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astaroth1357 · 2 years ago

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The Demon Brothers + Dateables Bodycare

Is it the domestic in me that likes the idea of helping my SO wash up and relax? Probably.

Contents: No warnings, just fluff.

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

Preens his wings daily, always once in the morning and once more at night.

The whole routine usually involves a shower then carefully running his fingers through his feathers to apply the right oils and get them back into place.

Loose or shed feathers are typically collected then promptly burnt (because Mammon got caught trying to sell them as powerful hex materials a couple centuries ago. He'll be damned a second time before he gets turned into a commodity! )

Before MC arrived, he used to have to go to Asmo for help getting the spots he had a hard time reaching. He'll never admit it, but he still lets Asmo help him from time to time just because he misses the bonding. Asmo is 100% that chatty hairdresser whenever he helps his brothers self-care routines, it's very entertaining.

If MC has the time to help him preen, he'll consider it the highlight of his day! The skin below the feathers is incredibly sensitive, so the feeling of their fingers running through it and knocking away any dead skin makes him purr.

It takes about an hour to get through all four wings though. Fair warning.

Mammon

Very, VERY protective of his wings. They don't look like much, but what skin and bone are there are delicate af. He once knocked one into a bookshelf and nearly passed out from the pain.

Cleans them every other day. He doesn't use his demon form much, so he doesn't worry about them getting too dirty. That said, if a photoshoot wants him to have them out, he'll make sure to freshen up.

Mammon usually sponges off any dirt on his wings then applies some moisturizer (Asmo recommended of course). Exfoliating dead skin is... well let's say it's a process he takes only with great reluctance so he tries his damnedest to keep them from drying out in the first place.

WHEN exfoliating day comes, he used to only undertake it by himself because he didn't even trust Asmo not to rub his skin so raw that he'd be in agony for weeks. It took months for him to trust MC enough to try it. Though now that he does, he could never go back!

He adores how gently the MC treats his wings and their little check-ups like "Are you okay?" or "Is this too much?" Their attention is fully on him and he lives for it. Sometimes he'll just shyly nudge the exfoliation brush into their hands when he really wants to feel loved that day.

Leviathan

Has the easiest day-to-day upkeep of all the brothers, really. Dunk his tail in some water and boom. Done. It's shedding time that he actually dreads...

About once a season, Levi's tail becomes unbearably itchy as the old skin lifts off to make way for the new. The whole process lasts about a week and he calls it his personal hell.

Levi becomes a completely different person whenever he's shedding. Bitchy, irritable, and extremely quick to lash out. He stays in his room and his brothers just leave his meals outside the door, lest they risk a visit from Lotan...

Everyone, including himself, thought the MC had a death wish when they insisted on helping him but he quickly discovered that it was something he never knew he needed.

He looooves being spoiled by their attention even more than Mammon. He'll sit on their lap and latch himself on like a kola bear while they carefully work to peel the shed off of his tail. Sometimes he games, other times he just quietly basks in them even being there at all. He adores their kindness and it makes things go faster, so really it's a win-win for him all around!

Satan

His tail is a bitch to manage so it is one of the many passing irritations that irk him throughout the day.

The bone/scales collect a lot of dirt in hard to see crevices, so when Satan goes to clean it, he often has to pull out Q-tips and metal picks just to get around all those edges. He uses a magnifying glass too, so it can look like he's cleaning up some kind of museum artifact.

He can and will accept help from basically anyone who offers (except Lucifer) and Asmo is very used to him coming in to get the thing cleaned up when he's just too frustrated to do it himself.

Lowkey wishes that MC could just take over Asmo's place as his go-to helper but he doesn't want to burden them.. It takes a good 2-3 hours to get the whole thing clean and he doubts that they have the time for that every day.

Took to the idea of MC helping him the fastest out of anyone, though they needed a bit of training on his part in order to be as proficient at it as him or Asmo. Unfortunately, his tail instinctively responds to his emotions whether he wants it to or not. That means it often wraps around the MC's wrist and won't let go which complicates things...

Asmodeus

Obviously the cleanest boy in the House.

Asmo has his self-care routine ON LOCK plus everyone else's to be quite frank. He's always on the lookout for new products or care strategies to help himself or his brothers feel their best (even the ones who don't let him help in person.)

He keeps "Care Kits" for each one of his brothers to use in the event that they have a catastrophic emergency that needs resolved. Seriously, the amount of times that he's had to pluck Lucifer's ripped feathers or cut out matted chunks of Belphie's tail fur is just...

Asmo takes his own wing care very seriously, so much so in fact that he begged Solomon to come up with the "perfect moisturizer" centuries ago which he still sells as part of his own personal product line. Even Mammon can attest to its effectiveness!

Simply loves it when MC comes in to help him! They both know that he doesn't really need it, but there's something so sweet about letting your special someone wash your hair or massage your wings... He'll melt into a puddle every time!

Beelzebub

His wings are SO DELICATE. Mammon and Asmo go on and on about how their wings are fragile but Beel has to constantly be sure that his don't straight up break.

You would think that would make him more hesitant to clean them, but not so. In fact, Beel is right up there with Asmo in terms self-grooming as far as his wings are concerned.

The reasons are two-fold. One, because they are so sensitive and temperamental that even a small layer dirt on them feels very irritating. And two, because Beel cares a lot about his body. Not in a vain way, just in a "this is the one I get" sort of way. His fitness goes hand-in-hand with his personal hygiene!

Beel never uses soapy water to clean his wings because it dulls them out and makes them feel sticky... He's much more likely to run a damp washcloth over them a few times a day which seems to do the trick.

He prefers to have Belphie or MC help him over Asmo, as he needs to have a lot of trust in a person to let them touch such a fragile part of his body. It's almost like another bonding exercise between the three as Belphie cleans one wing and MC cleans the other. Just some wholesome pamper Beel time for everybody!

Belphegor

Dirty boy. Filthy boy. Bad Belphie.

Belphie is very much a "I'll only take a bath if my hair gets greasy" kind of guy. Thankfully, Beel or Asmo usually shove him into a bathtub on a semi-regular basis. It's not that he loves filth, he just loses track of the days and baths/showers make him extra sleepy... Somebody has to be around to be sure he doesn't drown.

Unfortunately, that also means his tail care is just pitiful. He'll put off brushing it because he thinks it takes too long, which only leads to it getting matted up and taking even longer to clean up.

Asmo has dragged his sorry ass down to the bathroom many times to hose him down then de-mat his tail like he's a stray dog. Belphie whines the whole time, but lets him because it still beats having to do it himself...

Thankfully, all the MC ever had to do was float out the threat of no more cuddles for him to finally take his hygiene seriously. He may still beg them to "help" him in the bathtub or brush his fur though. He claims it's so relaxing that it put him to sleep, but we all know he was already going to do that anyway...

Diavolo

So we know that he has a legion of servants and a Barbatos to help him keep clean, but I promise you that the MC could come up to him with a dollar store hairbrush and this man would still be over the moon.

He emphatically adores literally any kind of care or grooming the MC gives him. Even if they objectively suck at it, he'll still love it anyway.

Dia could sit for hours, completely content, while the MC brushes the same bit of his hair over and over again. He's in it for the intimacy, so who cares about the results?

He's totally down for anything they want to do to him. Put his hair up in silly clips? Sure. Tie bows and streamers to his wings? Absolutely! Give him middle-school faux tattoos with pens and highlighters?? Which arm do they start with??

Barbatos and Lucifer, however, are NOT totally down for anything that the MC wants to do to the demon prince. So, reign it in, chief, they'll be monitoring them closely...

Barbatos

He doesn't get a lot of time to just take care of himself, so his morning/evening cleaning routines are quite important to him. That includes the care for his tail.

