#And he himself doing that pose where he stands on one leg and is leaning away to create more space with the other one up to his stomach

[xetlynn]

I crave s2 claggor x reader cuddling please 🙏🙏🙏 I just need to lay in a warm bed with that man for as long as possible

<3

Arcane Imagines- Claggor

Dramatic Needs

[arcane] [main page]

Summary: in which [name] is in desperate demand for attention. (super short)

I tiredly slam through the door of my own home. I didn’t even know the time due to how invested I was in the work I did with my friends. Powder pushed us to keep going even though we were all on the brink of falling asleep. 

I shut the door behind me, leaning on it for a moment with my eyes closed, kicking my shoes off. I look around my apartment for my boyfriend of four years. My feet shuffled underneath me, somehow keeping me going toward my shared room. I opened the cracked door, pushing in and plopping right down on the bed behind Claggor who was seemingly doing something since he wasn’t paying attention to me. 

I let out a large huff of air from my lungs, clinging onto the sheets. He doesn’t even flinch. I pout, sighing once again. I see his head go up for a moment only to go back down to whatever he was doing. I scrunch my nose. Getting upset.

“Sigh!!” I flip over dramatically, flinging myself up against my boyfriend's back.

“Sigh! I’m dying!” I cry out, closing my eyes and sticking my tongue. Pretending to be dead. 

Silence. 

“The only cure… is! Attention!” I smack his back with the palm of my hand. “If I don’t get it in t-minus five seconds it will be the end for me!” I exclaim. More than five seconds pass and I sit up angrily.

“What is more important than giving your obviously distressed girlfriend attention?” I ask, shoving his shoulder but it doesn’t even move him. “[Name], please.” He laughs.

“I’m trying to finish this list.” He pushes me with his hand on my face. I fall back onto the bed, getting right back up and leaning over his shoulder. “Are you almost done?” I quietly question. He scoffs out a laugh, shimmying his shoulder to get me off but instead I grab onto both and then wrap my legs around his waist from behind. 

“I’m just trying to make sure I’m remembering everything.” He tells me, grabbing onto my calf with his free hand, massaging it gently. “It looks good enough to me.” I kiss his back. 

“I’m sure it does.” He shakes his head at my behavior. He reads over his note and writes one last thing before putting it on his nightstand.

My legs squeeze around him and he stands up. My arms quickly went around his neck. “Ack!” He grabs my wrists, loosening them. “Where are we going?” I sluggishly posed, resting my head on the nape of his neck. 

“To get some water before bed since you always need it in the middle of the night.” He answers, his hands go to my thighs to make sure I stay up. “Awe, you know me so well.” I raspily coo. 

Claggor gets the big bottle of water and heads back to our room. He sits on the bed letting me uncurl myself from him and climb into my side of the bed. 

He reaches over me, putting the bottle on my nightstand. I watch his facial expressions as he makes sure to set it on a coaster. His tongue sticking out since he was stretching out his body then goes back to his side. 

“Alright, you have my undivided attention now, honey.” He places the blankets over us. “Good. I deserve it.” I yawn, stretching my legs. He snickers. “I want to cuddle.” I tell him, throwing my body over his, his arms instantly embracing me. “Alright.” He whispers.

“Want to tell me about your day?” He asks, his hand rubbing up and down my back. “Mm, boring. I want to listen to you talk.” I tiredly say, closing my eyes. My arms were around his neck as my right leg hooked over his torso and my left leg laid on the bed. 

“Well, I had to stop Mylo from embarrassing himself in front of Gert for the hundredth time.” He chuckles and I hum out, amused. 

“Then I just helped out Silco and Vander for the rest of the day, just waiting for my lovely girlfriend to come home.” He kisses my head a few times. “You’re obsessed with me.” I whisper. 

“I guess so.” He squeezes me and I let out a small huff. 

“I’m falling asleep.” I mumbled right as I was dozing off. 

“Love you too, hun.” I feel his body shake from him laughing at me but I was already in dreamland to say anything back.

[radiance1]

I had to do it :P

Also, I love the thought of Danny evolving to look/feel like a blob ghost but is the furthest thing from harmless. Like, some ghost tries to eat a blob ghost and Danny is just... there... ready to beat them up until they step back. Or, alternatively, said ghost tries to eat Danny and fails miserably because, you know.

It's Danny.

(Not even gonna lie why I brought this up was because of a funny post about Deadman smelling like a high-class blob ghost or something to Infinite Realm ghosts and Danny struggling not to eat him.

Then I thought of it the other way around. Deadman (probably unconsciously or unintentionally) tries to eat one of Danny's blob ghosts and Danny is holding him up by like a kitten or something and staring at him with all the rage of a father or something lmao)

Anywho.

Of course mother and grandfather would understand! It's a dragon! A dragon! Playing along with being said dragon's son would just give him more opportunity to study him, learn all the information he can! He's doing this for a reason! Not just because he himself wants to stay with said dragon or because he can't really escape, nope!

Gothamites? Mad upset and panicking over the fact that their cryptid protectors are panicking because whatever they're panicking over? Obviously deserves to be panicked about for them too.

Even if they don't know what it is-

Does Danny even notice that he has people chasing him? Probably, probably not. Most likely too busy being a travelling dad over caring about whoever that is, especially when they can't even catch up to him!

As soon as Danny learned that there's been heroes and villains and metas going around, he doesn't even try to hide. He could just class himself as a meta and figure it out from there, besides! He has Henry to help him navigate human interaction properly!!

Henry manages well enough, though he is a bit... off. In some areas. To which he totally thinks he's actually doing really well in said areas and sees no problems with it.

Danny and Damian don't technically know enough to disagree. Danny is content to let him do his thing and Damian? I don't think he cares all that much over trying to study Danny's dragoness.

I think it would be funny if Danny somehow gets on the JL watchlist. Maaaybe as a potential member? How and why is up for debate though. Just think it would be funny for the Justice League to be keeping an eye on him while both the LoA and the Batfam are looking for him too.

Which would just make it funnier when they do eventually manage to catch Danny before he flies off. All three of them are there, the JL, LoA and Batfam.

The LoA and Batfam are obviously working towards the same goal, but the JL doesn't know why they're chasing after Danny and, assumes, it's for some nefarious purpose and tries to protect Danny maybe?

Oh I just thought of something.

I think it would be extra funnier if Ra's Al Ghul himself pulls up because of Danny being a possible pit creature and wanting to see for himself.

And Danny?

Danny just picks up Henry, Damian and his Blobl Ghosts and just inches away from Ra's while looking at him like he's the most disgusting thing alive (based on that thing I said about Danny + Ghosts not liking the Lazarus Pits and I think I read somewhere about Ra's using the Lazarus Pits so much that his blood kinda became it? I can't remember all that well but eh) and is so not vibing with him to the extreme.

So much so that it's very obvious that the Pit creature they've been chasing after is very agitated by Ra's Al Ghul's general presence.

Which just confuses them a bit, because he was fine when the LoA pulled up but totally different reaction to Ra's himself finally appearing.

Ra's Al Ghul: I believe you have a grandson of mine-

Danny: Nah fuck you this is my kid now plus you stink plus your trash plus your disgusting plus you're never getting him back plus fuck you.

Ra's Al ghul:

Literally everyone else: Damn-

Talia wants her kid back very damn much thank you very much. Does she care about the Pit Creature not wanting to give him to her father? Well, yes, mostly because she wanted to avoid that as well but she had a plan that did not involve it at all and was much easier to guarantee his safety that way rather than with an unknown.

Some of the Batkids? Probably laughing at Ra's being insulted first thing before he could even finish his sentence. But they would also like their newest baby brother back thank you-

Batman is silently brooding. As usual. But also kinda angry brooding because he also wants his son that he's never known about for years.

The JL is just... utterly confused over this whole display.

Based on the wonderful designs made by @puppetmaster13u specifically the Blob King Danny ones!

Danny stared down small child before him, scowling and pointing a sword at him, ready to stab him Danny bets. Danny slowly crossed his arms, letting out a slight hum.

This was not what he expected when his little ones wanted to lead him somewhere.

He turned his head slightly, staring at the pit that held glowing green water and, slightly. Ever so slightly.

Shivered.

The amount of life in that thing made his skin crawl, and he hasn't felt that in a while.

He then turned his gaze back down to the child, who, outwardly, looked no different. But he could see the curiosity hidden behind the pure hostility at the slightest shift to attention towards one of his little ones.

So, Danny made a decision.

Faster than the kid could react, he picked him up in a way that would let him not be stabbed immediately and left.

---

Henry fidgeted with his glasses, eyes determined not to find their way to the kid held by the King Class entity standing before him or, Danny, as he would be preferred to be called.

"Who is this...?" He looked at the ghost in question, silent hope in his heart that this isn't what he thinks it was.

"Your newest little brother!" Danny ruthlessly crushed said hope, albeit unknowingly. "Found him, liked him, didn't see any guardians around so I adopted him!"

Henry knew there was a lot of differences between ghosts and humans. But never had he been so dismayed over such a difference in culture.

"Um, Danny...?" He began, placing his glasses on his face as he sweat dropped.

"You can call me dad too, of course!" Danny flashed a beaming smile full of teeth his way, and Henry was touched by the sentiment, really, he was.

"You can't just kidnap a random child just because he seemingly," Henry stressed the word, to signify its importance and to hopefully drive home the point. "Had no guardians around."

"Well that's good!" Danny said, smile not dropping one bit and in fact, growing wider as his tail wagged. "Cause I adopted! Not kidnapped!"

"Danny-"

The ex-scientist was cut off by the sound of a blade piercing flesh, and he slowly looked down to find the child stabbing a knife through Danny's stomach.

Oh dear.

---

Damian smirked, finally having been able to injure his kidnapper. The man was a fool, daring to drop his guard around him and easing his grip. It worked out for Damian, of course.

He twisted knife in the man's stomach, utterly disregarding the other one entirely. He seemed weak, so he was a non-issue.

When a moment passed and Damian wasn't dropped, his brows furrowed a bit in confusion as he twisted the knife again.

A beat.

He slowly looked up the sound of a giggle, finding a wide, fanged smile staring down at him with curved, pleased eyes containing a touch of pleased surprise, a hint of pride and a glint that Damian could only describe as manic.

"Knew I picked up a good one." The man purred, voice sounding a slight bit inhuman in his excitement. "We're going to get along well, you and I."

The man giggled and Damian, shamefully, found himself wanting to step back as something felt off about the man. Foreign.

Other.

"Welcome to the family, little champion."

[dippindaz]

Eddie Munson x reader: they support him as he goes on his first tour & she gets jealous of his girl fans

Thank you for requesting! I hope you enjoy ❤️ ends with some good old fluff of course.

The van rumbled beneath you as Corroded Coffin’s tour vehicle winds down another lonely stretch of highway. The guys are in the back, swapping riffs and yelling over who gets to control the cassette deck next. Eddie’s laughter rings out, carefree and warm, but you’re sitting shotgun, staring out the window, your thoughts a million miles away.

The tour was supposed to be everything Eddie dreamed of—his big break, the culmination of years spent pouring his soul into music. And you were thrilled for him, genuinely. You’d quit your job and packed your bags to be by his side, to make sure he didn’t lose himself in the chaos of the road.

But no one warned you about the screaming girls.

They swarm at every stop, clutching at Eddie like he’s the second coming of Ozzy. He takes it all in stride, charming smiles and playful winks, basking in the attention without a second thought. You know he loves you, but every autograph he signs, every picture he poses for with an arm slung around some adoring fan, feels like a pinprick to your chest.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eddie’s voice startles you. He’s climbed into the passenger seat, leaning back with his arms crossed, his usual easy grin replaced with a look of concern. “You’ve been quiet today.”

“I’m fine,” you say too quickly, your gaze fixed on the horizon.

He tilts his head, studying you. “Liar.”

Eddie’s dark eyes linger on you, searching for cracks in your armor. “C’mon princess. Don’t do that thing where you bottle it up until it explodes. Talk to me.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s nothing, Eddie. Really. Just tired from the drive.”

“Right,” he says, drawing out the word skeptically. His fingers drum idly on the dashboard, but his expression remains serious. “Well, when you’re ready to tell me what’s really going on, I’m here.”

You force a small smile, but it feels brittle. “Thanks.”

Eddie watches you for another moment, then sighs and stands. “Alright, Miss ‘I’m Fine.’ But you owe me one later.” He plants a kiss on the crown of your head before retreating to the back of the van, his energy magnetic as always, drawing the guys back into their chaotic jam session.

You let out a slow breath, the tension in your chest refusing to fade. The rest of the drive passes in a blur of laughter and off-key singing from the band, but you barely hear it, too busy wrestling with the ache that’s been gnawing at you since the tour began.

—————————————————————————

The venue is loud, packed with fans pressed shoulder to shoulder, a sea of heads bobbing to the beat of Corroded Coffin’s set. Eddie is electric on stage, commanding the crowd with every growl of his guitar and every howl into the mic. His hair flies as he moves, sweat glistening under the stage lights.

You’re proud of him. God, you’re so proud of him. But standing on the sidelines, you feel like an outsider in his world.

When the band wraps their set, the crowd explodes into cheers, and the guys bask in the adoration as they head backstage. You linger behind, watching as a cluster of girls presses against the barricade, calling Eddie’s name. He’s stopped to sign a few things, that grin of his plastered across his face. One of the girls leans in close, shouting something you can’t make out that makes him laugh.

Your stomach twists. You know it’s nothing—Eddie has never given you a reason to doubt him—but the insecurity and unease claws at you.

“Hey, you coming?” Gareth calls from the side door, snapping you out of your trance.

“Yeah,” you mumble, forcing your legs to move.

————————————-————————————

The backstage room is a frenzy of noise—gear being packed up, beers being cracked open, and the guys reliving their favorite moments from the show. Eddie is the center of it all, animated as he recounts some joke a fan told him.

You sit on the edge of a couch, picking at your fingers, trying to blend into the background. Eddie notices eventually, his grin faltering as his gaze locks onto you. He excuses himself from the group, weaving through the chaos until he’s standing in front of you.

“Hey,” he says softly, crouching to meet your eye level. “You’ve been off all day. What’s going on?”

You shake your head, forcing a smile. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” he says without hesitation, his brows furrowing. “You’re not fine. You barely said a word during the drive, you didn’t even watch most of the set, and now you’re sitting here like a ghost. Talk to me.”

Your chest tightens. “Eddie, I said I’m fine. Can we just drop it?”

“No, we can’t just drop it!” His voice is sharper than he intended, but he took a deep breath to steady himself and glanced around the area. “Look, I know something’s bothering you, and I can’t fix it if you won’t let me in.”

The frustration and exhaustion bubble up, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“Fine! You want to know what’s bothering me? It’s those girls, Eds. The ones who throw themselves at you after every show. The ones who look at you like you’re the only person in the world.”

Eddie blinks, taken aback. “Wait, what? You’re jealous?”

You cross your arms, feeling both exposed and defensive. “I’m not jealous. I just… I don’t like the way they act around you, okay? And I don’t like how easy it is for you to smile at them like it’s nothing.”

His expression softens as he stands and takes a step closer. “Angel, you know they don’t mean anything to me.”

“I know that,” you snap, your voice wavering. “But it’s hard to feel like I matter when there’s a line of girls getting your attention, and your winks, and laughs.”

Eddie stares at you, guilt flickering across his face. He opens his mouth to respond but hesitates, as if searching for the right words. “I… I’m sorry… I didn’t realize…”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, your anger fading into a dull ache. “I feel like I’m just here, watching you live your dream while I fade into the background.”

Eddie shifted, sinking down onto the couch beside you, his shoulders slumping. “You’re not in the background,” he says, his voice low and steady. “You’re the reason I’m here. You believed in me when no one else did. Hell, you believed in me when I didn’t.”

You glance at him, tears burning your eyes. “Then why does it feel like I’m competing for your attention?”

