#they are taking his daughter away from him right under his nose

[lifeisahighway]

buying a fucking cake like it’s something to celebrate?? i’d get it if lola died and lexi’s dad wasn’t around but he is, and he does his absolute best for her and adores her and she adores him.

but they are giving parental rights to jay, who lexi has never seen as a father figure. and ben has lost so fucking much in this last year, and on top of all that he now has to pretend to be ok with this, no, happy about it otherwise everyone will come down on him like a ton of bricks.

what utter bullshit.

[churipu]

SAY "DADA" 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, nanami kento x fem! reader

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. toji cries but he doesn't admit it bye

note. i just spent a good hour watching the "glimpse of us" parents-baby trend, it's so cute. i just had to make something family themed for the jjk men :( i'm so sorry for the lack of updates, i just finished work and boy— it was stressful.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

"come on, little guy . . . say dada, da . . . da!" gojo nodded his head slowly, in his grasp stood his one year old son.

all he got in return was a loud strained laugh from the little boy, "it's okay, baby. take it slow, come on, dada . . . da . . ." the blue eyed male softly spells out the word.

"satoru, you've been trying for an hour now." you informed him, eyeing the father-son duo every now and then, "he's going to get it eventually . . ."

gojo chuckled, "i know, baby. 'm just so excited, what if he said his first words when 'm out on a mission," a sad smile etched onto his lips as he cradled the baby in his hold.

"dada!"

it took gojo a few seconds to process what his son just uttered in excitement. slowly, the corner of his lips tugged upwards in happiness — gojo cheers loudly, nuzzling his face into your son's little belly, making him craze out in pure euphoria.

"you just said your first word, good job, buddy! 'm so proud of you," gojo muffled out into the baby's tummy, "daddy's so proud of you."

gojo then faced you, "his first word is dada, i'm going to cry . . ."

to which he did, sniffling loudly — making the little boy imitate him, scrunching his face into a big frown before wailing out a loud cry. hearing your baby cry, gojo softly hushed him, patting his back, "no, no, baby. daddy's crying of happiness, not sadness, please don't cry."

"aren't you two just the cutest?" you asked, kissing the baby on his chubby cheek — calming him down almost immediately. his loud cries ceasing down under your touch.

"we are." gojo chuckled, nose raging red from sniffling mucus.

"please get rid of your snot, satoru . . ."

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

"come on, dada. say it." toji mutters, pulling on megumi's little cheek — gently, and the baby seemingly annoyed, swats off his father's giant fingers.

toji scoffed, "huh, wonder where y' got that attitude from."

you eyed him, "what do you mean? megumi's exactly just like you — i carry him for nine months and he ends up being a copy of you," you chuckled, ruffling megumi's hair.

the young ten month old baby crawled his way over to you, settling himself on his lap, eyeing his father sharply, "what're y'looking at, huh?"

instinctively you hit toji's bicep gently, "stop that."

"'m not doing anything . . ." toji replies back, rolling his eyes before crossing his arms, "stupid baby."

"dada!" megumi shrieks out, pointing his small finger accusingly at toji, a cute glare looming over his dark eyes, "dada!"

toji blinked once. twice. thrice, and he ended up scoffing, looking away from both you and megumi, "he said his first word, and it's me," toji mutters into his skin, clamping his palm over his lips as his elbow propped down onto the couch's hand rest.

"good job, 'gumi!" you cheered, raising the boy up in the air, kissing his cheek which made the baby erupt in small laughter.

megumi crunched his legs happily, yelling out gibberish with a mix of "dada dada!"

"that's right, dada!" you parrot happily, gently hopping with megumi in your arms. eyeing toji who had been silent, "toji, are you okay?"

he grunted, brushing his face with his hands, "do i not look okay?"

"did you cry?" you ask.

toji grunted yet again in disdain, "why would i cry because the brat said his first word?" he did.

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

nanami sat on the floor cross-legged with his eleven month old daughter on his lap as he scanned the newspaper. at every page, his daughter didn't miss every spot on the dull colored paper, pointing at the paper and muttering out incoherent words.

"mhm, that's terrible news, isn't it?" he replies, sipping on his coffee mug.

you emerged from behind the bedroom door, hair disheveled, "good morning," you mumble out, wiping the back of your finger over your eyes.

"dada!"

you froze and eyed your daughter, and nanami did too. his head looked down onto the young girl in amusement, his gaze softening, "your first word . . ." he whispers, carrying the baby into his strong arms.

"you just said your first word, baby!" your raspy morning voice chirped, it was as if your exhaustion had disappeared in a heap of moments and you trotted down the ground, approaching the father-daughter.

"i'm so proud of you," nanami gently placed a kiss on top of his daughter's head, cradling her small body.

you were pulled into a hug by nanami, his arm wrapped around your shoulder and he pulled you to his side — his cheek leaning on your head in content, "good morning."

"dada dada!" your daughter cheered happily, patting nanami's face with her small hands.

"mhm, i'm dada, baby." he mumbles, letting the young girl do as she likes. you cooed softly at the sight, wrapping an arm around his waist.

a good morning it is.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 8: Nobody’s Son, Nobody’s Daughter

You hate how weak you are, sometimes.

That a text can ruin your whole day.

>> Hey. I hope you’re doing well. I miss hearing from you.

You’re fuming. Absolutely fuming. In under fifteen seconds you’re on your feet, face hot and heart pounding as you stomp across the old wooden floor.

“I’ll be right back.” You grunt to Johnny and Kyle, ignoring their wide, confused eyes and fast walking past them and out the back door.

The sun is up for longer now, only just beginning to set. It’s hot and hard to breathe, which only makes you more pissed off. Your skin prickles and blood rushes in your ears. You hate the way your hands shake. Your boot connects with the dumpster hard. It hurts, but you’re too pissed to really care. You just need it out of your system - the metal sending a ringing, gong-like sound bouncing around the back alley as you repeatedly slam your foot into it.

How dare he?

Miss hearing from you? YOU?

He ignores you for your whole childhood and teenage years - didn’t even try - and he misses hearing from you!? Couldn’t ever remember your age or grade when you did see him and he hopes your doing well!? Blew you off for his other kids for years and he fucking misses you!

How the hell did he even get your new number? Your mom, probably. The traitor. Fuck.

“Think that bin’s ‘ad enough, bird.” Simons voice startles you. He glances down at the dent you somehow managed to make. Your foot throbs when you put it back on the ground, shifting your weight onto the other one. One of your toes is bleeding, you think. You hand feel it soaking into your sock.

You look away, face hot from embarrassment now. “Didn’t know anyone was out here…”

Simon takes you in for a moment. Usually you don’t mind it - his intense silences - but right now it feels like being dissected. Like he’s pulling your skin back to reveal that squirming, tar-like creature aways simmering just a layer beneath. The pathetic little worm you try so hard to cover with a functional facade.

“Smoke?” He tilts the pack toward you. You wrinkle your nose - it’s a shit brand - but at the moment you wouldn’t care if it was made of actual shit as long as it had nicotine.

You pick one out and plop down on the weird curb that lines the opposite side of the alley. Simon sits beside you, raising his lighter toward you cupping his hand around the little flame to light your cigarette. It’s intimate, in a way, and if you had the emotional elasticity for it you might have blushed.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks after a few drags.

You shrug. “Dads suck.”

Simon hums. “That they do.”

“It’s just like-“ You make an exasperated sound and run your fingers through your hair. “Like if you’re not around for fuckin’ twenty years, you don’t get to act upset when I don’t want to talk ever. Just because now I’m the one that set the boundary. It’s stupid. It’s mean.”

Simon nods along as you ramble, your voice trailing off eventually. You both sit there quietly, for a moment. This is the type of silence that you don’t mind. Enjoy, even. Just existing together. At first you thought he hated you, or just didn’t like much of anybody, but you’ve come to theorize that he’s the same as you. That he gets stuck in his head, too. It’s nice, having someone to sit with without the need to entertain them. To preform.

Your lip quivers even as you attempt to stop it by sinking your teeth in. A killing blow. It doesn’t work. You bury your face in your hands. “I don’t know why I’m crying…”

“Because you’re hurt.” Simon bluntly replies. It’s soft, though. As soft as a voice like his can be.

“He doesn’t deserve it.” You sob, messily wiping at your eyes. Your eyeshadow is probably smudged to hell now but you can’t bring yourself to care. Hopefully the others don’t ask about it.

An arm wraps around you, tucking you close. The surprise of it almost knocks you out of your crying fit entirely. Simon isn’t touchy. With anyone. He doesn’t look at you, just keeps his eyes forward while he takes a long drag, but that arm remains around your shaking shoulders with you pressed to his side.

It’s quiet, as it usually is when you close up with just Simon. The others took off for the night. Johnny said something about a date before dragging Kyle off arm in arm. They must have set up some kind of double date for the evening. John’s last appointment had to reschedule so he knocked off early as well. It’s nice, really, to be alone in the shop with Simon. He lowers the music, helps you with sweeping and the trash. Tells you the newest joke from wherever the hell he gets them. Popsicles, you think, based on his sweet tooth and the quality of pun.

“C’mon. We’re takin’ a field trip.” Simon tilts his head toward the street past the turn to your apartment. He still insists on walking you home, even if the sky is still relatively bright.

You look up, frowning. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

You follow him down the quiet street. It’s warm and muggy as you go. You keep glancing up at Simon, waiting for some sort of tell. Some hint at where he’s leading you. In the back of your mind, you become innately aware that Simon is probably the only man you’d follow this blindly.

You nearly knock into him when Simon comes to a sudden stop. “Here.”

You look up, squinting at the tacky sign in what you can only describe as “intense manly man” font. Bold, blocky letters in bright orange with faux cracks scattered through the letters.

TANTRUM TANK

A mixture of stunned and curious leaves you quietly following Simon in. You press the spot between your brows to dissipate the confused frown. The lobby is pretty basic with a few decorations that mimic the style of the sign. Cracked facades and black walls. The room is lined with plastic chairs and a couple safety posters reminding patrons not to hit each other with the bats. A large television screen flashes between images of people in hazmat suits smashing various garbage and debris, pausing on a menu of times and prices.

“Simon!” A man appears behind the counter, face bright. “Here for your usual hour?”

Simon steps up to the counter, nodding in your direction. “Actually, I’ve got a plus one.”

The man’s brows raise and he looks you over, giving you ashort, polite greeting. You nod and smile back, pretending like you know why you’re here at all. You just watch as Simon briefly chats with the clerk who obviously knows him well. He’s a regular here, then. He doesn’t give anything away, just makes some brief, perfunctory small talk before taking a key and waving you after him. Why’d he bring you here, of all people?

Your heart skips at the thought of Simon wanting to do something with you, though. He brought you here because he wants to hang out - in his own way. He must do this with the other boys, too. Maybe one of them bailed on him or something. Part of you wonders if he didn’t want to come alone, but that doesn’t sound like him. Plus, you can’t say that its’ at all out of character for him to decide something and just do it with no other communication. You also can’t say you mind much. Not with him.

“You come here with the others a lot?” You ask as you follow him back to the room.

“No.”

You frown. Oh.

The two of you lapse into silence as you put your things away into designated lockers. There’s a sort of interim room before the actual rage room with storage and a few stacks of protective gear in various sizes. Simon’s quick about it. Practiced. He slips on the protective plastic suit quickly while you grunt and struggle with unfolding it. Your hair crinkles with static as you finally get the mass of plastic unfurled and step into it. Of course the one that fits you around is too damn long. At least the gloves fit.

“Simon?” You murmur, finally finding your voice - as weak as it comes out. “Why’d you bring me here?”

He looks you over for a moment with that same steady gaze as before. You’ve never felt seen like you do with Simon. Even with the others… they don’t see to the core of you like he does. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Some pathetic little part of you left over from your misunderstood teenage years.

“I ’ad a pretty shite father.” Simon says as he zips up his suit. “Taught me a lot of anger. I didn’t- I don’t want to be like ‘im. Don’t want people t’be scared…”

You stare, wide eyed, frozen in place. As if any movement would disrupt this new found honesty - would frighten the man away from confiding in you. It’s sudden and far more than you’ve gotten out of him in the months you’ve known each other. It’s too special to risk.

“Sometimes you’ve got t’get it out of your system. Better than breaking your foot on a skip.” He snorts, stepping forward and carefully pushing a pair of safety glasses over your eyes. One hand runs over your hair just for the briefest moment; another lightly pats your cheek before he turns on his heel, grabbing one of the bats hanging on the wall and making for the door.

You stare after him, shell shocked by both the admission and uncharacteristic physical touch. You involuntarily reach up to trace your fingertips over the cheek he touched.

Don’t want people to be scared…

A part of you breaks in the back of your mind. The obvious, unsaid ‘of me’ sits heavily on your tongue. Some distant image of what he might have looked like as a child. Small and blonde with those big dark eyes… You gulp down a tight breath and follow after him, just a little too close to crying at the implication.

Simon gestures toward a crooked, half broken office desk. “Ladies first.”

And oh, if that first swing wasn’t the best release you’ve had in a long, long time.

A/N: Sorry for being inactive the past couple weeks, I could literally write a novel with how much as happened irl🙃

Anyhoo next part y’all are getting lots of Price because that homecoming skin has got me fucked up

[katsukistofu]

claire de lune

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. 1.8k words — domestic fluff. slightly suggestive. ⭑ there’s nothing you and katsuki wouldn’t do for your baby girl, and that includes giving her the moon.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

“Yes angel?”

“I want that thing down!” Your daughter points above you with her tiny finger. The faint chirping of crickets can be heard in the distance, and tall, silken blades of grass tickle the both of your cheeks as you gaze upward at the vast periwinkle sky. 

A sweet smile spreads across your lips. “You want me to get the moon down?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Aw sweetheart, I’d get it for you but mommy can’t reach that high. Daddy probably can though.”

She pouts at this, and turns away from you to poke her dad who is on the brink of falling asleep again on the other side of her. 

“Dada!”

Katsuki’s eyes flutter open and he groggily faces her, head resting on his folded arms behind him. You bite back a laugh at the crumbs still decorating his cheeks. Sumi was trying to balance Cheeto puffs on his nose earlier before his nap. “What ‘sup bubba?”

She points at the moon again. “Get it down.”

“That?” Your husband covers his mouth to yawn, glancing up at the darkening sky. Sumi nods excitedly. “M’kay. Was thinking about it when you and mommy started lookin’ anyway.” He says it so casually, like getting the moon for her was a feat as simple as buying a carton of strawberries at the store.

“Yay!” Sumi cheers, and he chuckles when she struggles to slip her hand under his arm on the ground to hug it. Katsuki rolls over and she giggles, now sandwiched between the both of you as you hug her.

“Sumi, how about you wait inside while Daddy gets it for you?” You suggest. It was starting to get late. 

“Nooo,” Sumi whines. “Wanna stay here and watch.”

“You can have the last cookie in the kitchen’s jar.”

Sumi’s eyes brighten. “The bear one that looks like dada!”

“That’s right, sweetheart. The one with his grump grump face.”

“Who’re you calling a grump grump.” Katsuki scowls, secretly reaching over Sumi to give an affectionate pinch to the softness of your hip and you squeal. 

“Sumi, Daddy’s being mean to mommy!”

Sumi’s face matches Katsuki’s expression from before. “Stop that dada!” 

Katsuki slyly grins and withdraws his hand, masking his face into an expression that is the definition of innocence. With amusement, you note the little huff of pride he makes seeing Sumi’s tiny scowl, perfectly identical to his. “Mommy started it.” 

She blows a raspberry at him and wriggles out of his grasp, then gives the both of you pats on the head like you’re misbehaving puppies and finally runs off back into the house. 

“You two play nice!” Sumi waggles her finger with as much sternness as a three year old can muster before promptly shutting the door in your faces.

Katsuki meets your eyes with his and the both of you laugh on the grass, breathlessly clutching each other. 

“I wonder who she takes after more,” you muse between giggles. 

“Definitely you.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, bringing you closer to him with his arms snug around your waist.

“Whaaat? No way, I was totally going to say you.” You grin cheekily, eyes going almost comically wide when he kisses you hard on the mouth in response.

“Shut up.” 

“Kiss me again and I will,” you murmur dazedly and he chuckles, muttering something under his breath about you being insatiable despite leaning in to give you another one.

With how close he is, everything is soft eyelashes, the dull thudding of his heart beat synchronizing with yours as his firm chest presses against you, and the warmth radiating from his smooth skin, slowly seeping into your body.

Each movement of your lips brushes his mouth more and more against yours and even after almost a decade of being together, the feeling still makes your brain go fuzzy. All your thoughts melt away. It’s just you and him.

“Kats,” you breathe in warning. His fingers have somehow found their way under your sundress and they’re mindlessly tracing nonsensical shapes into the small of your back, his other arm still tightly wrapping you in his warm embrace. “I really, really need to go iron your suit for tomorrow. Plus, aren’t you supposed to be catching the moon right now, mister?”

“Just ten more minutes,” Katsuki murmurs against your collarbone and you shiver. His voice is still husky with sleep. “And I already caught the thing.”

“Really? Proof or you’re lying.” You raise a brow skeptically, and you should’ve known better than to doubt him when he actually reaches behind him, the wedding ring that he never takes off even to wear his hero costume glinting in the moonlight, to lift up a neatly wrapped up box with a little baby pink ribbon on it. 

Your mouth drops open in surprise. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Katsuki grins proudly. “Found it after patrol last week with Eijiro.”

“It being…?”

“The moon.” He sets the box down in front of you. “It’s a night light, ‘cause I know Mimi’s scared of the dark.” 

“Aww Katsuki,” you coo, reaching out to caress his cheek. “That’s so cute.”

He blushes at the pure look of adoration in your eyes, and you can’t help but smile when he hides his face in your hair. “S’nothin’. Just getting the best for our little girl.”

Your husband grumbles when you let out that perfect, angelic giggle of yours and rest your hand on his head in response. He was so adorable. 

The way he’s acting is so similar to how you did at the beginning of your relationship all those years ago in high school, but it seems that as the both of you got older the tables turned and he was the clingier one now, much to the amusement of your classmates and the press when they managed to get ahold of you.

Katsuki lets out a low, content hum as you run your fingers through his soft hair. The both of you lay there, basking in each other’s touch and comfortable silence.

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you when you were sunbathing on the beach this morning.”

Your cheeks are warm. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Katsuki smirks at your expression. “Sumi kept smacking me with her damn shovel when we were making sand castles. Stop staring at mommy, it's rude!” He says, mimicking your daughter’s scolding tone.

You laugh at his Sumi impression. “My girl was trying to teach you some manners!”

“Damn straight.” He grins against your neck, and your cheeks grow hot at the way his teeth lightly graze over your skin. “That’s why I said she’s more like you, mommy.”

Your stomach flips against your will and your cheeks burn as you smack his well-muscled chest. “Don’t call me that!”

“Hah? Am I hearing my wife being embarrassed right now, after everything we’ve done? After what we made together?” Katsuki teases. “When you’re talking to Sumi you call me dadd—“

“What’s taking you so long!” Speaking of the little devil, Sumi’s impatient voice floats down to the garden through the open window of her room upstairs. “I want my moon and bedtime story now!”

“We’re on our way, Sumi!” You call up. Katsuki reluctantly lets you pull away from his arms, and the both of you stand up to dust yourselves off. He groans as he cracks his back next to you.

“Don’t think we’re nursing home age just yet,” you say jokingly. Katsuki snorts and pinches your cheek for the jibe. 

“You’re lucky I’m still gonna think you’re cute when you’re in grandma diapers.”

“Wha—Hey!” You trail after him into the house. Damn his fast pace and his longer legs. He’s already up the stairs, the present box in his hand.

You reach the top of the stairs and head for the familiar light pink interior of Sumi’s room but stop in the doorway to coo at the sight before you. 

“Hey, squirt. Got the moon for you, just like I said I would.” Katsuki’s voice is gentle as he kneels on the floor to meet her sparkling eyes, and gently shakes the box in his hands before holding it out to her.

“Whoaaa!” Sumi eagerly takes it. “Thank you dada!” 

She raises her head and spots you leaning against the frame of her door. “Mommy look!”

“I’m looking, Mimi.”

“You and dada watch me open it.” 

“Okay, go ahead we’re watching.” Katsuki and you smile softly as she unwraps the present with care and she gasps, tiny hands taking the globe-shaped, moon night light out. It was decorated with realistic looking craters, and even came with a wooden stand to put it on.

“So cute.” Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates. “So pretty.” Then she tilts her head in the direction of her open curtains.

“Why’s she still up there though?” Sumi asks curiously, and Katsuki chuckles. Of course his kid is way too smart to be tricked by something like a night light. 

“Well we can’t actually take the moon away, sweetie. She has her stars to take care of.”

“Oh.” Sumi frowns, deep in thought, then perks up. “Mr. Sun would miss her too!”

“Mhm, that’s right.” You ruffle her hair playfully and she squeals. “That’d be like someone taking me away from you and daddy.”

“No!” Sumi pouts. “Don’t like that. Wanna stay with you and dada forever.”

“And you will, Sumi.” Katsuki pats her little head with his much larger hand in reassurance. “Mommy and I are gonna to be with you forever. Right mommy?”

You sigh, realizing he’s got you trapped. “That’s right… daddy,” you grit out, ignoring the victorious grin that causes his unfairly attractive dimple to appear on his cheek and you head straight for Sumi’s spot on the bed, taking a seat next to her. She leans against your arm, and you press a loving kiss to the top of her head. 

Sumi holds the night light out to Katsuki, who gently sets it down on her nightstand and plugs it in. It casts a soft, white glow, just like real moonlight on his face, and Sumi and you ooh and awe at it in appreciation.

“Can I have my bedtime story now?” Sumi pipes up.

“Sure, think it’s mommy’s turn to read.” Katsuki joins the both of you in bed, sliding an arm behind you. “What book were you thinking of tonight?”

“Le Peewee Prince!”

You giggle. “Le Petit Prince?”

“Yeah, that one!”

“Okay then. Come here and lay down, sweetheart.” You take the bookmark out from where you left off last time, the moon night light beside you illuminating the pages as you begin to read.

“Goodbye, said the fox.” You recite in a quiet, dulcet voice. Katsuki’s arm around your waist hugs you and Sumi closer, who snuggles up between you both, blanket tucked snug under her chin. Your chest warms at the sight, and you continue. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye…”

[skeltnwrites]

At Least It’s Not the End of the World ♡

After protecting the kids from demodogs and sentient tunnel vines with Steve, a weekend babysitting Holly Wheeler together is supposed to be simple. That is until feelings neither of you expected start to make things way more complicated.

gn!reader, takes place in between seasons two and three, people who fight monsters together to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff 16k

── .✦

It doesn’t take long to remember why Holly is your favorite Wheeler. She’s patient and sweet, amazingly level-headed for a preschooler, and her manners could put some adults to shame. Compared to her siblings, Holly’s a little sweetheart. And a mama’s girl through and through, clinging to Mrs. Wheeler more often than not. 

Like now, she wriggles in her mom’s lap, scrunched over a coloring book at the dinner table. She squints at her box of crayons and purses her lips— choosing colors is hard when you’re five. She hasn’t said a peep since you arrived, but in the foyer, she greeted you with a clumsy wave and a sheepish smile. 

“It would be Friday afternoon to Monday morning,” Mrs. Wheeler explains, stirring a glass of lemonade with a curly straw. “I’d ask Nance but she’s having a girl's weekend.” 

You glance at Steve. You know girl’s weekend is code for spending the night with Jonathan Byers. But if he knows it too, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t so much as bat an eye at her words. In fact, he’s relaxed under Mrs. Wheeler’s gaze. He’s sitting in a chair he’s sat in dozens of times before, talking to a woman he sees more frequently than his own mother. 

You don’t know her as well as he does, but you aren’t strangers by any means. 

“And Mike, well, he’s not old enough to watch her for that long. But he’ll be staying over at Joyce’s so you don’t have to worry about him,” she pauses to sip her drink. “I’d pay you, of course. I don’t know what your schedules look like— I know you’re probably busy with the new job, Steve— but I figured since it’s a few days, I’d offer it to you both.” 

Steve flashes an honest smile and leans forward. “Are you kidding? I’d hang with this squirt for free. I’m actually off this weekend so it works out.” 

Mrs. Wheeler beams, eyes springing to yours. 

“Yeah, I could help too,” you shrug. You also happen to be free this weekend and the extra cash would be nice. 

“Great! You both are so lovely. Oh, I was so worried, I kept telling Ted– well, it doesn’t matter now.” Her bracelets clink and clash as she reaches across the table to cover your hand with hers. “You’ll have to keep an eye on these two. She becomes quite the riot when her Stevie comes over.” 

Steve chuckles and raises his hands in defense. “She owes me a rematch at Candyland so I can’t promise anything.” 

Mrs. Wheeler’s fingers retract from yours, landing on the end of Holly’s pigtail. “She’s really missed having you over. Asks about you still.” 

Holly ducks her nose into her paper, pink traveling up her ears. 

“Is that right?” Steve teases. “I’ll have to swing by more often.” 

“Please. You’re welcome anytime, Steve. Whether Nancy’s here or not.” Her attention drifts to you. “And the same goes for you. Mike won’t stop talking about that comic book you gave him.” 

A smug grin surfaces. Out of all of the kids, Mike is a tough one to please. 

“I’ve never been away from Holly for so long. But I trust you guys.” Mrs. Wheeler pecks Holly’s crown to hide a wobbly smile, her sentence spilling out in a breathy string of words.

She really does trust you both. It would take another set of hands to count the number of times either you or Steve had driven her kids home safely. This is just different. She loves all of her kids equally, but Holly’s her baby. 

Holly’s eyes cast up at her mention, bright as a sunlit gem. 

Mrs. Wheeler smooths her daughter’s sleeves down her shoulders. “But Holly’s a good girl. Right, Hollybear?” 

She turns to bury a toothy smile in her mother’s shirt. 

Mrs. Wheeler is meticulous as she presents each and every detail of Holly’s routine. From car seat safety to emergency contacts to allergies, she covers every question you might have before you have it. 

Steve’s a good listener but he’s cursed with a very short attention span. Mrs. Wheeler lost him somewhere around Holly’s sudden aversion to mac and cheese, but she doesn’t seem to notice. You’ll fill in the gaps for him later. 

This won’t be the first time you’ve babysat with Steve. Dustin roped you both into hunting his pet lizard-turned-alien which very quickly escalated to protecting four children from not one, but several, vicious aliens. Safe to say you two are experienced enough to handle one kid for a couple of nights. 

You haven’t seen Steve much since then. It’s summer now. The demodogs and sentient tunnel vines feel much more like a dream than something that actually happened to you these days. Steve works at the Scoops in Starcourt, or so you’ve heard several times– Dustin only reminds you about every time you see him. But despite being as close to death as you’ve ever been beside Steve, visiting him at work feels strangely wrong. Like crossing a line that neither of you ever drew. 