Barbs' tail is more amphibious than it is reptilian like Levi's, so it's actually better for him to wash it sparingly to keep it from drying out.

That said, he is still quite defensive of it. Asmo has tried for eons to get Barbs to let him so much as massage it and has nothing to show for it.

Needless to say, he is quite jealous that the MC gets to hold onto Barbs' tail if he has it out. Even more so that they have helped him wash it once or twice before, but still not often. Barbs doesn't let them abuse their tail privileges, after all.

When Barbs does let himself relax enough for some spoiling, he's very fond of letting the MC just glide and slide their hands along his tail for a little while. He knows the texture is slippery, but warm, and can feel quite nice on the skin so he's certain they enjoy it as much as he does.

Simeon

Simeon has a similar preening routine to Lucifer as their wings aren't too different, though Simeon wings are much, much bigger. His shirt isn't backless for nothing.

Simeon's wings also feel a lot different from Lucifer's. They're both soft, but it's the difference between stroking wool and petting a cloud, the two just can't compare. Simeon's wing feel light as air but brimming with sheer strength. They're just very impressive all around.

Unlike Lucifer, he doesn't burn his discarded feathers if they need to be plucked. He'll save them and either use them for writing quills or give them out to ill witches because angel feathers can be used to make excellent cure-alls. Solomon sometimes asks for a few as well.

Simeon gets very flustered whenever MC offers to help him preen. The first time they did it, he spent the whole time lightheaded and giddy. It was probably the most intimate part of his body they'd be allowed to touch for a long while, so he soaked in every moment of it.

Is always too shy to ask them for their help directly, but will literally jump at any offer they give him. Sometimes he pulls a Mammon and tries to subtly hint at it by mentioning how much his back is sore or worrying about his feathers outloud... Please help him, he is desperate.

(No Solomon, he is human, but I can assure you he bathes for whatever that's worth.)

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me hc #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me dateables

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mreowsu · 4 days ago

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woke up to a multitude of notifs from the previous one, it appears to have been well-recieved. in return, here is a thank you from me :)

DRABBLES, ONESHOTS / itoshi sae x fem!reader

part one

It didn't take long for friends and family back home to hear of you and Sae's rendezvous in España, and boy are they not happy.

cw my writing. both are 14-15. profanities. itoshi rin appearance yay. fluff

wc 4.1k

The ride back to the academy dorms was uneventful, save for the occasional celebratory chatter from the boys' team. You had tagged along on their bus after the match—what? Belonging to the female Re Al team, how could they possibly refuse their up and coming female striker?

Seated a few rows ahead of you, Sae kept his usual quiet, earbuds in and his focus elsewhere.

Your phone buzzed relentlessly in your pocket. Notifications piled up, missed calls and texts flashing one after another. You tried to ignore it, brushing it off as hopefully post-game excitement and congratulatory messages to be passed to Sae for those that couldn’t reach him. But once the bus pulled into the academy grounds, the increasing persistence became impossible to overlook.

Everyone got off the bus, leaving you and Sae to walking side-by-side homeward to the dorms. Sae barely spared you a glance as you sighed and pulled your phone out, scrolling through the chaos. The screen lit up with an endless flood of notifications—mentions, retweets, likes—your feed practically bursting at the seams.

It didn’t take long for the stunt you pulled to spread like wildfire. With cameras and the media stationed all over the stadium, both you and him in your little world had been immortalized from all possible perspectives.

X (or twt?) was most especially on fire.

“Did y’all see the way she just touched his hair? 😭” “Japan’s prodigies or Spain’s new power couple?” “The power she holds. I’m in shambles. Goodbye.” “#Hair goalz” “Sae is so real, I mean, if I were to be sweating with people watching, I’d want to look my best” “I dunno if I wanna be him or her” “Guys, may I remind you all that these are 14 year olds??”—

You scrolled further, only to be greeted by memes that sent a fresh wave of horror washing over you. Screenshots of Sae’s faintly pink ears were captioned with things like, “Bros blush is heard around the world” and “BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s prodigy caught slipping.”

Your personal favorite (if you could call it that) was a photo of you brushing back his bangs, captioned:

“Y/N L/N, certified hairdresser for future world cup winner LMFAOOOO”

“Ugh,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Why do they have to make memes out of everything?”

Sae’s gaze flicked to your phone for a second before he returned his attention to the road ahead. “You’re surprised?”

You sighed, shoving the phone into your pocket. “No, but I can’t believe they got that angle.”

“They got every angle,” Sae replied dryly, his tone as flat as ever.

Your steps slowed as you neared the dorms. You pulled out your phone again, scrolling through the messages until you found one that made your blood run cold.

You paled.

Among the sea of notifications was one from your mother. Her text was simple yet loaded:

Mom: “Call me. Now.”

All thoughts of internet chaos evaporated as you stared at your mother’s menacing message. The bold lettering glared ominously at you through the screen, carrying more weight than it had any right to.

You groaned, slumping against Sae’s side with all the subtlety of a boulder rolling downhill. His body stiffened at the sudden contact, and his eyes darted toward you, a flicker of annoyance crossing his usually impassive face.

How had she even managed to make two words sound so menacing? “How did she even make it bold?” you muttered under your breath, staring at the text like it might explain itself. You held the phone up for emphasis, and for your companion to see. “Where did she get the bold font? Why is it in bold?” You cried.

He sighed, his lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance. “Maybe she just wants you to call her.”

“No kidding, genius,” you shot back, glaring at him for his unhelpfulness. “But it’s scary when it’s in the bold font.”

Sae rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about your overreaction before leaning just far enough to escape your weight. “Just call her already.”

You groaned again, dragging yourself upright and glaring at your phone one last time. “If I don’t survive this call, tell her it was because of the bold font.”

Sae’s expression didn’t budge, but you caught the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll send flowers to your funeral.”

You shot him a glare, “very funny.”

Resigning yourself to your fate, you tapped the call button and braced for impact. The line barely rang twice before your mother’s voice burst through.

“You’re too young for this nonsense!” she started, her tone a mix of exasperation and concern. “You went to Spain to play football, not to… to… canoodle!! Do you know how many relatives have called me asking what’s going on between the two of you?!”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh at her tone, though you quickly tried to stifle it, but upon realizing what she just said, your face heated up.

“It wasn’t like that!” you protested.

“Then why does it look like that?!” she snapped back.

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “It’s just the media blowing things out of proportion. Sae and I are just friends.”

Friends. The word tasted bitter, foreign, almost hollow when it came to you. But were you guys really? It didn't quite fit the shape of what your relationship had become. It didn’t feel right—not with the way he always lingered just a little too long by your side, or the way your heart skipped at his smallest actions. Hearing the word friends, Sae would be lying if he said he didn't so much as feel an undeniable pang in his chest.

Neither of you said anything more, or lack-thereof, though. The moment passed like a fleeting shadow.

“Good,” she said, but her tone didn’t soften. “Now go find him. He’s not getting out of this.”

“MOM!” you exclaimed, your voice shooting up an octave in sheer disbelief.

“You’re in it together. If you’re getting scolded, so is he. That’s how teamwork works.”

“I don’t think that’s how teamwork works.”

“Don’t argue with me,” she snapped through gritted teeth. “Go find him. Now.”

You stared at your phone, utterly baffled, before slumping with an exasperated groan. “How does she do that?” you muttered.

Sae, who had been observing your side of the conversation with mild interest, raised an eyebrow when you lowered the phone.

“Well?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. “Do what?”

“She sounds bold-lettered again,” you complained, gesturing dramatically at the phone. “Like, how does she make it sound like that? Bold and threatening all at once? Is this a skill all mothers have?”

“Maybe you should just listen to her,” Sae deadpanned.

