it with half his attention, the other focused entirely on you. Amidst all this pomp and splendour an intriguing new mystery has been born. A puzzle to hold his attention, just for long enough till he gets to the next one. And your sudden shift in personality is more than enough. And if he focused on that, he could get through all this politics.

He’s talking up a chairman of a rival company when the lights go out. When the windows shatter inwards, his heart starts to race. And when familiar masked thugs break in through the wide open doors, guns up and ready, he’s already prepared for the fight. People start screaming, scrambling, and even more gunmen follow through the side exits. While guards raise their own firearms, everybody knows they’re completely outnumbered.

The Joker’s here, and he’s brought his army. Well, shit, all this excitement, and Tim left his suit upstairs. Guess he’ll have to improvise.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

828 notes · View notes

frannyzooey · 5 months

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 16

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: Mature (some explicit mentions, tense situations, mentions of child starvation)

A/N: this chapter wouldn’t exist without @the-scandalorian and @bageldaddy , period. Literally walking me through it line by line, I could say a lot of really gushy things about them but I’ll refrain…just know, you two, that I could kiss you directly on the mouth. And will, when we meet someday. ❤️

—

A blanket hung to keep her in the shade, the sound of June’s babbling lifts into the air to join the soft give of roots snapping beneath the soil as you pull carrots from the garden. The distant splintering of dried out boards giving way occasionally cracks through the background, Joel grabbing another piece of rotted wood at the base of the shed and tearing it clean off, tossing it over with the rest he’s collected.

Brushing a drip of sweat away from your temple with your dirt-dried hand, you make a face at the gritty path you’ve left behind.

“You wanna go for a swim?” you coo over at June, her cheeks plumping into a corresponding wet grin when you smile at her.

Her bottom teeth coming in, drool pools around the carrot she’s gumming and slides down over her chubby grip, the edge of it glistening in her mouth.

You make faces at her, her dark eyes fixed on your face in bright delight until her attention catches something behind you, and you turn when she starts to crawl towards it.

“How are my girls doing?”

His shirt ringed with sweat and molded to his body, Joel blocks out the sun when you look up at him. His hand rakes through his dark curls, pushing the wet strands away from his forehead as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, the pulse in his throat thrumming fast under his flushed skin. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he lifts it to swipe it over his face and your eyes flash down, where even his torso looks wet: the dark hair that collects in a swirl around his belly button to lead down matted and damp.

He watches with amusement as June crawls over to his boot with unsteady movements, her face set with determination.

“Hey, baby girl.” His tiredness transforms into something softer when he greets her, his eyes crinkling deeply around the edges. A dimple catching under his beard, he bends to scoop her up from the ground, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I think I got enough over there to do somethin’ with. Definitely enough to board up that broken window in her room this afternoon.”

The glass broke while you were cleaning it: old age and the elements and a warped frame all contributing, and with the mosquitos being thick at night, she’d been sleeping in your room for the time being.

“I can fix that shelf in the pantry with one of ‘em,” he continues, “and if anything else, save the rest for burnin’ in the winter.”

A rotted shelf in the pantry breaking in half, the chair in the living room finally losing a leg, an area of the deck now off limits: exposed to the elements and after withstanding years of neglect, the cabin was having trouble standing up to the constant wear of its new inhabitants. Joel had been fixing things as they happened, but with a limited supply of resources, the plan to stay infinitely that you both made months ago was starting to fray.

The garden was going better than you could have expected, but the rest…the rest worried you. Running out of material to cut up and make do with, June’s clothing situation was beyond scarce. With the repetitive washing that everything had to stand up against, it was always fast to fall apart. Lucky that it was summer and so hot that she didn’t really need much, you had started to piece together things for the winter but there was only so much thread you could pull out of things, only so much you could fix and repurpose.

Joel felt the pinch too, in his own way. Voicing his frustration, he’d tell you how he would repair things if only he had the right materials, recounting to you the actual issue and the thought process behind fixing it. Even reminiscing about the hardware store days of past, he’d mentioned more than once the one right by his house that he liked to visit, the one with free popcorn for Sarah while he browsed.

With every item that broke and with every growth milestone that June reached, you could feel the encroaching pressure to make a choice: leave this place for the dangerous unknown, or stay and attempt to survive the dangers of isolation.

Either was a gamble, and so undecided, you kept fixing what you could, with what you had.

You eye the shed, your eyebrow lifting as you study the now sizable hole in the side.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about how we don’t really need the shed for anything, so if we need more wood, we can just chop the whole thing down. Right?”

You stand and he nods, using his forearm to swipe at more sweat that’s gathered along his hairline. Streaks of dirt and dust are smeared along the bare skin, and when June reaches out to grab at his face, he catches her hand and gives it a kiss.

You admire them for a moment: the taut muscle in his forearm underneath her bottom, the collection of gray hairs gathered at the edge of his jaw that she grabs at, his wayward curls that match her own. They smile at each other, her face diving into his chest just above the collar of his shirt, and he laughs, gently tickling her back.

When he catches you watching him, you think you’d see a faint blush creep over his cheeks if they weren’t flushed from the heat already.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, turning to lead them down to the water.

You’re still smiling as he lays her out on the bank to get her undressed, watching his thick fingers brush against her cheeks just to chuckle at the way she chases them with an open mouth. Standing up with a soft groan, he strips down to his underwear.

Bare chested and tanned in front of you, his body is formidable without his clothing. Marred with the scars of survival and so familiar to you by now, he appears even bigger in comparison when he lifts June up. His large hand completely covers her dimpled bottom as they prepare to wade in, and his back facing you, your eyes run appreciatively down the broad slope.

Feeling your gaze, he smirks, and a glimmer of the confident, teasing Joel that’s been coaxed out of hiding peeks from beneath the surface. “See somethin’ you like?”

“There is something about when you hold her,” you admit. “You look so…big and strong.”

Rising on your tiptoes, you tuck your face into his neck to hide from the slight embarrassment you feel. Finding his sweat salt skin with your mouth, you give him a kiss and he hums in appreciation, the vibration of it felt against your lips when you give him another one.

“You really like it, huh.” More a smug statement than a question, his expression matches his tone when you pull back to look at him.

“I do,” you murmur, nosing along the edge of his jaw. “It makes me wanna have all your babies.”

Drunk on the heat of the afternoon sun and on your affection for him, you smile lazily up at him and he grins right back, winding his arm around your waist to keep you close.

“S’that right,” he murmurs, low and gravely. His voice slips through you and your pulse picks up, his humid breath ghosting across your lips. “All of ‘em, huh?”

You nod, and with hooded eyes, he grins.

“Don’t jinx us now, honey. Can’t be sayin’ that kinda stuff.”

His dark eyes make a slow, heated circuit down to your collarbones and back up, and arousal hooks behind your belly button fast and sharp.

Dragging his gaze from you, he turns his attention to June. “Besides, I think this squirrely girl is all we can handle right now, anyway.”

His shoulders swathed in sunlight, Joel wades in as you strip to join them. The water is crisp and cool against your skin when you slip in, and you submerge yourself for a moment before resurfacing closer to them.

Joel holds June around her back as he lets her float on the surface, water from her kicking legs flying up to cover his bare chest.

“You gonna be a swimmer? You gonna be a fish, baby?”

It’s easy to forget that the outside world exists when there is nothing but bird song and cicadas and the rippling water around you. No infection, no death, no fight for survival. Just Joel carefully scooping water to pour over June’s head, his soothing voice telling her to hold her breath as he ducks them under the surface, his practiced movements carefully transferring her into a one armed hold when you swim closer.

Tilting your chin up, you offer your wet mouth to him for a kiss.

His body is firm and warm against yours, your hand reaching to cup the curve of his jaw to deepen the press of your mouths together and the kiss pulls you in just like the current that wraps and molds your body close to his. Slipping your arms around his neck, you savor his taste until June lets out a soft cry.

Her wet fist rubbing at her eye, you reach to take her in for her afternoon nap. Emerging from the water, you feel the awakened heat in his gaze trained on your body all the way up to the cabin.

June is fast asleep in your room when he lays you out on the bed in the room next door, squeezing your bodies together on the twin-sized narrowness. His broad shoulders flex and shift under your knees, his river damp curls sliding through your hold as he licks you open, and when you arch into the wet heat of his mouth with a silent cry, he swallows everything you give him with a rumbled groan.

His skin is dry and smooth against yours when he fits his solid body between your legs, reaching down to guide himself into a place reserved just for him with slick, filling stretch and he murmurs his secret wants directly into your skin, a push inside you for each one.

“Wish you could have all my babies. Make you the prettiest momma.”

He breathes against the valley of your breasts, into the hollow under your ear, and against your mouth, just before he captures it with a kiss. His words dripping with reverence, you keen underneath him, arching your back to force him deeper.

“I wish I could too,” you softly moan. “I want it.”

Blatant hunger slips into his movements, harsh, filling punches of his hips bringing you up and over the edge, and your mouths stay together in a humid press until you feel him come, his need spilling thick along the inside of your thigh.

Afterwards, his sated body relaxes on top of yours.

Your fingers collect his curls in a rhythmic, soothing motion, following the timing of your chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. His breath puffs across your skin, and your eyes flutter shut, the heat of the afternoon lulling you to sleep.

Twitching lightly in his sleep, his hold on you tightens and the corner of your mouth lifts. His weighted body covering yours like a shield, a gentle breeze stirs the stagnant air around you, and a tendril of a thought slips through your sleepy mind.

Heaven.

–

Your fingers dance along the produce in the pantry, your lips moving silently as you keep count in your head. More food than you could have ever dreamed of when you first broached the plan, the produce now crowds out the canned goods, and shifting in your crouch, you let the sun into the small space, narrowing your eyes in focus.

The back door to the cabin bangs open, startling you, and June launches into a responding cry seconds later, just as Joel rounds the doorway. Before you can stand, he hooks his hand around your elbow, tugging you up.

“Go to the bedroom. Now.”

“What –”

“Someone’s comin’. I heard 'em’ in the woods. A couple of ‘em at least.”

Stomach bottoming out in immediate panic, you scramble up and head to your bedroom, scooping up June along the way. Bouncing her lightly in your arms to quell her cries, a cold sweat breaks out along your back, and crossing the hallway, you head for the predetermined snug spot in the corner next to the dresser, grabbing your gun from the top drawer.

“You stay until I tell you it’s safe, okay? Don’t move from this spot. You got your gun? It loaded?”

The serious, frantic edge to his words has you answering him immediately, your back pressing against the wall as you slide down into place. Giving you both one last look to ensure you’re where you need to be, he rounds the corner and disappears from sight, and you have to fight the lurch your body involuntarily makes in an effort to follow him.