You would not consider Steve Harrington your friend. You’re friendly, as you might be with a neighbor or coworker, but you don’t talk much outside of ​​world-ending, portal-to-another-dimension kind of events. He’s family in a weird sort of way, bound by the shared trauma and unspoken loyalty— like someone you only see at family reunions, familiar enough to care about but still a stranger in most ways. High school was a long blur and your circle of friends couldn’t have been farther from his. So you don’t know Steve, not really. But of what little pieces of him you have come to know in the last year, he’s not half bad at babysitting.

ᯓ★

On Friday afternoon, you park your car beside Steve’s shiny BMW in the Wheeler’s driveway. You take the house key that had been slipped from Mrs. Wheeler’s key ring to yours and unlock the front door. And you find that inside, it’s completely silent. Holly’s quiet as a mouse but she’s still a kid and kids make noise. 

Your bag drops onto the floor beside Steve’s shoes as you toe off your own. When the kitchen and living room turn up empty you jog upstairs. Alarm sinks in on the last step where you still hear nothing. No shouting, no laughing, no crying, no nothing. 

There’s a large window in the hall upstairs, dividing Nancy’s room from Mike's and Holly’s. In your panic, you miss the suspicious lumps in the drapes that frame it. 

As you brush by, Steve rips the curtain across the rod and shouts, “Ha! Gotch– Oh.” 

Your entire body jerks, fear cinching every nerve. “Christ! Steve!”

“Sorry, sorry!” 

Your nostrils flare with hot air as you shove him, “You scared me!” 

His open palms hover in between your chests, unsure how to help. “I thought you were Holly. Sorry.” He gives you an apologetic once-over before a breathy chuckle escapes. 

“It’s not funny. All the shit we’ve been through. God.” He’s lucky you didn’t punch him. A part of you still wants to. 

“Mommy says that’s not a nice word,” Holly says from behind you. 

You turn, shoulders sagging in relief. “I didn’t mean to say that. Sorry.” 

“Stevie, I was supposed to find you,” she whines incredulously, hands planted on her hips. 

“We can go again. I’ll find a new spot.” 

Her frown mends as quickly as it appeared and she skips back to her room to count. 

“Sorry,” Steve reminds you. “Help me find a spot to hide?” 

Soft eyes, a softer smile. It’s hard to stay mad when he looks at you like that. “Okay.” 

Twenty seconds isn’t very long to hide. Especially when Holly counts as fast as she does and when you spend half of your time standing in the hall. So you end up crouched in the corner of Mike’s closet, Steve arched over you, trying his hardest not to crush your toes. 

“Jesus. Does this kid even wash his clothes?” Steve whisper-shouts. “It smells like something died in here.” His palm snaps to the wall behind your head, the flesh of his arm warming your ear.

“You actually couldn’t have picked a worse place. Oh my God.” You press the neckline of your shirt over your nose. Steve’s wearing enough cologne to drown out the stench of dirty socks, though it’s choking you all the same. 

“We had like three seconds. I panicked!” 

You’re glaring at him but only a fraction of light filters in from underneath the door so you’d guess he doesn't see. 

The closet is the first place Holly checks when she barges into Mike’s room, but you’ve never been happier to be caught so fast. 

“My turn!” She glows in victory, pigtails swishing like yellow ribbons as she shouts. 

Steve huffs. “Let’s take a break. We’ve been playing for like an hour.” 

“Can we play tag?”

“In a little while. I’m tired.” He pinches her neck playfully until she squirms out of reach. “How’d you have all that energy?”

She shrugs with her whole body. “I dunno. I’m a kid.” 

A laugh bubbles out of your throat. When your eyes flit to Steve you find him already smiling at you. 

“What about something a little more chill,” you suggest. “We could color?” 

“Bracelets?” 

“You want to make some?” 

She nods, “I can’t reach them. The beads are on top of my closet.”  

“I’ll get ‘em,” Steve offers. “Come show me where.” 

You fan out her multitude of craft containers across the kitchen table. Beads, charms, strings, all neatly filed away. She pops open a lid and plunks down across from you. Steve takes the seat at the end in between. 

“What color bracelet are you gonna make?” you ask, raking through the rainbow of options. 

“Umm, yellow. No– green!” 

“Nice. Here’s a cute little frog charm. Want that?” 

“Mmmm. No, thank you.” 

“I’ll take it,” Steve says, stretching his hand toward you. 

You drop it in the center of his palm where it clinks against a handful of blue beads. They’re pretty and vibrant like the sea. A flicker of an idea pulls you to grab your own handful. 

Holly slides four beads onto a string, two lime green and two baby pink. She drags the other end up and they all slip off, bouncing in separate directions across the table. You smack one before it dives onto the floor and Steve catches another two mid-air. 

“Can you help me tie it?” Holly asks from under her chair, searching for the fourth. 

“Sure.” Steve swaps his bracelet for hers, triple knotting one end. “I like these colors.”

She resurfaces with a grin, voice lilting as she speaks, “Do you like purple?”

“Yeah, purple’s okay. Do you?” 

She nods, pinching a lilac gem and examining it. 

You slip into a peaceful rhythm. The bead bin rattles as Steve digs his fingers in. He murmurs something about sparkles as he shuffles. Every now and then, you peek up at him. And each time, you find that he’s fully absorbed in this, rubbing his chin or poking his tongue out in concentration. You’d even bet he’s having fun. 

“Can you tie it on me,” Holly asks when she finishes. 

Steve takes her hand gently, fingers engulfing her tinier ones. “This good?” He tugs the strings across each other at her permission, sealing it with an extra knot for good measure.  

Holly starts a second one as you finish your first. You hold it up triumphantly for them to see– red and blue beads between every white pearl. 

“Very patriotic,” Steve teases. 

“It’s for you. For scoops. These are the colors right?” 

He softens, eyes rounding like brown buttons. “Wait, really? Thank you. Wow.” He inspects it fondly where you release it in his palm. “Will you tie it?” His arm shoots over to your side of the table. 

You feel his gaze shift from the bracelet to your face as you lace it. And you pretend that it doesn’t make your cheeks burn. 

“You don’t have to wear it to Scoops if you don’t want to,” you mumble, releasing his wrist. 

“What? Of course, I’m wearing it. No one’s ever made me a bracelet before.” 

Your lips bend up into your cheeks as he leans back in his seat. He twists and turns his arm, looking it over again with a similar expression. “Now, it was supposed to be a surprise, but since I’m almost done, I actually made this for you.” He scoops up the piece he’s been working on and waves it in front of you. 

You cock an eyebrow and smirk. “You sure you didn’t just decide that since I gave you one.” 

“I didn’t! I was planning this the whole time! Right Holly, didn’t I say that?”

“No?” 

“Holly, come on now.” He elbows her arm. “Supposed to back me up.” 

“But you didn’t,” she giggles. 

“Holly doesn’t lie, Steve.” 

“Okay, I didn’t say it. But I thought it. I was gonna give it to you I swear.” He jams another couple of beads on his string. “See! Look, it has your favorite color on there.” 

“It has every color on there.” 

“One of which is your favorite.” 

You roll your eyes as he takes your wrist. His hands are warmer than yours, softer than you expect too. He stills as your palm flips face up. A jagged, fleshy ridge runs from the bottom of your pinky to the meat of your thumb. Steve was there when you got the scar. He’s never said it, but you know he blames himself for it. A demodog had you pinned in that damned junkyard school bus so Steve pushed you out of the way but you caught yourself on a broken window. 

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

His head dips in a silent nod. He isn’t sure whether to believe you or not. Either way, he feels sorry still.

His bracelet is a statement piece for sure. It truly has every color under the sun and a random assortment of charms and shells. But it’s sweet that he gave it to you. Even if he totally did not plan to do so at first. 

He makes a second bracelet for Holly with purple string and butterfly pendants. Holly gives her next one to him as thanks, then begins on a third for you. 

Steve stands from the table. “I’m hungry. Grilled cheese okay for dinner Holly?” She nods as do you when he asks you the same. 

Your focus drifts between him and the necklace you’re starting for Holly. He coasts around the kitchen naturally, like you imagine he would in his own house. But it’s a bizarre sight. Steve Harrington cooking you food, in the Wheeler’s kitchen out of all places. 

And he’s about as good as a chef as you expect him to be. He’s clumsy and uncertain, even dropping a spatula on the floor with an, “Oh, shi–ugar…” But he kindly refuses to accept any help or advice when you offer. 

He eventually swings around the kitchen island, brimming with pride, one plate in each hand. They’re set in the space you’ve cleared and you quickly see that the sandwiches have been cut adorably into stars. You just as quickly see– and smell– how burnt they are. They aren’t black, they’re edible for sure. But Holly’s five, and polite as she is, most kids would never willingly eat this. 

So you aren’t surprised when she looks at it in disgust, borderline horror. 

“Look, it’s a star,” Steve beams, oblivious. 

Your chest aches with the desire to laugh and an equal pang of sympathy. 

Holly shakes her head, visibly toning down her expression for his sake. “Can I have something else?” 

“It’s good! I promise, just try it.” 

She slowly shakes no again. 

“Steve,” a peel of laughter escapes your lips. “It’s burnt.” 

He scoffs. “It’s not that burnt.” 

Your mouth twitches in a funny little line and your eyes leap between him and the plate. “It’s pretty burnt, Steve.” 

After a moment of silence, he sighs and picks both plates back up. 

“Wait,” you shout, “I’ll still eat mine! Mine isn’t that bad. You did a good job!” 

He sulks at you. “You’re just saying that. I’ll make new ones.” 

“No, it’s okay, really. I’ll eat this one. I don’t mind.” 

He plants the plate in your grabby hands and spins back toward the stove. 

Round two is much better, still star-shaped, and a few shades lighter. Holly thanks him more than once while eating it without you even asking her to. If only Nancy and Mike were as precious as her. And Steve eats the first attempt, now cold, and admits that it tastes, “slightly burnt.” 

You take the empty plates to the sink to wash while Steve and Holly lug the jewelry kits back upstairs. You meet them in Holly’s room after. They’re playing house, Steve the dad, and Holly the mom, with four babydolls for children. She appoints you to be the neighbor when you join. 

You knock on her bedpost, pretending it’s her front door. “Holly, in one hour you’re gonna take a bath.”

Her head pops out from under the blanket. “Can we watch a movie before bed?” 

“Sure, but we have to do bath now if you wanna watch the whole thing.” 

“Okay!” She kicks the sheets away, jumping off the bed in a race to the bathroom. Steve winces as she steps on his hand. 

“Do you need help?” he asks, sprawled across the bed, socked feet hanging over the edge. 

“No, I got it. You can rest in peace now,” you joke, halfway through the door. 

Holly is self-sufficient enough to bathe herself so all you have to do is supervise. You find a matching polka dot set of pajamas in her dresser and a towel under the bathroom sink. And she gets dry and dressed all by herself, Miss Independent. 

“So there’s The Little Mermaid, E.T., Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory…” Steve trails off, kneeling in front of the entertainment center. 

Holly hands him a VHS tape, “This one?” 

“Ooh, good pick.” Steve feeds the tape into the player and rewinds it. 

You pat the couch cushion beside yours as Holly skips over. Steve hits the light before flopping into the recliner with a satisfied groan. The Jungle Book glows to life on the TV, casting an indigo wash over each of your faces. Holly curls into herself, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them.

“Here,” Steve chucks a blanket from the basket at his side. 

“Thanks.” You scoop it off the floor where it missed the couch and billow it out over you and Holly. “Don’t fall asleep, Harrington.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve folds one leg over the other and crosses his arms, eyes glued to the screen. He reminds you of Mr. Wheeler sitting in his recliner like that. It’s alarming how attractive you find it. He’s not even doing anything worth staring at. You force your eyes back on the TV. 

The credits scroll up the screen for a whole minute before you realize the movie has ended. You aren’t asleep but you aren’t totally awake either. Steve’s not far off by the looks of it and Holly, on the other hand, was out like a light halfway through. Her head presses into your upper arm, her hand scrunched in the blanket on your thigh. The weight is nice, making it all the harder to pick yourself up and get her to bed. 

But thankfully Steve’s there to help. He twists in his chair until his back clicks, smiling when he catches sight of you and Holly. “I’ll carry her up,” he whispers. 

You gently work Holly’s stubborn fingers from the blanket as Steve stands. He pushes the rest of the fabric into your lap before bending to scoop Holly up. 

“Be right back,” he says, starting toward the stairs. 

You tug the blanket higher, seeking lost comfort in its folds, though it doesn’t compare to the warmth Holly provided. 

Steve pads back down not a minute later. He stops on the last step, hanging over the railing. “You awake?” 

“Barely,” you mumble. 

Steve plods up to the front door to check the locks. He orbits into the kitchen and then back around to the living room to turn the TV off. He’s being the responsible one. You aren’t sure why this surprises you. 

“Come on,” he opens his hand toward you. 

Your arm snakes out from under the blanket, and he lifts you effortlessly. You’ve seen how strong he is, how he fights, but it still surprises you. 

“I was gonna suggest another movie but I don’t think either of us’ll make it.” 

You catch a yawn from Steve. “I know. I’m so tired. It’s not even late.” 

He hums from behind you on the stairs. “Yeah. Who knew this’d be so exhausting.” He’s only being slightly sarcastic. There’s an obvious truth to what he implied, but at the same time, it is so much harder than you realized it would be. 

You stop at the landing, sluggishly turning to face Steve. “Well, goodnight, I guess.” 

“Goodnight.” 

You splinter into opposite ends of the hall. Steve let you have Nancy’s room for obvious reasons, though he wasn’t thrilled about crashing in Mike’s bed. He’s probably better off on the couch after seeing the kid’s closet. 

You change into cozier clothes and untuck Nancy’s quilt. Like with Steve, you and Nancy aren’t really friends. It’s strange being in her room, settling into her bed. And it’s almost stranger that Steve is sleeping across the hall. Yet, there’s an odd comfort in it— being surrounded by people who went through the same thing you did. 

ᯓ★

There’s thumping in the hall– footsteps, too light to be Steve’s. You fight the urge to go back to sleep. Holly needs a babysitter. But it’s not an easy feat, not when you’re swaddled like a baby in blankets much softer than the ones you have at home. You’re warm and it’s so quiet it feels like a gift; that is, until you remind yourself that kids and quiet don’t usually go hand and hand. She could be answering the door to a stranger, scaling the counters, setting the kitchen on fire, the possibilities are endless. 

You force your heavy eyes open and flinch as a much brighter pair come into focus. 

Holly bends over you with this innocent endearment you cannot possibly be mad to be woken by. “Told you, Stevie,” she says. 

“No, you woke ‘em up, goofball.” Steve lingers at the foot of the bed in a pair of striped pajama pants and a faded Olympics tee. You’ve never seen him in pajamas before, or anything quite like it. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows and rub your eyes for a better look. 

“Sorry,” he supplies. His voice is still raspy with sleep and his oh-so-perfect hair shoots up in wild peaks. The sight makes your chest buzz. “She said you had to get up to.” 

You redirect your attention to Holly, pinching the neckline of your shirt back over your shoulder as you sit up. 

“Can we have eggs?” she asks you. 

“Sure.” 

She traps her lip between her two frontmost baby teeth. “Five?” 

“Five eggs!” Steve chides. “Just for you?” 

She turns to nod at him, smile blooming. 

He wears the same joy, ruffling her already unruly bed-head. “What are you a linebacker?” 

She giggles, clueless as to what he’s talking about. 

“Let’s start with two and if you’re still hungry you can have more,” you compromise. 

You are undeniably a better cook than Steve, but the bar is low after yesterday. You serve scrambled eggs and unburnt toast. Holly looks at her plate like she hasn’t been fed a day in her life and she shovels spoonfuls of it in her mouth like it’s her last meal. 

Steve watches her with an anxious frown. “Smaller bites, Holl.” 

She nods but doesn’t exactly slow her pace. Steve chases your eyes, knocking your ankle with his when you don’t look. He gives you that funny face parents make. Help me out. 

You shrug. “It’s just eggs. Babies eat eggs.” 

He cycles through several emotions—frustration that you won’t back him up, disbelief that babies eat eggs, and a lingering fear that she might choke. But he stops himself from asking all the what-ifs, he trusts you. 

Holly swallows half of her glass of chocolate milk in one go. Steve looks mildly horrified. 

“My God. She’s like a little human vacuum,” he mumbles through a mouthful of toast. 

You snort into your glass. If Holly heard him, she’s too preoccupied to care. 

After breakfast, Steve sets her up in front of the TV to watch cartoons while you clear the table. He disappears into the basement in search of a board game but comes back with some deflated, plastic thing. 

“What happened to the board game?” you ask. “What even is that?” 

“It’s a kiddie pool. Let’s go outside. It’s nice out.” 

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.” 

“Me neither. Just wear that.” 

You wrinkle your nose down at your pajamas. “Go see if she wants to.” 

He smiles, retreating back into the living room. Shortly after, he shouts, “She said yes!” Footsteps pound up the stairs, followed by a second shout, “Don’t run!” 

Mrs. Wheeler calls the house phone and is pleased to hear your good report. She reminds you several times to apply sunscreen to Holly’s ears and that there’s an extra can in the upstairs bathroom. You wrangle Holly over to put her on and promise to call back before bedtime when she refuses to hang up. 

You sift through your bag, changing into the closest thing to swimwear. Steve takes forever in the bathroom, which doesn’t surprise you one bit. He comes out in a crisp white tee, way too expensive-looking for a pool day, and a pair of red gym shorts. 

“What are you, the lifeguard?” you joke. 

His hands snap to his hips. “Uhh, I’ll have you know I’ve been a certified lifeguard for two years, so yeah, actually.” 

You roll your eyes, brushing past him for the extra can of sunscreen. “Are you ready? Holly’s waiting.” 

“Yeah. Let me go blow up the pool. I’ll be outside.” 

You fix your hair in the mirror and tuck a few towels under your arm before heading downstairs. Holly’s already outside, criss-crossed in a big lawn chair and watching Steve with incredible boredom. He stands barefoot in the grass, the deflated pool pressed against his chest. He pulls away from the air valve when he notices you, quickly capping it with his thumb. 

“You okay?” you ask, laughing lightly. 

He nods, red-cheeked and breathless. “Think there’s a hole in it. Been blowin’ for like five minutes.” 

“Huh,” you drop the towels and take one end of the limp plastic. “Try again.” 

He funnels more air inside, it dispurses evenly underneath your palm. You don’t hear any air wheezing out so you turn it over for further inspection. 

“Oh, Steve. Here, look.” 

He pops his mouth off and follows your pointer finger. A second valve at the bottom, unhinged and releasing his hard work steadily. 

“Oh, you’re kidding me. Why’d they put one under there?”

You shrug, plugging it back up. “Holly, let’s get some sunscreen on so your mom doesn’t kill us.” 

Holly hops off the chair and skips to your side. You mist her skin in several layers, lathering a generous amount over her ears. When you move onto yourself, she grabs her basket of toys and climbs into the dry inflatable. Steve retrieves the hose and releases a cool stream into the pool, splashing Holly’s feet.

She squeals and scoots back. “Cold!” 

Steve’s thumb eclipses the opening so the water bursts out in wide a fan. He trains it at Holly, spraying her until she’s soaked and screaming. 

He’s giggling in a way you’ve never heard. Genuine, open-mouthed reels of laughter. You hate to admit it, but it’s really cute. So infectious you can’t help but join. 

He glances back for your reaction, pleasantly satisfied. And your smile incites a great idea. He swings the hose around, aiming it straight at you. 

“Steve!” Your arms shoot out to block the attack but it’s no use. 

“What?” he says, the epitome of innocence. 

Your eyes narrow but a smirk prevails. “Oh, you–” 

Holly tackles the back of his thigh with a scream. Steve stumbles forward and the hose slips from his grasp. 

You lunge for it before he even realizes what happened. And by the time he does, he’s already drenched. “Payback!” You laugh maniacally as he combs his hair out of his eyes. 

He’s laughing too, bent at the waist, still shaking his surprise. But only until he catches your gaze– then comes the glint of something playful, almost daring.

Steve barrels straight through the spray like a bull. He chokes your fingers over the nozzle, bending and bending the line until the water pours straight down your head. 

Holly dashes behind you to wrangle the wiggly tail of the hose, squealing at every layer of mist she catches. 

You and Steve wrestle with it, his hand on your hip, yours pushing his shoulder. He’s gentle but still strong. And his touch sears through the cold water, your skin tingling in his wake. 

The second he sticks the end down the back of your shirt you scream. “Okay, okay! I surrender!” 

He crimps the hose with one hand, smirking deviously. 

“I surrender,” you repeat, heaving through your laughter. 

Holly drops her end of the hose, backing up one slow step at a time. 

“Truce?” 

“Truce,” you nod, stepping up cautiously to shake his hand. 

He accepts your hand, using it to yank you closer and blast you again. You chase and dodge and tackle each other under the blazing sun until your legs feel like jelly. But the game eventually slows as exhaustion creeps in. 

You and Steve collapse in the lawn chairs while Holly lays belly-down in the pool. Water sloshes over the rim onto your toes as she kicks, a brief reprieve from the sticky heat. You're relaxed, but your mind wanders. You keep hoping the Wheelers won’t notice the sudden increase in their water bill. 

“Dustin talks about you all the time.”

You tear your eyes away from Holly, blinking back into reality as you face Steve. “What?”

“Dustin, he talks about you all the time. Kid loves you.” 

“Oh. He’s a sweet kid. Talks about you too. Keeps telling me to come see you at Scoops.”

Steve chuckles, more of a half-hearted puff of amusement than a real one. 

“Which, I’m sorry I haven’t, by the way,” you confess. 

His eyebrows jump, lips parting in soft surprise. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. He’s just being Dustin.” 

You press a blade of grass flat under your heel, as if the right words might sprout from the dirt. “I dunno. I mean, don’t you think it’s kinda weird that we don’t like talk? After everything?” 

The words bounce around Steve’s head for a minute. He fixates on your choice of weird. Weird, like bad? Weird like you want to talk? He can’t decide. And he’s afraid if he opens his mouth, the wrong words will tumble out. 

But he tries anyway, “Honestly, I thought you didn’t want to be friends. You were just so… distant after.” 

You rub the length of your arm, lips creasing into a frown. “Sorry, I was just. I don’t even know. Rattled, I guess.” 

“Yeah, rabid dogs with faces that split open and try to eat you tend to have that effect.” 

Your frown melts, little by little. 

“But we should’ve been there for you more. It was a hard time for everybody.” 

His apology echoes in your mind, the ache like a weight on your chest. 

“You could visit if you wanted to. At scoops. I could get you ice cream for free.” 

But the ache doesn’t stand a chance against the way he makes you feel. 

“Okay.” Your cheeks round with a sincere smile. “I’d like that.” 

He turns his head, as if to hide, but you still catch an echo of your own expression. Your eyes flicker across the contours of his profile, following the graceful line from his ear to his collar, before drifting over the sculpted shape of his arms and the long expanse of his thighs. Steve Harrington is objectively attractive. This isn’t the first time you’ve thought so. But it is the first time that fact makes your head spin. 

Maybe it’s the heat. The sun feels like it's roasting you alive, and Steve’s attractiveness certainly isn't helping. You’re feeling strange, thinking crazy things– the kind of thoughts that only come when you’re on the verge of heat stroke certainly. 

You stand abruptly and the grass sways underneath your feet. But you get your bearings before anyone notices. “Holly, can I come sit in the pool?”

Her eyes pop up, grin distorted underneath the water. She props her elbow up and rests her cheek in the palm of her hand. “What’s the password?”

“Umm, can you give me a hint?” 

A high-pitched hum. “Okay. She’s my favorite character.” 

“Uhh, Barbie?” 

“Nooo.” 

“Strawberry Shortcake?”

“Nooo.” 

“Hello Kitty?” 

“You’re really bad at this,” she giggles. It would be really cute if you weren’t possibly dying right now. 

“It’s Care Bears,” Steve interjects, snapping his fingers. “Uhh, the yellow one. Umm, Funshine!” 

“Yes!” Holly glows like the sun on Funshine herself. “Stevie can come in.”

Steve stands but he doesn’t get in. “Come on, Holl. It’s hot.”

“There’s a new password.”

“Okay, okay. Can I have another hint?” you ask. 

Her tongue curls out to lick the sweat off her lip. “My favorite color.” 

“Purple?” 

“Yes,” she nods and sits up. “But I really like yellow and blue and pink too.” 

You sink into the water, unsure if there was ever a wrong answer. It’s shallow and lukewarm, barely grazing the tops of your thighs, but it’s enough to cool the sun off your skin. Steve follows, and the space tightens awkwardly— the inflatable wasn’t built for three. His knee brushes yours while Holly’s toes nudge your foot, but neither of them seems to mind. 

You cup water up to your cheeks and pour it down your arms. 

“Better?” Steve asks, a droll little pinch to his features. 

He’s staring at you which is definitely not helping but you nod anyway. 

“Why don’t we move to the shade?” He stands before you or Holly agrees, offering his hand to pull you up. 

She races Steve to the nearest tree, though he doesn't stand much of a chance dragging the pool behind him. He refills it with fresh water and encourages Holly to splash you gently while he runs inside to make lunch. By the time he returns, you’re feeling much more yourself. 

“Bon Appétit,” Steve announces, lowering himself slowly onto a towel. He carries three animal-shaped plates stocked with fruit and PB&Js, one in each hand, another balanced on his forearm. 

Holly scrambles out of the water, plopping onto the other end of his towel. You get out too, shaking a second one out to lay beside theirs. 

“Lion or hippo?” he asks Holly. 

She hums for a long time, inspecting each plate meticulously before pointing to the lion.

“Good choice.” He sets the plate in front of her crossed legs and passes you the hippo. Steve takes the polar bear for himself, which notably only has half a sandwich. 

“Where’s the other half?” you ask. 

He takes a large bite, pressing his hand to his mouth to reply, “Ran out of bread.” 

“Here.” You rip one of your halves in half. 

“Thanks,” he says, syllables tangling as he chews. 

Holly watches the interaction fondly before pulling apart her own sandwich. It splits in a jagged line, mostly crust on one half. But happily, she thrusts the bigger piece toward Steve, jelly dribbling down her little fist. 

He tilts his head, a growing smile mirroring yours. “You eat it. I have enough now.” 

She crinkles her nose. “You eat it!” 

“No, you!” He squeezes her slim bicep. “You need to get big and strong.” 

“What about you?” 

“I’m already big and strong.” 

She considers this, giving him an obvious once-over that makes you laugh. “Trade?” 

