#like a REALLY big duck egg

[sergle]

how are duck eggs better for baking, do they taste better in sweet foods than chicken eggs? ive never had them before

OH man okay, so, duck eggs are very fun! They're bigger, they have thicker shells and membranes, and the egg itself is Eggier. It just tastes more like Egg. Egg Times Two. They're also a just structurally different- they have more fat and more protein, and the whites of the egg are a lot thicker. Chicken eggs, in comparison to duck eggs, are more... watery???? And the yolks are way smaller than duck yolks. So when we had ducks, I'd normally use duck eggs if I was gonna bake something, bc the lower water content and higher fat/protein content in them just seemed to really help things turn out better. More flavor and more structure.

[punkshort]

In Another Life | Part II

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader (time travel au)

Chapter Summary: Danny unexpectedly drops Marcus off at your office, but it works to your advantage when you decide to use him as the subject for your next article, and your research brings the two of you much closer together.

Chapter Warnings: language, typical brother embarrassing his sister, threats of physical violence, a little fist fight, some blood from said fist fight, mention of drugs, jealousy, food consumption, fluff, flirting, sexual tension, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, fingering

WC: 8.4K

Series Masterlist

Your apartment had devolved into utter chaos the last two days. It seemed like every time you rounded a corner, you had to dodge some person or scrap of metal or power tool, and it was getting on your last nerve. New York wasn't exactly known for spacious living arrangements as it was, so to have what little space you did covet overrun with your brother's shit really sent you into overdrive.

"Lizard's mom has a house in Queens, why the hell is all this shit here and not in her basement?" you snapped at Danny early one morning after you stubbed your toe on a drill.

"He's worried about her finding out what we're up to," Danny explained, and you immediately scoffed into your coffee.

"She's deaf in one ear and hasn't stepped foot in her basement since his dad died."

Danny agreed to move his time traveling project to Queens later that day.

The scowl on your face smoothed out the moment Marcus entered your kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and looking absolutely devastating in the pajama pants you had bought for him just a few days prior. It took all your willpower not to let your eyes drop below his waist, having already made that mistake the day before. The noticeable bulge hidden amongst the thin sleepwear had you spacing out the entire train ride to work and you couldn't afford any distractions that day. You had a big meeting at eleven where you had to present the next topic for your column and you were scrambling. The source you had for your long-distance relationship idea fell through last minute, so now you were tasked with brainstorming a spectacular backup plan in the next four hours.

"Morning, General. How did you sleep?" Danny asked as he scooped cereal into his mouth.

"Quite well, thank you," he replied, then his eyes met yours and he smiled. "Good morning, my lady."

You grinned like a school girl, your heart fluttering excitedly in your chest when you stammered, "G-good morning." Danny rolled his eyes but chose wisely to keep his mouth shut.

Marcus was able to find his way around by that point, however he still seemed hesitant to just start opening your drawers and cupboards when he needed something. Tired of reminding him to just help himself, you set down your coffee and picked up your loaf of bread from the corner of the counter.

"Same as yesterday?" you asked him as you popped two slices of bread in the toaster, anticipating his answer.

"Please," he said with a grateful nod, then dutifully clasped his hands at his waist.

When Danny watched you crack some eggs into a frying pan along with a few sausage links, his jaw dropped.

"You're making breakfast for him but not for me?" he whined.

You swiveled around and pointed your spatula in his face. "He is our guest, thanks to you," you reminded him, and Danny quickly shut up.

"I do not wish to be a burden," Marcus said. He hadn't moved but his broad frame felt like it took up the entire room.

"You're not a burden, Marcus," you told him softly, then gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"Yeah, no worries, man," Danny said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder before dumping his dirty dishes in the sink. "I'm just giving my sister a hard time because it's obvious she wants to jump your bones."

"Danny!" you shrieked while throwing an oven mitt at his head. He dodged it and ducked out of the kitchen, his laughter fading down the hall towards his bedroom.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you turned your focus back to the frying pan. When Marcus cleared his throat, you closed your eyes in dread because you knew what was coming.

"What did that mean, jump your bones?"

"Nothing, just ignore him," you said, sliding the eggs and sausage onto a plate. A few seconds passed when Danny's voice shouted down the hall, "It's a euphemism for sex!"

"Goddamnit," you muttered through clenched teeth. You began to storm out of the kitchen, prepared to kick Danny's ass, but Marcus shot an arm out to stop you.

"You look lovely today."

You gazed up at him, mouth agape, while you tried to find your voice.

Say something. Anything.

"Thanks. Uh, thank you," you mumbled, smoothing down the pink and white floral dress you picked out. On days where you had your big monthly meeting, you tried to make an effort to look like you belonged at a fashion magazine.

"Do you have plans today?" he asked, his eyes swooping down your frame appreciatively, and for once it didn't make your stomach turn when a man looked at you that way. "Daniel tells me there is a beautiful park in the city. I desire to see it and would very much enjoy your company."

You knew you were reading too much into it, but you couldn't help but feel like he was asking you on a date.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Marcus," you said, "I have to work today. But I promise we will see it before you go home."

Home.

His face fell at the word and he quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Of course, I understand. Thank you for breakfast," he said, sliding past you so he could pick up the plate you made for him. You chewed your lip and glanced at the time. If it were any other day, you would just call in sick, but today was too important to miss.

"I promise, okay?" you told him as you gathered your bags. "We will see Central Park before you leave. And whatever else you want."

He nodded and took a bite of his food. Although he appeared to be unbothered, you still felt an enormous amount of guilt.

"Danny!" you called from the front door, "this shit better be gone by the time I get home!"

"Yes, Mom!" he shouted back sarcastically from the bathroom. You rolled your eyes and gave Marcus a quick wave before hurrying out the door.

You were fucked.

You had one hour until your meeting and you had absolutely nothing.

Already, you had done your usual brainstorming techniques five times over. You scrolled through social media, hoping to find some trend or topic that might be popular and garner attention, but you were coming up dry, so you kept circling back to your long distance relationship idea. You had sent out every feeler you could think of, asking any of your usual contacts if they had anyone you could use for a story about your chosen topic, but so far you weren't having any luck.

Suddenly, your phone rang and you lunged for it, hoping it was a lead, then groaned when you saw Danny's contact picture pop up on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey..." he began, and you could tell by the tone in his voice that you should brace yourself.

"What did you do?"

He laughed on the other end. "I didn't do anything. Actually, I did do something - I am getting all this stuff out of your place, but there's just one thing."

"Spit it out," you said, your eyes flickering to the time. 45 minutes to go.

"I can't take Marcus with us to Queens. There's no room in Lizard's car."

"So let him stay in the apartment."

"I'm not leaving him all alone in New York City!" he protested. You heard some familiar sounds in the background of the call and you frowned.

"Where are you?"

Danny paused and you instantly began to put your defenses up.

"I'm... in your lobby. With Marcus and Lizard."

"You're what?!" you exclaimed in a loud whisper, glancing around to make sure nobody overheard you in your cubical.

"I told to him to just stay in the lobby and read your crappy magazines and if anyone asks, to tell them he's here for meeting."

"Danny! You can't do this, I can't babysit a fucking Roman General right now!"

You heard Danny walk a few paces away, presumably to get some privacy so Marcus wouldn't overhear, before he answered.

"He'll stay downstairs, I promise. I told him what floor you're on in case of an emergency but maybe you can pop down and take him for lunch. You've been making heart eyes at this Roman General for the past three days, don't try and lie."

Anger coursed through your veins but you were running out of precious time, so you gave up.

"Fine," you seethed.

"Great!" Danny said cheerily. "But I might not be back til late. We're burning tons of time moving all this stuff, we got work to do."

"So I have to bring him home?"

"Yes, you'll have to bring him home. You're going there anyway, aren't you? What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is he's going to be bored and lonely all day down there!" you snapped.

"He's not going to be bored. He's in New York City. The elevators alone are blowing his mind right now."

Despite yourself, you smiled when you remembered how in awe he was the first time he rode in an elevator.

"Tell him I'll be down to take him to lunch in like, a little over an hour. I have a meeting at eleven."

"You're the best!" Danny said, then before you could respond, the line went dead.

You grumbled obscenities under your breath when you heard a familiar voice say your name from the opening of your cube.

"Hey, ready for the meeting?" Matt asked. You practically dropped your phone from his sudden appearance and he chuckled. "Did I scare you?"

"Yes," you hissed as you began to gather your things, trying to hide your annoyance. You looked over the top of your cubical wall, hoping and praying you would see someone - anyone - else to walk with to the conference room, but you were shit out of luck.

"Doing anything fun tonight?" he inevitably asked, like he always did, and you sighed. You made the mistake of hooking up with him after one particularly rowdy work happy hour and ever since then, Matt's been waiting for his next opportunity. "I know a guy who works at that new French restaurant, I can get us a reservation and then, who knows..."

"I have a friend in from out of town," was all you said. No matter how many times you turned him down, he remained persistent.

"That's cool. Girls night, then?"

"My friend's a guy," you quickly corrected him.

Matt stumbled over his feet as you reached the conference room. It was the biggest one on your floor, directly across from the elevator banks. The entire wall was made of glass, floor to ceiling, so you could see through the room to the opposite wall, where there was a fantastic view of the city.

"Oh, like a cousin, or..."

"Nope," you replied, voice clipped so he knew the topic was closed. With a frustrated huff, Matt plopped down next to you and flipped open his portfolio. You gave him a sideways glance, momentarily feeling bad for him. He was by all accounts a good looking guy. He wrote a column for the men's health section and based on his physique, you assumed he practiced what he preached, but sadly his looks is where his good qualities came to an end.

Charlotte, your editor, breezed into the room, her presence enough to make everyone sitting at the long table quiet right down. She ghosted her palm over her perfectly coiffed grey hair and sat her portfolio down in front of her chair at the head of the table. As you got yourself organized, your mind scrambling to come up with a lie about a long distance relationship source, Charlotte placed her phone down delicately next to her leather portfolio, then slowly uncapped the expensive looking pen someone once told you was gifted to her by Marc Jacobs. Everybody watched and waited until she was ready, which was signified by a dainty clearing of her throat and a quick, sweeping glance over the table followed by a curt nod. At that point, the usual routine began.

Without having to be asked, one by one everybody took their turn presenting their idea for the month. Each person's name was listed on the agenda in the order Charlotte wished, and mercifully yours was dead last.

Your anxiety began to spike when Sara, the girl who was before you in nutrition started to wrap up her brief speech about some gluten free lifestyle benefit bullshit.

Keep it short. Keep it vague, and you'll figure it out later. Everyone wants to leave, it's almost lunch.

Then some movement by the elevators caught your eye. Your breathing ceased and you broke out into a cold sweat when you saw Marcus had stepped out of the elevator and was fucking talking to the receptionist. Then you locked eyes when they both turned to look towards the conference room.

"Shit," you whispered.

Matt nudged your ribs and you startled, glancing around the room to see Sara had sat down and half the table was staring at you, waiting for you to begin. You shakily stood up and swallowed the lump in your throat when Marcus began to weave his way towards you through the maze of cubicles.

Call it a stroke of genius or divine inspiration, but an incredible idea hit you right as you opened your mouth to speak. You had about half a second to decide if you should wing it and trust your gut or talk out of your ass about your first idea.

Fuck it.

"This month, I have a very interesting idea that I'm super excited about exploring," you began, watching when Marcus came to a stop outside the glass door. He looked back and forth, his fingers twitching at his sides. "My topic will be Romance without Technology," you announced with a confident smile. "I'll be researching how adults navigate their love lives without the help of dating apps, social media, or even texting," you said, listing each item on your finger as you spoke.

"Who's that guy?" Sara asked, pointing towards the door. It was at that point you realized most of the table was gawking at the tall, broad, handsome looking Roman General waiting to get your attention.

You smiled and walked toward the door with your arm outstretched.

"This is Marcus," you said, holding the door open and ushering him inside. He murmured your name but you cut him off. "He's the subject I'll be interviewing for this month's article. He doesn't use technology of any kind. In fact, he doesn't even own a cell phone."

The entire room gasped and Marcus looked around, confused, but understood what you needed him to do. He raised one arm up to greet the room and said, "Good morning."

Most of the women began to whisper excitedly to one another, shooting him looks and giggling behind their hands until Charlotte cleared her throat and once again, the room fell into silence.

You chewed your lower lip anxiously as you waited for Charlotte to silently appraise you both. Finally, you saw the corner of her mouth twitch and she gave you a barely perceptible nod.

"I look forward to reading it."

She stood abruptly and collected her things, signifying the end of the meeting, and relief flooded your veins.

"Are you okay?" you asked Marcus, pulling him to the side while the room stood and slowly filtered out. He nodded.

"Yes. There were many vehicles that passed by with bright lights and loud sirens. When I asked what it was for, I was told there was an emergency."

You giggled and shook your head. "So the fearsome General was scared?"

His brows knitted together for a moment before he answered.

"No. I grew concerned for your well being."

Your heart could have melted on the spot.

"Oh," you said softly, and just like that, the annoying little flutter in your chest was back. "I-I'm fine, but thank you. That was... that's really sweet, actually."

He grinned as his eyes swooped down your frame, causing butterflies to awaken in your stomach.

"Did you wanna get something to eat?" you asked as you stared up at him, his large frame making you feel so tiny in comparison. "It'll be on the company's dime since I kinda just signed you up to be the subject of my next article."

He cocked an eyebrow at you and shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis, the action bringing up the memory of you measuring his inseam and you felt your face begin to heat up. God, you must have looked ridiculous, standing there in front of Marcus in the middle of your office, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

"Of course," he replied, "but what do you intend to write about me?"

You grinned and hurried back to your abandoned chair, scooping up your things before pointing to the door.

"Let me drop this stuff off at my desk and I'll explain everything."

"My marriage was arranged," he reminded you from across the table draped in white linen. You decided to take him to a nicer steakhouse not too far from your office, one that didn't enforce a dress code but still had good food that you rarely sprung for out of your own pocket.

"I know, but I'm sure you can still give me an idea of what romance was like," you replied. "For example, did you get her any gifts? Give flowers? Take her to places that were meaningful to you? Or to her?"

Marcus dropped his gaze to the table and shrugged. "We knew each other for such a short period of time, there was unfortunately not much in the way of romance."

You clocked the forlorn look in his eye and began to feel guilty for bringing it up. "I'm sorry. I'll just make something up, don't worry about it. No one'll know."

"No, no, I wish to help," he said quickly, his hand stretching across the table to loop two of his fingers around yours. "Just because I do not have many personal stories to share does not mean I cannot help with your research."

"I don't want to reopen any old wounds," you explained, your eyes fixed on the way his hand linked with yours so naturally on the tabletop.

He chuckled softly, his smile causing his deep brown eyes to sparkle and a dimple to appear on his cheek.

"It was a very long time ago."

When your salads arrived at your table, Marcus released your hand to pick up his fork, frowning down at the bowl before asking, "This is the salad named after Julius Caesar?"

You giggled and shook your head, the sound causing him to lift his chin with a warm smile.

"No," you said once you collected yourself, "No, it's named after another Caesar. The guy who created it, I think."

Marcus didn't seem to mind he was wrong or that you found his error so funny. In fact, he enjoyed it.

"You have a beautiful laugh."

Instantly, your cheeks flushed and you shyly looked down to focus on your salad. "Thank you," you said softly.

He watched you silently for another minute more, admiring the way your eyes fluttered shut when you tasted something good or tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, then took a hesitant bite of his salad.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and you grinned from behind your napkin.

"Delicious."

You giggled again and nodded. "Yes, it is."

Once your salads were taken away and before your main course arrived, you pulled out a notebook and flipped to a blank page.

"Let's start from the beginning. You don't have to go into excruciating detail. Maybe just some things you know of that others did to... court women? Is that even the right word?" you mumbled the last part to yourself as you scribbled something at the top of your paper.

"It was seen as a sign of weakness for a man to become infatuated with a woman," he said, and you looked up at him in surprise.

"Why's that?"

"Marriages rarely were based on affection. They were viewed as a way to improve your social standing, but it was mutually beneficial," he explained, his finger tracing the design engrained in his fork. "Women were taken care of, looked after and tended to while the men were able to claim a high ranking senator or nobleman as their family. And, of course..." he trailed off, his cheeks staining pink when he dropped his gaze to the table and said, "received the traditional benefits of having a wife."

You smirked to yourself as you wrote notes on your pad of paper.

"Thought you were used to talking about sex openly," you teased. He cleared his throat and your pen paused over your paper to meet his eye.

"I admit, at times I feel nervous around you."

"Me?" you balked, but he just nodded and your brain scrambled for something to say that wouldn't entirely embarrass you. You landed on deflection.

"I thought it was a sign of weakness to grow infatuated?"

He grinned and leaned back in his chair. "I never said I agreed with that line of thought."

"No, I suppose you didn't," you said, shyly dropping your eyes to your paper. His gaze was too intense. Every time you looked at him it felt like he could see right through you. "So, tell me. Hypothetically. If we lived in Rome and I caught your eye, what would you do? How would you win me over?"

Marcus took a deep breath, his broad shoulders relaxing as he thought about your question for a moment, staring at your pen hovering over your paper.

"I would write you letters every day," he said softly, forcing your eyes back onto him. His voice was low and deep, smooth yet firm as he spoke. "I would write of your beauty. I would compare the color of your eyes to the flowers and fauna that grew in my garden, delicate and all encompassing. I would tell you how food tastes better on my tongue when you are around, and how I ache for you when you are not near. I would try to explain how difficult it is to breathe without you, and how I would gladly die a thousand deaths just to feel the softness of your lips against mine."

You stared at him, hand frozen where you left it resting on your notebook. He waited patiently until you finally blinked yourself out of your stupor and inhaled a shaky breath.

"Uh, s-so love letters, then," you stammered, shakily scribbling down something incoherent on your paper. Jesus fucking Christ, get it together.

"Yes. Love letters," he repeated. He sounded so cool and collected. How was he so relaxed? A moment ago, he was admitting you made him nervous. Maybe he was just better at hiding it than you.

Your server arrived and placed your food down in front of you, the heavenly scent wafting up and making your mouth water. Placing your pen down in favor of picking up your fork and knife, you asked, "Have you ever had steak?"

"I am not sure. What animal is it?" he asked, picking up his fork and testing the tenderness of his steak by giving it a little poke.

"It's cow. Try it, it's good."

"Cows were used for farming," he said before slicing a piece off and examining it closely. "We could not afford to slaughter them."

You watched as he popped a bite into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before giving you a smile and nod.

"Good?" you asked, your heart skipping a beat at finding another food he liked.

"Very," he replied once he swallowed. "You are quite perceptive and have good taste."

"Thank you," you answered, taking another bite and trying not to preen too much from the praise.

"So tell me," he said after he finished up his filet and moved on to his potato, which he eyed wearily. "Do you not receive love letters as a form of courtship?"

"Uh, no," you replied with a laugh. "Closest thing to that nowadays would be a text and even those are... sub par."

"So what is it that you do?"

"What do you mean?"

He pointed to your notepad with his fork. "For romance. What activities do you take part in?"

"Oh," you said, wiping your mouth and pushing your empty plate to the side. "You mean dates. Uh, this actually. Get dinner together. Sometimes see a movie," you paused and rethought your word choice when you saw his face. "A show, or a play. Um, sometimes go to a bar. Stuff like that."

He nodded and let your answer roll around in his head for a moment before asking, "So, is this a date?"

Marcus smiled when he saw you become flustered. You thanked the server for clearing your plates and leaving the bill before responding.

"Uh, I don't know," you finally said shyly, making his smile grow even wider. "Do you want - I mean, well... I'm technically working, but, you know, if - if that was something you were interested in, then, I guess w-we could classify this, or, you know, it could be construed-"

"Yes or no," he said, interrupting your insane ramblings with a soft look and an outstretched hand. Your face was hot with embarrassment but you reached out for his hand, anyway.

"Yes."

"Yes," he repeated, squeezing your fingers. You grinned and nodded, your stomach doing cartwheels as you tried to steady your breath.

Once you paid with your corporate credit card, you walked back out to the street, Marcus holding the doors open for you before offering you his hand. You sheepishly accepted it and walked a few paces in the direction of your office before he stopped you.

"Must you return to work?"

You gave him a sad smile and took a step closer. "Yeah, I'm sorry. But maybe I can play hooky tomorrow."