You glared at him, jabbing a finger in his direction. “She wants—”

Just then, the unthinkable happened. Your mother, seemingly defying all odds and cellphones, suddenly went on speaker without warning, her voice ringing out loud and clear.

“I can hear him, let me talk to him now!” She demanded, the exclamation marks practically visible in her tone. “NOW!”

“—to yell at you too.”

You froze, and he blinked, looking at the device in your hand, utterly unfazed. “You know,” Sae began, his voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness, “I think this is a good time for me to leave.”

You turned to glare at him, pulling him back toward you with a surprising amount of force, making him stumble slightly.

“Get back here!” you hissed, your hand still gripping his arm as he tried to step away. “You’re not leaving me to face her alone!”

Sae, who had been halfway through his dorm, sighed. “You’re not exactly giving me much of a choice.”

But you weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. With a determination, you pulled him back outside the room, holding the phone between the two of you as your mother’s voice filled the space.

“You both are in so much trouble!” Your mother practically shouted from the phone, her frustration evident. “I should’ve known something was going on when I saw the media coverage. I’m not having my kids make headlines for this!”

Sae, who had remained unfazed so far, leaned casually against the wall, his gaze fixed on you with an unreadable expression. “I didn’t make headlines. That’s all on you,” he teased lightly.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his response. "What the hell do you mean? You literally walked toward me with a fucking spotlight on your head!"

“WATCH THAT TONGUE—I’m not done with this nonsense!”

You shot him a warning look, silently begging him not to make it worse. But that only seemed to entertain him more.

“Look, I get it,” you said, speaking directly into the phone, trying to regain some control of the situation. “It’s not a big deal, okay? Like I said, it’s just the media blowing things out of proportion.”

“I don’t care about the media! I care about you two being sensible!” your mother’s voice cracked a little, clearly not impressed by your attempt to defuse the situation. “Now, Sae, you better not be leading my child astray. I want you both to keep your heads in the game.”

Without a word, you shoved the phone toward Sae, who had barely reacted to the situation. He shot you a look, you mouthed: ‘she’s talking to you’. You gestured dramatically at ‘you’.

He stared at the device like it was an inconvenience, but eventually took it, his usual indifference in place.

You were both just standing there, patiently, albeit strained, waiting in silence for the next round of scolding from your mother when a new, unmistakable voice entered the boxing ring somewhere in the background.

You both froze. Sae nearly dropped the phone, his grip faltering. You couldn't help but snicker at the rare look on his face. The last thing you expected was to hear that sweet but dangerously knowing voice—his mother, unmistakably. That sweet but unnerving voice was enough to snap him out of whatever bravado he'd been putting on. He looked at the phone as though it might bite him.

“Hi, Mrs. L/n, is my son on the line? I’d like to talk to him,” she said again, though the distance made it sound muffled, like she was halfway across the room.

Sae had managed to escape his parents’ wrath for a while, but that was about to change, and you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit victorious.

His brow furrowed, unable to mask his surprise. Sae ran a hand through his hair with a resigned sigh, clearly not surprised by the turn of events. "Of course," he muttered under his breath, the weight of it all sinking in. "My family would have contacted yours the moment they caught wind of whatever the hell the two of us were doing in Spain."

You raised an eyebrow at his comment, crossing your arms with a knowing smile. "Oh, so you knew this was coming?"

He looked at you with a dry smirk. "I mean, it's not like we were exactly being subtle, huh?" he added, his usual smugness creeping back into his tone. "It wasn’t my fault you decided to get all touchy in front of the cameras."

You glared at him with all your might, but your argument died on your tongue, clearly defeated. "Unbelievable," you muttered.

The phone crackled slightly, and then his mother’s voice came through.

"Hello?"

The both of you stayed silent, catching each other's staring before you took the liberty to answer. "Hello?" you greeted, your voice slightly uncertain.

"Ah, Y/n, so sorry for the sudden intrusion," Sae’s mother chimed in, her voice full of sweetness, but you knew carried a weight behind it. Locked and loaded, reserved to open fire only at Sae. "My son is always so unpredictable… He’s not giving you any trouble, is he?"

You couldn’t help but grin. “No trouble at all, I promise.”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end, but it didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Well, I do hope he’s keeping you focused. I did hear something about hairdressers…” She trailed off, clearly referencing the media frenzy from earlier. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I trust you to take care of each other.”

You blinked in surprise. The sudden shift from the playful teasing to genuine concern caught you off guard, but you did your best to play it cool. “We’re doing fine, really.”

“I’m sure you are, darling,” she continued, her voice warm, but there was an undeniable edge to it. “Just remember to keep your heads in the game. I want you both succeeding, not making headlines for nonsense.”

You glanced at Sae, who was clearly pretending not to listen. “Don’t worry, we’re focusing on football,” you reassured, a soft smile pulling at your lips.

“Well, that’s all I wanted to hear,” she said, her tone finally lightening up. "From you, atleast."

You raised an eyebrow at her words, catching the subtle jab aimed at Sae. You could feel his irritation radiating off him, though his face betrayed nothing more than a slight twitch of his brow. Smirking, you mouthed; 'you’re not off the hook yet.'

Then her voice came through the speaker again, calm but firm. “Now, darling, be a dear and hand the phone over to Sae. I’d like a word with my son.”

Your grin widened. “Of course,” you said sweetly, holding the phone out to him. “It’s for you.”

Sae sighed, his shoulders stiffening slightly. “Tell her I’m not here,” he muttered.

“Pretty sure she already knows you are,” you replied, shaking the phone for emphasis. “No escaping this one, superstar.”

He shot you one last glare. "You’re not gonna let me forget this, are you?"

“Not a chance,” you replied, your grin widening as he took the phone from your hands. “But hey, at least now we know what happens when you get too cocky.”

Sae let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly resigned to all this. His usual deflection didn’t work as well this time.

He lifted the phone to his ear, "Hi, Mom." He muttered, trying his best to sound nonchalant, but his posture had stiffened. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Don’t you “Hi, Mom” me, ITOSHI SAE!” his mother’s voice finally snapped. “What’s this nonsense I’m hearing about you two? Running around Spain causing a spectacle for the media, playing to their little games!?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head slightly. “So she’s got the bold font superpower too, huh?” you muttered mostly to yourself, but loud enough for also him to hear. The sheer power of that 'ITOSHI SAE' was like a force of nature.

His teal eyes hardened, shooting you a glare, his discomfort obvious, but you could tell he wasn’t used to this level of public embarrassment. His mother had always been a force to be reckoned with, but now she was using her bold-letter power on him too. “It’s not like that,” he started, his voice dry and flat. “We’re just—”

“No excuses, Sae. I’ve seen the footage. I’ve heard the rumors. You’re not going to get away with this one. Not while I’m around,” she interrupted, her voice unyielding.

You leaned against the doorframe, biting back a laugh as his mother’s voice carried through the speaker, scolding him in rapid-fire Japanese. Sae’s expression didn’t change, though his lips pressed into a thin line.

After a few minutes, he handed the phone back to you. “She’s done,” he said flatly, though the faint pink tint to his ears gave him away.

You took the phone, grinning. “She gave you the ‘focus on football, not nonsense’ speech, didn’t she?”

“She’s very thorough,” he deadpanned.

“Welcome to my world,” you said with a shrug, bringing your phone on speaker to bid your farewells.

Your mother’s voice came through the speaker, her tone still a little sharp. “Sae, this better not happen again…”

Sae braced himself, his expression turning completely blank as he muttered a weak greeting. “Hi, Ma'am.” He visibly straightened, his usual confidence momentarily chipped away by the dual maternal interrogation.