“Okay, trade.” Steve chuckles, exchanging one of his halves for hers. He licks a stripe across his knuckle where her sticky fingers brushed his. It’s as innocent as the gesture can be but something about it has your cheeks burning in a way the sun couldn’t. 

Conversation tapers off, replaced with an easy quiet. Your stomach is satisfied with the food, but it’s your heart that feels the most nourished, steeped in the comfort of good company. You hadn’t expected to enjoy hanging out with Steve or Holly this much. 

Holly slouches into your arm, stretching her legs across the grass like a bridge between the towels. Her heels push into the pudge of Steve’s thigh, the faintest smirk crossing her lips. 

He squeezes her ankle until it darts away. 

Gradually, she presses again and in turn, he squeezes, but this time he doesn’t let go. She squeals as he drags her down your side. But all hell breaks loose when he starts tickling the bottom of her foot. 

She shrieks, thrashing and squirming against his hold, giggling in between gasps. “Ste–vie!” she cries.

Her laugh is too pure of a sound to be real, Steve thinks. His resolve crumbles, grip faltering. And Holly’s heel slams smack into his jaw. Steve winces, bending away to cradle his cheek. 

You straighten up. “You okay? Let me see.” 

Holly’s legs go limp in the grass, her shoulders tense in your lap. 

Steve’s hand slackens unveiling a red splotch not much darker than his sunburnt cheeks. He meets your eyes with a dismissive shake, “It’s okay.” 

You believe him. It doesn’t look nearly awful enough to make your concern stick. And his face has been through worse. Billy Hargrove painting his fists red with Steve’s blood is one of the things you remember most about that night. 

His attention dips down to Holly. She sniffles, eyes glistening in the sunlight with a frown nearly reaching her chin. 

“It’s okay. I’m okay, Holl.” 

Holly putters, whimpers drowning the edges of her words. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay! I promise! It doesn’t even hurt,” he reassures, cupping her kneecap. 

You tug her off the ground and she sinks into your arms naturally. Hot tears pave a path down your neck only to dissolve in the fabric of your shirt. You coax her sobs out, one back rub at a time. 

Steve waits until she settles with this pitiful look on his face. “I know you didn’t mean to Hollybear. Just an accident. Hmm?” 

She nods against your chin. 

He strokes the back of her arm, fingers grazing yours where they work. “Please don’t cry.” 

Holly sniffles. 

“You know what might help me feel better?” She lifts a sweaty cheek off your chest as Steve opens his arms. “A hug.” 

She pushes out of your hands into his. He holds her tight, providing one loving squeeze after another. 

This is not how you pictured Steve to be under normal babysitting circumstances. A voice like sweet honey, eyes warm like the sun. He’s very soft, and so undeniably kind. And not just to Holly, but also you. 

Steve hooks the spare towel closer, draping it across her back. “Lean back,” he tells her. 

She avoids his gaze as she does, tears melting away under his touch. 

“You know what I think?” He cinches the towel at her collar like a cloak. 

She hums. 

“I think we should have popsicles for dessert.” 

Holly meets his eyes then, excitement glimmering underneath the droop of lingering guilt. 

“How does that sound?”

“Good,” she admits meekly. 

A smirk thins his lips. “I dunno though. What if we get a tummy ache?” He pokes her belly through the towel. “Maybe it’s not–”

“No– I want one!”

“I dunnooo,” he sings.

“Please, Stevie! You already said.”

“How bad do you want it? Like this much?” He pinches his fingers together, leaving the slightest gap between them. 

“No, no!” She shakes her head, casting her arms out as far as they’ll go. “This much!” 

He sighs loudly, shoulders sagging for the dramatic touch. “Okay.” 

Holly’s arms curl around his neck as he stands. He’s more than happy to carry her, but the added weight makes him groan. 

You trail behind automatically, half enjoying the show and just as excited for a treat. Steve pins the back door open with his foot, returning a smile you hadn’t realized you were sharing. Your cheeks are starting to protest, sore with overwhelming happiness. 

“What color do you want?” 

“Pink! Pink!” Holly shouts in his ear, loud enough to make you wince. But Steve doesn’t react in the slightest to her volume. You’d all taken a piece of the Upside Down with you after El sealed it up. And just when you seemed to forget it, you’d be reminded in the form of scars, nightmares, headaches, and in Steve’s case, hearing loss. 

He opens the freezer, Holly propped on his hip. She’s far too big to be carried like that comfortably but he does it anyway. 

“Pink for Holly. Red for Steve.” He leans back to find your face. “For you?” 

You purse your lips, “Surprise me.” 

Steve stows Holly on the countertop so he can snip the plastic tips. She receives her popsicle first, then you, and finally Steve. 

“Matching,” Holly observes as you sit beside them on the couch. 

Steve crosses his popsicle over your identically red one when you raise an eyebrow. “Look at that,” he says. 

She hums, gnawing on the plastic wrapper. Steve pushes the ice up for her and thumbs away the dribble at the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t seem to notice, but it catches you off guard. Steve’s such a natural at this you almost can’t believe he’s an only child. 

You turn the TV on to an episode of Care Bears as Holly slumps into Steve’s chest, slurping the last of her slush loudly. 

“Sleepy?” you ask when she kneads her eyes. 

“No.”

You chuckle, combing her frizz back. “Okay.” 

“You know, it’s okay if you are sleepy,” Steve mentions, equally amused. 

“I know. I’m not.” Her tone is casual, a portrait of nonchalance, despite the yawn that slips out afterward. 

You and Steve exchange a look of mutual fondness. 

“I’m pretty tired,” Steve declares, reclining into the cushions with a fake yawn. “I think I’ll take a nap.” 

Holly twists against him to watch. It doesn’t take long for her little fingers to poke and prod his lashline.

He peels one eye open, playfully cocking an eyebrow. 

She giggles and pinches the skin closed. 

You’re trapped between nervously supervising she doesn’t poke his eye out and leaving to get a baby wipe for her hands which you imagine are very sticky with popsicle juice. Either way, you’ll be surprised if Steve doesn’t have pink eye by morning. 

“I’m sleeping,” he whines and headbutts her palm gently. 

“Nooo,” she whines back, wedging her hand across his mouth. Delirium is setting in, a nap is imminent. 

Steve opens his eyes, giddy just the same. “Okay. You got me.” 

Holly frees his mouth to swipe a streak of red from his chin. Her tongue pokes out in prime concentration. 

A staggered laugh of disbelief is shaken from Steve’s chest. He hadn’t expected Holly to be difficult, but she’s been nothing short of delightful. She’s sweeter than Mike and Nancy combined and smarter than he thought kids her age could be. For a self-indulgent second, he hopes that his kids will turn out something like her. 

Holly reels back around to lay on her side, eyelids sagging with an inevitable heaviness. Steve draws the towel up to her chin, fixing his palm to her back. You watch her drift off, eyes slipping up every so often. 

When you’re positive she’s out, you cautiously dislodge the popsicle wrapper from her fingers. Steve passes his as you stand. 

One of the many hard things about kids is all the cleaning. Holly’s as neat as a five-year-old gets, and still, every moment of peace is an opportunity spent putting things back where they belong. You head outside to tip the pool over and collect stray towels and toys that didn’t make it back in. 

By the time you return, Steve’s passed out, mouth ajar, head craned back against the couch. It’s not a particularly attractive expression– he’d probably be embarrassed to wake to your staring– but you can’t find anything other than endearment in yourself.  

You shower and change into fresh clothes and end up on the opposite couch to watch TV. But Care Bears isn’t all that entertaining anymore so you rest your eyes for just a second. 

A second turns to several and when you reopen your eyes you discover the clock is two hours ahead of where it was before. 

The silence is only comforting for a fleeting moment before anxiety creeps in. Your eyes flick from the TV, now powered off, to the other couch where Steve and Holly are not where you left them. Nor are they in the dining room, kitchen, basement, or backyard. You take the stairs two steps at a time and nearly trip over a blanket strewn across the banister when Holly screams. 

You’d have kicked her door off the hinges if it came to it but are thankful it’s already open. Holly is perfectly safe, bent over the remnants of what you assume was a pillow fort. 

You release a breath caught in your throat and sag against the doorframe. Steve offers an apologetic smile when he notices. 

Holly glances over but quickly returns to their game. “You’ve destroyed my kingdom!” she shouts, drilling a finger into Steve’s chest. “Off with your head!” 

You’re too stunned to laugh, but a noise of confusion skips out. Steve gawks at Holly in pretend despair, scrubbing any seeping amusement off his lips with the back of his hand. He’s dressed in sweats, Holly in a princess dress. But more importantly, his face has been caked in makeup and his hair twisted into two fluffy knots. 

“You!” Holly yells with a scowl aimed at you. “Hold him down!” 

Steve pleads at your ankles, pressing his forehead to the carpet in prayer. It takes every ounce of you not to break character and laugh. There’s something so surreal about Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High, in sparkly eyeshadow, kneeling before a little girl to beg for his life. It’s hilarious as it is heartwarming. 

“If I may propose a suggestion!” You counter, equally dramatic. “A trade! For this silly man’s life, we will help rebuild your kingdom twice as big! Princess I–” 

“Queen!”

Steve snorts but she must miss it. 

“My apologies. Queen Holly, I can assure you this new Kingdom will have all of the finest luxuries that royalty like yourself might desire.” 

She takes a second to process the big words. “Fine!” She sneers, diving onto her mattress which is absent of all its sheets and blankets. “Chop! Chop!”

You bite your lip, chasing the fervent smile away. Steve gets right to work, sorting pillows from most to least sturdy. You steal another chair from Nancy’s desk and help Steve double-knot the roof to it. It’s no mansion, but it is long enough for Steve to lie down in, which is a job well done in your book. Especially when you’re under strict supervision and listening to a thread of loud critiques. 

You lift the door flap for Holly to crawl through. “Your quarters, Your Grace.” 

She glances over her shoulder with a wicked, but mostly adorable, expression. “My name is not Grace! It’s Holly! Queen Holly to you!” 

The explanation dies on your tongue because how can you possibly argue with that? You’re just grateful to still have your head. 

After the grand tour, Queen Holly disappears into one of the tent’s offshoots with a handful of stuffed animals she's referring to as her royal guards. 

Steve scoots closer, whispering behind his hand, “I think we need to stage a coup.” 

You lean into his good ear, affection spilling off your tone, “I didn’t know she could be so mean.” 

“Me neither! She must be hanging out with Mike.” 

“Must be.” You grin for what feels like the millionth time today. 

You’re sitting knee to knee, close enough to catch the heat of Steve’s breath on your cheek. You drag the pad of your finger across his cheekbone where teal eyeshadow has been caked on in several layers. “I like this,” you compliment. 

I kinda forgot she put that on.” He ducks his head bashfully, peeking up through his eyelashes. “Do I look pretty?” 

“The prettiest.” 

He receives it as teasing, but it’s true, you do think Steve is pretty. A strong nose, kind eyes, and sure, maybe the hair. But now that you’re inches apart, you notice twin smile lines, a series of freckles down his cheek, and a faded scar across his forehead. You linger there more than anywhere else, under the guise of judging Holly’s makeup job, of course. 

But the silence twists into something less comfortable with each passing second. A brief twitch of emotion flickers across Steve’s face, gone before you can name it. “So… pizza for dinner?” he blurts out. 

Before you’ve processed what happened, Holly shouts, “Cheese please!” 

Steve splinters from your gaze, calling back, “Yes, My Queen.” 

Dinner is pleasantly easy. The pizza’s delivered and paper plates save you from the hassle of dishes after. You eat at the kitchen table, sharing stories and smiles, strangely like a family. 

And after dinner, Holly has a bath; and after bath, Steve whisks her off to bed. You’re left to your own devices for once, a benevolent bout of peace, but still, you can’t seem to relax. 

The spray of the bathroom light paves the hall leading to Holly’s room. You tiptoe up to the door and peek inside. 

Steve’s on the floor, slouched against the side of the bed cradling Holly to his chest. He flinches as your shadow veers across the moonlit wall.  

“Sorry,” you whisper, dropping onto your knees beside them. 

Holly picks her head up, tear tracks shimmering as she turns. Her lip wobbles through a whimper. 

You soften like wax near a flame, eyes flitting to Steve who looks equally at a loss. 

She curls her knees into his tummy in a way that probably hurts. The poor thing dissolves into fresh tears, spilling out faster than Steve can chase away. 

“Holls, it’s okay, honey. Me and Stevie are here, okay?” 

She strains to speak through a chain of gasps, “I want my Mommy!” 

“I know, I know. She’ll be back before you know it, I promise,” you steer sweat-slick hair behind her ear. 

“I want her now.” 

“We’ve got ya, Holl,” Steve chimes in. 

“We’re right here.” 

“No– Mommy!” 

It goes like this for a while, soothing reassurances met with unyielding resolve. Holly’s not one to be stubborn for no reason. She’s so exhausted and upset it breaks your heart. You try reading and music and back rubs but there seems to be no end to her sobbing. 

Steve strokes her ankle where it’s now tucked underneath her in your lap. He looks exhausted– hair draped over his forehead like a claw, extra weight embedded in each of his eyelids. You’re both at your breaking point. “You wanna sleep with me tonight Hollybear?” he says in a tone gentler than you’ve ever heard. 

“No. Mommy,” she persists. 

“You can sleep with her when she gets back. But tonight you get to have a sleepover with Steve. Or you can even sleep with me in Nancy’s bed, okay?” 

Red-rimmed eyes flick between you and Steve. Neither option is as good as Mom. 

“Both,” Holly whines. 

“Wanna lay with both of us?” 

She nods. “In the middle.” 

“Okay,” you turn to Steve. “We can do that.” Your words are colored like a question but he’s already nodding his answer. 

He shovels Holly from your lap, cheek pressing into hers in an unspoken exchange of relief. “Alright, munchkin. Let’s go steal Nancy’s big bed. Sound good?” 

She hums her approval into his ear. 

Steve pokes Nancy’s door open with his foot, swinging around to the tucked side of the bed. You crawl across your end as Holly slides off his chest. She molds herself against your shoulder, tugging Steve closer when he settles. 

“Goodnight, Hollybear,” he says. 

She steals your hand from underneath the comforter, then his where it lies on the sheet. Your knuckles brush Steve’s where they are stapled to her chest. “Goodnight,” she sighs. 

Steve strokes up and down the back of her hand, his touch a quiet catalyst. She’s asleep in mere minutes, snoring softly, fingers limp against yours. 

Steve nudges your hand where it’s already pressed to his, whispering when you turn, “Am I crazy that I find all of this kinda fun?” 

You shake your head, a smile working its way across your lips. “Guess that would make me crazy too.” 

“I know I always complain about driving those little shits around but Holly’s actually really fun to babysit.” 

“Yeah, she is. At least it’s not the end of the world this time, right?”

“Yeah, that probably helps, huh?” Amusement ebbs into a sigh. “I’m kinda dreading going home, to be honest.”

“Why don’t we put Mike in a wig? Kidnap Holly for ourselves.” 

He snorts into his pillow. “Oh, yeah. That’ll work. ‘Yeah, I dunno Mrs. Wheeler, she had a crazy growth spurt while you were gone.’”

“We’d take good care of her.”

“We would,” he nods. “You’re really good with her.” 

“So are you. Kinda surprised me actually.”

“Really? Cause Dustin tells me weekly I’d make a good mother.” 

“Yeah, but they’re different. Older. And don’t get me wrong, you’re great with them and they love hanging out with you. Holly’s just little. You’re so much gentler with her, and like, you always seem to know what to do.” 

“For the record, I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“Me neither. I don't know what Mrs. Wheeler was thinking asking us to do this.”

Intertwined laughter fades, but something else— something similar— lingers. An almost tangible buzz of energy, as if the silence itself is alive with unspoken words. You entertain the idea that the feeling’s not exclusive to just you. That Steve hears the same jitter in his pulse and feels the same flutter against his ribs. That you aren’t alone to be feeling such a way.    

“Is it–” 

“Are we–”

“Sorry, you go,” he jabbers out. 

The words trickle back down your throat, too thick to cross your tongue again. “You can probably go now,” you decide. 

His gaze jumps to Holly’s chest where his hand is still coupled with one of hers. 

“If you want,” you amend. “You don’t have to.” 

“You don't mind? If I stayed?”

You shake your head.

“Just worried she’ll wake up if I move.” 

You try to flatten your excitement as you reply, “You can stay.” 

His gaze swims with yours across Nancy's room, skimming over the cluttered dresser, the desk strewn with books and pens, to the shuttered closet doors.

“Sorry about– you know– I heard Nancy… dumped you,” you say, immediately regretting the awkward phrasing.

“Harsh,” he squints and casts you a bittersweet grin. “But true.”

“Is it… weird? To be in here?” 

“A little. But not as much as I thought it would be. Hell of a lot better than Mike’s room.” 

You hum, watching the gentle shift in his brows. 

“Is it weird for you?” 

“Me?” you ask. “In what way?” 

“You and Nance. You don’t always see eye to eye.” 

“I mean, yeah. When our decisions involve risking our lives– or the kids– she’s pretty damn impulsive. And she can be real stubborn and selfish sometimes too. But I dunno, I still love her. She’s been sort of like a sister since everything started. I think that’s why we argue.” 

“What does that make me? Your brother?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, you’re the stray dog we adopted.” 

“Okay. That’s just mean.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Your laugh laps out louder than you intend, but Holly remains still. “I dunno who you’d be. The love interest?”

“I can work with that, sexy love interest–”

You scoff. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Harrington.” 

“Okay, okay. But love interest because…”

“Cause you dated Nance.”

“Oh,” he exhales. 

“You don’t agree? Should we go back to stray dog?” 

“Oh, shut up. I’m going to bed.” Steve rolls onto his side with a sigh. 

“Keep your snoring to a minimum, please.” 

He grumbles, narrowing his eyes at your smirk. “I don’t snore.”

“You do. I could hear it from here last night.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” you argue. “It definitely wasn’t Holly.” 

“Whatever. Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

Only when your eyes are closed does his smile finally emerge. It’s silly how quickly you can pull it out of him. It throws him for a loop every time. But with you at his side, maybe he’ll dream of happier things for once. Either way, it’s easier to fall asleep, just knowing you’re there falling asleep too. 

ᯓ★

“Shhhh!” 

“No, you shhhh,” a lighter voice giggles. 

“Holly,” Steve scolds, mirth buttering his tone. You know he’s smiling by the sound alone. 

Holly’s laughter triples in volume but then is abruptly muffled. 

“Ew– did you just lick me?” 

And this all just sounds way too cute to miss out on. You pry your lashes apart, still sticky with sleep, and flip on your side to face them. 

They freeze, eyes widening adorably in sync. Steve is reclined against the headboard, an arm bent behind his neck. Holly is sprawled halfway across his tummy, toes tickling your side. 

“Sorry,” he offers like you’d be mad. But how could you possibly be anything but enamored waking up to their giggly little voices? If you could be woken up like this every day, you would. 

You shake your head, scratching underneath your eyes. The walls are bathed in muted colors, waiting to be warmed by the sunrise. It’s still early. 

Holly rolls off of Steve onto the floor and barrels out of the room. 

“Where are you going?” he shouts. 

“Potty!” 

Steve turns to you, eyes roving across your bedhead for an embarrassingly long amount of time. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“Did she kick you last night?” 

You rake your fingers through your hair, quickly moving them to your lips to stifle a yawn. “Not that I remember.” 

“Oh, you’d remember. Trust me. She was on top of me the whole night.” He’s smiling like an idiot. He couldn’t sound annoyed about it if he tried. 

“Aww, she loves you,” you coo. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, pink dusting his cheeks, “I can’t wait to do this.”

“Hmm?”

“Settle down. Have a family. I wasn’t, like, a hundred percent sure before, but I am now.” 

“You’ll be a good dad.”

He beams at you like he’s just won the lottery. “You think?” 

“For sure.” And he really would. You’re sure of it after last night. 

He opens his mouth to speak but your stomach cuts him off with an obnoxious growl. “Hungry?” Steve chuckles. 

“Shut up.” You swipe your pillow and smack him. 

He smacks you back, pulling it to his chest before you can steal it. “Wanna go out for breakfast?” 

Your brain short circuits. You forget you’re babysitting and not just laying in bed with Steve Harrington for fun. He is not asking you on a date like your heart assumes. 

“Oh, yeah. Sure. For sure,” you sputter out, heat licking up the back of your neck. 

“I’ll go see what she wants,” he slides onto the floor and shakes his legs awake. 

Steve’s tall, even sluggishly slumped over. But even more so as he stretches– arms rising with his shirt, revealing a fraction of golden skin above his waistband. A long, lazy moan climbs out of his chest. 

You push the comforter off before you burst into flames. 

Holly determines she wants IHOP because they put chocolate chips and sprinkles on the pancakes. Steve supplies her with an outfit and wrestles her hair into pigtails with bows to match her skirt. It’s surprisingly coordinated and admittedly cute, but maybe you’re wrong to be so surprised– he knows his way around a comb and a closet. 

“Can I get pancakes?” she asks Steve, perched on the bottom step of the stairs. 

He’s cross-legged on the floor, hunched over to lace her sneakers. “I already told you yes, silly goose.”

“Can I get extra sprinkles?”

“Uhh, does your mom let you?”

She thinks about it before answering. “Yes, I think so.” 

“Sure, then.” He grins, clapping her tied shoes together before standing. 

You shoulder Holly’s bag, stuffed with books and toys and a jacket in case it rains, courtesy of Steve who insisted she might need it. “Ready?” you ask him.

Steve races Holly to the car while you lock up. Mrs. Wheeler installed Holly’s car seat in Steve’s beamer before she left but you’ve yet to use it. 

“It’s too tight,” Holly whines from the car, loud enough to hear from the top of the driveway. 

“I know, ‘m working on it,” Steve assures, working his fingers under the straps. “Just gotta figure it out.”

“Hurry!” 

“I’m hurrying, Holl. Give me a sec’.” 

You open the passenger door and peek around the headrest to view her. The belts are buckled but not tight enough to spark concern. “He’s going as fast as he can, Holly. Be patient.” 

She squirms under his hands, exhaling sharply. And like her, Steve’s frustration mounts, jaw tightening, brow furrowing. His fingers keep slipping and he’s not totally sure which button or strap is for loosening. 

You swing around to Holly’s door and cup Steve’s shoulder. “Let me try.”

He knocks his head on the roof as he pulls out. 

You wince, “Okay?” 

He softens as you reach for his neck, though your fingers never land. Still, the tender look you offer is enough to cure any bumps or bruises he might’ve gotten. 

It’s an unfortunate amount of trial and error before Holly is fastened in properly. Steve cranks the AC on full blast when you finally settle into your seats and circles through radio stations after he backs out. He finds the kid’s station, playing a Muppet’s song that Steve apparently knows every word to. He sings unapologetically loud, a stupid grin sewn to his face. 

When you arrive, Holly happily holds your hand through the parking lot, still clutching tightly as you wait to be seated. She climbs onto your lap to make room on the waiting bench for a woman looking ready to pop out a baby any minute. Steve stands at your other side, arm braced behind your neck. 

“How old is she?” the woman asks you fondly. 

“She’s five,” you return her smile, bouncing your knee. “Right, Holly?”

Holly twists to hide in your neck, nodding. 

“She’s very cute,” she says with such love you already believe her baby is in good hands. “Your sister?” Her eyes flick from yours to Steve who is mostly oblivious to the conversation. 

“No, just babysitting.” 

“Oh, well, you’ll make good parents one day.” 

The comment renders you speechless. It’s not that you hadn’t considered children before, but you hadn’t pictured them with Steve. With his smile, his eyes, his nose. It’s that this woman who doesn’t even know you imagined it before you had. You blink at her stupidly through a forced smile.

Steve squeezes your shoulder, ripping you from your thoughts. “You okay? Table’s ready.” 

You get seated in a booth overlooking the parking lot. 

Holly bends across Steve’s lap to point through the window. “I see our car!” 

“Yeah, that’s her.” 

Holly’s face contorts with confusion. “Her? Your car’s a girl?” 

“Yep–”

The waitress swings over with a handful of menus and a hasty introduction. Steve already knows what he wants and he places Holly’s order after his, making sure to clarify the extra sprinkles when she calls his name repeatedly to remind him. As soon as you decide, the waitress bustles off with the pair of menus to another table. 

Holly slides her paper menu closer, examining each activity. 

Steve picks open the box of crayons, revealing a stingy three– red, green, and blue. “You know, for a multi-million dollar company, you’d think they could afford more than three crayons.”

“And more staff,” you add, eyes tailing another waitress zipping from one table to another. 

Holly points at herself, Steve, and then you, counting, “One, two three. Three crayons for three people.” 

“Yeah, good point,” Steve pats her thigh. “Always the optimist.” 

“Op-ta-nist?”

“Op-ta-mist,” he clarifies. 

She snags the green crayon and presses it to the paper. “What’s that?”

Steve opens and closes his mouth. “Well, it’s like– it’s when you– you’re happy a lot. Grass is always greener on the other side, you know?” 

Steve lost her at the metaphor but she’s too focused on staying inside the lines to care about the definition of optimist anymore. 

“You got there eventually. Sort of,” you tease. 

His foot stabs your ankle under the table. “Shut up.” 

Steve lets Holly win every single round of tic-tac-toe while showering her with praise, convincing her she's a tactical mastermind. You can’t quite tell if she’s onto him, but she’s too busy grinning to say otherwise.

The waitress plants your and Steve’s plates on the table first, reaching behind to scoop Holly’s off her tray next. “And, chocolate chip pancakes with extra sprinkles for the little one.” 

“Thank you,” you manage to say before she leaves to tend to another table flagging her down. “Holly, want syrup?”

“Yes, please.” 

You pour a spiral of maple syrup over Holly’s pancakes. The amount of sugar on her plate might qualify it more as candy than breakfast. And she’s ogling the food like it’ll grow legs and run away. 

“Steve, will you cut them up for her?”

He nods, swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs and trading his fork for a knife. As soon as he slides her meal back over, Holly ravages the pancakes, spooning another bite in her mouth before she’s swallowed the last.

The waitress whisks by with drink refills, joy driving her to a smile at the sight of Holly and her half-empty plate. 

“I swear we feed her at home,” Steve chuckles through his own joke. What a dad thing to say. “Can we get some more napkins?” 

And it’s like he knows what’s going to happen. Holly stretches across the table for the syrup bottle, drawing back with an open-mouthed grimace. 

“Uh-oh.” She presses her chin to her chest. There’s a patch of syrup turning the hem of her pink shirt brown. 

“What?” Steve throws a pigtail behind her shoulder so he can see. “Oh. It’s okay.” 

“It was an accident,” Holly explains. 

“I know. It’s okay.” 

“It’s sticky.”