You’ve practiced for this exact scenario multiple times, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. During practice, there is no cold terror at what could happen. During practice, it was easy to go through every movement with calm motions.

Now, you try to inhale deep, steady breaths in an attempt to slow down the pounding of your heart, knowing June will sense your unease.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay. I know, I know. It’s okay.” Your voice comes out low and smooth, your shaking hand betraying your nerves as it rubs circles over her back.

Straining to hear over her hiccuping whimpers, you try to listen outside the bedroom.

Nothing, for what seems like ages, and then:

“STOP.”

Flinching when Joel’s voice breaks through, you shut your eyes tight, reflexively tightening your hold on June’s small body.

–

“Put your hands up.”

A lone woman emerging from the tree line halts mid step, reluctantly pulling her hand away from the pistol at her hip.

Weathered and weary looking, she looks almost frail in her slight build and Joel scans her for any more visible weapons. His own gun gripped tight with the butt of it against his shoulder, he slowly advances, his finger resting alongside the trigger.

“What do you want?”

“I was just passing by and I saw your cabin,” she calls out. “Thought I might see if anyone was home.”

“Bullshit. You can’t see this place from the road.”

A beat of weighted silence fills the grassy space between them, and the woman changes her story.

“Fine. We –”

“We? How many?”

Her eyebrow lifts, along with the corner of her mouth. Avoiding the question, she continues. “We saw your garden. Thought maybe we would help ourselves. Especially now, since it’s just you out here.” Direct and laced with the barest taunt, her tone implies the easy confidence of someone who has the upperhand.

Reluctantly shifting his gaze from her, he scans the trees, searching. A branch cracks somewhere within the woods, something shifting in the distance, and when he steps in the direction of it, she brings his attention back to her.

“It looked like you have enough to share.”

“We don’t.”

An instinctual reaction tied to his days as a raider, Joel’s mind digs deep for the old lines he used to say. Lie about your numbers. Lie.

“Don’t think about tryin’ anything’ either,” he asserts. “Heard you the second you walked onto this land. We got eyes on you from all sides.”

She lets her head fall to the side, frowning in skepticism. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

She takes a step forward, and Joel’s heart pounds in his chest, his face outwardly calm as his finger shifts to rest over the trigger.

“You got enough ammo to kill us all?” She tests the waters, taking another small step forward, but when Joel trains the barrel of his gun on her and presses forward, she stops.

“Listen.” Her face steels, hardening. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. You can let us take what we need and we’ll leave after that, or we can kill you and then take what we need. Your choice.”

His jaw ticks, anger rising in his chest. “You’re not takin’ a goddamn thing. Get the fuck out of here before –”

A faint cry pierces the air, and he freezes, the woman doing the same. Joel’s body goes rigid at the sound of June’s cry, the woman’s eyes widening, and she peers over his shoulder at the cabin.

June’s cries stutter for a moment before picking up in volume, and he pictures the exact face he knows she’s making. He knows that cry: an upset one that won’t settle any time soon. His heart lurches, an instinctual pull flooding through him to leave and soothe her.

He pulls up straight instead, adjusting his aim square at the woman’s face.

Her hands quickly raise higher, this time facing outwards in supplication. “Look, I didn’t know.” Gesturing towards the woods, her tone softens. “We have kids too. The food is for them.”

Before Joel can move, a horse emerges from between the trees. And then another, then another. Trying to keep them all in his sight, the group collects in the area in front of him; June’s cries growing louder in their pitch from inside the cabin.

“Please,” one of the riders says. A woman, with a small child seated in front of her in the saddle. “If you have anything –”

“I already said we don’t.”

The coldness in his statement dies as his eyes focus on the kid’s face. While the rest of the group has their eyes on Joel, the child isn’t paying attention to him and his gun. Their eyes are solely fixed around the back of the cabin and have been since they emerged from the woods. On the garden, just beyond.

“Please,” the rider begs one more time, quieter this time. “Please. We’ll take anything.”

Joel’s eyes linger on the kid’s slight frame, on the sunken rings underneath their eyes. Their face looks haunted, as if resigned to their hunger, and scolding himself for even wavering this long, he’s still thinking when the group's collective gaze shifts to something behind him.

A door opening, then closing.

Hearing the crunch of footsteps behind him, he sighs deeply, frustration evident in his disappointed tone.

“Go back inside.”

–

June quieted and left in the cabin, he burns next to you when you come to join him.

“I heard everything through the window,” you explain. “I figured if you haven’t shot by now, it would be safe to come out.”

A tension thrumming between your bodies in the air, you ignore the heat of his scolding stare.

“Kids, Joel.” The word is spoken to him like a plea, and his jaw ticks before you take a look at the group for yourself.

The first people you’ve seen in over a year.

Worse for the wear with the sallow features of the starved, they look less…intimidating than you expected them to be. None of them have that shifty, hardened edge that you’d come to recognize in the QZ, nor the menacing, cruel stare of the people you’d met on the road before. They don’t look like how you imagine the other intruder looked either, the one you still see in your nightmares sometimes.

Instead, they just look…tired. Hungry. The children seem dirty, but cared for. The mothers protect them in their slouched hold, the men remaining frozen under Joel’s command to stay still, his gun trained on the woman closest to him.

You picture the garden you heard them ask for: the basket of carrots still sitting in the sun, the squash vines spilling over the fence. You know they could kill you right here on the spot - but they don’t. They could have come in with guns drawn because you know they have them, but Instead they wait, trying to protect their kids.

“I’m not gonna say it again, honey,” Joel seethes, measured and low. “Go back inside.”

“We’ll trade you.”

A voice comes from a woman, clearly the leader of the group with the way they all keep glancing her way in silent deference, waiting. For someone staring down the barrel of a gun, she appears calm, her expression a practiced blank slate. Her age hard to determine due to the dust covering her skin, her voice is clear and measured, like she’s used to negotiating.

“You don’t look like you have anythin’ to trade,” Joel replies coolly.

Thinking of your dwindling supplies outside of food, you rest your hand on his arm. “What’ve you got?”

“What do you need?” she replies.

Joel’s head tilts in warning, his feet shifting to further solidify his stance. “Answer her question.”

Her eyes run down the length of you, taking in your measure for a moment. “Got some liquor if you want it.” She gestures towards a saddle bag with a tilt of her chin, but Joel is already shaking his head.

“Already got some.”

She quirks her eyebrow up. “Fine. Some medicine?”

“What kind?” you ask.

“Painkillers. Ibuprofen. Tylenol. Might help with –”

“Already got some of that too,” he cuts her off.

Sighing, the woman appears to think. Glancing at a man to the left of her, they have a silent conversation for a moment before she looks over at the garden. Staring at it for a moment, she brings her eyes back to you.

“What about a horse?”

Joel’s jaw tightens in distrust. “Like you’re just gonna give us a horse. How much food do you think you’re gonna get from us?”

She shrugs, ignoring his anger to focus directly on you. “It’s yours, if you give us enough food for all of us. Not just the kids. Respectfully, it looks like you have plenty. Certainly enough for two people and a baby.”

The assumption in her tone and the challenge in mentioning your true numbers makes Joel bristle, but the woman doesn’t back down. If anything, she straightens taller, rising to his unspoken challenge.

Tough and firm, she waits.

Leaning towards him, you lower your voice so only he can hear it. “I can give them some of the –”

He cuts you off with an immediate glare. “We need that food. You know it.”

“Yea, but we don’t need all of it. We have some to spare.”

He stares at you in stern, silent disagreement, and you continue. “I was just in the pantry. We can’t eat it all, Joel. I know what’s in there. Trust me. Those kids need to eat. They can have those carrots that I just picked, and –”

His eyes flit quickly back and forth between the group and your face, not wanting to keep his attention from them for too long.

“It’s a horse, Joel. A horse.”

He narrows his eyes at you, a war within them. You know he knows the value of what they are offering. Eventually, he relents.

“We ain’t givin’ up our fresh stuff. If we have anything – anything - it’s gonna be the old stuff.”

Thinking of the sallow child in the saddle, you silently challenge him, but he stays resolute in his expression.

“Fine,” you back down. “The old stuff.”

“Some of the old stuff. Not all of it.”

In agreement, you face the group again.

“Don’t move,” Joel instructs. Flicking his head in the direction of the cabin, he motions to you. “She can get you some things, and then you need to be on your way.”

“What about the horse?” the woman asks. “One of us has to move if you want it. Where should we tie it up?”

He thinks for a moment, keeping his gun trained on her. Picking a spot a ways away from the cabin, he jerks his chin towards it.

“Leave ‘em over there.”

–

Two faded floral pillowcases in your grip filled with what you could spare, you approach the group with careful and cautious steps, Joel taking a couple of slow strides to the left to keep you in his sights.

“Are you okay?” the woman murmurs quietly when you reach her, glancing at Joel.

Looking at her up close, there is a softness to her that you couldn’t see from far away. Her skin is weathered but still youthful, her long brown hair tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck and you recognize concern held in her gaze.

You frown, not understanding.

“That man there,” she tilts her chin at Joel. “He seems like a hard one. Is he keeping you here?”

Right when you’re about to defend him, June cries again, making her displeasure at being left alone again known.

Leveling you with a look, the woman repeats herself, this time more direct. “I mean it. Are you okay? Do you need us to help you?”

The implication is all over her face: a hard, threatening man all alone in the woods with a young woman. Holding her captive, forcing himself on her. A grim reality you’d seen plenty of times before, you understand her concern. Still, your response is a cool one, protective in your own right. “I’m fine. He’s just protecting us, like you’re doing with your own people.”

She studies your face for the truth. “He hasn’t hurt you or the baby, has he?”

“Of course not.” You understand her questioning, you do. Softening the edge to your response, you add, “He’s - he’s mine. We’re together. That’s our daughter crying.”

Her body language seems to relax along with her frown and she nods. Taking the sacks from you, she turns to pack them into the saddle bag of the horse next to her.

“Must have been scary, giving birth out here all alone.”

You huff, a small smile at the edge of your lips to disguise the way the memory makes you swallow hard. “Yea, it wasn’t ideal. We were lucky.”

“I helped her do the same a couple months ago.” The woman tilts her chin at another woman in the back of the group, and for the first time, you notice a small bundle wrapped tight to her chest. Hidden, protected from the elements. “You heal okay?”

“It was…rough, but I’m good now.”

Seeming satisfied in her questioning, she digs around in the pouch for a moment. Fishing out a jar, she hands it to you.

“I’m not sure how old your daughter is, but…here. Just in case you need it.”

A bottle of infant Tylenol being pressed into your hand, you look up to ask if she’s sure, but she cuts you off.

“Listen. We’re headed West. Towards Ja –”

“Jackson?” you interrupt, and her eyebrows raise. Joel’s impatience radiating from his position behind you, you ignore it. “Someone came by a couple of months ago and tried to take what we had. Joel took care of it. We found the map in his pocket.”