Marcus raised a curious eyebrow at you while playing with the material of your dress with his free hand, gently pinching and feeling the fabric between his fingers. "What does-"

"It means I'll call in sick without actually being sick so I can have the day off," you explained without him needing to finish asking.

He grinned and dropped your dress in favor of cupping your cheek. "I would like that very much."

"Me, too," you said, gazing up at him while leaning into his touch. His strong, calloused hand felt rough against your skin, but you liked it. As if reading your mind, he stroked his thumb over your cheekbone and murmured, "You are so soft."

You hummed, not trusting yourself to speak when you watched him slowly lean down to your level, your eyes fluttering shut as you waited to feel his mouth against yours. But just when his shadow got close enough to block the sun behind your eyelids, you heard someone shout your name.

You swiveled around angrily, your hand still laced together with Marcus's as you looked for the person who interrupted one of the more romantic moments of your life.

And then you saw Matt stalking up to you from the direction of the restaurant.

"Is this why you've been ghosting me?"

You frowned and tilted your head. "What?"

Matt came to a stop in front of you both and jutted his chin towards Marcus. "Too busy sleeping with your profiles to hang out?"

"W-what?" you stammered again, too shocked to fight back with your usual vigor. You felt Marcus stiffen next to you. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he immediately sensed your discomfort. "I'm not - this isn't-"

"Oh, sure," he sneered, crossing his arms, his biceps bulging out of his thin dress shirt. "I saw you two in there. You were three seconds away from crawling into his lap."

Your mouth hung open in shock and humiliation. "Were you following me?"

Before Matt could answer, Marcus took a step forward.

"I am going to have to insist you stop yelling," he seethed, and even though Matt followed his own advice in his articles and worked out plenty, Marcus still towered over him.

Matt's eyes went wide for just a moment before his bravado returned. "C'mon, man. She's just using you, don't you see that?" Matt prodded, then he scoffed. "Unless you're good with it. Then by all means, have fun. She's a good fuck but I don't think she's got much else."

It all happened so fast, you couldn't remember Marcus dropping your hand and cocking his fist. You couldn't remember the first sickening crunch of his knuckles against Matt's nose, but you did remember hearing his pained howl.

Marcus only landed a few more blows before you came to your senses and tugged him by the shoulder. It was laughable to think you would be strong enough to move him, but you must have also said something because Marcus immediately stopped and turned back to you.

"Jesus Christ!" you cried shakily, hands trembling as they hovered in the air. You weren't sure what to do and people were staring as they walked by, driving up your anxiety. Marcus was fine except for his skinned knuckles, but Matt was much worse. He had a busted lip and already a bright blue shiner forming on his cheekbone, and when he stood to face you both, you noticed another cut on the other cheek.

"The fuck is wrong with you!" he spat, blood dripping down his chin.

"Mind how you speak to women and perhaps they will wish to spare you their time," Marcus snarled. Matt turned his attention to you, the pad of his thumb swiping against his lower lip.

"Who is this guy? What the fuck is his deal?"

You took a deep breath, your mind settling and your fortitude returning.

"If you had just backed off when I said no the first dozen times, maybe you didn't have to find out!"

"Oh, come off it. You like the chase. You get off on guys trailing after you-"

"You're the only fucking one, Matt!" you yelled, no longer caring who was looking. "We hooked up once, years ago, and you just can't take the hint! I'm not interested!"

His eyes clouded with disbelief as he propped his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to one foot, standing there as if he were somehow new to being shot down.

"I'm telling Charlotte about this. About your little..." he trailed off and gestured vaguely over your shoulder, "guard dog. I'm sure she will love to hear about one of your profiles assaulting an employee."

You crossed your arms defiantly and made a face. "Oh, yeah? Do that and I'll recommend to HR they give you a drug test."

His face paled for a moment but he tried to hide it. "Drugs? I'm not on drugs."

"Oh, so you're telling me your balls are just naturally that shriveled up and small? Because, shit," you laughed, "if it's not steroids, you might want to see a doctor about that. That's not normal."

Matt swallowed tightly and clamped his mouth shut. You smiled and turned around to Marcus, who had been listening to your entire argument and probably understanding less than half of it.

"Let's go."

You tugged on his arm and he obediently followed, leaving Matt to lick his wounds.

"Your work - the building is the other way."

"I know," you said, raising your arm to hail a cab. "I'll figure something out. We're going home."

Marcus watched as you paced around your kitchen, phone pressed against your ear as you spoke to your boss and faked a sudden illness that included the word cramps. When you finished up, you looked over at him from across the room.

He looked so normal now. Sure, he spoke a little strangely but without his tunic, clad in khakis and a polo shirt, he looked like he fit right in. Like he always belonged right there.

"I don't think I even thanked you," you said. Marcus smiled and shrugged.

"No need."

He was so damn adorable, it was killing you. "I've never met anyone like you before," you confessed, leaning a hip against the edge of your counter.

"In a good way, I hope?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. You giggled and nodded, the sound making his heart soar.

"Yes, in a good way."

He brought his hand up to smooth over his mouth nervously and your stomach dropped.

"Oh, my god! Your hands!" you exclaimed, crossing the room to snatch one of his massive hands within both of yours.

"It is alright, there is no-"

"Come on, let me clean up your knuckles at least," you said, pulling him towards your tiny bathroom, which somehow felt even smaller when you were both crowding the space. "Sit here," you told him, pointing towards the closed toilet seat, "I have some stuff somewhere," you muttered under your breath as you rifled through the medicine cabinet behind your mirror, then tugged open the drawer in the vanity that always stuck. Marcus did as he was told and watched you with amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Ah ha!" you announced victoriously when you held up a bottle of clear liquid and a box of bandages. He smiled as you washed your hands before meticulously laying everything out you would need. Picking up a cotton ball, you doused it with the liquid and turned to him, having little choice but to stand between his knees and lifting one of his hands to look at it closer.

He splayed his hand out flat, palm pressing against your palm while you carefully dabbed at the dried blood.

"You have laid with that man before?" he asked out of the blue. Your cheeks felt warm when you nodded and avoided his eye.

"A long time ago. It was a mistake."

He didn't say anything else for a few minutes, just watched as you tenderly cared for his broken skin, your proximity and touch overwhelming his senses.

"Did he mistreat you?"

Quickly, you shook your head. "Oh god, no, nothing like that," you told him. "It just... wasn't a good fit."

Marcus couldn't stop staring at the soft slopes of your face and the bright sparkle in your irises, growing infatuated with the way your brow scrunched together in concentration while you worked.

"Did he not worship you?" he asked softly, watching as your breath hitched and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Uh, no," you finally said, setting down the cotton ball in favor of a tube with some salve. You squeezed a small dot onto your finger and began to apply it carefully to his knuckles. "Can't say there's been a lot of worshipping happening in my life," you added with a dry chuckle.

"No?"

You shook your head and wiped your finger with a tissue and tried not to let his injured hand that had fallen to your hip distract you.

"No," you whispered, your shaky voice betraying you.

He tsked and brought his other hand up to your hip, slowly splaying his fingers wide and crumpling the fabric of your dress. "Shameful. You deserve to be worshipped."

All of the air rushed from your lungs, your body thrumming with desire. Marcus noticed the fine hairs on your arms raise when goosebumps flashed across your skin and he delicately picked up your hand, flipping it over so he could press a kiss against the inside of your wrist.

His deep brown eyes met yours and with his lips still brushing against your skin, whispered, "Will you allow me to worship you?"

You found yourself nodding before your voice had a chance to catch up with you, then his hands gently cupped your face and pulled you down to his level. The moment your lips finally met, you forgot how to breathe, how to move, how to think. His lips were so unexpectedly soft and tender as they slowly massaged against your own that it sent you into a tailspin.

You pressed your mouth against his with a little more force, the fear that he may just stop at one kiss gripping your throat and driving you forward. He made a soft, surprised noise in the back of his throat when you began to kiss him with more intensity, but he didn't skip a beat. He tightened his hold on your face, fingers dimpling your cheeks and his nose bumping lightly against yours.

Your hands pressed against his chest, then your fingers curled to grip his shirt, wanting to tug him closer, wanting to feel him everywhere but you were still in your stupid fucking tiny bathroom and it was difficult to maneuver. Seemingly anticipating your next move, you felt Marcus stand. Your head tipped back, neck craned upwards at an impossible angle, refusing to break the kiss even for a moment so he began to carefully walk you backwards towards the door. Every step towards your bedroom felt like you were walking deeper and deeper into the sea, drowning in his overwhelming presence and touch.

Marcus's palm slid over your shoulder, down your arm and only stopping when he found your ribs. He wound his arm around you as you both stumbled through your doorway with as little grace as you would expect from two people growing more and more intertwined by the moment.

Once you felt your mattress pressing into the backs of your knees, you released your death grip on his shirt so you could reach behind you and unzip your dress. The cool air washed over your bare skin when it pooled around your feet and suddenly, you felt extremely exposed. What kinds of women was he used to being with? It felt like every day when you went into work you learned something new that men found desirable in women. How could you possibly be expected to keep up in the modern world, let alone with what Marcus might find appealing?

But when his palm reconnected with your middle and he felt your smooth skin under his hand, he grew desperate for more to the point where you could sense it, pushing your insecurities to the back of your mind. His injured hand left your cheek so he could glide both massive hands over the soft swell of your curves, his fingers twitching as he sought out more of your skin but when he came in contact with your bra, his hands stopped.

You could feel his hesitation by the way his lips stalled against yours so you took his hands and wrapped them around your back, wordlessly guiding him to the clasp as your tongue slid inside his mouth.

He figured out the hooks on your bra after only one or two fumbles and it dropped to the floor to join your dress.

"Fuck," he whispered when he finally managed to pull away to admire your nearly naked body. Your eyes widened with surprise.

"I don't think I've heard you curse before."

He inhaled a ragged breath, his eyes still drinking you in when he murmured, "I did not have a reason to before now."

He gently grazed over your breast, barely even touching you while he watched with fascination as your nipple tightened from the brief contact. "You have stirred something within me," he said softly, his eyes and hands continuing to roam. "Something I believed did not exist for a long time."

You leaned into his touch when he cupped your breast, enraptured with how soft you felt under his hand. Your fingers curled around the waistband of his khakis, sliding your nails across his lower stomach, across the coarse hair you very much wished to see while his mouth descended on your throat. His beard tickled the spot below your ear and it sent a shudder down your spine. His lips curved into a smile against your skin at the involuntary movement and he asked, "What else do you like?"

It was becoming difficult to breathe. The way he was so slow and careful yet sure of himself was unlike anything you had ever experienced before with a man. It was making your knees weak and your head swim.

When it took too long for you to answer his question, he lightly pinched your skin between your teeth, causing warmth to bloom just underneath the mark.

"T-touch me," you stammered, your eyes sliding closed and your head tipping back, surrendering yourself completely to his prowess.

His hand slipped down your body, over your stomach and underneath your panties. You gasped sharply when you felt one thick finger part your folds, sliding over your clit and dipping into your entrance, drenching him with your arousal.

"Lay down for me," he whispered in your ear while wrapping his free arm around your back, holding you steady so you didn't collapse from the torture of his singular finger working in and out.

He laid you down carefully in your bed, his hand never losing its rhythm and his mouth still ghosting over your neck and chest.

You whined and bucked your hips under him, fingers getting tangled in his thick curls while he whispered words of adoration into your skin, imprinting himself on you forever.

He could feel you growing rigid, your muscles tense and your exhale coming in short bursts. He brushed his lips over yours at the same time his thumb grazed over your clit, making your jaw drop and a sob erupt from your throat.

"Relax," he murmured, increasing the speed of his wrist while slowly sliding his tongue alongside yours. "Relax and let go for me, cor mea," he said against your mouth.

Your body convulsed beneath him when he brought you to your climax with just one finger. His mouth locked over yours, swallowing down your cries and allowing them to feed his ever growing desire. When you whimpered and lightly pushed his hand away, he withdrew from between your legs but continued to deepen the kiss. It was so sweet and loving that it sent you reeling, wondering how you would ever find satisfaction from another man again after Marcus.

"Take these off," you breathed, tugging on his belt loops. He reared back to sit on his heels while deftly undoing the button and zipper of his khakis, leaving them gaping open at his waist before yanking his polo shirt over his head and tossing it onto the floor. You bit your lip, admiring his bare chest for the first time while he pushed his pants down and kicked them off.

"Christ," you muttered, eyes trailing over his tanned and scarred skin. You reached out and traced a particularly jagged one on his shoulder but he was more focused on ridding you of your underwear. If you ever questioned the validity of his time traveling story, any doubt was erased from your mind when you saw his body.

"Did these hurt?"

He paused and followed your gaze to his marked up torso.

"Some, at the time, yes."

Your expression softened to one of pity as you continued to scan his body, losing count of the shiny, pale scars.

"W-what... how did these..." you trailed off, unable to keep the emotion from your voice. Marcus cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss against your lips.

"It is alright. I have been in many battles. It is my job, and just like yours, I must do it."

You laughed but you didn't really find it funny. "You risk your life every day while I write about best places to take a first date or what to do if you're faking orgasms with your boyfriend. You can't compare the two."

Marcus cocked an eyebrow as he hovered above you. "And do you have much experience faking orgasms?"

You felt your face flush. You knew he was just trying to distract you, but it was working. "Some."

He leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose, then each one of your eyelids before asking, "But not a moment ago?"

You shook your head and raked your fingers through his hair, making him growl at the sensation of your nails across his scalp. While he focused on positioning himself at your opening, you dragged your mouth over his shoulder, tongue dipping to trace over his scar. You couldn't do anything about them now except show them love, something you were realizing Marcus was desperately lacking in his life back home.

Home. The thought entered your brain right when he first pushed inside you, stealing the air from your lungs and bringing tears to your eyes. You did your best to brush it aside and focus on the present, like the way he stretched you open or the soft noise he made when he fully sheathed his heavy length deep within you.

"Fuck," you gasped, clawing at his shoulders while you tried to get your bearings.

He released a groan so guttural and deep it had you squeezing around him. Your mouth found a home on his neck as he slowly began to rock his hips, your lips and teeth leaving temporary marks over his skin to join the scars. Every kiss was slow, every touch was attentive and it was hard to stop yourself from giving into him.

"You - oh," he moaned, eyes sliding shut as he lost himself in the moment. It might have been the first time you'd seen him ever falter, and the thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. "You are so soft and beautiful," he mumbled before finding your mouth once again and plunging his tongue past your teeth. "I fear it is almost too much for me to bear," he confessed between kisses.

Marcus was unlike any man you had ever met in so many ways. His vulnerability staggered you. Most men you had known would consider it weak or embarrassing to speak the way he spoke, but Marcus managed to do it without sacrificing an ounce of his raw masculinity.

His broad shoulders and thick arms caged you in, giving you a feeling of safety and security you never felt before with another person. It was always you who had to be strong, who had to figure everything out and be responsible. And for once, with Marcus, it felt like you could let go and not have to worry.

Your body relaxed beneath him, legs spreading even wider to accommodate his powerful thrusts. He pulled an arm out from underneath you to press down on your thigh, pushing it into the mattress next to you in order to open your hips up even more. Then he leaned up just a fraction so he could grind his hips against you with his new found space, drawing a shaky moan from your throat when he came in contact with your clit.

Marcus paid attention. He took note of what you liked, what made you writhe and gasp and he teased you with it until you were begging him for more. He couldn't deny you, so he gave you what you asked. When you whined for him to go faster, he did. When you begged him to touch you, he did. He gave you everything you asked for until your legs trembled and your breath quickened and you were tossing your head back into your pillow, his name on your lips as you fell apart for him.

Then you gazed up at him, eyes smoldering, your lips swollen and parted and looking more beautiful and satisfied than he ever could imagine. Pulling him down to you by the back of his neck, you whispered his name in his ear and he shuddered, his hips faltering for a moment all because of one simple word from your lips.

"Marcus," you whispered again, mouth sucking a bruise into his neck. "Are you going to come for me?"

"Yes," he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he neared his peak. A lazy smile spread across your face, body still flooding with pleasure as he fucked you a little harder seeking his own.

His hand fell to your side, pulling you closer, rolling your hips in rhythm with his, and with his teeth bared and eyes flashing with hunger, he came with a broken groan that sent a shiver down your spine. You gasped at the feeling of him emptying himself inside you, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy. His mouth crashed over yours with your eyes still closed. Your tongues danced together, first with lust, then once your heart rates slowed and your skin stopped tingling, with something more. Something like longing and desperation to hold onto the moment as long as you possibly could.

You both spent a little too long sharing tender kisses and gentle touches. For once, the world around you ceased to make noise and the only thing that mattered was what to order for dinner so you didn't have to leave your bed the rest of the night. You picked Mediterranean food and spent the hour after it was delivered discussing how it compared to the food he was used to, neither of you daring to mention the elephant in the room.

You curled up into his side, his arm draped around you, his back leaning against your headboard as you watched a romantic comedy together. Just as you were explaining the plot and how you had used the movie as inspiration for an article the year prior, a breakthrough was happening in Queens.

The volume on your phone was off and neither of you were paying attention to it lighting up on your nightstand, too busy ignoring the movie in favor of fusing your lips together again with your limbs slowly tangling together under the covers to notice the text come through.

Danny: staying in Queens for the night, we're on a roll. The mighty General shall be out of your hair b4 you know it.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Duck on a String III

Jessie Fleming x Child!Reader

Summary: The team meet your duck

Mama lets you bring your red wagon to training today because you don't want Sir Quackers to be alone at home.

He's got a big cage to keep him safe with lots of blankets and water and food for him and you get to pull him along in your wagon.

You knighted him last night while you and Mama were playing kings and queens so now he's Sir Quackers instead of just Quackers and you love him very much.

Jessie doesn't want your duck being left alone in the house either. He's proven to be a bit of a menace by himself if the chewed-up boxes of cereal are anything to go by.

No.

He's much safer in his cage while he's still too small for the harness and leash Jessie's ordered for when he's older.

"Mama," You say," Will the others like Sir Quackers?"

You seem completely enamoured with him and, despite the fact that the duck seems to think he rules the house, Jessie loves him too.

"They'll love him," She assures you, fondly pushing your hair out of your face as you both approach the doors," Make sure you tell Magda just how thankful you are about her getting Quackers for you."

"Sir Quackers, Mama," You remind her," We knighted him."

"Oh, you're right. Sir Quackers. Sorry, duckie."

"That's okay! He's still getting used to his name too!"

Your proud entrance gets a bit hampered by the fact that your wagon gets caught at a strange angle so Jessie has to help you get it through the doorway.

By that point, the whole room has fallen silent and Magda has grown incredibly pale as you approach her.

"Thank you for my duck, Uncle Magda!"

Pernille scoffs next to her, muttering sarcastically," A dead egg, huh, Magda?"

"Er...You're the welcome," Magda manages to get out after a long bout of silence.

"His name is Sir Quackers!" You tell her, grabbing her by the hand and dragging her through the small crowd that has surrounded your wagon," Because ducks say quack and Mama and me knighted him. So he's Sir Quackers and not just Quackers."

"A duck, huh?" Erin snickers and Jessie buries her face in her hands, Niamh rubbing her shoulders.

"She was very excited."

"Do you know how to take care of the duck?"

"The vet sent us home with an information pack. Duckie's insiting we read it as her bedtime story every night."

"That's sweet," Niamh offers up," It shows she's taking this seriously."

"She keeps trying to sneak out of bed to play with him. I've had to move the duck into my room to make sure I catch her."

Erin can't stop snickering and soon Sam and Guro are laughing too.

"Is it that bad?" Niamh asks and Jessie has to begrudgingly shake her head.

She watches as you hold Magda hostage by your side, very excitedly waffling on about how cool Sir Quackers is and how he's your bestest friend in the world.

Magda looks unbelievably nervous, eyes wide as Pernille stares daggers at her. She ducks her head down to focus on you again, hoping that by showing interest, she can avoid whatever lecture Pernille's already planning in her head.

"Do you want to hold him?" You ask and Magda freeze, throat suddenly going dry.

"W-What?"

"Do you want to hold Sir Quackers?"

"Erm..."

"Are you scared, uncle Magda? That's okay! I'll hold him and you can stroke him!"

You show no fear as you pick Sir Quackers up and offer him to Magda to pet.

"I'm sorry about her," Pernille says, watching from a distance as she slides next to Jessie," She assured me it was dead."

"It's fine," Jessie assures her," I think it's nice Duckie has a friend now."

"Magda will willingly babysit them both."

"I can't ask that."