He exhales slowly, reaching out to take your hand. “I’m an idiot. I’ve been so caught up in all this—the shows, the fans—that I didn’t stop to think about how it might feel for you. But you’re not competing, okay? You’re the only thing I want in this world and I’d give it all up for you. Nothing even comes close to you.”

You look down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “I just… I don’t want to lose you, Eddie… but I don’t want to hold you back either.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly, leaning closer. “You couldn’t lose me if you tried. I’m yours, sweetheart. Always. And you’re not holding me back.”

The tension between you eased and Eddie tugged you into his arms, holding you tightly. His embrace is warm and familiar, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I’ll do better,” he murmurs against your hair. “I’ll make sure you know how much you mean to me. Starting now.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah? How are you gonna do that?”

He smirks, the mischievous glint in his eye returning. “How about a private serenade? Just you, me, and my guitar?”

You laugh softly, the sound easing the last of the tension in your chest. “That sounds like a good start.”

Eddie grins and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good. Now let’s get out of here. I think we’ve had enough of this circus for one night.”

With his arm wrapped around you, Eddie leads you out of the noisy backstage area, his presence steady and reassuring. For the first time in days, the knot in your chest began to unwind.

Because as long as you have Eddie, the rest doesn’t matter.

[casimirlovescoffee]

Hi, may I request the best Dhampires aka Alucard and D in one go? I want them, if possible seperate, with a female reader that tries on some clothing of them. I want it to be fluffy/cute witha hint of NSFW if possible!

Wearing his clothes (Female Reader)

Rating: Mature (MDNI, NSFW-ish)

Tags: Fluffy/Cute, hint of NSFW

A/N: This is my first time writing something with D and I hope I did him justice. I tried my best to not do too much NFSW on them both like you asked. Enjoy!

Alucard:

Alucard was walking around his castle, wondering where you were. He had just came back from some hunting and was surpsied as he didn't find you in the libary as that was where you usually were. Witha bit of concern, he walked through most of the castle and sighed in relife when he found you in your shared bedroom. With a smile he opened the bedroom door, ready to announce himself.

"My love, I am back home." He said cheerfully, only to freeze when he saw you. The sight of you left him speechless for a second. You wore his black/yellow coat, hugging it around your body with a gentle smile, which quickly turned into you looking at him, forzen as well with wide eyes. For a second you two just stared at each frozen. And then, he walked over to you quickly, bearly giving you time to react as he hugged you tightly.

"You look so good in that, my love. Do you want to wear it all the time? You can have it if you want!" The blond man cooed at you all gentle and happy, which made you blush, mostly in embaressement. You hadn't meant for him to try the jacket on. Youa also were a bit flustered because you were hugging the jacket around your body mostly since you were naked under it. It was not your fault however. You were just about to change clothes in the bedroom and the ajcket happend to be on a chair, temping you to try it on and see how it felt around your body and arms!

Once Alucard noticed just how flustered and embaressed you were, he finally looked closer at you, pulling the jacket aside slowly and smirking when he saw your bare breasts. "Oh? You are all naked under my jacket? How naughty of you, my love~" He cooed into your ear and slowly guided you onto the bed, carefully pushing you back untill you are laying on your back, facing him as he slowly leaned over your body to kiss you deeply while his hands slowly pushed the jacket out of the way so he could kiss down your naked skin.

"Adrian, the jacket-" You started to say, but cut off with a moan when he licked a long stripe up your pussy. "I want you to leave it on while I take you apart with my tounge. After all, it is a lovely sight~" He cooed and then ate you out like a man starved while looking up at your body and face.

Hunter D:

It happend when you and D were in a small abandoned house for to rest a bit for the night. He was currently outside of said house to find something for you to eat. He had left his hat and coat behinde, trusting you to not mess with them. But they laid there so tempting and you could't help put put the coat on, giggling at how it was too big on you. You then put the hat on and then made what you thought was a cool pose. Only to have someone near you clear their throat.

You blinked, turned around and saw D looking at you with a raised eyebrow, making you freeze in the pose you were making. "Why are you wearing my hat and my coat, my dearest?" He asked and you blushed deeply. "Uh, well- um- Maybe I just wanted to be like you!" You stuttered out all flustered and he blinked and then hummed.

"Like me? Does that mean you want some blood?" He asked and put down a rabbit he had managed to catch for you to cook. "What if I do?" You asked and he snorted in amusement. "Oh? And how will you get blood, hm? From me?" He joked and you had an idea then. "Yes, in fact I will bite your neck." You said and he froze at that before standing up all tall in front of you. And that made you a bit nervous.

You squeaked when he suddenly pinned you to a wall, one of his legs slowly moving to be between your legs. He pressed his knee against your pussy with your clothes in the way and leaned to your ear. "How naughty of you. But I will indulge you. my dearest. Bite me and find out what happens if you do." He teased and you shuddered, leaning up then to leave a rough bite on his neck, which caused D to groan into your ear.

He moved you to pin you down on the bedrool and looked deep into your eyes as he slowly undressed you. "Since you bit me, it's only fair that I have a taste of you in return, my dearest."

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY IV. — FIRST TIME (STUDENT AU)

cw: Fluff, Suggestive Content, Attempt at Humor, Students but 18, Hints at Past Intimacy (Light Fondling), Kissing, Gender-Neutral Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: I was terrified writing for Shouto because I wasn't as confident with his character. However, I had a lot of fun trying to work this fic out. I hope you enjoy it!

word count: Approximately 1.9k words.

“Well, I mean, perhaps Midoriya’s onto something. There’s absolutely no way that it could have gotten stupider, but then that one guy showed up and—” 

Shouto listens silently while you gesture for him to enter your dorm room before you follow after him, free hand waving in the air mindlessly. The door softly clicks shut behind you, so you lean your back against it to hear the full pop of its latch before you slide off your slippers. Your eyes drift to Shouto, who’s currently standing there awkwardly glancing around with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He turns his head to meet your gaze, so you smile wide and goofy. 

“You saw what happened! Can you believe that he thought I was Pro Hero: Hawks for a solid two weeks at the beginning of the school year? I could barely talk to the guy without Midoriya melting into a puddle of agony.” 

The shag carpets that cover your sticky and cold floor hiss whenever you slide across them in a faux shuffle, and you shake your head side to side to the inaudible beat. Once you get close enough to Shouto, he blinks and then glances away. 

“I think you terrorize Midoriya.” 

A gust of air sputters out of your mouth in a cackle, so you slap your hand across your face and squeeze. Your head dips in between your shoulders. 

“Look, I don’t do it on purpose. I can’t help that he couldn’t handle the sheer amount of simp power I possess. ‘Sides! How come he gets to be such a fanboy of All Might but suddenly it’s a crime whenever I try to be a villain fanboy—” 

“He thinks you’re serious.” 

Whenever you reopen your eyes, Shouto’s mismatched ones are bright and reflecting under the fading rays of sunlight fluttering into the room. Your eyes widen slightly, so you blink them back to normal and cast your focus to the side. 

“Yeah, but it’s kind of funny to tease him. Midoriya gets so riled up! Like today whenever Tetsutetsu barged into your little birthday lunch while he and Kirishima were trying to figure out where the pain goes whenever your leg gets chopped off—he—” 

A hand falls on your shoulder, so you quickly meet Shouto’s eyes again. There’s the tiniest hint of a smile across his face whenever he speaks. 

“They did pose an interesting question, didn’t they?” 

Your wail of laughter nearly flings your body back so you shake your head, shrug Shouto’s hand off, and then stumble a few paces before you flop onto your bed. It bounces underneath your weight, and your body follows its lead. Everything feels weightless for a few moments before you exaggeratedly sigh before your limbs go limp and they fall to dangle. 

“Shouto, you never fail to impress me. Now come over here and sit with me, I had promised to show you the very romantic and thrilling Velocipastor to really send your birthday off with a bang.” 

He doesn’t hesitate, but you can see his eyebrows furrowed by a fraction while he treads the distance. You watch Shouto lower himself onto the bed with a goofy grin. Shouto looks slightly uncomfortable resting on your bed, so you shimmy closer and bump your shoulder into his. You continue to lean against him, and his hair tickles your cheek a little whenever he turns his head to face you. His eyebrows have returned to normal, but now his eyes seem more reserved so you tilt your head and shift your arm to clap between his shoulder blades. 

“C’mon, what’s with that look? Don’t tell me Sero already spoiled the plot for you. I begged him not to do that.” 

Shouto’s head withdraws back a little, eyes opening for a moment before lowering again, and he barely shakes his head. 

“Yes. No. That’s not it.” 

His words sound more clipped than normal, so you start to move away from him. Shouto’s gaze follows the entire time—and if you didn’t want to sound crazy, you could swear that he attempted to follow. You squinted, clambering to sit on your relaxed haunches before you flattened your palms against the bed and hummed. 

“Okay. Tell me what’s up? If you don’t want to watch the movie, then we can just chill for the rest of the night. Or if you’re tired, it won’t hurt my feelings if you need to retire.” 

Shouto moves a little, too, drawing a leg up so that he can mimic your stance. His face doesn’t falter, so you begin to wonder what’s troubling him. You try to reflect on the day, but nothing feels off. Sure, yeah, there were a couple of things that didn’t go quite as planned—such as the Tetsutetsu incident, Bakugou showing up and doing his horrors, Kaminari and Mineta harassment—okay. You’re starting to see opportunities for Shouto to be a little bothered by the hectic dilemmas. It’s understandable, really! You don’t think he’s ever had much of a normal birthday, so you were just trying to be a swag partner and give him something sweet. However, Shouto didn’t seem all too miffed during all of the mishaps. In fact, he even smiled a couple of times, so really what is with that look? You open your mouth to speak, but Shouto is faster. 

“Sero gave me this idea yesterday, so I’ve been waiting to ask.” 

The wind gets knocked out of your puffy lungs, and you crunch a little in the middle. Well, you definitely weren’t expecting that but that’s better than him being genuinely upset. You’d probably get a little peeved at your classmates if Shouto’s birthday was ruined because then you would have to slowly implode them from their chest cavities as revenge. Your head cocks to the side, lashes fluttering and eyebrows arching. 

“Oh, okay. Don’t scare me like that, though! I was worried.” 

You then fix Shouto with a glittery smile. 

“So what do you need to ask?” 

Shouto doesn’t even bat an eye. 

“Would you like to have sex with me?” 

As it would seem, it was your head that imploded, so you straighten your posture and then fix Shouto with a serious countenance. His doesn’t even splinter, so your eyes continue squinting before you lick your suddenly dry lips. 

“Is this a joke?” 

“Why would it be?” 

You don’t falter, and neither does Shouto. Time ticks endlessly, yet you both sit here staring at one another as the sun sinks further into the horizon. Your fingers clench a little against the bed, so you slide them further up and bury them in the pit of your lap. It’s hard to tear your eyes from Shouto’s stoic expression, but you glance down at your knees and hum again. 

“Sounds odd that Sero would put that in your head earnestly. Honestly, I’m surprised it wasn’t Kaminari and Mineta.” 

Silence. 

Your shoulders sag, your eyes roll back into your head, and you toss your head back with a slight lipped moan of agony. The ceiling greets you back, gray and emotionless, and you try to piece through the thoughts zipping through your mind at a lightyear per second. Sure, yes, your boyfriend is hot—ethereally beautiful, pretty, handsome. He’s every synonym in the dictionary and more, but damn if he isn’t accidentally very blunt sometimes. And you’d be lying to yourself if you admitted that you had never thought about pushing him down onto the bed and riding him into oblivion, but you can’t believe Shouto would be the one to suggest getting freaky first. 

You are going to find Sero later and either thank him or obliterate him. 

“So I take it that you don’t want to?”

You jerk up a little, attention immediately returning to Shouto. He’s still staring at you, head slightly tilted now and eyes shining. You can’t even tell if he’d be offended or cool with you saying no, but you’re also unsure of how he’d respond if you said yes. Sero was the one who talked to him about having sex with you, so clearly Shouto must have thought about it, too, but, ohhhh. You’ve kissed him a few times, yeah, and they never really grew more passionately besides some small embraces and a thigh touch here or there. To be frank, you didn’t think Shouto even knew much about anything raunchy—but you suppose there’s only so much you can avoid whenever you hang out with a few of the guys in your class. So perhaps Shouto knows the bare, very very veryyyy bare, basics. Well. 

“I didn’t say that. No, I—Shouto, I’d, um, love to have sex with you but are you sure you’d even want to do something like that? Just because a friend suggested it doesn’t mean that you have to.” 

Shouto draws a little closer, one of his slippers slides off and tumbles to the floor with a few bass thumps. You let the sounds steal your attention, but Shouto quickly shifts his body in a way that blocks your view so you have to face him again. 

“I want to, too. It’s not just because of Sero.” 

Now staring ensues, so you swallow and then start to glance around your room. Your various knicknacks don’t offer wise words, so you have to breathe and collect them on your own. 

“Epic. I mean, we can. Here, let me just—” 

With zero grace and elegance, you start to crawl towards Shouto. He follows, carefully taking off his other slipper and then climbing onto the bed fully with you. His back rests against the wall now, and you nearly trip over yourself whenever you catch those pretty eyes of his again. Shouto looks so calm and collected, but you feel like you’re about to pop like confetti and trickle down everywhere. You have to wonder if he finds this awkward, or if he’s just going with the flow like he normally does. It’s almost intimidating how it seems like he can be solid and unbreakable even in the most dire of situations, but it’s also one of the many reasons you admire him. That realization reassures you, so you regain your senses and crawl until you're hovering near the end of Shouto’s legs. One lays bent on the bed while the other still bends over the edge.

You try not to break Shouto’s gaze before you decide to boldly start to stretch yourself between his two legs. Electricity and excitement course through your veins, and you already start to feel a little lightheaded and he hasn’t even touched you yet. Maybe it’s his heat and chill, maybe it’s the way that his face never greets your own with repulsion or annoyance, maybe it’s the way that he seems to spread his legs a little wider so that you can slot yourself perfectly in between them. He starts to lean his head back until it silently thuds against the wall while your body starts to form a canopy against his chest. 

A slight chuckle leaves your lips. 

“Tell me if you want to stop, okay?” 

One of Shouto’s hands carefully presses against the small of your back, fingers and thumbs fanned out. 

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?” 

A smile snakes across your lips before you lean in to kiss Shouto, the words a balmy whisper against his mouth. 

“You’re so cute, Shouto,” 

punctuates itself with a kiss. 

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐧 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

things aren't the way you planned coming home with your newborn, but you have eddie there to lean on when things get hard (and an unlimited supply of 'munson-style' hugs). requested here. infatuated dad!eddie x mom!reader, 3k.

cw post partum recovery, reader is suffering from some symptoms of post partum depression

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"You're sure you can manage?" Wayne asks, his voice buzzing down the line.

Eddie peers out of the kitchen into the living room quietly. You're sitting on the sofa in a shape that can't be comfortable considering your recent stitches, the baby on your thighs where you've brought them together, your hands delicately posed on either side of his head. 

"I think so," Eddie says, answering Wayne's questions with honesty. "She's feeling a little better today." 

"It's hard, Eds. You take care of her and call me if you need help, okay? I'm proud of you. Both of you." 

It catches Eddie off guard for a moment. He's done enough crying lately, clearing his throat to say, "Thanks, Wayne. Call me tomorrow." 

"You call me, I don't wanna wake anyone if you're sleeping." 

They say their goodbyes. Eddie leans against the kitchen doorway to spy on you and the baby. Babies cry more than he ever could've imagined despite the warnings, but it's quiet, too. There are moments of peacefulness like this one breaking apart the chaos. 

You're whispering something. Eddie stands very still, wishing the dishwasher would magically silence itself. He strains to hear you. 

"I love you," you say. "Sorry I'm tired, honey. I promise I'll be better. You're so beautiful." 

