#Come and get your free dinner your little gremlin | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

autisticlancemcclain · 1 year ago

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“Keith, I need a favour.”

Keith stops in his tracks. Slowly, he sets down the helmets he’s holding, freeing his hands, then holds the phone out in front of him. He ponders it carefully.

“I could throw you into the sea,” he says to it. He does some quick calculations. If he drives to the nearest seafront now, he will be approximately twenty-three hours late to his date with Lance by the time he gets back. However, if he skips the fanfare and drops his phone into the disgusting oil-filled puddle right next to him, he can proceed to his date on schedule.

“Decisions, decisions,” he muses. Fanfare is important. Dropping his phone into a puddle is whatever. It’s derivative. But dropping his phone into the North Atlantic…now that is revolutionary.

“Fucksake. Keith,” sighs the voice coming from the phone. “If you don’t answer me, I am going to change the Netflix password.”

Keith frowns. “Hey.”

“Thank you,” says Shiro emphatically, “you brat.”

“Netflix is sacred,” Keith protests. “You can’t joke about the Netflix. I am a delicate orphan, Shiro. What will happen to me if my primary care figure breaks his promises? I’ll regress and act out and end up in prison. Do you want me to end up in prison?”

“A little, honestly.”

“Gasp, Shiro. Gasp. How dare.”

“I think you should consider a degree in the dramatic arts.”

“I think you should eat my farts.” Keith snickers. “Hey, that rhymed.”

Shiro sighs, long and loud, and Keith can practically see the smile twitching on his face. “Where did I go wrong. Truly. To think I tried to raise an upstanding young man, respectful to his elders, happy to help when needed. Shame that you’re a gremlin and a changeling.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Blah blah. Get to begging for my help. I have places to be, old man. A new jacket Adam bought me to wear in front of pretty people. Well, one pretty person. Anyways.”

“God, you’re whipped,” Shiro says, and Keith ignores that because if he doesn’t he’ll combust. “You and Lance going out?”

Keith tucks his phone between his ear and his shoulder, picking the helmets back up and continuing his walk to his bike. “Yep.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Dinner at Caribella. It’s an excuse for a ride, really. Maybe walk around downtown for a bit.”

“Sounds fun. How much more fun would it be with your little sister, huh?”

Keith stops for the second time. He can see Red maybe fifty metres away. He looks at her mournfully.

“So close,” he despairs quietly, then turns back to his phone. “Not super fun, Shiro. Since she’s, you know. A year old. And a date is something you traditionally do with your boyfriend. Alone.”

Shiro makes a weirdly strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a stressed croak. “Well! The thing is.”

Keith waits. No thing is listed.

“Shiro.”

“It’s no big deal! Really.”

“Oh? I guess I’ll just hang up, then —”

“It’s just that Adam and I are at his sister’s, right, and —”

“There we go.”

“And we have a sitter. Obviously. All is well. Except, you know. The storm forecast. And everything.”

“And you’re four hours away with a car that you haven’t put snow tires on yet,” Keith surmises. He looks forlornly at his bike, sitting all pretty in her parking spot, freshly polished red paint gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the parking garage. So, so close. “You dumbass.”

“The forecast was clear this morning!”

“You’re a dad! You’re supposed to know these things!”

“Well!”

“Can’t the sitter just — stay? Overnight, or something?”

He feels bad. Any other day, he’d be happy to have Hana over, or go stay over there. He does it all the time. Hana is the coolest. He has no idea how she’s the daughter of the two biggest goobers he knows. Hell, he’s already got plans to watch her this Thursday, so Adam and Shiro can go to their old person museum date thing.

But he has plans tonight.

Fuck.

“She’s sixteen, Keith,” Shiro explains, sighing. Keith envisions his brother slumped against a wall somewhere, rubbing over the scar on his nose. “She’s too young for that. She’s Adam’s friend’s daughter, and she’s a sweetheart, but she’s got school. She can’t be responsible for a baby overnight.”

“No, I — I figured.” He drags his free hand down his face. “You need me to go over there?”

“Yeah. Mara – the sitter – can’t drive yet. Her parents are coming to get her in an hour.”

Shiro’s voice is quiet, subdued. He sounds guilty. Keith hates when Shiro is guilty. He covers his hand over the phone so Shiro can’t hear, screams a little, breathes deeply, then forces a smile wide enough that it will bleed into his voice. Hopefully.

“It’s fine, Shiro. Seriously. Lance and I’ll reschedule, Hana and I will make sure to fuck up your Netflix profile. All is well.”

“Thank you, Keith. I owe you.”

It is a dire thing when Shiro doesn’t complain about Keith messing up his Netflix profile. Once, three years ago, Keith forgot to switch the TV in their living room and watched some Hallmark movie as he sketched, just to make noise in the background. Shiro made snide comments about his taste for three months, because he’s a pretentious indie loser who watches shit like Empire unironically.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll start a tab.”

That, thankfully, makes Shiro snort. “Brat.” He brightens. Keith can almost hear the ding of a lightbulb going off in his head. “Hey, I know it’s dorky, but maybe you and Lance can still go on your date! Me and Adam used to when you were little, in the old apartment.”

Keith furrows his brows. “What, like when you marathoned Lord of the Rings on the shitty futon and ordered the greasiest pizza known to man? That’s not a date.”

“Is so! We enjoyed it, you had pizza so you weren’t having a tantrum, what else could we need?”

“You guys have been weird old people your whole entire life. Did you know that?”

“Only because you aged me. You pain. Anyways. Go pick up my daughter, or you can stay at our place. Minivan keys are where they always are. I gotta go. Love you, kiddo.”

“Ugh. Love you too.” He hangs up, blowing a raspberry at the phone. “Minivan keys are where they always are, he says. What a soccer mom.”

He stares, hands on his hips, at his bike.

What to do, what to do.

He really doesn’t want to cancel on Lance. It’s been a couple days since they’ve seen each other, because Lance’s job hates him. Plus, Hana isn’t very fussy. It’s kind of dweeby and embarrassing, but. Well. Lance likes kids. So it could be fine, honestly.

“Hana first,” Keith decides, nodding to himself. He lifts the seat compartment under the bike and shoves the extra blue helmet in, strapping on his own and starting Red up. To bring Lance to Shiro’s for an embarrassing old person date, or to cancel. That is the question.

Eh. He’ll decide on the ride.

— — —

He does not decide on the ride.

“What do you think,” he asks his sister, lips pursed. She gurgles happily at him from her high chair, shaking her soggy-Cheerio-covered fist at him. “I mean, you go to bed in a couple hours. So it’s not like it’s pure babysitting.”

“Abdalalala,” she says, which Keith translates to mean actually, now that I know you want me to sleep, I will spend tonight completely resistant to sleep, as karma. Enjoy.

“That’s rude,” he informs her.

You’re batshit, says the Pidge that lives in his brain. Also, quit procrastinating.

“Ugh,” he says, out loud. He pulls out his phone and hesitates over Lance’s contact.

to: lance <3

hey you like kids right

from: lance <3

oh my god

from: lance <3

keith, are you…

from: lance <3

pregnant??????

Keith laughs.

to: lance <3

you are not funny

from: lance <3

i’m hilarious actually it’s a tragedy

from: lance <3

i carry the burden of knowing i am solely responsible for my friends’ good humour

from: lance <3

heavy is the head that wears the crown. pensive face emoji solidarity fist emoji broken heart emoji

Keith refuses to dignify that with an answer. Also, he has been informed by Lance’s best friend that if he ignores the emoji bit it will go away eventually. So far it’s been going strong for three months, though, so Keith’s not certain. He can only hope Hunk is correct.

from: lance <3

anyways yah i like kids why

to: lance <3

how much cooler and charming would i be if i picked you up in a minivan. with my sister

from: lance <3

aw, keith!

from: lance <3

to be coolER and MORE charming you have to be cool and charming to begin with :)

from: lance <3

and you are a dweeb 💖

from: lance <3

sounds good tho

from: lance <3

Bring Forth The Child

from: lance <3

oh also bring forth burritos on ur way over

from: lance <3

i’m hungry

Hana yells and bangs on her tray. When Keith looks up, she lobs a Cheerio at him. It hits him squarely between the eyes.

“You’re right,” he says sagely, peeling it off and flicking it back at her. She shrieks in joy. “I cannot let this shit slide. I cannot simply allow myself to be roasted, Hana. I must have self respect.”

She blows a raspberry at him and bangs harder on her tray. Baby conversations are, honestly, riveting.

“Exactly, squirt. You get it. Let’s get cleaned up and go, hm?”

— — —

He picks up burritos on the drive.

Hana laughs at him.

— — —

He’s hardly pulled up in front of Lance’s apartment building when a blur streaks across the front walkway, yanking open the van’s side door.

“Oh, hell-o, precious darling!” gasps Keith’s boyfriend, tumbling into the backseat and slamming my the door shut behind him. “Hi, Hana! Hi hi hi! Aren’t you the bestest ever? You are!”

Hana, evidently pleased with the attention, babbles something incomprehensible and pats Lance’s cheek. He melts, babbling something so quickly it’s equally incomprehensible and shaking her hand. Keith watches, torn between endeared and affronted.

“Hello, boyfriend I have not seen in days,” he deadpans. “Yes, I missed you also. No, I don’t mind at all that you leave me to wither away, alone, in the front seat. Excellent chat.”

“You have a very very grumpy brother, don’t you, Hana,” Lance coos. His shoulders shake with held back laughter.

“Lance, get your ass in the front.”

“But I’m meeting the baby!”

“She is not going anywhere! Meet her at home! You turd!”

“Name-calling is not very nice,” retorts Lance primly, crawling over the console and finally settling in the passenger seat. “What kind of example are you setting, huh?”

He leans over the armrest once he’s buckled in and kisses Keith gently, cradling his hand against his jaw and tilting their heads together. He smells, as he always does, of flowers and sunshine, and Keith sighs as he sinks into the softness of him, the curve of his smile and nip of his teeth.

“Hi,” Keith murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his chin, and then squarely on the mouth again.

“Hi,” Lance responds, a little breathless, grinning widely. His hair is damp and curling at the edges. He’s left out his contacts for the night and the gold lenses match the gold flecks in his brown eyes. Everything he’s wearing is stolen right from Keith’s closet, except his socks, which are bright purple and covered in obnoxiously orange weiner dogs. Keith is so in love with him that the intensity of it embarrasses him, and he pulls away, face red, very interested suddenly in adjusting is rearview mirror.

Lance, knowing, only smiles.

“These are for you,” he says gruffly, shoving the paper takeout bag at Lance’s chest. Lance wastes no time digging through and shoving half of one in his face.

“Aw, baby,” he says, mouth completely full. “You’re literally the best. Sweet, attentive, manipulable, obsessed with me. Everything I intended when I did the love spell on you.”

Keith eyes Lance from his peripherals. He’s digging through his patched backpack, face completely serene. Keith is reminded of the actual sigil he has tattooed on his ankle. (He’s very familiar with it. It’s often right at eye level. Hard to miss, really.)

“…You’re a strange, strange man.”

“Anyways!” Lance continues, visibly gleeful. Keith reminds himself to focus on the goddamn road and remember his sister is watching with her giant wide eyes in the backseat, probably committing all his embarrassing actions to memory to report to Adam the second she is capable of speech. “I brought lots of movies. Mostly Jurassic Park, but also some educational stuff for the baby. Ghostbusters, High School Musical, you know. All that good stuff. And I stashed popcorn behind your microwave last time I slept over so we’re set for snacks.”

“Oh, we’re going to my brother’s place, actually, ‘cause Hana’s more comf— wait, behind the microwave? Why behind?”

“Wait, wait, hold on. We’re not going to your place?”

“No,” Keith says carefully. “I have some baby stuff in my apartment, but not a lot. Plus, Shiro has a better T.V. and also Adam just bought Moose Tracks. So.” He slows to a stop at a red light, noting Lance’s odd expression. “That okay?”

Lance screws up his face for a second, thinking. “I’m pretty sure? As long as there’s an extra toothbrush there. I have one at your place so I didn’t bother bringing one. And I guess I can survive a night without my face serum, but if I get one single wrinkle we’re beefing.”

“You’re not gonna get a stupid wrinkle,” Keith grouches. “And why would you get pissy if you get a wrinkle? We’re gonna get them eventually, and you —”

“‘We’?” Lance teases. “You gonna grow old with me? Gonna marry me someday, Kogane?”

“—can even use Shiro’s face stuff, anyway, I’m sure it’s the same.” Keith clears his throat. “And plus —”

His voice cracks horribly. Lance makes a valiant effort to keep his giggles to himself, but as Keith face continues to get hotter and hotter he loses control and laughs, head thrown back, adam’s apple bobbing with every hitched breath. His laughter sets Hana off, too, both of them encouraging each other’s ridiculousness until they’re as red as Keith is, gasping for breath.

“I hate it here,” Keith mutters darkly. “I’m turning around and bringing you back. You’re the worst. Why do I go out with you.”

Lance, barely recovered, makes kissy faces at him. “Because you want to maaaarrryyyyy meeeee, you think I’m seeeeexxxyyyyy, you want to kiiiiisssss meeeee —”

He cuffs Lance in the back of his head, pretending to check his blindspot and ignoring Lance’s cries of spousal abuse. “I actually just want you to watch Miss Congeniality twelve percent less often. For your own mental health.”

“Lies and slander! Peddling of falsehoods! Perjury and defamation!”

“I’m burning your thesaurus.”

“And now threats! Hana, you shall be my witness! I will testify against you in court! You will be jailed! I will visit you twice monthly!”

“That’s the second person today who wants me in jail,” Keith comments, pulling into Shiro’s driveway. “You’d visit me even if you put me in there?”

“Well, duh. Have to make sure you don’t go around kissing cute criminal boys or I will become a cute criminal boy.”

“Right, of course. I should have known.”