“It’ll wash off.” Steve dunks a clean napkin in his cup of water and dabs it across the stain. 

“It’s too cold,” she complains, pinching the fabric away from her skin. 

“Sorry. It’ll dry. Have to get the syrup out, though.” 

You deliver another wad of napkins to Steve’s hand. He pushes them against her belly, soaking up any excess water. His patience never frays.

Holly looks up, worry etched into her voice, “Will it stain?” 

“I dunno,” you supply truthfully. “We’ll throw it in the wash when we get home.” 

Steve pays the bill with the cash the Wheelers left and scrapes his wallet for change, stacking two quarters on the table when he finds them. “Since you’ve been such a good listener. There’s a sticker machine up front,” he tells Holly. 

Steve might as well have slapped a ticket to Disney World on the table. Holly literally jumps for joy, right out of her seat. She buys a random Lisa Frank sticker and pockets the second coin for her piggy bank. 

It’s Steve’s idea to go to the playground afterward. The park is teeming with life, the kind of chaos that only a weekend morning can bring. Swings creak under the weight of eager kids, and the monkey bars have their own traffic jam. Parents wrap the playground like a barricade, their chatter drowned out by laughter and shouts. But the heat presses down ruthlessly, making every step feel like you’re wading through a sauna.

Holly tears away from Steve’s hand as soon as her shoes hit the mulch, rejoicing in her newfound freedom with a little skip. She races up a set of stairs to wait for a turn on the tallest slide. 

“Should’ve brought sunscreen,” Steve says, eyes following Holly down the slide. She flashes you both a prideful smile from the bottom. 

“She’ll survive. We won’t stay long. It’s too hot.” You pull your shirt out to fan your chest, dabbing the sweat beading at your sternum. 

“Careful!” he shouts as she hops from one platform to the next. She continues to bounce along the path, one wobbly leap at a time. A particularly long jump has Steve cringing. He’s trying really hard not to be overanxious and it’s as sweet as it is amusing. 

He side-eyes your grin with an opposing frown. You don’t even have to say anything for him to know you’re teasing him. “What?” 

You shrug, smile doubling. “You.”

“What about me?” 

“You’re just funny.” 

“My concern is funny to you?” he accuses. 

“She’s fine, Steve.” 

He makes a noise of disagreement, arms crossed and a hip popped out dramatically far. You see why Dustin teases him for being motherly. 

Holly struggles with the monkey bars. She makes it halfway across before her arms start to shake and her hands slip. Steve lunges forward as he watches her plummet to the ground. But before he can swoop in, Holly pops up, dusts the dirt from her skirt with a nonchalant shrug, and marches on, completely unfazed. 

“See. She’s fine,” you reassure.

“Whatever,” Steve grumbles, strolling away to sulk in private. 

He makes a slow lap around the playground, hands planted firmly on his hips, casting a critical eye over the chaos. Meanwhile, you snag a spot on a bench, where most parents are engrossed in magazines or gossip, blissfully detached. You watch Steve get roped into playing a monster, though you can tell he secretly loves it. 

It doesn’t take long for him to start stomping around, roaring and growling, chasing the kids as they shriek and scatter. And when they finally tire him out, he collapses beside you, his shirt clinging to his sweaty back, and his breath coming in ragged bursts. 

“I told her five more minutes,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the bench behind you. His curls shine honeycomb gold in the spray of sunlight and his skin echoes the warmth of desert sand, softened pink like the blush of sunset. He looks strikingly gorgeous sprawled out beside you. 

Holly trots over not much later, alarmingly upset. 

You sit up, urgently shaking Steve’s thigh to grab his attention. “What happened, honey?” 

“I– I was,” she sucks in a staggered breath, “I was climbing the stairs and– and a boy, he pushed me.” Twin rivulets of tears are unleashed with a blink, converging at the curve of her chin. 

You scan her from head to toe. Nothing looks broken or bloody. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” she strains. 

You drag her into your chest, pressing a loving cheek to her ear. “Did it scare you?” 

She nods, hiccuping into your neck. 

“I’m sorry, Holly. That wasn’t nice at all.” 

Steve’s gaze shifts between Holly and the playground to search for guilty suspects. He finds none, thankfully, though he’s still itching to wring out whatever parent it is not watching their kid– which is unfortunately most of them.

“Let me see,” he coaxes Holly over for his own checkup. He picks a piece of mulch from her hair and flicks off another stamped into her calf. “Think you’ll make it? Should we call an ambulance?” 

She doesn’t smile at his joke like you hope. 

“Ready to go home?” you ask.

She sniffs into her sleeve. “Yeah.” 

“Alright.” Steve hoists her up as he stands. Holly's long legs wrap around his waist, feet swaying against his thighs as he walks. 

Holly naps on the way home, not by choice but by sheer exhaustion. She convinces herself she didn’t actually fall asleep when she wakes up in the driveway, swearing, “I just closed my eyes.” 

But it’s quickly apparent that twenty minutes was not enough. She cries because her leftover pizza for lunch is cold in the middle and again when she rubs the sauce in her eye. You turn on a movie, hoping to induce another nap, but The Aristocats is just too good to sleep through. Thankfully, her grumpiness wanes into a more manageable pout, her arms uncrossing to snuggle closer to you on the couch.

When the movie ends, she slinks up, her departure leaving your lap cold. After a long-winded debate about what to do, you all finally agree on playing a board game. Steve steers Holly downstairs to pick one out and she returns with a rekindled excitement, dropping the game Twister at your feet. 

There’s nothing inherently wrong with Twister, but you were expecting something easier. Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders. So you let Steve and Holly go first. The round ends in a heap of tangled limbs and giggles, a winner unclear. But Holly wins the match against you, admittedly fair and square. And it’s all fun and games until she insists you and Steve must compete. 

“Ehh, Holly. My arms are tired,” you reason. 

“But I wanna be the referee too,” she whines. “Pleaseee!” 

Steve shrugs at you, a playful little curve to his lips. If you say no, that makes only you the bad guy. And you just can’t bring yourself to break Holly’s heart over something so simple. 

“Okay,” you sigh, ignoring the nervous tick in your chest. 

Holly pushes you by the hips onto the mat to stand opposite Steve. She gets situated on the floor and excitedly flicks the spinner, calling, “Left foot. Blue!” 

You each step toward a blue dot. Easy. 

“Right foot on green.” 

Right foot, green. You’re shoulder to shoulder now, hips angled toward his. 

“Right hand… yellow!” 

“Here we go,” you mumble, bending down to reach yellow. “Okay.” 

Steve chuckles and follows suit, free hand hovering awkwardly behind your shoulder. 

You twist your head until you can’t, just to see the stupid look on his face. “You know, your long legs really give you an unfair advantage here.” 

“Don’t be a sore loser,” he chides, hot breath fanning the back of your already hot neck. 

“Don’t speak so soon, Harrington. You’re the one who’s gonna lose.” 

“Right hand, red,” Holly announces. 

You lean back toward red, headbutting Steve’s side so you don’t fall. He curls into position next, swaying until his back pocket is inches from your nose. 

“Oh my God, Steve. Get your butt out of my face!” You’d shove him if you had an extra hand. 

Holly giggles in that contagious way kids laugh, automatically pulling one from Steve. 

“Don’t make me laugh. If I go down, so are you,” he reminds you. 

“Umm, left foot green,” Holly says. 

Steve groans dramatically, whining. “What! Holly, that’s impossible. Spin again.” 

She cackles, reminiscent of Queen Holly. “Nope, you have to! That’s the rules!”

And somehow, you both make it to green without knocking each other over. But you’re getting distracted– Steve’s hand has brushed your calf three times now and his shirt is loose, hanging off his chest in a way that gives you a clear view of his tummy. This might as well be sabotage. You tear your eyes away. You must focus. You didn’t care much for winning before, but something about Steve brings out your competitive side. 

“Right hand, green.” 

You bow your knee until it’s wedged uncomfortably into your ribcage so you can reach the green. Your thighs quickly begin to ache. You won’t last much longer in this position. Especially not when Steve arches over you like a human bridge, the zipper of his jeans tickling your back where your shirt has scrunched up. 

He shakes his hair out of the way so he can see you, albeit upside down. His smile stretches wide, radiating pure, unfiltered joy. He’s having the time of his life, and admittedly, so are you. 

Your elbow juts out, nearly giving under the weight of his gaze alone. But you snap it back in place and practically beg Holly, “Spin.” 

“Left foot blue!”

You and Steve lunge for the same blue circle. His sock slides against the tarp, leg extending much farther than he’s prepared for. His arm buckles, chest slamming down against your back. Your elbows give out immediately under the force of his weight, jaw slamming into the floor. 

“Shit, sorry! You okay?” 

A burst of laughter tumbles out of your mouth before you can answer. But maybe it’s an answer in itself. Your chin stings but you're fine. Better than fine, even. 

As soon as Steve scrambles off of you, you flip onto your back. His eyes trickle down you in assessment, eyebrows knitting together, mouth twitching like it can’t decide whether to frown or smile. 

“I’m okay,” you manage, smiley and breathless. 

“Did you hit your face?”

“Just my chin.” 

He reaches for your face with hesitant fingers. “Sorry.”

You shake your head, bolstering his wrist as he cups your chin. “I definitely won.” 

And just like that, all his worry washes away. He pries your hand from his wrist, wrenching you up to sit. “Technically, you hit the floor first.” 

You glance over to Holly for her professional referee’s opinion but find she’s no longer there. “Where’s–”

“I found it!” she yells from the upstairs. What exactly she found, you’ve no idea. But she comes stomping down the stairs not a minute later with a little box in her hands. Bandaids, you realize, as she dumps the contents on the twister mat beside you. “They’re Hello Kitty,” she says, stripping the paper backing off of one. 

You let her little fingers stamp it to the curve of your chin. It’s not bleeding, nor does it really hurt that bad, but the gesture is sweet enough to melt your heart. “Thank you, Holly. You’re so gentle. You should be a candy striper.” 

“I don’t think I’m old enough.”

“When you’re older then.”

Steve decides Twister is far too dangerous to keep playing, but Holly demands a game of Mouse Trap so it works out. Steve wins, despite you and Holly’s strategic alliance halfway through. And by then, she’s asked about dinner twice so you shelve the rest of the games and head up to the kitchen to decide together. 

Holly hums into the freezer, “Chicken nuggets… pizza rolls– oh! Eggos, can we have Eggos?” 

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, peering over her, “Why don’t we cook something? We could have a fancy dinner. Like a dinner party.”

“Can we dress up?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, flipping a pack of ground beef over. 

“Pasta?” you call from the pantry.

“Ooh, yeah. Let’s do that.”

Holly sprints upstairs for a costume, much more interested in the party than the dinner. You pull a box of noodles and an unopened jar of sauce from the shelf while Steve grabs a pot from the cabinet and sticks it under the faucet. 

“Careful. Stove’s on,” you announce, flicking the dial on high. 

Steve backs up from the sink slowly, water sloshing over the side of the pot when he bumps the table. 

“Steve,” you chuckle, pulling a dish towel from the oven handle, “It doesn’t need to be that full.” 

“No?” 

“No, dump like, half of that out.” 

He nods, pouring some out and depositing the rest over the stove. “I’m gonna be honest, I’ve never made pasta before.”

“Yeah, I could’ve guessed,” you quip, elbowing his side with the box of noodles in hand. “Pour these in?”

He takes the box and gives it a good shake. “How much?” 

“Maybe half? Little more?” 

He tips it over the water, snapping it back up when much more than half slides out. “Oops.” 

“It’s okay.” You chuck a few stray pieces from the counter into the pot. “Everyone’s getting seconds tonight. What do you like in your pasta?” 

“Sauce?” 

The laugh fizzles out in your throat as you realize he’s not making a joke. “Besides sauce. Cheese? Meat? Spices?” 

“Oh, uhh, I’m not sure.” Steve scratches the back of his neck, hand retracting to fidget with the hem of his shirt. He’s antsy, clearly nervous. Maybe embarrassed of his cooking knowledge, or rather, lack of it. Or perhaps afraid the pasta will end up something like the first set of grilled cheeses. 

“We’ll keep it simple then. Holly probably won’t like it too fancy anyway.” 

Steve nervously watches the water bubble, foam climbing up the sides. “Do you like garlic bread? Saw some in the freezer.” 

You fish the box out and line a pan with three pieces. And with bread in the oven and the pasta starting to boil, you hop on the counter to wait.  

“How long does it take?” Steve asks.

“Not long.” 

You open the drawer beside your legs and find a big wooden spoon. Lucky guess. “Here. Stir.” 

His eyes follow the ladle, stirring with steady hands. It’s a peaceful quiet, his focus unusually soft. Not the urgent, fate of his life kind of determination you’re used to seeing. 

When it’s ready, you pinch the spoon’s neck, fingertips sweeping his for the half a second before he lets go. “Now we strain the water. Then we can add the sauce.” 

You find a strainer and plant it in the sink while Steve carries the pot over and pours. He sets it back on the stove, per your orders, and offers a hand when you struggle with the sauce lid. 

He pins the jar against his chest, knuckles straining white in several attempts to twist the cap. But it pops off after a good shake, spraying sauce across your cheek, and spinning to the floor like a frisbee. 

Steve freezes, gawking at your face with a stupid smile. 

“Steve!” You scoop up a dish towel and smack his arm. 

He throws his hands up and turns a shoulder to you. “I didn’t mean to,” he snickers. 

“Don’t laugh! I’ll pour that whole jar over your head.” 

He doesn’t buy your threat one bit, still laughing as he sets the jar down and steals the towel from your hands. “I’ll get it. Sit still.” 

You summon the most menacing glare you can manage while suppressing a smile. He presses the towel to your cheek, thumb gliding across your skin as he wipes the sauce in one languid motion. His eyes flick down to your lips and you’re positive you aren’t imagining it. 

But you’re sweating and your stomach is churning and– “The pasta!” You ram into Steve’s shoulder trying to get by, rushing to turn the stove temperature down. 

Steve whisks up behind you to see the food. “Is it burnt?” 

“No, no. It should be fine.” You scrape the ladle under the bottom layer of noodles. “Pass me the sauce?”

You avoid his eyes as you take it. Was he going to kiss you? Maybe just thinking about it? Or perhaps there was just sauce near your mouth and you’re spiraling over absolutely nothing. 

You toss the food in sauce and divide it into three plates silently. 

“Holly! Food’s ready,” Steve shouts as he fixes the table with napkins and silverware. 

She clambers down the steps in a tutu and a cardigan that you’re pretty sure is Nancy’s. Her smile drops. “Where are your clothes?” 

Steve looks down at his sweats. “Holly, I think we’ll just–”

“Please, Stevie. It’s a dinner party, remember?” 

His eyes dart to you, though you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. “One sec.”

He swings back into the kitchen wearing a tweed suit jacket, a silky, black one draped over his arm. His is a few sizes too big, shoulder pads drooping down his biceps, and the sleeves swallowing his hands. He pushes the fabric up his elbows to hand you the other jacket. “For you.” 

“Thanks,” you deadpan. It comes off less sarcastic than you aim for. 

Holly and Steve adopt similar grins as you slip the jacket on. “You look dashing,” she compliments. 

“Very,” Steve agrees, taking a seat beside you. 

You spend the rest of dinner internally debating whether he’s flirting or just indulging in Holly’s playful antics. The uncertainty makes your stomach flip, and suddenly you aren’t so hungry anymore. 

After the dinner party concludes, it’s Holly’s suggestion to go for a walk. She wheels her bike out of the garage, fitted with a set of training wheels and a handlebar bursting with tinsel. A yawn rolls off her tongue as she launches down the driveway. It raises your hopes for a smoother bedtime tonight. 

Even as the horizon melts into the Earth, the summer heat clings like a heavy hand. Trees project long shadows along the road, eating what’s left of the sunlight. Bugs buzz and birds chirp, but a sleepy stillness is ubiquitous. 

“What?” you ask suddenly, whipping your head to face Steve. He’s drenched in gold, pale wisps of hair riding the breeze as he strolls. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You’re staring at me. I feel it.” 

“I wasn’t,” he assures. 

You blink at him. You can’t decide whether to be annoyed at such an obvious lie or embarrassed by the truth. 

He jogs ahead before you’ve come up with something to say. Halfway to Holly, he shouts, “Come on, slowpoke!” 

It only takes one loop around the block for the heat to catch up. Holly complains incessantly about her helmet strap being too tight even after Steve fixes it and you’re itchy from sweat and mosquito bites. Steve’s, well, he might be the only content one. Happy even, guiding you home with a subtle bend to his lips and a soft glow tinting his cheeks. 

Holly whines about having to take a bath, and while you might negotiate it another night, you can see the damp line down her back. But like you suspect, all grievances are forgotten the second she gets in. She likes playing in the bath, even if she forgets it. It’s where she keeps her mermaid Barbie and her collection of rubber ducks, coincidentally all named Bob. 

And while bath time might tend to feel like more of a chore as a babysitter, tonight is different. It’s your last night at the Wheelers, and while that’s not new information, it is startlingly sad. You aren’t irritated when she splashes water in your eye or when she leaves a trail of it down the hall for you to clean. You can’t be, not when you know you’ll miss it. 

Steve helps you tuck Holly into Nancy’s bed. After pinky swearing that you’ll both return at your own bedtime, she drifts off easily. You’re thankful, of course, but a piece of you secretly hoped to be needed longer.  

“Must’ve been tired,” Steve whispers, pushing slowly off the bed. “You okay?” 

You nod, tearing your eyes from Holly to meet Steve’s. “Kinda sad.” You shrug, murmuring, “Stupid.” 

“It’s not.” He cups your shoulder and runs a warm hand up and down your arm. “Come on.” 

You take his hand and let him lead you across the hall and down the stairs. He pulls you onto the couch so you land pressed into the same cushion he’s on. “Y’know, babysitting Holly’s a breeze compared to the usual shitheads. We don’t have to worry about her taking my car keys or fighting interdimensional monsters or summoning a gate to hell,” he says. 

A soft laugh parts your lips. “Think Holly will put in a good word for us with her parents?” 

“You kidding? She loves us. Especially me,” he jokes. “Hate to break it to you but I’m definitely her favorite.” 

“No, you are not. Shut up.” 

He catches your fist mid-punch, cradling your hand like it’s made of wet sand. His thumb crosses each divot between your fingers, stroking up and down your knuckle slowly. “I’m sure they’ll ask us to babysit her again at some point.”

You hum in agreement. 

“Besides, we could expand our horizons. There’s like a million other children in Hawkins that need babysitting.” 

Your smile spills into your cheeks. “We?” 

“Yeah, I think we make a pretty damn good team. Don’t you?” 

“I do, but… we don’t have to limit our interactions to just babysitting, you know?” 

“What are you thinking? Dinner and a movie? Next weekend?” His eyes flick from your fingers to your face– to each eye, sweeping down the center of your nose, stopping right at your lips. 

You turn away in an attempt to soothe your heart as it pounds up to your ears. “Smooth, Harrington.” 

He reels you back in gently by the arm, confidence shining through his smile.“What? Did I read this wrong?” He knows he didn’t, he’s teasing you. 

“No,” you mumble, “You didn’t.” 

He leans in to whisper, “Can I kiss you then?” 

You nod, pushing into the soft press of his lips with your own. He’s not hesitant, nor is he harsh. Steve knows how to kiss, that much is clear. He trades your hand for your cheek, gently tilting your face to the side as he pulls away. 

Your eyes flutter open to a doting gaze. One that travels down the lines and slopes of your neck like they’re made of candy. Steve plants a second kiss on your lips, though fleeting in comparison to the first. But he plants several more to make up for it, working his way in a Z down your cheek, across your jaw, and back down your neck. They’re quick, ticklish little pecks of affection. A sweetness if you ever knew it. 

“Steve,” you admonish, though giggles betray your tone. The hands that frame his face glide gently down to his throat, your thumbs meeting at his Adam's apple. “We’re babysitting.” 

“I know,” he says, kissing your lips for a third time. “Just had to get a few extra in there. For all the times I thought about kissing you this weekend.” 

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?” He laughs, bubbly like you’ve surprised him. “It’s true. I thought about it all weekend.” 

You don’t know why you ask– why you even thought of it at a time like this– but you question him, “What about Nance?” 

“What about her?” 

“You don’t…” you trail off, afraid to even speak the possibility into existence. 

“We’re done. We have been. For a lot longer than I was willing to admit,” he admits honestly. 

“Yeah, but do you–”

“I don’t. Still have feelings for her. Not like that, anyway.” 

You meet his eyes, feeling a strange blend of emotions you can’t quite name.

“If you don’t believe me, you’ll just have to let me prove it to you,” he holds your gaze, warm with a sincerity that makes it hard to doubt him. 

“I believe you.” 

You let Steve kiss you several more times on that couch. He’s patient, deliberate, and more kind than you ever imagined he’d be. It’s hard to understand why Nancy would ever let someone like that go. 

ᯓ★

On Monday morning, you blink awake first, the comforting weight of a hand that’s not yours across your hip and another, much lighter one, at your belly. You turn over slowly, finding Steve and Holly wrapped around each other like ivy on trellis. You don’t imagine many people look this pretty asleep. The comb of long lashes kissing the soft flush in his cheeks. The golden lather of sunrise in each wild swoop of hair. The way his lips part for a sigh cuter than you knew one could be. 

He mumbles something unintelligible, sleep talk perhaps. 

You whisper back anyway, “What?” 

Steve sighs, smearing his cheek against the pillow. “Being a creeper.” 

“Me?” 

“Mhmm.” One eye slowly unbinds itself from sleep. Steve adores the tight-lipped smile on your face, broad with an infatuation he forgot could be aimed at him. His hand twitches at your side. 

“You just look so pretty when you sleep,” you admit. Is it too soon to say such things? 

His eye closes as he smiles, nosing into Holly’s hair, selfishly keeping it to himself. You reach across her body to find it, swiping a loving finger across his lips when you do. 

You stay in bed for as long as Holly will allow– which is not very long after she wakes up– but you don’t mind. You watch fondly as Steve helps her brush her teeth and as she helps Steve toast and butter the Eggos. Like Steve, Holly’s a good kid. They’re both helpers at heart. 

And you’re sure to remind Mrs. Wheeler of that when she rings the house to let you know they’re almost home. Holly’s excitement quickly dwindles into sadness the moment she realizes you won’t be staying. But she uses it to bargain one final game of hide and seek before you go. 

“Come on.” Steve drags you by the wrist, bustling upstairs to the bathroom. He throws the shower curtain aside and jumps in, offering his hand to help you after. You sit scrunched together, knee to knee on the porcelain floor, giggling like children. 

“Shhh,” you squeeze his kneecap. “You’re gonna get us found.” 

He jostles your shoulder, mouth agape. “You’re the one who’s laughing!” 

“No,” you insist, though the light in your eyes suggests otherwise. Curiosity sparks and the irrepressible urge to act on it wins. You lean in for a kiss, confirming that’s all it takes to shut Steve up. 

He tastes like maple syrup, loving with his lips as much as his hands. He pulls back for breath and returns for another peck, pressing into the corner of your mouth where your smile keeps drawing higher and higher. 

“Hard to kiss you when you're smiling.” 

“Can’t help it,” you defend. “Never been so happy.” 

He softens like warm icing, a sweet and gooey mess in your arms. But the shake of the front door closing stiffens him. 

“Mommy!” you hear quickly after. 

Steve scrambles up and over the lip of the tub, tugging you out with him. You follow him downstairs where Mrs. Wheeler swings Holly in her arms like she’s much smaller than she really is. Mr. Wheeler steers a suitcase silently through the entryway. 

“Did you have so much fun?” she asks Holly, peppering kisses across her temple. “Ohh, I missed you!” 

Holly revels in the affection overload, bending backward to giggle at you and Steve. 

Mrs. Wheeler grins. “How was she?” 

“Great, as always,” Steve assures. His cheeks are flushed, his hair mussed— though you could chalk that up to bedhead, not the aftermath of your short-lived makeout session.

You nod, adding, “We went swimming and to the park and–”

“IHOP!” Holly yells. “I got pancakes with chocolate chips and extra sprinkles!” 

“Did you? Sounds like you had a lot of fun.” Mrs. Wheeler plants Holly on her feet. “Can you give hugs? Say thank you for being such good babysitters?” 

Holly launches herself at Steve. He sends you a smirk over her shoulder, rocking her side to side in his embrace. You can just hear him say, I told you so. 

But she offers the same enthusiasm and more for you, dragging you onto the floor for a proper goodbye hug. “I don’t want you to go,” she pouts in your ear. 

“We’ll come back. We can have playdates?” 

“Can’t you just live in Nancy’s room? She’s never here anyway.” 

You can’t help but laugh. “I wish I could,” you admit honestly. 

She reluctantly loosens her grip on your shirt when you peel away. 

Mrs. Wheeler sees you and Steve off with a warm smile. Holly darts through her mother’s legs for one final hug on the porch. You wave goodbye, the moment slipping into something bittersweet before Steve bumps his shoulder into yours, a playful grin softening the farewell.

You dawdle up to your car, wringing your hands together when you reach the door. “So.”

“So,” he parrots. 

“This weekend, right?” 

His smirk blooms into a full smile. “Friday? Pick you up at seven?” 

“Okay,” you nod. 

“Okay,” he chuckles, clipping a hand around your jaw and leaning in. 

You turn away so the kiss skips across the softest stretch of your cheek. “Steve.” 

His eyes never leave your face as he assures you, “They’re not looking.” 

“Don’t be so sure.” 

Holly waves at you through the living room window, a smile as wide as her face. Steve’s hand falls down to his side and he takes a platonic step back. You both return her goodbye, but Holly stays, her little hand pressed to the glass. 

“Think she’ll tell?” Steve asks, not an ounce of worry in his tone. 

You shrug, tugging him back in by the waist for a proper kiss. “I guess it wouldn't be the end of the world.” 

[ikkyfics]

Hello author, can i request a part two dor divination? Maybe the vision finally came true and its all just fluffy? Thank youu

Realization

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: “Remember the Divination classes?” James asked suddenly, his voice light, almost as if talking to himself. “Yeah,” you murmured, feeling the memory bring an unexpected warmth to your chest. “She really got that one right.”

Warnings: just fluffy - after Hogwarts(married with children), a very cute little Harry

A/N: hey honey, I hope you like it

Divination - Masterlist

The night in Godric’s Hollow was calm, the silence only broken by the soft crackling of the fireplace and the slow ticking of the clock on the wall. The golden light from the flames cast delicate shadows on the walls and filled the living room with a warm, cozy glow. It was one of those rare and perfect moments where time seemed to slow down, as if the world outside didn’t even exist.

Harry was on the floor, on the plush rug that covered most of the room, surrounded by colorful magical blocks he was trying to stack. He furrowed his brow, his little face serious as his tongue slightly poked out the side of his mouth. The newly built tower collapsed once more, and he let out an annoyed grunt before suddenly getting up.