Eddie bites his cheeks, wondering if his family (his family!) aim to make him cry and little else tonight. He gives himself a look in the mirror magnet on the fridge framed by a We Love Michigan border, rainbows and cute elk surrounding something less pretty. His hair is frizzy but that's nothing new, greasy at the top and dry at the bottom. He scrapes it back into a scrappy bun and wipes the oil from his face with his sleeves. He's in dire need of a shower. 

Resigned, he steps out of the kitchen, new socks slippery on old linoleum before finding stability on the crush of carpet in need of a vacuuming in the living room. You look up and bless him with a smile.

You've had a bad case of the baby blues, though the midwife assured him that was normal, and not to worry unless it continued past the first few weeks. 

Well, Eddie will worry. Any depression you experience breaks his heart, no matter the cause, and no matter how temporary it may be. Just 'cos a cut might heal doesn't mean it didn't hurt when you got it. 

"How do you feel?" he asks cautiously. 

You make a face that he knows precedes a lie. "Don't worry about me." 

He sits on the arm to look down at the baby —his baby, his son— in your hold, your face moving immediately to rest on his thigh. 

"I'm okay, teddy," you say.

"How about you?" he asks the baby, taking his hand gently. 

The baby doesn't open his eyes nor answer the question, well and truly asleep. 

"Do you think Charlie was the right name?" you ask, stroking his small face lightly. 

"If we hate it, we can just call him Wayne." 

Eddie's out of this world lucky that you'd liked the name and loved him enough to name the baby after his uncle. Charlie Wayne Munson, born six pounds and two ounces, the smallest baby they saw all week in Hawkins General. 

"He looks more like a Wayne than a Charlie," you say, rubbing your cheek into Eddie's sweatpants. 

"He's so fucking beautiful," Eddie says, getting his hand behind your shoulders. He gives your back a loving rub, up and down the whole stiff length of it. "Would you relax? Or tell me what's wrong? Please?" 

"Nothing's wrong… Look how perfect he is, I'd be a freak to act like something was wrong," you say, the exhale of your words warming his leg. 

Eddie rubs his hand up with a tad more roughness until the cinch between your shoulders has flattened. 

"You're having a biological reaction," Eddie says, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head. "Don't feel bad about feeling bad, sweetheart. This is a physical thing, that's all it is. You're not a freak for feeling wobbly." 

You relax even more, pad of your thumb swiping Charlie's smooth cheek. 

"Want me to make you feel better?" he asks.

"How?" 

"I'm not sure yet. I was thinking we'd make a list. Starting with a hug, quickly followed by something amazing to eat before Wayne wakes up." 

"Charlie," you correct with a small laugh.

"Is there a nickname for Charlie?" Eddie asks. "What are we gonna call him? Lee?"

"We'll think of something," you promise. 

Eddie isn't worried about it. He figures there's at least five years of nickname time to get one that sticks. For now, he has a list to make and things to do, and the first is making sure you're as well as you can be. He starts with the hug, pulling what you want for dinner from you one soft kiss to your temple at a time. Chicken pot pie? Ramen noodles with a fried egg on top? Sesame chicken? Triple cheeseburgers? 

You can't decide. Eddie chooses breakfast for dinner. It won't take long —he can fry the sausage, eggs, turkey bacon and toast in one pan. 

He keeps the door open to watch you, though nothing is actively wrong. You're deflated now rather than tense, petting and fawning over the baby as much as you can without waking him up.  

"Just as handsome as your dad," you say. 

It's a lovely sentiment but Charlie does not approve. He blinks awake, signified by your saccharine, "Hi, baby boy," followed by ten seconds of awe-filled cooing. Eddie's frying some bread in the pan but dinner can wait, he wants to see the baby with his eyes open again. 

By the time Eddie reaches the couch, he's crying. 

You move him carefully into a rock-a-bye hold and shush him. "It's alright," you say. 

"He sounds like you." 

"What?" you ask between shushes, hand tapping a slow and gentle rhythm into Charlie's swaddle. 

"He sounds like you when he cries," Eddie insists. 

Not your pained screams a few days ago nor your heart wrenching tears when you're feeling at your worst, but your hormonal sobbing. Like when you saw the commercial about the new 'shoplifters exposed' program on CBS that featured an old lady who stole a tangerine from the grocery store and got arrested despite her having alzheimers. She didn't mean to, Eddie, why would they make her cry like that? In fairness, it was a very upsetting commercial, but you cried for four hours, and for days afterward your eyes would well with tears and he'd know exactly what you were thinking of. 

"When you're on your period," he explains. "When you know you wouldn't usually cry." 

"You think so?" you ask. 

"I think the solution is the same, too." 

You nod your agreement. "He's hungry." 

You and Eddie feed the baby with varying levels of success. Charlie doesn't wanna latch even though it's a bottle teat, causing some confusion —is he not hungry? Is he cold? No, sweetheart, he's not cold, he's got two blankets and the thermostat's at 68 Fahrenheit. Maybe he needs a new diaper? You check. His diaper's clean. 

You're looking more and more defeated by the second. Eddie sits beside you to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. Babies are hard to look after, but he knows you'll both grow into it. You're exhausted from nine long months and a turbulent half day stint of pushing and crying and turning the bones in his hands into powder, your hormones are going crazy, and you're having a tough time. This won't be your forever feeling (though if it were to last, Eddie would stay at your side through that, too, that's not a question). 

"You know what else works when you're not feeling good?" Eddie asks, offering his arms. He isn't some muscled herculean shape, but when you hand Charlie over, his arms look strong. Capable. Holding Charlie feels just as perfect as holding you. "A Munson-style cuddle," he finishes, trying to speak to his wailing son in that same bubbly parentese you've started talking in. 

Eddie did a lot of talking to your bump while you were pregnant, but he was usually just trying to make you laugh. There were times where he'd lay with his nose against your hip and his arm under the bump, wondering about moments like this. What was the baby going to look like? What colour would his eyes be? What will it feel like to hold the baby in his arms? 

Charlie feels lighter than Eddie first prophesied. Small. He has eyes like yours rather than eyes like his and he couldn't love it more. 

Eddie takes the bottle when you offer it and sandwiches the baby to his chest. He doesn't want to condescend you, doesn't want to shoo you off, but Charlie's crying around the bottle and you look veritably miserably. 

"Do you wanna go and make sure the food isn't on the turn?" he asks. When he realised the baby wasn't going to go down easy again he put your plates on a baking sheet and put the oven on low to keep it warm. 

You hesitate. "Are you okay?" 

"I don't know. I think so, sweetheart. We're barely a room away, alright?" 

He's called you sweetheart more since the birth of your son than ever before, which is insane; Eddie's called you sweetheart likely twice a day since the day you met. That's a whole lot of sweethearts. 

With the baby's changing mood comes a change in the weather. Eddie pats his little back, a quiet thump thump thump, while rain lashes the closed windows. The baby finally decides he's hungry, and the mood turns from frenetic to ambient almost immediately. 

"You make sure you eat if you're hungry!" Eddie calls to you. 

"Are you sure?" 

"I think…" He drifts off, distracted by Charlie's long eyelashes, the way they skim under his eyes and the tiny noises he makes as he suckles. "Aw, baby," he murmurs, "good job. I knew you were hungry. You sounded just like your mom." He can't help grinning. Eddie is really talking to his kid right now, his real life baby. "You made her super emotional, but you're her whole world now. You're mine, too, obviously, but I'm cooler than this." He sighs. "No. I'm not. This is the coolest thing ever." 

"What do you think?" you ask softly. 

Eddie looks up. You're standing at the door, staring at them like they're made of sparkling diamond, every inch precious. 

"Right. I think that we're gonna have to start eating when we can. Wayne never had a baby, but he said I was bad enough as a teenager, and Steve said he's lucky if he gets to eat a hot meal some days." 

"Steve does have three," you say, frowning. "We really can't eat together anymore?" 

You ask like you're less bothered than you are. Like a gimmicky Oh, man. Eddie knows it hides a real worry, and right now he's trying to give you the world on a silver platter, so he dots a little kiss on Charlie's head and says warmly into his skin, "No, that's not true. You're going to be such a good kid, me and mom will be eating together all the time. Isn't that right?" 

Eddie looks at you with his head still tilted down. "I wanna eat together, okay? Everything's changing, but dinner doesn't have to. I just wanted you to eat 'cos you left half of your waffles at breakfast." 

"I can wait." 

"Then let's wait. You wanna come and hold him?" 

"No, he's settled. I don't wanna mess it up again." 

"You didn't," Eddie says, firm and sweet at once. "Sweetheart, come here. You didn't mess up, okay? I'm serious, come and sit with me." 

You hesitate in the way. You're still unsteady on your feet despite the few days you've had to recuperate. Though your hair is cleaner than his it certainly isn't clean, nor are the clothes you've pulled on. Eddie read up and asked around on what would be comfiest for you, debating nightgowns and silk pyjamas at length, but all you've wanted to wear is a hoodie you've had since you were a teenager and a pair of sweatpants with fraying cuffs. He loves it —you look like an adorable dork. 

Your stomach visibly churns. Eddie thinks you might chuck up, is already pulling the baby to his chest to place in the bassinet when you take a short, quiet gasp for air. 

"Sorry, I don't know why I feel so on and off. I know it's just hormones. I promise I feel happy– I feel happy–" You gesture an open palm toward him. "He's gorgeous, Eds, he's everything I wanted and so much more, I just– I just feel like crying and I don't know why," you confess, blinking to suppress tears, shifting your weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. 

Eddie detests seeing you this uneasy, and he swoops in to correct it. 

"Come here," he says again, no hands free to hold out to you. He hopes his voice is inviting enough. 

You shrink into yourself. "I'm being weird." 

"I like when you're weird. I kind of love it. I don't think we'd be in the mess if I didn't love it." 

"It's a mess?" you ask. 

"It's perfect." 

You finally smile, creeping around the bassinet and the needlessly baby proofed coffee table to sit on the edge of the couch with him. Charlie makes a sound in the back of his throat. 

"Hear that? He knows you're here," Eddie murmurs, making room for you hopefully. 

You sidle up to his thigh and lean on his arm, careful not to knock his elbow. You watch Charlie drink his bottle for as long as there's milk left, two ounces knocked back like it's nothing. 

Eddie eases the teat from Charlie's lips carefully. With care but a clumsy imprecise manoeuvre, he lays Charlie down in the bassinet. He has a lot of hair for such a small baby, enough to stroke back from his forehead, soft under Eddie's fingertips. 

"He's really, really beautiful," Eddie says quietly. 

"I know," you say, an anxious hand on your cheek. "I can't believe something as good as him could come from someone like me." 

Eddie stands between your legs, resting a loving hand at the slope of your shoulder. "Why would you ever think something like that?" he asks, his voice as soft as it's ever been, but with a smile in case you don't want to talk about it any more. 

"He's… I'm just not…" 

Eddie gives you time. You've needed it ever since you went into labour, time to piece things together.

"I really thought I was ready," you say, looking up at him with a pinch between your eyebrows.

He brings his hand up to cup your face. You don't lean into it. "Alright, I'm going to talk for a little while, 'n' I know you won't agree with everything I'm saying but I need you to know that this is how I really feel, yeah? Buckle up." Eddie bends down, unafraid of embarrassing himself because it's you. "I know you think these feelings are your fault… that this is some failing, like you're–" He drops his voice to a whisper, "Like you're being a bad mom already, but it's not the truth." 

You startle at being read so easily. "Eds," you mumble. 

"We knew this might be how you felt afterward, the midwife talked and talked about baby blues and you said–" 

"I said I couldn't understand how I'd ever feel sad once he was born," you say, looking at his neck rather than his face. 

"And that's fine, you know? You're not a bad person for thinking it would be perfect and then changing your mind." 

"But he is perfect," you say. 

Eddie rubs your cheek. "He's perfect, but this is hard. Being a new mom with your stitches and your aching tummy and all the gross fluids–" 

You laugh through a groan, pressing your eye into his hand.

He leaps to keep it going. "This isn't how you expected to feel, but that's okay. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Cry if you feel like crying and don't feel fucking guilty about it, this sucks. You had to do the world's most tumultuous campaign for the last nine months and suddenly you're standing at the start of a new one that takes up, like, a gazillion pages with half health and an equally useless companion." 

Your lips press into a thin line, but your eyes are soft and bright despite their obvious fatigue. You bracelet his wrist with your fingers and push his hand further into your cheek. 

"My dork," you murmur. 

"You understand it, don't you? Makes you an even bigger dork."

You nudge your nose into his palm. "I understand. Thank you, honey." 

Eddie's not done. "You said you don't know how something good like him could come from someone like you? I don't think bad was a possibility." 

Your second thank you is better. The first wasn't inauthentic, but this one sounds as though you genuinely believe him. Eddie bows down into a crouch to wrap his arms around you, the majority of his weight on your shoulders and avoiding your sore lower region, and the entirety of his love pressed to your cheek, a long, mindless kiss. 

"I love you," you say. 

Eddie tucks his head against yours, ignoring his protesting knees. "I love you, too." 

Your food turns to dry mulch by the time you remember it in the oven. You're too distracted by Eddie's hug, his offering for a shoulder massage, and the subsequent second hug that ensues, your back to his chest, dozing in the sanctuary of his arms. Munson-style cuddles are his expertise.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you for reading!

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 20

part 1 | part 19 | ao3

"Eddie! Hey!" he brightens. Tells himself to take it down a notch; schools his face and voice into something a little less pathetically eager. “What’s up, man?” 

“Not much, dude,” Eddie teases, one dimple popping out. He looks good. Dressed up. Red and black flannel with the top buttons undone; light dusting of chest hair on pale skin, the edge of a tattoo Steve’s never seen. He’s got his black leather jacket and black jeans with no holes and black riding boots on. All he’s missing is a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm.

“What’s with the, uh…?” Steve gestures to his outfit, because he realizes he’s sort of just been staring at the dip of his throat. Eddie raises an eyebrow. Steve clarifies, “You got a date or something?” 

“Oh, this?” Eddie laughs. “Uh, no. Nope. Can’t say that I do.”

He hops up backward onto the counter, his ass right next to Steve’s elbow, legs dangling over the edge, and he ignores Steve’s protests to get down from there as he leans in to ask in a mischievous hush, “Can you keep a secret?” 

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, twists into a bitter twinge of nerves. He can keep a lot of secrets. Maybe he learned that from his dad.

“Yeah…?” He leans in on his elbows.

Eddie moves in closer still, cups his hand around his mouth and whispers, “I totally forgot to do laundry last week.” 

Oh, my god. “You’re an idiot,” Steve laughs. “That’s your big confession?” 

Eddie’s smile widens. “Yeah. I got distracted with rehearsals. This was the only clean shit I had left.” He kicks one leg out straight to show off his boot. “I’m only wearing these so you can’t tell I don’t have socks on.”

“Gross!” Steve laughs harder and shoves at Eddie, who tumbles theatrically over the edge of the counter, flinging himself to the ground and rolling onto his back so he can fake a couple death spasms and then lie there with his tongue lolling out of his mouth like a fucking weirdo. “You’re so weird.” 

“This night sucked before I showed up, and you know it,” Eddie says from the floor. He opens one eye to wink at Steve, then he gives one final death twitch and drops the act, popping back up to mirror Steve’s pose, elbows propped on the counter between them. 

Steve’s arm hair stands on end. “How was your show, anyway?” 

“Oh, it was greeeat,” Eddie says. “Drunk assholes yelling slurs at me, Gareth barfing in the bushes. Standard Hideout gig.”

"Was someone harassing you?" Steve frowns. He knows the Hideout's a shithole — a ‘dependable dumpster fire where we practice for the gigs that actually pay us,’ as Eddie had put it — but he thought the people there were, like, accepting, or whatever.

Surely Eddie's style isn't any more out there than the rest of the regulars.

"Holster your eyebrows," Eddie sighs, "it was fine. Really.” 

“Holster my— dude, what?”