“You should have, yes.” Lance leans over and kisses him on the forehead with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ noise. “But it’s okay, I like ‘em a little dumb.”

“Help me get the diaper bag, goober,” Keith snorts, shoving him away. “I want to get inside so I can have a burrito before you eat them all.”

———

Lance was not kidding about High School Musical.

Obviously.

“Do you want her to grow up with no understanding of community, Keith,” he scolds, and pays no mind when Keith replies, “Well, she has a family, dude, so I’m not worried.”

They watch the stupid musical.

Keith is horribly endeared by Lance’s extensive knowledge of the choreography. Lance is horribly appalled at Keith’s ignorance. Hana is intrigued, mind body and soul, by every scene with Sharpay Evans. Keith assumes this will be a problem for Adam in the near future, and resolves to make that problem worse.

All this to say he’s having a very embarrassing night, in terms of mushy thoughts and feelings.

“I can’t wait to have kids of my own someday,” Lance sighs, a very sleepy Hana tucked into the crook of his arm. He watches her, soft, and Keith pauses with a DVD held loose in his hand, enraptured, because there’s a curve to Lance’s smile that he’s never seen before, and suddenly his left hand looks bare. “I know it’s supposed to be stressful and everything, but I used to force Hunk to play house with me when we were kids. Literally every day. And when my neice and nephew were born I hogged them all the time, even when they were screaming. I dunno. Being a parent sounds awesome. You get to…like…grow a person. It’s like growing a plant but a bajillion times better, probably.”

“Yeah,” says Keith, softly, and without meaning to he’s thinking of Shiro’s tired smile and the gentle hand Adam lays on the back of his neck, of their door that was always open for Keith’s nightmares, of Shiro’s clothes ruffling as he slid to the floor and sat for hours as Keith screamed himself hoarse and cried for a mother who left. Of Adam’s boiling pots and gentle hands as he guided Keith around a chopping knife. Of both Shiro’s choked-off sobs and Adam’s right embrace as Keith came back, thirteen, in the middle of the night, scared and no longer angry, and their quiet I’m so glad you’re safe. Thank you for coming back. “Yeah, family is important.”

Lance hums. He’s quiet long enough that Keith looks up, realising for the first time his gaze has been locked, unseeing, on the pictures on the wall, of Shiro and Adam and the two of them together and with Keith and with Hana and with Keith and Hana. Lance is watching him, quiet, dark eyes knowing, Hana finally asleep in his arms, beautiful and strong and everything Keith has ever wanted, suddenly, at once.

“I love you,” he blurts.

Lance smiles. “I’ve noticed.”

“Oh, you dickhead.”

“I’m saying it back!” Lance says, snickering, free hand held up in surrender. Keith walks over and slots their fingers together, squeezing slightly, leaning in and holding, a second, a hair’s breadth away from Lance’s mouth, watching his lips part, feeling the heat of his breath. His words are breathless, near silent, mouthed as much as spoken. “You changed my life, you know. I made you chase me because I thought it was funny, but — I made Hunk get me your number from Pidge the night I left the bar. I was going to text you if your brother’s tweet didn’t go viral and cement your dorkiness for eternity.”

“That’s a lotta words to say ‘I love you’, dorkbrain.”

“I know. You make me nervous.”

“You never get nervous.”

“I do with you.”

“Yeah?”

They’re so close now that their lips brush with every word, and Lance is grinning, eyes crinkled and lashes fluttering against Keith’s cheeks, and Keith has a hand careful on Hana’s head so he doesn’t crush her and is smiling just as wide. Cheesy, dorky, corny, and everything Keith wished for after every romance novel he’d steal, fooling no one, from Adam’s shelf and read long after bedtime.

“Yeah. ‘Cause I love you. Even though you’re a dweebus and a simp.”

He is, really, because he lets Lance get away with that, kissing him to shut him up, to feel his laughter right up close. It’s sparks flying and warmth spreading and heart slowing, and in the gentle darkness of the night.

It’s the promise of more to come.

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whackk-kermitt · 8 months ago

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Dealing w/ Your Gremlin Behavior

Genre: Platonic Headconnons

Warnings: None

Request: What if Y/n was another God, who was basically a little chaotic gremlin; they see you as their child/sibling.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

Kratos

You give him a headache.

He will not hesitate to tell you to shut up.

You ramble about stupid things so often that sometimes he believes his ears will bleed.

Kratos has to hold you back by the collar when he sees that dangerous glint in your eyes.

The one that lets him know you want to try and make friends with the creature that wants to make you it's dinner.

That one that tells him that you're going to do something stupidly dangerous while claiming that you're helping.

You're not helping. You're just giving him one more thing to worry about.

When I say he's worried, I mean worried.

Atreus has done some dumb things, but you were wild and almost feral sometimes.

He's extra hard on you and even more strict with how he trains you.

Congrats, he'll drag you out for hunting and training more often than Atreus.

He's absolutely terrified that if he takes his eyes off you for even a moment, you'll piss off a troll or a soul eater.

Can't take you anywhere.

But he'd kill for you.

So I guess you can stay.

Just please stop trying to bite everything that's trying to kill you.

Atreus

Atreus thinks you're hilarious.

Bonus points when Kratos is yelling at you, not him.

But most of the time you've roped him into your shenanigans and he's taking heat too.

Half the time he watches and cheers you on, the other half he's right there with you.

Mostly because things have gone horribly wrong and he's trying to help fix it before Kratos comes along and catches you two.

Mimir

He can't do much more then tell you off if you to something stupid.

So, that being said, gremlin has free rain.

Until he tells Kratos to be his hands and smack you around some.

Then you better start acting straight, cause Kray don't play.

You are never allowed to carry him.

Never again.

Not after last time!

Sometimes though, its just good fun to watch you be wild.

Makes him miss being young.

And, you know. . . his body.

Freya

She has no patience for it.

Behave yourself, at least around her.

When you go gallivanting and come back with scraps or bruises, she'll scold you endlessly while tending to them.

"I'm speechless." While proceeding to talk for hours about how reckless and stupid that was.

She was horrified when she watched you insult a draugr's 'dead mama' while slashing it in half and doing a victory dance over its corpse.

What has she gotten herself into?

Yet despite your feral behavior, she enjoys being motherly again.

She has no problem cleaning you up and making food for you.

She just wishes you'd be more careful.

She's so afraid of overstepping and becoming too protective of you.

But she's not afraid to curse you for a day, a simple binding spell, to keep you in the house when you've gone too far.

You're grounded!

Sindri

You leave the house all clean and spiffy.

Always returning covered in dirt and mud, leaves on your clothes and in your hair.

He'll always frown and point to the bath he prepares for you when you leave.

You make his eye twitch every time.

You'd just grin and get to it.

Arguments over cleanliness while you're staying with him.

He knows you can't help the trouble you always find yourself in, but he knows you won't avoid it.

He knows you thrive on chaos.

He hates that about you, but he cares too much to let you go off with nowhere to go if something bad happens.

So his door is always open for you.

Even if it means you're dripping blood and dirt on his clean floors.

He just makes you clean it.

Brok

He's a gremlin.

So he loves that you are as well.

You two get into so much shit together it's hard to think you're both still alive.

Sindri is over it.

Heimdall

Absolutely not a fan of it.

Don't even start with him.

And for the love of god, stop trying to sneak up and bite him.

It was amusing for a while, but it's getting old.

He always has to hold you back when he see's you're about to do something stupid.

He will absolutely pretend to not have a clue who you are if you get caught doing something you're not supposed to be doing.

Lots of scolding and 'don't do anything I wouldn't do's.

If you were literally anyone else he would've fed you to Gulltoppr by now.

Baldur

He loves the chaos.

You keep him on his toes and his head on a swivel.

You are a challenge to put up with but damn you're fun!

Nobody makes him laugh quit like you when you're poking the bare.

Literally.

Please stop. What the actually fuck are you doing?

He actually 'died' jumping in when that dead bear wasn't really dead and decided it didn't like you poking it.

But hey, he's got a new rug and a fun story so yippee!

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

NOT PROOF-READ Might come back to this one and fix it up some more. It feels kinda empty right now; I'm off my game.

•Kermitts Masterlist•

#x reader #god of war #gow #gow x reader #kratos x reader #headcanon #god of war ragnarok #gow brok #gow mimir #gow sindri #gow atreus #gow fanfiction #gow heimdall #gow thor

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agaypanic · 2 years ago

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Omg I’m obsessed w ur writing! I’m back on my Francis brainrot lol

Could u do a Francis Wilkerson x reader smut where she’s the baby sitter who he’s secretly dating and they let her stay for dinner and then after they have sex?

Keep Your Voice Down (Francis Wilkerson X Reader Smut)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: You’re the Wilkerson’s go-to babysitter, able to handle any of the chaos the boys throw at you. But you’re Francis’ favorite for other reasons.

A/N: i <3 Francis brainrot. Warning for unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it. AU where Piama doesn’t exist. As usual, bc it’s smut i’d love some feedback, no matter how much of it i write it doesn’t get easier lol

CW: p in v intercourse, slight praise kink, begging, thigh riding, dirty talk, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), semi rough sex

***

You had been the Wilkerson’s favorite, and sometimes only, babysitter since you were 15. It had happened by complete accident. You had become friends with Francis before he got shipped off to military school. He had invited you over one day, and in a rush to get to work, Lois put you and Francis in charge of looking after his brothers. When she and Hal got home that night, you were serving dinner to the boys and somehow convinced them to take baths afterward and go to bed at a reasonable time.

The rest was history.

When Francis got sent away, you started babysitting more to help the Wilkersons out. They usually couldn’t pay you much, but you didn’t care because you got to hang out with boys that were basically gremlins, got free dinner, and when staying overnight, you’d always call Francis.

But the best days were when he was home for a weekend or holiday. It was hard because he was always away, but your friendship developed into a relationship when he came home for spring break one year. It was a little surprising that you’ve been together for so long since you rarely got to see each other, but you made it work. It was significantly easier when he got a job at the Grotto because a lot of his good pay went towards visiting his family, and secretly you. Secretly, because his family didn’t know you were dating.

“Mom, I like Y/n and all. But I don’t understand why we still need a babysitter.” Reese followed his mother around the house while she prepared for dinner.

“You do know I can hear you, right?” You laughed as you sat at the kitchen table he stood beside.

“No offense, but I’m sixteen. Having a babysitter is ruining my rep.”

“Reese, when you show enough responsibility to prove to me that you don’t need a babysitter, Y/n will stop being your babysitter.” Lois groaned, clearly done with this conversation.

“Mom, if we did that, Y/n would be my babysitter until I die.” You laughed at his seriousness.

“What’s so funny?” You leaped out of your seat from the voice. Francis stood on the step bordering the kitchen, grinning at the three of you.

“Francis!” You squealed, running around the table to launch yourself into his arms. Working at the ranch must have been a real workout for him because he caught you with ease, not stumbling an inch from your force. “What are you doing here?”

“Otto gave me the week off, said I deserved it for all the work I’ve been doing. So I decided to come up to visit.” He pecked your cheek before setting you down, which seemed to be in a friendly manner. But you knew better. You stepped away so the rest of his family could say hello to him, even though you wished you could have him all to yourself right now.

“Are you on the clock?” He asked when everyone gave him space. You shook your head.

“Not really. Your mom’s here, but I’m keeping an eye on the boys every now and then. I’m staying for dinner, though.” Francis nodded as he listened, and then smirked. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, a hand on your hip.

“Maybe after dinner, we can have some dessert?” You felt your cheeks heat up. Although he whispered so no one else could hear, his tone was bold and seductive. You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure.

“I think I’ll need some convincing.” You responded before walking away, out of his hold, to help Lois with dinner.

You didn’t need any convincing. With how long it’s been since the last time you saw Francis, it took everything in you not to drag him to the bathroom for some quick relief. But you knew that if you held out on him long enough, the end result would be amazingly worth it.

He made sure to sit next to you during dinner. He did nothing at first, putting food on your plate like a good friend would. Casually making conversation with everyone while you ate. Part of you thought he forgot about your little exchange.

But then, in the middle of dinner, he put his hand on your thigh. It was so surprising you almost choked on your water. Thank God there was a tablecloth to cover his actions. Above the table, he wasn’t even paying attention to you, too engrossed in a conversation with his father about something ranch related. You would’ve been hanging onto every word. You loved listening to Francis talk passionately about anything. But below the table, his hand was reaching the apex of your thigh, gripping it deliciously hard.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” Dewey asked from his place across from you. You cleared your throat, a hand discreetly moving to Francis’.

“Yeah, Dew-Dew. My drink went down the wrong tube.” You grabbed Francis’ wrist, and before you could pry it off you, even though you wanted to do the complete opposite, he brushed his finger against your clothed core. He smirked, drawing his hand away while you took a deep inhale. “Now, keep telling me about that piano competition.”

You insisted to Lois that you help her with the dishes after everyone had finished eating. Surprising to her, Francis offered to help you, saying he wanted to catch up more with you. You talked about everything and nothing, washing and drying slowly to prolong your conversations.

As everyone started trailing to their beds, you bid them all good night. You made sure to smother Jamie in kisses before he was taken off. Being a baby, he barely gave you trouble and was, therefore, your favorite Wilkerson to babysit.

You waited for the click of Malcolm closing the door to the boys’ bedroom. When you heard it, you finished the last dish and handed it to Francis.

“I can’t believe you did that.” You dried your hands off and looked at him. He had a stupid smirk on his handsome face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He dried the plate and set it down before turning to you, leaning against the counter with crossed arms. Francis stared you up and down, lip caught between his teeth.

“Oh, please.” You laughed, moving to the living room. He followed behind you. “You knew what you were doing.”

“Just missed you, that’s all.” His hands were on your waist, turning you around to face him in his hold. He leaned in closely, nose bumping yours. A hand slid down to squeeze your ass. “Is that such a crime?”