“Sae, behave,” his mother chimed in. “And don’t get each other in trouble. I’m trusting you to be the responsible one here. You should know better.”

Your mother didn’t miss a beat, her tone taking on a teasing edge. “Exactly. Boys are supposed to protect, not cause chaos. How could you let this happen under your watch, Sae?”

You shot a glance at Sae, his face betrayed none of the usual confidence, just a tense concentration.

You bit the inside of your cheek, suppressing a grin as Sae’s blank expression barely wavered, save for the faintest furrow of his brow. His mother’s voice, now layered with a hint of amusement, added to the jab. “Honestly, Sae, I thought you were more sensible than this. I expected better from you.”

You could almost hear the corners of your mother’s mouth curve up. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m taking care of it,” she replied with a playful note. “You know how it is with these kids—they think they’re invincible.”

Despite the constant jabs, you knew Sae wasn’t the type to let anything truly reckless happen—not to you, not to himself. If anything, he was the one who kept everything grounded, often steering things back on track. Yet here he was, taking the brunt of both mothers’ wrath, enduring their playful scolding like the stoic shield he was.

Sae sighed quietly, and you nudged his arm gently. “Hey, just look at it this way—you’re their golden boy, hm?”

Sae's teal eyes rolled a sideways glance at you, his lips twitching as though he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

"Well, Y/n.." His mother trailed off. “Please make sure my son is behaving himself. He has a tendency to… push boundaries when he thinks no one’s watching.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden turn of the conversation. “Uh, I’ll do my best?” you replied hesitantly, shooting a glance at Sae, who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“And one more thing,” she added, her voice firm but tinged with an almost playful seriousness. “Don’t let him get away with anything when it comes to you. Don’t let him have his way, understand?”

Your face flushed instantly, the implication of her words hitting you like a freight train. “W-Wait, what—”

Sae, who had been silently enduring the conversation, finally turned his head sharply toward the phone, his ears turning a suspicious shade of pink. “Mom.” He interjected, his tone low and warning.

But his mother was undeterred. “Oh, don’t ‘Mom’ me, Sae! I mean it." Then, his mother released a sigh. “It’s just.. the two of you are out there in Spain... no one else can keep an eye on you. Be rational, okay? Don’t give us a reason to fly over there and check on you myself.”

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, despite the heat still burning your cheeks. “Noted, Mrs. Itoshi. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sae groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you done?”

“For now,” she replied smoothly. “I’m just making sure things are in order. Y/n, thank you for putting up with him. You’re a saint.”

Sae muttered something under his breath, “unbelievable.”

You snorted. “Of course, Mrs. Itoshi. Someone's gotta bash him in his head from time to time.”

Even with his mom’s playful but pointed implication, you knew better. Sae would never do anything out of line with you, nor anything that would make you uncomfortable. For all his aloofness and sharp edges, he’d always been careful around you—attentive in his own way.

The thought softened the embarrassment lingering in your chest, and you glanced at him, his hand still dragging down his face as he muttered under his breath despite his irritation.

“But don’t think I won’t call again if I hear more nonsense.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle under your breath at the thought, but the tension didn’t seem to break on Sae’s side. He eventually muttered, “We'll do our best, Mom, Mrs. L/n.”

“Good,” Sae’s mom said firmly, a slight note of relief in her voice. There was a faint shuffling sound on the other end, like the phone being passed, until your mother’s voice entered the conversation. “I trust you’ll both be on your best behavior.”

You chimed in quickly, trying to get the conversation over with. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Itoshi, Mom. We’ll keep things in check.”

Your mother let out a hum of approval. “Good. And remember, we’re just a call away if you need a reminder.”

“Duly noted,” you replied with a nervous laugh, glancing at Sae.

With that, the call ended, leaving you standing there, Sae released an exasperated sigh and immediately dropped his shoulders in relief. You couldn’t help but laugh.

Sae shook his head, stepping back into his room. “Next time, leave me out of it.”

You smiled. Despite the scolding and the embarrassment, there was something undeniably comforting about moments like these—a reminder of home, even when you were miles away.

You were about to turn and leave when something inside you decided it wasn’t time to bail just yet. You stepped forward, casually walking right past Sae into his room before the door could fully shut behind him.

Sae froze, slitted eyes widening in surprise. “What—”

You shrugged again, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “No reason. Just hanging around.”

Before he could protest, a sudden ring cut through the air. The sound was familiar, but louder than usual. You glanced at Sae, eyebrow raised, but his face shifted quickly from surprise to annoyance as he grabbed his phone.

“Who’s calling you now?” you asked, leaning back against his desk as he answered the phone.

At first, Sae’s face was unreadable, but then his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You could hear his voice, but just barely. You noticed and gave a slight smirk. “Guess it’s your turn for Rin’s wrath.”

Rin. The name was almost like a curse for Sae—he loved his brother, of course, but when it came to their sibling dynamics, it was always a bit chaotic.

You couldn’t help but lean in, curiosity piqued. Expecting his mom to be back on the line, you were caught off guard when Sae’s little brother spoke up from the other end.

“Hey, nii-chan,” Rin’s voice sounded loud and clear, filled with that usual mix of child-like wonder and boyish innocence. “I’m hearing things from the media again... What’s going on with you and Y/n? You two are seriously causing a stir.”

Sae’s face flushed even more, a mix of frustration and, if you were reading him right, embarrassment.

“You’re already hearing about that, huh?” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Of course I am!” Rin responded, completely unbothered by his brother’s apparent discomfort. “But seriously, are you two that close now? Should I be worried?”

You almost snorted at the lighthearted tone in Rin’s voice. It was all teasing, but there was an undertone of real curiosity—or maybe just a little bit of jealousy? You couldn’t help but smirk at how Rin always found ways to poke fun at Sae, no matter how far apart they were.

Sae didn’t answer right away, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment as he sighed. “Just... keep your nose out of this, Rin.”

You snickered at his reaction, walking closer and casually sitting down on Sae’s bed, still enjoying his discomfort. You decided to butt in, taking hold of his phone.

“Hey, Rin—”

“Y/n! What in the world are you two doing over there?” Rin’s voice came through sharp.

“Uh, playing football?” you tried, his sudden change in tone was something you weren’t expecting, but has anything ever went your way ever for the past day?

“You know what I mean,” he whined. “I can’t go five minutes without seeing some clip of you two looking… weird! People are saying stuff!”

You leaned back against the headboard, glancing at Sae, who had now propped himself up on one elbow on his desk, silently listening. “Rin, it’s nothing. The media’s just exaggerating.”

“Oh, really? Because it doesn’t look like ‘nothing’ when she’s running her hands through your hair, Sae,” Rin shot, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

Sae, finally engaging, sat up and snatched his phone from your hand, holding it to his ear. “What’s your problem, Rin?” he asked bluntly.

“My problem?” Rin’s voice grew louder. “My problem is that you two are over there acting all… close, while I’m stuck here dealing with everything alone!”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Sae sighed. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not like we’re having fun. We’re working, just like you.”

“You don’t get it,” Rin muttered, his voice quieter now. “You both left. And it’s… it’s hard seeing you two together there. Without me.”

Your chest ached at his words. Taking the phone back, you softened your tone. “Rin, we miss you, too. It’s hard for us here, you know that. But we’ll come back—this isn’t forever.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, though it sounded half-hearted. “Just… stop making headlines, okay? It’s embarrassing.”

You laughed, and even Sae’s lips twitched upward. “No promises,” you teased, earning a low groan from Rin before he hung up.

As you set the phone aside, Sae leaned back against his desk-chair, arms crossed. “He’s such a pain,” he muttered, though there was a faint fondness in his voice.

“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “But he’s our pain.”

“Whatever, I want you out of my room before dinner time. I have to take a shower.”