“Your eyebrows,” he repeats. He reaches out with the tip of his pointer finger and gently prods the space between them. “At ease, gentlemen.”

“So weird,” Steve says again. He rolls his eyes and swats Eddie’s hand away, and Eddie just laughs and says ‘There we go!’ because his antics actually did get Steve to unfurrow his face. Little bastard. “Were you gonna rent something, or…?”

“Hell no, my late fees are fucking ridic—”

Eddie cuts himself off, his eyes darting over Steve’s shoulder.

He goes skittish all of a sudden, starts backing toward the exit, stammering, “Ridiculously non-existent. Is, uh, is what I was gonna say. Obviously. Um. Right.” 

His back hits the front door, the bell jangling overhead, and before Steve gets a chance to ask what the hell his problem is now, Eddie starts rambling at triple speed that “Dustin wanted me to check in on you and now I have checked in on you so okay-gotta-go-bye” and practically sprints out of the store.

Doesn’t even look back to give Steve a parting wave. 

What the fuck?

What the fuck?

“What. the fuck…” Steve jumps a foot in the air at the sound of Robin’s voice. He whips around to look at her; realizes she must have been what spooked Eddie. Her nose and cheeks are bright red from the cold, her eyes bugging out of her head, and her jaw is halfway to the floor as she gapes at him, “...was that?”

—

part 21

tag list part 1 below cut comment if you want to be added tomorrow

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[drmaddict]

Yogi's Choice

Summary: The CoD guys with a girl who is into yoga.

Characters: Soap, Ghost, Alejandro, König, Rudy

Wordcount: 1.995

Soap

"What are you doing?"

Johnny's voice snapped me out of my concentration. I put my feet on the floor and sat down on the mat beneath me. Slightly annoyed, I looked up at him. "Yoga."

He was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "And you always look like a pretzel? Apart from that. Why didn't you ever tell me that you can put your feet behind your head? As your boyfriend, I should know that!"

I just rolled my eyes and tried to get into my next pose.

"What's that called now? Warrior something?"

"Super Soldier." I mumbled, concentrating on keeping my balance.

Johnny laughed. "Looks pretty wobbly, soldier.", he teased me.

I didn't let myself be put off. "Then why don't you try it yourself?" I mumbled and changed sides.

I heard him clap his hands. "All right."

I slowly stood up again and watched Johnny trying to sort out his limbs, which only resulted in him standing very stiffly on my mat with his legs a little wide and looking down at himself in confusion.

I smirked. "What's wrong Sergeant?"

He looked at me stubbornly. "Hey I've only seen the pose once. Let me think!"

I grinned. "Legs hip-width apart. Good. Upper body down. Put your weight on one leg and slowly lift the other. Now grab your foot with your hand and-" BOOM. Johnny fell over like a sack of rice. I stifled my laughter with all my might.

"Fuck.", he grumbled, but immediately stood back up and tried again... and again and again.

I watched him sit cross-legged until he looked down at his legs angrily and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Looks pretty wobbly.", I grinned.

He grumbled to himself, his accent becoming so strong again, that I could hardly understand anything. "I'll figure that out!", he promised and quickly left the room.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm getting a stupid yoga mat!", he shouted and I heard the door slam.

Knowing him, he wasn't going to let that down until he managed to hold this not-so-easy pose.

I could have just told him, that he has to bend his knee, but what would be the fun in that?

Ghost

"What are you doing here?" I mumbled, still slightly sleepy.

Simon was sitting on the stairs of the terrace, looking out over the moonlit farm. "Can't sleep.", he mumbled. He tapped his temple lightly. "Too loud."

I sat down next to him. I put half of the blanket I had wrapped around me around his shoulders and leaned against him. "Sorry."

He just mumbled.

We sat there quietly and listened to the nocturnal animals. "Don't you want to go for a walk?" I mumbled into the silence. That was usually his way of dealing with insomnia.

He sighed. "I'm already done."

I looked at him in surprise. "How long have you been awake?"

He shook his head. "Since we went to bed."

"Si." I sighed.

He rubbed his tired eyes. "I'm open to suggestions.", he mumbled devotedly.

"How many nights has it been?"

He looked at his hands. "The third."

"You haven't slept for three nights?", I asked, shocked. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He sighed. "I slept. Just very little."

I rubbed his back. "I'd say do yoga, but-"

He dropped his head onto my shoulder. "I do everything now.", he mumbled devotedly.

I laughed in surprise. "Really?"

He nodded.

He let me gently maneuver him into the house until I sat him down on the soft carpet in the living room.

He followed my little lesson without hesitation. Copied the gentle stretches. Followed the breathing I instructed him to do. We both lay on the floor in shavasana. "Concentrate on your breathing. I like to imagine a circle that gets bigger, when I breathe in and smaller, when I breathe out.", I explained. "This gives your head somthing to do."

He nodded almost imperceptibly and found his rhythm. "Let your limbs consciously become heavy. Push the tension out of them in a controlled manner. Relax your face."

I listened to his breathing and the soft noises that came through the open window. Simon was lying next to me. His eyes closed. His face relaxed.

He seemed calm. I was just hoping, that he would at least get some rest, even if he couldn't fall asleep, when his all-too-familiar loud snoring made me look up.

I grinned. There you go.

As carefully as possible, I laid the blanket over his tall form and trudged to the sofa to lie down again. We could always deal with any back pain later.

Alejandro

I felt a couple of big hands on my bottom.

"Hot." Alejandro grinned down at me.

I stood up again. I rolled my eyes, smirking slightly. "You really use every cliché.", I said and poked him on the forehead. "Weirdo."

Alejandeo wasn't impressed at all and simply pulled me towards him, until there wasn't a hair's breadth between us. "I am a man. We're simple creatures.", he beamed and tampered with my neck while he kneaded my bottom extensively.

"Ale!" I protested with a laugh and pushed him away from me. "I'm not finished yet.", I complained.

He looked at me closely. "I want to watch.", he said.

I just rolled my eyes again. "But shut up.", I admonished, poking him in the chest.

"Whatever my angel wants.", he just grinned and sat down next to my mat.

I ignored the presence of the born macho next to me and resumed my exercises. I let my breathing and movements carry me and felt myself becoming more relaxed with every stretch and every pose, until I almost forgot that Alejandro was watching me.

When I opened my eyes again and got ready for the real world, I saw Alejandro watching me intently. He was smiling gently. Almost like a schoolboy he was beaming.

"What?" I asked, confused.

He crawled up to me and kissed my forehead. "You're beautiful.", he smiled.

I felt the heat in my cheeks. "Shut up." I smiled sheepishly.

Alejandro just grinned. "You'll have to teach me a few things.", he said.

I laughed. "You want to learn yoga?"

"Hm. Some of it would be the perfect punishment for a couple of rookies... And some of it could be very helpful in private, of course." He waggled his eyebrows playfully.

I laughed. "An absolute cliché. You macho."

"You're into it."

"Admittedly." I confessed and kissed him.

It didn't take long for Alejandro to misappropriate my yoga mat.

König (Klaus)

"I'll kill you.", Klaus bit out quietly between his teeth.

Horangi laughed in amusement. "What's wrong, big guy? You said we need to relax more."

"What's relaxing about this, please?", he hissed. Klaus found himself in a very tense version of downward-facing dog, trying to remember what his back should feel like.

"Dig your left heel into the ground and lift your right leg. Keep your hips parallel to the floor.", instructed the yoga teacher of the class, walking through the rows in a relaxed manner.

Klaus knew her. Unfortunately. She lived in his apartment complex. He'd had a crush on her for a while. He had never spoken to her before. He wasn't sure if Horangi had planned this somehow, although he couldn't know anything about it. Klaus just concentrated on not making an absolute idiot of himself and lifted his right leg up with perhaps a little too much momentum. His foot banged against something.

"Hmph."

Klaus quickly pulled his leg back and looked into the face of his neighbor, who was rubbing her jaw. He turned bright red. Horangi next to him almost burst, it looked like, because he was trying to suppress his laughter. He was only partially successful.

"I'm so sorry.", Klaus stammered, but she just waved him off with a smile. "More shock than damage. Normally, the legs I walk past are shorter. I should have been more careful."

Klaus remained silent. Once again, he didn't know what to say. However, she only gestured for him to get back into position.

"Now pull your right leg towards your chest. Move your shoulders over your wrists. Breathe out. Breathe in. Bring your leg back up and forward again. Find your rhythm."

Klaus was still trying to suppress his shame, when he felt two delicate hands on his hips. He flinched slightly. "Hold it straight. You're bending to the left.", she explained gently.

Klaus quickly shifted his hips as he should and looked stubbornly at the mat. "Perfect." He heard the smile in her voice.

"And put it down. Very good. Go into plank and then transition to cobra or upward-looking dog."

She went on relaxed and corrected the contestants. Horangi was still laughing his head off.

Klaus just tried to breathe away his erection. For the rest of the lesson, he stubbornly looked at the floor and prayed that the time would pass more quickly.

Horangi put both their mats away as the teacher moved towards Klaus. His heart immediately raced.

"You live above me, don't you?" she asked cheerfully.

Klaus nodded quickly. Too quickly, he realized. "Uh... Yes."

She smiled. "Say, do you fancy going for a coffee or something?"

His heart skipped a beat. "Coffee? Uh? With you? The two of us?"

She laughed again. "Yes, both of us."

Klaus would have liked to slap himself. "Yes. Yes, that sounds... Yes."

"Okay. This afternoon? At three?"

Klaus nodded.

"Will you pick me up?", she winked teasingly.

A smile crept onto his face. "I hope I'm on time... Traffic."

She laughed. "See you later."

Klaus smiled and looked after her.

Horangi joined him. "You're the only guy I know who can kick a woman in the face and then get a date out of it."

Klaus looked down at him, annoyed. "You have to be over 6'3" for that."

Rudy

"Ow! OW!"

I jerked my upper body forward again and turned to Rudy, who was red-faced and pulling his legs to his chest.

"You said push." I tried to explain myself.

He just nodded. "And I made a mistake with that.",he whimpered.

"Are you okay?" I asked carefully and stroked his head.

Rudy put his head in my hand. "I'm just waiting for my adductor muscles to reattach to the bones."

I grinned and continued stroking his hair. "You really don't have to do this with me. You know that."

Rudy shook his head. "It was my idea."

Rudy had offered to get a little more involved in my yoga hobby and maybe practice a few couple yoga poses with me. Rudy was strong. He had proven that more than once. Many people underestimated him, but he simply had working muscles, not gym muscles. Unlike any man I'd ever been with, he just threw me into his arms and made me feel like I weighed as much as a squirrel. So he had fun holding me into the air, while I let myself fall into the poses, knowing he would always catch me.

Only the stretching exercises weren't his thing. We sat down with our backs to each other and our legs spread apart. First he leaned backwards and pushed me forwards. Then it was my turn. "Realy press yourself against my back.", he had said and then immediately yelped in pain.

"Are you sure everything's okay?"

He opened his eyes, which he had closed due to my stroking. "Everything is fine. I'm just stiff.", he winked.

I sighed. "Injuries are no joke, if-"

He reached for my free hand and squeezed it lightly. "Torn muscles and tendons feel different. Trust me." He grinned. "I'm just old."

I grinned. "At least it's good for the joints."

He nodded, still grinning. "Then we know what we can do together in the old people's home." He kissed me gently.

I smiled. "I'll get you stretched by then."

He laughed. "I'm counting on it."

[toxicanonymity]

First of all: I love your fics - every one of them - but especially Raider!Joel.

I have a question or idea: how would Joel react if he saw Sweet Pea doing yoga... She could have found an old book with yoga exercises somewhere and tried it out - be it out of curiosity or boredom... I think he would be quite surprised - and would find such poses "stimulating"... Just a little fantasy on the side... ;-)

yoga drabble

1.3k, raider Joel x f!reader 

raider master list, latest: ✨hunger 👅

ty ily 🖤 i can see this happening SUMMARY: just a little PWP - a reprieve from action/violence but kind of emotional. WARNINGS: I8+ Joel POV, Unsafe P in V, he poses you, ass slapping, creampie, brief light anal play/scare (reader flinches), joel's guilt, dark fluff, praise. reader can do some version of downward facing dog and child's pose. no y/n.

You're in the living room--that room Joel never goes in with the bookshelf and busted tv.  Joel can only see your bare feet and ankles from the kitchen. You’re on the balls of your feet. He’s intrigued. He approaches and stops in the doorframe, quietly leaning against it and crossing his arms. Your hands and toes are planted on the blue, threadbare carpet, and your ass is in the air, exposing your panties under your dress.  He lets out a little “Mm,” so quiet you must not hear it.

Damn, it really does something to him, seeing you at a new angle--one he didn't even put you in. He watches the pose for as long as you hold it, getting more and more turned on.  He imagines himself on the floor, lying face up underneath you, reaching up and taking an asscheek in each hand, pulling you down on his face, licking and gnawing at you through your panties like he could eat them right off you.

You walk your hands back on the floor, creating an even steeper angle, and your dress falls down to your arms.  You grumble a rare curse, and he inhales sharply. You look toward the door. Even upside down he sees your eyes go wide when you look at him. You smile shyly as you let yourself down onto your knees, fix the dress, and turn toward him.

“Don’t stop,” Joel murmurs with his eyes fixed on you like an animal. He palms himself over his pants, fully hard. He’s gonna watch you for as long as he can stand it. 

"not really doing anything," you claim and he cocks an eyebrow at you, looking at the yoga book on the floor next to you. "just stretching,” you add. 

“Mm,” his head tilts back. “look good doin’ it,” he murmurs.  You glance around, wet your lips and look down at the carpet then back up at him. He gives a simple nod that says for the love of God, keep going. You stretch out your arms in front of you on the floor as you fold the rest of yourself into a ball. He admires your arms and the cute way you spread your fingers out when you try to reach further. 

He steps into the room, and you lift your head. “I can help you do it,” you offer. 

“Maybe later." He runs his palm over the bulge in his pants. He gets down on his knees beside you, facing your hips. He slides his hand up the back of your thigh, under your dress, and palms an ass cheek. “Mmmm,” he sighs.  His hand nudges you up off your heels a little bit and you let your weight onto your arms as you move your upper body forward. Close to doggy style but down on your forearms. He throws the dress up over your hips, out of his way, and gets behind you, straddling your ankles so he can see it all. He holds your hips and nudges your position so he can look straight at your crotch, and the pretty little hairs that poke out of the panties, and the white and floral fabric where where a tiny damp spot is forming.

“God damn,” he whispers. He scoots forward and presses the hardness in his pants against you, takes a deep breath, then backs up enough to urgently take his cock out. He spits on his hand and pumps it just a little, returning his free hand to your ass. He nudges between your legs and you spread your knees a little for him. You're such a good girl, letting him pose you how he wants.

He strokes you through the fabric and you moan softly and tilt your hips. 

He slips a finger into the crotch of your panties and growls at how wet you are. His cock bobs heavily as he uses both hands to take down your panties. He runs his middle finger through your folds then slips the thick digit inside, and you whimper. He watches your glistening hole as he swirls his thick finger inside it, gathering moisture. He wants his cock inside you more than anything right now, but he can't resist your smell. He craves it. He closes his eyes and allows himself a little lick that makes his cock twitch. He'll get more later, he tells himself. He can go down on you anywhere, but he rarely gets to see you like this. It's so sexy that you put yourself on the floor with no intention to seduce him, and here he is, bending you st his will. And there you are, on your arms and knees with this hard cock behind you.

He gathers more with his finger, wipes it on his cock, mixing it with his precum before notching it at your entrance.

He pushes into you, just slow enough to watch your pretty little cunt swallow his length. You gasp and his cock twitches as he bottoms out.  All the way inside you, he has one hand on your hip.  With the other, he experimentally smacks your ass and you moan. He does it again a little harder and your walls squeeze him. “Yeahhh,” he sighs as he begins to withdraw his length. He holds onto your hips with both hands and pulls you back hard as he pushes into you, then abruptly starts railing you, jackhammer speed. 