"You don't need to ask," Pernille says," It's what's going to happen. Magda can supervise duck play."

They both turn in sync to see Magda really awkwardly stroking Sir Quackers as he tries to eat her finger.

"Mama!" You say, looking at Jessie proudly," He is giving uncle Magda kisses!"

[fraugwinska]

Hi! Hello! 🥰 first of all - big fan, of all your works, from angst through fluff to smut.

I have an idea for a potentially sweet oneshot:

Reader wants to make an album/photobook of all the residents of the hotel but of course Alastor is avoiding it since she's using her phone for it. She quickly notices and sets on a journey to get an old camera and when Alastor asks her why does she care so much about him being in the album, she without hesitation tells him that it's because he's a part of this family and she cares about him. :)

♡ thanks ♡

Heya my lovely ♡ I think we all need some fluff today, and your ask was perfect for it! Thank you so much for your patience and your prompt! I hope after all this wait this tickles your fancy ;> (2.3k words)

"Frank, no, the other left. A little more... Okay, yes, perfect! Now say 'Cheese'!"

The little eggs threw their hands in the air with enthusiastic vigor, chanting everything but 'Cheese' and you had to steady the hand holding your phone to snap their picture while you supressed a giggle. The little buggers sure did look as energetic in the photos as they were while taking them. You laughed as they stormed over to you, climbing over each other to look at the picture and promised them they'd all get a copy before you returned to your room.

You flopped on your bed and looked over your phone gallery - almost everyone in the hotel was in it. Some pictures were little snapshots you secretly took when nobody was looking. Those were your favorite ones: Angel and Husk laughing at the bar, Charlie and her dad, Lucifer, deep in conversation with a flustered looking Vaggie, Pentious and his Egg Bois playing cards. A selfie with Niffty made you smile, her petrified, empty-staring eye next to your smiling face. You had printed out the best of them, carefully working on putting together a thick, handmade photo album.

Taking photos was a passion you brought with you from your previous life - it made your heart all fuzzy and warm to capture precious moments, finding beauty in almost anyone and everything, if the angle was right and the light wasn't too harsh. With your phones' advanced camera app, that wasn't really a problem and most of the residents didn't mind being the object of your lense, Angel in particular was more than eager to get his picture taken. You accumulated so many portraits and body-shots of him, you could fill a whole album just with those alone. Charlie loved taking selfies with you, pulling anyone near her on their shoulders into the frame (mostly Vaggie, since she seldom left her girlfriends side). Husk had been hesitant at first, but after a while, he just grinned and showed off a tad more when you took photos of him mixing drinks - twirling bottles and winking into the camera with a sly smile. Seeing your work, even Lucifer himself agreed to a few goofy snapshots with his beloved ducks, joking that you would have made a killer advertisement worker with your way with a camera as well as your encouraging words. They, however, failed you with Alastor.

Usually content in your company, he, in an instant, was nowhere to be found whenever you snuck out your phone to secretly take a shot, and you could swear, there were times when you were sure he was actually avoiding you. And you didn't like that at all.

You liked him. He was handsome, of course, but also witty and quick with words, and his laugh was contagious, his smile a delight when it was not murderous, and his jokes (though a bit corny sometimes) were always on point and often had you giggling for minutes. You desperately wished you could capture him when he drinks his morning coffee, an image so sophisticated it made the aesthete in you cry, or immortalize the way he casually leaned on his cane when he was pretending to listen to Charlie's newest plans for group activities on film. Yet, you couldn't even so much as reach for the case of your phone before his eyes snapped to you, and he found excuses to escape you once again. It didn't take you long to catch on that his sentient shadow companion was the snitch, watching you and warning him if it sensed your intentions, the damn thing.

So one day, when you were both alone in the kitchen, him stirring the stew he was preparing for dinner and you, cutting apples for the apple-crumble as dessert, you outright asked him if he would take a photo with you.

"HA! No, I don't care for this frivolous digital tomfoolery, dear." the Radio Demon said simply, his shadow sneering at your disappointed expression, and that had been that. And even though you wanted to respect his wish, it felt like something major was missing when you flipped through the pages of the book, seeing the faces of everyone within the hotel except for his. Incomplete.

'And to hell if I can't do something about that!' you thought as you stubbornly turned off your phone and left it on your dresser, determined to go out and find an old fashioned analogue camera. Maybe, with a little luck and another cautious effort of yours, you could convince Alastor after all if the picture was a physical, tangible piece of paper instead of some abstract pixels on a screen.

On to the streets you went, enjoying the strange but picturesque scenery Hell provided. It's colors, shapes, people you walked by. Your keen eyes automatically looked for nice backgrounds and motifs you could maybe capture, and you also were a little excited to return to analogue photography. As convenient and simple as your phone's camera was, the difference in experience was immense. There was a special kind of magic around capturing moments with an old, clunky thing and developing the films yourself you just couldn't artificially replace.

The Voxtech store was a bust from the beginning. Of course, you already suspected that hell's equivalent to Apple probably wouldn't sell anything older than the 'V-Phone 34.2', but to be outright laughed at had been uncalled for. "Analogue camera? You must be shitting me, girl." the clerk said, not even bothering to turn his head from the TV behind the counter to acknowledge you. "Nobody uses that outdated shit-tech anymore."

You left the store in a bad mood and with the strong urge to flip off the guy through the window, but settled for kicking the dumb grinning cardboard cutout of the store's flatscreen-faced namesake, advertising for the 'V-Phone 55.1' instead. Smug piece of shit.

Your search continued through the streets, but with every store you visited - offbrand electronic stores, thrift shops, even a sketchy looking flea market - your hope dwindled. No one seemed to have a single analog camera to sell, and your options ran thinner by the seconds. Feeling defeated, you finally decided to return to the hotel when a store caught your eye. The wonky wooden store sign just said 'Old Crap', displaying a black pentagram globe, a medieval looking longsword under a big porcelain crane and a cathedral radio on a pedestal in the shop window. With a last spark of hope, you entered the shop, ready to give your last penny if needed if they had what you were looking for.

You ran the whole way back home, cheeks flushed and with hell's biggest grin on your face.

The bag on your shoulder bounced and swayed with every step, the newly acquired Polaroid 100 in it's pocket knocking heavily against your hip, and you clutched the small, paper parcel with the packfilm to your chest like a treasure.

"I did it! I found one!", you shouted into the lobby when you entered, immediately catching the attention of a surprised Alastor standing in front of the lobby's fireplace. "Where have you been? You missed dinner, dear." he asked, eyeing you curiously as you ran over to him.

"Out. I don't really know, and it doesn't matter, because look, Alastor, LOOK!" you repeated, almost jumping up and down on the spot as you rummaged through your bag, and his smile faltered a bit as he tried to make sense of your erratic babbling.

"Easy now...What are you going on about, darling?" he asked, confused, and you proudly pulled the camera out, presenting it to him like you found the holy grail.

"See? It's an analogue camera! The only one in hell, apparently, since I spent the whole day combing the entire goddamn city for it.", you explained, and the deer demon's eyes widened at the sight of the vintage gadget. He hesitantly reached out to touch the camera, carefully brushing the tarnished silver metal frame with his fingertips. His brows furrowed as he eyed the device in your hands, and he looked as if he wanted to say something, but you were too excited, cutting him off before he could speak.

"I thought maybe this would be a good compromise, you know, to get a photo of you without it being digital, since you really don't like that! I've never used one like this before, though, but the seller told me how it works! It's easy, really. You put in the film..." You did what you said with nimble fingers, almost shaking with anticipation whilst Alastor just watched you silently, his hands folded behind his back and a curious tilt of his head. "… then you pull the tab here, and it's ready to use! Like this!"

You pointed it at the fireplace, making sure the Alastor could see that you didn't direct it at him as to not spook him away before you really convinced him, and pressed the shutter, the proud smile still on your face.

With a long whining squeak, the whole thing fell apart in your hands, and you stared in horror as the pieces of what once was your camera clattered through your fingers to the ground and tiny screws rolled in different directions. You didn't move a muscle. You didn't even breathe. All that had transpired in the span of the last few seconds was too much for you to process, and you were on edge of tears as your face fell. The initial shock was quickly replaced with despair, and the welled up tears finally fell from your eyes. You felt incredibly stupid. How could you be so naive to think that was a good idea, when clearly, the whole goddamn universe was telling you otherwise?

Alastor's ears flicked when the first quiet sniffle broke the silence, and he glanced over at you. "I don't suppose it was meant to do that?"

You didn't say anything, just shook your head, trying to hide the wet streaks on your face. Alastor patted your hair lightly in an attempt to console you.

"Mh I see... it's a pity, really. I hope you didn't invest too much in that old thing, sweetheart."

You laughed humorlessly. "Only my savings."

The hand on your head froze still. "You surely mean part of it, right dear?"

"All of it."

He looked at the pile of loose leather and broken metal, then back at you. "All of... Why would you do such a foolish thing, darling?"

The question hit you harder than the door had slammed shut behind you when you stormed out of the Voxtech store earlier today. You shrugged.

"I just thought... I guess I just really wanted to get a picture of you." you confessed, wiping your face. It sounded so silly, when said out loud. "It's so nice, to have everyone I came to love in my album, like a family. And I felt like you were the only one kind of... left out, and I just..."

You had trouble explaining to Alastor exactly what was the motivation behind your thoughtless purchase - it all came together so naturally inside your head, but now that you tried to convey it out loud, your reasoning felt childish and embarrassingly naive. You lowered your head, tears blurring your sight, when a hand softly brushed over your cheek. You looked up at him, startled, as the back of his hand brushed away stray tears.

"Your heart was really set on this, wasn't it?"

His voice was gentle and soft as he spoke, and you could swear his eyes had a weird gleam when you barely nodded. You felt your cheeks blush and attempted to turn your head to avert your eyes, but he suddenly pulled you into his side, his face pressed against yours as with the flick of a wrist, an old folding camera appeared in his hand that he held, lens pointing at the both of you.

"Smile, my dear."

A poof and a flash later, and he held a developed photograph in his fingers, handing it to you with a smile much more genuine than you've ever seen. "There you go. I hope this'll do."

The picture was crisp and in stunning, vibrant colors, and you couldn't tear your eyes from the way his red irises seemed to come alive and the how it perfectly captured the pink hue on your cheeks, face flustered and yet oddly beautiful next to his own gleeful, picture perfect face.

"It's perfect." you breathed out, pressing the picture to your chest as tears, this time ones of gratitude and something warm and entirely unknown to you, threatened to spill over again. Alastor tutted at the wet sound, his long fingers tenderly wiping them away before they could fall.

"There, there. No more tears now."

You nodded, unable to lift your head as the feeling of his touch lingered on your cheek and you shyly looked away, hands still firm on the photo and over your racing heart. He cleared his throat and brought a fist to his mouth in a quick not-cough, and from the corners of your eye you thought you saw the faint traces of a blush on his face before it was already gone.

"Come now, there's still dinner left to be had, dear, and I am very interested to know who sold you this..." he picked up a piece of the shattered device from the floor and held it between his thumb and his index finger, the expression in his red eyes unreadable, and there was a certain intensity to his gaze you couldn't interpret, but it certainly made your heart race a little faster. "faulty device. I fear he and I need to have a little word."

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #9

CH9. Simmer | The Menu 18+ [6K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

“We’re gonna be late.” 

Your voice wasn’t much more than a high keen, a breathy thing that you managed to squeak out between Eddie’s kisses. You were at an awkward angle - not that you cared - leaning over the stick shift in the boy’s van to meet his lips. It was early, almost eight in the morning, your work day ready to start in only a few minutes. You weren’t even in uniform, not yet, still in a pair of worn jeans and one of Eddie’s stolen sweaters. 

September had crept in without you knowing, the heat leaving town with every new morning. The skies were still blue, an endless stretch of it, the clouds still big and white. But the suffocating warmth gave way to cooler mornings and colder nights, the sun dipping behind the diner by seven in the evening and leaving the tables in navy shadows. It was nicer. It gave you an excuse to curl into Eddie on the nights you shared a bed. 

Not that you needed one. 

“What do you mean we?” Eddie laughed, the noise vibrating against your throat, his mouth pushed there in an affectionate kiss. He nosed at the skin along your jaw, stretched over the centre console so he could sneak a hand underneath the maroon sweater, fingers grazing your ribs. “I’m not workin’ until tonight.”

You whined at the reminder, a needy, frustrated noise because even though Eddie had spent the night at your apartment, you still hadn’t had your fill. It had been weeks of seeing each other - dating - letting the boy take you out like he’d promised, dinners and movies and walks and late night conversations that bled into sleepovers that were filled with kisses and tangled legs, shared pillows and new pieces of information about the boy that you collected like jewels. 

Eddie Munson liked sleeping with the window open no matter what the weather. 

Every Saturday morning, before the sun had really risen, Eddie drove to the next town over to a place called Duck’s Farm and bought all the fresh produce he could from a man called Mr Duffy. They shared a coffee and swapped recipes under the shade of the apple trees. 

There were seven cats in the trailer park that Eddie fed every evening on his porch. Sushi, Mochi, Ramen, Cheeseburger, Toast, Nacho and Lasagna. Tiny plates full of kibble and leftover chicken beside a bowl of water and Eddie didn’t close the door until each cat had had their full and curled against his legs before hopping off into the night.  

Eddie liked to press kisses to your cheek when you least expected. Awfully sweet things, making your throat thick with fondness, sticky in affection. He’d dot them over your skin, across the apple of your cheeks and towards your temple, one on your forehead when your head lay next to his on his pillow. 

Eddie had an awful habit of insisting on driving you to work even when he had a day off or a chance to lie in, but then loved to make you late by pulling you into a soft kiss that turned into a make out session in the front of his van.  

Eddie Munson made you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush, an agonising thing that took up every waking thought. 

It was lovely. 

You hadn’t done more than kiss, albeit heated, all encompassing, hot and messy in the cradle of his lap, pressed against your apartment walls, the side of his van after work. But that’s as far as it had gone, for now. 

For now. 

“You’re awful,” you pretended to complain, titling your chin up so Eddie could kiss down your throat. “Leaving me all alone.”

The boy hummed, mouthing along your jaw until you were squirming, his big hand squeezed between the tops of your thighs as you pressed your legs around his fingers. “I know, m’the worst.” Another kiss, to the corner of your mouth. He still tasted like your toothpaste, the coffee you’d poured for him in your mug with the little fried eggs on it. “I’ll see you later, though. Bring you in something sweet, if that’ll keep me in the good books.”

You wanted to beam, you wanted to squeal. You wanted to scrabble into the boy’s lap and bury your face in the crook of his neck so he couldn’t see the effect he had on you. “You don’t have to,” is what you murmured instead. “It’s your afternoon off.”

Eddie nipped at your jaw, teeth grazing and making you jump. “I know I don’t have to,” he whispered back. He smoothed his love bite with a kiss. “But I wanna, that okay?”

You nodded, shy even after spending the night tucked into his side, his shirt in lieu of pyjamas, his sweater keeping you warm now. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

“Good,” Eddie grinned, smile matching yours although his seemed brighter, more lovely. “I’ll see you soon, don’t get any prettier, alright?”

You flushed hot and rolled your eyes to hide the way he’d got you flustered, gathering your bag as you opened the van door, leaning over to meet Eddie halfway. You hummed when his hand cupped your cheek, bringing you in for the fortieth kiss that morning, or at least there abouts. A longing thing, full of flirt and affection and built up tension. Then two short ones, lingering when you didn’t have time to, dots of Eddie’s lips on each cheek and then he was letting you go. 

“Have a good day, sweetheart.”

You wanted to pout and tell him you couldn’t possibly without him, but that seemed a little pathetic even for your standards. So you smiled and told him to do the same, your bag heavy against your side, packed with your uniform and a flask of tomato and basil soup eddie had made the night before, complaining with a smile about how your knives weren’t sharp enough, your pots too small for his big hands. 

—————

You were tying your apron when Chrissy caught you coming out the staff room, Eddie’s sweater swapped for your dress and you missed the smell of his cologne almost immediately. 

“Was that Eddie? Dropping you off?” Chrissy asked sweetly. Her hair was down today, curly and she smelled like lavender. “That’s sweet.”

You didn’t trust yourself to talk around the girl, not even now, too worried your voice would come out too small, too weak, cracking down the middle with anxiety. For what reason, you weren’t really sure, but if you thought about it hard enough, the image of Chrissy lounging over Eddie’s workstation was still stuck in your head even weeks later.  

“Mmm,” you hummed instead, smiling tightly as you both walked out through the kitchen and into the diner. 

It was a quiet day, the lunch service was slow and Steve was talking to a girl in a summer camp T-shirt in the corner booth, grinning at her with pink cheeks and bright eyes. Jonathan was whistling along to the radio, scooping fresh beans into the coffee machine with one hand as he played hacky sack with Argyle through the kitchen hatch with the other. 

It wasn’t until you were placing new cutlery on a recently cleaned table that you realised the girl was still lingering. Bubblegum snapping against peach tinted lips, Chrissy appraised you with a tilt of her head. “So, what’s Eddie doing today?”

“What?” You didn’t mean to sound so defensive, so snappy. But Chrissy sounded so sure and so confident with Eddie’s name in her mouth and it set your teeth on edge. “Uh, I’m, I’m not sure?”

“You’re not?” Chrissy pouted and pulled on a strawberry blonde curl. “You mean, you don’t know what your boyfriend is doing today?”

You placed the fork down a little too hard, the metal clattering against the table top, your chest a little too tight. 

Chrissy leaned in, dainty fingers straightening it up for you. “He is your boyfriend, right?”

You didn’t know the answer to that. Eddie had called you his girl, a public declaration for sure, but since that day there hadn’t been anymore talk about relationship statuses. And between the sleepovers and dates and kisses and the rides to work, you hadn’t worried about it, didn't doubt it. But now, with Chrissy staring at you with an expectant smile on her lips, question after question came back. Insecurity flooded your head, your chest, your thoughts. Had you read too much into it? Was Eddie looking for something serious? 

You thought back to Eddie’s words, what he liked to call you, hands on your hips, in your hair, lips on yours. Pretty girl, sweet girl, shy girl. And ‘my girl,’ you couldn’t forget that one. But the absence of the world ‘girlfriend’ seemed more apparent than ever in your relationship. 

“I, uh— yeah? Yes.” You sounded so much more confident than you felt but the regret stabbed you sharp as soon as you let the words leave your lips. 

Chrissy’s mouth curled up but it didn’t seem like a smile, not a particularly friendly one anyway. “Yes, he’s your boyfriend? Or yes, you don’t know what he’s doing today?” 

You blinked, heat rising up your neck in a way that felt familiar. It felt like panic, like being tricked and trapped and suddenly you wished you could turn on your heel and scramble for the safety of the kitchen, the safety of Eddie’s arms. But for now, the walk-in might just have to do. 

“Um. Uh, both?” 

You didn’t hang around for more questioning. No, you dropped the cutlery and breezed past Mr Creel, ignoring the way he scowled at you over the rim of his coffee mug. And when you skittered into the kitchen, Argyle was dicing chicken and Steve was dumping empty plates into the sink. Both boys looked up as you burst in, surprised at your sudden appearance but you held your breath and smiled tightly before heading straight for the walk-in. 

“Is everything oka—?” The door snapped shut before Steve could finish his sentence, but he reckoned that as long as you came out before your fingertips were blue, it wasn’t a concern. 

That’s how the rest of the shift went, the afternoon clinging onto the last of the sunlight as it faded into evening and you tried your best to avoid Chrissy for the most part. You waited on the few tables that filled, had some of Eddie’s soup and talked to Argyle over the sizzle of grilled chicken, disappearing into the walk-in whenever Chrissy said something that made your heart stutter and stop. 

“I can’t wait for Eddie to come in, think he’ll make me some of his ramen?”

“Oh my god, did Eddie tell you about the time there was a storm? The power went out and he drove across town to get me home safe, isn’t he such a sweetheart?”

 “How long have you and Eddie been official? Did he buy you a present? Did he ask you in a super cute way?”

So by the time the boy did appear for his shift, a whole six hours after he’d dropped you off, your fingertips were numb and you couldn’t feel your feet. But you lit up at the sight of him through the kitchen hatch, scribbling down Mr and Mrs Adele’s order in a messier scrawl than normal as you watched Eddie button up his chef whites over the shirt you’d watched him pull on that morning. 