James was sprawled on the couch, his feet resting on the coffee table, watching his son with eyes full of amusement. You were sitting on the floor with Dahlia standing between your hands, propping her tiny arms on yours to keep her balance. She let out squeals of joy every time she managed to take a wobbly step or two before safely falling back onto the rug. Each of her attempts was met with laughter, claps, and kisses on the top of her little head.

“Again, little one, come on,” you encouraged softly, lifting her under her armpits and raising her into the air. Dahlia giggled in her tiny voice, her round cheeks flushed from the effort, her eyes sparkling with pure joy. She looked like a miniature version of you, the features so alike that even James had commented more than once how it threw him off a little.

At that moment, Harry, who was facing away from you, found James’s glasses abandoned on the coffee table. He picked them up carefully, turning them in his little hands as if they were a treasure. Without a second thought, he put them on, the large lenses slipping down his nose.

“Dad!” he called, stumbling over his words as he turned around with a big smile. “Look, now I’m you!”

James’s laughter echoed through the room, that loud and carefree laugh that brightened any place. He threw his head back, his hands covering his face for a moment before he stretched out his arms to Harry.

“Merlin, you look just like me!” James said, his voice full of affection. He scooped his son into his arms, messing up his already wild hair even more. “You just need to try flying on a broomstick and get into trouble, and I’ll have to retire because my legacy will be secured.”

Harry laughed, adjusting the glasses that kept slipping. “I’m going to fly better than you, dad,” he declared with all the confidence in the world, which only made James laugh more.

“Of course you will, Prongslet. That’s the spirit.”

On the other side of the room, you watched the scene with a smile so wide your cheeks ached. Dahlia, now in your lap, stretched her little hands toward her dad and brother, babbling something that sounded like a demand for attention. James looked at her and froze for a second, his smile softening as he watched the little one in your arms.

He stayed silent for too long, his gaze almost absorbed as he studied Dahlia’s face, so identical to his. You noticed the moment and furrowed your brow slightly, your voice soft as you asked,

“What’s wrong? Why the silly look?”

James turned his gaze to you, that silly grin still shining on his lips, and then looked back at his daughter, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of her.

“It’s you,” he murmured, his voice so low that it barely reached your ears. “Smaller, cuter, but… it’s you.”

Your heart warmed, melting like butter under the sun. The look of adoration he gave his daughter was the same he reserved for you, and that always affected you in an inexplicable way.

“Careful, James,” you teased, your voice sweet. “She might end up wanting to fly better than you too.”

James chuckled softly, letting Harry slide off his lap as he stood up and walked over to you. He crouched down beside you, his arms extending around both of you.

For a moment, you stayed like that: Dahlia in your lap, Harry playing again with the blocks, and James too close, his presence as comforting as a warm blanket.

“Remember the Divination classes?” he asked suddenly, his voice light, almost as if talking to himself.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Those classes? James, that was years ago.”

He laughed, resting his head on your shoulder while still looking at their daughter, now yawning and rubbing her eyes. “I know. But… I remember her talking about a boy with glasses. Just like his dad.”

His gaze softened as you also looked at Harry, who was now grumbling softly because another block tower had fallen. A boy with his father’s messy hair and huge glasses. It was truly remarkable.

“Yeah,” you murmured, feeling the memory bring an unexpected warmth to your chest. “She really got that one right.”

James turned his face to look at you, his expression so tenderly affectionate that it felt like your heart might leap out of your chest.

“And I also remember saying that I would prefer… a girl,” he continued, his eyes shining softly. “Someone who looked like you.”

The mention caught you off guard, an unexpected wave of emotion rising within you. Your smile was automatic, even though a stubborn tear threatened to fall.

“And here we are,” James murmured, kissing the top of Dahlia’s head as she finally fell asleep in his arms. “Who would’ve thought, huh? It seems like the future really was written. We just took our time seeing it.”

You smiled, one of those smiles that starts slow, spreading across your whole face, as you watched Dahlia’s little closed eyes. His words brought a warm feeling to your chest, mixed with old memories that seemed to come from another life.

“We really did,” you replied, resting your head on James’ shoulder, feeling his familiar warmth. “If it depended on you, we’d have been together since first year.”

James chuckled softly, looking at you with that mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

“I wasn’t wrong, let’s be honest,” he said, with a voice as if declaring a universal truth. “I spent six years trying to prove I was irresistible, but no… you preferred to ignore me. Ignore me, can you believe that?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “I’d call it common sense.”

James put on a mock expression of outrage, placing his free hand on his chest as though he’d been struck with an arrow. “Common sense? And when did you decide to lose that?”

“Sometime around sixth year,” you replied, trying not to laugh. “When you became less… unbearable.”

“Unbearable?” He blinked a few times, indignant. “Come on, love, you make it sound like I was the worst of the Marauders. Everyone knows Sirius was the problem.”

“Oh, of course,” you agreed, the tone ironic but playful. “Because Sirius, who by the way is the godfather who spoils the godson the most, didn’t learn from you how to be impossible.”

James laughed, shaking his head. “Sirius didn’t learn anything from me. He was born that way.”

You laughed louder but quickly put your hand over your mouth when Dahlia stirred in your lap. James looked down at her lovingly and kissed her forehead again, murmuring a “shhh, it’s all right.”

At that moment, Harry appeared in the room, rubbing his eyes with the cuff of his sweater. His hair was even more tousled than usual, and his oversized glasses— which he had taken earlier— were almost falling off his nose.

“Are you talking about Uncle Sirius again?” he asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

James let out a contained laugh and reached out his free arm to pull Harry in. The boy easily settled onto his lap, snuggling between you and James.

“Of course. We always talk about Uncle Sirius, especially when he’s not around to defend himself,” James replied, smiling at Harry. “It’s the price he pays for being the most impossible of uncles.”

Harry chuckled, his eyes almost closing again with sleep. You ran your fingers softly through his hair, feeling how warm and comfortable he was.

“But he brought chocolate yesterday,” Harry mumbled, his voice muffled against James’ chest.

“And ruined your dinner,” you said, rolling your eyes with a light smile. “Not even Remus can control Sirius when he decides to spoil you two.”

James nodded, amused. “That’s because Remus is a saint. I never understood how he puts up with Sirius even now.”

Harry lifted his head again, his little face scrunched up in curiosity. “But Uncle Remus likes Uncle Sirius.”

“He likes him a lot,” James confirmed, kissing Harry’s forehead, enveloping him in a warm embrace with both arms. “Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius were made for each other, just like your mother and I.”

Harry smiled at you, his little eyes almost closing. “So you’re the same?”

You exchanged a quick glance with James, feeling the warmth spread across your face. He gave you a sweet smile, though full of playful provocation.

“Yes, Harry. But don’t forget to tell your mum I’m more charming than Uncle Sirius, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hold back a laugh. “More charming? James, what else do you want him to say? That you’re irresistible?”

James smiled openly, turning his gaze back to you. “I’d love to hear that again.”

Harry let out a little laugh, though he was already almost asleep again. You shook your head, amused, before looking at James more softly.

“All right,” you murmured, surprising him. “You’re irresistible, James Potter.”

James’ eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe it, before breaking into a slow, passionate smile. “Did you hear that, Harry? Irresistible. Next time Uncle Sirius says something, you defend me, okay?”

“Okay, Dad,” Harry whispered, with a sleepy smile before finally closing his eyes.

The silence returned to the room, warmed by the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth and the slow breaths of Harry and Dahlia. You rested your head again on James’ shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent and the peace of the moment.

James, for his part, turned his face softly and placed a lingering kiss on the top of your head. “Thank you,” he murmured softly, almost like a secret.

You furrowed your brow slightly, your heart beating faster. “For what?”

He smiled against your hair, as though savoring the answer. “For everything. For this. For choosing us. For being… you.”

You closed your eyes, squeezing his hand tightly. “I’d choose you a thousand times.”

James smiled, that special sparkle in his eyes.

“I am irresistible, after all,” he whispered, teasing.

You laughed softly to avoid waking the children. “And unbearable,” you added, looking at him fondly.

James pulled you both closer, smiling ear to ear. “I’ll take both. As long as it comes from you.”

And there, in the warmth of the fire and in each other’s arms, you stayed. A perfect picture of everything you’d ever imagined— a life full of love, laughter, and little miracles that even the best of seers couldn’t have predicted.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Lemme Take Care of You | Jeon Jungkook One Shot

Summary: Your deadbeat baby daddy comes around and you fall for his charms again like you always do. Pairing: Baby Mamma oc x Baby Daddy Jungkook (exes to lovers?) Word Count: 2k~ Warnings: Explicit language and sexual themes oral f receiving and hints of body insecurity after having a baby. Newly discovered lactation kink for the both of them idk man lol it kinda just happened a/n: something random I came up with while talking to @kkusadmirer lmao hope you enjoyyyy (Barely edited but that's the usual here lmao) p.s. This is a one shot but I can do drabbles and asks for this couple if you'd like more from them.

"What are you doing here?" I question as a flirty Jungkook leans against my doorway, dragging his eyes up and down my frame. "You didn't answer your phone" he says, bringing his eyes back up to mine.

"I came here to see the baby and maybe spend some time with my baby mama too" he smirks, walking past me and into the living room when I don't say a word, his head on a swivel looking for our daughter. 

"She's taking a nap right now" I say, rolling my eyes and shutting the door, leaning my head against it and praying that I'll stay strong this time. "I guess that just means I get to spend time with you then huh?" he says, checking me out again as I walk into the living room. 

"We've been over this" I sigh, hating the fact that just the thought of him makes me weak. "We both know you don't mean it" he says, walking up to me and placing a hand on my hip while trailing kisses down my neck. 

"Y-yes I do mean it Jungkook we can't keep doing this" I say, trying to keep to my word but slowly losing the battle like I always do. "No, no you don't. Just lemme take care of you yeah? Wanna make you feel good" he says, trailing his nose along my neck making me shudder at the contact. 

He leans back and looks down at me, searching for signs of true protest but when he doesn't he leans in slowly still giving me a chance to pull away but I give into him like I always do.

The kiss starts off slow and sweet, gradually putting me under his spell like he always does, making my knees weak which he takes notice of and picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist and taking us back to our bedroom, no my bedroom. 

He's not supposed to be here anymore but I can never say no to him. 

He makes us both tumble down onto the bed and continues to kiss me until I can't breath and even a little after. While I pull away and gasp for breath he continues to trail kisses down my neck, licking, sucking and biting his way down until he's stopped by my shirt. 

"Take this off for me yeah?" he asks, nuzzling into my neck and playing with the hem of my shirt, giving me the choice of letting this continue which he knows I will. I sit up and he helps me take it off, having clocked that I wasn't wearing a bra as soon as I opened the door, obsessed with the larger size of my breasts still full of milk.

"Lemme taste it yeah? Just a little bit" he asks, kissing his way down my breasts, begin careful knowing that they're probably sore. I widen my eyes after hearing his request to try my breast milk but I nod my head nonetheless, turned on by the thought of it. 

He gently takes my nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it, making it nice and wet for him before he gives it a light suck, humming after the taste hits his tongue. "Fuck you taste so sweet" he praises leaving my hips bucking up, begging for some sort of friction.

"My pretty baby mama wants some attention huh?" he taunts, grinding his hips into mine, my cotton shorts rubbing up against me as barely a barrier making me moan at the rougher feeling of his jeans, making me beg for more. 

"Please just fuck me the baby's gonna be up soon" I whine when he rubs up against my clit, letting out a dry chuckle remembering my weak defense of trying to deny him just moments before. 

"No, just wanna make you feel good" he says, kissing me before trailing his tongue between the valley of my breasts and kissing along my stomach almost as if worshipping the place that once held our baby.

"Jungkook stop" I say, pushing his head down to go lower but he doesn't budge. "No, wanna remind you of how thankful I am that you made our baby. Wanna remind you you did so well taking care of her" he says, kissing all my stretch marks and nipping on places that still had a little baby weight on it. 

I lay my head on the pillow, willing myself into thinking this is just sex with him. Nothing more than just wanting the pleasure that I know he can give me. If I let my mind go anywhere else I'm just gonna let him come crawling back to me and I can't let him do that. 

He isn't good for me and I know that but when I'm this close to him it's almost as if none of that matters. 

He resumes his downward journey and kisses right bellow my belly button and looks up at me, asking for permission to take my shorts off and I grant it to him, watching as he peels it all off of me, taking in my folds glistening with arousal, leaving his eyes lighting up at the sight. 

Time and time again no matter how many times he's seen me like this it's almost as if he can't get enough of it. "Fuck, wanna put another baby in this pretty little pussy again" he says, cursing at the thought of it. 

I shut my eyes and throw my head back, squirming from the long stripe he's dragged between my folds, taking my clit into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it just as he had done with my swollen nipple moments before, driving me even more crazy at the feeling. 

"Shit" I whine out, so sensitive from it having been a little while since the last time he came and being so drunk on the feeling of his head between my thighs. "Want that too? Wanna have my baby again?" he says, knowing I'm far too gone after him having made out with my cunt, bringing me almost to the edge of it making me agree to anything he might ask. 

"Fuck Jungkook yes just keep going" I pant, bucking my hips back into his face leaving him smiling against me and suffocating himself, leading me closer and closer to my climax and soon it's washing over me. Hitting me hard like a ton of bricks and making me cover my mouth to keep as quiet as I can so I don't wake the baby. 

Thankfully all I hear on the baby monitor are her soft snores, reminding me so much of her father's that I woke up to every morning. 

Jungkook continues to give me soft kitten licks until I'm whining and pushing him away leaving him placing a quick kiss on my inner thigh before hovering over me.

"Open your mouth" he orders and I do just that, sticking out my tongue as he spits in my mouth, followed my him smashing his lips against mine, wanting to share that sweet taste he always praising me for. 

After kissing for what feels like forever, slowly going from intense to lazy as the tiredness on my side grows he pulls back to say something but we're cut off by the sound of the baby crying on the monitor. 

"I'll go" he says placing one last kiss on my lips, picking my shirt up and wiping the rest of my arousal off his chin before running to the bathroom to clean himself up and throws me a damp towel to clean myself up.

He gives me a sly smile before leaving and heads over to our daughter's room and coos at her. 

"Hi princess, it's okay Daddy's here" he says picking up our six month old and rocking her back and forth, trying to soothe her and my heart melts at the scene I can see on the monitor. 

"You've been a good girl for Mommy right? You gotta take care of her because she loves you very much" he's cut off for a second by her coos back, recognizing him right away. "Hey, no back talk missy I mean it" he jokes along, pretending to be stern with her and she giggles in response. 

"I missed you, you know that?" he says peppering her face with kisses and again being met with more giggles. "I wish I could come over more often but living somewhere else makes it hard. I hope you know I do try to come see you as much as I can" he says, adjusting his hold on her and holding her even closer. 

"I know you don't know what I'm saying but I love you" he says but pulls her away to look at her again. "Mommy says your gonna be a big sister soon" he says excitedly, just imagining the thought of expanding our family even more but at that my eyes widen thinking back to what just happened and I throw my robe on before rushing into her room. 

"You know I didn't mean that" I say, crossing my arms over my chest and cocking a brow at him. "Aw come on, don't you want her to have a sibling?" he pouts, looking back at her before adjusting his hold on her and holding her at arms length as if he were showing her off. 

"Don't you want another one that looks just like us?" he asks guilting me into it by making me say no to our daughter which he knows I can't do even if she can't understand right now. "Let's focus on the baby we have now" I say taking her out of his hands as she reaches for me. "That wasn't a no" he says, his eyes lighting up and I'm reminded again by the fact that he's younger than me, always hitting me with that childlike joy he still has.

I turn my back to him and hold her closer to the little mood light I have for her so she can watch the purple and pink swirls on the celling accompanied by so many bright stars and she reaches out almost as if she was trying to touch them. 

I feel him snake his arms around my waist and places his head in the crook of my neck so he can look down at her, both of us just admiring the beautiful little girl we made together. 

"So do you think we'll give her a baby brother or sister?" he asks placing a kiss on my neck making my breath hitch, taking away the harshness of the answer I was going to give him. 

"Keep on pushing your luck and she'll be an only child" I huff and at that she starts fussing probably from needing to have her diaper changed. 

"Hey you can't just say that! Look you made her upset" I roll my eyes at his claims and turn around to hand her to him. "You want another baby? Fine, then you change her" I say, crossing my arms, seeing the light dim in his sparkly eyes replaced with the slight disgust after smelling the damage she had done.

"So if I change this diaper then we can have another baby?" he asks, patiently awaiting my answer. "Let's focus on her and go from there" I say and he nods his head, placing her down on the changing table and getting everything he needs out of the drawer bellow it. 

"You hear that? You're gonna get a new baby brother or sister" Jungkook coos at her and I slap him upside the head in response leaving her laughing at his reaction. 

"Ow! What'd you do that for?" he whines. "Just focus on the diaper Jeon" I order and he nods his head and I walk out of the room, hearing him mumbling something about how scary I am to her but I decide to let him be this time.

This is what I get for dating a younger guy.  

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[amirasainz]

Lewis x daughter!Reader ( she is like a teenager) and the poor thing is sick. So instead of being a typical teenager, she needs her dad to take care of her, watch Barbie movies with her, braid her hair, .... Despite being worried for his daughter, Lewis loves that she wants to spend all of her time with him.

I hope that makes sense

Ahh, so cute. I am in love with this.

Enjoy reading and send me requests

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

Moments Like These

The low hum of the rain pattering against the windows created a soft, soothing backdrop inside the cozy living room. Lewis sat on the couch, glancing at his phone and frowning at the time. He’d been out all morning for work, but his mind hadn’t left home once. YN, his 17-year-old daughter, had been sick for the past two days, and while it wasn’t anything serious, the stubborn fever and constant sneezing had turned her usual teenage energy into something much quieter.

He sighed, putting his phone away and glancing toward the hallway that led to her room. A part of him missed the usual chaos, the way she’d barge into the room talking about the latest drama with her friends or her plans for the weekend. But right now, she was curled up in bed, likely scrolling through her phone under her blankets, too tired to do much else. He hated seeing her like that. His protective instincts were on full alert, making him feel useless every time she coughed or sniffled.

“YN?” Lewis called out softly from the living room, hoping not to disturb her if she’d managed to fall asleep. There was a moment of silence before he heard a faint, muffled voice coming from her room.

“Dad…?”

He stood up immediately, abandoning whatever half-hearted attempt he’d made at distracting himself and walked toward her room. Pushing the door open quietly, he found YN bundled up in her bed, her head barely peeking out from under the covers. Her cheeks were flushed from the fever, and her normally bright eyes were heavy with fatigue.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked gently, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

She nodded, then shook her head. “Not really. Everything hurts,” she admitted, her voice slightly hoarse. She sniffled and reached for a tissue from the bedside table, blowing her nose with a miserable groan.

Lewis frowned, reaching over to place a hand on her forehead, brushing her hair away. “You’re still warm,” he murmured. “You need to rest, YN. Have you been drinking water?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t help,” she muttered, sounding as frustrated as she did tired. “I hate this. I feel gross, and I look gross.”

Lewis smiled softly, shaking his head. “You don’t look gross. You just look like someone who’s sick. It happens to everyone.”

“I’m not everyone,” YN grumbled, her voice still holding that teenage dramatic flair even through her exhaustion. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re still my favorite mess,” he teased gently, and YN rolled her eyes, though a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“You’re supposed to say that. You’re my dad.”

“True,” Lewis said with a small chuckle. He reached over to grab the glass of water from her nightstand, holding it out to her. “But you’re still drinking this.”

YN made a face but took the glass obediently, sipping it slowly before handing it back. “I’m so bored, Dad. I’ve watched everything on Netflix, and I don’t want to sleep anymore.”

He knew she was feeling restless. She’d been cooped up in her room for days, which wasn’t something YN was used to. Even when she was just at home, she was always moving, always chatting, always doing something.

“Well, I could braid your hair?” Lewis suggested, trying to lighten the mood. “Like when you were younger.”

YN’s eyebrows shot up in mild surprise, though she seemed amused by the idea. “You still remember how to braid?”

Lewis shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I wasn’t always this rusty. I did your hair for years, remember?”

She smiled a little, and that was enough to convince him.

“I mean… sure,” YN agreed, sitting up slowly and shifting so her back was to him. “It might make me feel better.”

Lewis couldn’t help but smile. He fetched the hairbrush from her desk and sat behind her, gently running the brush through her hair. He had to admit, it felt nostalgic in the best way. He could almost see the little girl she used to be, sitting in front of him, laughing and chatting about her dolls or some game she played with the neighbors. Now she was taller, moodier, and had her own world of thoughts and friends, but in moments like these, she was still his girl.

As he began braiding, YN’s voice cut through the comfortable silence. “You know… I was thinking. Maybe we could watch a movie together or something.”

Lewis paused for a moment, grinning to himself. “What kind of movie?”

“Barbie,” YN said without hesitation, turning her head slightly to glance at him.

He chuckled. “Barbie? Really?”

“Yes. Barbie movies are great, don’t judge,” she retorted, her voice carrying a mock warning.

“I’m not judging. Just surprised,” he admitted. “But hey, if you want to watch Barbie, we’ll watch Barbie.”

“Which one do you want to watch?” she asked, sounding a little more awake now, more engaged.

“Uh… I think I remember you really liking the one with the fairy princesses or something?”

“Dad,” YN groaned, though she couldn’t hide the small smile forming on her lips. “You mean Barbie: Fairytopia.”

“Right. That one.”

YN laughed softly, though it turned into a cough, and Lewis immediately put the hairbrush down, patting her back gently. “Easy there.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, waving him off before leaning back again. “Let’s watch that one, then. I haven’t seen it in forever.”

Once the braid was finished, Lewis grabbed the remote, set up the TV, and the familiar opening tune of Barbie: Fairytopia filled the room. YN sank back into her pillows, looking much more relaxed now, her head resting against her dad’s shoulder as they watched together.

“Do you miss this?” YN asked quietly after a few moments.

Lewis glanced down at her. “Miss what?”

“You know… me being little. Like, before I grew up and stopped wanting to do stuff like this,” she said, gesturing toward the TV.

Lewis was quiet for a moment, considering his answer. “I mean… yeah, I miss it sometimes. You were always running around, making me laugh, wanting to spend all your time with me. But,” he added quickly, “I love who you are now, too. I love that you’re growing up, that you have your own life, your own thoughts. I’m proud of you.”

YN’s expression softened, and she looked away, her voice quieter. “I miss it too sometimes.”

Lewis smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. “Well, you’re still here with me, sick or not. And for what it’s worth, I love having you around, no matter how old you are.”

YN didn’t respond right away, but she leaned into his side, and Lewis could feel the tension leaving her. The Barbie movie played on, filling the room with colorful animation and familiar voices.

“Thanks, Dad,” she whispered after a while, her voice barely above a breath.

“For what?”

“For being here. For everything.”

Lewis pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “Always, kiddo.”

As the rain continued to tap lightly against the window, the world outside faded, leaving just the two of them—father and daughter, sick days and Barbie movies, and the unspoken comfort of knowing that no matter how much things changed, moments like these would always be there.

[corroded-hellfire]

Even though it's wayyy off into the future - how about Eliza getting her first period and Y/N isn't there so "poor" Eddie has to deal with it

(I got my first period very early, like even though I knew what it was it was a big shock, and I was like 'I don't want this - mom, make it go away!', so I was thinking something like that)

As soon as I saw your request, the wheels in my brain started turning. This would not leave me alone until I got it all out lol. I hope you enjoy!

Words: 3k

Warnings: talk of periods, blood

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Dad?” 

Eliza creeps out of the hotel bathroom, eyes on the dark gray carpeting as she approaches the queen-sized bed Eddie is lounging on. Without even looking up at her, Eddie can tell something is wrong. Not only is her voice shaky, but she called him “Dad” when, even at twelve-years-old, she still usually calls him “Daddy.” 

“What’s up?” Eddie lifts his head and watches his preteen daughter move past his bed and sit on the edge of her own. 

“Can I have your phone?” Eliza asks.

She still doesn’t look up at him, instead choosing to look down at her pink polka-dot socks. Her fingers fidget on the white comforter, chipped blush-colored nail polish scratching against the side of her jeans. 

“What for?”

Eddie is more than happy to let her use it, but he wants to get to the bottom of what’s wrong first. 

Instead of answering right away, the girl’s cheeks darken, and she gently shakes her head from side to side. 

“To call Mom.”

“Of course,” he says, lifting his hips off the bed so he can pull his phone out of his pocket. “Is everything okay?”

Eliza nods, but her wobbling chin and eyes pooling with tears make a liar out of the motion. 

“Eliza…”

Eddie moves to sit on the edge of his bed, his knees almost bumping into hers in the space between the two beds. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I-I wanna talk to Mom,” Eliza says, quickly wiping away a tear that falls down her cheek. 

“Okay.” Eddie feels his heart seizing up in his chest. He understands Eliza wanting her mom, but the fact that she’s not telling him what’s wrong is causing panic signals to fire off in his brain. “Are you alright?”

She sniffles, still not meeting his eye, and holds her hand out for the phone. 

As reluctant as he is to give it to her without getting any answers in return, he knows you’ll take care of whatever is going on. There’s no doubt in Eddie’s mind that you’re the best mother his children could ever have. So, he lays the phone in Eliza’s open palm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles as she scoots up towards her pillows, perching in the opposite corner of her bed—as far from Eddie as she can be, he notices.

Her dad watches as Eliza wipes under her nose with one hand while she pulls up your contact information. With another sniffle, your daughter holds the phone up to her ear and pulls her knees up against her chest. As she waits for you to answer, she brings her thumb up to her mouth and begins to clink her nail against her two front teeth. 

“Hello?”

Your voice simultaneously calms her, but also makes the tears that have been threatening to fall finally spill.

“Hi, M-Mom.”

“Eliza? Honey, what’s wrong?” Like Eddie, you also know the ins and outs of your daughter’s tells.

“I, um…” Eliza’s eyes dart over to her father, but quickly fall back to her free hand resting against her knee. It doesn’t escape Eddie’s notice that this was the first time she even glanced in his direction since she came out of the bathroom. “When, I, uh…”

Eddie decides to give his girls some privacy. He stands up from the bed and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Ringed fingers drum against the cool porcelain tile. Eddie doesn’t have to go, so he picks up his toothbrush and figures he might as well take care of his dental hygiene while he’s in here.

With Eddie in the bathroom, Eliza feels a little freer to speak—even if she knows he can probably still hear from in there. 

“Mom, there was blood in my underwear,” Eliza says. 