“Ohhh,” your moan is broken by his quick rhythm.

He fucks you like that for a minute, grunting and sighing. “look so goddamn good like this,” he pants, glancing at the yoga book beside you. “Feel so damn good.” He smacks your ass again as he pistons in and out of you. He watches the ripple of the jiggle when he smacks it again.

“Ohhh, baby,” he groans. You whimper and twitch around him like you’re close. He slows down and watches the way your body grips his cock, trying to pull him back in.

“Joel,” you whine. “don’t stop.” 

“oh sweet pea,” he sighs and watches you suck him in again. “how bad ya want it?”

"Bad," you whimper. "Please." He slaps your ass again, then speeds up. You whimper and moan, "yeah, like that--ohhh." You clench around him. He pulls you back on him so your ass is flush against his hips while you cum.

“Good girl," he sighs. He retreats half way then groans as he fully sheaths himself in your pulsing cunt again. His balls tighten and he feels a twinge.  He leans forward to reach under you and feel your breast, his other hand braced on your ass.

As soon as you clench on him again, he erupts with a shudder, returning both hands to your hips, holding you tightly against him as he finishes his release, and you finish yours. He curves his body over yours and his beard scratches your bare shoulder. "Good girl," he mumbles again into your shoulder and you meet his eyes with a little smile. He withdraws his cock and some cum dribbles down. He pushes it back in with his fingers.

His finger trails up to your asshole and you flinch. Shame rises to his face remembering the day you escaped. "I know, sweet pea," he coos, gently prodding but not entering your hole. "Ain't gonna. . ." Ain't gonna stuff all your holes like it's a goddamn emergency, like it's gonna fix everything. "pretty hole, though" he mumbles as he abandons it. He pulls up your panties for you, trying not to think about that day, reassuring himself it's not gonna happen again--any of it.

"You're a real good girl," he says quietly, mostly to himself.

He lets your dress back down. He tucks his cock away, and lies on his side facing you, elbow on the floor, head resting on his hand, silently admiring you.

He wonders how you feel. He wonders if you need anything, but he doesn't ask. "K," he whispers. He pushes himself up so he's sitting. You push yourself up into another pose on all fours and he gives a low whistle, then stands up with a groan to leave you alone.

----

Thank you so much for reading 🖤🖤🖤

[leviathanleva]

Cujo

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Supersoldier!FemReader

Description: A monster in human skin, a weapon disguised as a person, no thoughts, no emotion, as per design. He despises you and everything you stand for. He’s tried to kick you out of his squad and failed, he’s made it his mission to break you no matter the cost.

It comes as a surprise when he asks you to lie and say you love him.

[5.5k words]

[Angst, Light NSFW]

Chapter 2 "Chocolate Mousse"

A rainy day among the desert summer heat was a welcome sight.

The only drawback was that if anyone wanted to exercise they’d be confined to the closed-off gym instead of the dusty freedom of the training field.

So that’s where you currently were, sparring with your Lieutenant while the rain pattered away at the flat roof of the spacious facility, tucked away in one of the rooms. And by sparring, you understood dodging every curved fist and grabby hands flung your way while doing nothing to reciprocate. Your hands hung placidly by your sides, shoulders slack and face relaxed in neutrality as you pounced back every time Ghost lunged.

Why he insisted on hand-to-hand combat with you in particular, was beyond your comprehension, why anyone at base would want such a match – even less so. It was factually unfair, your advantage over the Lieutenant was a laughing matter, both your speed and strength far outmatched his. You were built to win, always, so why on Earth was he so hell-bent on fighting a battle already lost?

It made no sense, but you were a good dog, you didn’t question his antics, his drive, only bent your head in submission when he’d ordered you to the training facility.

The fluorescent lamps buzz leisurely above your head, a comforting white noise for your ears. Droplets of sweat plink against the rubber matting of the floor, your Lieutenant leaving a trail behind you both as he deliberately works you into a corner. His grunts strained, suppressed behind bared teeth hidden under the sheet of his mask, his eyes creased, shadowed by his lowered brows. He’s becoming frustrated, and you’re well aware of it, but despite his irritation with your passive ways, you stick to them.

You won’t risk him ending up injured because you misjudged just what force his body can withstand, you aren’t keen on finding out today how much you can batter him before he collapses. A punch flung astray accompanied by a sliver of carelessness could lead to you carrying him to the med bay with a broken ribcage.

No, that won’t do at all, not with your deployment coming up.

But he doesn’t want your gentle handling, he doesn’t want your merciful pity and pacifism. He wants a fight, to stir some vigor in your devoid eyes, to see a spark in them because on the battlefield you look the most alive and he needs you as such always.

You dodge another swing, upper body leaning back and knees bending to support your shift of weight. You watch the large fist swish past you almost in slow motion because to you Ghost is slow, everyone is slow. Having keen reflexes and awareness far surpassing those of the average person was a blessing and a curse, you picked up too much from your surroundings, and often times it became oppressive in your day-to-day. But during combat, it was good, needed even if it made the whole encounter disinteresting and plain bland.

He stumbles and you instinctively reach forward to cushion his fall, arms outstretched and ready to catch him. With a curse under his breath and a jerk of his leg, he steadies himself before reaching the floor. You step back to give him space, your baby hairs led astray from their neatness against your forehead by your abrupt motions.

“You miss the memo, Cadet?”

Your brows raise at his growl and the nasty look he tosses at you over his shoulder as he slowly straightens from his bent-over pose. He turns to face you fully, rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck with one palm under his chin. The muscles beneath his compression shirt ripple and shift like coy fish under a still pond.

A hand reaches to slick the stray strands from your eyes back into your crown, ghost over the braided hair at the back of your head, left to grow too long because you couldn’t be bothered visiting the barber at base. Your lips part to speak, but the Lieutenant has more on his mind, predicts your question before it rolls off your tongue.

“We’re sparring, yeah? Not playin’ tag. Gotta hit me.” He steps forward, surging through the air with arms spread wide to try to grab and tackle you, his entire body thrust towards you by his powerful thighs. When you step out of his way and flatten yourself against the wall to avoid his deadly hug, his temper spills over. “Fight back, damn it!”

When you move away from the wall he takes his chance, swinging an iron calf at your knees to set you off balance. Again you manage to escape, jump out of his range as if you were simply avoiding a splash of paint on the ground, unbothered, silent, bored.

“Fight back.” He snarls venomously, his glare piercing cold and demanding. “That’s an order!”

And like a good dog, you obey.

You jerk forward and grasp his ankle in a painful hold, tight enough to make him falter. Sometimes he forgets you’re a monster, mistakes you for a cowardly runt until he forces you to remind him.

His bulky arms are wrapped around his head protectively as you bend down and fling him over your shoulder without much excretion, face first into the floor. His eyes widen for only a second as he flies through the air like a feather, then squeeze shut as the rubber matting hastens into his sight. He buries his nose into the crook of his elbow to soften the impact as much as possible. The air is knocked out of his lungs, a choppy gasp forced out of him as he’s planted against the floor with firm force.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

When he unfurls to look back, he sees you standing above him like a predator, unwavering, stoic, bloody majestic even. Each of your feet is planted firmly on either side of his waist, head tilted to the side and an unimpressed expression carving at least something into your blank features, your hands crossed behind your back. You look almost cocky, he likes it.

“I win.”

He barks out a laugh at your words, at how absolutely defeated they sound leaving your lips. Of course, you’re not satisfied, this is child’s play to you, most enemies don’t even reach this close to you before they’re ripped apart. Ghost takes it upon himself to make your experience more engaging despite the threat of looking like a flailing child in your eyes. It’s a risk he’s willing to take if only to see something shine in those crystalline orbs of yours.

“Not over yet.” He barks through his protesting lungs and rolls around in a flash, wrapping his arms around your knees and pushing back with all his might.

Now you end up on the floor, stumbling briefly, not expecting him to keep his zest for sparring going after your humiliating toss. Your legs are bent back into your chest, spread apart, and folded between the two of you as he hovers above you, locking you in place. There’s a twinkle in his eye, beads of sweat tracing his brow and even through the mask you can see him smirking.

You press your hands against his shoulders, watching him pant above you, shifting on his haunches, his chest puffed out in male pride. The position does something to him and you’re too blissfully unaware to pick up the subtle shift. He already reeks of sweat and testosterone, he’s already pleasantly riled up by finally getting the upper hand albeit briefly.

An ember is kindles deep in his belly and his vice grip on you falters as he silently gazes down at you. Salty droplets drip onto your cheeks and trace patterns over your skin, you take a mental note to shower after this fiasco is over.

He softens, leans down slowly. It’s when he’s unguarded and his nose gently bumps against yours that you act.

The biggest mistake you make is flip the two of you over and sit on his face like a throne, squishing him between your thighs with the intent of cutting off his oxygen, crotch to his mouth so plushly pressed you can feel his stubble through both mask and leggings.

The whole point was to make him tap out and end this so you can finally get your afternoon snack, but unfortunately for you, not everything goes as planned. Something muffled and unintelligible comes from him as he grabs at your hips. He chokes on a moan and then you finally understand your predicament. You recoil in an instant and he pushes you off him the rest of the way with a gruff “get off”.

 “I…” You begin, then falter, reaching a hand for him with your best apologetic look. “Apologies, Lieutenant. It was not my intention.”

He’s on his feet already, back turned to you and palming his hard cock in place.

“Ain’t your fault, Hound.”

You stand and walk to one of the windows to let some fresh air in, hoping the chill the rain has brought will ease the stirring in his grey sweats. The storm still wages war outside, the lightning has subsided and all you can hear and smell is the downpour. It’s calm, pleasant, it dissipates the musky stench in the small training room, the cool air caresses your cheeks and you take in a deep breath.

You sit on the matting before the window, gaze outside at the deserted grounds dotted with only a handful of passersby, military staff rushing to their offices with briefcases over their heads in an attempt to stay somewhat dry. Resting your chin on one knee and wringing your arms around your leg, you invite Ghost silently to join you in the moment once he’s made himself decent and shaken away the fickle embarrassment.

You don’t expect him to relent considering the incident in his office a few days prior. There had been no word spoken regarding your kiss, you liked it as such, it was simple this way and you can discard the memory as a moment of weakness. You’re not one to pry or delve into matters that do not impact you physically in any way. Being devoid of a heart has its perks, you’re not weighed down by feeble emotions such as lust or regret, love or hate. You could care less if you never kissed him again, it’s just his mouth against yours, it changes nothing in your life.

And you can only hope he shares your sentiment and that his awkward boner was spurred on by your brawl and not you specifically.

Contrary to your speculations, he does join you.

Back to back, you sit together, him staring into nothingness, his eyes latched to the patterns painted over the walls while you gaze mindlessly out the window. The heat radiating off his body is intense, it brings a flush to your face, makes the cold air sting against the tip of your nose. It’s delightful really, if only he could be this approachable and calm all the time.

But he was, unfortunately, a man burdened heavily and you didn’t ease his woes in any way. If anything, you made his days more difficult despite being a thorn in his eye unwittingly.

You lean back into him, as comrades do when sharing a small serene moment. His body tenses behind you. Your protruding spine slots in the crevice of his, between the two hills of muscle on either side of his back. It’s a perfect fit, funny how such physical formations align, how the right man and woman fit together like puzzle pieces.

“Are you calm, Lieutenant?”

He leaves the question to hang in the air for a few minutes before giving out a somber reply.

“Ye…”

A gust of cold air can do wonders for the body.

“Why do you keep me around when you detest me so?” You ask next and crane your neck just a bit to catch a glimpse of his mask as your cheek is pressed against his shoulder. “Do you love me? Hate me?”

A lonesome sigh, it makes his skin crawl at how real and packed it sounds. But he knows better than to believe in it. Your voice is lukewarm, a meek lull, almost normal.

“It’s confusing. You’re a complicated man.”

Whichever he picks, whatever he answers, he knows you don’t care. It’s just curiosity, there’s no hidden agenda, no fluttering of the heart be it from spite or repressed affections.

So he doesn’t answer right away, partly because it doesn’t matter what he says, partly because he can’t, it’s a haze to him as much as it is to you. It used to be that you were too dangerous to let loose in anyone else’s care, he’d rather do the job of being your zookeeper by himself and properly. As time went on though, his compass started to shift in a different direction and now he wasn’t sure which way it was pointing.

He sticks to what he knows clearly, decides that’s a suitable reply and it will sate whatever boredom caused you to bring up the topic, at least for the time being.

“Would rather you stay in my hands over the enemy’s.”

“Is that all there is to it?” You ponder out loud, then hum softly and slack against him as if he were your pillow. With both legs stretched out and your hands lifelessly left to rest in your lap, you breathe him in, the smell of pine and cigarettes, a heavy and hearty odor. You’ve grown to subconsciously seek it out when he’s not within eyesight, grown to cherish it because it’s the closest thing you have to a home.

With your eyes lifted to the grey, cloud-riddled sky you give him your name, the one blotted out of every document and identification file, the one scratched out of existence, the one before Hound, and the made-up one in your reports. He freezes, nearly wheezes, you hear his breath hitch and he turns back to look over his shoulder.

“What?”

“You entrust your life to me on the field.” You say gently, the words barely above a whisper, soft as cotton. “I entrust my life to you now…But do keep it to yourself, please. Sergeant MacTavish will not take well to your advantage in my personal life.”

His raspy chuckle is your given vow of secrecy. After that, all is silence.

The spec of intimacy, the sharing of vulnerable information, the feeling of your back pressed against his, it makes his head spin, like a cigarette after a good training session. He basks in the feeling, imagining himself as someone special enough to you to deserve the precious knowledge you’ve bestowed upon him. There’s a lump in his throat at the possibility of searching you up and finding more information about you, maybe even seeing your visage before the augmentations.

But does he want to invade your privacy after you’ve trusted him?

No, he wants the information to come from you. He wants to earn it, whether in the fire of an argument or the tenderness of a lover’s embrace, it doesn’t matter.

You stay as such until the hairs on your arms prickle and your skin is littered with goosebumps. There’s a numbness to your fingers and your nose has become stuffy, suits you right for dressing in only a flimsy top with a storm on the horizon.

“You like to eat, yeah?”

The question comes out of the blue and your first reaction is to nod. You glance at him, find his chocolate iris trained on you in the corner of his eye. You listen to his steady breaths, the sound of his stubble scratching against the confine of his mask as he strains to look back at you.

“I have to rebuild my muscle mass. It’s nice when the food is good, but it doesn’t make a difference in the end. I eat to live, not live to eat.”

“Got a favorite dish?” He inquires lightheartedly as if he were speaking to a child or a dear friend.

The answer comes automatically, you don’t even need to think.

“No.”

“Pick something then.” He’s fast to quip back and you’re left with a task that you’re not used to undertaking – making a choice.

It stiffens you up in a way, he feels you go rigid behind him and lean your head away from his shoulder, the tender eye contact suddenly broken and the wavering scene of intimacy buried alive by the dark shadow of intrusive thoughts. You’re left with a whirling mind that somehow is completely blank and nothing comes out of your mouth when you try to speak.

How long has it been since you had the privilege of choice? How many years since you had been brainwashed into the obedient, nearly android-like state of today? It had been a necessary change added for the safety of your superiors, being stripped of feeling anything was to prevent rebellion and individuality. You’d willingly undergone the procedures knowing the sacrifice you were making and yet, it had never bothered you, it felt liberating not to be weighed down by personality or emotion.

That was until two minutes ago.

The rain is deafened by a strange shrieking in your ears.

“Hound?” The weight of his upper body is rested on one palm firmly planted against the floor as he turns halfway to get a better look at you. There’s a grimness to your face, a distance in your eyes stretching miles and for a moment Ghost believes he’s royally fucked up in some way.

“Hound.” He tries again and grabs you by the shoulder to try and make you focus on him. He knows that look, the expression, it resembles his when he looks in the mirror late at night after one too many drinks that fail to numb his demons.