You tried not to skip your way into the kitchen and honestly, you couldn’t even let the fact that Chrissy was already lingering pull down your mood. You put through your order before sliding up to the boy, smiling as he grinned at the sight of you, his hands busy tying back his curls but he still ducked his face down to yours, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“Thought I told you that you weren’t allowed to get any prettier?” He scowled, dramatic and grumpy and lovely all at once. 

You wrinkled your nose at him, knowing fine well you had a collection of stains on the front of your apron and your hair wasn’t anywhere as neat as it had been the last time you saw him. “You’re a liar, Eddie Munson,” was all you could say, cheeks warm enough to make you forget about your cold hands. 

“I’m ain’t no such thing,” he murmured as he tucked a dish towel into his own apron. He didn’t even seem to notice Steve swanning into the kitchen, snorting at the sight of you both. “Y’had a good day?”

You hummed, noncommittal, too aware of the other girl who was pretending to look at the pantry shelves. So you shrugged and nodded at the same time, giving into your urges and letting yourself lean against the boy, your head against his chest. 

“You just missed me, huh?” Eddie whispered against the shell of your ear, all faux conspiracy and your skin prickled at the feel of his lips against you. 

That question gained another hum as an answer, but this one was much warmer, softer, much more agreeable. “You could say that,” you whispered back. 

The question was on the tip of your tongue, an awkward one for the workplace, sure, and you didn’t dare ask it with an audience but the not knowing ate away at a piece of your heart. And surely you couldn’t survive that. Right?

What are we? Are you mine? I know I’m yours. Do you want me? Can I have you? Can we do this? Please, let’s do this. 

Eddie must’ve sensed your mood, your apprehension, because he pulled back enough so he could see your face, one big hand cupping your chin so he could guide it upwards until your eyes met his. That grumpy face came into view, that lovely, pretty, frowning expression you’d come to understand so well. It meant he was worried, it meant he was concerned. It meant that he cared. 

“You okay?” 

You nodded after a beat of hesitation, smiling enough that your eyes crinkled in the corners. 

“You had food?”

You nodded again, heart aching as your hands reached out almost as if you couldn’t stop them, sliding around his sides and clinging to his clean chef jacket. 

“You gonna come hang out w’me after dinner rush?”

Your hands weren’t cold anymore and although you couldn’t see it, you heard the swing of the door as Chrissy left.  “Yeah,” you finally spoke. “Yes please.”

—————

Jim’s emptied out after eight o’clock. No one in Hawkins seemed to crave any burgers or shakes on a Tuesday night and that was okay with you. Steve’s shift had long ended, Chrissy was getting ready to hang up her apron at nine o’clock and hand over to Nancy. But when Argyle turned off the last grill, Eddie looked out the hatch at the empty tables, he turned to Nancy and told her to take the night off. 

She’d raised a pointed brow, suspicious. “Will you take me off the timesheet?”

Eddie scoffed, “no.”

“Will you tell Jim?”

“You callin’ me a snitch, Wheeler?”

So Nancy took the night off, the diner stayed empty, the neon light above the bar flickered and you and Eddie were alone. 

It was tempting to lock the door, but the roads and the parking lot were quiet, lit by old street lights, the air turning cooler now the sun was gone. You watched Eddie pull out a mixing bowl, the radio playing a song you didn’t know, perched on the countertop with your apron in a crushed heap beside you. You swung your legs to the beat as you watched him, eyes curious as he dumped heaps of flour, brown sugar and cinnamon into the bowl. 

Butter and eggs, huge chunks of chocolate and fudge. 

“What’re you making?” You asked, smiling warmly as Eddie grinned and sauntered over to you, leftover chocolate between his fingers. 

Eddie hummed, nudging at your knees with his hips until you spread them for him, cheeks warm as the hem of your dress slid up a little. He stood close, curls pulled loose, a chunk of sweetness between his finger and thumb. He lifted it to your mouth, brushing at your lips, his eyes tracking the movement the whole time. 

You were sure you heard him breathe out a little heavier than before when you parted them for him, lips grazing his fingertips, tongue barely touching as you took the piece of chocolate. Eddie didn’t say anything when you bit into it, milky, sweet, rich. With nothing to hold, his hands fell to your thighs, palms warm and strong as they gripped you tighter than expected. You watched the boy swallow, throat bobbing and his gaze still on your mouth. 

“Cookies,” he murmured distractedly. “Was gonna make cookies.”

“Going to—?”

Eddie leaned in without much preamble, catching your lips in a kiss you almost didn’t expect. It wasn’t the soft, gentle kind you had been used to, the coaxing type that he always began with. This was a kiss that reminded you of the night in the trailer, the night with grilled cheeses and distractions. He was on you fast, desperate and you met him with just as much eagerness. 

You gasped into his mouth, lips parting immediately, sighing when his tongue licked over yours. It was easy for your hands to wind into his hair, nails scraping nicely over his scalp, making him groan and pull you closer to the edge of the counter. His hands were already wandering, a needy touch, fingertips skating upupup under your dress, skimming over the elastic edge of your underwear and suddenly all the kisses you’d shared weren’t nearly enough anymore. 

Maybe it was insecurity, maybe it was possessiveness. Maybe it was just the way Eddie was kissing you, but suddenly you needed all of him, all at once. 

“Eddie,” you sighed his name, gave it to him on a breath and it tasted like chocolate, sweet and sugary and you. It made his expression crumple, his hands pulling you closer still, fingers digging into the dough of your ass and suddenly you were flush enough against him that you could wrap your legs around his hips. “I— I just—”

The boy nodded like you knew, even if you weren’t sure what you were asking for yourself. So he let you throw yourself back at him, lips pressed almost clumsily to his, teeth clacking before your nose bumped his and you tilted your head just the right way. Eddie made pretty noises for you, hands roaming up to your hips, trapped between the cheap material of your dress and bare skin. Fingers gripped at your underwear, tugging just enough for the cotton to peel away from you. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Eddie gasped, breath taken from him, sounding wrecked. He pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, chest heaving. “Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t— we should… stop…”

The rejection stung for just a second, maybe two, but you watched Eddie’s gaze fall back to your mouth and he didn’t take his hand away from your bare legs. You shook your head, lips parted and glossy from his kisses, your nose nudging up against his as you leaned in again, needy, wanting. 

“Please don’t,” you murmured and Eddie thought it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.  

“Should be takin’ you to a bed,” Eddie told you, stern sounding but he was kissing across your jaw, dotting his lips over your chin, the apple of your cheek. 

You whined, not agreeing or disagreeing, but you tugged at Eddie’s curls all the same, coaxing Eddie back into a kiss and it was heated, it was longing, it was teeth and tongues and everything you weren’t supposed to be doing in the workplace.  

“Should be takin’ my time with you,” Eddie groaned, sucking marks into your neck, palming at your ass and hissing when you rocked yourself against him, trying to gain some friction to ease the throb between your thighs. “Should be stripping you down and getting you in my sheets.”

The idea of it made you keen but Eddie was popping the top buttons of your dress and nosing at the collar, pushing it out of his way so he could see the swell of your breasts and kissing at your shoulder over your bra strap. “You need to tell me to stop, sweetheart, or—”

“Nonono,” you told him, “don’t wanna stop. Don’t need a bed, don’t need— Eddie, I just want you, please.” You sounded as shy as you did desperate, cheeks warm, eyes heavy with need, squirming on top of the metal station as you tried to keep yourself together. 

“Hey, hey, don’t ever gotta say please for me, ‘kay?” Eddie’s brows knitted together, hands leaving your legs just to cup your cheeks. His thumbs smoothed over your cheeks, pressing sweetly into them until you nodded. “Gotta be quick though, yeah? M’gonna take my time with you later, promise, baby.”

You nodded as you both spared a glance at the empty diner. Luckily, the hatch was at an angle where no one would see much if they happened to walk through the door, but Hawkins seemed to be asleep and the night was just for you and Eddie. 

“Hold onto me,” Eddie ordered and he sounded gruff, voice heavy with emotion, with want and you watched his lashes flutter when you did as were told, looping your arms around his neck. It helped you lift your hips for him, made it all the easier for the boy to hook his fingers into the sides of your underwear and pull. “Atta girl, there you go.”

He pocketed the cotton and lace, glancing back at the door one more time and the radio changed, static interrupting the station before a new song kicked in, a familiar voice crooning through the speakers. 

“Well, here I am, my honey. C’mon, you cry to me.”

No time was wasted when Eddie pulled your legs apart, thumbs sweeping at the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, a soothing touch that only made you burn worse, the heat from the summer coming creeping back into the autumn night, the kitchen burning, a simmer under your skin. You reached up, searching, looking for a kiss but Eddie shook his head, curls falling into his eyes and the softest of smiles on his lips. 

“Wanna watch, yeah? Can I do that?” He asked, a hand sweeping from your neck to your chest, fingers played over your sternum, sneaking into the open buttons until they flirted with the lace edge of your bra and he could push you back a little. You leaned onto the palms of your hands, stretched out for him, waiting, breath held. “You’re so pretty. Prettiest girl, my shy girl, huh? So good for me.”

Eddie spoke quietly, praise mixing with the music and you keened, eyes shuttering closed as his thumb swept softly over your folds, barely parting you, just letting you get used to his touch. If he’d had more time, if he’d had you in his bed, he would’ve kissed his way from ankle to hip bone, pressed kisses and marks into your skin until you looked like a painting. But for now, he watched your face crumple and scrunch when his thumb pushed in and found your clit, wet and slick for him, your mouth falling open in a quiet moan as he rubbed small circles. 

“Good?” He asked and it wasn’t cocky, it wasn’t dirty, it was an earnest question. Teach me, it said. Help me make it good for you, show me what you like. “Like that, sweetheart? Or harder?”

You gasped, nodding your head and trying to keep your gaze locked on Eddie’s. He moved his hand perfectly, pace steady and his touch gentle, before it built a little, pressing a little firmer and your toes curled. “Like that,” you whimpered, voice cracking. “Just like that, Eddie.”

“Good girl,” Eddie told you, his free hand sweeping up your ribs, fingers dancing over the buttons he didn’t dare undo. Not here. Not yet. Not like this. He leaned over you, dotting kisses where he could reach. Your cheek, your nose. “You’re so good for me, baby. So fuckin’ cute, you know that? Those noises? Gonna knock me dead, sweetheart, Christ.”

You made that noise, a gasping, breathy thing as Eddie slid a finger into you, a slow, tight stretch that had you spreading your legs for him again and this went against so many health code violations it wasn’t even funny, but you were past caring. Nothing else mattered except the way Eddie was looking at you and how he crooked his finger just right.

“I need you,” you told him, a hot whisper, an almost cry and you leaned back into him, tugging at his collar until he got the hint and kissed you something filthy, tongue licking over yours until your cunt got a little tighter around his knuckle. “Eddie, now, please.”

“Barely got you ready, babe,” Eddie panted, another finger joining the first and the stretch was delicious. The boy swore when you rocked your hips against his hand, pushing his own into your thigh so he could gain some friction on his aching cock. “Shit, shit, okay, fuck—”

“This isn’t what I had planned,” he rasped as he tore off his chef's jacket and let it bundle on the tiles. His hands were shaking as he popped the button on his jeans, the noise of his zipper quiet under the music. 

“Loneliness, loneliness, such a waste of time, woah, yeah…”

“Wanted to treat you right, wanted to take my time,” Eddie assured you again, but he groaned when your hands took over from his and you went searching under the band of his boxers. You found his cock, thick and hard, twitching at your touch. “Shit, sweetheart. Wanted to make you mine.”

There it was, the words that filled the hole in your chest. You were kicked into high gear, surging forward to press kisses to the boy’s neck, upupup until you were mouthing along his jaw, catching his lobe between your lips as you pumped your hand a little faster. Eddie clung to you, hips jerking as he rested his head heavy against the side of your own, his cheeks warm, his breath catching. 

“I am,” you told him. Your voice sounded watery, emotions caught between your teeth and tongue, your heart pounding so hard surely Eddie could hear it behind your bones. “Already am, okay? You’re mine right? That’s what this is?”

“Christ, yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie gasped, hands cradling your cheeks so he could kiss you, messy, distracted kisses that were broken up with groans and cries. “Thought you knew? Huh? You didn’t know that?”

You shrugged, half hearted because you were still too caught up in touching the boy, your fingers curled around his cock, revelling in how heavy it felt for you, how thick and hot and ready. “I wasn’t sure,” you admitted softly, teeth leaving marks on your bottom lip and you leaned in, forehead against Eddie’s as you watched him, transfixed, loving the way he was falling apart for you. 

Another gasp, Eddie’s jaw hanging open as you pumped him slowly, fingers getting tighter around him when you stroked over his tip. He was all pink cheeks and a wrinkled brow, his expression everything from pouty and flustered to completely gone. “Fuck, shit, slowdownpleasefuck— baby, you’ve had me since the day Wayne told me to drive you home. Made myself dumb over you,” he laughed, breathless. “Thought you knew you were my girl.”

“S’nice to hear it again, I guess,” you whispered and there it was, the thing you’d wanted. Reassurance. “Just felt… silly.”

Eddie pushed your hand away from him, soft, gentle, before he threw an uncaring glance over his shoulder at the empty diner and then pulled you in by the crooks of your knees. You let him hold you there, legs hitched around his hips and he pumped himself once, twice, before lining up his cock with your entrance, the tip of him brushing through your folds, slick and warm. 

“Gonna tell you all the time, ‘kay?” He whispered and he ducked his head down to yours, kissing you soft and sweet, his breath heavy against your cheek as you widened your legs, spreading open for him. “Jesus, sweetheart, alright? You ready?”

You nodded, mumbling your agreement against Eddie’s lips because your brain was too fuzzy to work properly. He was solid against you, holding your legs around his hips, broad shoulders under your hands and he smelled like brown sugar and chocolate, like smoke and your laundry detergent. You tensed, just a little when he pushed in, blinking at him when he paused and swept a thumb over your cheek. 

“Babe?”

“S’just been a while,” you admitted. “Keep going? Please?”

This wasn’t the quickie you both needed to have for the situation but the doors stayed closed and there hadn’t been any headlights from the road bouncing along the diner walls in an age. The evening was fading into night fast, a late night hour that usually stayed dead, the diners neon signs lighting up the tiles and the empty parking lot and the only thing that made a noise was the radio. 

“I’ll go slow, I promise,” Eddie assured you and he held you close as he pushed in, your body giving way to him and you gasped at the stretch, the heavy pressure of him filling you up until you were biting down at his shoulder and trying not to groan too loud. “There you go, baby, that’s it, you good?”

Eddie was panting, the breath punched from him at the feeling of you tight around him, clenching down on his cock until he felt his vision go a little sparkly. You were too much, looking at him with those big, glassy eyes all while your cunt fluttered around him, lips parted, red and swollen because of him. 

“I’m good,” you whined, breathless. You squirmed, both of you moaning at the feeling and you nodded, hands fisting Eddie’s shirt. “You can move, it’s okay.”

“M’not gonna last long,” Eddie admitted, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he hooked his arms under your thighs and started to flex his hips. “It’s been a while for me too - fuck - and you feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”

It was a slow slide, in and out, in and out, Eddie’s hips meeting the cradle of yours, flush and warm and you were so wet, obscenely so, enough for the dirty sounds of the boy fucking you to fill the kitchen and suddenly gentle wasn’t what you needed anymore. A car drove past, lighting you both up in yellow-white light for just a second and the need to come now was too much. 

“Eddie, Eddie,” you cried for him, eyes wet with all the emotion, all the pent up tension you’d held on to for today and longer. “Faster, go faster—”

You didn’t need to repeat yourself. Eddie moaned, eyes fluttering as he pushed you back just a little, readjusting his grip on you until he was taking more of your weight than the table was. One arm under your knee, keeping you open for him, the other palming at your ass and he picked up the pace tenfold, pumping his hips into yours until his cock was pushing into a spot that had you keening high for him. 

“That’s it? Yeah? Right there, pretty girl?” He cooed, dipping down to kiss you, moaning filthy into your mouth as you got wetter still, the slick sounds filling the kitchen. “Touch yourself baby, touch your clit for me, that’s a girl, fu-uck—”

If someone had to have walked in then, you were you both would have had to leave town, never mind the job. One of your legs hanging off the from the table, muscles lax, dress hitched up around your thighs, your other leg bent of Eddie’s arm and held open so he could fuck into you, your ass barely perched on the edge of the table. Tits spilling out the top of your bra, one shoulder exposed, Eddie’s teeth marks on your skin and the chef himself was whispering dirty, sweet things to you, kissing at your cheeks, your chin, the corner of your mouth, his curls wild and the muscles in his arms flexing every time he held you still and thrust his hips into yours. 

“I’m close,” you told him, eyes watering at the white hot pleasure of it, crying out when the hook in your tummy got tighter and tighter, your fingers swirling messily over your clit as Eddie watched and groaned, his skin slapping against yours. 

“Yeah?” He asked and his voice was wrecked, his gaze heavy lidded and dark. He was a pretty picture, pink cheeked and a damp forehead, his curls clinging there, bottom lip pressed between his teeth. “Want me to tell you again, hmm? Tell you that I’m yours? That I’m all fucking yours, sweetheart? ‘Cause god, I am, I really am.”

He punctuated each word with a thrust, groaning every time his cock slid into you a little deeper, coming back out glistening, soaked. His words did magical things to you, breath hitching and back arching as you came, forehead falling lax against Eddie’s cheek before he nosed at your jaw and trapped you in a kiss, his thrusts stuttering as your cunt clenched down on him again and again and again—

He pulled out, almost too close, pumping himself over your thigh, cum dripping onto your skin and Eddie groaned into your mouth, letting you swallow down his moans as you petted over his cheeks, his hair, coaxing him through it with soft sounds. 

When you both caught your breath, you were both messy, hair everywhere, uniform askew, sweat dotting your brows. But the bowl of cookie mix had fallen to the floor without you noticing, a sludge across the tiles along with a dropped bag of flour. The radio was still playing, there was a spatula and three whisks on the ground and the worktop you were sitting on had made a crack in the tiles behind you. 

You laughed first, a soft, breathy thing that Eddie joined in on, smothering his joy with a kiss to your cheek, a happy, smacking thing against your skin that made you feel warm all over. 

“Need’t clean you up,” Eddie murmured sweetly. “Then this place, Jesus.”

You hummed, too lazy, too relaxed to talk. So you let Eddie swipe at your thighs with a dish towel he then shoved at the bottom of the bin, grinning the whole time. You helped him sweep up the mess with shaky legs, mourning the loss of your cookies as he laughed, eyes brighter than they should’ve been for the late night hour. 

And when you were perched on your stool at his station, sharing a plate of fries, Eddie reached out to brush away a crumb from your lip and said:

“I guess I should’ve asked you, huh?” He squinted at you, cheeks flushed, a little embarrassed. “So, uh, not too sound like we’re in middle school or anything, but you wanna do this properly? Be my girlfriend? God, I sound like a dumba—”

You cut him off with a laugh, a happy, bright thing and nodded, stealing his insult with a kiss as you nodded, murmuring yes against his lips. 

[ihatemakingusernames]

Here he was again, the big, fat, wobbling tub of lard approaching my coffee shop for the third time this week... It's Wednesday, he's here every day.

Though we do this every morning, I couldn't help but get excited by how wheezy he sounded as he approached the counter. Little beads of sweat were gathering on his forehead as he desperately tried to calm his embarrassingly loud breathing.

"The usual?" I asked, knowing his order by heart. He nodded his assent, still trying to catch his breath.

I prepared a large iced coffee, with heavy cream and extra caramel - fantasizing yet again about pouring in a caramel boost as well. I tossed a buttery chocolate croissant, two heavy, rich, cheese danishes, and two warm bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches into a bag for him. Feeling flirtatious, I also tossed in a fresh chocolate chip cookie as well - on the house.

I handed the coffee and the very full bag over to him. I could see his plump face light up when he saw the cookie on top.

"Thanks, Audrey!" He said.

I smiled and winked at him. "Anything for my best customer!"

As I watched him waddle away, I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like shoving each delicious bite into his greedy mouth.

The rest of the day wore on until about an hour before closing time. The shop was slow and I was busying myself wiping countertops and packing up the leftover baked goods - I usually donated whatever was left at the end of the day, I hated seeing good food go to waste - but then I was greeted by a familiar huffing and puffing.

"Oh? Back again are we?" I asked, "I've only ever had the pleasure of seeing you once a day!"