“Bleh!”

“💢💢💢”

* * *

#mreowriting #canon character x reader #blue lock #blue lock manga #blue lock season 2 #reader insert #blue lock x reader #blue lock x anime #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x you #sae itoshi x you #itoshi sae fluff

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superblysubpar · 10 months ago

Text

Princesses Can Slay Dragons Too:

dad!eddie munson x mom!fem!reader

an Easy Like Sunday Morning story

summary: you're overworked and stressed, Eddie's an oblivious but well meaning husband & dad, and a trip to the cabin with familiar faces might be just what you all needed. | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is

7.7k words (listen, I know it has no business being this long. I worked on it for a year. Idk what happened, okay?)

warnings: please read the new "general warnings" on the masterlist linked above - "reader" has a "name/nickname", mentions of Ronance, mentions of alcohol, mom stress and a little bit of description of some blood/injury and parental panic/ descriptions of shock about it. There is a twinge of "poetic", quick descriptions of smut as well as brief discussion of "unplanned" pregnancies.

This started from an ask last March, which I've since lost (so sorry anon if you're still out there), and it grew and sat and grew some more and then sat some more and now here it is. I've grown very, extremely, emotionally proud and fond of it. Hope ya like it! 💛

Summer, 2004

“Baby, volume,” your voice calls out over the faint music playing, the thrum of wheels against the highway and the wind. Eyes remain shut, but furrowed lines form above your brows when you hear the familiar ding of a coin being grabbed. A palm rests on your thigh, fingers squeeze gently around it as the music of the level starts its loop again.

You need a coffee. Or thirty. Yes, thirty is good.

“Squirt,” his tone full of warning, yet somehow still sounding sweeter than the syrup that clings to all of their fingers and the gray fabric of the old van’s seats.

Despite the early morning breakfast stop at McDonald’s being nearly twenty-four hours ago, and your insistence on packed sandwiches and veggies for lunch, and a stop for a sit down dinner - the stale scent of greasy food feels heavy in the air. Which has your brain cycling through the list that will rid your family of the trip when you reach your final destination - get out of the car, wrangle them into pajamas, teeth brushed, fight about sleeping when it’s already almost morning, clothes into washing machine, air out the car, make the grocery list for the week…

Screw coffee - you need a shower, you need a shot of alcohol, you already need a vacation from your vacation.

A particularly loud grunt and the sound of something hitting or fighting or shooting has you opening your eyes, blinking away the sleep in them to find the dark highway lit by two gold headlights, showing off the yellow lines flashing past the driver’s window. Your mouth parts, ready to be the one to tell them no, like you always are, when he stops you.

He grabs your hand, his thumb soothing over your knuckles as his voice drifts gently into the backseat, “Come on, I don’t wanna take it away…”

It’s endearing, the way he always tries, the way he gives them a couple of chances. Because at this point, you’re ready to take the damn game and chuck it out the window. This level is haunting you, all you’ve heard every second of every day, even when you’re peeing or trying to shower. You’re pretty sure you’re dreaming in the pixelated graphics, the sound effects now accompanying your daily tasks.

A loud sigh falls from the backseat and with it, you’re certain the console is nudged one level lower.

You hate that of all of your children, the one most like him is still awake.

Sure, they’re all little gremlins, heathens, as he likes to call them - little tenacious mini monster versions of him that drive you up the wall but somehow make your chest ache with too much love.

But this one, this one takes the cake every time.

Eddie beats you to it again, the silver of his rings glinting in the green light of the dashboard as he lets go of your hand to reach into the back without looking. Out of the corner of your eye you see his bicep flexing, gently shaking the tiny knee in his big hand as he talks to the road sternly, “Lace. Volume off completely until I say otherwise, or Mario and Luigi are my best friends the rest of the week, capisce?”

“Caposh,” she grumbles, big red chucks swinging up towards the console and back down, her little legs don’t quite touch the ground yet, much to her dismay.

You keep reminding her that she has lots of time to be as big as her siblings, that her ever growing shoe size and the jeans you bought for the upcoming school year (which she’s already complaining are too tight - remember, you need to ask Katie about hand me downs from Liv, or shit, maybe even Grace, this weekend) tell you she is going to keep growing - and fast. Part of you can’t wait, and the other part wishes she’d slow down.

The sound vanishes completely and Eddie’s hand finds its way to your thigh again when you sigh. The part that wishes she’d grow up faster stirs, lit by the flicker of resentment when she listens to him so easily and not you.

Eddie’s fingers run up your thigh, then back down, skin beneath the denim buzzing as he squeezes softly and clears his throat.

“I think someone deserves an apology though, don’t you? ‘Cause I believe I heard you were asked already…”

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks and you can’t help but look over your shoulder at her when she does.

For once, her eyes are on you and not the game, big and brown - just like his - and truly sorry. You smile softly as her brows furrow under bangs that just refuse to stay straight. She blows them away with a big huff as she whines, “It’s just so hard.”

Your head nods, temple resting on the seat as you murmur, “Yeah, I know. Thank you for turning the volume off when your dad asked though, I really appreciate it.”

Eddie swallows, his finger aimlessly circles over the skin above your knee as he blinks at the road.

He’s always amazed when you do that.

Far more patient than anyone deserves, far more understanding than any of them appreciate, and much too good to him. For him. Especially with how things have been lately.

Eddie knew it’d been a little rough, with him being gone so much and the kids’ schedules just growing more cramped as they got older - summer was no longer the lazy days of kids riding around on their bikes and doing squat. It was full of sports and clubs, friends, all requiring a constant need to be dropped off, picked up, carted too and fro on seemingly hellbent on never lining up schedules. He’d been trying, he really had, to help you balance it all, but he had tunnel vision for things at work, he was so focused on his own shit he didn’t realize how much everything was affecting you.

How much being alone with three kids, two goldfish (scratch that, one, but still), a dog, and a house that seemed to have endless tasks to keep it running was breaking you.

He finds your hand and pulls interlaced fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckles, your wrist, your palm, all while keeping his eyes on the road. You close yours again, trying to focus on the soft press of his lips to your skin and not the reason why he’s doing it.

You know he’s thinking about last weekend.

On Friday, Caroline had complained that you only sewed new straps on her ballet slippers instead of getting new ones altogether. She was practically in tears because all the other girls in class had new leotards, new skirts, and new shoes and you promised you’d figure something out. She retreated with red cheeks and a slam of the bedroom door, stereo blaring behind it, the cusp of terrible teenage years promising to be worse than the twos.

After that, Michael shoved you off when you tried to hug him as you dropped him at the school for a baseball practice with an exasperated, “God, mom, stop!” - nine was grown up and he was much too cool to be a momma’s boy anymore apparently.

And to top it all off, Lacey had been following you around the house, that stupid game dinging and singing everywhere you went, one of the fish died and Lacey asked when it was coming back, and you somehow burnt the hamburger helper for dinner.

When Eddie got home, he found you hunched over the coffee table next to a precariously placed glass of red wine, a sock in one hand and a shirt in the other, piles of laundry neatly folded around you and your favorite movie playing on the TV. If it weren’t for the position that was sure to have your back feeling rough tomorrow, your soft, even breathing revealed you were dead asleep.

He had tried to ease you up, move you to the bedroom while trying not to wake you like he used to when his body was much younger, but you had shot up at the touch of his hand, the lightest sleeper of a mother of three. You blinked heavy eyelids while mumbling through sleep thick words about lunches for the two eldest who would be gone all the next day. Eddie had assured you he’d make them, and you were fairly certain you were back to sleep before your head touched the pillow.

The next day though, something inside of you snapped.