“Pup, look at – ”

“ – Pizza.”

He blinks once, twice, then arches a brow and you see the mask tighten with a smirk.

“Pizza?”

“Yeah.” You nod and face him fully, a hint of a smile cracking your apathetic demeanor and reeling his heart.

He plays it off as if it’s nothing, blazes inside like a bonfire at the spec of humanity finally, finally creeping through an otherwise vacant canvas. He pretends not to see it because he doesn’t want to scare it away, stands up and dusts himself off.

“I’ll come get you at eighteen hundred.” He doesn’t even spare you a glance as he speaks and a moment later he’s out of the training room and down the hall, leaving you behind in blissful silence.

You watch him leave wordlessly from your position on the floor, his pace is languid, too unbothered and uncanny for him. He’s masking something, what exactly you’re unsure of, but if it correlates with you earning yourself a slice of pizza, then you’re not fussed about the ordeal.

You return to your small quarters for a thorough, long shower to warm your chilled bones and frosted flesh. A veil of steam accompanies you once you step out on squishy feet.

The room was by no means cozy, the furniture stopped at the bare necessities, and decorations were non-existent. It was bland, devoid of a personality and it perfectly reflected you as an individual, if you could even call yourself that.

Judging by the clock on your nightstand, you’d been soaking for nearly an hour, a small luxury you were permitted every once in a while, one of very few. Your limbs feel heavy with relaxation as you collapse onto your bed, letting the sheets aid your plain white towel in soaking the droplets off your body.

Thoughts delicately dance around the confines of your mind, materializing before your eyes in the cream-yellow ceiling like a picture book. Time-passers, random jumbles to help the minutes tick by because you have no other occupation outside of exercise and paperwork, no phone to play a game on, no book to read. Most of the time, that’s not a problem, you’re always busied with orders and instructions and barely have a moment to sit down for a meal, but on rare occasions such as today, the pleasantry of free time is a burden.

An eternity passes before there’s a knock on your door, you’re already dressed and good to go, sitting on the edge of your bed, hunched over and still as a statue, locked within your head until you’re ripped back to reality. Your eyes snap at the sound and you nearly lunge, spurred on by hunger, purposefully choosing to skip dinner for the prospect of something better than another dry steak and overcooked vegetables.

“Let’s go.” Ghost motions for you to follow once you’ve appeared from behind the door and you follow along the muddy field and bustling barracks.

The rain has stopped and the base is lively again, soldiers are speeding left and right, zipping past you in a rush with either gear or papers in hand. You walk behind the stoic Lieutenant, using him as a shield to avoid the annoyance of anyone bumping into you. Despite your uncanny looks, compared to the rest of your military establishment’s occupants, you’re small enough to neglect and trample over.

Your boots sink into the squishy soil, and the sheen of water sloshes around your soles and makes them sticky. You’re careful, make sure no mud comes to stain the tips of your jeans. The lights at the base flicker on to illuminate the grounds as the sun sets prematurely today, choked in a sea of clouds, the glare twinkling brightly against the trembling surface of puddles. When a Humvee nears you step to Ghost’s side to avoid being potentially splashed and stay there as he guides you to the vehicle storage unit.

His bike is waiting there, freshly waxed and glossy, nearly sparkling.

“Where are we going, Lieutenant?” You ask and glide your hand over the smooth leather of the seat, in awe at how preserved it is coupled with a keen interest in having your first bike ride.

“To grab a bite to eat.” He responds as if you should have reached that conclusion by yourself, and tosses a helmet at you he retrieves from the display on the wall. “Put it on.”

He secures his own helmet and lifts the visor, the black plastic contrasting with the pearly white skull painted over it – his signature you presume, even when off duty he sticks to skulls. Sometimes you wonder what truly drives his love for the peculiar markings, a skull on every mask, skeleton hands on the majority of his gloves.

“Ever been on one o’ these before?”

“No.” You answer as you nestle on the seat behind him.

He turns to look you over and reaches back to grab your wrists before pulling them around his thick waist.

“Hold onto me, Backpack.”

You tilt your head at the new nickname but refrain from questioning him, preferring to keep his mood light for as long as possible. Instead, you follow his instructions and cling to him, scoot a little closer until you’re pressed flush against him and your thighs rub against each other’s. He nods at your adjustment and with a grunt of warning lifts his knees and plants his feet on the pegs.

You’re off after that, slowly to the entrance of the base and then smoothly sailing down the highway towards the city.

The rumbling of the engine is a constant tune in your ears, the wind beating against your arms and legs, creeping past your clothes and nipping at your skin, cool and refreshing, you can smell it even through the helmet. In combination with the world passing by you, it’s like a drug, lamp post after lamp post passes in a blur and it makes your heart race at how fast you’re moving, it feels the same as skydiving, you feel like you’re flying, free.

You don’t even realize when your hands slip beneath Ghost’s jacket to palm at the thin layer of fat over his strong stomach, not until the flesh beneath your fingers shudders. You’re too preoccupied with your bliss, lost in another moment of pure tranquility even if you felt underdressed for the occasion.

If you’d known, you would have taken a thicker top, but the Lieutenant wasn’t one to acknowledge the comfort of others or comfort’s existence in general.

Cars pass you by, the breeze whisks the tips of your hair peeking from beneath the helmet.

The plains of the vast yellow grass hills, devoid of water for most of the summer and burnt, give way to a concrete jungle. There is no easing into the metropolis, it’s all busy streets and tall buildings from the outskirts to the very core. People going home after a long day of work, the chatter of civilization, the honking of traffic the scent of sewage and overflowing garbage bins. Flashing lights, illuminated windows in every building and neon signs, the sizzling of street food being prepared and the clinking of glasses from the outdoor tables of restaurants. It wasn’t your favorite occupation on the planet, far from it even, but once upon a time you resided in a place much similar to this city. It used to be home and that nostalgic feeling still lingers in present times.

Ghost’s driving switches from fast and exciting to gentle and mindful as he guides you through the streets, he knows the place unlike you, and there’s not an ounce of hesitancy as he traverses around. He pulls to a stop at the corner of a small boulevard heavy with a cluster of shops.

When he straightens and stretches you release your vice grip on his upper body and unclasp the helmet from your head before carding through your matted hair. Nighttime is the perfect time for you to be out and about among the general population, the dusk hides your distinct eyes well and you can easily blend in with a crowd if only you avoid sharp direct light.

The aroma of baking dough and freshly cut flowers mixes in your nostrils and once the helmet is off you sniff the air like a hound. Guided by your keen sense, your head snaps to the flower shop closing up some distance away from you. A tiny pizza place on wheels stationed right next to it.

“You like flowers, eh?”

Ghost’s orbs followed the direction of your gaze, finding the source of your attention in the colorful display of plants being ushered inside the glass-paneled shop. He secures the bike and gets off before removing his helmet and glancing at you in question.

“I don’t care for them.” Is your first blip of words before you’ve properly processed the question, then you add as you lazily blink at him. “But they smell nice.”

“Which ones smell the best?”

You tilt your chin at the handful of orchids stuffed inside a large vase and the Lieutenant takes a quick memory note. Maybe one day he might buy you some.

“C’me on.” He rears his nose at the pizza place, apparently just as starved as you for a hot slice after a day of rain and stiff fingers.

Soon enough, your hands are full and while steam is coming off the fresh food, beads of water are gathering over the non-alcoholic beer cans. You’re led to a small park with a fountain in the middle, the mix of stone and vegetation is welcoming and you take in the sight as you sit down on one of the benches. A part of you had forgotten what civilization looked like, it’s marvelous when in small doses.

“You like it?” There’s a pinch of something in his voice, a fond spark. He watches you wolf down the pizza with vigor before licking the grease off your lips and opening the beer cans. One is handed to him and he takes it with a simple “thanks”.

“Yes.” You nod curtly through your last mouthful before washing it all down with a few sips. You lean back into the bench with a sigh, satisfied and sated, and look up at the peaks of the towering buildings. “What I don’t understand is why you took me here.”

There’s a silence after your question slips out as Ghost mimics your posture, leans back, and rests one arm on the backrest of the bench as his other holds his beer on his knee. He follows your eyes, stares outward at the bustling city, and muses over his answer. The lights twinkle in his eyes, he slackens and his leather jacket squeaks and creases at the crooks of his elbows, then he lets loose a breath.

“Tryin’a court you, love.”

You hum at that and avert your snowy orbs to him, a small frown tugging at your lips before you take a swig from your can and clear the fizz out of your throat.

“Why?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, takes a sip and the beer is thrice as bitter on his tongue now, it makes him grimace subtly and leave the can by his feet. “I like you. Want you to like me too.”

In a way, you pity him. Harboring affection for you is a dead-end to a doomed mission, but you were sure he knew this already and it was blinding emotion that drove him into having faith that something might change. You’d give him your heart if you could, he was a good man after all, but there was no heart to give. There was no spark to flourish, you were a void, as per design, and you couldn’t reciprocate even if you desperately wanted to.

“There’s no point to that.” You murmur and dust the crumbs off your lap with distinct displeasure, as if you’re trying to push away his advances.

“There often ain’t.” He scoffs at your remark, the sound deep and guttural with a twinge of hoarseness from the cold beer. He glances at you with a fond albeit bitter smile. You’re a golden comedian at times, should get a medal for your bluntness, but you aren’t wrong, never are and if he wasn’t plagued by the sting of rejection and apathy, he’d be irked. “You kissed me, gave me your name. Thought there was a chance you saw me differently than the rest.”

“I indulge you because your interest in me burdens you. My devotion to you as my Lieutenant and Squad mate is not the same as affection.”

Dry facts and an unbothered expression. One day he’ll grow tired of your indifference and finally let go of whatever obsession has possessed him, but until then he’s stuck fighting a losing battle. It’s a blow to his masculinity, how uncaring you are of him considering he’s gotten his fair share of lustful stares and wanton touches both at base and outside. But you also never outright reject him and so he’s kept in a never-ending loop of what-ifs, motivated by the little jewels of softness and tender moments you wind up sharing with him.

Still, sometimes, your straight-to-the-point demeanor catches him off guard and he responds with emotion before reason can take over. Now is no different.

“Bloody hell, Hound, you really know how to ruin a moment.” He gruffs and shifts in his seat. His resting hand hangs over your shoulder, his fingertips brushing against the cotton of your collar and relishing the heat emanating from your neck.

He’s stubborn, you’ll give him that.

And it’s a laughable thing, the situation you’re in. He could simply order you to sleep with him because he knows the extent of your loyalties and your denial of morals. However, that won’t be enough. He needs you to relent, wants you to crumble in his hands. It’s a rather dark scenario – pursuing you until you eventually tire and give in, but you’re no normal rabbit to make a hunt out of. Maybe that was why he was so devoted.

His hardest catch would be the biggest prize in his mind. The fool…

“The only thing I’ve ruined is your delusion.”

The temperature was low before, with the utter fall of night, it falls even more and you’re forced to move closer to him in order to preserve some heat. It’s a contradicting action to your words, and it’s what he lives for and you’re inclined to believe that this was his idea all along. Get you close because you have no choice despite your verbal refusal to his affections.

“Indulging, huh?” He sneers, you heart it heavy in his words as he looks down at you like you’re a dame in distress. He wraps his arm around you, pulls you tight against his side and you don’t gather enough zest to protest. “Keep indulging me then.”

After a long pause, you find your voice long enough to question his alluding taunt. If he thought you were tucked under his armpit out of your own volition, he was dead wrong. It was only natural in such cold weather, had nothing to do with you suddenly becoming reciprocating, and had no hidden meaning.

“Sir?”

“Kiss me.” He orders softly and curls his forefinger under your chin, tilting it up so you’re forced to lock eyes. “That’s an order.”

And like a good dog, you obey.

<<< Chapter 1

Chapter 3 >>>

Masterlist

[hockybish]

hey hope you're doing well

I was wondering if you could write #55 from your prompt list where theirs an age gap where the reader is younger with Joseph Woll

thx love your writing

Hi Sweetie, Im good. I'm so sorry this is so late, I've been working on cross stitching Christmas presents and I've made myself sick from staying up too late.

Anyways. Enjoy! Let me know what you think

Just a Number

l Joseph Woll x Younger!Reader l Masterlist l

You looked pretty good.

Or at least that's what you thought with your makeup and hair done just right. You had your favorite pleather leggings on, and the best part of the whole outfit in your opinion was blue and white jersey with your boyfriend's last name on the nameplate.

You smoothed down the logo of the jersey to get a better look at the whole thing put together. You deemed it perfect and set off for the game.

Due to you busy school schedule and work this was the first Leafs game you were able to attend since the beginning of the season. It also just so happened that Joe was slated to start in goal that game.

It was perfect. Right?

The first time you heard some of the ladies saying things, you were minding your business the family room. You didn't know many people so you mainly kept to yourself.

That was until a couple of the wags found you and decided to introduce themselves.

"Are your here to watch your brother or something?" The one with the blonde hair snickered.

"No. I'm here supporting my boyfriend. He's p-playing tonight. He's the goalie." You smile.

"Joseph Woll is your boyfriend? Ha yeah right, you're a bit young for him don't you think? You're practically a baby." The other lady joined the conversation, continuing on with what felt like insults.

You were taken aback. You had no idea how to respond. Sure Joe was a bit older than you, but you were pretty sure you did the math correctly and it was totally socially acceptable for you to be someone who was six years older than you. Right?

"Also what are you wearing? It's a bit tacky and pick me to be wearing your boyfriend's jersey?" The blonde chimed in again.

You were always confident in your looks but them judging and making comments you made you question yourself and why Joe was even with you.

You were so out of it during the game, you hadn't noticed the Leafs won. That Joseph gave an amazing performace, even earning himself a shutout.

But you hadn't noticed any of that. Sure you had been going through the motions, cheering when the team scored or the goalie had made a big save. You were too consumed with other thoughts to comprehend what was actually going on around you.

"Hey Babe" Joe found after the game standing on to the side, you were looking at something interesting on the ground while hugging yourself.

When there wasn't an answer from you, Joe hooked his finger under your chin to lift it so you would face him. He leaned in to kiss you only to have you turn your head and his lips land on your cheek instead of your lips.

"Y/N, what's up?" He frowned sensing you weren't all there.

"Nothing. Can we just go home? Please?" You couldn't look at him but you couldn't hear the ladies from before laughing at you again.

He nodded. Joseph managed to pry a hand free so he could lead you to the car. A little ways into the drive he started in with the questions again. He was determined to get out of you what was up.

You were tight lipped, but somehow he was able to put a crack in your defense.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Do you ever think maybe I'm too young for you? It's a pretty big gap between twenty and twenty six. And maybe it's too big of an age gap. I'm just a baby after all. An inexperienced baby."

"Where is this coming from?" Joseph

"I- I don't know. I was just thinking."

"Well I don't care about age, it's just a number. I think you're perfect just the way you are. We're learning together." He tried his best reassuring you, by saying all the typical things people say when posed with the big age question. It wasn't makig you feel better.

"Plus if your really worried about it. Do the age equation. You know take your age divide by two add seven or your age minus seven times two." He urged you to find the range.

"20 and 26"

"Exactly! We're just the right age for each other." He reached over to take your hand.

"You mean we're skirting on the edge. If you were born one year earlier and I one year later, it wouldn't big of a gap."

Joe sighed heavily. There was no winning with you. "But we weren't. We're just right. I promise. Please" He could feel he was losing you. He didn't want that at all. He loved you.

"Can you just take me home?"

"That's a perfect idea, we can -"

"No Joe. I want to be myself right now" You turned away from the man you loved, letting go of his hand in the process.

--

A couple of weeks had passed since you had asked Joseph to drop you off at your apartment and then proceeded to ghost him. In that time you had gotten a couple dozen phone call, voicemails, and text messages from the overly concerned man.