"Audrey," he said through wheezing breaths "I just wanted to thank you for your kindness. Those extra goodies you've been adding to my order have really been delicious, but," he ducked his head to hide his blushing cheeks, "I'm going to have to cut back." "I've been starting to notice that I've put on a few pounds and if you keep giving me all the extras I can't help but eat them!" He placed a hand gently on his bulbous gut for emphasis.

I could feel my cheeks flush and a familiar heat of arousal warm my body. "I'm not sure what you mean, if anything you look like you've lost weight!" I lied.

"Oh come on, Audrey," he chuckled. "If you had given me any more free food, I'd almost think you wanted to see me fatter!"

I blushed even harder, if I wanted him to know my true intentions... And take any shot of fulfilling my fantasies... This was it.

"I do want to make you fatter." I muttered almost under my breath.

He cocked his head at me. "You what?"

It was now or never. "I do want to make you fatter," I repeated, a little louder. "I love seeing how much bigger you get week by week... It's kind of... Sexy."

"Y-you do??" He stammered in disbelief.

"I really do," I admitted. "I know it sounds strange but I take pride in the weight I've put on you." I dared to reach out and touch the fat belly I've been daydreaming about for ages. "It looks good on you."

He relaxed at my touch and said "I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a crush on the cute barista at the coffee shop, little did I know all I'd have to do to impress her was eat!"

I started moving my hands across his enormous gut, feeling every pound I'd put on it. With a crooked smile, I teasingly raised an eyebrow, "Well, you could always eat a little more?"

"I have been feeling a bit hungry," he said "I wonder if there's anywhere with a few good pastries?"

I jumped up to lock the door and close the blinds. "I think I can help with that!"

I had already packed four full bags of leftover pastries, I picked them up and brought them to a small table. "Here, sit," I commanded.

He did as he was told and sat down. The small bistro chair creaked beneath him, he seemed a bit apprehensive resting his full weight down, but that only served to make me hornier. I picked up two huge, glazed apple fritters and sat atop the table. He looked up at me as I pressed one to his mouth. He took a small, delicate bite.

"Really? You're going to tell me you've packed on this much weight taking such little bites?" I teased.

He smiled and began to eat with gusto. I had stuffed about a bag and a half of food into him before he leaned back in his chair and groaned. "Ugh, Audrey, I am stuffed! I don't know how much more I can..."

*CRACK*

The chair snapped beneath him and he spilled onto the ground.

"Oh my God, are you okay!?" I rushed to his side and he just started laughing, it took all my strength to help him heave himself off the ground. He said, "had I known how badly you wanted to feed me, I would have asked you to dinner months ago!"

I chuckled. "Well there's no time like the present, is there?"

"You want to go to dinner? Now??" He asked, glancing down at his stuffed gut and looking around at the mess.

"I thought you'd never ask!" I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the door. The mess could wait, but I couldn't wait any longer.

[lovebugism]

“oh, if i had known that’s all it would take for you to shut up i would’ve done this ages ag-“ “only finish that sentence if you have a death wish” with steve & punchy? <3

ty for requesting :D — steve makes a stupid joke and figures out what makes you tick (steve x punchy, hurt/comfort-ish, 0.9k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

The argument started as a joke. And honestly, you kinda started it, so you have no reason to be as angry about it as you are now. You’re the one who said you hated Steve’s singing. It was only right he argued playfully back.

“What are you talking about?” he scoffed as he climbed into bed beside you, freshly showered and smelling like your shampoo. “My singing is amazing.”

“Okay, Kermit the Frog,” you quipped, giggling.

“You know who’d like my singing?”

Your eyes narrow when he cuddles into your side. “Who?”

“Tammy Thompson,” he answered with a knowing smile.

He should’ve known he was playing with fire then.

“The girl who sounds like Miss Piggy?”

“Yeah,” Steve hummed, shrugged two freckled shoulders. “Maybe I should be dating her instead.”

You knew he was joking. Steve was a dumbass, but he wasn’t mean. He’d never say something like that with the intent to hurt you. He did anyway, though. His words take you by surprise, and you go silent. And that’s when Steve knows he’s said the wrong thing. Because his oh, so lovely loudmouth Punchy is never silent.

“I’m kidding!” he exclaims when you turn away from him. You cross your arms over your chest and shift softly on the mattress — playfully pouty in your way but meaning every bit of it. “Punchy. C’mon. You know I didn’t mean that.”

He reaches out for you and wraps a golden arm around your shoulder. You shrug, flinching away from him. “Don’t touch me,” you murmur, even though you don’t really mean it. ‘Cause, yeah, you’re a little upset, but you love when he coddles you.

You’re grateful when he only hugs you tighter.

“Why not?” he argues and leans in to kiss your cheek. His plush lips just barely graze your jaw before you duck away from him. He laughs loud in your ear, as golden as honey.

“It’s not funny. Steve! That wasn’t nice!”

“Don’t be like that, babe. It was just a stupid joke.”

You turn your chin to your shoulder to glare at him, just so he can see your unamused pout from head-on. He meets your glower with a grin and tries to peck you. You turn away before he can. “Go kiss Tammy Thompson.”

“Punchy…”

“Steve…” you say in the same low tone.

“If I wanted Tammy Thompson, I’d be with her.”

You know he’s trying to comfort you. He chose you because he wanted to be with you, and he didn’t choose Tammy because he didn’t want to be with Tammy. You know that’s what he means, but it sounds like King Steve is saying it.

“Oh, really?” you squint.

Steve shrugs. “Yeah. She was obsessed with me. You know that. Hell, everyone knew that.”

“Why? ‘Cause everyone was obsessed with you, King Steve?”

He figures you must be calling him that to hit a nerve. He’d hurt your feelings (even though he truly hadn’t meant to), and now you want to hurt his back. And it might’ve worked if the way you said it didn’t turn him on.

He likes you all riled up like this, he quickly realizes. Now he just wants to keep poking at you, make you that tiny bit more mad. So, with a very smug smile on his pink lips, he answers. “Yeah… Kinda.”

His plan works.

“Okay, news flash, just because you’re pretty and you have nice hair doesn’t make you less of an asshole, alright?” you argue without taking a single breath. “Actually, for a long time, you were the biggest asshole I had ever met— and sixteen-year-old me would be gagging if she knew I was in your bed right now.”

“Yeah?” he eggs on, pressing his lips to your warm shoulder where the neck of your too-big sweatshirt had fallen.

“Yeah, actually! I mean, you were boorish and vapid and totally incorrigible—”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” he mumbles against you and continues pressing little kisses to your warming skin.

“—And the fact that Tammy Thompson, let alone anybody, could’ve been obsessed with someone like you back then is totally…” His lips find your pulse point then, wet and sanguine. The words get jumbled up in your head, and you forget how to say them out loud.

You feel Steve’s mouth curl into a smirk against your neck. He knows he’s got you in the palm of his hand now. “Is totally what?” he teases, muffled into your skin.

“Shut up and keep kissing me,” you murmur.

He listens to you, because he always listens to you, but it’s hard to when he’s smiling so wide. His lips sprinkle up the length of your neck and over your jaw. He pulls away with a rosier, softly swollen mouth.

His smile is gentle and lopsided. “If I’d known that’s all it took to get you quiet, I would’ve done it forever a—”

You reach for him suddenly, splaying your palm over his mouth — pinky under his nose and thumb over his stubbly chin. Your eyes narrow. “Only finish that sentence if you have a death wish,” you mutter in a low, threatening tone. “Nod so I know you understand me.”

He nods into your hand.

“If you still want me to be your girlfriend tomorrow, only talk to tell me how much you love me and that you hate Tammy Thompson.”

You feel his smile widen beneath your palm. He nods again.

You pull your hand away. 

“Now kiss me.”

The fucker takes the breath from your lungs.

[femoso-seben]

Livestock AU

Where Cod characters are hybrids living on a farm -------------------

Price and Alejandro were raised together, as guardian livestock animals they were raised together. Alejandro is a Llama hybrid and is trained to attack dog-like creatures he guards over the sheep. When Gaz the young border collie Hybrid was introduced he had to work with a very aggressive Llama that didn’t like his dog shape.

Ghost is a Kangal, like Price but much bigger. Ghost comes from a puppy mill and has to fight to get food. Very quiet dog unless intimidating the coyotes and wolves. Ghost learns quickly and tends to be the most independent but always comes back to check in with his fellow livestock dogs.

Soap is a Great Pyrenees who generally do anything required of him, mostly looking after the ducks, ducks, and goose. Very playful and young still learning the ropes but very good at his job does sleep during the day since he needs to be active at night. If he sees an unattended egg left over night will eat it.

Lastly is Gaz a border collie and very good at his job if he finds anyone miss behaving (most Soap sometimes Roach) he will bite them near the next to correct that behavior.

Laswell and Roach are both Barn cat hybrids. Laswell usually does all the recon missions and gets the boys to then check things out if she finds something suspicious. Roach is a rescue dumpster cat who survives being poisoned a few times. Very rambunctious and follows the guardian dogs around. Ghost is very fond of the silent cat, you will find Roach sneaking bites of Ghost dog food.

Lastly only recently added is an Alpaca. Rudy is situated with the Goats and as their alarm system acts like a less aggressive Alejandro. Alejandro and Rudy do see each other as packmates as well as their individual herd.

Nik is an old police dog who retired as a family dog, and will help out once in awhile when the urge to work hits him.

The livestock guardians’ main rival is a pack of wolves led by Graves. His shadow is a large pack of wolves that tries the farm every once in a while.

Another group is a group of Coyotes led by Valeria. She has gotten a few Birds from Soap which really upsets him.

The farm is currently being invaded by rats Led by Makarov and Laswell is trying her damnest to hunt him down, he and his Konni group are aggravating the farmer.

The farmer decided to get a few more barn cats.

Reader is a small kitten from another farm with too many cats they and their two friends, Farah a brownish cat hybrid, and Alex a big sandy color cat are added. Turns out Alex is the son of Laswell one of her litters.

Reader is treated like an eyesore by the older guardians until they are old enough to train, learn, and join the workforce. Reader mostly wonders around seeing each group and how they work, and finding their spot to rest in. Makarov once scared them and got scolded by Price. -------

It stupid idea idk was inspired a little by @tacticalanklebiter3000 and @frogchiro and the Hybrid side of Cod community

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: a little festive mat fic! written fairly quickly and minimally edited, but i wanted to get something out for the holiday! not too much more to say except i hope you guys all have a wonderful holiday and i’ll be quiet for the rest of the year, writing and stockpiling fics lol

word count: 4.8k

tw: a little innuendo, nothing crazy

summary: after spending the day hanging out with the team, you have some news for mat

“The snow was a nice touch,” you grin at Holly Horvat. A light dusting of snow is falling outside, the grass in the Horvats’ backyard already white.

Holly laughs, “oh, you know me. I have a connect to make sure even the weather is perfect for our events.” She pours M&Ms into a few small ramekins that are going to be placed around the kitchen island and dining room table where the kids will be decorating gingerbread houses.

The house is bustling with people and noise and you can’t help but love it. You miss having huge family gatherings, ever since your parents moved off Long Island and down south. The rest of your family is scattered to the winds, so it’s nice to be folded into the big team family get togethers. Joining a group of women who love any excuse to throw a party has been one of the biggest benefits from your relationship with Mat.

Half a dozen kids run past you - you spot the Bailey boys and Brock’s two oldest kids in the group as they blur by - holding jackets and their sneakers. “Mini sticks is getting moved outside,” Noah grins as he breezes past you, swiping a handful of M&Ms from the little bowl.

“Stay warm,” you tease, watching him follow the kids out the back door. A parade of adult men follow him - Wahlly, Casey, Josh, Brock, and finally Mat, who stops to give your waist a little squeeze.

“Kiss for luck?” He asks, puckering his lips at you in a dramatic duck face. You giggle and plant one on him, pulling back before he can slip his tongue past your lips.

Mat leans slightly against you, his face a little flushed already from the twenty minutes of mini sticks that’s been going on in the basement. “What do you need luck for?” You ask, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Jacky’s got a wicked wrister,” Mat grins, referring to Casey’s oldest, “and no idea how to aim. Do you know how many pucks to the head I’ve dodged?”

A snort of laughter makes Mat’s lips turn down in a frown. “Oh, I guess you just don’t care about my health,” he sighs dramatically, pulling away from your side. “It’s fine. I’ll take a slap shot to the head and then you’ll see how much you miss my charming personality.”

“Dramatics,” you murmur affectionately, hooking your fingers in his belt loops. “He’s five and you guys use a Nerf ball. I think you’ll live.”

“Maaaat!” Jack comes barreling through the room and crashes into your fiancé’s legs. “C’mon! Everybody’s outside.” The little boy looks adorable in his puffer coat, a little beanie pulled haphazardly over his blonde hair. He wrinkles his face up at Mat in an impatient frown and you can’t help but egg him on.

���Yeah, Mat,” you prod him in the side, looking innocent, “everyone’s outside already.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but grins down at Jack and swoops him into his arms, making Jack shriek with laughter. You prop your chin in the palm of your hand and watch Mat tickle Jack’s belly while he carries him outside. Jack’s little sneakered feet are kicking in the air, narrowly avoiding Mat’s head.

“He’s really good with the kids,” Kristy Cizikas comments, coming into the kitchen with baby Cole propped on her hip.

You scrunch up your face at Cole to make him laugh, “it’s because he’s a big kid himself, right Coley? Huh? Is Matty a big kid?” You giggle at your own baby talk and warmth blooms in your chest when you’re rewarded with a gummy baby smile. “Ooh, you make cute babies,” you tell Kristy.

She shakes her head affectionately, “I swear, they’re all Casey. It’s like my genes didn’t even try.”

“Hey, in like six months you and Mat can start catching up to the rest of us,” Sydney Martin teases, easily passing Alice to you when you reach out for the one-year-old. Alice immediately grabs a chunk of your hair and you wince, untangling chubby fingers from the strands.

You hum noncommittally as you work. “We’ll see what happens,” you shrug. “Might be nice to just be the two of us for a bit.”

“But don’t you want that all the time?” Syd laughs, gesturing to you now that Alice’s fingers are hooked in your mouth. You pretend to nibble on them, making her shriek with laughter. She finishes helping Holly set out the candy, knowing the rest of the kids will start wandering their way into the kitchen.

“One day, definitely,” you nod, settling Alice more securely on your lap, one arm looped around her stomach. The little girl slaps her palms happily on the countertop and you giggle, resting your chin on her head. “No rush though.”

As you settle at the table with the kids, the other guys trail in and out of the backyard, the noise of mini sticks floating inside.

You get to be in charge of Alice during decorating, sitting in between Syd with Winnie and Ashlee with Luca while the kids decorate their pre-made houses. You squirt a line of frosting onto the roof and Alice uses her little pincer grip to place M&Ms on the line. “Oh, good job,” you tell her in a bright, encouraging voice. She rewards you with a half melted piece of candy smushed against your cheek.

“Mommy,” Winnie’s little voice pipes up, “Ali’s makin’ a mess.”

“So are you, Win,” Sydney laughs, wiping up a smudge of frosting off of Winnie’s sweater. “Everyone is going to make a little bit of a mess and that’s okay.”

From your spot at the island, you can see right out the back door and you watch the mini sticks tournament that’s happening. Kids versus adults and honestly, it looks like the adults are having a rough go of it. Mat’s on the ground, a pile of children fighting him. Whally has Cal’s oldest on his shoulders and you honestly wonder how that ended up happening. Sticks have been discarded and the Nerf pucks are strewn around. You watch Casey pull Jack out of the pile on top of Mat, his little arms and legs kicking. From the ground, Mat jokingly sticks his tongue out at Jack and you shake your head. Of course he has beef with a five-year-old.

Bo and Gunnar join the fun outside and Mat slaps the little boy’s hand in a high-five. Your stomach swoops a little. It’s always such a turn-on when Mat interacts with kids, but it’s a little different now.

Alice pats your hand and grumbles a little. “Whoops, sorry, Al,” you squeeze more frosting onto the house for her to decorate.

“Distracted?” Ashlee asks, pulling Luca’s frosting covered hand away from his hair. She wipes his fingers off with a napkin and gives him a pretzel to stick onto his little house. She pops another pretzel into her own mouth.

You hum. “Just making sure he’s not being totally steamrolled by a pack of kids,” you laugh lightly. While Alice works on the roof of her house, you put a few Starburts in place to act as a little pathway going to the door.

In the backyard, Mat stands up, Mack and Wyatt Bailey hanging from each arm. He shakes them gently and you can see both boys’ heads fall back with wild laughter. Meg looks up from where she’s helping Blake with a pattern of Smarties on her roof. “Honestly, if he wasn’t busy with, you know, his actual job,” she laughs, “I’d hire him as a babysitter. The kids loved when he lived with us.”

The entire kitchen of women laugh when the back door slides open and Mat steps back inside, shaking melted snow from his short hair. He stops and looks up, scanning the room full of laughing women. “What?” He asks, eyebrows drawn together. “I interrupt something? Want me to leave so you ladies can keep talking about me?” He laughs brightly, flashing his teeth.

“You can stay,” you offer generously, tilting your head up as he passes for a kiss. Mat’s hand is freezing when it cups your jaw and you flinch a little. He mumbles a ‘sorry’ against your lips before kissing them. When he pulls away, to a soundtrack of ‘awww’s from the women and a joking ‘get a room’ from Sydney, you continue, “but you have to take orders from toddlers, if you do.”

“Like I’m not already doing that,” he laughs, swiping a thumb over your cheekbone and sucking it into his mouth. “Frosting,” he explains, smirking. Your cheeks flush.

Winnie stands up on her chair and leans into you, poking at your cheek with her fingers. “Red, I wanna be red!” She bounces a little and looks over at Mat who scrunches up his whole face at her and tickles her sides, making her shriek with laughter and flop back into Sydney’s arms.

Sydney laughs and tickles Winnie’s side, “girlfriend, you’re collecting boyfriends around here like they’re Pokémon cards.”

Satisfied by the chaos he caused, Mat backs into the hallway, explaining, “I was sent to get more jackets and gloves and sh-stuff,” he course-corrects before letting the curse slip. “It’s freezing out there.”

He’s gone, rummaging through the massive hall closet, before reappearing wearing his own coat and holding an armful of the other guys’ outerwear.

“Who’s winning?” Holly teases, while you all watch Mat struggle to pull a beanie on without dropping anything. He fails spectacularly and gives up when he realizes that everything’s slowly falling to the floor.

Mat scoffs. “The kids, obviously. They’re unhinged,” he grins widely and you can tell he’s having a blast. There’s a chorus of his name being shouted from outside and Mat scoops up the dropped outerwear before dashing off to rejoin the fun.

Sydney leans in and nudges your side gently. “He’s going to be a great dad,” she whispers, smiling knowingly.

You chew at the inside of your cheek and manage a barely convincing smile. “One day, definitely,” you reply, holding an Oreo for Alice to chew at.

She shoots you a little side eyed look and you studiously ignore her, focusing on telling Reese Cizikas how great her house looks. Things start to get messy - well, messier - after a while and the kids get antsy until they’re turned loose from the table to run off around the house. While you clean up the candy, the guys come back inside with the older kids and you can’t help but laugh at how the three youngest men, including your fiancé, have kids hanging off of them.

“If you kids let go of the guys,” Holly says warmly, “I’ll pass around some hot chocolate.”

It’s a mad scramble for the kids to abandon Mat, Noah, and Oliver - and they actually look mildly offended when the kids just toss their jackets back at them in their dash for hot chocolate. You take some of the gear from Mat and lean up on your toes to kiss his cheek, “don’t look so sad, you can have another play date with your friends soon.”

“Menace,” Mat grins, reaching around to pinch at your ass.

“I’ll text Kristy,” you giggle, continuing the joke, “Jack can come over and beat you at mini sticks again.”

“I’m gonna toss your phone into the ocean,” Mat deadpans.

You lower your voice and lean closer to him to whisper, “how will I send all those pictures you like?”

“You can keep the phone,” Mat replies immediately and you laugh, tugging at the open edges of his jacket. He pulls you close and you wrap one arm around his waist, his body warm even though his hands and face are cold. You bury your face in his chest and stifle a yawn. Mat’s hand is warming your back where he rubs it up and down your spine. “Still feeling gross after that bug?”

“Not gross,” you tilt your head to look up at him, still cuddled against his chest, “just tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“We can head home, if you want,” Mat offers, but you shake your head again. You like it when the whole group is together and you want to keep enjoying the time with your friends.