She smirks. “So he’s real protective of you then.”

“Is it real? Jackson?”

Unsure if you should be prolonging this conversation or even informing them you know the way they’re going, you can’t help the question spilling from your mouth. Curiosity pulled at you for months after you found that map, the destination now even more intriguing after seeing children in the saddle.

“Far as we know,” she replies, stuffing the bags away. “We heard from someone that it's safe. Safer than a QZ, though that doesn’t say much. They’re trying to keep it quiet, so they aren’t overrun with people, but…” her eyes flick towards the cabin. “It’s supposed to be off the grid. A place for families.”

Joel grits out your name behind you, and keeping the children in the forefront of your mind, you rush to say goodbye, giving her a warning.

“You can’t stay in the area or he will shoot you. I promise you, he will.” Clear and direct with your words, you think you see something of understanding laced with respect cross her features. Before you can stop yourself, you add in haste, “There is another cabin about two miles from here though. We’ve been in it, and it’s clean and safe for you all to stay the night. You can eat, get some rest.”

Her shrewd gaze takes you in for a moment, and you squeeze the medicine held in your grip, praying you won’t come to regret what you just said.

The edge of her mouth lifts in a small smile, and you let out a breath just as Joel says your name again, this time in a stern clip.

“Tess,” she says. Acknowledging the way Joel just told her your name, she offers her own. “My name is Tess. And thank you.”

The two of you coming to a silent understanding, you take a step back as she swings up onto the horse next to her, joining a rider already in the saddle. Motioning to the group with her hand, they all start to move.

“Thanks,” she says to Joel as she passes, but he stays silent.

Leveling her with a frown, he keeps his gun trained on her until they disappear into the trees.

–

Backing into the cabin to ensure it stays clear, Joel only lowers his weapon after the door is closed. You follow him cautiously into the bedroom, waiting for him to erupt.

You can tell he wants to, a tight bundle of anger set between his shoulder blades. His body is stiff as he picks June up to make sure she’s okay, and all the while, he keeps his back to you, as if trying to stay calm in her presence.

Her safety confirmed, he hands her to you before stalking back out to head straight for the traps and even after checking those, he stays on the front porch with his rifle, waiting.

Busying yourself with calming June down and eventually feeding her dinner, his anger with you weighs heavily in the space. Peeking every so often at his stern profile through the window, you put June to bed for the night, avoiding him as long as possible.

Afraid of the disappointment you’ll see on his face, you linger by June’s cradle long after she falls asleep, questioning your decisions over and over again in your mind.

In the end, you keep coming back to her milk cheeked profile as she sleeps.

The clothes you piece together for her. The lack of medicine should she get sick. The even worse situation she’d be in if either of you did. The people that came by today, the conflict that was avoided because they were reasonable.

You were right to give those children food. You know you were. If that had been June in the saddle, you would have done anything to get her food — including making a promise not to come back, especially knowing another child was depending on that source for their survival.

It required belief in people instead of immediate distrust, and though you couldn’t explain how you knew, you just knew they could be trusted.

Leaving her to join him on the porch, you’re expecting a calmer discussion with the hours that have passed, but he is still angry. Angrier than you’ve seen him in a long time.

Part nervous, part sorry, and part wanting to defend yourself, you tuck your arms around your torso and step outside to where his profile greets you.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just let them go, Joel. I couldn’t not give them anything. They were starving.”

He says nothing, keeping his eyes resolutely on the woods in front of him.

“Please come inside. They aren’t coming back.”

He faces you, his voice cutting. “And how do you know that, huh?”

You swallow hard, bracing yourself. “I told them about the other cabins. I told them they could stay the night there and get some rest if they needed – “

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His eyes flash in the darkness, his expression twisted with frustration. “We don’ want them to stay close. They need to move on, so we know they aren’t comin’ back for what we have.”

“They aren’t.”

“You think just because they said so, they won’t? You can’t just trust what people tell you. I know it’s been awhile, but I thought you woulda remembered that.”

Hurt cuts through you at his dismissive tone. This version of Joel is one you haven’t seen in a long time, a shadow of the man he was before he met you and it hurts, to be back where you were. To have him look at you the way he is. Blinking back tears, regret starts to seep into your mind, but you fight against it.

You know he’s just protecting his own, and you are one of those people. His.

“The woman said they are headed to Jackson.”

At the mention of the town, he looks back at you.

“Did you see the kids with them? One of the riders had a baby, around the same size as June. That woman – Tess? She helped deliver it.”

Chastened, he looks down at the ground at your mention of that time.

“They wouldn’t start trouble with that many kids around. I know it.”

“They gotta feed them kids, don’t they?” He delivers his statement bluntly, looking up to hold eye contact with you. Weariness rings his eyes, his tone no less scolding for it. “You know just as much as I do that you would do anything for June. Anything. Including lyin’ to someone just to turn around and steal what they have.”

The truth in his words hangs heavy in the air between the two of you, and you press on.

“I gave them ample food. They have no reason to come back. I even put some meat in there –”

At this, he stands, outraged. His jaw ticks as he glares at you for a long moment, eventually letting out a huff of disbelief.

“Hell, why not some ammo too?”

Shaking his head, he glances away.

Disappointment pours off his body, his back to you and a tear slips down over your cheek. All the words you practiced saying to him die on your tongue, every good point turning to ash under the heat of his anger. You understand his worry because it’s also your own worry, but…the way the woman looked at you, the way those women held their children, the hope held in the woman’s eyes as she talked about Jackson?

They weren’t coming back. You knew they weren’t.

You’d thought he’d at least be happy about the horse, but the thought of another mouth to feed keeps your own closed.

Sitting back down, he flexes his hold on his rifle, resting it across his lap. His eyes won’t meet yours.

“I’m gonna stay up and keep watch. Just in case they do decide to come back. You should just…go to bed.”

All of the fight sucked out of you, you nod at his dismissal and turn, going back inside.

–

His disappointment in you eats at him.

Flares bright as he sits up all night, waiting for their shadowy figures to reappear. Simmers as he hears you soothe June back to sleep after feeding her. Lingers with a fade in his chest as the sun lightens the horizon, inky black turning into pinkish dawn.

He knows you saw those children and gave without hesitation, thinking of June. He knows that. But he’s also thinking of June. Always. Equal parts impressed and frustrated by the hope that still exists inside you even after you’ve seen what the outside world is still capable of, he doesn’t know how you can still trust. You still give; you’re still kind.

He appreciates those qualities in you, but to give away your rations and to take a gamble on them not coming back is more than letting your hope win. It’s dangerous, and he wishes you could see that.

He knows now that this will happen again. Clearly a route marked on that map, it’ll be used in the coming months by other people. The fact that they could see your garden was bad enough, but the fact that it was a group of people was even worse.

He can defend you against one man, but a group? There are limits to his skills; he knows more than anyone.

You can’t stay here anymore.

He fights against the knowledge, the memory of Sarah now woven in with the surroundings. So much more than a place for the three of you to stay hidden from the world, he sees it as a place where the four of you thrived: the ghost of Sarah visiting him freely here, as a welcomed presence. Finally not something he pushed to the darkest, safest corners of his mind as a means to keep her memory away from what the world turned into.

Even in death, he protected her.

He knows she’ll follow him wherever he goes, but that doesn’t solve the problem of wanting to be the father he’s got the chance to be with June as he is here — not as who he’d have to be, if you left.

His palm running along the smooth barrel of the gun, he stares into the dark woods and keeps watch, his weary eyes ringed with the need for sleep.

Jackson.

Responsible for your safety and well being, does he take the gamble and bring you there? Does he find another spot hidden deeper in the woods, hoping that one won’t be discovered? One requires faith in the words of other people, the other requires faith only in his own skills. After everything he’s seen and done, he knows which way he wants to lean…but still, he thinks.

Acknowledging the strength in numbers that you’ve been missing this whole time, a group encountering this place was a liability, but to be part of a group - that was a strength. Resources to help if June should get sick, other people around to take care of her if either of you should. Clothes, shoes, a shelter that isn’t slowing falling apart.

Those were just the basics of human necessity, but other things worm their way into his mind. The things not needed to live, but needed to thrive. Socialization, a community. An image of Sarah on the soccer field projects against the dark field in front of him; all grin and bright eyes at sleepovers, running around the park he used to bring her to when she wanted to play with her friends.

Any QZ that he’s been in was never the suburb full of children that he raised Sarah in, but at least there were other kids. Other people. A means to provide more than what you could, here. And with Jackson being a place being off the grid…there was a possibility it was better than a QZ. The world-worn cynic in him knew it was a long shot, but still.

He pictures your shadowed face in the darkness, as you argued with him. The earnestness in your eyes, the words you used to try to make him understand your reasoning behind trusting them. He was too mad then to listen, but now…he understands why.

Not only your belief in those people, but your belief in general. Understands that you’ve always needed to believe in something, in order for any of this to work.

“No matter what, you keep finding something to fight for.”

He said that to you in bed one night, speaking of you and June, and he thinks about how you’ve always believed it in the same thing your own way: your something to fight for was a future still possible.

One that you’ve shown him to be true.

Rising stiff limbed from his position on the porch, it’s almost light when he wanders back into the silent cabin.

He tries to be quiet in the kitchen as he digs through the drawer for the map, and finding it, places it on the counter.

Making his way to the bedroom, he crawls into the space behind your curved spine and tucks himself around it, holding you close.

In your sleep, you reach for him and grasping your hand in his, he fits the bridge of his nose into the soft nape of your neck and closes his eyes.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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trashmouth-richie · 6 months

Text

⋆·˚ ༘ * eddie x female reader

⋆·˚ ༘ * summary: what happens, when eddie makes plans without you?

⋆·˚ ༘ * tw: 18+ only, unprotected p in v! toxic relationship behavior, choking, reader is kind of crazy but it’s explained at the end, breaking shit, mean!reader, drinking, weed, knife use, pet names, nicknames.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 1.7k words, not proof read, pretend it is.

Saturdays were usually your nights together. Spending the night at his trailer because it was guaranteed that Wayne would be gone.

But tonight Eddie said he had “plans with the boys”.

So imagine your surprise when Robin called you up and asked why you weren’t at Steve’s party, but Eddie was?

The ten minute drive felt like sixty seconds of pure rage filled hell. You only saw red, steam shot from your ears like a cartoon.

And when you pulled up to Steve’s enormous house, Robin was right, because Eddie’s van was sitting out front.

Your blood boiled and your cheeks felt like fire. Heart hammering in your chest, you slammed the gear shift into park before the car could even come to a full stop.