In that time Joe had gotten the message that the two of you were over. He didn't understand why. He wanted a chance to talk to you and would do anything to get that chance. Even asking for the things that he left at your place that he really didn't care about.

Joe was the only one to speak when you handed over the Maple Leafs hoodie that he absolutely needed back. "Can I ask what happened?"

"Joe" You pleaded.

"Y/N, please, I think you owe me that much. Because everything had been going great and then something happened that night of that game. Was it me? Did I do something?"

"No. You could never do anything wrong. It wasn't you, it is me" You sigh quickly deciding to tell him everything that had happened that night. Everything that had been said to you and everything you had overheard.

"None of that is true. I don't think you're too young, or a baby. You, Y/N Y/L/N are perfect. I don't care what you wear to games, dress up, jersey, I don't care."

If he remembered correctly that night he thought you looked hot as hell wearing his jersey, and he was kinda hoping to fuck you while you were wearing it.

"I would like another chance. Please let me show you are perfect the way you are. That age is just a number." Joe let you know.

"I know this is a bad idea, but I want it so much" You bite your lip. Joe was here and looking rather scrumptious as always. This was bad.

"Do whatever you want, Y/N, the ball is in your court."

You take a quick look on either side of the to make sure none of your nosey neighbors happen to be in the hallway. They didn't need to see what you were about do. Thank god the coast was clear.

What happened next was a bit of a blur. You don't really think. You grab onto Joe's shirt, pulling him into your apartment. Once he clears the door, you crash your lips against his.

Joe fumbles with the hem of your shirt waiting for your word to go any further, the Lego roses he had made for you now decorated the floor in pieces.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Sure Joseph was a bit older than you, but age is really just a silly number. You're both adults and you really did love him.

[sidekick-hero]

let the impulse to love and the instinct to kill entangle to one

(steddie | wc: 918 | teen | written for @steddiemas and @steddieholidaydrabbles (prompt: came back wrong) | tags: fluff, first kiss, kas!eddie

"I'm not staring at you. I'm staring at your ugly ass sweater. What is that thing?" Steve asks, aiming to sound appalled but failing miserably. There is too much affection in his voice, laughter echoing in every word.

He thinks he can't be blamed, though, because Eddie looks ridiculous in that big green and red sweater with Rudolph the Reindeer on it, pulling an empty flying sleigh. Especially with the gray tinted skin and the sharp teeth and the fucking wings that spilled out of the cuts in the back of the sweater.

"Where's Santa, huh? Did you eat him?" Steve laughs and Eddie chirps again, this time clearly offended. He pulls away from where he was leaning against Steve, climbs off the bed and retreats to the farthest wall. Standing there in a defensive pose with his arms crossed over his chest, Eddie hangs his head and hunches his shoulders, making himself small. His long, black curls hide most of his face, but Steve can still see the onyx color of his eyes gleaming in the dim light of his bedside lamp.

The sight makes his heart ache in his chest.

Getting up from where he's been sitting cross-legged on his bed, Steve pads over to him, determined to fix whatever he's done to make Eddie look like this. But when he ducks his head to catch Eddie's eyes, all he gets is an irritated growl as Eddie turns his head away from Steve's searching gaze. Behind him, his tail flicks back and forth angrily.

One thing he didn't know about Eddie before, but learned pretty quickly, is how damn stubborn he can be. Good thing Steve is not one to give up easily, having spent nearly four years babysitting teenagers.

His hand slowly reaches out, making his intentions clear until it rests on Eddie's forearm. He learned his lesson when Eddie first started coming to his room late at night, still has the scars to remind him of that lesson. He knows that Eddie didn't mean to hurt him. Steve just startled him the first time he reached out to touch him without warning, eager in his excitement to see Eddie alive.

Things have changed since then. A lot.

Eddie is less cagey, no longer afraid of Steve. He tolerates his touch now, even seeks it out. But he still doesn't take well to surprises. Steve wonders what happened to him all those months he was lost in the Upside Down and thinks maybe it's better he doesn't know. He's not sure he wouldn't do something rash and epically stupid if he did.

"Sorry, Eds, I know you don't eat people. It was a dumb joke, I didn't mean anything by it." His thumb smooths over the tense muscles he can feel under the soft material of the sweater. It looks like it should be scratchy, offending more senses than just his eyes, but it isn't.

Just like Eddie looks scary, but isn't.

It seems to be the right thing to say, because the onyx of his eyes takes on a warmer shade, like very dark chocolate or the first precious coffee of the morning. Eddie chirps again and shakes his head.

"No, I mean it, Eddie. I don't think you're a monster. I know you wouldn't hurt anyone, it was a really stupid joke. I guess I'm still an asshole sometimes and -"

Eddie interrupts his ramblings by bumping his head against Steve's before nuzzling close to his neck, chirping and purring. He still can't talk, even though Steve hasn't given up hope that he will, but that doesn't mean he can't communicate.

"Okay, okay, no bad self-talk. Got it, jeez. You're worse than Robin, I swear," Steve laughs as he runs his hands through Eddie's soft curls. Secretly, he doesn't mind letting their bodies do much of the talking. Words have never been his strong suit, but this? He's damn good at this.

"But honestly, what's with the ugly ass sweater, huh?" He can't help but ask again as he practically holds Eddie in his arms. He's colder to the touch than a normal human, but Steve doesn't mind. He always runs a little hotter than most, so it balances out perfectly.

Eddie pulls back a little so he can look at Steve and points to Steve's chest with his claw.

"Me? What do I have to do with this? It's not one of mine, is it?"

Eddie shakes his head and his claw taps Steve's chest again, then points at himself and the ugly sweater.

"I'm sorry, Eds, I don't -"

The claw moves from his chest to his face and Steve holds still, his eyes crossing as it follows the deadly weapon. Eddie's finger touches his mouth, effectively shushing him, before the tip of the claw slips between his lips and pulls ever so gently at the right corner of Steve's mouth, forcing a crooked smile.

"Sssseve" Eddie hisses, the first words he's spoken since he returned not quite the same as before, and it clicks.

"You were trying to make me laugh?"

Eddie beams at him. "Ssseve," he says again, chirping with delight and Steve can't help but kiss him. Eddie freezes for a second under his mouth before kissing him back urgently as more sounds pour out of him between kisses, chirping and purring against Steve's mouth.

So what if Eddie came back a bit wrong? He came back to them. To Steve.

In his book, that's worth more than normal anyway.

[small-sinclair]

Wolves knocking at the Door

poly!Sinclairs x y/n

Tw: reader is not a wolf (only the brothers), Bo being himself (soft at the end), mentions of past killings, blood, reader gets smacked

This is a free style a/b/o prompt because no one is going to stop me and I have free will over myself. It came to me while I was eating chips and scrolling through @sketchy-rosewitch's blog the other day.

Days before a full moon are the worse in the Sinclair house, and you've taken good note of it. Bo gets angrier like throwing things across Ambrose, Vincent's kills become more violent and bloodied, and Lester just has a hard time keeping his thoughts lined and together, making it harder for him to focus or do his job.

When they were at home with you, they did their damnest to keep their emotions in check. They just wanted to make sure you didn't see the worse in them, that's all; and you knew that they were working so hard on making sure you never see that side of them.

But it's different tonight as the full moon was coming tonight, and you knew that they'll be... different. You knew they'll be out, hunting, fighting, terrorizing, killing--you knew it all but you weren't afraid. Besides, you knew that they'll never hurt you, and they make sure you have Papa's silver bullets and the blessed pistols with you just in case they even tried.

The morning started with Bo's cursing and a coffee mung breaking; that's what woke you. As you came down stairs, you were met with a broken mug on the floor and Lester in a headlock, Vincent pulling Bo away from his brother, and feverish blue eyes filled with fire and brimstone. The power he has in that pose is enough to make you want to run away, but you know better than that.

"Bo!" You snapped as you hurried into the kitchen, but you kept your distance when Vincent shot you a look. "Bo, let him go!"

With a tug, Bo was ripped off Lester's neck, Lester falling to the ground on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air as he held his neck. As Vincent backed away with bis brother locked in his grasp, you came to Lester's side and tried to help his steady his breathing.

You haven't seen Bo like this since the night you first saw him kill, when he first dug large canine teeth into your friend's neck, ripping it out to leave her to bleed out on the church floor.

You rubbed his back as he coughs, leaning into your touch. "...betta get outta here, darlin'," he breathed as he heard Vincent losing his grip and Bo stomping over to him. "Git--"

Before you had time to react to his warning, a large hand came down, and the world went quite. The birds stopped singing and the marsh stopped its song. The clouds covered the morning sun and the wind hit the house with full force. A bomb might as well gone off in the house as you faced the other way, holding your face, as the sting filled over your skin. Tears burned like acid as you cried silently. Before anyone could say or do anything, you stand and race out of the house, running down the street towards the church.

Where you still in your pajamas? Yes.

Did you care? No.

When you make it into the church, you find yourself running past their dead mother and hiding in the confessional, locking it. Going to the back of the booth, you tried to make yourself small before hiding your face in your legs, crying. He promised he would never do that, he promised to be a good man and his brothers agreed...

But how much does a promise cost, y/n? What's the payment at the end? They're beast, monsters. They are born to kill and worship the hunt on a full moon. Monsters don't keep promises.

But the Sinclairs do. They're better than this, and they'll prove it.

In a few moments, you hear the door to the church bursting open and heavy footsteps. "Y/n?" Bo called breathlessly, eyes scanning wildly over the pews and walls. "Darlin'! Come out--"

"No!" You yelled back, hugging yourself tightly. Your voice echoed from the locked confessional, and you heard Bo's boots coming to the door. He knocks, but you just yell, "Leave me alone, Bo!"

"Y/n, please com' out!" Bo shouted back, his right hand still burning from the sting. "Come out. I'll do anythin' ya want! Anythin'!" He kneels in front off the door and took in your scent, and he wanted to throw-up. He did this to you. He did this. He loves the smell of fear from his victums, but not from you. His hands rested on the door and he leaned against it. "Honey, please? Open up?"

At first, you don't move from your spot. You looked at the locked door then back at the handle. If you do open up, what'll happen? You're nervous he might yell, might feel different--

Then you hear something you thought you'd never hear: Bo whines at the door, his head thumping against the wood. It's heart aching and it tears you apart to hear him whine like a hurt puppy. You hear it again before the whine turns into him crying at the door, head still pressed against the wood. "Please, darlin," he whispers. "How do I make it better?"

You hear boots shuffling across the church floor, and Lester voice rings over, "Y/n? Ya okay? Where are ya, sweet pea?" His voice falls when he sees his brother at the confessional door, and he frowns. "Y/n?" You're not sure if you should answer him until you hear him joining his brother's side. you see their shadows through the crack on the door. "Yer okay, sweetness," he said against the door. "He didn't mean it." Lester rested his head against the door as well, closing his eyes. He didn't like how you smelled when you left the house in a panic, and he didn't like it now. "Honeydew?"

Then Vincent joins. You know his boots anywhere as he enters. You can hear him sniff the air then whimpering lowly as he joins his brothers. You could see his shadow behind his brothers as he placed a heavy hand on the door, resting his head against the cold wood.

"Sweetheart, please?" Bo's voice cracks. "Open the door? I gotta make sure yer okay."

"I'm not okay, Bo," you answer, your head raising from you hugged knees. "You hit me."

"He didn't mean it!" Lester replied. "Honest!" He's just as scared as his brothers. If you don't open up, he'll make sure Bo pays for everything. He hates hearing you so hurt and sad. That hit was supposed to hit him, not you.

"I wanna hear it from him," you said, wiping your eyes. "I want to hear it from Bo."

Bo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Ya know I didn't mean it."

Not good enough.

"Then I'm not coming out," you huffed. You're standing your ground on this one.

Vincent looks down at his twin then nodded at the door. He'll do anything to make you stop crying, to take away your pain and have it as his own. Vincent hated seeing you crying, and he hated that he wasn't strong enough to keep the other Alpha at bay. He just wanted to hold you in his arms, bury your head into his chest, and never let you go until you died. He promised himself that he would kill anyone that hurts you, and here he was, glaring at his brother.

Bo begs this time, and he sounds a bit pathetic, "Y/n. I'll do anythin'--"

"Then tell me you didn't mean it, Bo," you said again, looking at the door with hopeful eyes. "Tell me you won't do it again." You sniffled and said, "If you ever want to hold me or kiss me or fuck me, then you'll say it. If not," you looked around the room then back at the door, "I'll stay in here until you say it."

Bo grits his teeth then looks at the closed door as if he was kneeling in front of God himself. He looks down as he felt Lester's hand on his shoulder, nodding at the door.

"'M sorry, Y/n," it doesn't sound forced as he looked at the door. "'M sorry, darlin'. I swear to ya I'll that I'll never lay a hand on ya again. I promise, y/n... I swear it to you." He leans against the door and listens. "Darlin', please? Open up? Le' us see ya."

Silence filled the church before they heard you unlock the door. Bo sits up in attention, his bright blue eyes glowing and scared. Lester's plays with his hands nervously, his brown eyes were mixing to a hazel. Vincent... to say he was nervous was an understatement; he was terrified of your next words and actions. You were the best thing to happen to this little pack.

When Bo looked up to see your face, he was horrified. His hand print marked your perfect skin, and he hated himself more when he saw your puffy and red eyes trying so hard to smile down at him.

He looked as if he was a child reaching up to he picked up by his parent when his hands reached for yours, and you took them. You stepped closer and hold his head against your stomach.

''M sorry, darlin," he murmurs against your pajama shirt. "'M so sorry."

You comb through his hair, closing your eyes, and felt Vincent's arms wrap around your shoulders, taking in your scent, and Lester's hands rubbing your arms gently. Feeling your boys around you always made you feel safe and special.

You four stay like that for a while until you break the silence. "Can I cuddle you before you three have to go out tonight? Please?"

And they're all for it. They walk with you back to the house, Lester taking off his shoes to give you so you don't have to walk over the stones. Vincent holding your hand while Bo follows behind, listening to you talk about your plans for tonight while they go on their hunt.

By the time all of you are back at the house, they head to your room, the room that you share with Bo, and get ready, letting you go under the covers first to get comfortable.

First, Lester crawls in, snuggling up to your left side. Second, Vincent holds you and Lester. Third and last, Bo joins on your right side, getting a side all to himself.

For a while, you stay silent, letting the birds sing and the marsh start its song again.

Bo litters your bruised face with soft, gentle kisses while you run your fingers through Lester's hair, him humming to the touches. Vincent is looking at you as if he's seeing you for the first time. Before long, he takes off his mask and kisses your jaw.

Before you know it, you're asleep between them once more. You're safe and loved from them, and that's all you need.

When you wake up, the only one there is Bo, and your resting your head against his chest. Warm arms wrap around you protectively as he looks up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

When you look up, you can see his first stages of transformation: large brown and soft wolf ears sticking out of his hair, his nails longer and sharper, his blue eyes turning to a deeper blue mixed with purple, small patches of fur littering over his body. He'll have to leave soon before the afternoon sun sets to join his brothers.

Mainly to make sure Lester is okay while during his transformation. It always hurts him the most, so he'll need some support from his two Alphas.

When he feels your eyes on him, he looks down with sadness mixing his eyes. "'M so sorry, darling," he whispers, scared to startle you. "Forgive me?"

"I'll forgive you if you promise to start reading those anger management books I gave you." Then you thought. "Or listen to some ASMR audios."

"I'll take the books, y/n." His voice was rougher and deeper as the day grew.

You snuggle into his shirt, feeling the warmth and his heartbeat against your skin. "Works for me." You look up at him. "I love you."

He brings your face up to his as he places a kiss on your lips. "I love you more, y/n."

[future-dregs]

Kinktober Day 15 - Nude Photography

Wincest ♡ Fluff ♡ Word Count : 791

Written for @spnkinkevents

Snapshots

Dean's got an artistic side.

He indulges it often, but keeps it well under wraps

Nobody knows. It's not for them

Nobody. But one.