“Oh!” You definitely weren’t expecting that, as much as you probably should have been since she’s at this age. “Well, you know what that is, right sweetie? We talked about it.”

“N-No, I know,” Eliza says. “I don’t want it though. I want it to go away.”

You sigh, wishing you could reach through the phone and hug your daughter. 

“Liza, you know that’s not going to happen.”

“Mommy, make it go away,” she whines, making your heart crack. 

“Everything is going to be just fine, honey. I’m sorry I’m not there, though,” you say. “Did you tell Daddy?”

“No,” Eliza mumbles, picking at the hem of her jeans. “Don’t wanna.”

“Sweetheart, I know it’s embarrassing. But he’s your dad. You’re in just as good hands with him as you are with me.”

“Not with this,” Eliza scoffs. 

“Yes, even with this,” you assure her. “Do you want me to talk to him? Tell him what he needs to buy you?”

“Yeah,” Eliza says. “I don’t think I’ll remember anyway.”

“I’ll also text it to him,” you say. “It’s just going to be some pads, okay? They��re pretty easy but if you want to FaceTime later, I can help you. Have you seen Luke yet?”

“No,” Eliza says. “We just got to the hotel, and I went to the bathroom and…saw.”

“Okay. Where’s Daddy?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Going? Or did you just banish him there?”

Eliza giggles softly and you’re able to relax a little. 

“Neither, I don’t think.”

“Go knock and hand him the phone, then.”

Eliza pushes herself off the bed, doing a double take to make sure she didn’t leave any red spots behind on the white comforter, and heads over to the bathroom door.

“Daddy?” She knocks three times.

Eddie opens the door and spits out the water he used to rinse his mouth into the sink.

“What’s up?”

“Here.” She holds the phone out towards him.

He eyes Eliza carefully as he takes it, trying to gauge if she’s feeling better or not.

“Hello?” Eddie asks.

“Hi,” you say. Already your voice has him feeling calmer. It’s just the effect you have on him.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Eliza scurries away as her dad asks that question. She’d rather not look at him while you deliver the news.

“Eliza got her first period,” you say with a sigh. 

“Oh.” Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. He should have been expecting this at some point, right? Yet he feels entirely blindsided by hearing that his little girl has started turning into a woman. 

“You both really wish I was there, don’t you?” you ask with a chuckle. 

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “Yes, very much so.”

“Well, you need to be there for her now. She’s already feeling embarrassed and wishes this wasn’t happening.”

“I can do that,” Eddie says, sounding less than confident.

“Eddie.” 

“I can!”

“Good. When are you guys seeing Luke?” you ask.

“We’re having dinner with him,” your husband tells you. “Going to pick him up from his apartment in a little while.”

“Okay. She’s going to need pads before you go. I’ll text you what kind you should get. And then ones for bedtime, too.”

“There are different ones for bed?” Eddie asks. “What, do they have a clock on them or something?”

“Yes, they do make ones for bed,” you say with an amused chuckle. “But no, there’s no clock. It’s because she’ll be laying down for so long, the nighttime ones are longer to cover more underwear.”

“Oh.” Eddie clears his throat. “That makes sense.”

“God, you’re funny,” you say with a full out laugh. “Eds, why does this all seem so new to you? We’ve been together over fifteen years now and I still get mine like clockwork. And before that, I know Brittany had one or our two favorite knuckleheads wouldn’t be here.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie says, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’ve bought that kind of stuff for both of you, but I never paid attention. I didn’t need to!”

“Now you do, Pops. This is all new and scary for Eliza.”

“Yeah, me too,” Eddie adds. 

“You’ll be fine. She will too, but you have to help make sure of it. She’s still your little Liza.”

“Always,” Eddie says. 

“Good. Now go to the store. I told her I’d FaceTime and help her if she needs it, but I think she’s got it. She and I have had this talk before.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Uh, anything else?”

“Just be normal about it. As normal as you can be. Oh! And get her some Midol. And KitKats. Chocolate might be her lifesaver.”

“Her favorite, got it.”

“I’ll text you the mini list. Does she want to talk to me again?” you ask. 

“Lize?” Eddie calls. When she looks up at him, he holds out the phone. “Anything else for Mom?”

She nods and walks over to take the phone.

“Hi,” she says, voice soft and small.

“Hi, sweet pea. You’re okay. I’m going to text Daddy what to buy and you can call me whenever you want to.”

“Okay,” Eliza responds, still quiet. 

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you, too.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Eliza repeats.

“Bye, baby.”

“Bye.”

Eliza hands the phone back to Eddie, looking at his stomach instead of his face. Eddie pockets the phone and sighs. He wraps his arm around Eliza’s shoulders and pats her arm.

“It’s okay, kid,” he says reassuringly. “I’ve got ya.”

Eliza nods and stays quiet for a moment before she buries her face in her father’s chest. Her arms cling to him as she cries and sniffles against his dark blue Tennessee tourist t-shirt he bought at the rest stop right over the border. 

Eddie frowns, his heart hurting at seeing his little girl so confused and upset. Puberty was a bitch for him—he can’t imagine what it must be like for a girl. He presses a few kisses against her dark curls that are tucked up in a ponytail. 

“Come on,” Eddie mumbles against her hair. “Mom said to buy you some KitKats, but I think we should clear out the whole stock of chocolate.”

Eliza pulls back and rubs her right eye with her fist as she looks up at her dad. He breathes a sigh of relief that she’ll finally meet his eye. 

“Can we get cookies t-too?” she asks.

“Cookies too,” Eddie agrees with a chuckle. 

The trip to the store wasn’t nearly as bad as either Munson thought it was going to be. Eddie had your list, the two of them quickly spotted the needed feminine supplies, then they booked it over to the candy and cookies. 

Eddie puts the bags in the backseat and the two of them get back in the car.

“Alright,” Eddie says as he starts the engine. “Put your brother’s address in my GPS, please.”

Eliza scoffs a laugh as she grabs her dad’s phone to do as he said.

“What would you do without me being your tech support?” she asks.

“Call one of your siblings,” Eddie says, backing the car out of the parking space. 

“If you could figure out how to dial them,” Eliza teases as she snaps her father’s phone back into the car mount so he can see the directions.

“Such a smart ass,” Eddie muses. 

“Thanks!” Eliza beams. “I learned it from my father.”

“Well, he sounds like a hilarious and devastatingly handsome man,” Eddie says. 

“Meh.” Eliza shrugs and Eddie reaches over to dig his fingers in right above Eliza’s knee: her most ticklish spot. She squeals and her father eventually relents when he has to turn right down a road. 

The closer they get to Luke’s college campus, the more orange they see. Knoxville is sure brimming with school spirit. 

Luke’s apartment complex isn’t far from campus, so it’s easy to find. Eliza looks out at the red brick building and is surprised to find it just as clean as when they dropped Luke off here last year. Knowing her older brother, she assumed there would be cheeseburger wrappers littered around or an assortment of ridiculously posed lawn gnomes. 

“Do you want to call Mom before we get him?” Eddie asks.

She shakes her head. Eliza was able to get herself situated with a pad in the store’s bathroom. When you’d texted to see how things were going, Eddie had replied with a thumbs up emoji—once he found it. 

As much as Eliza wishes you were with her for her first period and the whirlwind of emotions that come with it, she likes having this small road trip time with just her dad. It was a little over five hours to drive from Hawkins, Indiana to Knoxville, Tennessee, but it was fun. Anything Eddie and Eliza did together was fun. Of course she misses you and everyone else back home, but this little trip is nice. 

“All right,” Eddie says. “Let’s go get the troublemaker.”

“Too late,” Eliza says. “Speak of the devil…”

Eddie looks up and sees Luke jogging out of his apartment building, big grin on his face as he sees his family. He walks over to the passenger side of the car and Eliza hitches her thumb over her shoulder to tell her older brother that he’s sitting in the back seat. No way was she giving up front seat privileges when she so rarely got them. 

Luke pulls open the back door and slides into the car.

“Mi familia!” Luke cries. He leans over the headrest in front of him to place a big smacking kiss on the top of Eliza’s head before leaning over toward Eddie’s side and wrapping his arms around his father as tightly as he can at this angle. 

“You’re so dramatic,” Eliza complains with a chuckle.

“Oh, come on,” Luke says as he plops down into his seat. “The three most dramatic Munsons are all in this car right now.”

“And, shockingly,” Eddie says as he backs out of the parking space, “I get the bronze medal.”

“Well, you always want your children to do better than you, right Dad?” Luke shifts and his foot kicks the plastic bag containing Eliza’s period needs and snacks. The top corner of a bag of cookies is sticking out and Luke’s focus is locked. “Ooh, did you buy me snacks?”

He stretches to snag the bag handle and plops it down on the seat next to him.

“No!” Eliza cries, trying to turn around in her seat and snatch the bag away before he notices what’s inside. But she’s too late.

Luke lifts out a package of sanitary pads and his eyes widen as he looks from the frilly lilac design to his sister staring back at him with a tomato red face. Slowly, as if she were attempting to go unnoticed, Eliza spins back around to face forward in her seat.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just waits for his son to speak. He doesn’t want to jump down Luke’s throat for making fun of his little sister if the crime hasn’t even been committed yet. Eddie’s expecting anything from “gross, periods” to “ew, you have cooties now!” But he definitely wasn’t expecting…

“My little girl is growing up!”

Eliza drops her head forward into her hands and Eddie bites down on his bottom lip to keep from smiling. 

“Alright, Luke,” Eddie says, “don’t traumatize your sister.”

“I’m not!” Luke protests. “I’m just saying I can’t believe she’s hitting puberty!”

“Luke, I’m going to stab you,” Eliza grits out between her teeth.

“Oh, there are the hormones!” Luke says. 

“Okay, guys,” Eddie interjects. “Enough.”

“Does the family know yet?” Luke asks, leaning forward to stick his head between the driver’s and passenger’s seats. “Did I miss a text in the family group chat?”

“No,” Eliza seethes.

“We have to tell Ryan! Oh, wait, oh my God. We have to tell Grandpa that his little girl is becoming a woman!”

The car rolls up to a red light and Eliza immediately unbuckles her seatbelt.

“That’s it!”

She leaps into the back seat, landing right on top of her brother. Luke laughs as she tries to pin him down, her twelve-year-old frame not as strong as his twenty-two-year-old one. But she will never give up. This is the same girl who at less than a year old learned how to throw her entire body weight onto her big brothers and knock the wind out of them. 

“Is this any way to treat your brother that you haven’t seen in months?” Luke asks as Eliza wrestles for control of his arms.

“When that brother is you? Yes.”

“Aww, Dad needs to get you a phone,” Luke says as he finally puts in the effort and is able to wrangle Eliza into a hold where he can squeeze her in an approximation of a hug. “That way I can talk to you more.”

“Buckle up back there,” is all Eddie says as the light turns green. 

There’s the snapping of a seatbelt being locked, rummaging through the plastic bag, then the noise from the backseat dissipates. 

“You better not steal my cookies,” Eddie hears Eliza mumble to her brother.

“You let me have one and I’ll give you a half-full tube of Pringles from my apartment.”

“What flavor?”

Eddie smiles to himself as he eyes the restaurants that pass by on the main road. He’s looking for a good one to take his son and daughter to, but he’s also enjoying hearing the two of them be their usual selves with one another. It’s been too long since they’ve lived under the same roof, Eddie feels. Then again, he feels that any time any of his kids aren’t under his roof is too long. They’re still his babies, it doesn’t matter how old they are.

“Cheddar and sour cream,” Luke answers his sister.

There’s a beat of silence as Eliza thinks it over.

“Okay. Deal.”

Eddie silently chuckles to himself. Luke may be a college student now, and Eliza might be becoming a woman, but they’re still the rugrats that Eddie’s known and loved since the days they were born.

[schrodingerscougar]

Part two for this one. I'm sorry for the cliffhanger in the first part. The illustration is from the amazing @ave661 .

--

Four months. That’s how much time it took Simon to get out of that hazy fugue state. He didn’t really remember what he had gone through during that time, his brain switched to autopilot after the breakup. He often wondered why it affected him this much when he didn’t even love you. You were just someone he spent time with, someone he tried to play house with for a short while to feel normal.

Still, now as he lay on his bed, watching the ceiling fan rotate to stir up the hot air in the room, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He even found himself opening a social media app to search for your name from a fake account he had set up a long time ago, and he was shocked to see the most recent photo of you. It was impossible to miss the unmistakable shape of a baby bump under your shirt, and based on its size, you got pregnant long months ago.

When he was finally allowed to go home for a short while, Simon went to see you. He knew he had hurt you, he knew you were probably still mad at him, but he had to know if it was his child. It only happened one time. One night when he tried to fix things by giving you what you wanted, hoping sex could make him see you in another light. Maybe he would finally want you the way you always wanted him to want you. But it didn’t work, and it was after that night he made the final decision to end things with you.

“What do you want?” you asked him when you opened the door.

Simon nodded as he bit the inside of his cheek. This cold welcome was fair enough, he deserved this kind of treatment. Normally, he would have left you alone. But normally, you would have told him you were pregnant.

So he silently pointed at your belly and waited for you to realize what he wanted. He knew you weren't dumb, the pieces would fall into place in a second. And sure enough, you let out a sigh then opened the door wider to let him in.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked you as he stood in the kitchen next to you with his arms crossed.

You were busy making him a cup of tea, but you took the time to silently shrug. When he let out a heavy sigh, you looked over at him and said, “I didn't think you'd care, Si. Simple as that.”

You were right. He didn't care. Even now that he was looking at you, his eyes occasionally moving to the bump that hid his own blood, his mind was somewhere else. He was a soldier, he knew how to take responsibility for his actions. You getting pregnant was his fault too. He couldn't just ignore the problem.

“I’ll pay child support,” he assured you.

“No need.”

Simon reached out to put a hand on the base of your neck, but you quickly pushed his hand away before he could touch your skin. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

You inhaled through your nose and held your breath in for a few seconds before finally exhaling. “So what? You’re gonna be around and help us? Take her to a doctor’s appointment or for a stroll around the block?” When you saw him looking down at his shoes, you couldn’t help but snort. “Thought so,” you said.

“I’ll better get going. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Months flew by, but Simon barely noticed. He was on a mission again far from home, risking his life as usual. You never called and he didn’t force it. He accepted that he would have to live with the guilt of making this happen. Since you didn’t want to accept child support, he opened a bank account where he stored that money, hoping that one day he could give it to you or his daughter when she became old enough.

One day he checked your social media accounts like he had done a few times before, just to see how you were. This is when he saw the post in which you announced the arrival of your baby girl. He didn’t make a big deal out of it at first. She was born and she would probably ask about her father one day. If he was still alive then, he would gladly give her a toned down explanation. If not… Well, he left everything to her in his will.

Eventually he began to save the photos of his daughter and he often found himself looking at them. She was adorable, some of her features resembling his own. Her big brown eyes were definitely his; the color and the shape were both so familiar to him.

No one from the team knew about this part of his life. He had never told anyone, because why would he? They were close, they were his brothers, but you and your daughter were carefully guarded secrets in his life. Simon knew the real reason why he never talked about you; he was afraid of the judgmental looks and words.

Two months later, when he entered his apartment again after another round of deployment, Simon didn't really know what to do with himself. He ended up looking at his daughter's photos more and more often and eventually he made up his mind to give her a visit. It had absolutely nothing to do with you. He was doing this for the little girl.

You weren't welcoming but, once again, he couldn't blame you. “I just want to see my daughter,” he said softly, hoping the two of you could avoid fighting.

For long moments you were cautiously watching him, as if you were trying to decide if he could be trusted or not. But then your eyes fell on the big teddy bear he was holding with one hand and you let out a sigh of defeat.

On the way to the nursery, you didn't talk at all. The silence didn't bother him, but still he would have appreciated some words about the little girl he was about to meet. Was he allowed to pick her up? Did she like to be held? How was she? Did she have stomach ache often? Were she teething?

“Be quick,” you warned him when you stopped by her crib.

Simon let out a sigh. “Come on, don't be like that.”

You just rolled your eyes at him before taking a step back to lean your shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded over your chest, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. He found it a little too much, he hated that you didn't trust him. Sure, he hadn't given you many reasons to trust him, but for the sake of your daughter you should have tried.

With a sigh, he rested an elbow on the side of the crib and reached out to touch the baby as gently as he could with his other hand. His own flesh and blood. It was amazing, really. Without asking for permission, he picked her up and couldn't help but smile when the baby smiled at him.

Now that he was holding her close to his body, placing soft kisses on her head every so often, Simon couldn't deny that he already loved his daughter. There was an invisible string between them, something that brought her closer to him that anyone has ever been.

The baby giggled suddenly and it brought an even wider smile to Simon’s face. He could only hope you would let him see her as often as he could visit, but something told him it wouldn't be easy to convince you.

“She likes you,” you suddenly noted.

He put down the little girl then turned to you. “The feeling's mutual.” A faint smile appeared on your lips. “Can I see her some other time?” You nodded. “Thank you. If I can help with anything, just give me a call or send a message. I'll get back to you as soon as I can,” he offered.

You been to walk out of the room and he quietly followed you, waiting for you to say something. He didn't really know what he was expecting to hear, but he had a feeling you were holding back something. And sure enough, after a few minutes of silence you began to talk, scolding him for not even bothering to send at least a text to ask about her before suddenly showing up.

“I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd read them.”

“I'm mad at you, that's true,” you agreed.

Simon leaned against the doorframe as he watched you pace in the living room like a caged animal. He remembered those nights he had spent thinking about on deployment, the moment he saw that photo of you, and he realized that maybe he was missing you.

But how could he miss someone he didn't even love? Or had he developed feelings for you, feelings he tried to hide even from himself? It was way too confusing for him, and he didn't like to be confused. It was a weakness on the field and in his civilian life.

“I should go. If you need anything–”

You came to a halt, turned to him and nodded. “I know where to find you. But can I ask you something?” Simon motioned you to go on. “Why now? Why did you become interested in her all of a sudden?”

He let out a thoughtful hum as he put his hand on the back of his neck. “I saw the photos, how much she looks like me, and… I don't know.” You took a few steps closer to him, but you still kept a comfortable distance. “I've been saving money for her. I want to give you access to that bank account.”

“I don't need your money,” you were quick to say.

“It's for her. Please, accept it.”

You became mad at him, accusing him of assuming you couldn't take care of your daughter you'd been raising on your own from day one. He knew there was no point in defending himself, you were too lost in the hate you felt for him. So he just waited there in silence, letting you finish your speech.

Then, the moment you seemingly finished, he closed the gap between the two of you. He didn't know what he was doing, he just followed his instinct when he leaned down and kissed you. This was probably the first time he truly enjoyed kissing you, and it helped a lot that you were quick to return it.

Maybe this was why he wanted to come here today. To fix things. To try to get a family he'd been craving ever since he lost his own.

(part three)

[awakenedevildays]

「The, not so, other woman」 Art Donaldson x F!reader

TW: smut! (badly written, but still smut), angst, cheating (not on reader).

Infos: Art and the reader are 26 yo, Art and Tashi's daughter doesn't exist here.

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

"Promise you'll stay here tonight" he says , his thrusts slow and deep in you, his body tremble as his movements are too slow for him too "tell me you'll stay here with me" he stills inside of you.

"Art, please move" you beg under him as one of his hands push your hips down to stop you from moving up, he hisses, his eyes closing while he struggles to wait for your answer. 

He moans quietly and he leans down to kiss you deeply, but just as you are about to return the kiss he pulls away as a way to show he's not giving you any stimulation till you say what he wants to hear "tell me you'll stay with me" he whispers before planting soft needy kisses over your jaw. 

"I will, just- please" you moan and he smiles against your jaw. 

He starts to move at a slow pace, kissing over your face and down your neck as you finally get that friction back "god you're so needy" he whispers lovingly, giving you exactly what you need: he is so deep inside of you that it's hard for you to breath "I'm going to cum" you moan as your body trembles under him.

"Cum for me, come on baby" he nibbles your ear after saying it and he feels close too, his hand reaches your clit to stimulate it with his fingers in circular motions "god, I love you so much, you were made for me" he moans as you clench around him.  

You cum repeating his name like a mantra and he follows shortly after inside of your walls, his cock hits your cervix and your eyes fly to the back of your head when he stills there. 

"oh god" he moans and lays down on top of you, his body weight presses against your body pleasantly as he peppers several kisses everywhere he can reach. 

 You rest like that until he feels like his limbs can move again and and his breathing returns to normal, "you're so pretty" he says and you smile softly at him, your eyes almost totally closed peers at him and his smile widens "I'll be right back" he pulls out his softening members and you both hiss at the stimulation. He comes back from the bathroom seconds later, a towel in his hand to clean the both of you. 

After wiping the sensitive skin between your legs he throws the towel on the floor and takes your panties from the end of the bed to slide them on your legs until it rests against your hips, he wears his boxer too and joins you back on the bed.

His arms wraps around you, your back meets his chest and you feel so safe and comfortable against him. He presses soft kisses to each of your shoulders and up to your neck "I love you so much" he whispers almost shyly.

Your smile is bitter but you answer anyway, your answer genuine but full of sadness "I love you too" you say, your voice weak cause of the tears that threatens to escape and Art can feel your demeanor change. He holds you tighter in his arms but doesn't say anything, he knows there isn't something he can say to make you happy at the moment. 

"It's okay" he whispers and you hold onto his arms, your eyes burns from impending tears and he rubs your arm gently "it's going to be okay" he mumbles, more to convince himself than you, you don't say anything as you turn around in his arms so that your head rests on his chest: his hand around you continues to gently rub your shoulders after pulling the sheets over your naked bodies, he plants several soft kisses to your head, forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, anywhere he can reach without having to move too much.

He can feel you growing sadder and sadder and it hurts, but his arms stay wrapped around you anyway and he presses his body against yours as much as he can. 

"You should rest, we'll talk in the morning, does that sound good?" he comforts you, he keeps a steady but slow rhythm as he rubs your back. 

"mhm" you nod your head slightly, not having the energy to speak and his other hand goes through your hair softly until you finally calm down, until your breath evens out and you fall asleep a few minutes later together. 

The clock signs 4 AM when Art wakes up after hearing rustlings around the room and he sighs as his arms reaches to the other side of the bed to pull you to him only to meet the empty messy sheets still warm. He sits straight and his eyes bolts to the other side of the room, you're up, and you're dressing hurriedly in the dark.

His heart sinks in his chest and he watches for a moment as you put on your bra, you don't look at him as you move and he turns on the lamp on the nightstand.

He feels his chest tightening and he can barely find the courage to speak "you're leaving?", his voice small and breaking slightly already "yes I am" you answer coldly. 

"hey, come here..." he says as he sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows rest on his thighs and his hands run through his hair, you can tell from his tone that he's frustrated and you look at him, watching him for a moment as his hair messily covers his eyes, he bows his head, his body language is defeated and you just want to comfort him, tell him everything will be okay, but you know better than to give him false hope. 

"I can't do this anymore" you avoid his gaze as your eyes fills with tears again and Art's heart breaks in his chest 'why do I always have to make her cry?' he thinks as he stands up, but every step he takes forward you take one back. 

He blinks and freezes for a moment, his head snapping back up as his gaze meet your own—shock, confusion and worry all flashed through his eyes in that moment: he knows that this affair is wrong, that you deserve better than this half relationship he has given you for the past year, but seeing you giving up on this... on him, is shattering his heart. 

"w-what do you mean?" he asks even if he already knows the answer.

"I mean that this won't happen ever again" you say while you take your shirt from the ground.  

His heart sinks into the pit of his stomach and his breath catches in his throat, a look of almost disbelief cross his face. He feels cold all of a sudden as if a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. 

He blinks and his mouth falls open for a moment as if to argue but he can't find the words to say "no, no. no, no—" he shakes his head and takes steps closer towards you "please don't leave". 

This sounds like a bad joke, he's wanted you for years, he yearned you like nothing else before and when you finally look in his direction, he finds out he is incapable of keeping you close to him ... fuck, he wants to cry. 

He is slowly losing you and he doesn't even know what to say to make you stay.

"Why don't you get it Art!? I want to get married! I want a husband that loves me and only me and I want a child, maybe even two... I want to be the first choice of someone, I want someone that can love me freely and that is proud of saying I am his wife, I don't deserve this" your hands gesture around the room "I don't deserve to be fucked in a hotel room only to find myself alone the morning after, knowing that you're already back with Tashi, going on with your life while I find myself in the same exact point I was a year ago" you cry out, tears now staining your cheeks. 

Art goes silent and he just stands there as he takes in everything you're saying. He blinks rapidly and his gaze flutters around as he tries to comprehend and process everything. His mind is spinning and his heart feels like it's breaking as he looks at you crying. He tries to open his mouth to speak a few times but nothing comes out, he has no idea what to say. Just imagining you with another man takes his breath away. 

"I'm not your first choice Art, and I deserve better" you sob as your arms wrap around yourself. 

Art watches you cry in front of him. He hates it, he hates this, he hates himself. Still, he walks until he is in front of you and his hands take your face softly "you're my.." he pauses and glances towards the wedding ring on his finger that shines in the light, before he shakes his head and looks back at you "you're my first choice..". 

You scoff and take his hands off your face "no I'm not Art, and I'll never be" you look around for your skirt.

"No." he mumbles and his hands grabs your hips, his eyes are filled with desperate tears and his mind is trying to find a way to make you stay "it's true! I'll divorce Tashi..! I'll divorce her..! Just stay with me, please.." he begs. 

You snort "yeah, right" you shake your head but when you try to move his hands tightens.

His jaw clenches at the snort and the words, his gaze hardening as he looks at you- you've never been so stubborn before, you never looked at him with such distain in your eyes before "why don't you believe me... you know I'd do it for you.." he whispers almost desperately, his gaze softening again in pure vulnerability as tears began to slip down his cheeks.

"'cause you never gave me a reason to trust you, Art! we've been doing this for a whole year and nothing changed, you expect me to trust you now only because I'm finally leaving?" your voice raises.

"That's not true..!" he argues back instantly, hurt flashing through his teary gaze despite the fact that you have a point, not much has changed this year. He didn't want this life to be this way, to be caught in a loveless marriage, with his wife fucking his best friend and with so much wrong happening in his personal life despite the fame he had gained due to his career. He just wants to make you happy, he wants to be happy with you. 

He sighs and takes a moment to calm down, his shoulders slump slightly as he lets go of your hips. "You think I wanted this?" he says quietly "I want to be with you, I don't want Tashi, I don't love her anymore, I feel nothing for her... please, give me a chance to make it right, I can be that man for you, I can be anything you want" he kneels in front of you "I'll divorce her and I'll find a new coach, she won't be in our lives anymore and we'll be happy" his hands wrap around your waist, his head resting on you hip. 