Francis’ words always had such an effect on you. You’d be flustered one minute, not knowing what to do with yourself. The next, it was like you had become feral, grasping and clawing for any piece of him. He kissed you with such vigor that your knees went weak. Francis led you backward, not stopping until you were pinned between him and the wall. He nipped at your lip and your breath hitched, the pain feeling so good.

“Francis, your whole family’s here.” You whispered while your boyfriend trailed kisses down your neck.

“Then I guess you’ll have to be quiet, won’t you?” He asked, pulling back to look you in the eye. You could barely meet his gaze, eyelids heavy with lust. A hand set against your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. “You can do that for me, right baby?” You nodded, but he clicked his tongue. “Words, Y/n.”

“I’ll be quiet.” You whispered. Francis grinned.

“Good girl.” He kissed you again, the hand on your jaw creeping to the back of your neck. Francis’ words of praise made you wetter than his actions. You squeezed your thighs together, searching for some kind of relief. You couldn’t take the waiting anymore. “Need some help, baby?”

“Please, Francis.” You whined. He made quick work of unbuttoning your pants, yanking them down to pool around your ankles so you could step out of them. He dragged his hands up your bare thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You kept begging and pleading, making sure your voice was low.

And then he brushed his fingers right against your most sensitive spot. You clamped a hand against your mouth to muffle the moan that escaped you.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of you.” Despite all the time apart, he found your clit easily, playing with it like a button, begging to be pushed. He pushed his knee forward to separate your legs, bringing you down to grind on his thigh. You gasped, rutting your hips against him with Francis’ help. He pulled you back and forth, continuously teasing your clit.

“God, Francis, please.”

“What do you want?” He locked eyes with you again, refusing to let you get shy with him. “Come on, baby, what do you need? Just say it, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Your…” A particularly rough thrust against Francis cut you off. He smirked down at you.

“How can I give you what you want if you don’t tell me?” Francis knew exactly what you wanted. He just liked to be an asshole. Probably payback for you not giving in to him earlier.

“Your cock.” You whimpered. “Need your cock, Francis.” He grinned.

“See, was that so hard?” He asked condescendingly. Before you could roll your eyes at the tone, Francis grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you up. You wrapped your limbs around him tightly to not fall and to keep him close to you. Keeping you up against the wall with one hand, Francis used his other to unbuckle his belt, tugging his pants down just enough to pull himself out of his boxers. He was hard against your thigh, so close to where you needed him most.

Francis pulled your panties to the side, showing off your pussy to him. He almost groaned at the sight, a sight he missed so much. He grabbed hold of himself, rubbing himself up and down, too agonizingly slow for your liking.

“Francis. Need you so bad.” You ground your hips down, and he got the message. After rubbing his tip through your folds a few times to gather your wetness, he buried his cock in you. You dug your nails into his back at the sensation. He filled you to the brim; the pain of him stretching you felt so good.

Francis didn’t take any mercy on you. He immediately started fucking into you, your head falling onto his shoulder as he turned your bones to jelly. You began to moan at the feeling, but he brought a hand to your mouth to stop you.

“Gotta be a good girl for me.” He panted. “Gotta be quiet. Fuck.” It took everything in you to follow his commands. Francis pistoned in and out of you hard; you don’t know how you contained yourself. “Jesus, you feel so good, Y/n.”

“Fuck, Francis.” You whined against his hand, throwing your head back against the wall while arching your back. He took his hand away to rub your clit, continuing to pound in and out of you.

Francis could tell you were getting close. You were practically squeezing the life out of him, clawing at his back and shoulders, gnawing at your lip to keep quiet because you wanted to be good for him.

“You wanna come, baby? I bet you do.” He teased.

“Please, lemme come, Francis.” You begged, gasping as all his attention on you brought you closer to the edge. “Please, I need to come so bad.”

“Okay, okay.” He shushed you, furthering his assault on your clit while leaning forward to suck at your neck. “You wanna come? Come. Do it.” His words pushed you over harshly. He had to keep you against the wall with his body, the hand previously holding you up now silencing you while the other helped you ride out your high. His thrusts started to become sloppy. “Oh, fuck.”

Francis reached his peak as well, coating your insides. His thrusts slowed to a stop as you both caught your breath. You gained enough energy to grab his face, bringing him to your lips.

“I missed you.” You whispered after a deep breath. Francis grinned, kissing you again.

“I missed you too, honey.”

#francis wilkerson x reader #francis wilkerson #francis wilkerson x reader smut #malcolm in the middle #malcolm in the middle x reader #agaypanic

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skzkiyoon · 8 months ago

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🍀 SKZ VLOG: KIE’S DAY 1

💤 WELCOME TO KIE’S DAY!

[She smiles at the camera, waving.]

"Hii.. It’s Kie. I'm heading to a camping site about two hours away from our dorms. For a small vacation.”

[She chuckles, grabbing her backpack, some other bags and her keys.]

“It’s currently..—” [checks the time] “10:32 in the morning. I’m going to start driving. I already picked up groceries to take with me. I’ll see you guys there.”

💤 ON THE ROAD!

[The camera captures Kie driving down the highway, the world passing by in a blur of green and blue.]

"There's something so freeing about a long drive. It's just you, your thoughts, and the open road stretching out before you."

[She turns up the radio, tapping her fingers to the beat as she sings along softly.]

“I had to get away from the gremlins for a bit. It was mostly Lee Know’s idea to take a vacation anyway. I did think I deserved one too though, I have been working pretty hard lately.”

[car comes to a quick stop.]

“I’m at a rest stop. They have this cool bar I wanted to stop at so.. we’re going there now.”

[starts walking over while looking around.]

“I’ve only got about another 47 minutes to drive before we arrive so.. it won’t be too late. It’s currently 12:53. I think I’ve been driving for an hour and 53 minutes.”

[walks up to the entrance of the bar, greets the people at the bar top.]

“I ordered a… Mojito. It looked sort of good.”

[Takes a sip.]

“It’s not bad.. maybe next time I’ll get a whiskey sour.. or something.”

[she spots something.. what is it?]

[she seems to be really invested, blinking a couple of times.]

“Someone.. outside is doing Stray Kids Choreography. Whoa— how cool..!”

“It’s a group of 9.. just like us. That’s cool. Should I go outside and join them..? .. no.. I’ll leave them be.”

“Okay.. back on the road we go. Im going to play some music.. I’m really in the mood for some Plan B.. let’s play it.”

[driving while picking her music.]

“Mm. Got it.”

[music plays.]

“será cuestión de tiempo. presentimiento. de un lugar, de un momento… this is.. ‘es un secreto’ by Plan B. It’s a Spanish song. Pretty good right?”

💤 ARRIVAL AT CAMPSITE!

[Kie parks her car at the campsite, the quiet serenity of the wilderness surrounding her.]

"Ah, I’m here. The scenery is nice.. I’m going to get out and start unloading things. Hopefully I’ll have everything settled in so I can take a walk."

[She laughs, stretching her arms overhead before unloading her gear.]

“okay I’m done. I want to take a walk before I start making food for dinner. It’s pretty early but still, no better time for food.”

[starts walking out the tent, showing it off really quickly.]

“It looks like the one Lee Know went to. Doesn’t it? It’s really nice, too many bugs though. As long as there isn’t anything creepy, I’ll be fine.”

[starts walking away from the tent, camera shows the lake beside the camping grounds.]

“Look it’s a lake..! Looks pretty. I want to go kayaking with the boys soon, it seems really fun. I’ve never done it before though.”

[walking back to her tent.]

“it’s getting dark out, I’m heading back to the tent to start dinner. The sunset is really pretty.. i want to take a picture. Wait here..!”

[places her camera down, walking a little bit away from it. she waved, quickly pulling out her phone to take pictures of the pink and purple sky.]

[she runs back quickly, picking the camera back up.]

“STAY, maybe one day we can all come back here together. That would be really nice.”

💤 COOKING!

[camera shows kie pulling out some meat and rice and setting them on top of a cutting board. she quickly brings out a hot pot and laces it will oil. she starts a fire and sets the hot pot on there.]

“Im starting dinner now.. I’m in the mood for Bulgogi and Rice. My stomach is growling just thinking of it— pfft-“

[starts a timelapse of her cooking the meat and rice.]

“Yahh.. it looks really good. ojalá papá estuviera aquí para probar esto."

[finishes cooking and starts to plate everything. she brings everything to her bedside to eat.]

“Thank you for the food.”

[camera shows her sitting on her bed, reading a book.]

[she continues to sit in that same spot reading her book until she gets a call.]

"mm. hi jisung.”

“yoonahhhh, how long are you going to be gone?!”

“I’ll be back sunday night, i literally left the dorms at… like 10 am.”

“but I wanted to watch spy family with you!”

“we can watch it when we get back, just—“

“YAH! HAN JISUNG! GET OFF YOUR PHONE!”

“ITS KIE HYUNG!”

“WHAT? LET ME TALK TO HER!”

“BACK UP IT’S MY PHONE!”

[shuffling and rustling can be heard… it’s changbin and han fighting over the phone. after sometime changbin finally gets it.]

“hyung! come back! seungmin is trying to kill us all!”

“oh hush you’ll be fine. let me enjoy my vacation in peace, jutdae.”

“NO— hyung i can’t take it anymore! please control him!”

“quit yelling! I’ll see what’s up when I get back. Im hanging up. Tell the boys I said goodnight, and give jisung his phone back.”

“fine.. bye hyung.”

“yes yes, bye dwaekki.”

[more shuffling can be heard, and han finally has his phone back.]

“hyung! are you going to sleep?”

“yes jisung I’m going to sleep. goodnight quokka. I’ll see you sunday.”

“okay.. stay safe!”

"don’t worry about me, I'll be fine out here. bye bye now.”

💤 SLEEPING!

[kie is laying on her bed, covered up and having already been cleaned.]

"you know, it's funny. Sometimes you don't realize how much you need a break until you're out here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but the sounds of nature."

[she smiles softly, sighing to herself.]

“I think I’ll enjoy the rest of my weekend. I’m going to get rest now. Goodnight..!”

[the camera fades to black as kie sets down her camera to fall into slumber.]

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happysaddca · 7 days ago

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Okay @wyervan @lets-zofifi-stuff @spaceboisstuff

I'm @'ng you three in specific because you either implicitly or explicitly expressed interest in learning how I can write so much so quickly. This is my specific method and I can't promise it'll work for everyone, but here we go.

First, the don't do it like I used to method: hyperfixation and manic bipolar episodes. I wrote two-point-five novels in a month that way and they're still largely readable actually! But leaning into your mental illness only does you poorly because when you get burnt out or you slide into a depressive episode where you can barely function you're just going to have more fuel for the self-hating fire.

So what do we do instead? And mind you, I'm still working my way up. My goal is to eventually write for two hours a day (every day), and write about 3k words. For me, 3k words is about the length of the short stories I published online. I want to get back into that for passive income and creative outlet reasons. But for you, maybe it's enough to know that you sat and wrote a page, or a couple sentences. Whatever. Customize your goal to your current skillset and desires.

Get your to do list done. This sounds weird but if you got a bunch of stuff you gotta do you're not gonna be able to get in the zone for writing.

Don't be hungry or dehydrated. Don't sit like a gremlin either. Have I written 10k words in a day hunched over like a troll at my laptop? Yes. Do I regret now that I'm 31 years old and work with preschoolers? Yes. And the rest is basic self care. You're not going to be at your best if you're distracted or hurting in some way.

Have a dedicated zone to write. I literally bought a desktop computer so I could do this. You can make a corner of a bedroom or the kitchen table after dinner your spot. It tricks your brain into knowing it's time to write.

Typing lessons. Typing lessons? you might be asking yourself. Why on earth would I do typing lessons to write more? One word: speed. I can write up to 80 WPM with about 90% accuracy, even though my normal speed is about 60 WPM. If you're curious about yours, you can check here for free. But having the ability to use both hands on a keyboard, typing with minimal to no peeking is crucial if you want to write a lot, fast.

Word goals, sprints, etc. Setting yourself up with a friend to see who can write more faster in 15 minutes is a good start, as is setting a timer and seeing how quickly you can rip through a scene or three. You're focusing on words on the page here, not perfection. Perfection comes with

Reading and dissecting what you like about a story. This isn't limited to literary fiction either. You can do it to a movie, fanfiction, poetry. Whatever it is, find it and tear into it. Look at a book line by line to see how they convey a mood. Practice that with shorter form stories that you don't have to complete or perfect. The more you put into your brain, the more you'll be able to put out onto the paper (and quicker too).

Write through the sludge. You're in the middle of an amazing dialogue exchange and poof! the words are suddenly gone. Do you sit and agonize over each and every little word? No! You write FUCK THIS SHIT IT'S STUPID HERE'S THE GIST and keep going! If you're smart you'll use a special character like * to find it later, but if you're like me, just yelling at yourself a little before continuing to where you can write again is more than fine. We don't talk about how much human au does this.

DO write the gist though. Don't trust your brain to remember what you wanted to say. It won't remember. So if you're in a fight scene, write "Sun kicks Moon in the shin and Moon yells and throws him in the ballpit. It's very dramatic" and then continue to the aftermath.

Editing! This is where your writing will slow down. Unless you're like me, throwing out barely reread bits of dredge out for the world to consume because I like to torture myself, you're gonna want to sit back from a piece of work for a good 18-36 hours before going back to it (I've got books that've sat for TWO YEARS it's like I've given myself a present cause I remember nothing). This is when you go fix those murky spots and you destroy your crutch words and split those page long sentences into more manageable chunks. The more that you've read and dissected and put into your brain, the more some of this will already be done. But don't worry if it feels like you're rewriting hot garbage. Cause literally every writer feels that way. Meanwhile everyone else is so excited to try your cake.

Seriously, typing etiquette will help you a shit ton. Sometimes when I struggle with my writing I'll turn on Game of Thrones or Bob's Burgers and watch the show while writing out whatever it was I was struggling with. I'll do the same while talking to people irl. It's actually funny cause I can hold a conversation and write while looking at them and 7/10 times it freaks them out.