It had been better than the one before, but not great. You hadn’t showered, there was a leak in the kitchen that hadn’t gotten any better all week. The only break you had all day was picking the kids up from their activities, and making them a snack as soon as they dropped gear in haphazard piles in the entryway.

After hours on hold, you just started clanging around with tools you didn’t know how to use, your head throbbing from the lack of coffee or water and the sound of Mario grabbing another coin somewhere to your right.

Where was the real plumber you had asked Eddie to call? Maybe, if you concentrated hard enough, Mario would leap out of Lacey’s console, climb down the drain, and fight off the little mushroom guy who was-

You smacked the wrench against the pipe, repeatedly, like it had personally threatened you.

“Woah, woah, woah. Sweetheart, stop! You’re gonna break it!”

Eddie grabbed your wrist, pulling you up to see him standing with pizza boxes and staring at you with wide, blinking eyes. For a second, the sight of short curls starting to gray on the ends and lines next to eyes that were constantly squinting because he was smiling or refusing to wear sunglasses, had you forgetting you were mad, or stressed or…maybe you were just tired?

He cocked his head, trying to catch the gaze you let fall to the floor quickly as the kids shrieked about him being home. Eddie didn’t even get his question of if you were okay out before arms were wrapped around his waist and legs, all vying for his attention.

You had swiped at your nose to ward off the familiar sting, pulled down plates and started filling glasses of milk and juice, before shoving the casserole you’d had prepped into the freezer.

Then he snapped his fingers, smoothing a hand over Caroline’s hair and said, “Oh, hold on. I think you’re gonna like what else I brought home a lot more than the pizza.”

He left for the hallway, returning quickly, holding something behind his back that she tried to peek at and he tsked, singing, “Uh-uh-uh. Hold on. Your mom told me you were upset about your ballet slippers…”

Your shoulders rose, the pour of apple juice freezing over the glass.

He didn’t.

He smiled at you, oblivious, then at Caroline’s squeal of excitement and he kept going, “These aren’t new, but my co-worker’s daughter barely used them and…Ta-da!”

Eddie held out a shoebox with essentially brand new shoes and your body felt numb as you listened to her scream how much she loved them and him, squeezing him in a fierce hug as he kissed her temple.

Caroline held them up to you, proudly, and you smiled, nodding, saying something, you don’t even remember what. You ushered everyone to the table.

Lacey stood next to her chair, eyes darting over the hand-held game clutched in her fingers.

“Lacey, put it away, time for dinner.”

Ding! Bloop, bloop, bloop blah-bloop-de-bloop.

Eddie slapped pizza onto plates, licking stray sauce from his thumb, “How was everyone’s day? What’d you do?”

“Lacey, I’m not telling you again. Put the game away.”

Her eyes flew up to yours, something fiery and far to recognizable behind them that made you blink as she just said, “No.”

“Oh!” Eddie passed you pizza, oblivious, “How was lunch? Did dad do as good as mom?” He ruffled Michael’s hair as your daughter and you glared at each other.

Caroline nodded her head enthusiastically around a too big bite and Michael turned to you, pizza in his mouth on display as he talked, “It was so good. Can dad make our lunches every day? His was way better.”

You stood up from the table, without warning and without a word, walked to your bedroom, and slammed the door.

Were you having an adult tantrum? Maybe. Were you proud of it? Absolutely not. But the rush of tears that fell down your cheeks and the sob that overtook you was the kind of angry crying you simply do in private and you had needed to get there quick.

Footsteps jogged down the hallway behind you, the sound causing you to turn the lock on your bedroom door through blurry vision and gasps around your tears. As the knob tried to turn, you moved away with a hand over your mouth until the back of your knees hit the bed.

“Babe, open the door.” Eddie’s voice was soft as the knob rattled again.

“Liv, what the hell, open the door.”

You choked on a sob, fingers still over your lips so you barely got out, “I’m fine, Eddie, just…have dinner without me. I’ll eat later.”

The handle spun back and forth again, the sound of his forehead hitting the wood and his pained tone slicing through you, “Olivia, please open the door.”

You curled yourself on top of the bed, watching the handle through blurry vision slowly stop moving. Closing your eyes as the tears fell swiftly, you prayed it was the kind of crying that would just knock you out and put you to sleep, because god, did you need to sleep.

Only a few minutes later, maybe not even, the door swung open to reveal Eddie on his knees with a flashlight between his lips and a screwdriver in his hands and you, sobbing on the bed.

He jumped up at the sight of you curling your arms around your waist harder, at the way you rolled away from him and pressed your wet cheek into the pillow. At the way your hoarse voice called out, “Please leave me alone Eddie.”

The door closed, the lock clicked, and there was a distinct sound of both items he held dropping to the carpet with thuds. The bed dipped and the heat of his body curled behind you, fingers gently brushed over the damp skin of your cheek and neck.

Your body shook with more tears, eyes squeezing closed tighter when he pressed his nose to the back of your head while his arm wrapped around your waist, and he waited.

The tears eventually slowed, your chest started to fall and rise more evenly, and the light filtering in through your curtains started to turn lavender, then blue. Eddie managed to remove your jeans without waking you, and he pulled the duvet up over your shoulder as he bit his lower lip raw. Your face still didn’t look relaxed, like it was crying and worrying even in your sleep.

He left the room with with his fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, walking past the bathroom where water sloshed over the counter and soap slid down the-

Taking several steps backwards, his mouth opened, then closed at the sight in front of him, before he finally found his words and quietly asked, “Whatcha doing?”

His three children stood in a line in the mirror, looking at him in the reflection. Lacey held a stack of plates and silverware on the left, on her toes, pink socks (that were supposed to be white, but there must have been a laundry incident he was unaware of) fully submerged in bubbles, her little arms hoisting them to rest on the counter halfway. Caroline stood in front of the overflowing, sudsy sink, her hands invisible inside it, and Michael next to her with a rag and plate.

“We’re washing the dishes,” Caroline shrugged, like it was obvious.

He leaned against the doorframe, rubbing at his jaw as he hummed, “I…see that. Why are you doing that in here?”

The three kids blinked at him, and he tried not to smile, because you weren’t kidding that they eerily looked like him when they did that. They were all clearly confused, and then Michael said, “The kitchen sink is broken. It has been all week.”

Eddie closed his eyes, your cursing under your breath and beating up of the pipes when he got home making much more sense now.

All week? Why hadn’t you told him?

Shit, had you told him?

He cleared his throat and he tapped on the frame. “Right. Well, thank you for doing them. Try to stay quiet, mom’s sleeping.”

His body had barely turned out the door before Caroline called out, nervously, “Is she okay?”

Eddie wasn’t a fan of lying, even if it was to protect feelings. But the sight of his three kids with concern evident on each of their faces told him they’d know if he did anyways. Something told him they already knew she wasn’t and it was him who didn’t know the answer.

He sighed, entered the room deeper and kissed the tops of each of their heads, before he threw some towels over the floor that had puddles of water accumulating.

“I think she really needs to sleep, and I’ll talk to her later. But I think you guys doing the dishes really helps. Thank you.”

So while his kids did the dishes in the bathroom sink and you slept, the dog and…one…? goldfish kept him company in the kitchen where he inspected the sink.

It was an easy fix, but he didn’t have the part, and his stomach tensed with guilt as he thought about how you probably, definitely, asked him to look at it or call someone right away and he forgot. A simple drive down the street to the hardware store tomorrow, he’d have it fixed in less than an hour.

He put the tools away in the garage, above the label for them that you must have made and he went into the small office space in search of a post-it to put on the sink. The office was intended for you, but years and kids and projects went by and soon it became a dumping ground of all things house.

When he reached the desk, he found what he was looking for. There were plenty of post-its, in a variety of colors, lined up in a neat row above a large, tightly and neatly filled calendar.