You look at him for a long moment, taking in the way he gazes at you as he rests against your hip, his hands tight around your waist as he waits for a response—the words he spoke bringing a sharp tinge of hope to you that you didn't allow yourself to feel until now.

You raise your hand to slowly comb it in his hair and he sighs at your touch, his eyes closing.

"You have to promise me Art, promise me you'll be what I need" 

He opens his eyes to look at you, while nodding furiously, his words coming out strong and desperate but also true "...I promise. I'll be everything you need..I'll do anything you need me to do." he gently leans into your touch and sighs in contentment when he feels your fingers rake through his hair, he looks up at you with pleading eyes and his hands rubs up and down your sides, "I'll do anything for you," he whispers.

You can see the sincerity in his gaze as he speaks, his words sincere and desperate. He's ready to give up everything he achieved if it means that he can be the man you need, the man that you want.

"Are you sure it's me that you want? You won't go back to tashi, will you?" he shakes his head quickly in response to your question, his grip on you tightens and tears continue to fall down his cheeks. He presses his lips to your stomach, still looking up at you when he pulls back to respond "it's you..I want you. I've only ever wanted you... you're it for me". 

His whisper comes out quiet again, hushed and vulnerable just like your entire relationship had always been.

He blinks and watches as his hands are pulled from your waist, a momentary feeling of fear rises in his chest and makes his breath stop before you catch his hands to pull him up to his feet, causing a small but relieved sigh to slip past his lips, his gaze meeting yours as he slowly returns the smile.

"I'm scared you'll regret it Art, I don't want you to throw your life away for me" your hands lay against his chest but his lips interrupts your thoughts immediately when they kiss away the tears on your cheeks. 

"This is anything but throwing my life away.." he laughs. 

He presses another kiss to your lips, softly, before he pulls back to look at you. 

"I'm just finally making the right choice" he whispers, his hands move down to cup your chin in his fingers: in your eyes there is a love Art never saw in Tashi's, is this what being loved feels like? he never felt so loved, so wanted in all the three years of marriage with Tashi. 

"I love you, I'll make you the happiest you can be" he promises and hugs you close to him, your eyes close and you finally feel like things will really change.

"I can't wait" you say, your smile finally sincere.

And so is his, eyes filled with hope and excitement. His mind is racing a million miles per hour as the gears turn to formulate a plan to make this happen. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips and he smiles against your mouth as he pulls back "I'll fix this, we'll make this work" and you finally believe him. 

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

First time writing smut I'm sorry it's really bad lol.

(do not copy or translate).

[misserabella]

the farmer’s daughter

dbsf! abby x fem! reader

summary; abby knew it was wrong to like you. you were her best friend’s daughter. but she couldn’t help it.

cw; +18 minors dni!, reader isn’t shy!!!, nudity, body worshipping, kissing, begging, tit and nipple play, oral sex (r receiving), praise, use of nicknames instead of y/n, hair pulling…

she knows she shouldn’t. you’re her best friend’s daughter. but she couldn’t help herself.

it was a hot july afternoon. the sun was bathing her freckled skin and broad exposed shoulders. sweat was running down her face in salty droplets that she swiped away before they could reach her sky blue eyes.

she had been helping her best friend for hours on his farm, soiling the ground for the autumn and helping him out with some oil and tire changes for his truck.

“some lemonade?”

and there you were. in your denim short jumpsuit with just a mere bikini underneath. you were a sight for sore eyes. with tanned skin exposed for her hungry ones.

“thanks honey.” you father gave you a smile as he took one of the glasses being offered, gulping down the sweet iced lemonade.

“thanks.” abby said, taking the other, and you gave her a nectar grin.

“i’m going to the lake for a little bit with laura.” you informed your father, who nodded.

“okay, you two be careful out there, yeah? don’t wantcha drowning.” he ordered in his deep accent. you snickered.

“i would never.” you gave her a soft kiss on his sweaty cheek. “good luck with your truck!” you quickly waved as you ran towards the field, where your friend was waiting for you, towels in hand.

abby watched you go, your beautiful hair waving against the wind and shining under the sun. what she’d do for a kiss of your lips…

“sweet isn’t it?” you father inquired, tasting the lemonade you’d made for them, although abby was not really thinking about the lemonade when she answered.

“yeah. real sweet.”

-

when you got back to your house, your father was nowhere to be seen.

abby was in the kitchen, drinking a cold beer to fight the warmth of the summer.

you were dripping wet, your clothes and towel hanging on your arm as your drenched hair let droplets fall onto the skin of your chest.

“where’s dad?” you inquired, leaving your things on the kitchen table and opening the fridge, bending over to retrieve some lemonade.

“went out to the market. said he needed to buy some stuff.” she said, her eyes roaming your body; the arch of your back, the nipples poking through the top of your bikini, your perfect little ass… abby gulped down another mouthful of her beer, feeling the heat of the summer on her throat.

you hummed. “probably ingredients for dinner. he’s been craving my meatloaf.” you smiled at her, jar in hand.

you took a glass and poured some of the lemonade in it, hurriedly gulping it down in a frenzy. desperate.

abby seemed amused. “thirsty?” you hummed, finishing down your drink and spilling some of it down your chest. if your skin would be sweet before, now it could make her teeth rot.

“it’s so hot outside.” you gasped. abby’s eyes followed the droplets as they found your cleavage.

she shook her head, taking a cloth from the counter to walk over you and press it against your chest. “so clumsy…” you looked up at her, into her ocean eyes, feeling your heart beat faster at her closeness. abigail anderson, your father’s best friends since you could remember. 6,3ft of pure muscle and inches of blonde braided hair that reminded you of the wheat your father reaped. she was strong, kind, intelligent and really, really attractive. your eyes roamed her face, the scar on her left cheek, the little freckles that have shown on her nose due to the sun, her long eyelashes, her supple pink lips…

“sorry…” you muttered, unconsciously biting on your bottom one. her eyes followed the motion, quickly returning to your eyes.

she pulled away, clearing her throat. “you’re drenched.” she said. “your father would kill you if he saw you wetting the floor.” you chuckled.

“you’re right.” and that’s when a glorious idea came to your mind. you turned around pulling your hair to your front to expose the laces of your neck and back. “do you mind?” you looked over your shoulder at her, and abby frowned. before she realized what you wanted her to do.

“oh… sure.” she said with a cough, coming up from behind you. you felt your skin rose in goosebumps when her fingertips graced your skin, holding onto the strings of the bow of your back before slowly pulling. she gulped. slowly undoing it. you took a deep breath, standing still, your heart deafening. once it’s strings were hanging by your sides, abby slowly moved to the one surrounding your neck. the time she took to get it undone seemed to stretch out. abby’s tongue wetted her lips. she could feel her stomach churning, her hands shaking. you felt the top fall. you didn’t even bother to catch it, letting it slide down your navel, exposing your supple breasts and perky nipples.

you slowly turned once again, the piece of clothing abandoned at your feet. and abby felt like she couldn’t breath, faced with your nudity. with your beautiful exposed skin. your cheeks were reddish under her gaze. you felt small and delicate under it. as if you could break. maybe you wanted it.

“what are you doing?” she breathed out, her throat dry.

“you don’t like it?” you muttered, and she quickly let you know it was nothing like that.

“no, no… it’s just…” she sighed. “you shouldn’t be… we shouldn’t be…” but again, you were looking at her with those pretty doe eyes, offering yourself in a silver platter for her to devour. and abby was a weak woman. “fuck it.” she growled, shortening the distance that stood between the two of, cupping your plush cheeks with her warm hands to bring your lips to hers. it was devastating. how they felt. soft. sweet and sour.

you hummed, your back arching against her as you got on your tiptoes to reach her lips. she tasted like beer, and cigarettes, salty due to the sweat that coated her skin. fresh pines engulfed your senses as you pulled on her braided locks. her tongue pressed against your lips in invitation, and you opened up for her, moaning on her mouth. she pressed against you until you were against the kitchen counter, her hands leaving your face to slowly drift down your neck to your shoulders, elbows, hips, and lastly your thighs, pulling you up the cold surface. you gasped as it made contact with your skin. or maybe it was her hands on your waist, the same hands that now were hungrily kneading at your breasts, fingers tweaking your hardened nipples. you whimpered when she left your lips, her mouth leaving wet kisses down your neck.

“abby…” you breathed out, her name tasting like honey on your lips. “please.” it was as if your words had power over her, one simple plea and she was down on her knees for you, dying to worship you like some kind of god. you stared at her from above, as she looked at you through her blonde lashes. her hands were on top of your thighs, shaking in need to touch you in places no one has ever touched you before.

you opened your legs for her. a silent invitation as your hands went to the strings of your bikini bottom, pulling at the laces on your hips until it was loose, barely hiding you from her. but not for long, ‘cause you were pulling at the piece of clothing to drop it on the floor, where your top laid.

“fuck…” the blonde cursed at the sight of you, at the sight of your sticky folds, exposed twitching leaking hole and your puffy reddish clit. the next curse that filled the air came from your lips as her own wrapped around that throbbing bundle of nerves, her hands pushing your thighs over her strong exposed shoulders for a better angel.

“shit, abby… yes, just like that, please…” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your jaw falling slack as a pant left your lungs. her tongue was hungrily lapping at your slick, she was starved, yet slow. she wanted this moment to last, maybe for ever. your fingers pushed in between her golden locks, tugging her closer and making her groan.

“ hmm god.” she hummed. “taste so good, baby…” there were fireworks behind your eyelids as your back arched. this was heaven, and you were a sinner for wanting her this bad. abby didn’t mind being one too.

you’re sweet as honey as you drip down her chin, as one of her fingers sink inside of you and you let out this moan that makes her believe you’re certainly an angel if not a god. something holy you must be. for her to push aside the guilt that making you hers brings down her shoulders, that sinks her down to her knees and makes her forget the fact that you’re her best friend’s daughter.

she crooks it up against your g spot, and the fireworks turn into stars.

abby feels like she’s been locked out of heaven for so long… but now, in between your legs, hearing you moan her name, she feels blessed, pure.

she adds another finger, and the stretch makes you cry out as she sucks on your clit. you’re close. and she knows.

“abby, i’m gonna… please don’t stop, please…”

and even if she wanted, she couldn’t. she wouldn’t. not when you beg her. when you plead so sweetly it’s making her rot.

“cum for me, honey. cum for me.” she looks drunk on you, pupils blown, lose strands of her hair sticking to her forehead and lips swollen and shiny on your slick.

and something you do is give it to her. in between moans and cries and whimpers you spill inside her mouth, body shaking in ecstasy.

and abby drinks it all up. scared. terrified. terrified that this would be the last time she will get to taste something as holy as you.

-

a/n; this does not mean my hiatus is over. i just wanted to post something. hope you like it.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part seventeen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 2.3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Ghost wasn't bluffing about the rain.

The next two days are spent with a punching bag under a neverending drizzle. Well, a duffle bag filled to the brim with who-knows-what, hanging from a tree as your skin smacks into it repeatedly and wet hair sticks to your neck. According to Ghost, you hit about as hard as Blue does, and there's no point in sparring until that changes. 

He demonstrates before finding a comfortable tree to lean against and watch. The first few tries feel awkward until he reminds you to hold your stance. Once you dig your feet firmer into the mud, you start to catch on. You try to copy his movements. Knees, hands, elbows, feet. The rain soaks through the gauze on your hands, bunching it up, and the bag stings your unprotected fingers so much that your pinky starts to spasm.

You are struggling to hold the canister of water without wincing when Ghost appears behind you, grips your wrist, and says, "Why didn't you say anything?"

You pull away and tuck your hand to your breast. "It's not that bad."

His eyes sweep over the length of you before subtly narrowing. "You're bleeding. You should have said something."

When you glance at your fingers, you realize that he's right— the skin is split and oozing, but the rain waters the blood down to a light shade of pink. "Sorry, I guess. I didn't notice."

A callused finger reaches over to brush your knuckles before flipping your hand over, palm up, and tapping the heel of it. "Hit here from now on. It's less soft."

"Noted. Thanks."

Blue warms a bucket of water and soaks your hands that night. You listen to the sound of rain drumming against the plywood as you pray for it to stop by the morning, but of course, there's no one listening to you up there in the clouds because, by the time Ghost gets you up again, it's only gotten worse. Mist shrouds your ankles and the trees crackle and moan. He takes you back to the clearing and you know you won't be dealing with the duffle bag today.

"Let's see what you've learned."

He shucks off his jacket and you do the same despite the brisk temperature. Left in his shirt and sweatpants, the sheer size of him appears even more daunting. The black fabric soon becomes wet and sticks to his well-defined muscles, resembling a second skin. Ghost inclines his head and looks at you expectantly. Your heart races but you meet his stare, breathing deeply.

This time it's you who lunges first.

A swift kick to his ribs shoots the familiar burst of adrenaline through your veins. 

The flicker of confidence makes you greedy and you try it again, but he wrenches your ankle away and twists you into submission, pulling you flush to his chest. 

His breath hits your neck and warmth, not rain, prickles the skin. "She didn't hesitate. Good. But moves like that leave your stance vulnerable."

With a shove, you are released, and then he wipes the floor with you. Again. Everything turns into a blur of movement. The ground squelches beneath you. You try to focus more on offense, but the rain clumping your lashes and the way he darts so quickly makes that near impossible. Frustration builds in your chest the longer you two go at it. It is as if the past few days have done little to nothing. 

A bruising blow to your stomach almost makes you slip, but he catches you by the sleeve and draws you close, leaving you face-to-face. His eyes burn a trail over your forehead down to your nose and lips as you pant heavily, then snap back up to yours. 

"What happened to your confidence? Where is the girl who kneed my dick?"

You swallow and blink hard as you meet his thick gaze. "She's trying... but she's wet and can hardly see."

"Better than being dead." You place your hand atop his callused one and try to pry it off, but his grip tightens. "Stop holding back again."

Tension holds your teeth together. "Just because I wasn't a military sergeant like you doesn't mean I'm holding back."

"Lieutenant."

"What?"

"I was a lieutenant, not a sergeant."

"Does that change my point?"

His brow quirks and his hand drops. "You have quite the attitude when you're not scared of me." 

The stinging air turns your cheeks pink. "I was never scared of you."

"Blue's next lesson should be teaching you to lie better.”

Something about his tone causes a twinge in your chest. You back up and ready your fists. "Oh... Is she good at that?"

He stalks you with slow steps that scuff over the mud. "Pretty good at it. Though, she forgets who her old man is sometimes."

"What do you mean?"

"You think I didn't notice?"

Your mouth runs dry. Unspoken truths hang in the air; the antiseptic, the food she snuck. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes roll to the side. "Relax. I would've killed you the moment I noticed if I wanted to."

"Why didn't you, then?" 

A glint of—something—passes through his eyes. "Perhaps I thought you could be useful. Turns out I was right. Now—" He changes the subject. "Don't hold back or you can enjoy the shed tonight."

All the color drains from your face. "What? You... you can't do that."

"Why not?" 

Your voice sharpens. "Because you made a fucking promise to me, Ghost. You said you keep your word."

His broad shoulders give a lazy shrug. "I do, but you thrive when you feel threatened. Thought you could use the motivation."

Anger curls your lips. "That doesn't mean you can just—" 

Mud. Mud everywhere. Freezing, sticky mud cushions your fall as he hits you without warning. You gasp. A flash of a memory shoots through your spine; the way he pushed you to the ground that first time you met. The crack of your bow. The helplessness. 

You ignore the ache as you push yourself to wobbling feet. It as if every hit from him makes itself known. Your anger deepens and you launch at him without thought, snarling. Your ankles hook around his torso as you grab hold of his wet shirt and cling to his back. One of your arms clamps over his neck and squeezes while the other blindly scratches at any piece of him you can find; his collarbones, the bridge of his nose, his scalp. 

A few heartbeats pound before he throws you back into the mud. This time, he joins you. Salty sweat and the taste of coppery soil brush the seam of your mouth as you wrestle beneath him. It turns messy, your hair tangling with knots and pine needles, but you don't have it in you to care. You spit in his face and dig the heel of your boot into his back, riding up his shirt. 

"Ah. There she is." His voice is rougher and only the slightest bit winded. 

The fight you give is silenced when he pins your hips down with his and grabs one of your wrists. The other you quickly slip under your back, out of reach. Again, he has you pinned, and that pisses you off even more.

"Fuck you," you snap breathlessly. "Get off of me."

"Bold choice of words to say to your landlord."

The rain seems to fade into the background and all you can see—feel—is him. It should terrify you, the pressure of his body, but your mouth opens again on its own accord. "Bold choice getting me into this position again. I guess you don't want any more kids."

A sharp exhale leaves his nose and you think it might be his version of a laugh. "Thanks for reminding me." He brackets your knees with his, rendering them immobile. "Now what?"

Now what. The mix of adrenaline and anger rushes between your ears and that thing you've relied on to survive for so long—instinct—decides for you. Your free hand scoops mud and smashes it into his eyes, stealing his vision. The time it takes for him to wipe it away gives you a shot at his face and you take it without abandon, slamming your hand hard into his nose. You can practically hear the crack. Blood blooms through the white of his mask. 

Your irises unfurl. "Shit. Ghost. I—"

He sits up and you scramble away on your butt. Like a tide, your emotions wash away and leave your face flushed. When he peels the balaclava over his nose, a trail of blood trickles down his lips and chin. He pinches the tip and flicks a clot of it to the ground.

"Is it— Did it break?"

He touches the bridge. "Minor."

"I'm..."

The uncontrollable shaking returns to your hands, snapping his gaze to them. "Did they open up?"

Confused, you glance at the red skin across your knuckles before shaking your head. "No. I... I used the heel. Like you said."

"Good." A grumble of thunder brings his eyes to the sky before he stands up, mask still hiked over the bloody lower half of his face. He offers you a hand. "Smart use of the environment. Think we're done here."

It takes a long moment before you place your hand in his. The energy has swept through your body, leaving you numb, and there are no more sharp words left to share. With the grey sky, it is impossible to tell the time, but you figure it must still be early morning because Blue is not awake by the time you and Ghost return.

He is equally as filthy as you. Dark earth cakes the entirety of his body. He swipes his boots outside and you wordlessly do the same before following him into the quiet cabin. Everything is still except for your heart. It struggles to find a normal pace again.

"Let me look at it," you offer quietly.

He doesn't object, taking a seat at the table. The only evidence that the physical activity has affected him is the uptick in heat that rolls off his body. You move clinically to stand between his knees and ignore the awkward feeling that settles in the silence. You feel strange after getting so worked up. Like you don't know how to act. If you were confused around him before, you are more so now, so you focus on what you do understand— that his nose is most definitely broken.

For the first time, it is you looking down at him. 

"I'm going to touch it."

You will the trembling in your hands to stop and brush a fingertip along the bridge. His nose is strong. So is his jaw. An old scar indents the left of his mouth, deeper than the one on your brow. This isn't the first time you've seen part of his face— he does, in fact, have human needs like food and water—but the first time you've touched it. His skin is as warm as you remember. The tender swell in the bridge of his nose makes his eyes close for a moment.

"How's it feel?" 

He throws your words back at you. "Just peachy."

"Right. Um, have you broken it before?"

"Of course."

"I'm sorry," you finally say, but he seems far from interested in your apology.

"Don't be. I said not to worry about hurting me."

"I know, but that doesn't mean I enjoy doing it."

"Liar." He calls you out in a soft murmur. "It felt good, didn't it?"

It... did. Possibly even cathartic. The release of emotions is not something you allow often, but hitting Ghost in the face mimicked the exertion of chopping wood only tenfold. Carefully, you nod. "A bit."

"More than a bit."

"Fine," you concede breathily. You avoid his eyes and look over at the wall. "It felt really good." There is a pause before you look at his nose again, clearing your throat. "It's minor enough to just let heal, right?"

His brows lower. "I thought you were the nurse here."

"Nursing student," you remind him, teeth grazing your lip. "I don't remember getting to this lecture."

"Fucking hell." He inhales deeply through his mouth, lowering the fabric back down, before saying, "Just go bathe, Twix."

"What about you?"

"I'll go after."

You nod but linger for a moment in his presence. "Ghost." Your fingers curl at your sides. "Don't ever do that again. Don't ever threaten me with something I have earned."

Making a demand of him is so utterly foreign to you that the words taste strange. The whites of his eyes slide up to yours and something you don't recognize passes through them. "Duly noted." His brows lift. "Don't hold back again."

You exhale. "I won't."

It is at this moment you notice the appearance of Blue in the hallway, still dressed in an oversized shirt that acts as her pajamas. She looks between the two of you, rubbing her eyes, before narrowing them and pointing an accusatory finger. "I told you guys to tell me when things got more interesting."

You repel from between his knees like a magnet, facing her.

"It wasn't that interesting. Don't worry."

[space-cowgirllll]

I did boy mom Abby during the fall so you know I had to write some domestic fluff for Ellie too 🫶🏻🎃🍂

let’s ignore that I’m posting this less than an hour before Halloween is over 🥸

"Mama no! That's Rex's chair!"

"Well I don't see his name on it." The soft thud of the stuffed animal hitting the carpet is followed by the stomp of a tiny foot.

"Mama!"

You lower the volume on the halloween music playing on the tv, watching your wife get locked in stare down with a mini version of herself. Margo's legs wobble on unsteady plastic heels and the pink material of her dress wrinkles as she places her hands on her hips. Ellie had managed to squeeze herself into one of the bigger dresses in your daughter's closet, the thing looking like it was about to bust at the seams whenever she moved. Her tiara lopsided as it slowly slips off her head.

From the color of their hair to the slope of their noses, it was actually scary how alike they looked at the moment. Their profiles damn near identical.

The two stare at each other from opposite sides of the coffee table where a "spooky" tea party was being held with hot chocolate and Halloween cookies. Action figures and stuffed animals line the sides, with the newest addition to your little family sitting at the head of the table. Your seven month old son, Theo, sits in his infant chair watching the drama unfold as he chewed on a yogurt puff. His little body swallowed up by the tulle of his dress, with a sparkly clip in his short hair. Neither you nor Ellie able to save him from the older sister effect.

"He's a stuffie, he can't even eat the cookie." Ellie says matter of factly, reaching over to fix the girl's tiara.

The four year old's eyes shift from Rex's spot to her own empty plate, nodding in understanding. "Get more from mommy." she whispers loudly, pointing to where you stand at the counter with a fresh batch. Their eyes widen at the sight of the tray in front of you.

Ellie has a full blown one sided conversation with the infant in her arms, stopping at the large window facing your backyard. She points out the swing set under the large tree in the far right corner.

"Pretty soon you'll be out there with mama and margo having competitions on who can swing the highest." She bounces the infant on her hip.

"Mama cheats." Margo pipes up from the living room.

"I do not!"

Ellie jumps to defend herself, launching into story after story about the times she's lost to the four year old. Theo watches her in fascination, his eyes glued to Ellie's face. Your wife never stopped talking, and you swear it's the reason Margo's vocabulary is as good as it is.

You pretend to ignore Ellie as she saunters over to where you stand at the kitchen island. Her front presses up against your back, lips pressing against your bare shoulder as she reaches for the cookies. "Don't mind if I do."

"I do mind, actually." You push her away. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Oh c'mon just one more."

"You said that like five cookies ago Els." Taking the baby from her arms, you move the tray further away from her grabby hands.

She pouts. "So you hate me."

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes, pulling her in for a kiss. "How about you two go wash up and you can have one more AFTER dinner." The little hand reaching for the tray pauses, slowly retreating when you pull it further away. Ellie snorts as the culprit click clacks back towards the couch.

The doorbell rings, pulling your attention away from the kitchen. Ellie moves to stir the soup currently simmering in the pot, ignoring your warning look.

"Babe, did you order something?" You question, staring at the large plastic bag on your front porch. The logo didn't look familiar, her name is on the label when you squint.

"Oh, yeah! This wasn't supposed to come until next week." The package is snatched from your hands, a flash of pink and purple fly past you and down the hallway. Your two dogs manage to slip in the room just before the door slams shut.

"We're the only sane ones here bub." You turn back towards the kitchen, undressing the infant and placing him in his high chair. He babbles happily while you clean up the mess on the counter.

It's then that you notice the two cookies missing from the tray. Your wife and daughter's muffled giggles reach your ears.

"Ellie!"

———

"Okay oneeee more for Grandpa Joel."

"No more." Margo pouts "Papa has lots of pictures already."

The three of you wait impatiently as Ellie props her phone up against one of the steps on your front porch. She rushes back to where you stand as the timer counts down. Her hand reaches down to adjust the dog's dinosaur costume, the hood covering his eyes.

Theo sits happily in the wagon your wife had spent the last week turning into a little cage. His little green dinosaur costume just thick enough to keep him warm from the chilly weather.

You quickly make sure your pink button up is tucked properly into your shorts. Ellie gives you a grateful look when you push the hair out of her face. The two of you smiling just as the timer goes off, praying that the kids were looking.

Your wife had insisted on picking out the theme for Halloween this year. Knowing she had at least one year left before your already opinionated daughter decided she wanted to pick out her own halloween costume. With how busy you'd been at work you happily let her take charge.

And that's how you ended up wrangling a family of dinosaurs out the door.

"Let's go!"

You bite your lip when your daughter wobbles in her inflatable dinosaur costume, the head throwing her off balance. Her little hand reaches for Ellie's, dragging her down the driveway and out into the throng of people already out trick or treating. Pink plastic pumpkin swinging at her side.

The four of you make your way through the neighborhood, you and Ellie taking turns walking the kids up to knock on doors.

Like most four year olds, Margo gets tired after a couple of streets. Her plastic pumpkin now full of candy. Theo snoozes away in his wagon, checks rosy from the cold.

"Last house?" You point at the tiny craftsman at the end of the street.

Ellie gives you a thumbs up and follows after Margo as she hobbles up the path towards the front porch.

“Well aren’t you two the cutest.” The elderly woman sitting on one of the steps gushes. “Matching costumes!”

She reaches into the big yellow bowl, pulling out a full size candy that has the little girl’s tired eyes widening.

"A big candy! Thank you!" She clutches it in her tiny fist, rushing back to where you stood on the sidewalk.

The elderly woman laughs at the way her costume wobbles as she runs down. "Is that your family?" She asks pointing to where you stand.

"It is." Ellie smiles.

"They're so cute." She gushes, patting her arm. "You're very lucky."

Ellie watches you gently pry the melting chocolate from your daughter’s grasp, putting it in her overflowing bucket. Theo now perched on your hip, a big gummy smile on his face at the sound of his big sister’s voice as she bounces around dancing to the loud music coming from down the street. The two dogs swore she didn’t want sat at your sides.

Ellie’s heart warmed at the sight. Her smile widens.

"Yeah, I am."