You didn’t care that he was here with his friends, what you cared about was the normal posse of skanky girls who were at Steve’s parties, one strawberry blonde in particular that rubbed you every way of wrong. Chrissy.

She was always hanging on Eddie any chance she got, batting her eyelashes, acting dumb to get his help in math. You’re so smart she’d whisper to him— even though the straight F’s on his paper definitely didn’t stand for Fantastic.

Jason had dumped her and rumor had it she was looking to get back at him the biggest way she knew how, and that was t getting with the freak.

Your freak.

The sharp black points on your heeled boots clicked along the sidewalk as you stalked towards the house whistling an angelic sort of tune, swinging the wooden bat by your side.

Jonathan was outside the lavish home, smoking a fatty and leaning against the raised brick garden bed. Upon first glance he waved, all drunken smiles and lazy greetings.

It wasn’t until he saw what was in your hand that he finally pieces it together, and you asked him sweetly to kindly get Eddie because you had a message for him.

The driver's side window broke with little to no effort, a few swings and it shattered into a pretty spider web of splintered glass, covering Eddie’s driver seat.

The whistled tune never stopped from your puckered lips. Not when you flicked open the pocket knife and punctured the rubber tires, or when you carved a long jagged scratch into the paint down the aluminum body.

It wasn’t until you were standing on the hood of the van, crashing the bat into the windshield did you hear the front door to Steve’s swing open, music fading through the night with each body shoving their way through the door, gasping at your surprise gift for your boyfriend.

Someone, Jeff, you think— hollers for Eddie and you plant your ass on the hood, leaving a dent for sure by the way you plopped down like it was a trampoline. With legs crossed and twisting the bat between your palms, you wait patiently for the man of the hour to finally arrive, a smile on your black painted lips.

By now there’s a decent sized crowd, all gaping mouths and wide eyes, some laughing but mostly struck with fear out of the freaks girl.

He walks down the concrete steps, his heavy boots thudding against the hard ground. You can see the muscles in his jaw tense from where you are sitting, his knuckles tighten into a fist and his shoulders broaden and angle back, like he's trying like hell, not to yell out right by the look of the destruction you caused to his van.

“Hi baby,” you greet, sugary sweet like you just brought him balloons on his birthday, “having a fun night?”

Eddie is seething, nostrils flared as he tries to even his breathing, “what did you do Lil?”

“What?” You ask, turning your body to look at the glass splintered on the windshield and smashed on the ground, “oh, you mean all this? It’s pretty right?”

Eddie drags his tongue across the front of teeth, sucking in a breath, “you’re kidding right?”

Unhooking your crossed leg you slam your heel into one of his headlights, the satisfying crunch of the plastic pieces littering to the ground, you smile pretty up at him, but he doesn’t bat an eye, “oh Eddie,” you tsk, “I don’t like jokes… or being,” the tip of the bat hits the other headlight with a crunch, “… lied to.”

“Fucking Christ, what are you even talking about?” Eddie spits as he looks to Jeff then to Gareth.

“Really? Then why did Robin call to say you were here with that bimbo Chrissy?”

The crowd ooo’s as Eddie stomps towards you, his face struck with anger, the browns of his eyes completely black as he glared down at you, his necklace still swaying as he leans forward into your space, only malice in his voice.

“Time to go,” he grunts, grabbing the bat from your hand and tossing it to the ground, “now.”

“Nah,” you say, looking past him and waving at Steve, he returns the wave with a confused look at a silent gasp at the look of Eddie’s van, “I’m just getting started.”

Steve tries to push everyone inside shows over! Let’s go! But nobody budges, waiting for the train wreck, unable to look away.

Eddie pulls you from the van by your feet, your bare ass skimming the hood as your skirt lifts up, sure to leave a burn, you land on your feet, waltzing over to aforementioned blonde and taking her drink from her, downing the horrific liquid in a gulp. She’s too stunned to speak as you twist back around to catch a glimpse of Eddie, shooting him a wink.

The knife tucked into the cute holder on your thigh comes out with a flick. Flashing the steel blade to Eddie, you wink before whipping back around to Chrissy just in time to catch her ponytail between your fingers. The knife cuts through her hair like a shear, close to her scalp beneath the emerald ponytail, her golden locks fisted limply in your hand.

The scream she lets out is blood curdling and ugly, but you don’t mistake the laugh coming from Robin or Steve as Chrissy runs inside, her cheer squad hurrying behind to help their friend.

“Wait! You forgot this!” You say shaking the blond strands towards the door, “I’m sure some glue or tape will hel—”

You're caught off guard as Eddie’s hand wraps around your wrist and starts dragging you away from the party back to his van. He wiggles the knife from your fingers and closes it on his hip, shoving it into his jacket.

The smile never left your lips, not even when your shoulder blades rest against the side of the van as Eddie crowds you in.

“Jesus Christ you’re fucking crazy, y’know that?” his words are mean but there’s a hint of something else on his lips, a smirk.

Your fingers move to his belt buckle, threading it through itself as you look up at him through your lashes, “you love it.”

His eyes roll tk the back of his head, and he takes a deep breath, animalistic instinct kicking in as you suck his thumb into your mouth.

“Fuck.”

Your thighs are wrapped around his waist in two seconds flat. He grunts as his thick fingers glide through your wet heat, finally noticing you weren’t wearing any panties he groans guttural and low.

His hand wraps around your throat and he smiles as you gasp for a little breath, eyes rolling into your skull as he cants his hips forward and his thick head pushes through your walls, filling you full.

Your lips attach to his neck, licking and biting hard enough that your teeth marks will bruise a perfect dental record into his skin. A nice match for the red lips tattooed on the left of his neck, an identical mark to yours.

“Shit,” he groans slamming into you harder and harder, shaking the van on its flat tires, broken glass hitting the ground like hail. “Always so fucking tight for me baby, fuck I love your pussy.”

You’re mewling into him, inhaling his words as he bites your lip, licking the blood from them and running it over his teeth.

The front door opens and shuts but neither of you stop, not even when the sobs from Chrissy get closer as her friends bell her into their car, parked right behind Eddie’s van.

Eddie’s face is buried into your neck and you catch Chrissy’s blue teared stare, horror on her face as you and Eddie both moan. “Mm fuck,” you say to her, eyes boring into hers, “like what you see, Christopher?”

The screaming huff from her mouth is heard around Hawkins as she slams the door to Heather's car, tires screeching as they tear out of Steve’s driveway.

Eddie chuckles into your skin and shakes his head. A smile on his face as he kisses you hard, pumping into you harder and before long you're both coming and moaning into the night, completely lost in your own world.

Later that night in Eddie’s bed, you're tangled naked and fresh from a shower beneath soft cotton sheets. His hands lazily work up and down your back, your arm propped up beneath your chin on his chest, “so, I did good, right?”

Eddie laughs and blows a ring of smoke into the air, “you were perfect my little vixen, I could barely contain myself when you were sitting on the hood like that, looked so fucking sexy, wanted to fuck you right there.”

You both laugh at the theatrics of the night, and you remember something that’s missing, “gonna need my knife back by the way, feels weird without it.”

Eddie points to his jacket crumbled on the floor next to a mountain of discarded clothing and leather boots, “it’s in my pocket, just keeping it safe.”

You roll your eyes with a tease and slither from the sheets, bare skinned beneath the yellow warm lamp, the jacket feels cool in your hands, silk pockets gentle on your fingers as your grab your knife and pull it out.

Examining it in your fingers it truly was the perfect gift from the man you adored, etched into the handle, a script he cut himself, “to my Lilith.”

liked this? consider a reblog like and comment! thanks for reading

another story in the same lilith au - here & here

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader

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amomentsescape · 22 days

Note

OooooO! Could I get a Slasher X reader! Like where another "rival" Slasher gets interested in another Slasher's So?

When Another Slasher Becomes Interested in Reader

Brahms Heelshire x Reader

A/N: I decided to not go into specifics on who the "rival" slasher was since it would have involved a lot of background and explanation on why they were in the UK in the first place.

Brahms's jealousy and possession over you knows no bounds

He doesn't even want you within a 3 foot radius of the man whose only job is to drop off groceries

He enjoys having you all to himself, living in the middle of nowhere with only him as your company

He may be the one who needs to be taken care of, but that's not to say that he doesn't want you to rely on him too

He has always wanted you to seek out his protection

He loves to see you curl up beside him and just fully relax in his presence

In fact, Brahms is never satisfied unless he is fully enveloping you with an iron grip, making sure nothing else can touch you and you can't sneak away

So when the feelings of paranoia began, Brahms went into a frenzy

He triple checked the locks on all the doors and windows every single night

He set up a security system to prevent anyone from breaking in

He even stopped hiding within the walls during the day and instead spent 24/7 right next to you

You questioned his sudden change in behavior

He told you he could feel someone watching you two

He could tell that you weren't really alone anymore

This freaked you out a bit

Brahms may be childish, but he's not stupid

You began to trust his word a bit more after that

It wasn't until one day that you decide to slip out of the house for a couple minutes

Brahms refused to let you outside or to even open a window the past few weeks, and this was beginning to wear on you

The cool air immediately calmed you down, and you began to question what he was so worried about in the first place

But right as the thought crossed your mind, you heard a branch snap beside you

You immediately turned and saw a masked man standing there, his height towering over you

He had a massive blade in his hand that sent a shiver down your spine

In that moment, you knew you should have listened to Brahms

You turned to run, but the Slasher was faster

He grabbed you by the jaw and turned you towards him, forcing you to look at him

To your surprise, his grip loosened slightly as he began to rub his thumb along your cheek

The feeling was familiar in a way to what Brahms would do sometimes

But that didn't make the moment any less terrifying

You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he kept a firm hold on you

Just when you were about to call out for Brahms, the Slasher was slammed to the ground

You could see Brahms and the Slasher in a tussle, rolling around in the dirt while the sound of hard hits and cracking knuckles echoed throughout the quiet forest

You were worried for Brahms since the other Slasher was just as tall and strong as he was

But to your surprise, Brahms got the upper hand

He slammed his fist over and over again onto the man's mask, causing it to crack and splinter into his skin

This distracted him for just long enough that Brahms could grab a large rock, forcing it straight into the man's forehead

All movement ceased, and Brahms sat there, breathing heavily

When he finally turned to you, you slowly walked over to make sure he was okay

Before you could even say a word, Brahms had you pinned to a tree

His hands snaked along your waist as he pulled you flush against him

His lips were on yours in a hurry, his kisses hungrier than you had ever felt them before

He'll most definitely lock you back inside the house for the foreseeable future after this, but at least for now, you can just relish in his possessiveness and desire

#slashers x reader #slashers #slashers preference #slasher preference #slashers headcanon #slasher movies #brahms x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms heelshire imagine #brahms heelshire headcanon

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nautilusopus · 1 year

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okay FIIIIIINE i'll throw my hat into the Goncharov ring

Been a while i've done a proper movie breakdown, may as well be this one.