But most importantly, don't like. Expect to get prolific super fast. I burnt myself out before and during my MFA program and I am teetering on burning out if I am not careful now. Don't judge yourself but how much you haven't written. Just try to get the words out that you have in you now, and know they're good ones.

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amazing-spiderling · 1 year ago

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I struggled to come up with an unpopular opinion for the ask game: this weird influx of "girl math/dinner etc" feels really gross. it has those misogynistic vibes we grew up, and thought we,as a society, were overcoming. by making women into a joke like this it just reinforces the misogyny and people don't seem to care all that much, it's scary .

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

I'm saying neutral, but that makes it sound like I don't have an opinion on it. I've seen cases made for the "girl dinner" joke (in its original form) as a sort of casting off of "I'm a girl so I have to eat nothing but diet food aesthetically arranged on a plate" and embracing the "women can be chaotic little gremlins sometimes too" mentality, and I'm on board with that interpretation. That being said, I think that the influx of copycats/memetic mutation is pretty icky, yeah. I haven't yet seen a "girl math" video that wasn't about shopping at target or getting things on sale.

It's one of those things where I think it's less like "this has gone down a bad rabbit hole" and more like I'm in a field of gopher holes and some of them are deep and unpleasant "girl math is if it's BOGO then it's free" and some of them are kind of funny "anime dad math is "caring so much" about your son you abandon him and let him be raised by ninjas" etc. unfortunately, that only makes it harder to call out the sexism that does show up.

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froggibus · 2 years ago

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Drunk! Reader x Obey Me

Includes: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor

Genre: fluff mostly

CW: drinking, alcohol, vomiting/nausea, bed sharing, hurt/comfort, soft! brothers, drunk! reader

here are obey me hcs that absolutely no one asked for lol...getting back to writing this week so will probably make my way through the rest of my requests. hope everyone had a great halloween/samhain! enjoy <3

––––

Lucifer

you’re at a dinner party at Diavolo’s castle

and the boys are all caught up in their own conversations

meanwhile, you and Solomon hit the snack table

and he pulls out his secret stash of human alcohol

the two of you mix it with your drinks and go back to the table

you keep drinking from his stash

and next thing you know you’re so drunk that you’re all warm and dizzy and giggling at stupid stuff

mammon gives you a weird look across the table but doesn’t say anything

no one says anything until you get up to go to the bathroom and fall

luckily Lucifer is magically there to catch you

daddy is not impressed

“how did you even get drunk??”

looks everywhere for the culprit

gives up and decides he needs to take you home

man literally THROWS you over his shoulder

tucks you in and is surprisingly soft

“luc can you stay with me” “*sigh* move over”

Mammon

is probably the one that got you drunk tbh

you’re at a dance and he’s bored so the two of you go to get drinks

“I bet i can out drink you” = big mistake

mammon can easily outdrink you under the table so you’re FUCKED

Lucifer comes and ruins your fun tho saying the two of you are forbidden from drinking

which just means you’ve gotta be more lowkey

you’re drunk way before mammon tho

you start hanging off his arm and pouting for his attention

he realizes he’s fucked if lucifer finds out

takes you to the bathroom to splash water on your face and hopes you sober up

instead you start throwing up :(

he holds your hair even if he’s kinda disgusted

decides it’s probably a good time to take you home

holds your hand so you don’t fall

when lucifer asks where you’re going he just shrugs

“y/n has food poisoning”

Levi

you, mammon, asmo and beel had just gotten back from a party

all of them are super wasted so you manage to sneak out of their group before they realize

and you’re free to wander the house of lamentation

of course your drunk mind has only one person on your mind: Leviathan

which is how you end up stumbling through his door during the witching hour

he’s playing games with his headphones on so he doesn’t even notice you flop into his bathtub

only notices when he gets up to go pee

“y-y/n??? OMG are you okay???”

man thinks you’re dead at first

you give him a weak thumbs up before getting up and practically pouncing on him

he’s super flustered by the sudden contact

“you smell like alcohol”

doesn’t really know what to do??

tries to get you to go to your room

but you’re a little gremlin and you don’t wanna go

“okk if you insist i can go see mammon—“

you’re not even done your sentence before he’s catching you by the arm and dragging you back to his bathtub

“oh no you don’t!”

insists you stay because he doesn’t want his normie brothers taking advantage of you

cheeks are BURNING the whole time tho

Satan

Levi wants to try human alcohol like in his anime

so you obviously oblige

except the otaku has no concept of what a human alcohol tolerance is

and gets you way too drunk during a drinking game

you hide out in his room until everyone is sleeping

and try to make it to yours

of course you accidentally enter the wrong one

satan doesn’t even look up from his book

“y/n what are you doing”

“w—wrong room” you slur

he realizes you’re not in your right mind

he’s quite the detective yk

he makes you sit on his bed and examines you

like full on reflex test

and when you laugh at him and he smells the alcohol on your breath he feels like such an idiot

“oh you’re drunk”

“yup”

he forces you to drink water and go to sleep

but you keep getting out of bed so he has no choice but to stay with you and make sure you don’t leave the house

just to take care of you

no other reason…

Asmo

also got you drunk

took you to one of his parties and lost track of you for no less than five minutes

but you come back absolutely wasted

he thinks it’s funny

until you start flirting with everyone who crosses your path

that’s when he decides to shut it down

starts trying to take you home but you whine about having fun

he has to promise you a day out together

when you get home he’s already preparing for the hangover he knows you’re gonna have

puts water, Tylenol etc on your nightstand

and gets a bucket

you start flirting with him and trying to get him to fuck you

he is NOT having it tho

he’d rather do you when you’re in your right mind and can remember it yk

he wants to go get his beauty sleep but then he worries that you’re gonna choke on your vomit

so obviously he has to stay with you the whole night

Beel

he takes you to a pub because he wants to try human alcohol

he’s heard it’s really good

you agree to have one drink

but the man keeps ordering round after round

and you’re not gonna let him drink it all

he’d DIE

so you have no choice but to be a good friend and drink with him

beel is absolutely not affected by it though

you get really drunk really fast

he feels REALLY bad

but also knows he’s gonna be in big trouble if anyone finds out

has to carry you home because you can’t even walk normally

all the while you’re feeling up his muscles and cooing about how big and strong he is

he’s trying SO HARD to not become a blushing mess

doesn’t really know what to do to help you but eating always helps him

so he lets you have some of his snacks and gives you water

eventually you fall asleep on him in his room

and he doesn’t want to wake you up so he just accepts it

Belphie

Simeon and Solomon think it would be funny to get you drunk at a dinner party

so they start to give you drinks

which you gladly accept

the brothers aren’t really paying attention to you

except for mammon who doesn’t really care and asmo who thinks it’s super funny

belphie and levi are both at home

so when Simeon and Solomon realize you’re way too drunk they decide to take you back

mostly to avoid the wrath of Lucifer

they leave you at the door and you find your own way into the house

deciding you need water to sober up, you go to grab a cup and accidentally break it

Levi doesn’t hear cause headphones

but Belphie is trying to sleep and most definitely hears

he tries to ignore it but then he hears you crying and knows he can’t

comes to the kitchen to find you crying over the broken cup

is SUPER annoyed

“y/n why are you crying over a fucking cup”

“i didn’t mean to break it!”

realizes you’re drunk immediately and helps you clean up

tries to go his separate way but realizes he’s the only responsible one home

so he puts it on himself to take care of you and brings you to his room with him

“just lay right there and don’t move ok?”

“and don’t even THINK about puking on me or my bed”

the two of you end up falling asleep pretty quickly, Belphie wrapping his arms around you

masterlist

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aka-indulgence · 2 years ago

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H…. HI I MADE A BOB VELSEB DRABBLE HAHA IM WEAK (laughs nervously)

(Also click here for ao3 link)

I…. I threw my hat in the ring…… your honor i think he’s neat,,,,

This is jus. Meet-cute. In the idea that you get close to him before the fact that he’s a cannibalistic serial killer is known to the wider public.

Special thanks to @goodgollymissmeli for the meat facts /w\

(also another written work in a week? it’s a new year miracle ✨ ✨)

((CW: blood and murder, but only a little at the end. It’s not the focus of the story. Also for those of you don’t know he’s also a cannibal <u<;;;))

—-

Brr, that sure is the autumn chill.

You find yourself strolling down the quiet streets of Everytown, a bit late into the night. You’ve moved here less than a month ago, currently looking for some way of life. Other than the fact that you’re looking for a job… right now you’re hungry, and looking for some place to get an easy snack (you haven’t gotten into the swing of buying groceries. Fast food for you!).

You remember a burger joint a couple blocks down and decided to check it out.

So far you found the town quite charming, despite the rumours floating about, that it was a weird town. Lots of conspiracies, urban legends, paranormal reports. You don’t really know about all that. Maybe it can even add a lil’ spice to your life. Plus… halloween was coming up soon, and this town was famous for it! You felt like a kid again, excited for it to roll around.

Not sure about jobs yet, but you’re not too pressed about it. On account of it being a small town with weird rumors around it, there was a lot of job openings everywhere- it was apparent this town needed more workforce than it had.

(You went to the candy club a couple days back- they had some kind of halloween promo item when you visited, candy hairclips. You bought all the available colors. The guy at the counter also seemed nice- if a bit stressed. He seemed excited when you said you were looking for a job. You were seriously considering. You hoped they’d give out free candy…)

You stop your pondering when you arrive. Standing in front of the place, you smiled. ‘Boys ‘n Grills’ was a really cute name.

A bell chimed quietly when you entered, and you’re hit with the pleasant scent of fried patties. There isn’t a lot of people sitting in, maybe about… oh, three people. Only one person seemed to work here- the cook. No waiters? You thought to yourself. Everyone here seemed to be busy being… uh, tired. Of course, it was pretty late at night (your little gremlin self didn’t realize what time it was when you finally thought to grab dinner… whoops!). You’re suddenly acutely aware of how much you haven’t fit in to the crowd, awkwardly sitting down at the bar. Um.. so the cook didn’t have to bring your plate too far?

As soon as you sit, the cook turns around.

He’s a large man, hair long at the back, with stubble on his chin. His eyes were wide and looked at you with intensity that caught you off guard. When he faces you, you see a large outstretched grin on his face, like he was forcing himself to smile but went too far.

You find yourself intimidated- like you just intruded on him, even though… you’re a customer. You almost stammer and hop off your chair when he speaks.

“Well hello there. What can I do you fer, lil’ thing?”

O…. oh!

His face suddenly didn’t look quite as chilling when he spoke. He had a warm baritone, a southern drawl? And his expression looked bright instead of… foreboding. Hah- you don’t know what you’re even thinking. You’re just tired and paranoid.

“Oh hi! Yeah,” you respond too quickly, nerves getting to you. “Do you have a menu?”

The cook blinks at you for a bit, then crouches down under the bar to grab a menu. You flip through it, while he watches passively in front of you. Maybe he’s just… super attentive.

Damn… all of these look good.

“Do you have a recommendation?”

“.... Classic.” He answers, slowly. “Can’t go wrong with that.”

“Alright, then I’ll have that!”

He nods, turning around to the grill. He looks at the pre-made patties he made, looking at it for a while, then turning back to you. Then he grabs a patty and starts cooking it.

The sound, that ‘shhhh’ of patty in butter… the smell! Now you really notice how hungry you are.

“Man… that smells really good,” you mumble. “You must be an amazing cook!”

He half turns to you, smiling proudly.

“Thank you, very kind of ya to say.” He expressed, “I’m not just the cook, I’m the owner of this establishment.”

You practically make an “:o” face at him. “Oh wow, you’re running this whole thing by yourself?? Hah, I’m glad you’re also cooking because by the smell of it, it’d be a shame if others didn’t get to taste your cooking,”

He chuckles, “Now yer just flat out flatterin’ me.”

“I guess I’ll just have to see when I eat it myself!”

The meat sizzles pleasantly. You know it’s a given because he’s a cook… but you like the way how swift he moves, how he twirls his spatula before flipping the patty.

“I don’t reckon you’re from around here are you?” He asks, “Not a lot of new faces ‘round here, an’ not a lotta people ask for the menu.”

“Is it that obvious?” You giggle nervously, “Yeah, I’m new in town… sorry.”

“No no, ‘s a pleasure to meet ya.”

Soon after, he places the plate in front of you. Big, juicy burger and a side of fries.

“Excuse me,” you say awkwardly, taking a bite out of it.

Oh man… it’s good. You’re definitely coming back here.

“Name’s Bob. Bob Velseb,” he gives you his hand. You couldn’t help but notice the.. claw-like? Appearance to them. Nonetheless you shake it.

“(Y/n)!” You introduce yourself.

“So, how ya doing in this town?”

You tell him the summary. The move, cramming yourself in the truck, looking for a job. Some of the… weird characters you’ve met in town.

“A guy that… likes to imply he steals children?”

“Oh, Frank.”

“Uh. D…. does he steal children?”

“... Probably.”

“Huh?! Why hasn’t anyone stopped him???”

“Did you know… there are only two police officers in this town?”

You make a face. “Uh… huh.” Well that wasn’t very reassuring.

He smiles for a bit (still wide, less scary the longer you look at it), looking at your hair.

“Love yer hairclip.”

That surprises a shy little smile from you.

“Ah… thanks, it’s new! I got it when I arrived, actually,”

Girl… Why were you so giggly and nervous all of a sudden?!

He grins, more low-key and soft-looking. “It’s cute.”

… Ahem. You try not to hide your face and let it bounce of you. He’s talking about the hairclip, not you anyway. Nothing to get antsy about.

You talk to him a bit more, about how he runs this place all on his own (“Practically,” he adds. “From getting quality meat to getting food to the customer. Not a lot of people I can trust with the process.”

He starts drooling visibly, looking down at it and wipes it with a cloth from his pocket.

