#daturadrabbles

[callsign-datura]

keegan p. russ.

he's an asshole. in bed he mocks you, in the field he mocks you. he thinks it's funny when you look at him and give him that cute little pout, and he can barely hold in his laughs when you whine about how mean he is. --- "you look stupid." he says, folding his arms over his chest and smirking down at you. you're doing your hair-- cutting it yourself since you had to learn how, dyeing it and everything. you do this once every few months whenever you get the materials. your hair is separated into 6 ponytails, and you're applying the dye to your hair in the mirror. he's standing behind you and watching you with that stupid smirk on his face, blue eyes watching you in the mirror. "your face is stupid." you shoot back, a scowl curling your lips as you glare at him in the mirror. you take out one of the ponytails and clip it back before doing the other side. "better wash that shit out good. if we get found in the field because someone sniffed out the hair dye smell, i'm beating your ass," he grouses, his head leaning against the door frame as he watches you. in reality, he enjoys this. it's... intimate, something he's refused to let himself feel since everything... happened. "seriously? it doesn't smell THAT bad..." you say, pupils dilating as your gaze flickers over his form in the mirror, lifting up the dye bowl to your nose to get a better sniff. he looks at you and blinks a few times, slightly surprised that you leaned in to smell it, is your sense of smell that fried?

"yes, it smells that bad," he reiterates, leaning forward and shooting you a look. "s'fucking gross and it'll get us caught." "you're just exaggerating. our next recon is like a week from now, the smell will be gone by then." "tch. you say that now. but when we're being held at gunpoint--" "keegan." you give him a warning glare, and he holds up his hands in surrender. "jesus, okay. damn. i'm being realistic, and this is the thanks i get?" the smirk on his face is telling of how he's just fucking with you, and you bristle. "shut up." "make me." he smirks, giving you a challenging look. "not while i'm dyeing my hair." "then deal with it." he huffs, scowling once more as he reaches out to swat your ass. you yelp, and he laughs, before leaving the bathroom to let you finish up. "come find find me when you're done!"

[callsign-datura]

simon would love puzzles

for real. it's something about doing them. slowly finding the pieces that fit together to make a bigger picture, the simple joy of seeing it come together. when he does them with you? it's even better. the way you make a noise when you find pieces that fit together, the sparkle in your eyes that he shares at the image starts to come together... it's a hobby you share and boy does he fucking ADORE watching you do them. after a while you've learned to do them faster and faster, and sometimes he has to remind you to slow down so you don't finish it faster than you can start to enjoy it.

every time he goes to a store, he keeps an eye out for an aisle that has puzzles. finds ones that have your favorite animal in them, or ones that have landscapes. starts buying puzzle glue and framing them in the house. smiles at the sight of them and is reminded of how you guys love doing them; together.

[callsign-datura]

no but I'm legit thinking how long reader would be grounded when they see a glimpse of price's tummy and ask "how many months old?" with a shit-eating grin on their face.

a/n: sorry for the late answer. appreciate the ask, anon. fucking lovely

"How many months old?" Price stops dead as he leans back in his office chair, the hand under his shirt over his stomach coming to rest over the little pudge there. His gaze darts to you immediately and his expression hardens as you stare at him with that stupid grin on your face, your gaze flickering from his face to the bit of tummy you saw while he happened to be stretching. "'Scuse me, love?" He asks, his eyebrows knitting together as he leans forward. He wants to be offended, but he knows you too well. You're just fucking with him, being a brat like always. "How many months old?" You ask again, leaning back, subconsciously attempting to escape the metaphorical bear you've just poked. "You got some pudge there, Cap. First trimester? Pregnancy's a bitch, huh?" He shakes his head and scoffs at your audacity, leaning back again. A bit of anger bubbles in his chest anyway at the little remark. "I ain't pregnant." "Doesn't look it... might wanna do a pregnancy test. You never know!" You say quickly, getting up and then darting out of his office. His gaze flickers to the place you once sat, then the door you left through. He scoffs again, shutting his eyes and stroking his beard as he decides the punishment he'd give you for this. Cleaning duty would work, he decides.