Rather surprisingly (but perhaps not too surprisingly given the unexpected renaissance of things like the original Dracula and Breaking Bad on this website out of seemingly nowhere and with very little prompting), I'm seeing a lot of new people suddenly interested in Martin Scorsese's seminal film classic Goncharov, originally released in 1973. Obviously a movie like that doesn't make it coming up on 50 years without generating a lot of discussion about the different ways the movie resonates and why, but coming into it in 2022 there's been so much cultural cruft that's collected around Goncharov that (similar to stories like Fight Club and Scarface) it's a little hard to parse what it's actually about with all the mythologising that's gone on around the characters.

Those movies, in one way or another, are about portraying the downfall of their protagonists -- Fight Club's after ironically creating another system of control and dehumanisation and becoming what he sought to destroy, Scarface's after being consumed by the wealth and power he's amassed. A lot of people assume it's that kind of story, because aren't most well-loved movies? However, I think this is ironically an assumption made because of the genre of film it is. All the people that aren't going, "OMG Goncharov is so cool and badass and fucks bitches," are going, "WOW I can't believe Goncharov is a cautionary tale about power corrupting," and in the process people miss that Goncharov is first and foremost about loss, in all its different forms.

I'm both kind of surprised and frustrated people miss this, given how utterly pervasive the movie is with its clock symbolism -- it's the one thing everyone remembers about it, it was in all the tie-ins. I dunno, maybe that got funneled back into the theory where they're meant to reinforce how Goncharov is just a mortal man at the end of the day, which is fine I guess, but the movie overall becomes a lot clearer when you interpret it through the lens of, "These things are gone and you can never get them back; clocks don't go backwards."

One of the most fascinating things about the movie is how every character embodies a different kind of loss. I'm gonna ease into this and start not with Goncharov but with:

Rybak, who is usually associated with loss as we typically think of it, i.e. the loss of loved ones via death. This comes up all the time, either in his trust issues (why he's being such a prick at the wedding), in the card game (he never bothers to bet much money, knowing he's bad at poker, and still loses all the same). Rybak is terrified of loss, cannot manage it, and ultimately is punished by losing what few people he had left and then being spared by Lorenzo who deems him punished enough, and is forced to survive, to grapple with what his life is now without them.

Goncharov's is actually more subtle, and it's loss of small, insignificant things as a result of the larger losses he believes he's processed. This is something that's frequently contrasted against Rybak. The pawn shop going under is actually a microcosm of this whole thing. Goncharov anticipates that this is obviously going to lead to financial issues for him, plans accordingly to deal with this, and... it works! He's saved! Except that means card games can't be hosted at his place anymore, given it's burned to the ground. Does this matter, in the grand scheme of his life? No, of course not. Poker night still gets had all the same. But it is different now, and always will be. Little things like this continue to add up, until something as insignificant as a towel -- a towel that never should have been in his room, but Sofia is no longer there to drop off his laundry and chat with him -- is ultimately the final nail in a coffin built of insignificant splinters, each one an imperceptible change underneath the much more larger, noticeable story beats of things like grief.

Otto is the big obvious one I'm not gonna linger on: loss of his youth, moments in the past that he wants to redo but can't. Most people at least seem to have gotten this one.

(This is also what the clocks get associated with a lot, which again, doesn't NOT make sense but also if it were just for this one character that, while thematically important, was honestly just a side character with limited screentime and only two scenes, would they really be all over the movie before Otto's name is even mentioned?)

Sofia's a bit abstract, and is the loss of self -- of the familiar anchors we have to who we are, what we think our core principles are, our place in society, who we want to be to our loved ones -- and by the time she dies she is rendered utterly unrecognisable to herself, and is horrified by it. She grieves herself the same way Rybak grieves his wife (even gets a direct visual callback via the way her face is lit when she's burning Lorenzo's check). You see echoes of this in Goncharov as well, but while Sofia is grieving the person she used to be, Goncharov is grieving the world around him (even though really, it's the same world it always was -- time keeps ticking on, one second per second, and neither one of them can ever un-fire that gun).

Lorenzo, tragically, gradually loses his freedom (and maybe in a parallel world would actually be the protagonist of a movie where he chokes on his own hubris like everyone seems to think Goncharov is GRUMBLE GRUMBLE). As he comes into his own more and more by his family's legacy, he is afforded fewer and fewer options about what decisions he can even make. Arguably he was doomed from the start, but the further he clings to power as a means to freedom, the more it drives him to destroying everything he ever (thought he) cared about. The tragedy of his character, and what makes him a good villain, is that he can clearly see what he is doing to himself and he absolutely hates it (his walking out early at the wedding is a tacit admission of this), but his absolute refusal to accept loss, to accept grief and pain and all the awful shit that comes with the human condition, is what causes him to toss aside every out he has because if he has enough CONTROL over his situation, surely he will never have to lose anything ever again. But, really, he already has.

I dunno. Goncharov is one of those movies that is great, and everyone seems to realise it's great, but nobody ever really puts into words why, and that's how you get Fight Club fans lmao. And it sucks because the actual discussion around the movie beyond "it's another hubris story but REALLY GOOD guys" is so much more fascinating and a much more earnest emotional truth that just never gets talked about.

#goncharov #goncharov (1973)#martin scorsese #al pacino #robert di niro #gene hackman #harvey keitel #gaslight gatekeep goncharov

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obsessedvibee · 3 months

Text

Humble Beginnings

18+, MDNI, NSFW

Warnings: smut, one curse, dry humping, p in v, unprotected sex, cream pie, impregnation kink, awkward boner if you squint

Pairing: Billy the Kid & reader

Words: 3.1k

Summary: Billy and readers wedding is approaching and hormones are rising as the day approaches. Oh, and her dad is over protective & an annoying cock block. This also accidentally turned into to a whole flashback memory sorta ordeal?

Enjoy!

We’ve only been moved into the new house for a week now. It was small, but it was enough; a table and chairs for meal times, a bed in the second room, running water into the kitchen, and even windows on each side of the house.

Billy insisted on building a home for us himself. Jesse and the gang helped him every chance they could leading up to our wedding. Chopping down trees, cutting the pieces down to size. It became a ritual every evening, helping Billy pick the splinters out of his hands.

Everyday I made lunches for all the boys, and did my best to keep them all hydrated. I felt it was the least I could do to thank them.

I only managed to deliver the food alone the first time, until my father insisted on coming with me everyday, when I rode up. “I don’t trust any of those men as far as I can shoot a shotgun.” Was his reasoning.

I’d given up trying to argue him on the subject. He wasn’t exactly fond of Billy and I, but since we announced our engagement, he was trying to come around some.

I couldn’t blame him being his only daughter; my mother passing shortly after I was born.

Billy would never admit his unease when my father was around, but I could see the way he would square his shoulders. He wouldn’t touch me any more than to hold my hand to steady me as I got down from the wagon when I made it to the property. It was endearing, but frustrating. I wanted him alone. The closer our wedding date became, the less time we had each other to ourselves. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss him. I wanted to feel his hands pressing me closer to him because he just couldn’t get enough. I wanted to throw all my inhibitions to the wind and jump his bones. I don't know how he managed to keep himself so put together. I started to wonder if he even wanted me in that way.

My mind kept wandering deeper into my imagination, wondering and yearning. Imagining him stripping away the last barrier between us, his strong arms holding himself above me.

The older women at tea time were getting looser with their tongues. I’m sure they meant well, trying to give marriage advice and how a wife should be, trying to prepare me; but sharing tips about the marriage bed was not something I wanted to discuss with anyone, let alone them.

One afternoon, I finally gathered the courage to question Billy when we found ourselves alone while we ate our lunch on top of a hill that overlooked the skeleton of our home. The other boys and my father were a couple hundred feet away out of ear shot, but he could still easily see us.

“Do you want me?” I blurted.

His eyes darted to me, stopping mid chew, “‘course, darling.” He resumed eating. “I wouldn’t have asked for your fathers blessing if I didn’t.”

My heart warmed at his answer, but I wasn’t sure he picked up on what I meant. I toyed with a loose thread on my dress as I sat faced with the task of asking him more directly to get my point across. I quietly watched as he licked the last few crumbs off his fingers before leaning back on the tree behind him, tipping his hat over his eyes to block the sweltering sun. “Care to humor me with your thoughts, dear?”

“I meant sexually.”

His shaking chest gave away his small chuckle, the corner of his mouth pulling into a small grin.

My fingers moved from the thread of my dress to busy themselves with a loose strand of hair. Chewing the inside of my cheek, my anxiety continued to gnaw at me as he remained quiet.

A whistle from down below signaled break time was over. I packed the few items back into the basket I brought over, my anxiety was quickly turning to embarrassment

I stood quickly, about to make a beeline for the wagon to hightail it out of there when Billy gently grabbed my arm stopping me. Stepping in front of me, his body shielded me from the blinding sun and any eyes that could be watching. His face was suddenly so close to mine I could smell the sweet fragrance of the lemonade he’d been drinking on his breath, and then his tongue was in my mouth. I stumbled back a step in surprise but was quickly steadied as his large hands grasped me. His tongue prodded gently, almost as an apology for the sudden intrusion, and before I could think further, he broke our lips apart. He held my head between his strong hands, his thumb gently brushing my cheek. His face was so close to mine I had nowhere to look but into his shining blues. “More than you will ever know.” He licked his lips, slowly placing his hat back onto his head. He gently began guiding me back down the hill, bringing me out of my sudden haze. His next words were so low I almost missed them. “I just don’t know if I could stop myself if we were really alone.”

**********

A few weeks later our house was finally completed, and my father invited everyone over for a celebratory dinner. I was in charge of making all the food, while father attended to the field outside. Sweat ran down my face while the fire burned in the stove as the Kansas sun tried to bake the house itself. I kept busy making pies, bread, and cleaning the fresh vegetables from the garden. Seeing Billy’s shining face tonight kept my heart thudding just a little faster. Moving day would be here before we knew it. My father even slaughtered a pig for the occasion.

Soon enough the setting sun began to shine in the west window, and I gave the last touches to the food. I just managed to clean myself up, ridding my body of the sweat and changing into a dry clean dress, when I heard the thundering hooves of horses getting closer. Putting one last pin in my hair I hurried to the front room to greet them all.

Billy was the first to walk in. “There's my pretty girl,” he grinned, scooping me up and spinning me around, earning a laugh from me. He set me back down, placing a heavy kiss to my lips. His smile was contagious as he pulled away, an immediate blush rising to my cheeks upon hearing a whistle from somewhere beside us as everyone filed in. My fingers gently brushed my lips still feeling his on mine. Knowing he felt the same way that I have been the last few weeks made my stomach flutter.