“Sorry. I get… hungry. ” He apologizes… somewhat insincerely, smile widening. He says it like it’s some sort of inside joke.

You aren’t sure why he said it like that.)

In the midst of your conversation, neither of you noticed the bell chiming or the customer that sat at the edge of the diner, in a booth, near the wall. Apparently he got annoyed enough that he shouts, startling the other customers, some of which were napping.

“Hey! When are you going to serve me, huh? You’re here to work, not chat. There’s barely anyone in this diner so don’t pretend you were busy- some of us are planning to sleep this night!”

You cringe, the automatic thought of Who told you to come so late anyway? bubbled to the surface. You say nothing, however- seeing the expression on Bob’s face.

He goes from his normal pleasant smile to frowning in an instant. His eyes go wide and a look of shocked hatred is on his face, gritting his teeth. He slowly, slooowly turns his head towards the rude customer, so slowly that you think you could hear a ‘creak’ in his neck. His mouth slowly stretches, wider than you’d seen it earlier, and a sick feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Excuse me?”

Bob’s knuckles turn white from how hard he’s fisting his hand, and you see another hand reach for his kitchen utensils…

Sensing something’s boutta happen, you stand up and splutter “No no! Sorry. I was holding him up, had too much fun talking,”

You smile at them apologetically. Bob turns to you, surprised look on his face.

The customer huffs dismissively. “Then you should learn how to shut up and people do their job,”

Your look sours and your face clouds up. What a prick! Bob closes his mouth (huh, you just noticed he rarely hides his teeth), clearly still incensed, but put under better wraps. When he smiles it’s obvious to you that it isn’t like the friendly one he gave you, and his eyes are still wide. After Bob takes his order, he comes back and leans to you.

“You didn’t need ta cover for me…” He looks apologetic. “I woulda thrown him out the door… he stepped the line this time. Sorry about that,”

“Aw… that’s alright. There’s bad customers everywhere, and they take it out on people who least deserve it. At least I could shift the blame away from you. Plus… this way you’re still getting some good cash from him, right?” You rub your fingers together, showing off imaginary money.

“Plus, I’d rather not start an argument with stones.”

“...?” He tilts his head at you. “S… stones…?”

“... Cause. They’re rock-headed?” You shrug non committedly.

He stares at you, blinking like you just said the most ridiculous thing. Then he throws his head back and laughs, deep and full, his belly shaking with the force his laughter.

… :D

You didn’t come here with a plan to have a new crush! Stop it!! You think to yourself, rather helplessly.

“Hey… you’re pretty good at this,” He says, as soon as his laughs die down, rubbing a small tear off his eye. He waves his hands around vaguely, pointing to the rude customer. “Dealing with… people. And a funny lil’ thing, too.”

… ://D

“You said yer looking for a job right? Why don’t you come work as my waitress? Lord knows I need one sooner or later.”

Your eyes practically sparkle at him and his offer.

“R… really??”

“Sure, yer a charm to have around,” he closes his eyes, waving his hand in a circle, oblivious to your innocent look of admiration on your face, pink on your cheeks (Hey don’t blame you, this is one of the first really nice interaction you’ve had in this town, and you really weak to flattery!).

“Maybe there’d be,” he squints, glaring at the customer sitting behind him, “less crabby customers if there’s someone else helping me wait them out. If yer up for it.”

You’re beaming, practically a mini sun in that diner. “Yep, yes! I’d love to, thanks so much!”

————————————————

About 2 hours later.

You’re already home in your apartment, sleeping your worries away. You stayed around for a bit while Bob explained to you when to come, and how there won’t be much of a ‘training’, but that he’d personally tell you about the tasks you’d be doing.

“I don’t suppose you have an apron?”

“Um… no, but I can get one, if you need?”

Something to look forward in the near future, and he wasn’t even thinking about ‘hunting season’.

… Asshole from earlier fell asleep and had to be kicked out. By the time Bob was done closing up (and setting up), he was in front of his house. Didn’t take long to catch up.

Slow steps echo over the street. He can work with this.

The guy turns around at the sound, raising a brow. When he sees the devil smiling at him, he startles, stumbling back against the door.

“W-what, who-?”

“Did you know… ground up, human meat doesn’t taste that different to pork?”

The devil stalks closer, knife glinting as he takes it out of his belt.

“No… no wait!” The man pleads, one hand shuffling for keys in his pocket, the other rattling the doorknob.

Drool drips out the devil’s mouth, squinting at him.

The hunger.

“... Maybe you should learn to shut up and let people do their damn job.” He growls.

His screams are quickly silenced as the knife plunges into flesh and blood splatters.

#bob velseb #aka writing #sinister writing #screams #ive been quietly admiring from afar since the episode came out and then saw he was popular and im like #’thank god im not the only one’ JSDSDF #i am Confidente #so here u go #if you just wanna see sans its very easy to block the tag :>#i hope (the creator) NEVER SEES THIS

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repentarium · 2 years ago

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the truth is i've been dreaming of this tired tranquil place tag 1/?

ao3

When Steve Harrington was ten his parents stopped paying for the babysitter.

Mary was, in his tiny kid mind, about a thousand years old, and she made the best food he'd ever eaten. She would cook with him every time they were together, not FOR him, but teaching his small hands how to make soups and bake breads and make omelettes and mac and cheese.

Mary was unceremoniously told she wouldn't be coming back. Steve of course didn't know any of this until he called his parents sobbing that he was alone and Mary never showed up only to hear 'oh darling didn't we tell you? You're old enough to look after yourself! There are tv dinners in the freezer and money for takeout in the end table, we'll see you next week!' When she was let go, Mary immediately made plans to go into the big bookstore in Indianapolis and buy cookbooks for Steve.

She left the three of them at his doorstep: the Joy of Cooking, the Betty Crocker Cookbook, and and the Better Homes New Junior Cookbook. That last one continued his cooking experiments, and even though it started out basic (English muffin pizzas, toasted sandwiches, grilled cheese) it and the knowledge Mary left him with kept him from starving or eating only junk. In no time he was biking to the store with his takeout money and buying his own groceries.

All of this to say, by the time he's a grown up he is not only prepared to fend for himself in the emptiness of the Harrington Residence, he's fully capable of feeding all of the little gremlins, and even the teens. If he'd gone to therapy about it he'd be able to voice that it's a way of caring for people in a way he didn't have himself from his parents in a way he's very capable of. He didn't have therapy, though, just cookbooks. And time.

Another thing about Steve is that he's just never been good at sleeping, not really. Even as a baby he cried through the night and kept his parents up (don't worry, they told him about it constantly).

After the stuff with Vecna in the upside down, after everyone got out safe and semi-sound, he thought he'd finally be tired enough to average more than four hours of sleep a night.

Unfortunately the exact opposite happened; he's taken to cat naps in the middle of the day when he can, because night time isn't exactly conducive to sleeping at all anymore.

What it IS conducive to is baking. Sure, cooking too, but he gets a little sad cooking meals for just himself. He can put on a record and bake a few trays of muffins or cookies or scones, and it's not as weird because he gives them to his friends and the little family they've cultivated.

He doesn't tell them they're made at four in the morning, but they don't usually ask, they're just grateful for a tasty breakfast or lunch or after school snack when he's driving them around.

He thinks Dustin has a gluten sensitivity, so he learns the ins and outs of almond flour, and Robin doesn't do dairy so much anymore but loves the halva recipe he found in a cookbook at the library. He's perfected a killer flourless double chocolate cookie recipe that everyone loves, and even Hopper can't tell it's gluten- and dairy-free.

When Eddie lets it slip that he's not really using the night time to sleep either, Steve ropes him into it. He makes a big fuss and says he needs help and someone to taste this recipe because he's doing to actually hurl if he eats another cookie, but they're snickerdoodles (which are Eddie's favorite) and Eddie spends most of the time in awe of the space and the gadgets and taste testing bites of basically everything and DEFINITELY not getting flour everywhere. Steve knows sometimes getting your mind out of the darkness is nice, and if they can help each other out AND add another snack to the menu, two birds one stone.

They totally don't dare each other to eat weird configurations of fancy condiments or spoonfuls of cinnamon and it's all very serious and professional. It's not *every* night, but after the first few months it's more often than not.

One night Steve ends up covered in flour somehow, and while he's washing up Eddie finds a little note card tucked into the middle of the Joy of Cooking from someone named Mary who seems to care a lot about 'Stevie'.

It's got a fancy-sounding but easy enough recipe for something called Jetson Casserole, all hand-scrawled and with tiny doodles, and Eddie sneaks it into his pocket.

He goes to the fancier grocery store a town away and picks up everything he needs for what is basically a beef stroganoff with a ton of added vegetables: fancy carrots with the green tops, multicolored gemstones of tomatoes, the brightest and leafiest spinach, and heavy cream (which is way more expensive than He realized, holy shit). He even very bravely asks the butcher for the kind of beef he'll need. He very carefully follows the instructions and tastes everything along the way and makes Wayne eat a bowl as he's packing it into an old crockpot with a faulty wire that only works when you wrap it under everything just so. Wayne isn't a particularly verbose guy, but he's pretty excited about it, so Eddie loads it up into the van and drives across town and knocks on the door.

Steve yells at him to let himself in, and when he does he's already covered in flour or sugar and mixing Something up in a big mixing bowl. He eyes the crockpot suspiciously as Eddie plugs it in and jostles the cord just so to make sure it stays warm.

'What's this?' he asks, wiping his hands off on the towel on his shoulder and coming over to poke around.

'I brought dinner. Well. I made it. It's real food, not just sugar.' He's trying to tease, put on the usual kind of jab-voice. He's just a friend who made some food, it wasn't even really that fancy, but.

He's inexplicably so nervous, and he's worried this was the wrong thing to do, he stole something from Steve after all even if he brought it back and it's in his pocket right now, and sure they were friends and they *talk* but he knows he's talked a lot more than Steve has about all his drama and what if this was something that would upset him? What if Mary was like. A terrible ancient hag of a grandmother? What if Steve was allergic to the whole thing?

Steve gives him a confused little smile and lifts up the lid and it's like Eddie can watch his face change as he smells the noodles, rich and warm and creamy. Steve's just become the most wobbly and wet-looking thing he's ever seen (and the man fought actual demons in literal hell and carried his mostly-dead body back through, not to mention driving teenagers around all day just like for fun).

'Is this. Is this Jetson Casserole.' It's barely a question, like Steve knows already. 'This is like all I ate for dinner as a kid.'

Eddie feels his stomach flipping around, pulls the recipe card out of his pocket, says 'I really hope you don't mind, I just wanted to cook something for you.' But it's also more than that, he knows, Steve is always giving all of himself in these scones and cupcakes and fucking croissants like 'eat of my body and be whole' martyrdom, and it's like Eddie was compelled by spirits to make sure Steve knows that he's appreciated and cared for too, even if it comes in a shitty shorty crockpot and the sauce has probably totally broken.

Steve starts actually crying and Eddie has to pull him into a hug because What the Fuck is happening? Has no one ever made this idiot dinner before?

Later, he finds out, it was pretty much only Mary. And now Eddie.

He finds out Jetson Casserole got its name because little Stevie went through a phase where he wasn't really eating like a growing boy should but he sure did love the Jetsons.

'And this stuff,' Steve says, his mouth full and his eyes still red and puffy as he leans against the counter, 'lasts forever, and it freezes, and it reheats easy in the fancy microwave.'

It all makes a lot of sense, actually, Eddie thinks as he eats around the mushrooms and sits on the counter next to Steve, the one with the least amount of flour on the surface (but definitely still getting powder all over his jeans).

'I wanna fistfight your dad, Harrington.' It shocks a laugh out of Steve, but Eddie's kind of serious. 'Have you looked Mary up? I bet she'd love a dozen snickerdoodles.'

'You just want to eat the ugly ones again.'

'Only because you won't let me have the pretty ones!'

'We can make as many as you want. I think we're onto something. With the recipe.'

If Eddie thinks about it all again while he's putting leftover noodles into one of the fancy Tupperware containers (he grabs them from the top left cabinet, doesn't even have to ask anymore) he knows it's more than just about letting Steve know he's cared for in general because oh God he thinks he personally actually really cares for him like a lot, and he should NOT develop crushes on high school royalty anymore he should absolutely be over that.

But it's also like PAST high school, so maybe it doesn't count, and maybe Steve was throwing raw pizza dough at him for a solid twenty minutes earlier as he ran around the kitchen and it didn't at all feel like bullying.

Mary, it turns out, is only 68 years old now; she loves the snickerdoodles, is so proud when Eddie says Steve made the recipe (even though Steve blushes redder than anything and says he only modified an existing recipe actually), and finds the boys so charming. She's delighted that Steve has kept cooking, laughs at all of his misadventures in baking, and is ridiculously charmed by Eddie's dramatics.

She sends Steve and Eddie away with a little spiral bound recipe book, put together 'by the church' and 'full of good family recipes', and Jetson Casserole is right on page 9. Isn't that something.

She lives a little closer to Indy, these days, and she tells the boys over and over that they can visit anytime and they need to get out of that horseshit town, it's hell. She's got a spare room, and they can stay as long as they like if they don't mind sharing a bed.

#steddie #steve harrington #steve/eddie #eddie munson #someone please take care of this moron #food #stranger things #fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #ficlet #mine #tranquil place

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innytoes · 2 years ago

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Back on my Willie + Furbies bullshit with a fic idea I will never write: Sunset Skater AU where the band makes it big and they have all this money that they can spend on frivolous things, which somehow ends in them each commissioning Long Furby Creator Willie.

Some of them are well intended, like the first one. Reggie wants to make Bobby Junior, his and Bobby’s child. Obviously it needs to be red and black themed, and Willie has a blast discussing options. He even makes it a little birth certificate to go with it, and swaddles it before putting it in the box to ship.

Bobby is amused, and even more so when Alex recoils, because he thinks it is terrifying.