His object of inspiration.

He'll say "Hold" and Sam won't move until he hears the shutter click

Sam's neck, tendons standing out as he turns to read a road sign. Or the curve of his back as he pulls a fresh shirt over his head. The length of his legs, crossed and hanging out of the window, head in Dean's lap.

Sam will pose for him, too.

Pants around his ankles, bent over the hood of the Impala.

Sam's reflection in the bathroom mirror as he stepped out of the shower, taken through the gap of the door Sam had left half open.

Laid out naked in the backseat, legs all akimbo as he finds room to stroke himself, windows all fogged up except for the voyeristic circle Dean had wiped out before stepping back, taking pictures of Sam through the glass.

He's got a great shot of Sam leaning against the passenger door, shirt off, fingers all drippy and hanging lasciviously off of his teeth.

A weird one of the underside of Sam's junk, flaccid and soft. He'd laid in the dirt of a washed out road and told Sam to stand above him. He's fond of it, no matter how many times Sam insists it looks goofy and they should get rid of it.

Many of them like the ones when they'd stopped at a fast river to wash the blood off, and Sam had waded out to a rock and draped himself over it, naked as a new day. He'd sunned himself there for awhile, before rolling over and calling to Dean, asking where his camera was.

He'd stayed out long enough to burn, and when he'd come back to shore Dean had gotten another picture out of it - his handprint, white against the red of Sam's ass, where he'd smacked it.

Dean's got a great camera now. He'd been making do with cheap disposables, they did the job well enough, and he kinda liked the amateur look of the end result.

He thought it was more in the moment and genuine.

But Sam had given him this camera. Slipped it into his duffle when he wasn't looking. Had laughed, loud and wide and delighted at the look on Dean's face when he'd found it.

And that was what he'd christened it with.

Then Sam had kissed him with that same smile, and the camera had been temporarily forgotten. Retrieved only later, with fumbling hands, to capture the image of Sam lying on the bed, bracketed by Dean's knees, sweaty and bitten kiss red.

Sam wouldn't tell him where it'd come from, rolling his lips together and tossing his head when Dean pressed him about it, but Dean remembered the last house they'd been in, snooping for information. The vic had been a photographer, a professional one at that, and Sammy had been rediscovering his light fingers. So Dean could make an educated guess.

Dean liked to take candids, catching Sam in the middle of something casual, the everyday made wonderous, worth documenting, because it was SAM.

For all he said about not believing in miracles, he'll admit to this one. Sam back with him again, letting him, no not even, wanting him to kiss and hold him.

Seeking Dean out.

So Dean's collecting every bit of evidence he can.

And, it's fun.

Sam is built to be shown off, and he doesn't mind doing it, stripping down and posing whenever they get a free minute. He once did a whole years worth of cheesy pinups, joking about how they could sell calendars for a little extra cash.

But Dean's favorite, is the one of Sam stretched out and sleepy, hair falling into his half open eyes, a corner of the sheet hanging on his hip, the rest of him uncovered. The early summer sun coming up behind him, haloing the length of his body, turning the beginnings of his seasonal tan glowing and warm.

His dick is pink between his legs, and Dean had cooed about it and complimented him until a giggly blush had colored his cheeks.

Then, Dean took the picture.

His beautiful Sam. Kissed by the sun and safe and happy, trying to convince Dean to come back to bed and love on him some more.

It hadn't taken much.

Sam laughed and called him a soft touch, and Dean had just shrugged and licked his neck, kissing at his teeth and playfully pinning his arms when Sam swatted at him.

Maybe he was a soft touch. Getting softer by the day. 

But he didnt care. 

Because he was Sam's. 

[Ao3 link]

[lint-beetle4]

Shadowpeach “paint me like one of your French girls” where Wukong uses Mac as a model for a series of increasingly explicit artworks. He also uses his clones several different outfits ( possible cross dressing?) rope and a variety of toys to complete the “scenes” maybe Mac even swaps sexes for some of them. Mac has to struggle to stay still enough for the artwork while getting destroyed from the pleasure and praise ( the dude almost definitely has a thing for being complemented imo). He just has to sit there take it and look pretty what else could you want from a muse?

The Perfect Muse (Shadowpeach Lime)

(I drew a picture for this, because I'm a simp for Macaque being pretty)

(Suggestive content below)

"Wukong--out of all the hobbies you could've picked up, why painting?"

The monkey in question shrugged, twirling a paintbrush between his fingers. "MK said I needed hobbies aside from watching TV and doing nothing, so he taught me how to paint--thought I'd give it a try to see how it works out."

"And how do I come into play?" Macaque rolled his eyes. "I doubt my artistic skill could aid you in learning how to paint."

"That's just the thing!" Wukong grinned, wrapping an arm around his partner. "You're my muse!"

"You're what--?"

"Y'know, my muse--I'm going to paint you." Wukong tilted his head, "How about it?"

Macaque stared at the sage, shock and confusion fading into slight curiousity. "...So do I just stand here or--?"

Wukong stuttered slightly, becomingly strangely bashful. "Well, actually-- Remember those outfits we got for you to try on?"

"The skirts--yeah, I remember them. They were pretty."

"Yeah! You looked really good in them, so I just wanted to--y'know--paint you with them on."

Macaque's ear twitched, the glamour shifting around them as he processed Wukong's words. With a slight flick of his tail, Macaque grinned slyly, eyes piercing into Wukong.

"So you want a show then?"

Wukong stammered more. "It's not like that, just for practice!"

"Right, Wukong." Macaque stood behind the blushing simian, whispering in his ear. "Wait for me, I'll pick out my favorite outfit just for you."

Macaque left, hearing the sounds of Wukong rushing to prepare various supplies.

The darker monkey pulled on the skirt that barely covered him, fishnets stopping at the tips of his thighs. Darker clothes lined his wardrobe, the simian finding that he looks best in them with red and purple running through them.

Examining the clothing on his, Macaque adjusted the collar of the loose dress shirt that outlined his body far more than it should--Wukong always eyed him more when he wore it.

Outside of the room, Macaque heard Wukong muttering about various paints, and Macaque ran out of the room at the mere, heart-breaking words of Wukong about to dunk his expensive oil paints into a cup of water.

"Wukong, if I see that paintbrush has anything but paint, I'll rip your fingernails out." Macaque called out, seeing the the brush dangling inches above the cup.

Wukong smiled, a blush appearing quickly on his face. "You look amazing! Are you ready?"

"Sure, what pose do you want?" Macaque played with the tips of his black skirt.

Wukong hummed, circling Macaque briefly. "How about you sit on the ground and do what's most comfortable for you?"

Macaque shrugged, laying on the ground, legs crossed as he leaned back. "Like this?"

"Yeah!" Wukong beamed, starting to mix his colors. "You looks great like that!"

Macaque blushed slightly, turning away from Wukong as the monkey began painting, his eyes glancing at Macaque intensely. Macaque felt a familiar stirring in his core with each bit of eye contact they shared. He only hoped that the skirt would hide anything. After a semi-painful hour or two of Wukong muttering to himself, giving Macaque those damned, piercing glances, Wukong hummed, a signal he was done.

Macaque stood up, wiping off his skirt. The painting was modest--hell, Macaque even looked good--

"Not bad," Macaque nodded, looking closely at the painting. "I see MK taught you about anatomy as well. Everything looks solid."

Wukong's tailed swayed happily, his face full of pride. "This old monkey still has a few tricks to him, huh?"

Macaque chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned against Wukong subtly. "Sure, you do. You gonna keep this up?"

"Yeah!" Wukong chirped, "Actually, I wanted you to do one more thing--this was a bit of warm up before I tried anything else."

"Oh?" Macaque tilted his head, his tail flicking with slight interest. "Do you need another pose?"

Wukong averted his eyes slightly, a blush growing strong on her face. "Well--this is just for us to see, first of all! Second, I was wondering if I could tie you up--and maybe paint you like that?"

"And you're sure this isn't 'like that?'" Macaque smirked, hiding the excited shock coursing through his veins.

Wukong laughed, his face still red. "Well--It wasn't supposed to be."

"Okay, Wukong." Macaque rolled his eyes. "If you're going to tie me up, I'm getting red rope-- It's my color."

Wukong nodded, shaking away his blush as he went to grab another canvas. When Macaque returned with the rope, his body felt strangely weak, his limbs unusually shaky. Under his breath, the monkey hissed--trying to will his body to compose itself.

Macaque shifted a leg--still intent on hiding his slowly growing issue-- as Wukong came back, hands reached out for the rope.

"So," Wukong's voice boomed loudly in Macaque's ear, the darker monkey's heart rate growing fast. "What designs do you think would look good? You're the artist, right?"

Macaque hummed, clearing his throat slightly. "Tying my hands back behind my face will draw more attention there--maybe something intricate for the legs, and relatively simple for the body."

Wukong nodded, beginning the first set of knots.

Macaque felt as if the gods had finally given him their graces. Wukong's hands trailed through his clothing, light touches feeling like electricity in his skin and eyes continuing to send waves of intimidation and excitement through his blood. Macaque's heart beat loudly in his ears as Wukong made final touches, tying Macaque to a rather sturdy wood beam that none of them fully trusted.

Wukong quickly returned to his canvas, a grin on his face.

"Wow, you really do look beautiful, y'know?"

Macaque tensed slightly, forcing his body to quickly relax as more waves of pleasurable emotions flowed through him. "Um--thanks."

Wukong's painting took forever to Macaque. The first time he was on the floor, able to discretely conceal his growing boner. Yet now?

"You're doing great! Just stay there like that!"

He was suspended in the air, skirt hiking in the wrong places and draping heavily over certain parts. Macaque felt as if he was dying with each second, but despite everything, Wukong seemed to take longer.

"The light captures you really well, y'know. You almost look ethereal!"

Wukong hummed as he looked at Macaque's body, one eye closed as he painstakingly measured with his paintbrush and thumb.

"I like the face you're making. You always look so pretty when you're angry."

Macaque's breath shuddered slightly.

It was the damned compliments--every single bit of praise sent pleasure through his core, his cock twitching against the rough fabric of his skirt.

"Hey, let me see those beautiful eyes of yours. I want to get the color right."

Even the way the sage looked at Macaque with those piercing eyes examining his limbs and position, it excited Macaque--like he was a statue being admired by eyes around him.

"Alright, I think I'm done." Wukong grinned, walking up to Macaque.

Macaque had stopped trying to fight his body at some point, trembling with shaky breaths as Wukong merely looked at his slightly disheveled form with a strange gaze...A knowing gaze--the damned ape.

Wukong knelt down, holding Macaque's chin to look into his lover's eyes. "No painting could ever replicate how nice you look now."

Macaque groaned under his breath, huffing at Wukong whose hands were trace along the ropes decorating Macaque's body.

"A real piece of work." Wukong chuckled, purposely avoiding macaque's groin. "You deserve a treat for being so patient."

Macaque stayed silent, eyes pleading Wukong as he stared expectantly. "What do you say now?"

"Please--" Macaque stuttered, legs now quivering in the air. "I would like a reward."

"Good boy."

[orangecarton]

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Nordic Bunny x Reader WP Pt3 (W.I.P.)

The rest of the day went by relatively quickly. You listened to Nordic Bunny rant about Shred Force, his amazing plan, and how awesome he is. Surprisingly, you didn't get tired of hearing him talk. He had interesting things to say! You didn't have to justify your actions. You simply liked listening to him!

You did, however, get sleepy. It's safe to assume Nordic Bunny noticed because he made it known, loudly.

"Quit dozing off! Is what I am saying not INTERESTING enough for your HUMAN BRAIN?!... Do you need more food? Are you broken?!"

For a moment you could've sworn he was worried and was fussing over you... nahhhh

"Yeah I'm good, just tired."

You yawn and sluggishly shrug of his questions.

"Go ahead and tell me more about uhhhh... robots?"

He moves his face closer to yours and stares at you for a split second, as if to inspect it for lies. After finding nothing he smiles and leans back, you didn't notice the small bit of blush on his face.

"OF COURSE! I knew that!!"

You both sat in silence for a bit. Ultimately, you broke the quiet atmosphere with a yawn,

"Hey not to overstep, but like, do you got... a bed or something?"

He looks puzzled and goes off to the side, talking with himself.

"Hmmm, well... there's... uhh no no... hmmmm."

He turns back around to face you, looks you up and down.

"Hmmmm, I guess I'll just have to get one of my minions to make up somewhere for you to sleep!"

You sleepily nod, not entirely aware of what's going on around you. Nordic Bunny strides to the exit to leave, presumably to get one of his minions to do his bidding. As he's walking away he notices the lack of your presence next to him. Having dragged you around all day he had unconsciously moved to grab your arm only for it to not be there. Turning back around to where you are now dozing off he picks you up around your torso and carries you with one arm on his side. Your arms and legs are dangling a couple feet in the air, given his height. But despite that you are actually quite comfortable.

In time you find yourself falling asleep, not being able to fight off the exhaustion you had.

You wake up to the "peaceful" uproar of shouting and a lazer being blasted.

"I SAID BE QUIET!!!"

Ah, Nordic...

"CAN'T YOU SEE THEY ARE TRYING TO SLEEP?! How can I get intel if my human isn't rested up, because you NIMRODS are being TOO LOUD?!"

The yelling is followed by a couple more blasts. Being fully rested, you get up and take in the new room.

Kinda similar to Nordic Bunny's war room, there is definitely a huge red them going on. Different kinds of circuit boards and tubes line the walls, no visible windows, and it sorta looks like they just cleared out a walk in closet and set up a bed (no galvanized steel or eco friendly wood veneers anywhere). Speaking of, the bed you are resting on is a standard twin sized bed with cherry red sheets with matching pillows and a scarlet comforter. Nice.

"OH, you're awake!"

You turn your face to see Nordic Bunny's face wayyy too close to yours.

"Uhhh, hey?"

"GOOD MORNING! As the humans say. I'm quite knowledgeable about your human culture, and EVERYTHING ELSE IN THE UNIVERSE!"

"Hm? Oh yeah, good morning."

Is it morning? Oh well, you wouldn't have anyway to check anyway.

"SO!... Uh, how do you like your room?"

Nordic looks to be almost a bit shy when waiting for your approval.

"Oh yeah, no it's cool. Thanks by the way, real nice of you!"

You give him a soft smile and he flusters a moment before proudly posing and standing a bit taller. How can he get even taller?!

"Ah yes well, I AM THE BEST! And I provide only THE BEST for my... friends?"

He seems to think momentarily for that word. Looking to you seeking a reaction.

"Sure, nice going, uh- friend?"

His face lights up and he virtually lunges at you, scooping you up and spinning you in a tight hug.

"BRILLIANT!!"

He stops abruptly and sets you down. You nearly fall over from the dizziness.

"Oh OH! I have something for you, because my AWESOMENESS KNOWS NO BOUNDS."

Oh, and there he goes running down the hall, leaving you alone with your thoughts... You've been getting pretty comfy here. Heck, you even got your own room now. But what about you lofe on Earth? You didn't have much, but the things you did have were yours. Will you ever see your cramped apartment again? Your extremely rude boss? Your friends? Do they even know you're gone?... Do they even care?

Your thinking is interrupted by the sound of shouting and frantic running. Nordic Bunny bursts into the room with a... PHONE?!

"BEHOLD, A HUMAN DEVICE!"

You look up and see Nordic Bunny parading around a small smartphone in his hands and then presents it to you.

"Oh my god! This... this is great! Thank you so much!"

You're not tearing up at all. Nope, nuh uh.

"OF COURSE! You can go ahead and tell me how great and amazing I am!"

He looks smug as you praise him and thank him profusely for everything he's given you... you god damn cornball.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

(Thank you so much for reading and to everybody giving positive feedback and interacting!!! ;^;)

(Sorry this part is a bit late. I had a bit of trouble thinking of what direction I wanted this to go. I got it now tho!!!)

(And now for your designated doodles)