—

"Margo's finally down." You sink down into the spot next to Ellie on the couch with a sigh. A hand reaches into the plastic bag on her lap where you'd dumped all the candy, digging around for the full size candy bar from earlier. Your wife searches for a movie to watch, clicking through multiple streaming apps.

"Told you we shouldn't have let her have that second lollipop before bed." She mumbles through a mouthful of chocolate. Her eyes glued to the tv. You stretch out on the couch, legs thrown over her lap.

"Nothing scary." You remind her. "Don't need you waking me up to walk you to the bathroom at 3 AM again."

"That was ONE time!" Ellie scoffs, but quickly exits the horror section. She sprawls out on top of you, her head resting on your chest.

“No cartoons either.” You press a quick kiss to her hair. “Get enough of that with the kids.”

You settle on Hocus Pocus after ten minutes of bickering only for the two of you to end up asleep only fifteen minutes into the movie.

[luveline]

kisses before dinner —the harrington family gets ready for a dinner party. mom!reader, 3k

"...and I told mommy she needed my help but your mom doesn't like listening to me anymore," Steve says, eyebrows pulled together, "because of that one time I told her the side of the refrigerator was supposed to feel warm and it broke. But I'm usually right."

Wren blinks at him dopily where she lies in the dip of his thighs. Steve has his knees up, back flat on the couch and head propped by a pink fluffy heart pillow from Bethie's bed to speak to her face to face. 

"I promise you'll understand when you're older. I'm a genius." He strokes her little forehead. Steve's youngest daughter is too baby to look like anybody, but he's starting to think she looks like him anyway. "And now mom has to run the washing machine again when we were already super duper busy." 

"Shut up!" you yell from the kitchen. 

Bethie giggles from the same place, seemingly, raising her voice to join in, "Yeah, daddy! Shut up!" 

"That's so not nice." Steve shakes his head at Wren in dramatic disbelief. She smiles at him. "Isn't that mean? Don't you think that's sick?" 

"You're being a know-it-all again!" you continue. "And we'd be less busy if you were helping me!" 

"I'm sick of helping," Steve says conversationally. "I help all day long." 

Wren gurgles and lifts one of her hands toward him. Steve holds it in his, rubbing at her palm with a gentle thumb. She totally gets what he's saying, agrees with him no doubt, breathing out heavily as Steve gives her hand a wave up and down. 

"Steve," you say, dropping the angry act to pull him in, "please, sweetheart, I really do need your help."

"How am I supposed to say no to that?" Steve whispers. "Does she guilt trip you that way?" 

Wren doesn't giggle, but the breathy, happy sound she makes as he crunches forward to kiss her forehead is close enough to make Steve laugh himself. He moves her carefully into the curve of his arm and stands, wishing he could stretch, exhausted by another long week but undeniably happy. "Let's go see what they want," he murmurs to Wren. 

You and Bethie are in the kitchen by the stove. She's wearing oven mitts too big for her, and you're crouched behind her offering steady instructions. "Don't touch the sides, my love. Only the baking tray. If it feels warm and you're not happy, tell me, and I'll take it straight away." You wear your own oven gloves.

"I can do it," Beth insists, squaring her features. 

Beth takes the baking tray and its cookies into her hands, walking with short steps to the counter, where she slides the tray up high. You lean over her to make sure it's settled before closing the oven and dashing a kiss into her cheek. "Well done, gorgeous girl," you say, scratching lightly at her shoulder as she preens under the praise. "One day you'll be making cookies all by yourself."

"But not for a while?" she asks, startled. 

You kiss her again. "Not for a long, long time." 

"Did you need my help or my approval?" Steve asks, his hand making a small thump with each pat he taps into Wren's back. "A taste tester, right?" 

"I need you to find your other daughters. I have no idea where they are," you say with a rueful smile. 

"Okay." Steve has carried babies. He's carried them for years, tiny ones and ones too big to need it, carried nonetheless. But something about Wren in all her newness makes him nervous. He hates carrying her up and down the stairs, too aware of the times he's missed a step or tripped up. "Can you take her?" 

"Yes!" Bethie says, running to her unofficial chair at the dining table and holding out her mitted arms as she sits. 

You nod at him and take the seat next to her. Steve hands Wren over into her sister's waiting hold, more than confident you're still there to take over if things get overwhelming. Wren looks comically large in Bethie's lap. 

"I have her, dad." Beth leans down to touch her nose to Wren's. "Hi, Wren. Hello, hello," she says softly.

Steve gives your cheek a swift but loving stroke and leaves in search of the other kids. He can hear Dove in her room talking to herself in make believe, but Avery, the oldest, isn't with her, nor is she in her bedroom. Steve knocks on the bathroom door. 

"Are you in there, Ave?" 

No answer. Steve raises his voice. "I'm coming in." 

He peeks inside slowly but she's not there. Eyebrows raised, Steve asks, "Avery, where are you?" Nothing. "Avery Harrington, don't make me worry! Please." 

He lets his head drift to one side, listening for an answer. Avery rarely gets told off and she hates it; she'd jump to tell him where she was if she were up here. 

Or so he thinks. Just as he's taking the stairs again to look for her someplace he must have missed, he hears sniffling coming from the master bedroom. 

Idiot, he thinks, relief taking tight hold. He doesn't like not knowing where the girls are. He should've checked your room to begin with. 

"Ave?" he says, opening his bedroom door. "You in here?" 

"I'm here, dad," she says, peering up from the space between the top of the bed and his nightstand, kneeling on the carpeted floor. 

"What are you doing down there? We gotta get ready for Aunt Robin's party." 

Her cheeks shine in the slice of light from the open door. Steve closes it behind him and flicks on the big light, rounding the end of the bed to help her up. He hooks his hands under her arms and pulls her into his chest, bed springs creaking as their joined weight lands. 

"Why are you crying?" he asks, cuddling her to his front. "What's wrong? Why didn't you come and find me? You can't stay here crying all by yourself, that's not cool. How am I supposed to make it better if I don't know what's wrong?" 

"Dove bit me." 

Steve gasps. "Again?" 

"On my hand, dad." She holds up her wrist. "It hurts." 

He presses his cheek to the top of her head, taking her arm tenderly to analyse the bite. It's a nasty thing, not bleeding but cruel and stark. "I'm sorry," he says. 

"You said I can't be mean–" 

"No, you can't–" 

"But it was really mean." 

"I know," he murmurs, "but I just don't… we can't be mean to Dove when she bites because she doesn't know it's wrong, okay? She doesn't remember. She knows it's the wrong thing to do, but by the time I tell her she doesn't know what she did." What Steve means is that the first time Dove bit Avery, Avery reacted on impulse and slapped her sister in the stomach. There isn't a bridge yet to connect to Dove why she might have received such a thing (though Steve teaches all the girls that hitting is never okay no matter what), so Dove just thought she was being hit. It was a very tense half hour of tears. 

Steve rubs Avery's back as she starts to cry in earnest. "I will tell her not to bite you, honey. I swear, I won't let her be mean to you. I'll tell her until she understands." 

He's been trying to teach Dove not to bite, but saying 'no' doesn't seem to do anything. Positive incentives don't last, and taking her toys wouldn't make much sense, because again, she doesn't get it. 

"You know," Steve says, wiping her cheeks tenderly, "I'll tell her again and again and again until she stops, and it'll work, because it worked with you." 

"What?" 

"You used to bite me sometimes, but you used to bite mom all the time." 

Avery looks at him in horror. "I did?" 

He puts her down onto her feet and takes her hand. He'd like to tell her this story while sitting down, but Robin's house beckons and time is running short. "Mom would come home from work and you'd be very happy to see her, but she would ask you what you did today and where we went and you'd bite her." 

He peeks into Dove's room and finds her missing. Downstairs, you say, "No! No, no, babe!" and he assumes she's been found. 

"Why would I do that?" 

Steve holds her hand buoyed between them as he descends the stairs. "We decided it was because you missed her. When your Dove's age you don't know how to say that. You don't even know what that is. I'm a thousand years old and I don't even know what I'm feeling half the time. So mom stopped hugging you after work for a bit until you calmed down." 

"But I don't go to work, dad. Why did Dove bite me?" 

"What were you doing?" 

"We were playing with Mr Scruffles and the care bears and she just bit me for no reason!" 

Steve stops at the bottom of the stairs. "Were you being a bossy boots?" 

Avery glares at him. "I just told her to stop taking Funshine bear." 

"Well," Steve says, smiling at her in apology, "maybe, next time, you can come and tell me, and then I'll tell her to stop taking Funshine bear, and then when she wants to bite someone she bites me instead of you. That could work, yeah?" He would much prefer it. 

Steve takes Avery to the kitchen, where you've transferred Wren into her bassinet while Bethie eats a cookie, her cheeks messy with chocolate, and Dove languishes in your arms, small hands touching your hair curiously. 

"Dove, will you look at this?" he asks, showing her Avery's bite mark. "You see that, honey? That's what you did when you bit your sister. We don't bite."

You gasp. "No!" you say, stern but far from cruel. "We don't bite. We only bite when we want to eat something." 

Dove frowns. 

"When you bite," Steve says, trying to appeal to her smarts. It'll stick eventually. "You give Avery an owie. That's why we can't bite, okay?" 

Dove can tell she's being chided even if she doesn't totally get why. "No," she says unhappily. 

"Can you say sorry to Avery?" you ask, reassuring her with a gentle squeeze. "Say, I'm sorry, Avery." 

"Sorry, Ave'y," she mumbles. 

Avery can't glare for long. She doesn't hold a grudge, not like her dad. "It's okay. You didn't mean to." 

You beam at Avery like she's hung the moon. "You're so nice, my big girl. Can I have a look at your wrist? Did that hurt?" 

Her mother's concern draws fresh tears. You swap children, and Dove quickly forgets what happened as Avery cries in little sniffles on the countertop. Steve brims with a familiar brand of pride as you comfort her, kissing and offering treats to help her feel better. I picked the right one might be applicable, only Steve didn't choose you so much as he happened upon you one day like a miracle, and then begged to keep you. Luckily for him, you've always been very agreeable on that front. 

(As in, you love him more than can be said in any one language.) 

"What are you upto?" Steve asks Bethie.

She shows him her food-covered hands. He nods like this is awesome, but in reality chocolate stains her t-shirt and she's going to have to change before they leave. Dove rams herself against his leg and looks up with her eyes widened. 

"What?" he asks. 

"Um…" 

"What do you want?" he asks, softer. She starts to frown again. Steve bends. "Drink? Crackers?" No dice. "What about some pear slices?" 

Dove loves pears more than anything, the sticky, sugary sliced kind from the can. Her frown disappears and she walks off, thankful to be understood. Steve's just grateful he wasn't bitten.

"What else did you need?" Steve asks, winding around you where you're cleaning Avery's cheeks. A damp washcloth drips down your arm.

"More time. Have any?" 

"Wren's bag is done, bottles done, Bethie's dinner." He whispers the last part. Bethie is a picky eater and she grows pickier with time, and Robin knows this, but she's not a parent (as sweet and caring as she might be for the girls). Only something you or Steve have made is something Bethie will deign to eat, and she's insecure about it despite having no reason to be. "Beth needs a new top. Your blouse needs to go in the dryer, and I can't find my nice pants. Avery?" 

"I don't need anything." 

"You sure? You have Mr Scruffles?" 

She wraps her arms around your neck. "Just want a hug." 

"Then I guess I'm busy while daddy does all my chores," you tease Steve lightly, your touch similarly soft where it tracks up and down Avery's arm. "I'm sorry Dove bit you again. It's not fair. Not fair at all. Maybe we should only have you playing downstairs until me and dad figure it out, okay? I don't want her to keep taking bits of you." 

Steve clears the checklist. Not to brag or anything, but he's a pro. You both are. Life is hectic as always and you knew getting out the door would be a process, so you planned accordingly, and you arrive at Robin's with time to spare, though Dove smells strongly of sugary pears and Bethie's new shirt has fingerprints on the back. 

"Hi, crew!" Robin greets. "It's my favourite Harringtons!" 

"We're your only Harringtons." 

"That's not true, I went to college with a Harrington." Robin ushers the girls inside. They want one thing and one thing alone —hugs. Dove is the most insistent, dropping your hand to offer Robin her arms. She picks the small girl up and smiles at her with a monumental amount of love. Robin doesn't have favourites but Dove demands it, sometimes. Avery says, "Hello, Aunt Robin," and hugs her stomach, while Bethie puts her arm behind Avery and hugs them both. 

Steve's arm shakes. "Any chance I can get through? This is a really heavy baby." 

"Hi," Robin says, ignoring him without guilt. "You guys are the best part about having a best friend." 

Steve logs that one for later revenge and eases around the mass of bodies to take Wren into the living room. "Holy fuck," he says, "I thought you weren't coming?" 

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I wanted to see the girls. It has nothing to do with you." 

They hug and pat each other on the back, and then Eddie drops to his knees in front of Wren's car seat to smile at her. "I love her so much. Can I have this one? Y'already have so many." 

"No you absolutely cannot. Where's Dustin?" 

"They're all in the backyard. Mora's teaching them how to make grass flutes, or something." 

"How'd you get out of that?" 

Eddie shrugs. "She doesn't like me. Doesn't make any sense, goth and metal are like brothers." 

"Is she goth? I thought we settled on hippie who wears dark clothing." 

"You guys are such losers!" Robin says, like a tree adorned in girl-shaped ornaments. "Don't bitch about Mora." 

"Don't swear in front of my kids!" 

You, having taken off your shoes and coat, unlike Steve, shimmy around the table. "He said 'fucking bitch' in front of Bethie the other day," you gossip, sitting by your friend's side. Eddie gives you a quick hug. You're undoubtedly his favourite Harrington. 

"He's a disgusting man who shouldn't have kids." 

You gasp and elbow him. "How dare you." 

"Can we go play with Stinky?" Avery asks Robin. 

Robin puts Dove down, short hair flying every which way, "If you can find him. But be nice, okay? He's agitated today. Mora says it's something about the supermoon." 

Avery laughs and Dove races to follow her sister up the stairs. "Ave, remember what I said, okay?" Steve calls after her. "Come and tell me if she's being bad! And no going in the bathroom!" 

Bethie remains, oddly. Though it's obvious why she's stayed the longer she lingers, her gaze flickering between you and Eddie. 

He holds his arms out. "Hello, Beth. You want a bro hug?" 

Bethie laughs and meanders into his waiting arms, where he pat-pat-pats her back like he did to Steve, eliciting a wave of happy giggles. "You've gotten so big again!" Eddie says, moving her away kindly. "Woah!" 

"I'm glad people have stopped saying that to me," you joke. 

Steve's delighted, laughing loud and sudden, and you're always pleased to have made him laugh, practically collapsing in his direction. He pulls at you until you're arm's reach. 

"What does that mean, Eddie?" Bethie whispers. 

Eddie pulls her into his lap. "It means your mom is happy about baby Wren being born." 

"I'm really happy too." 

"I bet you are! Your dad told me you're like his little helper, is that true?" 

Steve turns into your cheek. A quick stolen moment before he kisses under your ear and pulls away. "Wow," he says, smiling at you, "could we, like, actually have a conversation right now? A full one?" 

You beam. "What do you wanna talk about?" 

Steve could happily talk about everything and nothing with you. Before bed you guys are usually tired but excited enough to be alone together that you'll talk about the colour of the new dish soap or Avery's broken pinky nail. "Seen any good movies lately?" 

You give him the look. He practically invented it, that sticky, gooey eyed love as you murmur, "Mm, no. Don't think so. How about you?" 

He leans in for a kiss. 

"Yikes," Eddie says, covering a giggling Bethie's eyes with his hands. "Robin, house rules, please!" 

Steve drops his arms heavily over your shoulders for a warm hug. "He's just jealous," he whispers. 

[delulujuls]

the right one | jacaerys velaryon

hi, here comes the pt2 for the other one because i think i might actually be falling in love with jace lmao.

for the first time on this blog i tried not to use y/n mentioning because i know that not everyone is a fan of it so yeah, i hope i did well

also i know that the tension is immaculate here so i might write a smutty smut in pt3 eventually so lmk what you think!

summary: the hardened and hateful heart of the future king of westeros is no match for the tender and loving heart of the young prince of dragonstone. so it's not difficult to guess whose heart belongs to the young targaryen princess

warnings: swearing, mentions of threatening with a knife

pairing: sister!targaryen reader x jacaerys velaryon (ft. best-uncle-in-the-world daemon, aemond and this little menace to humanity aegon)

taglist: @gorlillaglue25 @aegonswife @fallout-girl219 @lyssaluvs @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @aleemendoza2425-blog @darkgvk @faeoffaith @slayraxes-blogs @lolilkkk

The young princess sat at the table, but her mind was elsewhere. She didn't participate in the lively conversations, nor did she laugh and joke as she had the previous evening during the feast. Her gaze was fixed on her wine goblet, from which she had not taken a single sip. Her silverware was also untouched.

The girl's behavior did not go unnoticed by those present. Jacaerys, who sat across from her, immediately noticed something was wrong. He didn't have the courage to ask, so he was relieved when the king took that burden off his shoulders.

"Is something troubling you, dear daughter?" he asked, addressing her. The princess didn't hear his question at first; she only came to her senses when Helaena nudged her arm.

"I must have caught a chill," she replied, adjusting her high-collared dress. "My throat hurts."

Aegon wished he could sink into the ground. He remembered the events of the previous night vaguely but knew what had happened. He knew what he had done. He sat next to his sister just as they had been seated the day before but he saw her pull her chair away. She had every right to. He had gone too far.

The king didn't notice Aegon's broken nose, which had been tended to by a maester that morning, nor did he remark on Jacaerys' bruised brow, which he tried to hide under his dark curls. Small scuffles between the boys were normal, and since everyone was sitting at the table eating together, he figured nothing major had happened. He was, however, worried about his daughter.

Daemon was not as blind as his brother, who might have been somewhat blinded by his illness. Viserys, however, had long failed to notice what was consuming his family. Perhaps he simply didn't want to see.

"A sore throat?" he asked as they both left the dining room. "Really?"

"I don't know what you mean," she replied, avoiding his gaze.

Daemon, however, watched her closely, and her reaction only confirmed his suspicion that something was wrong.

"I'm sure I have something for that," he said, nodding towards the corridor leading to the right. His look indicated he wouldn't take no for an answer. The girl followed him without a word. When they were in Daemon's chambers, the princess knew that lies were unnecessary. Her uncle must have seen through her at the table.

"So?" he asked, closing the door. "I'm all ears."

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, looking at him. The prince now saw even more clearly her puffy eyes from crying and her chapped lips. "Besides, it's nothing significant."

"Nothing significant, yet you wasted a night crying," he observed, pouring wine and offering her a goblet. She shook her head, so he took a sip himself.

The princess looked at him silently. She had no arguments. Daemon knew this perfectly well.

The young girl sighed, accepting her defeat. She lowered her gaze and unbuttoned a few buttons of her collar, which was fastened up to her chin. She parted the fabric to reveal her fair skin, marked by a thin, bloody cut.

Daemon took a sip from the goblet and set it down, approaching his niece. He pulled the fabric aside a bit more, looking at her neck.

"Care to share how you got that?"

"Aegon is a maniac who should be locked up in the Sept and treated," she said bitterly. "A drunk who thinks he's the lord of the world, to whom everyone must bow."

"So, I hope you taught him a lesson in humility?" he asked, moving to the table and picking up one of the ointments. He unscrewed it, returning to the girl and taking some on his finger.

"He has the same mark on his neck."

Daemon chuckled, shaking his head.

"You are impossible, I swear by the Seven," he scoffed, applying the ointment to the cut on her neck.

"They attacked Jace. I couldn't let that happen," she said, frowning. "Those fools think they can terrorize anyone they want. It's not true!"

The prince smiled, sitting down after a moment and taking the goblet in his hand.

"You defended Jacaerys?"

The young princess blushed and looked away. However, she nodded.

"Then it's clear," he answered, crossing his legs. "Aegon is jealous."

"He's a complete idiot!" she said angrily, pouring herself some wine. "Maybe I won't marry him after all, and what then? Maybe they'll find me another husband?"

"I'm afraid the decision has already been made, little bird," he said, looking at her. Her pale cheeks were flushed with embarrassment over her lover and anger at her brother.

"We're connected only by blood and name, nothing more," she cut bitterly, taking a sip of wine. "I will never love someone with such a hardened heart."

"Not like Jacaerys, right?" he asked, glancing at her. He was smiling, but it was a sad smile. All he could do was pity his niece.

"He's a good boy," she said, pressing the cool metal of the goblet to her lips. "His wife will be the happiest girl in Westeros."

This, however, could not be expected by Aegon's future wife. The young prince hadn't learned much from the previous night's events, as he refrained from drinking only at breakfast. But when only the maids remained in the dining room, he emptied almost half a jug of wine himself.

"Will you tell me what happened last night?" Aemond spoke from behind him, causing the elder brother to almost spill his wine. "I know you didn't go straight back to your room."

"Are you following me?" he looked at him nervously, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I was checking if you could make it back to bed in your current state."

The maids, who were cleaning up after breakfast, glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes. Aegon felt their gazes on him.

"Get out!" he shouted, gesturing for them to leave. Shortly after, the brothers were alone. Aegon sat heavily in one of the chairs and rubbed his face with his hands.

"I threatened her with a knife," he said quietly, feeling his confession burn his throat. "I threatened her with a knife while Helaena was asleep inches away."

He shook his head, reaching for the wine goblet. "If I had been more drunk, Helaena might have woken up in a bed full of blood with a corpse next to her."

Aemond only needed the first sentence from his brother. He took the goblet from his hand and threw it across the dining room. Aegon froze.

"This has to stop," Aemond said quietly and calmly, but sharply and firmly at the same time. "This has gone too far, Aegon."

The young prince rubbed his face with his hands and leaned on the armrests, pressing his joined fingers to his lips. His younger brother was right. He had crossed the line.

"You know I'm always on your side, but you threatened our sister," he shook his head. "I can't agree to something like that."

Aegon gritted his teeth and lowered his head. He felt tears in his eyes. He felt anger, regret, and guilt. But he wasn't angry at himself; he was angry at Jacaerys. He believed the fault lay with him, and if he hadn't been hitting on his sister, nothing would have happened.

"You're right," he sniffed. "I should kill that mongrel."

Aemond clenched his jaw. He didn't recognize the person before him. Had he been so blindly devoted to his brother all these years that he hadn't noticed what a monster he had become?

"You want to...kill him?" he asked, looking at him. He wanted to make sure he understood correctly.

Aegon nodded.

"It's all his fault!" he slammed his hands on the table. "If it weren't for him, none of this would have happened, and I wouldn't have raised a hand against that bitch!"

Aemond now saw before him not his beloved brother but a maniac wrapped in alcohol, hatred, and delusions. Tears were streaming down Aegon's face, but it was hard to tell their nature. Sorrow over hurting his sister? Anger? If so, at whom? At Jacaerys? At his sister? At himself?

However, Aegon wasn't the only one crying. In the doorway of the dining room stood their sister, who, drawn by the sound of the thrown goblet, had quietly peeked her head in. She had heard the entire conversation between her brothers and was devastated.

"You really are a monster," she said in a trembling voice. Two pairs of eyes turned towards her. Aegon hastily stood up, wanting to approach his sister, but Aemond firmly held him back, keeping him in place.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, falling to his knees. Aemond still held him tightly, not wanting to let him do anything to their sister. Aegon was now unpredictable and had shown he posed a threat.

"Please, sweet sister!" he shouted, trying to free himself from Aemond's embrace "Please!"

The young princess took a step back, shaking her head and causing another cascade of tears to run down her cheeks. She couldn't believe what her brother had become.

Aegon fell at her feet, apologizing and begging for forgiveness, but she quickly left the dining room. She began heading towards Jacaerys' chambers, hoping to find the young prince there. However, he was busy searching for the girl just as she was.

They met by chance, bumping into each other on one of the staircases. Seeing her tear-streaked face, Jacaerys didn’t even have time to ask what had happened before she threw herself into his arms. He hugged her tightly, pressing her face to his chest.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he whispered, holding her close. “I’m here, it's okay.”

“Take me away from here,” she managed through her tears. She didn’t have to ask twice.

Not long after, they left the castle walls, which seemed to suffocate her. It wasn’t until the cold wind dried the tears on her cheeks that she was able to breathe. They walked along the stone wall towards the beach, not saying a word. The young princess clung to her nephew’s arm, who glanced at her from time to time, sincerely worried.

When they reached the beach, they sat on a salt-worn log cast ashore by the sea. Jacaerys pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the girl. She wiped her tears, staring at the waves angrily crashing against the shore. After a moment, she turned her gaze to the boy’s face, which looked at her with concern.

“Will you run away with me?” she asked, her voice filled with sorrow. “Far from here. Where the map doesn’t reach.”

The young prince smiled warmly at her and raised his hand, touching her tear-stained cheek and gently caressing it with his thumb.

“I haven’t been to the end of the map yet.”

The girl sniffed and lay down, resting her head on his lap. Jacaerys leaned down and kissed her cheek. He began to stroke her head, gently running his fingers through her hair. He wanted to ask what had happened when he found her crying. He wanted to ask if her mood at breakfast was really due to a sore throat. But he knew his questions were unnecessary and only thing that mattered was the comfort he could offer. The young princess gratefully accepted it.

She closed her eyes, listening to the whistle of the wind and the roar of the waves. After a while, the sound of the sea began to blend with the sound of the boy’s fingers gently moving through her hair. The girl’s bitter face took on a calm expression, and the tears on her cheeks dried. Jacaerys smiled softly to himself. He had calmed a dragon.

“Aegon threatened me with a knife,” the girl spoke after some time. Despite the heavy confession, her voice was calm. “He came to me at night, completely drunk, and tried to intimidate me.”

The young prince clenched his jaw, his whole body tensing. But he didn’t stop stroking her hair. The princess opened her eyes and turned her head away from the sea, fixing her gaze on him. A piece of her dress’s collar had shifted, and Jacaerys noticed the cut on her neck.

“I’m afraid to have someone like him as my husband.”

He cupped her face in his hand, leaning toward her.

“If you have fears, I’ll speak to the king myself,” he said calmly but firmly. “Either he will shake some sense into Aegon, or someone else will seek your hand.”

“No one will be brave enough, Jacaerys,” she shook her head, looking away. “They’ve already announced the news of the upcoming wedding to everyone.”

“I will be,” he said, capturing her violet eyes with his own. “I’m ready to fight for you, princess.”

The girl looked at him in shock, surprised by his words. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew what to do. She entwined her fingers in the prince’s dark curls and pulled him towards her, kissing him tenderly. She poured all the love she had inside into that kiss—a love that would never be given to the right person.

“And if they don’t want a fight, we’ll run away,” he continued, whispering into her lips.

“We’ll run away to where the map doesn’t reach.”