Eddie swallowed as his fingers brushed over the names of his kids, him, the fucking dog and fish - all with their own color. The house, the bills, the errands…all of it had colors, schedules, a science, a system.

But the thing was, you weren’t a part of the system - you were the system.

There was nowhere, in that entire calendar, that had anything remotely relaxing for you on it. No dinner or wine night with any of the girls. No book club with Nancy anymore, maybe because they moved, but he had a feeling it still wouldn’t be there if they hadn’t. No dates with him. He couldn’t remember the last time he took you out, or hell, made you dinner - when was the last time he even cooked dinner for the whole family?

He swallowed as he read over the entire month, and the next and the next. Anything that would have been considered free time, or your time was full of laundry, grocery shopping, dusting the fucking baseboards, because apparently you do everything?

And Eddie knew he had colosally, monumentally, brutally, fucked up.

So when the kids were in bed, and the kitchen was clean, and the lunches for the next day were packed, and the laundry was folded and put away, Eddie crawled back into bed behind you.

He didn’t think you were awake, carefully letting his arm curl around you and his lips brush your shoulder in a wordless goodnight, an apology, a promise to talk about it as soon as you woke up. But then your words floated out and hung in the dark room and a tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie sniffled, trying to reign it in, he cleared his throat, but you were already rolling to face him and he had his palms pressed to his eyes as his words left him all scratchy and on the brink of a full blown sob.

“Sweetheart, don’t you dare fucking say it again.”

Your fingers had curled around his wrists and tugged gently, until watery eyes were blinking at your own and you shrugged and whispered, “But I am.”

His lips found yours in a bruising kiss, noses squished together and gasps of air between parting mouths, fingers clutching at hips and necks as your legs tangled.

When was the last time he fucking kissed you like he meant it? Like it wasn’t a quick goodbye, goodmorning, or a hey, doll, how was your day as he half listened?

He shook his head, mouth catching yours in quick kisses between each softly spoken word, “No, I am.”

Your palms pressed to his cheek as your leg hitched over his thigh, breathless as he traveled over your jaw and down your neck for the first time in what felt like months.

Maybe it had been.

“Can you,” you tugged on short curls behind his ears as his tongue traced your collarbone which made you both groan, “Jus-just let me apologize?”

Eddie practically growled out the word no before his lips were back on yours.

It was fast fingers pulling at clothing and sharp teeth nipping at lips and skin, no foreplay, ‘just fuck me’ quick, and quietly because of the kids, kind of sex, until it wasn’t.

It only took him three thrusts to realize it wasn’t what he wanted. Quickly becoming memorizing touches that glided over skin and held with care, it was lips that whispered apologies and all the things he loved about you into yours, quiet and passionate pushing and pulling with each other, and hands gripping the others as you came together and said everything you couldn’t with intense eye contact, fingers deep in the curls at the back of his head as his name left your mouth only to be swallowed by his.

His lips brushed down your shoulder and back up, over your collarbone and chest as your fingers scratched at his scalp gently.

He hummed against your throat before whispering, “I think we should go to the cabin next week.”

“Eddie…” you started softly, already panicking about the missed events the kids would have to make up, the packing, the-

“Stop,” he kissed your jaw, then hovered over your face so his big, brown, sweet eyes could look down at you, “I can hear the stress coming out of you, and I just got it all out.”

You laughed quietly, fingers pressing to your eyes as you shook your head. Unconvinced, and if you were tired before, he’d just made you even more so.

Eddie kissed at your fingers, your nose, your cheek until he was nudging at the fingers again with his nose.

“Baby, I promise, it’ll be a good vacation. I think we could all use it. And I swear, I’ll be the parent. You kick your heels up and get drunk on shitty wine with Katie, okay?”

And here you were, doing just that.

The late/early morning arrival was not the shit show you were sure it was going to be. The kids listened immediately about being quiet entering the cabin at the late hour, especially after Eddie said if everyone woke up, the entire day on the lake would be ruined.

You woke up, without an alarm, for the first time in…you didn’t know how long. Greeted in the kitchen by Steve’s wife, Katie, quietly squealing and grabbing you in a hug that seemed to melt the tension from your shoulders. Eddie handed you a steaming cup of a coffee accompanied with a kiss on your temple and a swat to Steve’s chest when he tried to do the same.

The kids were already showered, dressed, fed - fruit and waffles and minimal syrup thankfully - and outside playing. You had your suspicions this was all largely due to Steve and his wife’s doing. If you dwelled on it too long, the comparison to how much better they were at the whole parenting thing than you could drive you insane, so you tried to ignore it.

There was only one argument with Lacey about the Nintendo, and Eddie snatched it and pocketed it and simply shrugged at her scowl when he did and said, “Told ya, babe.” Michael complained about lunch, but only until Nora, Steve’s eldest and seventeen, said “Oh, I love chicken salad” with a wink in your direction. You’d never seen Michael eat so quickly before and he was a garbage disposal on a good day.

And now, your heels were “up” leaning against the deck’s railing from your spot on the floor, a wine glass was in your hand. Katie was telling you all about Nora’s new boyfriend, Charlie, who Steve positively hated, as Eddie and him stood nearby, with beers and watching meat on the grill or whatever men do.

“Charlie is the least of our worries though,” she waved her hand with an eye roll, sipping the pink wine with a grimace, “I mean, you know. They’re monsters. Why’d we have them again?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “If you think yours are monsters, mine might literally be the devil incarnate.”

She snorted into her glass and you laughed, swiping at your lips with a shrug, “Okay, too far. But god, they’re…I don’t know. But, seriously, you and Steve…”

Your voice fell as the boys yelled over the grill at two of the girls doing cartwheels dangerously close to the fire pit.

“You guys, you really know what you’re doing. You’re a good team.” You smiled sadly, looking at the back of Eddie’s head and then at her.

She was watching you closely, a tilt of her head like she was trying to figure you out, before she grabbed your hand and squeezed it and admitted, “I yelled at him about loading the dishwasher wrong last week. We didn’t talk for three days.” She frowned and shook her head and looked over at him and he flipped his spatula and winked at her and she smiled and turned back to you. “Things aren’t ever what they seem on the outside. We all have shit. It just matters if your shit is something you can trudge through together. If you can help clean it off each other.”

She frowned at the wine she started pouring. “I don’t think this wine is helping with my metaphors, but you get what I mean?”

You nodded, taking in Eddie’s profile as he talked with his hands and got louder as he told a story to Steve.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

It was silent as you both stared at the guys, sipping your wine, until you whispered, “So he loaded it wrong, huh?”

“So wrong!” She exclaimed, grumbling, “Who puts plates all willy-nilly? They go in a straight, neat-”

“I said I was sorry!” Steve shouted from the grill, his hands on his hips as he glared at the two of you.

Katie stuck her tongue out at him and he shook his head with narrowed eyes and she grinned, a quiet and not as silent as they thought conversation about her paying for that later.

You looked away, smiling into your wine glass when you caught Eddie’s gaze. He looked a little shocked when you made eye-contact, his cheeks flushed pink and you cocked your head with bunched eyebrows at him.

An unanswered silent question though, because the kids all shouted as a black SUV pulled up the long, gravel driveway.

A tall, lanky body jumped out of the backseat of the car before it was even in park, a head full of bouncing red waves shooting across the grass towards the literal swarm of children screaming, “Aunt Robin!”

She was down, on the ground, in literal seconds, the children forming a nice heap on top of her that the four of you all yelled about getting off at the same time, sharing grins that only parents who grew up doing the same thing and feel wrong for telling them not to could.

Your eldest, was bounding over to the car, along with Olivia, ready for the third to round out the little trio of three musketeers - Zoey Wheeler.