You pull back slightly from Mat’s arms, his hands still resting on your back. “I just need a little bit of sugar and I’ll be good to go,” you smile at him. His eyes twinkle before he leans down and plants a smacking, dramatic kiss on your lips.

“Good to go?” He teases when he pulls back.

“Not that kind of sugar,” you giggle, delighted by him always.

“You guys are disgustingly cute,” Ashlee says, breaking into the Mat Barzal bubble that you’ve been enveloped in for the last few minutes. You startle a little and some of the other wives laugh.

“Oh god, she forgot we’re even here,” Sydney shakes her head, an exaggerated frown on her lips.

Meg smirks, “thank god we interrupted them before it went too far.”

Your cheeks are warm from the teasing and Mat just turns on the charm, grinning widely at his teammates’ wives. “It’s all part of the Barzal charm,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“What charm?” Bo chirps, coming into the kitchen with Tulsa on his hip. “All you’re good at is league mandated iPad time.”

“Don’t forget all the time he spends sitting on his ass on the ice,” Noah grins wickedly.

“Tell us,” Casey asks you, “is it part of his charm when he messes up common sayings?”

You giggle, sucking your lips into your mouth when Mat glares down at you.

“You guys suck,” Mat flips them off, immediately apologizing when he realizes some of the kids are still in the room. “Sorry, Holly, Meg.”

They waive off his apologies, sending him into the den with a tray of snacks for the kids. They’re watching a movie, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer if the familiar music is to be believed, and you know half the dads are also in the den, napping on the couches. Mat disappears for a while too and you leave him to the movie, knowing he’s exhausted. You get to hang out with the girls for a few more hours, interspersed with hugs and drawings from Gunnar and Winnie, before the party starts to break up.

Everyone’s gone slowly and then all at once, and you and Mat are walking the three blocks towards your house. He bumps your hip with his as you walk, his fingers laced with yours. “You coming to the game tomorrow?” He asks, getting a sense of what the week ahead will look like.

“Mhm,” you hum, “I’m going to go with Syd, so I’m not sure if I’ll end up staying the whole game. So make sure you do all the good stuff in the first.”

Mat bumps your hip again and you laugh, the sound echoing in the cold air. “I save all my best stuff for you,” he retorts, unlocking the front door and letting you step inside before him. He winks at you, his entire face scrunching up in his terrible attempt.

You scoff at him and flip the switches to turn on the Christmas lights, bathing the whole house in the warm glow of multi-colored string lights. You sigh happily, loving the over the top decorations you’d insisted on and the way the entire house smells like pine and cinnamon from diffusers and candles left open but unlit. Mat crowds your space and kisses the back of your neck.

“Couch time?” He mumbles against your skin.

“Couch time,” you agree, muffling another yawn.

You race to the bedroom, changing out of your clothes as quick as possible to get into comfy sweats and sweatshirts. Mat tosses a pillow at your face to distract you, but you swat it out of the air, nearly getting your foot stuck in the leg of your sweats.

“You like when I’m a weighted blanket,” Mat says, voice muffled by the sweatshirt he’s pulling over his head. “Why are you racing me to be on top?”

You don’t waste time pulling on your sweatshirt in the room and instead dart back out to the hallway and skip down the stairs, flopping onto the couch in just your sweats, completely topless. Mat’s hot on your heels and grumbles when he sees you yanking the fabric over your head. Smugly, you reply, “I don’t wanna be squished today. I want to use you as a body pillow.”

He submits to his fate and flops down onto the couch, oversized enough that the two of you could lay side by side and be comfortable, and opens his arms for you to crawl onto his chest. The both of you love the soft pressure of the other person laying on top of them so you’ve had to come up with a contest over the course of your relationship - first person on the couch gets to be on top. More often than not, you end up sprawled over Mat since it’s an easy way to transition into couch sex.

Now, you’re so tired you definitely will be keeping all of your clothes on. But you hum happily when you settle on top of him, your knees tucked nicely against either side of his hips, straddling his lap. When you curl up against his chest, your lower back stretches pleasantly and you wiggle a little, wrapping your arms around his torso and tucking your head under his chin. Mat’s arms wrap around you, one hand covering the back of your head so his fingertips can stroke against the shell of your ear.

He pulls the decorative blanket off the back of the couch with his other hand and arranges it over your bodies, making sure his feet stick out on the end so he doesn’t overheat. “You good?” He asks, his jaw bumping against the top of your head when he speaks. You nod against him and close your eyes, settling into his warmth. Mat turns on the TV, flipping it to ESPN before letting his hand rest low on the curve of your back, fingers grazing the top of your ass.

Mat’s heart beats steadily under your cheek and his hand is warm where it rests on your head. Couch time is exactly what you needed today. Your eyelids flutter shut every so often and you must fall asleep for a little nap because the next thing you know, it’s darker outside and Mat is running his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Hey,” he whispers and you lift your head to look at him blearily, momentarily confused.

“Hi,” you mumble sleepily, brushing your nose against his chin. “What time’s it?”

“Just after 4:30,” he replies and now the TV’s playing a rerun of The Office. He chuckles at a joke and rubs his fingertips against your scalp in a little massage. “You’ve been out for like forty-five minutes and I would’ve let you sleep, but I’m starving.”

Your heart skips a beat and you’re fully awake now. “Oh, same,” you say casually, rolling off of Mat and tucking yourself against his side. “I actually would love a piece of that gingerbread house that I ordered.”

“Gingerbread house?” Mat raises an eyebrow. “When’d you get that?”

“It was delivered the other day,” you explain. “I wanted something cute for our first engaged Christmas.”

Mat sits up, taking you with him and you wiggle around so you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing him. “I totally forgot to show it to you,” you shrug, proud of yourself for being so normal. “But why don’t you go take a look and bring me back a piece?”

“Yeah, okay,” Mat shrugs, scratching your scalp once before getting up. “Dessert before dinner usually means eating you out, but gingerbread is cool too.”

He says it so casually that you don’t really process what he says until he’s already in the kitchen. You bounce up on your knees to look at him over the back of the couch, yelping his name when it finally sinks in. He’s laughing as he pulls the new box down from where it’s been sitting on top of the fridge. “Took you long enough,” he laughs, popping the top of the white cardboard. “That nap really must’ve taken it out of you.”

You scowl at him but don’t reply, anxiously waiting to see his reaction to the gingerbread house. He pulls it out of the box and his lips quirk up in a little smile. “It’s cute,” he says, looking at the house, professionally decorated. “Way better than the ones the kids made today.”

A laugh works its way out of your mouth as he studies it, taking in the details. “Huh,” he mutters, more to himself than anything else, “three people. Must’ve read your order wrong, Squeaks.”

“Oh?” You breathe. “There were supposed to be me and you…” You trail off.

“Yeah, they’re here,” Mat reads the little names iced onto the gingerbread people. “There’s you and Mat and…” he falters, squinting at the third figure, bringing it closer to his face, “Baby B?”

He looks over at you, forehead creased and eyebrows drawn together over his nose. “Baby B?” He repeats the question and you smile carefully at him, hand sliding across the back of the couch so your fingertips rest on your stomach.

“Baby B,” you confirm shakily. Tears well at your lower lash line and you watch Mat for his reaction.

He blinks at you, eyes darting between your face, your stomach, and the gingerbread figure held in his hand. “Wait? Seriously?” He sounds dazed and you can’t blame him. You were freaked out when you took the test a week and a half ago. It’s been the hardest secret you’ve ever had to keep. “You’re…there’s a baby?” His eyes are wide and his jaw hangs open a little.

You nod. “It’s, um, been hanging out for like six-ish, seven weeks,” you whisper, flattening your hand over your stomach. Mat’s eyes track your movement and he exhales a shaky breath.

Mat breathes your name and crosses the room in a few large strides. He cups your cheeks in his hands and studies your face, wiping at the tears that drip from your eyes. “Hey, c’mon, why’re you crying?” He asks, panic edging his tone.

“I know it’s earlier than we planned,” you shrug, “I’m going to be insanely pregnant at the wedding. We won’t get to be, like, newlyweds at all and the honeymoon’s going to have to change or be cancelled altogether.” You ramble on, all of your stress releasing in run-on sentences. You already love the baby, but getting pregnant before the wedding definitely wasn’t the plan.

Mat chuckles a little and you realize it sounds a little watery, like he’s trying to hold back his own emotion. “We’ll figure it out,” he says gently, squatting down so he’s closer to your eye level. “I’m gonna be a dad?”

“Yeah,” you confirm again. “Are you freaking out? Because I’m freaking out.”

“I’m definitely freaking out,” Mat confirms on a hysterical little laugh. His fingers tremble a little against your cheeks. “But it’s a good thing, right? Like, we’re gonna make the coolest babies.”

You nod. “They’re going to have amazing hair,” you giggle wetly.

Mat leans forward to kiss you softly, tasting the tears on your lips. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, quietly breathing with you. “That, uh, wasn’t a stomach bug last week, was it?”

“No,” you shake your head against his. “I’ve had some pretty aggressive mid-morning sickness this past week.”

“How the hell did I miss that?” He asks and it’s mostly rhetorical because Mat is not the most observant of men on a good day, let alone during a week and a half period where they’re playing a game every other day.

You lean back and tap at your stomach with your fingers, “baby’s already pretty good about not inconveniencing you. It was bad after you’d already left for practice.”

“I kind of can’t believe our baby’s in there,” Mat says, looking down at your stomach. His hands fall to the back of the couch and his fingers twitch, like he wants to reach out and touch you, but he doesn’t.

“Me either,” you admit. “And I’ve had a week to get used to the idea.”

“Shit, Squeaks,” he shakes his head again, a little smile playing on his lips, “a baby. We’re gonna be in charge of a real baby.”

Your answering laugh is a little hysterical. You’re obviously not the first of your friends to have a baby, but it feels insane that you’re here, especially before the wedding. Your parents are going to be so annoyed. “Good thing we have friends who know what they’re doing,” you murmur, covering Mat’s hands with yours and lacing your fingers together. You look at your joined fingers and your heart lurches in your chest. Quietly, you ask him, “we’re going to be good at this, right?”

“Hell if I know,” Mat admits. You frown at him - that was less than reassuring, but at least he’s honest. He jolts a little, his eyebrows lifting into his hairline, and you cock your head at him in a silent question. “I realized,” he says, a little sheepishly, “that I never said I was happy about this, but I am. I’m excited, scared as shit, but excited.”

“Me too,” you let loose a relieved laugh. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear Mat say he was happy about the baby. It’s been a weight on your shoulders ever since that positive pink line appeared on the test. “Um, there is one thing you could do for me right now though.”

Mat perks up and nods, “yeah, whatever you need, babe. You’re going to be so sick of me and how attentive I’ll be.”

You have no doubt about that, but for now - “can you get me a piece of that gingerbread? I’ve been craving it since the stupid thing was delivered yesterday.”

Mat laughs and stands up to retrieve the cookie, much to your delight. It’s been taunting you for more than twenty-four hours now and you nibble at the gingerbread version of yourself happily. Mat flops down onto the couch next to you and you tuck yourself up against his side. His hand absently runs up and down your arm, his eyes focused in the direction of the TV, but not actually paying attention.

You’re quiet at his side, knowing he needs to process the news. You were lucky in that you were alone when you found out so you could freak out without Mat seeing just how scared you were. Now that it’s been a week of knowing and Mat’s reaction wasn’t a total meltdown, you can relax a little, even start to get excited about having a little summer baby. Mat will get to spend time with you and the baby since you’re due in late August, by your admittedly shaky math.

Subconsciously, Mat’s hand wanders down your side, splaying on your waist, fingers stretching to cover part of your stomach. He rubs his thumb against your ribs and a little huff of disbelief leaves his throat. “Too bad you’re not due before the wedding,” he says, looking down at you with a little smile, “she could’ve been in the wedding, like Gracie at Bearsy’s wedding.”

Your throat clogs with emotion, thinking of your baby being at the wedding, and you bury your face in Mat’s side so he can’t see how tears well up in your eyes again. “You can’t say cute shit like that to me right now,” you mumble, “my hormones are in overdrive.”

Mat pulls you onto his lap so you’re straddling his thighs. He kisses the corner of your mouth and you sigh, resting your arms on his shoulders. “Let me know when I can start saying cute shit,” his grin is shit-eating, “because I just realized that there’s a chance we could put the baby in the Cup this summer.”

“Gotta win it first,” you counter, teasing him. He rolls his eyes and lets his hands drift over your stomach, broad palms covering the expanse of the still flat area.

“Got a new motivation now,” Mat replies and even though he still looks stunned, you can see how excited he’s getting about the baby.

You look down at where his hands cover your stomach and it’s all too easy to picture his hands holding a newborn baby with his eyes and your nose, a little shock of Mat’s dark hair on its head.

You can’t wait.

[theminecraftbee]

Vintagebeef and time loop?

The second-most annoying thing, he thinks, is that his crops just won't grow.

He's wanted to retire for a while now. Head out and live on a farm. Get some rest. Not have to worry about gunfire and business fronts and drugs and appearances and being in charge. He'd known he wouldn't be able to escape fully. Beef always knew he was on a timer, no matter how he tried to bury the hatchet and bury his past behind you. It always catches up.

He had a big name. He had a big life. He can't just retire from being head of Big Salmon, even if his loyal Skizzleman is the only person he told where he was going. One day, someone will catch up with him, and perhaps if he's lucky they'll turn his tractor into a car bomb. If he's unlucky, it'll be personal.

So in a lot of ways, really, the fact he keeps on waking up in the morning is a gift. It may be the same morning over and over again, sure, but he collects the eggs from his chickens, and he pats his dog, and he feeds his pigs, and he feels the sun shine on his face in a place that smells nothing like asphalt and fumes.

If his tomatoes would grow, it'd be nearly perfect, getting to wake up again and again in the sun like this. It's better than a man like him deserves, really. And it may be Wednesday, and Wednesday, and no tomorrows, but he didn't have himself much of a tomorrow anyway, and collecting the eggs from the chickens is nearly as good as harvesting the crops.

Quiet, and peaceful.

Or it should be. But see: the crops not growing are the second-most annoying thing.

The first most annoying is--

"HALLO! I have decided that this time, I am announcing I am here to assassinate you, ah? That way, you won't see it coming and manage to escape."

Beef groans and puts his head in his hands. A red dot appears on his temple.

"Don't try to run. You have a lovely home, of course, and I don't want to put holes in it. You've repaired those holes real fast, I have to say. You're a real hole expert. No, wait, that sounds terrible in English. Ah well, I'll just say it again."

It's him again.

"...hello? VintageBeef? I have been hired to kill you by your rivals? You aren't even moving. See, this is how you always get me. You do not move and I think I have killed you, then I come back in the morning and it is fixed! Very strange, very strange."

He hasn't realized it's a time loop. Somehow. Beef's tried to tell him. It's a little hard when he's busy being as annoying as possible, and ruining what would otherwise be the best chance for Beef to retire he's got.

"Well, okay, I guess I'll just pull the trigger. This is boring. You're boring, except for the part where you won't die. Hey, wait, maybe you can introduce me to your chickens instead? So next time I can bring you a totally safe chicken."

"Go away," Beef says.

"But I'm being paid so much money to kill you!" the famed assassin codenamed Iskall85 says. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"No!"

"But I've tried to do this so many ways!"

"Have you considered there's a reason it's not working?"

Iskall considers for a moment. "Naaaaah," he says, and Beef's instincts flare all at once. He dives to the ground as Iskall takes the shot. "Awww, no fair. I thought you were not moving."

"What do you want from me," Beef says.

"I mean, I feel like I've been pretty clear," Iskall says, and Beef doesn't say that he's not even asking Iskall at this point. He's asking the universe. He's asking this Wednesday. He's asking why this has happened to him.

The universe, of course, does not respond, and Beef ducks behind cover for yet another day of his peaceful time loop retirement being completely ruined.

[nomazee]

pry your way in

sebastian (sdv) x gn reader

word count: 4.7k (oh my god)

content: mutual pining, ROMANTIC TENSION, aggressive pining on the reader’s part, do they kiss or do they not, social anxiety (can u TELL), embarrassing situations, comedy (maybe) (hopefully) (maybe you’ll get a little giggle out of this and swing your feet around), so much build up, the slowest burn you could possibly get in under 5k words

notes: oh HEY guys so i went crazy again and i don’t think i’ve ever written so much in one sitting. this is insane. look at what this game has done to me. 

part 1 part 2 (you are here) part 3

<><><><><>

All you need to do is drop off these stupid eggs in Gus’s fridge. That’s it. In and out and then you can go home and pretend that you did not stare at Sebastian for almost an entire straight minute in the doorway of the saloon. 

He’s too busy playing pool, you think, and from the brief (many) glances you’ve taken at them, it looks like he’s pretty close to beating Sam. Your heart goes out to the blonde. One day, for sure, he’ll be able to get more than three balls in an entire game against Sebastian. 

The fridge door is open now. No one notices you except for Emily, who gives you a kind nod and a smile. You don’t know if you should be upset by the fact that no one really talks to you whenever you go to the saloon unless you talk first, or if you should be incredibly relieved. It’s leaning to the latter, because you don’t think you could handle being looked at right now especially by Sebastian because good god the jellyfish thing was so embarrassing and you really hope he’s forgotten about it because oh my god you actually almost puked all over his shoes and what is wrong with you and—

“Farmer!” Oh god. It’s a woman’s voice. It’s Abigail, and despite the fuzz in your mind you can tell by the timbre of her voice and the fact that the shout came from over by the pool table. You managed to get two eggs in the container in the fridge before being ousted. Good job. You hope Gus’ extreme ginormous 24-egg omelet is worth all of this. 

If you tried really hard, you could have played it off as if you didn't hear her at all. But then she’s walking over to you and you hear her footsteps and they’re light, friendly. Unfortunately, that does nothing to stop you from freezing up and feeling every individual cell in your body go taut.

Maybe she’s going to kill you, or something, because maybe you did actually puke all over Sebastian’s sneakers nights before this and your mind just blocked it out. Oh god. Well, this town was nice while it lasted. You hope they’ll bury you in a nice spot out of courtesy. 

Turning to face Abigail, you manage to give her a shaky sort of grin and wave. “Oh. Hey. I didn't know you were here.” You are such a liar. And a bad one, probably. 

“Yeah! Me and Sam and Sebastian.” You nod at that. A pause, and then, “Hey, are you busy tonight? We were wondering if you wanted to join us. We’re playing pool, but— um, it’s mainly just those two playing. They’ve got a rivalry going on.” 

She looks back at them and watches, amused, and you do the same for a moment. Sam is in the middle of making some big joke-y scene, throwing his head back and groaning and swatting at Sebastian while the other man just barely ducks away from his attacks. They’re laughing, and elbowing each other and you look away before either of them notice that you’re watching with the intensity of a wild deer. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Thank you. I don’t want to come if not everyone wants me to join.” 

“Everyone does,” Abigail tells you, and she’s really telling you. With purpose. There is something in her eyes. Something imploring and meaningful and her lips are quirking up in some pretty and teasing smile, and you’re wondering what’s so different about the way Pelican Town people are raised to make them carry so much weight in their eyes. So much weight that it makes you dizzy. And nauseous. And now maybe you’ll puke on Abigail’s shoes, instead.

“Okay.” It comes out as a whisper from your shaky mouth. She only smiles brighter at you. You register that you’re still behind Gus’s counter and there are drinks being shaken and poured just steps behind you. “Okay, I’ll be over in a second.” 

Great, she tells you, and then she’s turning around and walking away with a little jump and you might throw up because why did you agree to this? You did not plan on talking to people this evening. Not at all. And you’re wishing so hard that you had just dropped these eggs off in the morning. This is the type of stuff that happens when you don't just drop eggs off in the morning. Just your luck. 

You shake your head, as if maybe it’ll rattle your senses into being ready to spectate a pool game and talk with people for at least half an hour. And Sebastian. You don’t think you could handle the intensity of just sitting next to him. You might throw up again. All over the pool cues and the fuzzy cloth of the pool table. And maybe Sam’s shoes. Everyone’s shoes are getting thrown up on this week. 

Eventually, you make the walk out from the counter and consider just leaving through the door and telling Abigail later on that you just felt sick and needed to go home. It wouldn’t be a lie. You are a person of half-truths, most definitely. 

But you don’t, because you like Abigail and you want her to like you too. By the look of everything she’s done for you, you’re fairly certain that she does like you, or at least more-than-tolerates you, and you would like to keep it that way instead of burning down all of your Stardew Valley relationships in a slow, painful fire. (And okay, yes, maybe it’s a benefit that she’s friends with Sebastian. So what.) 