Obviously the next time Alex really annoys him, he contacts Willie to make the pinkest, gayest, most creepy furby on the planet. Can you get fur in the colour of his hoodie, please? Yes please can it have little creepy hands. Obviously it needs rainbow tufts at the ears. Can it have a little necklace that says ‘come play with me Alex’.

Bobby hides it in Alex’ room, and Willie gets a video, clearly taken from a closet, of Alex walking in, seeing the Furby on his desk chair holding his drumsticks, and shrieking. The video cuts off when Bobby can’t hold his laughter anymore and Alex chases him all over the house.

It’s only then that he realises this is like, Sunset Curve. That’s the drummer he’s had a crush on for the past six months. That means that Reggie and Bobby weren’t just a coincidence, he’s actually been in contact with Reggie Peters and Bobby Shaw!

He sends a little ‘Dear Alex, I’m so sorry I didn’t know this was a Spite Furby, he just wants to love you, let him into your heart’ message to the official Sunset Curve Instagram. He wakes up the next day to find four new private users follow him. When he follows them back, he realises it’s the guys Finstas, the private accounts they use to be normal people (or chaos gremlins).

Reggie’s account is filled with not only cute dogs, but also Bobby Junior having Adventures around their house. Bobby’s has at least two more videos of scaring Alex with the pink Furby. It takes a bit of courage (and some ribbing from his friends about being a coward), but he starts commenting on the Furby posts. And then other ones. And the guys always comment back and heart his comments. And somehow, everything gets kind of flirty? Willie has no idea what’s going on but he’s living for it.

Luke is next, because he’s kind of jealous he doesn’t have a Long Furby now. He’s annoying to Bobby plenty!

For his birthday Bobby and Reggie team up to get him one. It comes with a little orange beanie (with gaps for the ears to stick out). They didn’t ask for that, but Willie’s seen him wear it a lot when he stalks casually looks at the guys’ Instagrams. He gets many delighted comments back. The three Longbois have a tea party on Reggie’s account. They’re found in between the remnants of Luke’s birthday party, passed out and wasted, on Bobby’s page.

Willie delights in it all. On his business account, he posts his non-custom creations, taking inspiration from the guys’ shenanigans. He even brings one of two to Caleb’s house for his monthly ‘gotta have dinner with the Uncle who took me in while he casually grills me about if I’m dating yet but hey free food’ dinner. Caleb watches amused as he wraps the Furby along the banister of the fancy stairwell in the hall. And maybe even gets a ladder so Willie can put one in the chandelier.

When he announces he’s going to be at a convention in LA on his business account, he immediately gets four hearts. He spends a lot of time making new Longbois and other creations for his booth, sometimes working deep into the night with the Sunset Curve soundtrack on.

When he looks at his latest creation, black with a flannel plaid belly, and pretty sparkly eyes, and cute little deer horns and a little cowboy hat accessory, he thinks: oh no.

Because that Furby is clearly for Reggie.

He almost doesn’t take it with him, but well, he needs stuff to fill out his booth. He wraps the Reggie Furby along the bar that holds up his backdrop, hoping nobody will ask him if it’s for sale.

He’s doing alright, selling mostly his smaller pieces, artwork, and furby inspired jewelry, though someone dressed up as Miss Frizzle does purchase the galaxy inspired long Furby he made. She leaves with it draped over her shoulders, and he passes her some extra cards just in case.

And then it happens. What he’d been fearing, dreaming about. From up ahead, he heard a familiar voice say: “Oh my god there it is!”

Sunset Curve had come to the convention. Most of them were in costume, Han Solo and Luke Skywalker and Poe Dameron... and Alex, though his familiar pink hoodie was swapped out with a Baby Yoda t-shirt and jean jacket. Willie didn’t miss how he was using Reggie as a human shield, put between him and the furbies.

“Uh, hi!” he says, trying and failing to be casual. “It’s so nice to meet you in person.”

They talk, he shows off some of his wares. Alex even comes closer to look at some of the non-Furby art Willie is selling, when Reggie’s eyes wander up and he gasps.

“Guys,” he whispers, pointing. “It’s perfect.”

They look up and oh no, there it is. They’ve spotted the Reggie Furby. Willie feels his cheeks flame, but he can’t very well look away. “I ah... maybe made him with you in mind,” he admits. “Not that you have to buy him! I mean I just... I was listening to your album while working and it just happened and...”

A giant wad of cash is slammed on the table, Reggie making grabby hands until Willie unwraps the Furby from the stand and hands it over. He tries to argue that it wasn’t a custom job, so the price is actually lower, but Reggie doesn’t listen, cuddling the Furby close.

“Well,” Bobby sighs dramatically. “If you feel that bad about it, maybe you should just take us out on a date to make up for it.”

#julie and the phantoms #sunset skater #not!fic #I wrote a thing #bobbyxlukexreggiexalex #williexbobbyxlukexreggiexalex #fanfic #AUs are awesome #furthering my willie + furbies agenda #I just... I really want a long Furby so I am channeling my frustration into fanfic #I am not writing a thing

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pink-apollo · 3 years ago

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More Lester content bbyyyy. Gremlin little trash man😭 Was thinking about this for the past two days....

Lester Sinclair coming home to a warm cooked meal | Headcanons |

💜Lester was always one for the simple things in life and never once took advantage of them. In fact, he would rather try his best and savor the familiar feeling for as long as possible before it was time to give it up. Having you around has definitely changed him for the better. He hates leaving early in the morning, but damn does he sure rush home late at night when he’s finished his chores. If anything, you were all the simple pleasures in life wrapped up into one thing.

💜When it came to your cooking though? It didn’t matter if it’s slightly undercooked, overcooked or just right. Just seeing you dance in the kitchen making dinner made him swoon. Could be anything and he’d dive right in until his plate was fully clean. A messy eater sure, but one that always said how wonderful your cooking was and how grateful he was to come home to a warm proper meal that you made just for the two of you to share

💜First time that you made a home made meal was when Lester offered you a place stay at his for the night, which obviously had turned into weeks and then months. He was out and about doing his thing one late afternoon and there was a few things in the house that you managed to scrounge up. It wasn’t a big ol fancy dinner, but a nice hot one that kept you full and lap up of everything you could before asking for seconds which he always did

💜He pulled into the driveway and made his way into the house, kicking his boots off at the front door to be sure not to track any mud in before wrapping himself around you from behind, placing his head on your shoulder watching you stir. Just from the contact alone and smell of the food he was ready to just eat and lay next to you in bed

💜”what chu making in that there pot miss/mr?” He nuzzled his face in your neck and waited for you to respond, nose deep in the perfume/cologne that you wore as his grip was a tad bit tighter to keep you close to him, as if you had any place to go

💜”Just something that my parents used to make for me when I was little and I wanted to share it with you for allowing me to stay here.” Setting the spoon down and setting the heat on low to keep it warm, you turned around so Lester knew you had his full attention for the moment as your hands had found their way around his neck

💜He rested his forehead on yours and smiled before pulling you into a tight bear hug. Nobody had ever given him something like this in years. Sure he could cook no problem, but it was the fact that you had been so kind to him these past few days and wanted to do something nice for him to make it up. He didn’t expect such a thing but he wasn’t complaining one bit!

💜He settled down in his seat as he waited for you to bring the food on the table, sitting restlessly because of how excited he was. Once it was placed right in front of him, you bent down and with your free hand had turned his face ever so slightly to face you, placing a gentle kiss on his lips before sitting down yourself. To say that he was fuming with love, was an understatement

💜For the first time in years he had gone to bed with a full stomach and still it gets to him when looking back. He never forgets such kindness. He is the definition of a simple man who enjoys simple things. Now every day when he comes home, is welcomed with warm food and lots of kisses from both you and jonesy, never once taking it for granted

#lester sinclair #slashers #x reader #lester sinclair x reader #house of wax 2005 #Headcanons #lester sinclair headcanons #House of wax

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amjustagirl · 4 years ago

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Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her.

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance

Wordcount: 7.8k

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics.

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!).

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time.

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out.

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter.

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball.

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party.

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back.

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air.

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory.

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head.

Why on earth did he agree to this again?

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’

His glare softens by a fraction.

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting.

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here.

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down.

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’

‘Hm.’

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews) when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey.

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively.

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender.

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree -

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek.

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest.

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness.

Then he takes a breath.

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end .

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands.

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn.

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts.

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders.

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even worse .

Much, much worse.

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand.

He ends up face planting directly into her chest.

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – ,

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt.

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed.

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.

He takes her hand with a rare smile.

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband.

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees.

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough.

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product.

He appreciates that.

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal.

He likes that.

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify.

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules.

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer.

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls.

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently.

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings.

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together.

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes. He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so I know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb.

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks.

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’ on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way.

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod.

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other.

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north.

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself.

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant.

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course.

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night.

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands.

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence.

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify.

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle.

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind.

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’.

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze.

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before.

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze.

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant.

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways.

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day.

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on.

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially.

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time.

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands.

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss.

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her.

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain.

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars.

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up.

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer.

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air.

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands.

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look.

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either.

He finds himself wondering about them.

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text.

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two?

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion.

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’.

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him?

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers.

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card.

Oikawa Tooru .

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further.

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer.

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’

He blinks. That was unexpected.

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance.

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt.

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb.

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’.

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined.

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache.

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’.

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance.

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause.

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her.

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground.

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales.

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’.

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him.

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips.

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips.

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no – it’s always going to point towards her.

They move in together after that.

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards.

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife.

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while.

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep.

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much.

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold.

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning.

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob.

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly.

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other.

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell.

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes.

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way.

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back.

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’.

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them.

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in -

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place.

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open.

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’.

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal.

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat.

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath.

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.

He waits.

Then his phone buzzes.

Ah.

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.

“Omi?”

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first.

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind.

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what I want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’.

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face.

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles.

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date.

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again.

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two.

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more.

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party.

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association.

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread.

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name.

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make.

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’.

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake.

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out - pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead.

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability.

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud.

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser.

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist:

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

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stardust948 · 3 years ago

Note

Your royal family au is so cute and wholesome and so fluffy I could die

Please could I get some headcanons or little scenes with the family (maybe some angst somewhere in there too????)

You have put this wonderful thing out into the world and I need more

Aww thank you ❤❤❤

I'm assuming you're talking about my Between the Raindrops series so that's were I'm going to pull the headcanons from.

Kiyi was a complete surprise and her parents spoil her senseless. Ironically Kiyi's favorite is Azula and she follows her big sister like a shadow much to Azula's annoyance. Ozai and Ursa may or may not be jealous.

Ursa lowkey chaotic. Much more so when she was younger and it was what drew Ozai to her in the first place.

Ozai complains about Iroh's proverbs and wisdom but whenever his kids need advice, Iroh's the first person he draws from. That said, Ozai absolutely butchers the proverbs. Azula saw right through it but it took Zuko years to realize that. (And I mean YEARS.)

Lu Ten is what I like to call the gremlin cousin. You know, the one who suppose to be responsible but actually causes the most problems. Absolute himbo.

Azula is the go to person if you're ever in trouble. Sometimes she inserts herself in before anyone ever asks.

Ozai and Zuko are too awkward for their own good and can't explain emotions to save their lives. That said, they share a weird silent communication that drives Ursa crazy especially whenever she tries to get them to talk things out.

*After a long moment of staring*

Zuko: So yeah...

Ozai: Hmm. That checks out.

Ursa: ಠ_ಠ

Iroh's not allowed in the jungle behind the Ember Island beach house because once he made tea from plants he found there that got everyone sick.

So. Much. Banter.

And spa trips. This family likes bathing way too much.

Azula and Iroh have regular gossip sessions over Pai Sho.

Game nights are a free for all. When their are teams Ozai, Azula, and Zuko always team up. They usually win the physical games but always lose the board games because they're too busy fighting over who gets to be the leader.

Now for the Angsty HCs

Azulon is neglectful of Ozai because Ilah died giving birth to him. Since there is no war in this au and Iroh didn't have to go overseas, he pretty much raised Ozai.

Ursa is from a large noble family. Her story is similar to Ty Lee's where she has many siblings she doesn't want to get lump together with. Since no one in her family really noticed her, she went off to do her own thing most of the time which was acting and the occasional party crashing.

I haven't decided what to do with Iroh's wife yet but she's most likely dead too.

I will post more stories of this AU like Urzai's first date and when Katara comes over for dinner and everyone unanimously decides to embarrass Zuko. It'll be out eventually I promise 😅

Thanks for the ask!

#asks #anon asks #atla #atla au #wholesome fire nation family #royal fire family #zuko #azula #ozai #ursa #urzai #lu ten #azulon #iroh #kiyi #fire siblings #zutara crumbs #b/t the raindrops au

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super-predictable98 · 3 years ago

Text

The Plus Ultra Holiday Special (Pt I) | MHA/BNHA AU

Warning: Strong language, smut (18+, all characters are aged up), mention of pregnancy

Word Count: 5,4k

a/n: So, the amazing @myherokatsuki and I decided to write a Christmas special :3 only we didn't finish in time and we're only posting it now lol but that's okay. This is technically an AU of an AU (something we're very experienced in lmao) with our OCs Ji-ae and Alma as pro heroes with her husbands and kids. Hope you guys enjoy it and happy 2022!

Masterlist | Part II

“Katsuki, is this everything?” Ji-ae asked, pawing through the bags he’d brought back from the market, making inventory of all the ingredients for Christmas dinner.

“Get your paws outta there, woman,” Bakugou huffed, a grin tugging at his lips as he came up behind his wife to lift her, easily pulling her away from the counter.

“Kats—!” she yelped, clinging to him before his lips were on hers, silencing her protest with a steamy kiss.

“Quiet now, babe, or you’ll wake the little gremlin,” he teased, his lips moving to her neck as he turned her, pinning her against the counter.