I startled as my fathers voice bellowed, “let’s eat!”

The celebration wore on well after dinner was over, and the dishes were put away. Slowly, one by one the men left, and the house became a little bit quieter, when I felt Billy’s leg begin bouncing under the table. No doubt because the crowd was dwindling down and soon it would only be the three of us. Without thinking I reached over to place my hand on his thigh to comfort him. I knew my father could be intimidating, but I thought they were a bit more comfortable by now.

He froze feeling the heat from my hand through his worn pants, his hand gripping mine keeping it in place. I glanced over at him, searching his nervous eyes in question. He swallowed hard, his face remaining impassive. I worried for him wondering if he was suddenly feeling unwell, but he didn’t look ill to me. Just some sort of sudden nerves.

Soon my father was walking the last guest to the door, and Billy tugged my hand, pulling it up to his mouth, pressing kisses along each knuckle. “I need you to do something for me tonight,” he murmured.

“What is it?”

He let go of my hand reaching to play with a lock of my hair that rested against my chest, his eyes watching intently. Goosebumps spread when his skin brushed my collar bone. “Meet me behind the barn after your father goes to bed.”

Before I could question him any, father re-appeared, and Billy stood, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. I rose with him, “I’ll walk Billy out.”

My father nodded, leaving us. I reached out for Billy’s hand, but instead, bumped into his hat. I looked over in question when I noticed it was pressed to his crotch when it dawned on me, my eyes widening.

The nervousness. The grip his hand had on mine.

What had I done to cause such a rise in him? I bit my lip as a smile threatened to emerge, looking up into his bashful face. I so badly wanted to say something but remained quiet so as to not alert my father, who I’m sure was eavesdropping in the next room over.

I walked him to the door with a whole new confidence, his hand holding mine. I turned to kiss him goodbye, but before he parted ways and headed out the door he whispered, “I’ll be waiting for you, darling.”

For the next half hour I waited in my bedroom in anticipated agony. I don’t think I’ve ever looked in the mirror so many times. Letting my hair down, putting it back up. Placing a dab of perfume on my wrists and neck. I’d lost complete control of my thoughts since he left, my heart pounding and thighs clenching, wondering how far he would lead me tonight. I decided to put another dab between my breasts. I let my hair down again, letting the brown waves cascade down my shoulders.

I heard the faint squeaks of the old bed frame coming from the other room, signaling my father had gone to bed for the night. My heart jumped in excitement. I stood, glancing over myself one more time, giving the neckline of my dress a good tug, trying to show a bit more cleavage.

I crept down the hall, quickly making my way to the front door, shutting it carefully behind me. I padded down the front steps, scampering across the property, not feeling completely safe until I reached the barn, blocking the view from the house. I walked around back, Billy’s horse Sugar snorting in surprise at my sudden appearance.

Billy was sitting on an old tree stump, whittling away at a piece of wood with his pocket knife, but that was quickly forgotten about and placed to the side when his eyes darted to me. He stalked towards me with a ravenous look in his eyes. He grabbed me pulling my body deep into him, capturing my lips in his. A soft moan of relief escaped me as he continued his attack, his tongue easily finding its way back into my mouth. His fingers carded into my hair gently guiding me back until I was pressed into the wall of the barn.

“Billy,” I panted into his mouth.

The full moon from the night sky illuminated his features once he pulled away. His jaw flexed, and his eyes were wild yet soft, holding a look I’ve never seen before, making my insides tingle.

“I want you every minute of every waking moment,” he rasped, “and every moment I’m not awake I’m dreaming of you.” His thumb pulled my bottom lip free from my teeth, before leaning in and connecting us once again. He gently rolled his hips into me, teasing what was to come, his mouth working its way to my neck. I began to fumble blindly with his suspenders, attempting to push them off his shoulders, all while lifting my head to allow him better access.

I could feel him growing against me, when he paused to look into my eyes. We both were panting lightly, his hat lopsided on his head. I reached up to fix it for him. “Darlin’, I won't be able to stop myself if we go any further.”

I nodded, a grin pulling at my mouth, the burning coals simmering beneath my belly. I toyed with the collar of his shirt before speaking. “Does she have to watch?” I casually nodded towards Sugar.

He let out a short laugh, pulling away to lead me into the barn.

Grabbing the lantern at the entrance, he led me inside, making our way up the ladder to the loft. He wasted no time picking up where we left off. I worked his shirt over his wide shoulders and he began fingering the buttons at the back of my dress.

He groaned in frustration as it slowed everything down once again, giving the material an impatient tug. “Don’t you dare ruin this dress, Billy,” I warned.

Finally it was open enough and he gently tugged the dress off my shoulders. Pressing his warm lips to my shoulder, I turned to face him again.

His eyes danced over my bra covered chest, before meeting my gaze, nervously clearing his throat.

He sat himself on a stack of hay bales, beckoning for me to sit on his lap.

I hesitated, the reality of what we were about to do, where we were about to do it struck me. “Billy,” I started, “maybe we shouldn’t-” I gestured around me, “right here?”

“It’s fine, baby, the animals can’t see nothin’,” he beckoned to me, “just come sit on my lap.”

If my hormones wouldn’t have been raging, I probably would have been able to resist him. But I was just a girl who was a bit more than just eager to roll around in the hay (quite literally) with a man as handsome as Billy.

I let him guide me to straddle him, my dampened center placed directly over his waiting member.

The moment he groaned, all the rest of my logical thoughts left.

In a desperate attempt of getting some much needed friction for himself, he began flexing his hips to further things along. His smoldering eyes were almost too much as he watched my face intently while he guided my hips in a rhythm over himself. He grunted when I moved a little faster, trying to press myself harder into him, aiding the both of us.

“Sorry it isn’t more romantic,” he murmured between kisses.

I snorted, “you think this isn’t romantic for me? Half naked up in a loft in a barn with a bunch of farm animals below us?”

He nipped at my bottom lip at my snarky remark.

I reached down and pulled my panties to the side letting my clit drag deliciously against the fabric of his trousers, with a sigh.

“Yeah baby,” he encouraged, “make yourself feel good.”

His words stirred the burning coals within me, my hips now moving at a frantic pace, and I was unable to stop, as I felt myself barreling towards the finish.

As the wave crashed over me my mouth opened in a silent scream as I held my breath through the thick of it, finally heaving as I came back down.

“For the record,” I breathed, “I’d let you take me anywhere if I get to feel like that.”

He let me regain myself for a moment before he tapped my thigh telling me to lift myself up. I did as I was told and he made quick work, pushing his clothing down to his thighs exposing his stiff cock. He stroked himself a few times, before holding himself at the base. I guided him to me, gently lowering my heat, slipping his tip inside, feeling myself stretch around the intrusion. I easily accommodated him, my body more than ready. I glanced up as I sank down, enveloping the last inch of him. His eyes were trained down between us as I held my skirts to my chest letting him watch. I remained still, letting my body relax completely. He tore his gaze away from where we were connected to look me in the eyes, “I fucking love you,” he whispered.

I answered with a desperate kiss, dropping my skirts, and I began to ride him, my hips rising and falling. A soft clapping sound filled the air as my thighs met his with every stroke.

Neither of us were going to last long, his thumb reaching under my dress quickly working my clit as he started to get close. “Baby-” he panted, “I’m gonna-, you gotta get off-, I’m gonna bust soon.”

His words just turned the heat up in my belly, suddenly overwhelmed with desire for him to fill me up. I wanted him to let himself go inside of me. Doing what our bodies were designed for.

God, it was so hot seeing him so close to losing all control, all because of me.

“Put a baby in me, Billy.”

His brow furrowed and his hips stuttered. “Fuck, baby-” he strained out before he stiffened further. A growl rumbled deep within his chest, every muscle in his body flexing as his high hit him. I finally felt the first warm spurt of his seed draining into me. He shuddered with every wave, a small whimper escaping his throat as the last of his release left his body. He slumped against me, his face pressed to my breasts.

I pulled his damp curls off of his forehead, scratching his scalp lightly, earning a groan of appreciation.

“You gonna make it?”

He hummed, pulling himself off of me to sit back against the straw. His eyelids drooped a little, his hair a mess. A little smile graced his lips as he watched me. It was the most boyish look I’ve ever seen of him.

I gently stood, letting his now softened cock slip out of me, a generous amount of his fluid following, “oh god, it’s everywhere.”

“And yet she was begging for it moments ago,” he muttered. I rolled my eyes playfully as he reached in his trousers for a handkerchief, handing it to me. I cleaned myself as best I could, straightening my dress out, while he pulled his trousers back up, slinging his gun belt back over his hips.

“You should just ride around like that all day,” I purred, sliding my hands over his bare shoulders and down his chest.

“Miss,” he grasped my wrists with feigned offence, “I’m about to be a married man.”

“Mmm,” I grinned slyly, “you tell her she’s a lucky lucky gal.”

He chuckled, pressing his lips to mine, “and I’m a lucky lucky man.”

We shuffled back down the ladder, walking back outside, as Billy shrugged his shirt back on.

“What if we actually made a baby tonight?” I threw the words out into the air as he mounted Sugar and settled into the saddle.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, darlin’.” He leaned down gently caressing my cheek.

“Only one more week.”

He tipped his hat, clicking to Sugar coaxing her into a canter, riding off down the worn path.

As I walked back to the house, I couldn’t help but rest my hand on my lower stomach wondering what the future held.

This was kind of fun diving into the late 1800's. I've never written for this time period before. Hopefully it wasn't too shabby. Hope you enjoyed!

Feedback is appreciated!

Need more? Check out my other works! > masterlist

#billy the kid x reader #tom blyth smut #tom blyth #billy the kid smut

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borzoilover69 · 11 months

Text

Alpha kids and why I like them (AKA the loneliest kids in paradox space)

(Elaboration under the cut.)

To get the nitty gritty out of the way, I like the Alphas because they're so openly flawed and relatable as characters, yet incredibly talented and ambitious in their desire to achieve and succeed, even though they're doomed. They're doomed to never even come close.

Take a look at the starting of the Beta's session, versus the Alpha session. The beta session starts in spring, a season thematically connected to nature, new beginnings, change, and opportunity. Their story grants them the chance to change and grow and realise their full potential, of which they do with the help of the trolls. They are the heroes, they are the ones that will create a new world.

The Alpha session starts in fall, otherwise known as Autumn. It's fitting that it's called the fall, given it truly is. Fall symbolises the late stages of maturity, decline, decay, and death. Their story is not one of creating, of realising their potentials. They were told to wait. There was to be no positive growth, no positive development or true adventure and beginnings, the planets they inherited were barren, and with only each other as company, it put a strain on their relationships that broke them apart. They were never called heroes. They were called Nobles. Their session, their entire lives, were ruled by the VOID. Not BREATH.