You blink. You’re in front of the three of them. Abigail and Sam are smiling at you and Sebastian is giving you a look. What is it with the people in this valley and their looks?! You have yet to be able to decode any of them. This is rough. So rough. You’re falling back into the uncomfortable feeling of otherness. Of just-barely-not-fitting. Like squeezing between a desk and a wall. Every other day you are walking through just fine, and the other days you are squeezing between this town and the people and everything you have yet to learn. 

You might puke. You’re not making it out of this saloon alive. 

“Hey, farmer!” Sam greets you, and your chest is struck with endearment over how everyone calls you farmer. Maybe it’s just because they forgot your name, but you can’t seem to mind it at all. “Are you joining us?” 

“Oh, just for a bit,” you tell him. You can’t help the smile that takes over your face, warmed and sheepish. “And then I should go. But I’m a big fan of watching you guys argue over pool. Really, it’s very captivating.” 

Abigail chortles, taking pleasure in the playful sarcasm you’ve adapted to. When Sam and Sebastian both follow suit in their own little laughs, your defensive habits slip away the slightest bit. And you can’t seem to find it in you to hold onto them. 

“Less of an argument and more of a…” Sebastian pauses with a teasing glance at his friend. Your heart stops for no reason other than you being stupid and in love, and it only chokes you up when he directs his stupid stupid pretty eyes right at you. “More of Sam being a sore loser. It’s an easy win on my part, really.” 

A snicker escapes you, undignified in how easily you let it out and how it threatens to reverberate against the walls of the game room. You’re holding onto yourself for dear life, trying to ground yourself in some attempt to maybe keep some of your dignity before it’s worn away through the course of the evening. 

But Sebastian has this prideful simper on his face and it’s like he’s happy to make you laugh. Maybe it’s the loving delusions running through your head. But you let yourself dream, just for a minute. 

Stupid boy. The urge to kiss him is slowly hurtling its way through your entire system, and it’s starting with your respiratory tract judging by the way you can’t seem to catch a breath. Stupid. Boy. 

“You can sit down, you know,” and he nods his head to the pair of chairs behind him. “Stay a while.” His eyes are filled with a stupid teasing glimmer and you might pull him aside just to kiss that expression right off his face. 

You won’t. Obviously. Because look at what happened last time you let your inhibitions run free. (Absolutely. Nothing.) 

Maybe I will, you want to say, stay a while. Maybe I’ll stay forever. 

You take a seat, and Sebastian is still leaning against the table with his pool cue in hand. He is looking at you, hesitant, with his mouth slightly open like he wants to say something. Before he can, Abigail interrupts. 

“Wait, let me take over for you!” She says, rushing forward to steal the cue from him. “I want to play! You guys, like, totally monopolize the table every time we’re here.” Abigail’s eyes flit to Sebastian, then to you, and she continues, “Next time, let’s just play the two of us. You and me, farmer.” 

There’s another big, stupid smile stretching your face taut and you hope none of them notice your cracked, drying lips. They’re peeling open from how much you’re grinning tonight and how much you’re not moisturizing them. “Of course.” 

Sebastian is left with nothing in his hands once Abigail turns to aim her cue and hit the white ball (poorly) in an attempt to keep up Sebastian’s winning streak. With her and Sam occupied, you are left with the black haired man standing aimless in front of you. Again. And his eyes are trailing you, with purpose and a goal to speak. Again. 

You throw his words back at him with, “Well, sit down. Stay a while.” And he does. And your stupid mind is wondering if maybe him following you so easily means something. Stupid stupid. 

“How’s, um. Your stomach,” he asks, stunted pauses littering his voice as he tries his best to look at you. You don’t know what he’s talking about, and it must show on your face because he’s clarifying, “From the ceremony last week. I haven't seen you since then so I figured you must’ve been sick.” 

Sebastian is prying. Not in his words, but in the way he’s looking at you. Really, really looking, and this feels like a repeat of last week and you are reliving a million and one things that you would rather never relive again. 

Your palms are suddenly cold and you’re avoiding his gaze, body stiff with guilt. You’d been avoiding him for a week and you honestly hadn’t even noticed. It was like a subconscious response to humiliating yourself in front of the pretty boy that you’ve liked for weeks now. You hope he doesn’t blame you for that, somehow. 

“Right. Um, I was fine. I’m fine now, I mean. I turned out fine. Sorry for all of that,” your feet are shuffling against the ground and you drag patterns into your pants to comfort yourself. “It was kind of embarrassing. To have you walk me home and then suddenly get sick. I really am sorry for that.” 

“Don’t even worry about it.” There’s a sureness in his voice. When you find the courage in your lungs to turn and look at him, you’re met with a furrowed brow and steady eyes. It’s overwhelming you with ten different feelings, many of which are yelling at you to KISS HIS STUPID FACE. “Seriously. It wasn’t embarrassing, either. Things happen. I’m just glad you’re okay, now.” 

Sebastian ends it with another one of his chest-aching, brain-melting, palm-sweating smiles and he’s doing that stupid thing with the corners of his mouth. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it, and that’s what frustrates you the most. Maybe you should tell him, but he would take it the wrong way and stop doing it and you wouldn’t survive without seeing that stupid smile. As much as it makes you want to tear your hair out if you look at it for too long. 

You give him a firm nod. The rest of the night is easy conversation. You have one drink. Really, you make sure of it, because you haven’t gotten intoxicated in months and you really don’t want to see what drunk-you does in Stardew Valley in front of the sweet townspeople and the stupid pretty man in front of you. Said stupid-pretty-man follows suit, only having a pale ale and indulging in shirley temples for the rest of the night. (You punch yourself for finding it endearing that he likes such a sweet drink. Urgh.) 

It feels like a parallel universe of the Moonlight Jellies celebration of last week. One where you are a much less awkward person (but, really, there’s just barely a difference between now and before), and where you offer to walk him home instead of the other way around. Your stupid infatuated heart skips a stupid beat when you ask him if you can walk him back, but it quells when he gives you an easy smile and agrees. You pointedly ignore the voice in your head telling you that he sounds almost enthusiastic.

Sam and Abigail wish you goodnight, and they’re both beaming at you in a silly way that makes you follow suit. Giggles bubble in your chest and you don’t even know why. You think they must just have those kinds of personalities, and you really couldn't be more happy to seep into it. 

You don’t hold Sebastian’s hand on the way back. Not at all. In fact, you don’t even feel the urge to. You totally, totally don’t look at his hand swaying between you and fight the instinct to grab it and trace your fingers across his palm lines and the dips of his knuckles and all the scars he’s collected in his youth. You. Do not. Feel that way at all. 

It’s easy conversation, yet again. It’s almost impressive how, even with how easily you seem to do the most mortifying, awkward things in front of Sebastian, you still slip into moments with him where you can talk like you’ve known each other forever. God. Something about this town. You can’t tell if you want to catch the next operable bus out of here or stay here forever. You feel that way often, actually. 

Before you know it, you’ve cut through the city and ended up in the mountains and in front of his house. The lights are off. It must be super late, then, if everyone’s dead asleep like that. 

Crickets chirp and buzz in the air. You and Sebastian stop walking in the middle of the large dirt patch that takes up his front yard. Now, you’re looking at each other, and he’s giving you his awkward stupid gorgeous downward grin. You hope that you’re giving him something at least half as pretty, with the way you feel your lips stretch and crack again. You really need to get lip balm from Pierre’s. 

“It’s so late,” you mutter, because you don’t know what else to say and your heart is melting and slipping right out of your chest and onto the soil. “I guess I should go home.” 

You hope—cross-your-fingers-say-a-prayer type of hope—that he hears the hesitancy in your voice. That he realizes you don’t want to leave. That he sees the fondness in your eyes and how you’re trying to soften every defense mechanism you’ve ever learned in order to pry into him, now. And you hope. Cross your fingers and say a prayer. That he wants that, too. 

He hums a thoughtful, quiet sort of hum. Sebastian doesn’t move towards the door, or bid you a goodnight, or nod along and tell you he’ll see you another day. He waits. He is looking at you and prying you open and trying to gauge your reaction. To what, you don’t know, but there’s a static feeling in your head that tells you to wait and find out. 

“Right,” he says finally. His voice and his mouth curl carefully around the word, and it’s there again—the pauses, the hesitancy. You see your habits in him and you are aching with the need to find out what he means. What this all means. And you’re feeling stupid, and so you wait, too. 

“I think I feel bad leaving you to walk home,” Sebastian tells you. He’s speaking slowly, but not in a degrading way. It feels more like he wants the words to float to you and sink into the pores of your skin. And they do. They do, and it’s embarrassing, because now you’re sweating and hoping (again) that it doesn’t show on your face or your hands or the twisting of your fingers. “This is really far from the farm, you know.” 

“I think I would know,” you respond, teasing and lighthearted and acting like there isn’t a saturated yearning weighing down your body right now. “I can manage. I’ve been in the mines, you know. Seen all the monsters down there and everything.” 

He lets out a stupid breathy laugh and shakes his head. You hate how he acts so nonchalant, like it’s not obvious that you’re fighting the instinct to pick him up and shake him around like a bobblehead until his skull pops right off his neck. “Right, because there’s totally monsters down there.” 

“There are! You can come with me one day. I’ll prove it to you.” And it’s risky, to entertain that kind of thing, the concept of you two spending time together alone, where no one can see. Sebastian takes that as a challenge, apparently, because the diffident tilt of his lips turns smug and he’s saying,

“Then maybe you’ll sleep over one day.” 

Stttttupid boy. He’s stupid. The stupidest man you’ve ever met because now you’re really, really holding onto every last shred of your self-control. The thought of you in his house, with you both sleeping in the same twenty-foot-radius of space is making you heat up more than the valley’s summer sun. A frog croaks in a nearby bush. Nausea pools in your intestines. 

And you’re a terrible person, really, because even though you’re sweating and lightheaded from the heat you’re entertaining the thought of you both sleeping in the same bed. And it’s ridiculous. Really. You’re both adults who are perfectly capable of sleeping in the same bed without it meaning anything. Any particle of logic that enters your brain is vaporized by the heat of it. Your stomach is twisting and you swallow around the lump in your throat. 

He’s watching you. Still watching. Waiting for something to happen. The look he’s giving you is bordering on defensive, as if he’s anticipating a rejection. Stupid man. By now, he should realize you’re not prone to giving him rejections, of all people. 

“Maybe I will.” By some grace of whatever higher power is listening, you choke out the last puddles of your strength into a hopefully-confident tone of voice and the last words you have left in you for the night. It’s not a rejection. You hope he understands that. And he does. Oh, he has to understand what you mean by now, because he’s biting his lips and still. Looking at you. And waiting. All he does is wait. And you glance down and see his hands twitching at his sides. And you are going to do something. Something.

Oh, god. You’re thinking, Oh, okay, this is what this is, and he’s doing his stupid smile and the corners of his lips tuck in and you’re staring at them again. Really, really staring at them. You hope he notices. Your fingers are twitching now, too, almost aching with the need to hold something—to hold him and his twitching hands and spin them around in yours like a fingertrap. You want to get stuck and woven together, just for a moment. An aching, hurting, burning, devastating moment. 

It’s all you want. It’s all you’ve wanted for weeks now. And there’s a heat in your chest and your fingers and your head. Fingers twitching, eyes unblinking, and hands sweating; you wait. Wait for him to come closer. For him to do. Something. Soon. 

It’s an impossible task for you. You are not one for initiative. Never have been, not since you left your stupid office job and took up your place on this stupid farm and fell in love with this stupid man. Initiative is a daunting, horrifying, overwhelming concept, and all of your ambition has been drained from you ever since you planted your first parsnip in the ground. 

But but but. And this is how it always goes with you and Sebastian. But but but. There’s something about tonight. Something about tonight and the last week and the week before and the seasons before this that have carved this open wound into the middle of your diaphragm. Without even knowing it, Sebastian has clawed his way between your lungs and made an uneasy home in your heart. It’s disgusting, and maybe you’ll cough up all this adoration right on the doormat of his family’s house. 

How long has it been? How long have you both been standing here like idiots and waiting and breathing and staring? How long? You are asking yourself too many stupid questions. Initiative. You think of it again—and now your hands are on Sebastian’s shoulders and you don’t have half the mind to wonder when you stepped closer. 

You are not slow in your movements. Not at all. You are urgent and desperate and aching, but you give just enough time for him to pull away. In the back of your head, you wish that he’ll pull back and leave you empty and cold. But there is a warmth seeping through the cloth of his hoodie and tonight, you are stupid. 

You’re staring for just a moment before you close your eyes and surge forward slow enough for him to stop you, but fast enough that he won’t get the chance to look at your embarrassing, longing, yearning face before you kiss him. 

Because that’s it. You’re kissing him. You’re kissing him, with your hands gripping his shoulders with bruising strength, and with your feet planted into the ground to stop yourself from either floating or flinging yourself into the lake. You’re kissing him. And he’s not pulling away. And his hands reach to touch your elbows gently. For a moment, you think he’ll shove you down and run away, but his fingers are tapping along your arms, leaving a buzz in your bones and your head and your heart. 

You. Are kissing him. You are. You fucking. Did it. Joy floods your buzzing body and you hope he can’t hear how loud your skull is vibrating, how intensely your chest is rattling. Or how heavy your hands have become on his shoulders and how much you’re pushing back against him to get further, to pull him into you and you into him and pour in everything you’ve ever felt straight to his lungs. You’re kissing him. 

And he’s warm. So warm. Unexpectedly so, and you feel your entire body heat up in innocent adoration and you want his fingers to curl around your forearms and ground you. His hands shift, and for a minute you think he might pull away, but now he’s dragging his fingers in small paths up your arm, above your elbow and brushing your shoulders. Ggggggggod. God. You’re gonna scream into his mouth and slap him. Stupid man. 

In reality it lasts for a second, but the rush of feelings and thoughts and screams and cries that overwhelms your body makes it feel like it’s an hour. (At least ten minutes, maybe.) You wonder how he feels. You wonder if he’s trying to pour everything into you through this, too; or if maybe, he’s a normal fucking human being who is just kissing you to kiss you without all the grandeur and flourish and waxing poetic. Unbothered, you realize you won’t mind regardless of which it is. 

Your eyes are closed, and you hope his still are, too, because if he opens them and sees you you might throw up all over him. For the fortieth time this week. 

“Sebas— oh!” 

And. There’s a voice and a distressed exclamation. It’s Robin. Holy shit. It is his mother. 

The man you just spent an hour kissing (read: five seconds max) takes a moment to realize what just happened. You, on the other hand, have a ridiculous supercomputer in your head and you have long since figured out what just happened. You cannot believe this. This is embarrassing. A trip back to Zuzu City is well deserved now. 

“I’m— so sorry. Oh goodness.” Robin is being way too polite. You’d thought for sure she would’ve yelled at you and banned you from coming to the mountains ever again. You already kissed goodbye to both Sebastian (literally) and your mining career. And half your fishing career.

Sebastian’s face is flooded in color. It’s soaked in red and radiating heat that you can feel even with the ten-foot distance you had placed between yourselves. He’s not looking at you or his mother, eyes instead fixed on the patch of torn up dirt behind you. 

Finally, you process that Robin is the one apologizing to you, which is ridiculous and you wish she would’ve just pushed you into the river and screamed at you instead. You wish these people would’ve been a lot meaner to you already, and then maybe you would have never worked up the gall to kiss the man you’re stupidly in love with and cause this whole ordeal. 

“I’m so sorry,” and you’re the one saying it this time. You turn to look at Robin fully and resist the urge to fall to your knees and beg for her forgiveness. Tonight, you committed a mortal sin—giving her son a big fat heart-stopping kiss on the mouth right in front of their house—and you can only be forgiven by death, and death alone. 

There’s a confused look in her eyes, almost worried, and you think you might be actually shaking enough to launch yourself into the stratosphere like a space cannon. Instead, you channel the energy into completely turning yourself around and running away from the both of them. 

Disastrous. This night has been disastrous. You would’ve rather actually puked on everyone’s shoes instead of going through whatever the hell that was. You’re never going to catch a break in this stupid town with these stupid people and stupid Sebastian and his too-sweet-for-her-own-good mom. 

When you get home, you’re panting in exhaustion from sprinting across the valley, and your nerves and head are still buzzing and your lips are still warm from Sebastian’s being completely and willingly planted on them for about ten whole seconds. Your brain is too fried and melted to even consider the implications of everything you both just did, but you can’t seem to care. 

You’re embarrassed. Wholly and utterly humiliated, and for a moment you cross your fingers and pray to whoever will listen that you won’t be a topic of discussion during Robin and Sebastian’s family dinner with everyone else. 

You take a moment to catch your breath (an impossible thing) and finally collapse into your bed. You’re staring at your ceiling for what feels like hours, but you have a very poor sense of time and don’t trust that judgment at all. Everything settles in your head like mud shaken in a jar of water. And you smile. Dear god. Despite it all, you’re smiling and giddy and laughing to yourself, riding a high of schoolgirl-type-infatuation and post-kiss-adrenaline the weird, cruel excitement of the night. 

You kissed him. You kissed Sebastian. You. Fucking. Did it. 

The rest can be worried about tomorrow. Or maybe the day after that. Maybe even never, because you are absolutely going to avoid everyone and move in with the wizard instead, living in isolation for the rest of your life. But for now. You swing your feet and giggle like a twelve-year-old and replay the kiss in your head. Over and over. Like a sleep aid. You fucking did it.

[archangeldyke-all]

slow living reader and sev having a baby? 🥹

AWE of course!

also! this is the fifth little blurb for this series so i'm giving it an emoji on my masterlist! 💐 lets do a little bouquet of flowers because i picture a bunch of wildflowers surrounding your garden :)

men and minors dni

sevika doesn't fuck around when it comes to your pregnancy. so while you're used to getting up in the early morning and spending a couple hours on your hands and knees in the garden and hauling wheelbarrows around your property-- the moment you find out you're pregnant, sevika puts you on a ban from all physical activity.

it's ridiculous. you're barely three weeks pregnant, and sevika's insisting on helping you carry a gallon of milk in from the goat pen. just a gallon.

it's sort of nice though. your baby certainly takes after sevika, if it's appetite is anything to go by. while you're usually happy snacking on snap peas and berries from your garden all day until dinner, where you eat a hearty meal cooked by sevika: now you're shoveling half a dozen scrambled eggs down your throat in the morning, eating through a month's worth of cheese and crackers in the afternoon, and snacking on spicy pickles when you can't sleep in the middle of the night.

sevika finds it hilarious. you guys buy a few more ducks to keep up with the rate your house is eating eggs.

as annoying as she is when she's insisting you don't do anything, she does a fairly decent job of handling the garden herself. after a few afternoons of standing over her to supervise as she weeded to make sure she didn't pull any of your crops on accident, she made a little custom set up for you in the garden: a big sun umbrella covering a reclining lawn chair, a battery-powered fan, ice-cold pitcher of water, and big bowl of sunflower seeds waiting for you each afternoon.

it's become your favorite part of the day: lounging and snacking and chatting with your wife while she learns more about the garden, one of your hands on your growing belly, the other reaching out to pull sevika down for a kiss every ten minutes.

the cats start becoming really protective of you. a few of the older mother goats do too-- recognizing that you're pregnant. you never have a moment to yourself once you start showing, there's always a cat or two standing on guard to make sure you're okay while you wander around your home.

what you used to call 'the cats room' is now your baby's. all the cat trees, beds, and toys have migrated to the basement to make room for a bunch of furniture sevika hand-made.

a crib that can transform into a kids' bed when the kid gets older, a dresser that can last a lifetime, a rocking chair and stool for you to nurse in, and a gorgeous bookshelf for you to fill with toys and books for your baby. sevika made it all in at her little woodworking station in the storage shed by the goat's pen. each piece of furniture is inscribed with a message that makes you sob each time you see it, a simple, sweet, 'for our sweet baby.'

you know that once the baby comes, it'll be a few years before you and sevika can fully adjust and get back to growing all your own food. so, you guys start stocking up on produce and meat-slabs from local farms nearby.

you don't make it to the hospital when the baby comes. you planned to deliver in the hospital, you wanted a fucking epidural, but your baby came out of nowhere a week early.

one minute you were laughing at sevika struggling to prune the watermelon vines, the next minute your water was breaking and you were going into labor right on the reclining chair you'd spent a majority of your pregnancy on.

it doesn't take long to realize that you're not going to make it to the hospital. you know something's wrong when you try to stand.