“Yes, I got everything,” he answered, indignant that she’d question him. “Besides, I’m in charge of dinner, so keep those pretty little hands to yourself.”

“Oh?” Ji-ae giggled, slipping her hands beneath Bakugou’s snug sweater, her fingers tracing the shape of his abs as they twitched and tensed under her touch. “Should I keep them to myself right now?” she taunted, emboldened by their moment of solitude while their son slept.

“On second thought, I should probably call Alma to double check they know when to get here tomorrow,” she teased, ready to pull her hands free.

“Don’t you dare,” Bakugou huffed, his grip on her waist tightening before his lips were on hers once more.

Before things could progress further, however, a whine could be heard from the other side of the kitchen, pulling the two apart reluctantly.

“Mommyyyyy!”

“Dacchan, what are you doing up?” Ji-ae cooed, slipping from her husband's arms to pick up their son as he rubbed sleepily at his eyes, his blonde hair sticking up just like his father’s.

“I thought I saw a bad guy in my closet!” Iradachi cried, burying his face in her chest.

“What? Let’s go see. Daddy’ll check and make sure everything’s alright. I bet it was just a bad dream,” she said, turning to look at Bakugou who nodded, stepping past the two of them to turn on the light in Iradachi’s room.

“Look pal, nothing in your closet or under the bed. You’re safe, okay?” he murmured, ruffling his son’s hair before lifting him out of Ji-ae’s arms to tuck back in bed, the little boy already half asleep before he hit the pillow.

Closing the door behind them, Bakugou hefted his wife over his shoulder, carrying her back to the kitchen while she tried to stifle her laughter.

“Now, where were we?” he asked, setting her down on the counter next to the groceries, stepping between her legs to pick up where they’d left off.

“As much as I’d like to continue this, lover boy, you should probably get that put away before it spoils,” Ji-ae giggled as his hands wandered.

“Fine, but once I’m finished, you’re all mine,” he growled against her skin before pulling away to reach into the nearest bag.

“Deal,” she agreed, grinning at him. “While you do that, I’m gunna call Alma,” she said, picking up her phone and dialing her best friend.

"What time are we supposed to meet Bakubro?" Kirishima asked as he mindlessly helped his daughter into her pajamas. The little girl desperately tried to get his attention, but he was still worried about the upcoming event.

"Six," Alma stood by the door, playing with her necklace and watching her husband. "And then we go pick up my mom at the airport the next day, remember?"

"Yes! Of course!" He didn't remember, but he was still trying to make sure everything would be perfect.

"Daddy, daddy, look!" the girl held her hands up to show the very dim glow coming from them.

"Wow! Look at you, princess! You're glowing like mommy again," Eijirou gently stroked her dark hair, kissing the tips of her fingers. "Can you get hard? Are you gonna have daddy's quirk too?"

"It's still early, don't put pressure on her," Alma whispered, wrapping her arms around his bare torso. "Why don't you tuck her in and I'll wait for you with a surprise?"

"Sure thing, beautiful," he winked before turning back to his daughter. "Wanna say goodnight to mommy?"

"Goodnight, mommy," she blew her a kiss. "I love you!"

"Goodnight, baby, I love you more."

Alma decided to change into something more comfortable while she waited. Having a child, a hero agency to take care of, while also trying to become number one hero didn't leave tons of time for couples activities.

"And then just when I thought we lost the fight, Fat punched through the force field and knocked that guy out!" she heard Kirishima tell the story from the other room. She thought Toshinori was a little too young to know about all that, but she didn't wanna ruin their fun.

"And mommy? Where was mommy?" the little girl asked.

"Why don't you ask Eri-chan next time we go visit UA? It's getting late and my princess has to go to sleep," he fake-yawned. "Daddy's so tired."

"But I don't want to! I'm a big girl, I wanna know what mommy was doing!"

"You don't wanna go to sleep? That's too bad... I thought you'd wanna rest and have lots of energy to play with Iradachi."

"Fine, I'll go to sleep, but you'll have to tell me the rest of the story tomorrow."

"Pinky promise," he chuckled. "Mommy's part is way more exciting than mine."

Kirishima kissed his daughter goodnight and turned the light off before quietly heading to his own room.

"So, where's my surprise?" he crawled into bed with his wife, excited to see his favorite lingerie set. "I have another princess to take care of..."

"I thought you were tired," Alma teased as he kissed up her neck, his fangs grazing her skin.

"Oh, come on, I'm never too tired for you, Pebble," he whispered. "Should I take that necklace and see what happens?"

"Don't, the ceiling is already all messed up," she laughed, trying to pull him away to answer the phone. "Wait, just a second, it's Jicchan... Hi! What's up?"

“Hey! Just calling to make sure you guys know when to show up tomorrow,” Ji-ae exclaimed, checking out her husband’s ass as he leaned into the refrigerator to put something away.

"Y-yeah, six right?" Alma said, trying to ignore Kirishima's hand squeezing her thigh. "I can't wait, the kids are gonna have so much fun... just make sure Kacchan doesn't make our food too spicy, your husband's a sadist."

“I’ll try, but I can make no promises, he’s not letting me near the kitchen tomorrow."

“Not unless you wanna be sick on Christmas,” Bakugou huffed into the phone, cocking an eyebrow at his wife.

“What! I’m not that bad!” she gasped, swatting at him, though he easily dodged, making a face at her before resuming his task.

"It baffles me that after all this time, he's still the same asshole," Alma rolled her eyes fondly, it was comforting to think nothing had changed. "But I trust him in the kitchen, just please remind him Toshi's allergic to shrimp."

“Will do!” Ji-ae nodded, reminding Katsuki.

“I know!” he scoffed. “Shitty hair already told me several times. There will be no shrimp on the menu,” he grumbled, a little offended that Iwazaki thought he would forget. What kind of uncle did she think he was?

“It’s all taken care of,” Ji-ae assured her friend. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” she said, smirking as she leaned back against the cabinets behind her, much less shy than she used to be.

"Just a little," Kirishima laughed. "I got one baby to sleep and now I'm trying to make another one."

"Eijirou!" Alma scolded. "No! Bad shark!" She joked, slapping the back of his hand.

"What? I'm just kidding... unless you want to..."

"Jicchan, you see what I'm dealing with? Make Katsuki tell him it's a stupid idea!"

“I don’t think he’d be the help you think he’d be,” Ji-ae admitted, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he finished putting everything up.

"Alright, the day Kiri gets pregnant, we'll have another one," Alma stuck her tongue out. "For now you're not interrupting anything."

“No, but now you’re interrupting something,” Bakugou growled, a predatory smirk crossing his face as he picked Ji-ae back up to carry her to their bedroom.

“Maybe Eijirou has the right idea,” he drawled, dropping her on the bed, her laughter echoing through the phone.

"Ew ew ew, I don't wanna witness that again, you're disgusting, Bakuhoe," Alma yelled. "I'll let you go on with this filth, see you guys tomorrow."

"We have our own filthy business to take care of," Kirishima breathed.

“Bye, have fun!” Ji-ae gasped before Katsuki pulled the phone from her hand and tossed it aside. “So, you wanna knock me up again, huh?” she asked, her voice hitching as he pushed a thigh between her legs as he climbed over her, his teeth grazing her throat.

“Would that be so terrible?” he asked, pulling back to look down at her.

“I just got my body back the way I like it,” she huffed, a petulant note to her words.

“But you were so cute with a baby in you, Princess,” Katsuki murmured, stroking her cheek.

“Stop that,” Ji-ae gasped, turning her face away, unable to say no to her husband when he looked at her like that.

“Stop what?” he asked, grinding his thigh against her teasingly, boxing her in with his arms.

“Stop making it hard to say ‘no’ to you.”

“C’mon, it would be the perfect Christmas present, Ji-ae—a baby for my baby,” he drawled, lavishing her neck and chest with kisses as she squirmed beneath him. “Just wanna make you feel good, babe. Wanna fill you with my cum. Wouldn’t you like that, hah, Princess?”

“Fine, yes, just fuck me already, Katsu,” Ji-ae whined, clutching at his shirt desperately, pushing it up to bare his chest.

“Say please, Princess.”

“Please!” Ji-ae panted, her eyelids fluttering with need. She’d known from the beginning that as soon as he spoke to her like that she’d crumble.

“Good girl,” he growled in her ear, nipping at her earlobe as his hands worked to free her from her clothes. “Gotta be quiet though so we don’t wake the little one. Don’t wanna be interrupted.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, whimpering as Katsuki pulled away to yank his sweater over his head and shed his baggy jeans. “Patience, Princess,” he tsked, smirking down at her, soaking up the sight of her spread for him, her eyes glazed with want.

“Kats—“ she pleaded, reaching for him and he let her thread her fingers with his as he settled over her, propping himself up on his elbows as he pinned her arms above her head.

When he finally bullied his tip inside her, pressing slowly, Ji-ae keened softly, biting her lip to keep from growing too loud, wriggling her hips, impatient to be filled.

“Feels good, please Kats, need more, fill me, please?” she whispered, her mouth falling open as he gave her what she wanted, slowly sheathing her before stilling completely, warming his twitching cock inside her.

“Yeah? You like my cock, huh, Princess? Gunna be my good little slut and take all of daddy’s cum?”

“Y-yes,” Ji-ae breathed, her walls fluttering, clenching tighter around him at his lewd words. “Daddy, please? Fuck me full. Want your cum so bad,” she whimpered hoarsely, her voice breaking as he suddenly pulled nearly all the way out to slam back into her, extricating one of his hands to cover her mouth.

Bakugou set a bruising pace, his hand slipping from her mouth to circle her throat as he fucked her into the mattress. “You ready Princess?” he groaned, his hips snapping into hers roughly before shuddering, his cock swelling, ready to burst.

“Mhmm, please— please daddy, fill me up, breed me,” Ji-ae whined, squeezing his hand.

Her words were all he needed to let go, painting her spasming walls with his seed, thrusting deeply as he groaned and panted before finally pulling her slack body into his arms, softening inside her.

“God, I love you,” she whispered weakly, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he breathed her in, his forehead resting against the crown of her head.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, catching his breath. “You and Dachi give my life meaning,” he whispered, the words spilling from him in his vulnerability. “Never thought I’d need that when I was younger,” he admitted, making Ji-ae smile as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Looks like you got everything you need then,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he lifted his face to hers.

“Not quite,” he answered, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh?” Ji-ae asked, frowning slightly. “What’s missing?”

“Baby number two,” he half teased, pushing up to blow a raspberry against her stomach.

“You ass!” she giggled, trying to push him away, only to fail as he scooped her back into his arms to silence her with a kiss.

“I mean it, Ji-ae,” Katsuki muttered, holding her close, their legs entwined. “Just… think about it?”

“I will,” she murmured, stroking his cheek, the idea tempting. “But first, we should probably finish cleaning up before tomorrow…”

“Leave it for the morning,” he grunted, pulling the covers over them. “I don’t wanna let you go yet tonight.”

"Get a condom, I'm not taking chances," Alma put the phone down and turned around to face her husband who had the most adorable pout.

"But I miss your big belly and holding your hair back in the morning... Remember how I'd go around town looking for the foods you were craving? And When I'd hold your tummy for you when it was too heavy? Those were good times."

"For you!"

"We can try to get a boy... name him Shouta, or Taishiro, or Hizashi."

"Ask me that again in three years, I'll think about it," she moaned softly when Kirishima's lips found her chest.

"How about, six months?" he tried, flashing her a roguish grin, bringing her hand to his abs and flexing.

"Two years," she breathed, wrapping her legs around his waist, hoping he would understand what she wanted and come closer.

"One year," he murmured, tilting his head to give her a good view of his shoulder and back muscles, knowing that was her weakness.

"Deal! Just fuck me already."

"That's the ticket," Kirishima used his sharp teeth to tear Alma's underwear. "But you gotta be patient, okay? Just watch this greedy shark devour you, baby. Don't take your eyes from me, Understood?"

"I won't," she buried her fingers in his long red hair while his merciless tongue made her writhe in pleasure. All the years of practice were certainly paying off. "You look so good between my legs."

"Can you be quiet for me, baby girl? I love to hear the sweet sounds you make, but we don't wanna wake anyone up."

"Kiri- I'm- this feels so good," she covered her mouth, biting her lip to keep from screaming.

"I think you're ready for me," he admired her arousal dripping from his fingers and his tongue beautifully like honey. "I love when you get soaked and ruin the sheets, makes me feel like I'm doing a good job."

"You are, such a good job," she eagerly helped him out of his sweatpants. "Please no more teasing, I can't take it right now, I need you so bad. Please?"

"Can't take it, huh?" he growled, grinding against her, coating his length in her wetness. "I think you can, you take it so well."

"If you keep teasing me..."

"What? What are you gonna do?" Kirishima smirked. "Beg? Cause I like when you do that."

"I'll go to sleep and you won't get what you want either," Alma threatened, but her voice was so shaky it was hard to take her seriously.

"I don't believe you, Pop-rock, not even a little bit," he groaned, finally giving in and filling her suddenly. "Unless you mean it, do you wanna stop?"

"Don't you dare! Please, keep going."

"Please what?" he purred in between kisses, way more careful than he used to be not to leave any marks where people could see.

"Please, daddy," she cried, holding tightly to his biceps as he rocked his hips roughly.

"Can I fill you up, baby girl? I can pull out if you want, finish somewhere else..." he asked.

"No, I want it inside of me, I don't care," she sighed, pulling him closer for a kiss that would keep her quiet.

Kirishima gladly swallowed her whimpers and cries, giving her exactly what she wanted. After such a long time together, he knew exactly when she was ready, the way she squeezed him gently, contracting around him as she came... it was addicting and it never failed to make him cum as well.

"You're so good to me, baby, I love you so much," he panted, collapsing on top of her, knowing she could handle his weight.

"I love you too," Alma rolled her husband over to the side as gently as possible. He pulled her into his arms, holding her like a stuffed animal. "Wait, Kiri, I have to go to the bathroom."