Even their tools that we first learn of them using are thematically on par. The betas, with their alchemiter, create a retinue of cool things to use, upgrade their fraymotifs, so on. They create and thrive. The alpha session is given a gristwidget, to conserve and survive.

They struggle. Terribly. The one thing that was supposed to save them, to be the biggest thing in their lives, was a massive disappointment and year long wait with nothing that much going on. They struggle with seeming independent, never feeling like enough (again, the void) and their expectations were such a let down for what they all expected.

The game was supposed to be the time where they reunited, where mind you, they saw their LIFE LONG friends, and finally had the chance to grow and change with each other, but it fell first. To quote a buddy of mine.

youre telling me they were given horrible starts and the game that they were anticipating their entire lives ended up killing them and oh it started a downward spiral of the very bonds theyve spent so much working up to? to.. wait for better people to save you? fuck my life man.

They resonate me because they have such high expectations for themselves and refuse to communicate because of that, because for so long they've been doing it on their own it becomes genuinely hard to talk about the things that suck. There's a VOID separating them all, whether it's Janes VOID in knowledge, the VOID that Roxy handles by indulging in underage drinking, the VOID of Dirks heart, splintering and constantly plaguing his thoughts, or the VOID that Jake has to struggle with as he borders on knowing, and being willfully ignorant if it means he can be comfortable. There is a VOID. A VOID separating them from their friends, from their achievements, and their potentials.

It's so hopeless. Their aspects, their themes, their stories and relationships, they're never enough, it's a struggle of not being enough. Do you know what it's like to finally make a change and oh, it turns out it's going to be debilitating to you? You get your big break and.. it's not it.

Their expectations crashed on the shores of opportunity and they could only watch and wait for their ancestors, who they never got to truly know to save them. The true heroes. Even their alpha versions were defined as heroes, adamant on fighting the condesce and bringing her down. They were never shown as human beings, they were yet another expectation to hold themself up to and aspire to be, which they could never surmount to.

They struggled to amount to something in their lives and they fell short. They became for the most part worse versions of themselves, and they blamed themselves terribly for it. Their moment isn't a rise, it's a fall. Everything just got worse. They're stuck with that feeling of insecurity, of inadequacy, that void, because they couldn't do what they needed to do as well as their dancestors, the kind of "I know we were doomed to fail and there's nothing we could've done to change it, but I feel like we are lesser for not finding a way."

The guilt that the betas had to go for YEARS to get a happy ending, and they didn't break as much as the alphas. The betas seem so much stronger than the alphas in a "if THEY could handle it, couldn't YOU GUYS handle it?" way, but it's not about which group had it harder, it's different. The alphas had so much bullshit happen, more than the betas, because they didn't really have the exposure to outside world that told them "hey you shouldn't always hold yourself to such high expectations constantly it will do a number on you if you expect so much from yourself and your peers." but it didn't exist.

The betas didn't grow up in shattered worlds. Maybe they grew up in households that weren't intact, but it was never the same level as the alphas, not even close. The alphas were broken from the start, in time, in space, in beginning. A VOID. They're so unbelievably tragic for that.

And the saddest most tragic part is. We don't see them change for the better. We see them *come to terms* with their flaws, but in ways that are detrimental in the long run, it's almost fitting that the only one that adjusted for the better was Roxy, Rogue of Void, and even then she indulges as soon as she's given a chance to do so. Because it's hard to grow up and change your ways. It's hard to grow up and change and grow and nobody really understands.

#oh ok so you set off the sleeper agent #alpha kids #homestuck #hom3stuck #homestuck meta #borzoi meta #borzoi tals #borzoi art #roxy lalonde #dirk strider #jane crocker #jake english

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peachesofteal · 7 months

Note

can we pretty please get darling's reaction to waking up after the dead disco au chapter where they tranquilise her?

i'm imagining her waking up and realising what they did and for the first time being afraid of them...imagine she's all quiet and wide eyed, and they try and approach her to have a conversation when she wakes up but they stop dead in their tracks when darling flinches and nearly trips backing away from them. And their hearts break but they also realise that darling's terrified of them, the person they vowed to protect and keep safe sees them as a threat

just...the angst would be top tier

Takes place after this. I had a fever dream (or it was real? who knows) where I wrote this already but I can't find it anywhere. Found it in my notes though so... love an excuse to indulge.

18+ mdni / baby trap au / dark and twisty themes

"Johnny." Simon whispers, giving his fidgeting fingers a pointed glance. He's sitting with his back against the headboard, spine straight, a fist now clenched in the blankets. He seems relaxed, at first glance, but Simon doesn't need to look too closely to see how deeply he's worried. The tense line that has his shoulders strung up high, the crease in his brow, the way he constantly looks down to see if you're still asleep, the way he tenses anytime you stir.

You huff, in your sleep, redirecting his attention, turning to where you're curled up, round belly just visible under the sheets, hands tucked beneath your cheek, face sweet and relaxed in your dreams. Or nightmares.

He did what he had to do. He had to keep his family together.

You shift, tossing a bit, lashes fluttering enough that he knows you're finally waking up.

He holds his breath.

"There ye are." Johnny coos, trying to keep his voice easy and sweet. You blink up at the ceiling, brows creasing together in confusion. "Darling?"

You don't respond, hand coming to your temple to cradle your head.

"Do ye want some water?" Johnny made sure your bottle was full for when you woke up, worried that you might feel dehydrated, or that the sedative made you parched. He smiles down at you from where he's propped up on an elbow. It's beautiful, sweet. Something that Simon loves so much.

You don't respond. You don't look away from the ceiling.

Simon's heart splinters. And then- then it breaks.

Johnny reaches for you. Two knuckles, slowly drifting towards your face, to rub against the apple of your cheek, to try to bring you around, to bring you comfort.

You flinch. You startle as soon as they appear in your peripheral, like you're afraid, like Johnny would hurt you.

He snatches his hand back like he's been burned.

Johnny's smile melds into something twisted. Something grim. Sad. And to see it unfold, to watch the light bleed from his face just as its bled from you, steals Simon's breath away.

"No, no. Darling, it's okay." Johnny tries, but you look at him with wide, fear stricken eyes. "It's us. Ye... yer safe." He tries again, tries to touch you, and you startle, body shivering under the blanket in distress.

"Johnny. Give her some space." Simon calls, not rising from the chair that he's got next to the bedside, and when you hear his voice, your eyes slam shut, and his stomach becomes a monstrous pit.

"No, ah- come on, darling. It's just us." He wheedles, tone tinged in desperation. Simon jerks his head towards the door, a clear signal, and he can tell that Johnny wants to fight it. Wants to stay in the bed with you, trying to get you to talk to him, open your eyes.

"Johnny." He tries again, with eye contact. Your eyes stay pressed closed tight, chest moving more rapidly with stressed, anxious breaths. He inclines his head to it, the clear proof of your distress, and Johnny wilts.

"Alright, darling. We'll be back." He says softly, sliding off the bed and slinking out of the room, straight into Simon's arms, burrowing his face in his chest.

When Simon locks the door behind them, he doesn't mention it.

#peaches asks #peaches writes #baby trap au #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x reader

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roosterforme · 1 year

Text

We Broke the Bed | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley manage to break your Queen bed. Time to upgrade to a King.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, swearing, angst

Length: 1800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You?

Check my masterlist.

Bradley was helpless to tell you no. He found it almost impossible to deny you anything you wanted. When you told him you wanted ice cream after dinner? He took you out to your favorite neighborhood place for a scoop. When you mentioned you wanted to go to the beach? He started packing towels and sunblock. When you told him you wanted to see the new movie coming out? He was purchasing tickets on his phone.

Literally the only thing that he was unable to override for you was the deployment paperwork currently hanging on the refrigerator. He was leaving in a few days, no matter what.

So anything you asked for before then? He gave it to you.

"Harder," you moaned as he slammed you from behind. You were on your hands and knees at the edge of the bed, and Bradley was gripping your hips. He drove himself harder into you, giving your ass a little slap in response.

"Oh, God! Harder!" you demanded, your hair coming loose from your ponytail and flying all over the place. He watched your ass bouncing against him as he braced his feet on the floor and fucked you with everything he had.

Soon you were whining and crying out, chanting his name in time with his hard thrusts. He was grinning wildly when he suddenly heard the sound of wood splintering.

"What the?" he mumbled and slowed down a tiny bit to check out the bed frame, but you started moaning again.

"Bradley! Don't stop! I'm sooo so so soooo close." So he focused on the task at hand; getting you off exactly how you wanted him to. You were moaning and whining and shouting his name, and he came hard when you clamped down around him. He pushed you flat onto your stomach and collapsed mostly on top of you, still inside your pussy. And that's when the bed broke.

Neither of you spoke for a moment after you suddenly dropped several inches. "What just happened?" you mumbled, your mouth buried in the bedding. "Did I come that hard? Or did I imagine that?"

Bradley chuckled next to your ear. He pushed himself off of you and groaned as he withdrew from inside you, gazing at the pretty mess oozing out of your pussy.

"Baby Girl, we broke the bed," he told you, kneeling down to examine the spot where the bed frame had splintered and then broke in half.

"You're joking," you gasped, pushing yourself off the bed as well. "Bradley! We broke the bed!"

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I didn't think that was even possible, and I know you really liked your bed frame," he told you as he winced. But you started cracking up.

"We broke a fucking bed, Roo!" you said, howling with laughter. You knelt on the floor next to him and climbed into his arms, shaking from laughter. "This is epic!" Soon you had both collapsed onto the floor, holding each other through your giggles.

"I'll buy us a new one," he finally managed to say, pulling you on top of him.

You wiped tears from your eyes and kissed Bradley's lips. "Well that's going to be a story for grandkids someday," you said as you gasped for air.

Bradley felt his face light up and his smile grow wide. He pulled you down against him for another kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. He kissed you like this for a while. The combination of knowing he was going to miss you while he was deployed, and the idea that you might even possibly want to have kids with him made him needy. He wanted to hold you all day long. But there wasn't time for that.

"We need to get to Mav's," he muttered eventually. Maverick had invited you both over to check out his hangar. Bradley knew he needed some help with a mechanical problem he was having with one of his planes, and it would also be the first time you got to see the space. "And then we can buy a new bed on the way home."

That triggered another round of laughter before you both managed to get dressed.

------------------------------

"I don't know, but let's grab the wrenches and see if that works," Maverick told Bradley. They had been working on Mav's plane for awhile as you explored the hangar.

"Y/N, can you grab us that wrench set, Baby Girl? It's on the toolbench," Bradley called to you. They both had their hands propping up the engine mount, so you scurried over to help them. The back of the toolbench was lined with photos that you wanted to examine more closely. But first you grabbed the tools that they needed and took them over.