"sevika!" you gasp. she's staring at you like a deer in headlights as she holds you up.

"what, honey, what's wrong?"

"fuck, baby, i think it's coming now." you whine.

sevika sits you back down on the chair, helps you get your bottom half naked, then looks between your legs.

"is it bad?" you start to cry, the pain and adrenaline needing an escape.

sevika's panicked, you can see it in her eyes, but she doesn't let it show as she speaks. "it's exactly what it's supposed to be, baby. but i think you're right. i think you gotta push."

you start to freak out. "sevika! we can't have our baby here! it's the garden, there's dirt everywhere! we don't even have clean towels and fuck!" you growl as a contraction overtakes you. sevika's pressing kisses to your knuckles as you grip her hands. "sevika, you're not a doctor!" you cry.

she chuckles, reaches up to kiss your head, and then kneels between your legs again.

"i delivered the goats when marnie got pregnant a few years ago." she tries.

"i'm not a fucking goat!" you scream.

and then--

little tiny cries fill the garden, and all your pain washes away. sevika looks up from between your legs, grinning and sobbing, and then she stands.

and wiggling and screaming in her arms, umbliical cord still attatched, is your little fucker.

"it's a girl." she whispers, leaning down to pass the baby to you.

you take a shaky breath, and then burst into tears upon seeing your baby. she looks just like sevika. it's uncanny. "she's so fucking beautiful." you cry.

sevika wraps your baby up in her shirt, cuts the cord with the gardening shears, and throws your placenta right on top of the compost pile before she starts guiding the two of you toward the car to take you to the hospital.

you have to keep reminding her to drive-- she'll pull up to a red light and get distracted looking at you and your baby in your arms in the passenger's seat. you get honked at a few times, but you don't mind.

not when she's looking at you like that and you've got her baby in your arms.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676 @vixel352

[orion-archives]

I made a MegaSound fanchild (Fanspawn? Fanspark? Fansparkling???)

Meet Kaon!

^ Adult Kaon ^

- Megatron was the one who named him (because of course he would be the one to name his offspring Kaon). Soundwave loved the idea.

- No, that visor is not something he can take off, that is his face. His actual face.

- Kaon is obsessed with scavanger birds. His favorite is a big bearded vulture he named 'Steelclaw' that he raised from egg. His obsession with birds probably originates from Soundwave's bond with Laserbeak. Why scavanger birds specifically? That's still a mystery.

(These are bearded vultures, in case you didn't know these amazing birds:)

Small concept of Kaon and Steelclaw

The proportions are off, but I really wanted Steelclaw to be visible on Kaon's hand in this sketch. Because in reality, Steelclaw is like a small parrot to adult Kaon.

- As a sparkling, Kaon was very small and slim, with a very fragile looking frame. But growing up he got stronger, resulting that (combined with other factors), as an adult, Kaon is taller than Megatron, very buff and basically a walking tank.

- His alt mode is a AH-64 Apache helicopter.

- Kaon was born (is that the correct term for transformers? Crafted? Created???) with his voice box damaged, making him completly mute. Therefore, Kaon uses radio signals, music and audio/voice clips to communicate.

Some common sounds Kaon uses and their meaning:

- Disco music/Bird chirping: Very happy, excited.

- Animal hisses/Slammed piano keys: Displeased, annoyed, scared, usually when he doesn't like something.

- Air raid sirens/Strings/Screeches/Recordings of actual cries: Terrified, crying, screaming.

- Static/Mix of corrupted noises: In pain, severely stressed.

- Growls/Engine starting noises: Angry, upset.

- Things Kaon loves:

• Cartoons (Megatron watches MLP with him)

• Scavanger birds (Steelclaw is his main bird, but he also takes care of multiple wild vultures and condors)

• Skulls

• Rubber ducks (he likes the noise)

• Music

• Training

• Soft things (plushies, blankets, fur, feathers)

- Things Kaon hates:

• Medical appointments

• Having to stay in the medbay during long periods of time

• Extremely high-pitched noises

● Very bright lights

• "The dark voice that keeps whispering weird things" (wait, the what now–)

• Zombie/vampire movies (Knockout tried)

- Kaon spends more time with Soundwave for safety reasons, but Megatron tries to be with him as much as possible.

- If Kaon doesn't have a normal face, how does he eats?

...Yeah.

Speaking of that, this brings me to another Kaon fact. Well, a few, unfunny, facts:

- Due to Megatron's past use of dark energon, Kaon was born with tons of health issues or body anomalies. A list of the main health problems and things that Kaon has as a result of having dark energon in his entire frame since creation are:

○ Constant headaches

○ Seizures

○ Chronic pain

○ Having a Terrorcon mouth

○ Unnatural amount of strenght

○ Damaged voice box since birth

○ Hearing voices

○ Nightmares and visions of things he hasn't even knowledge of

- Megatron hates himself because of this, since it was his use of dark energon that caused Kaon being born with medical problems. He suffers a lot everytime Kaon has to stay on the medbay due to another complication, when someone looks at Kaon with disgust or horror when he has to drink energon or just all the nights Kaon has woken up crying because he is scared or in pain for an unexplained reason.

- To end this post on a better note, here's a sparkling Kaon I doodled at 2 in the morning because of insomnia:

He tiny

[leclsrc]

could i get a carlos imagine where you have commitment issues and he calms you down? as a girlie with commitment/trust issues i just wanna b repped in one of ur fics/drabbles :/// it's tuff out here brotha

bring you home — cs55

Moving in together gets difficult. Carlos is there to ease you along. title from this

genre: fluff

auds here... i hope you enjoy this!!! i too am a commitment-afflicted girl ..... it truly is tough lol. but i hope u find the right person who helps u put ur anxieties to rest <3 insp by a scene from satc i saw on tiktok

It started with a duck. But the duck started with the box. And the box started with a toothbrush joke. And the toothbrush joke started with your old lady neighbor moving out. So really, it started with Mrs. McDonnell and her massive moving van rolling down the street and leaving the flat next door empty. Somehow that old hag had managed to irritate you long after she left, albeit through means not her own.

In terms of time, it started a month ago. In terms of people (sans the old bitch), it started with Carlos, as so many of your stories do. “Mrs. McDonald finally moved out today,” he’d said, hip against your stove, watching bits of garlic turn from pale to brown. From the living room you hummed affirmation and then laughed: “McDonnell.”

“Donald, Donnell, Dinero,” he rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s moving in and out. Charles bought a new place in Monaco.”

“Well,” you shrugged, fixing the ridden-up hem of your tank top, “you could have an extra toothbrush in here, if that gets y’there.”

He laughed, pointing at you with the oil-hot rubber tip of the spatula. You two had been dating for over a year at that point, yet any suggestions of moving in together remained vague, cloudish ideas in both of your heads. For him it was impractical; for you it was a little scary.

But a toothbrush, which he always had at your flat and you at his, wasn’t moving in together. Neither was a drawer of clothes and knick-knacks. It was a symbol of your busy lives and the intermittent intersections far and few between.

Except they’d been becoming less intermittent and a lot more constant. He was almost always at your flat, the wide two-bedroom you’d decided was a good place to live with your income and the area. You had two parking spaces, a good rep with the board, and a coffee shop across the street—a place all your own.

A little plus was you had Carlos on some free days, like that day—that fateful day he turned back to the pan and said, with a smile: “I should move in.”

You froze. “You’re asking—you’re telling me or the garlic?” In fits of nerves, you could only blurt out bad jokes.

He laughed but it was a small exhale of breath. “I’m serious.” He turned to you, brown eyes big.

Your heart swelled with something between apprehension and absolute excitement, that finally you were going to take a step you felt like you’d been waiting to take forever. “You are?” You asked, so giddily you could hear your own smile.

The truth was, you had moved in with a boyfriend before, offered him a key and suggested the entire affair, bought fresh flowers and cooked eggs and made coffee and lived the bliss you only read about in romance novels. Months later you caught him fucking somebody else in your bedroom, and years later the memory fails to purge itself from your mind or your habits, plaguing every inner thought you have.

But this, you assure yourself, is Carlos.

“Dead seriou—uuooof!” Carlos barely got to the end of his sentence, with the way you barrelled into him, smiling into the blocky build of his chest and muttering a repetitive yes yes yes into the cotton of his tee. He held you there, pressing a kiss to your hair and promising he’d be in with his boxes as soon as time made way.

—

“Make way,” you yell into the tiny gap between your door and its frame.

“Hey, hi, hello,” your boyfriend sing-songs. “How are you?”

In the month you’d spent watching your boyfriend move into your flat, you’d also been subjected to your complete lack of personal space. Every time you entered, he’d be there talking his head off. Every time you came home at night, he’d be there. You felt suffocated. Scared, even if you couldn’t sleep at night without some part of you touching him. You’re simply a human with needs, and you needed space. You needed silence. Needed it. Absolutely needed it. You knew this because every time you opened your own door, it collided with a—

“Box.” You shove yourself through the gap and wedge the door closed, pointing an accusatory finger at the cardboard. “Another box by the door. Don’t make me burn those,” you mutter, fussing with your hair and toeing off your Blahniks. Across the foyer, Carlos is nailing something into the wall, noisy and incessant and you want to shrink into the floor.

“Sorry, sorry. Lo siento. I have so many stuff.”

“Yeah! You do. My flat’s only nay fucking big,” you respond, raising your pointer finger and thumb to exaggerate the size of your (in actuality, wide) living space. “Carlos, couldn’t you unpack some of these? Just some. It’s—you know, it’s piling up. And you know I hate mess.”

“I know, baby. I will as soon as I finish this up. I promise.”

You nod once, sighing and moving into the study to gather your laptop for work. You’re halfway into the room, eyes scanning your desk’s surface and finding your Mac laying flat atop it, unassuming next to a figurine of a wooden duck. You pause and blink. The wooden duck does not, its eyes painted wide and smooth and you definitely did not purchase this duck.

Somehow, this is the straw that breaks your back.

“What is this duck doing here?!” You yell, voice loud even from the study into the foyer. Carlos pulls off the goggles he’d been wearing to drill shit into your wall and smiles. A gift from me.

“A gif—I, I, I don’t like ducks.” You flail your arms around. “I just… hearing you talk or drill as soon as I come into my own home feels weird. For so long I’ve been alone and… and I’m supposed to hear silence and I—I’m scared that you’re going to figure out how scared I am and you’re going to leave me.”

He just stares, eyebrows knitted. You smother a hand over your face. You pause and breathe for a minute, then two.

“It’s just—I’ve only lived with someone three months, and that was ages ago, and before that it was my parents, so. I’m going to be really frank with you and I’m sorry if this sounds… but I’m gonna close the bedroom door and I don’t want you to talk to me for thirty minutes. I need space. And keep the duck first. I’m sorry. Is that selfish? Is that okay?” When he shakes his head and then nods, you deposit it into his arms and back up into your room.

His face, torn between concerned and endeared, softens into an understanding, patient smile. Okay, he mouths. I love you, you mouth back, and then you’re shutting it softly, leaning your forehead against the white wood and letting a long exhale leave your lips. You half-expected him to fight you back, to raise his voice, but it’s your own worst expectations weighing down on you all over again, born out of memories of your ex.

You stay like that for a while, and slowly with the quiet you realize—you find the duck cute.

You like the boxes because they remind you this is becoming a home. You like hearing him talk because it means you know he’s there. (The drilling will always be irritating, but he makes it better.) You don’t dislike anything he does, but you’re not totally lying either: you are scared. Scared of the commitment it’d take to make this a sure thing. The commitment you’d given before and the commitment that’d been betrayed.

But this is Carlos. This is Carlos, who’s understood every part of you, who’s given you time and patience even when you didn’t know how much you needed it. The Carlos who knows how you like your toast, who eats the yolk off your sunny-side eggs and gives you the white of his hard-boiled ones. The Carlos who said I love you first, surprising you into shock, and then took it back in embarrassment before you cut him off with a kiss. The Carlos who stays.

The air clears and you breathe easier. You open the door after five minutes. “You okay?”

He’s unpacking a box. He turns and smiles wryly, mimicking a zip motion across his lips. He shakes his head. No talking, remember?

You pout, smiling. “Sorry if I’m neurotic.”

You pad softly toward him and it’s easy, too easy for him to pick you up into his arms, wrap your legs around his waist, stay standing and hugging you. He’s quiet still, patient, warm. “I like hearing you talk. I like your boxes. I like that you’re mine and we’re here.” You inhale. “‘M just scared. And I don’t… want to be, but I am, and… it’s just me. I’m crazy.”

“Hey, Crazy. So am I. Take your time.” He hugs you tighter. “I’m not gonna leave you, even if you hated the duck.” I didn’t, you say quietly. It was cute. “I know it’s hard, baby. I know. You have to let me take care of you. You have me, okay? You have me.”

“And when you’re not here?” Fear slithers up and tries to tug at you but his arms are around you, secure and holding you there, so you don’t let it.

The thing with needs, really, is when they’re met—met in the best, most understanding way, especially…

He kisses your neck. “I’ll always be.”

…You find you no longer need them at all.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Binoculars

Debut: Super Mario 3D Land

Wow! What a large and crisp render of Binoculars. This is more than a lot of enemies get. And it's all for Binoculars!

It is nice to see binoculars as an installed apparatus for public use. It reminds me of those binoculars that are sometimes at parks or zoos where you can put in a quarter and get a limited amount of time to look at ducks more closely. Let's look!

Wow! There's a North American Ruddy Duck! in this pond! That's my favorite duck! The blue of the male's bill is probably my favorite color, and they are so cute, especially with their funny proportions. Their head looks too small for their body, but their feet look too BIG for the rest of them! Their feet are large and further back on their body because they are divers who swim down to find food, unlike the dabbling ducks, which keep their butts above the water while foraging. Oops! I forgot that this is a Mario Post and that we aren't actually watching ducks at a pond!

Anyway I just found out those kinds of binoculars are called Tower Viewers. More like Quacker Viewers. Ok on to Mario for real now! Mario, sadly, does not view ducks with these binoculars. They are free, however, which is nice! I'm glad there are ways for everyone to enjoy the Mushroom Kingdom's landscapes at a distance and at no costs. In fact, Mario is sometimes rewarded for using them, as a Toad will throw him a Star Medal upon being seen! A Toad who really wants to bee looked at and goes HAH BAH.

Mario can also see a UFO through the binoculars sometimes! This is often brought up as a Creepy Easter Egg despite the fact that aliens have been present in this franchise since 1989!

With all that about the 3D Land binoculars out of the way, I am really here to say that the binoculars in Odyssey are BETTER. They look like ROB, and overall are a Funny Robot, so they are obviously better by default! They even move around on their own as if they are looking around, and they are really so good at looking, since they are binoculars. I think the binoculars themselves are bird enthusiasts and watch them in delight constantly!

These binoculars even have LORE as seen in the art book, and shared by Suppermariobroth! They are made by the same company as the 3D Land binoculars, and are an older model not capable of stereoscopic 3D! They were installed by the sightseeing company for onsite investigation, and someone has to come and collect the logs from the devices every so often. I seriously love this all sooo much! It is so cute and wonderful that they put this much thought into humble little Binoculars! BinocuLORE!

I would now like to talk about just how these binoculars work! Upon being Captured, they shoot up using spray propulsion (not jet propulsion!!!) and let Mario scope out the area from the sky! Mario got extremely lucky that he happened across these specific binoculars when he happened to have the ability to Capture them, because anyone else using this would be in extreme danger. Please hang on tight!

Binoculars most recently appear in Super Nintendo World, where they are now real! They use the 3D Land design, which makes sense knowing it is canonically the modern design. You can even look at certain things to get little rewards just like in the game! Super Mario in real life! Wa Who!

[paper-mario-wiki]

Do you do farm stuff Scout? Or would you like to? Like owning chickens or tending an outdoor garden, that sort of thing?

From ages 7 to 19 I lived on farms, and was made to be an active participant in maintenance and usages of the facilities I don't know why the fuck I'm typing it like this, but I grew up on a farm. I was kinda in charge of everything, but slacked a lot and my brother had to cover for me. That said, I still spent a LOT of time doing chores.

At one point or another I've been responsible for most every farm chore you can really think of. All the basics like raking leaves, milking goats, collecting eggs, feeding chickens- but also the big stuff like moving tons of hay, herding flocks, caring for large animals such as llamas, alpacas, horses, and cows, as well as delivering babies, gutting and plucking fowl (only chickens and turkeys, though I've also cared for ducks and geese), dehoring, hoof cleaning, corpse transportation, crop maintenance, winter ice removal by breaking up frozen water troughs in 10 below weather (thought this was usually circumvented by anticipating the cold and setting up water heaters beforehand), constructing enclosures, slaughtering pigs, and etc etc etc etc etc all that shit. Bunnies snakes mini horses donkeys. All that shit. Farm stuff. Ya know.

Moved away when I went to college and immediately plunged into a mixed-zoning district in the Fushimi district in Kyoto. This was a really good transition from rural living to city living, because mixed zoning districts have blocks dedicated to apartment complexes and family homes right next to blocks of rice fields and ponds, which was behind the 7-Eleven I bought most of my food from.

Now I live in a SHITTY mixed zoning area in SHITTY America where we never stop hearing cars because there's a massive parking lot nearby and constant police sirens, not because the area is particularly dangerous, but because there's like 2 police stations nearby.

My ideal housing goal, which also happens to be my current goal in life, is to reach a slightly more rural version of the Kyoto living situation. The goals are very distinct:

0. I'm editing this one in after the fact to note that while I've used Kyoto as an example a few times in this post, I'm just looking for an area that feels right and would happily live in any prefecture that fits my needs.

I want to not be tied directly to a visa which would draw me away from doing whatever work I really want to do, like my student visa did later on when school started getting worse as professors were struggling to learn digital classroom mechanics. The visa I'm shooting for is dependent on a few ideas I have for businesses, but that's still kind of a long shot.

I want to be in a position of relative financial freedom so that I can spend enough time genuinely living there instead of just being tied to a computer all day, limiting me to the world I already know. This one's the big one, so I'm still workin on that. That said, recently I've been taking some pretty massive steps towards making this a more tangible circumstance. Fingers crossed.

I want to have a home that I own instead of renting, and I'd like to work with a Japanese architect to actually construct it. Again, these are big big plans, but I think a life goal is a thing worth thinking big about. And it's not like I'm trying to build a mansion, or even a family-sized house, I think I'd be content with three bedrooms, a kitchen, and common room. Of course, in keeping with the "dream big" spirit, in a world where I've got enough money to have a nicer, slightly bigger home, I can imagine as many as 5 bedrooms. It's nice to imagine in this "perfect" outcome that I've got a reason to have enough space for guests to sleep over. A local community, or an otherwise tangible, real-world web of relationships would be nice. Like, Real Adult Socializing Shit.

I want to have a significant emphasis on self-reliance on this home. As far solarpunk as I can reasonably go, without biting off more than I can chew as someone who's kinda limp-wristed. In a gay way and a feeble way. I figure this will come down to solar panels, water filtration, a well, and a garden (or at least the space to have gardening stuff like pots and soil). Some chickens would be nice too, but I don't know that I'd ever take on livestock proper.

I want to be properly submerged in trees without being more than a 5 minute bike ride from a train station. Somwhere like Yase-Hieizanguchi Station in north Kyoto is a good example of station that's on the edge of a metropolitan area and the forest. There was an apartment there I almost got, but backed out when covid hit cuz I decided moving across town would be a whack decision.

This is a BONUS goal, but I think it'd also be nice to not compromise on a single location, and instead have a home out in the inaka, while also having a small apartment rented in the city I can go between whenever I need to. In a world where I can afford a plot of land out in the country, but would still need to travel into town for business, that would be nice. Though in that scenario I'd likely need to also take on the arduous task of getting a Japanese drivers license. If I know far enough in advance that I want to take this specific route then I could bypass that last one by getting an international license before moving to Japan, but after moving to Japan you're barred from getting an international license.

I couldn't tell you in honesty that I'm a Salt of the Earth, Red Blooded American Farmer in my heart, and in fact I could not WAIT to move away from the farm. I hated that I didn't have a say in living on a farm, and was made to take care of animals. But what I DID enjoy about that life was the stillness. The opportunities of perfect silence. The stars unobstructed by light pollution. The ability to explore. Those things I was incredibly grateful for. And as such, in my perfect world, I would like to live on something like a farm again one day, just on my own terms.