"Nooooo, just five minutes, cuddle bug, just a little bit," he mumbled weakly.

"If you think this is gonna help me get pregnant, I'm sorry. It's not that time of the month yet," she laughed. "But I'll cuddle you just a bit."

"I just wanna hold you, I love having you close," Kirishima whispered. "You know, leaving the house every day not knowing if I'll come back or if you'll come back... it's scary, so I wanna enjoy every single moment I can get with you and Toshi, my beautiful girls."

"Don't say that, Red... you know I don't like when you talk like that," she huffed, wrapping his arms ever tighter around her and kissing them, that rough skin covered in scars from all the cracking over the years.

"But it's dangerous, you know that. It wouldn't be too bad if you decided to follow your plan and start teaching now... can you imagine? Us living at UA again, and you with a cute little baby bump?"

"Eiji, you know how much I love being a hero. This year I got top three, I'm about to become number one soon, I can't let that go now."

"Beating Midoriya is that important, huh?" he asked. "I thought that was just you being stubborn when we were kids."

"It's important, Kiri! I promised All Might and I will do it, no matter what it takes," Alma hugged one of the pillows, trying not to think about that too much. "For now let's focus on Toshi."

"Good morning, cherry blossom," Alma leaned over her daughter's bed, brushing her pitch-black hair out of the way to kiss her forehead. "Time to wake up, baby."

"I'm not a baby," Toshinori sat up, whining with a pout, slowly opening her apple-red eyes. "I'm a big girl, remember?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, big girl. You just look so cute I can't stop thinking of you as my little baby... go on, wake daddy up, I'm making arepas, there's tres leches cake in the oven."

"YES! Can I bring Dacchan a slice?"

"Of course, don't forget your uncle and auntie!"

"Daddy! Daddy!" Toshinori ran and jumped, landing on her dad's chest. "Mama asked me to wake you up, she made brunch."

"Hmmm it smells good," Kirishima stretched with a grunt. "Are you excited for today? What do you think Santa is bringing for you and Dachi?"

"Daddy, there's no Santa," she laughed.

"What?" his eyes grew, he couldn't believe what he just heard. "Who told you that? Of course there is a Santa!"

"I just know. Now let's eat, I'm hungry."

After that disturbing piece of information, Kirishima made his way to the kitchen, carrying his daughter on his shoulder.

"Good morning, beautiful," he embraced Alma from behind as she was setting the table. "Ugh I love when you make Colombian food, the entire house smells like heaven."

"I'm practicing for when granny arrives, she's been calling me gringa, says I'm too American, too Japanese..." she turned to steal a kiss before taking a seat. "So I'm making empanadas for her tomorrow."

"I miss grandma," Toshi muttered before taking a bite of her arepa. "Do you think she's bringing gifts?"

"That's all you think about."

"It's not! I'm just curious, if Santa isn't bringing my gifts maybe granny is," she argued.

Alma shared a concerned look with her husband, he shrugged as if saying I don't know where she heard that from. "Of course Santa is bringing you gifts, sweetie, you were good all year long-"

"Santa isn't real, mama, aren't you a little old to believe that? I understand if Kaminari ojisan still believes it, but you're smart."

"You know what? Say what you want, but she's just like you," Kirishima whispered. "Her tongue is sharper than my teeth."

"I don't know where you heard that, was it at school?" Alma asked while she carefully washed her daughter's hair, something Toshinori herself asked for. The thought of her very small baby already thinking like that still bothering her.

"If Santa is real, then can he bring grandpa Haroki so I can meet him?"

"Well, no..." she frowned, her chest tightening like it did every time she remembered her dad.

"Can he make All Might strong again?"

"No... but don't tell anyone, okay? If Dacchan finds out he'll cry, and then uncle Kacchan will be mad and scream, you don't want that, do you?"

"Uncle Kacchan always screams, I don't really care, but I don't want Dacchan to be sad."

After she was done with her bath, Toshi ran back to her room, looking through her wardrobe and searching for the perfect outfit for the occasion.

"Can I wear this one?" she pointed at the green dress with red cherries. "With the black shoes."

"Sure, so you want Christmas colors..." Alma grabbed the dress and started looking for the shoes while Kirishima carefully dried the girl's hair.

"Stand still, please," he asked, kissing the top of her head. "What would you think about having a little brother, princess?"

"What?" Toshi yelped.

"Eijirou Kirishima!" Alma scolded, giving him a punch that nearly knocked him off the chair.

"What? We were talking about it and I wanted her opinion, you two are the people I care about the most," he hissed even though it didn't hurt him.

"Why do you need another kid? Am I not enough? I am the best daughter you're gonna find out there," Toshinori folded her tiny arms in front of her chest.

"We know you are, sweetie, and you are enough, we just thought it would be nice for you to have someone to play with," Alma explained.

"I already have Dacchan, I don't need a brother."

"She's so jealous... reminds of someone," Kirishima watched as his daughter got dressed.

"What is that supposed to mean?" his wife gasped.

"You look really cute when you're jealous," he discreetly lowered his hand, giving her ass a squeeze. "But don't worry, she'll love her little sibling."

"Now let's go, I wanna play!" Toshi asked, trying to push away her negative thoughts, something she always saw her mother doing.

"It's still early, baby," Kirishima chuckled. "We still have to wrap gifts."

"I'll help then so we can finish soon and get going," she offered. "Are we staying over for the night? I wanna have pancakes for breakfast and uncle Kacchan makes the best pancakes."

"I don't know, that depends on- what? How can you look at your own mother and say that?" Alma dramatically dropped to the floor. "I don't make the best pancakes?"

"Yours are good, but..."

"No buts! You've wounded me, how can I ever recover?"

"Stop that, you're so silly," Kirishima teased.

The next morning Ji-ae woke to Iradachi jumping onto their bed. “Mommy, daddy, wake up! I’m hungry!”

“You hear that, daddy?” Ji-ae mumbled, pressing her face into Katsuki’s chest. “Your son wants you to make breakfast.”

He stirred, groaning loudly. He usually was awake by now, but after wearing his wife out the night before he’d been more worn out than he’d care to admit as well and he didn’t wanna get out of their warm bed.

“Daddy, get up!” the boy exclaimed, jumping up and down atop him. “We gotta get ready for Toshi to come!”

“Alright ya little brat, I’m up,” Bakugou grunted, pressing a kiss to Ji-ae’s forehead before sitting up and pulling his son into his arms. “You excited to see Toshi-chan?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mhmm! And then Santa’s coming tonight!”

“Sure is,” he agreed, carrying the boy to the kitchen, letting his wife sleep a little longer.

“What are you gunna make?” Iradachi asked as his dad set him on the counter.

“Hmm, what do you want?” he asked, opening the cupboard.

“I want cereal!”

Katsuki let out a rueful chuckle. “You’re just as bad as your mother,” he muttered, pulling down the box of cereal for his brat. “I’m gunna teach you how to cook if it’s the last thing I do,” he taunted.

While his son munched happily on his breakfast, Bakugou got to work on something simple for him and Ji-ae, the smell of pan-fried mackerel and eggs rousing her and drawing her to the kitchen.

“Finally,” Katsuki scoffed as she rubbed at her eyes, embracing him from behind, wearing his oversized robe around her shoulders. “Mornin’ sleeping beauty,” he murmured, turning to wrap an arm around her as he continued to cook. “

Mommy, you’re awake!”

“I am,” Ji-ae said, slipping from her husband's side to join Iradachi at the table. “Are you excited for tonight?” she asked, kissing the crown of his head, smiling softly at his adorable grin.

She loved that he was the spitting image of Katsuki, except softer, her rose-colored hue reflected in his wide eyes.

“YES!” he exclaimed, dropping his spoon in his empty cereal bowl. “Can me and Toshi-chan stay up to see Santa?”

“No can do, little man,” she laughed.

“Why not?!”

“Don’t you know Santa won’t come if you’re awake?”

“Then I’ll make sure I’ll be asleep! But, can Toshi stay anyway? I wanna play with my new toys with her!” Iradachi insisted.

“We’ll have to see, dear,” she smiled up at Katsuki as he set a plate before her and took the seat next to her.

“Why don’t you go pick out what you wanna wear today?” Bakugou prompted, motioning with his head for the door and Dachi nodded enthusiastically, jumping up to tear to his room. “So, how’d you sleep?” Katsuki asked, smirking over at Ji-ae.

“Like a baby,” Ji-ae sighed, his robe half slipping down her shoulder.

“Speaking of babies—“

“Not this again!” she covered his mouth with her hand. “Eat your breakfast,” she said instead, boldly holding his gaze over her hand across his mouth, a shrill giggle leaving her lips as he nipped at her fingers. “Kats!” she chastised, pulling her hand away.

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough if Dachi’ll be getting a little brother or sister.”

“What? Is Santa bringing me a brother?” Iradachi screamed, reentering the room at the wrong moment, overhearing his dad’s words.

“Maybe,” he answered while Ji-ae rolled her eyes.

“Daddy wants another baby, what do you think? Would you like a sibling, Dachi?” she asked, straightening his shirt.

“It might be cool, but I want a brother.”

“Well, we can’t really guarantee that…"

“Hmm, I guess it doesn’t matter,” the boy shrugged. “Is it coming for Christmas?”

“No, not that soon,” Ji-ae laughed before getting Iradachi to go play while they got ready for their guests. “Look what you started," she mumbled

“You love me,” Katsuki snorted, pinching her before taking care of the breakfast dishes.

Soon it was almost time for their guests to arrive and Iradachi could barely contain his excitement. Bakugou had been in the kitchen for most of the day, working on Christmas dinner.

"Don't run!" Alma quite literally flew to get her daughter as soon as they left the car. "That's how little girls get hurt, and mommies get headaches, let's walk, okay?"

"Okay," Toshinori held the bento box filled with cake as if her life depended on it. "Can I ring the doorbell?"

"Go ahead, princess," Kirishima chuckled.

“Coming!” Ji-ae called, nearly tripping over her son as he sped ahead of her, wrenching the door open.

“HI TOSHI-CHAN! HI AUNTIE ALMA!! HI UNCLE EIJI!!!”

"HI DACCHAN! I HAVE CAKE!" Toshinori nearly tackled him with a hug before running to jump on Bakugou. "Hi uncle, hi auntie! Did you miss me?"

“Course we did!” Ji-ae exclaimed giving her a squeeze. “Look at that outfit, so cute~ Did you pick it out yourself?”

"Yes! I like yours too, I wanna dress like you when I'm older. Mama's clothes are too short," the little girl said, making Bakugou snort with laughter.

“Aww~ We should go shopping together sometime,” Ji-ae suggested.

"Hey, little man!" Kirishima lifted Iradachi and Alma pinched his cheeks like she used to do (still does) with his father. "Stop growing, stay a little boy forever," she cried.

“No! If I don’t grow up, how am I supposed to marry Toshi-chan someday?” he exclaimed, puffing up his cheeks in a pout.

"Oh!" she tried to hide her grin, that was too adorable. "Of course, I forgot you're my future son-in-law, my bad... you look so handsome, I'm sure you'll have no problem with that."

“I know!” the boy exclaimed proudly, as if he weren’t worried in the slightest before dashing off and taking Toshi’s hand to take the cake to the kitchen.

"I wonder where he got that attitude from," Alma took Ji-ae into her arms. After so many years living together, she wasn't used to not seeing her best friend every day.

"He's his father's son, just not as grumpy," Ji-ae laughed, squeezing her friend back tightly. "I'm so glad you guys are here."

"Bakubro!" Kirishima cheered like the golden retriever he's always been. "Merry Christmas!"

"Shitty Hair," Bakugou greeted, flashing his friend a smirk as they clapped hands together before pulling into a hug, thumping each other on the back. "Hope you're hungry."

"Always! I'm trying to bulk up a little more," Kirishima moved to give Ji-ae a hug too. "Smells great, I'm excited."

"He wouldn't let me help him at all," she pouted, a little disappointed that he still didn't trust her in the kitchen.

"Hey King Explosion Murder Lord Assassination Express," Alma floated to reach Bakugou's height. "How's my favorite pomeranian?"

"Shut up, Floaty," Bakugou huffed, glaring at her. "If I'd left dinner up to you, we'd have been eating fried chicken," he muttered, directing the next words at his wife.

"What? I thought it was tradition to have KFC for Christmas in Japan," Ji-ae teased, sticking her tongue out at him.

"To be fair, I love you but I don't trust you in the kitchen, Jicchan," Alma grimaced, casually flipping Bakugou off. "You're passionate and you try really hard, but... I don't know, I just always feel like I end up eating cardboard covered in seasoning."

"Aww, she's not that bad, come on," Kirishima countered, but his argument wasn't valid. He would eat anything and everything with a smile on his face.

"No, she's pretty bad, daddy," Toshi passed right by them carrying Iradachi as if he wasn't just as heavy or heavier than her. "But I still love her!"

"See," Bakugou said, lifting an eyebrow at his wife before pulling her into his arms. "You have other talents, Ji-ae baby," he murmured, brushing his lips to her temple before letting her go.

"Ugh, alright," Ji-ae relented, a smile returning to her lips.

"Gross," Alma grimaced. "I'm gonna get the gifts in the car so I don't have to see this."

"Dramatic as always," Kirishima gave her ass a smack on the way out. "As if you don't have your own set of special talents."

"Get your mind outta the gutter, there're kids around," Bakugou called after her.

"And she used to be the lewd one back in high school," Ji-ae giggled.

"I think it's pretty safe to say Iwacchan was a bad influence on all of us," Kirishima laughed. "And by bad I mean amazing, you were so shy and quiet, look at you now. Given that's probably your husband's fault too..."

"A little of both," she admitted, grinning at the redhead. "Come on, let's get the table set."

#my hero academia fanfic #boku no hero fanfic #mha smut #bnha smut #mha oc #bnha oc #bakugou smut #kirishima smut #fic collab

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