"Let me know if you need anything else," you told them. Bradley leaned down and kissed you on the cheek and Maverick thanked you with a smile.

You wandered back over to check out all of the pictures. There were some of Bradley at varying ages, and he had been an adorable child. One was taken at a Little League baseball game when Bradley must have been about ten years old. There was another of him as a teenager wearing a suit. Perhaps he was dressed for a school dance? There was one of Maverick with Bradley and a blonde haired woman. That must have been Carole. You had been dying to see some photos of his parents, but Bradley still hadn't gone back to get everything out of his storage unit yet, including some promised photo albums.

Bradley looked a lot like his mom, but then you caught sight of a photo of a much younger Maverick with his arm around another, taller man. That man looked like the spitting image of Bradley; it must have been Nick Bradshaw. You pulled all the photos of Carole and Nick down from the wall and studied them. Carole was beautiful, petite and always smiling brightly. Nick was tall, handsome and had a crooked grin. Bradley looked so much like his dad, it took your breath away.

You took a few minutes to really soak in all of the details. Bradley had Carole's smile and facial expressions, but everything else came from Nick. As you were about to put the photos back up on the wall, you could hear Bradley speaking softly to Maverick.

"I'm just a little worried, since it's going to be my first time away from her."

"Worried? You told me you trust her," Mav responded. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you listened.

"I do," Bradley replied quietly. "I trust her completely. I'm not worried about that. I just think it's going to be hard on her. Six weeks is a long time when you've never done it before."

You pretended to be extremely interested in the aviation memorabilia near the workbench as you intently listened to what they said.

"If you love her, then she needs to get used to this. And you'll need to get used to the idea of having someone who loves you missing you while you're away. It's hard on both ends, I'm sure."

"Shit," Bradley mumbled. "You're right. It's going to be different for me this time too."

"It's obvious the two of you are crazy about each other, but this is going to be an equalizer. You be good to her. Don't you dare make her worry over nothing, Bradley. She's really sweet, and probably out of your league."

Bradley chuckled. "Don't I know it. You'll keep an eye on her while I'm away? Help her if she needs anything?"

"Of course I will."

--------------------------------

After he had finished helping Maverick pack his tools up, Bradley watched as Mav took you on a little tour of the interiors of some of his planes parked in the hangar. He could hear your laughter as Maverick got you settled in the pilot's seat of his Cessna and outfitted you with a pair of massive headphones. You looked so happy. You always did. He snapped a photo of you waving to him from the cockpit so he'd have it for later.

"You two want to stay for dinner? We could pick up a pizza," Maverick offered.

"Thanks, Mav, but we need to get out of here so we have time to stop at a furniture store on the way home," Bradley told him, grabbing your hand in his.

"Oh yeah? Still getting stuff for the new place?"

"Just upgrading to a king sized bed," you said with a shrug as you glanced up at Bradley coyly.

Bradley felt momentarily mesmerized by you, and his mind drifted back to this morning. "Yeah... we broke the bed."

Maverick choked on a laugh, and you smacked Bradley's arm, hard.

"What the hell, Bradley?" you muttered, trying to hide your face behind your hands.

"Oh, shit." Bradley hadn't meant to say that, but the look on Maverick's face had him laughing as well. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart!"

But you were already several feet away, hiding your face. "Bye, Mav!" you called over your shoulder as you power walked outside toward the Bronco.

Maverick pulled Bradley into a hug, both men still laughing. "Hey, you be safe on your deployment. I'll keep an eye out for your girl." They released each other, and Bradley was once again so happy to have his dad's best friend back in his life.

"Thanks, Mav," Bradley replied, shaking his hand.

Maverick nodded and waved goodbye. "And Bradley? Pick out a solid wood bed frame this time, okay?"

-------------------------------

Bradley pulled the old queen mattress off of the broken bed frame, and started taking it apart to put it out with the trash.

"Thankfully the new bed and mattress will be delivered tomorrow," you said, as you got the queen mattress ready for bedtime. You and Bradley would just have to sleep on it on the floor for the night. He didn't mind where he slept, as long as it was with you, and frankly anything was better than when he shared the twin bed with you at the barracks.

"Yeah, just one night isn't too bad, Sweetheart. Not a long wait for the new one."

You smiled at him as he was disassembling the broken side. "I mean, I was referring more to the fact that we'll still have a few days to break in the new bed before you leave."

Bradley's gaze met yours and he smirked. "I love the way you think."

------------------------------

Up next for Bradley and Baby Girl is the Deployment Diaries series! I'm not sure exactly how long it will end up being, but it will chronicle three of Bradley's deployments! I hope you'll keep reading! Masterlist

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x baby girl #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster x reader #rooster x female reader

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 5 months

Text

Domestic Dream: A Turtle in the Room

Bayverse!Leonardo x reader

It is now Leo’s turn to get little taste of a normal life💙

Warings: none, other than my spelling.

—----------------------------------------

It was a warm Saturday afternoon when Leonardo finally decided it was the right time to take a leap into the unknown and meet your parents. It had been your idea at first. You had been cuddling up against his side, with his arm wrapped tightly around you, all while his attention was turned towards the book in his other hand. Right as he had turned a page, only with the help of his thumb at the base of the book, you had asked him. Would he like to meet your parents?

That question had sent shock waves through Leo. On one hand, yes, he would love to meet your parents. You had talked so much about them during your time together. Not just while you had been a couple, but also while you had been mere friends. Leo really wanted to meet the people that had seen you grow up, and taken care of you before he came into the picture. But on the other hand, no, it would be a good idea. They would most certainly reject him, and do everything in their power to keep you apart. Just him showing himself at their home, would be enough to put him and his brothers in even more danger than they already were. And it would put you and your family in the same danger. And Leo just couldn’t live with that.

At first Leo had told you no, and tried his hardest not to let your eyes break him. He had told you his reasoning, and his wish for not putting you and the people you loved in danger, and you had accepted.

But then your parents started asking. They had seen Leonardo’s name pop up on your phone several times, and they have heard you talk with him over the phone. They had even heard him sneak out of your window, that one night they came home earlier than expected. But they had never seen him. But now they wanted to meet this mystery Leo that their daughter was seeing.

When you told Leo this, he wasn’t sure how to react. Had he been sloppy as a ninja, and made it easy for your parents to detect him. Or was this a sign that one day, they would catch him in their house? It took a few days for Leo to think it over, until he came to the conclusion that the best thing would be to meet them while everyone was prepared, instead of having them walk in at the worst possible time.

And that was why Leo now found himself walking the short distance from the nearest manhole cover to your apartment, while wearing a hat and trench coat. It was an attempt to disguise his turtle appearance, but there was no denying the unusual shape beneath the fabric. Every little curious look he got from passersby made him more and more uneasy.

The sun cast a golden hue over the city and against the windows, as Leo approached your doorstep in the stairwell, his heart pounding in his chest. With his clammy hands he knocked on your door, and braced himself for the worst.

You opened the door, a bright smile on your face. The same smile Leonardo had fallen in love with, and now was risking his peace and sanity for.

"Leo, you made it!" you exclaimed, pulling him into a gentle hug, getting up on your toes so you could reach his lips.

"Hey," he replied, trying to sound casual, though the unease lingered in his eyes. As nervous as he was, your pressens was calming him.

As you led him inside and helped him get his coat on the hanger, your parents came into view, causing Leo to stiffen ever so slightly by your side. They were sitting in the living room, chatting and sipping on coffee, waiting to meet the man you called your boyfriend. You took Leo’s hand as you introduced him, doing your best to keep things light. But the moment your parents turned their gaze toward him, the room fell silent. Eyes wide and mouth agape. Your father’s coffee mug was stopped in its tracks, before it ever got to his mouth.

Leonardo, feeling exposed, still greeted your parents in the way Master Splinter had taught him, maintaining his manners, even if his stomach was turning and his head aching slightly, bowing like he would when greeting his sensei in the dojo. Your parents' stiffened at his movement and the sound of his voice, and a hushed silence hung in the air.

Silence filled the room longer than any of you would have liked. Neither you nor your blue clad boyfriend had ever been good at small talk, and that moment Leo’s nervousness was bringing out his awkward side. The one thing that was keeping him from running out the door, was your hand in his, calming with small squeezes and a stroking thumb.

Your father was the first to finally break the silence, a puzzled expression on his face. "So, uh, Leo, is it? If you don’t mind me asking… What… what exactly are you?"

Leonardo took a deep breath, summoning his courage. What the shell was up with him!? He had fought Shredder and Kraang, yet here he was, fighting to call his heart in front of your parents.

"I'm a mutant turtle. Look, I know this is a lot to take in, but I care deeply for your daughter, and I- I..." Leo was starling. You took his hand with both of yours, making him look at you. Your eyes sparkling as you smiled at him, causing him to relax his breath. “I would do anything for her”.

Your mother, recovering from the initial shock, both from Leo’s appearance and words, studied him more closely. "Well, you're certainly not what we expected," she said with a bemused smile. “But take a seat anyway. You can’t stand there all day”.

Sheepish, Leo followed your lead and took a seat on the couch opposite of your parents, getting ready for whatever questions they might have for him.

As the conversation continued, Leonardo explained his origins, the bond he shared with his brothers, and his commitment to protecting the city. Your parents listened attentively, the fear replaced by curiosity. Even a moment of captivation, when Leo offered to make the tea instead of your mother, explaining how Master Splinter had taught him. Leo even offered to help your father with dinner, where you had to step in, in order to avoid any catastrophe in the kitchen.

After having shared a meal with you and your family, your father chuckled. "I never thought I'd have a mutant turtle in my living room, but you seem like a good guy, Leo". He reached over to clap Leo on the shoulder. “Just promise me you’ll take care of (Y/N), then I will have no worries”.

Relief washed over Leonardo as he nodded. "I promise, sir. I care about her more than anything. I could never dream of letting anything happen to her". The smile he sent you made your cheeks flush red.

Your mother, always quick with humor, added, "Well, as long as you don't leave shell marks on the furniture, I think we'll get along just fine."

Laughter filled the room, breaking the tension that had initially enveloped it. Throughout the evening, your parents got to know Leonardo, discovering the gentle soul behind the shell and green skin. By the end of the night, they not only accepted him but welcomed him into the family with open arms. Your parents had even invited him over for another dinner next week.

As Leonardo left to go home via the rooftops, he couldn't help but smile, grateful for the understanding and acceptance he found in the most unexpected of places. As his smile grew brighter and happiness filled his being, he couldn’t stop himself from doing a happy backflip. You were most certainly the best thing that had happened in his life, and for once, he felt bigger and greater than his physical exterior. And he would forever thank you and your family for that.

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