As they hugged and squealed about being back together, you all started down the steps to greet the late arrivals.

You couldn’t help but notice Caroline standing a touch away from Olivia as the two other girls gossiped about something from school.

But then Nancy was enveloping her in a tight hug, “Hey kiddo, hear you’re gonna be in the windy city pretty soon.”

Too preoccupied with your own waving of arms to tell her to stop talking, you didn’t notice Eddie whip his head over at Steve, who blinked with his hands raised.

Your head fell as Caroline turned to you with curious eyes and a quiet, “What?”

Eddie opened his mouth to explain, but you were already talking, him blinking behind you.

“I…I haven’t even told your dad. It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday. You and me, driving to Chicago to go to this dance store that Zoey and Olivia go to. It’s not new stuff, but their dance troop shops there and it’s all really nice stuff and - oof!”

Caroline’s arms were squeezing you harder than they ever had, face pressed against you as her words got lost and muffled, but didn’t lose their meaning when she said, “Thank you so much mom.”

Your fingers ran over her hair, lips pressed to the top of her head as you enjoyed the hug for as long as she’d let you. “Of course, honey. Happy early Birthday.”

The girls quickly started discussing what they’d do on the trip, and Nancy winced out an apology you told her was unnecessary as you hugged, all while Eddie gulped down his beer and Steve narrowed his eyes at him which made Eddie wave him off, grabbing another beer out of the cooler.

“I am in need of assistance,” Robin called weakly, from her spot on the ground, now abandoned by all the children who were quick to return to their activities.

Nancy sighed and drawled dramatically, “Coming, dear.”

Robin groaned from the ground, but giggled. “Thank you, sugar-pie.”

“Robs, I’ll leave you down there…” she warned.

“Fine,” Robin shrugged, blue eyes staring up at the matching sky, “Dingus will-”

He was already hoisting her up, and grabbing her in a big hug only the two of them could find comfortable from the amount of squeezing suffocation.

Nancy looked at you and Katie and sighed.

“Wine.”

You were both already handing your glasses over with smiles before she could finish the word.

She was thoroughly tipsy by her third glass, and the stress you could sense when she arrived - maybe it was a thing all you mom’s could sense, or maybe it was because of being old friends - was melted from her face as she called out, loudly, excitedly, “Robin!”

“Yes, my love?”

Robin’s legs swung as they dangled from her hoisted up spot on the railing by the men. A baseball hat turned backwards over waves tinted red and silver and a sly smirk resting on her lips as she looked at her wife with more love than should be possible in a human.

Nancy’s cheeks flushed and you all snickered into your glasses, because you all knew what was coming next.

“I, uh,” Nancy cleared her throat, as big, blue eyes tried to blink innocently, “I need to talk to you. Inside.”

Robin grinned and nodded, “Lead the way, Wheeler.”

Nancy frowned, but clumsily made her way inside with a giggle.

With a hop down, a salute, and a quiet, “Duty calls, boys,” Robin followed, all of your “boos” and “ow-ow-ow’s” slammed on by the door.

Katie pulled out a stack of cards, the boys finally came over and joined you, and your legs crossed over Eddie’s lap as you hid your deck from him with a terrible poker face.

He soothed his thumb over your ankle bone, wet his bottom lip before he grinned at you. “Baby, remind me to never take you to Vegas.”

“You have taken me to Vegas.” You touched your cards to your nose, hiding your grin.

Eddie sucked his teeth as he nodded, “Right, right, how could I forget.”

“Seriously dude,” Steve moaned at his cards, frowning, “Vegas was a mistake.”

Katie smacked the back of his head and he flinched, but with a glint in his gaze at her, “What the hell was that for.”

“They got Lacey because of Vegas,” she scolded, “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“Believe me, I remember. I don’t remember much, but that I do. It’s sort of hard to forget the results of that trip. What with the children who came out of it. Lacey, Annie and-”

“Luke is stupid!”

Steve sighed at the now sherbert colored sky. He groaned, “I knew it was too good to last.”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped your legs from Eddie’s lap as Lacey stomped up the stairs, huffing. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Eddie sit up, but you were already grabbing at your daughter’s crossed arms and pulling her towards you.

“Woah, super mean word, let’s think of a better one.”

“A buttface!” She frowned, but didn’t resist your embrace as she climbed onto your lap, a privilege that was fleeting.

“Nope, try again.” You shook your head, letting your chin rest on the top of her head as a hand soothed up her spine, while hers gestured wildly in search of the right word.

“He’s…he’s…impossible!”

You hummed, great word - especially for a seven year old.

“Why is he impossible?” You asked quietly, Katie taking the hint and getting Steve and Eddie to go back to a semi-normal conversation and their cards.

Lacey fiddled with your shirt collar, grumpy and big lips pouting just like her dad. “We were playing Dragons, and he said that I had to be the princess and stay in the tree house while he fought the dragon and saved me! I don’t want to just sit there!”

Steve smiled around the lip of his beer and Katie rolled her eyes, looking at you with a mouthed, “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Ah,” you adjusted in your seat, hugging her closer as her fingers roamed to the necklace around your throat. “I would be frustrated by that too. I like helping. I don’t want someone to come rescue me, either.”

You glanced up at Eddie who smiled softly at you, watching intently.

“Right. So I’m not playing. I don’t like him anymore,” she huffed, breath warm on your already sweaty skin and fingers leaving something sticky and smelling like pine trees all over you.

“You don’t, huh?”

“Nope,” she popped the ‘P’, but her gaze wandered over to the yard where the boy in question fought his sisters with sticks.

It took you a bit, and maybe you were just soaking up the smell of her strawberry shampoo, or the way she fit perfectly in your arms, but you finally asked softly, “Hey, you remember Dimitri and Anya?”

Lacey shifted with a dramatic sigh, but she nodded.

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t like each other either. But, then Anya showed him she could do anything he learned to do, right? And he listened to her? She helped save him in the end, remember?”

“Spoilers!” Steve grimaced and Lacey giggled which he smiled and booped her nose at.

“So,” you lifted your daughters chin, big eyes that reminded you of someone else peering at you unwaveringly as you continued, “You go tell that Harrington boy that Princesses can slay dragons too.”

“They can?” Lacey asked, unsure, unconfident, in a way that melted your heart, put it back together and melted it again.

You nodded and cleared your throat, trying not to cry. “Absolutely.”

She started to climb off of you, but you tugged at her waist, brushing a curl behind her ear as you smiled, “And baby?”

“Yeah?”

You kissed her forehead and whispered, “It’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help, kay?”

She nodded, kissed your cheek, and hopped off, bounding down the stairs with a sing-song call to her tone, “Ohhhh, Luuukkkee!”

Lifting the cards from the table, you smiled at the sound of your daughter antagonizing a Harrington and before you could make a jab at Steve, fingers were under your chin, and Eddie was tilting your head, lips on yours and stealing all of the air from your lungs.

His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and his hand cradled your jaw as you opened for him without thought, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt until loud clearing of throats came from your right.

You broke away with a gasp, but Eddie pulled you back in for one more press of his lips and a whispered, “Sorry,” as he sat back down looking not sorry at all.

Steve tried to hide his grin as he threw a chip into the pile and Katie grinned at you as she quipped, “Wow, guys, you’re worse than the lovebirds inside.”

Eddie didn’t look up from his cards, but he raised his eyebrows. “I seem to recall an incident in my home on my kitchen counter on my daughter’s first birthday, Katherine.”

“Touche, Edward, touche,” she beamed as Steve choked on his beer.

He quickly changed the subject, swiping beer from his lips as he looked at you. “You’re gonna have to show me how you did that.”

Your wine glass froze halfway to your mouth and he laughed, coughed, covered his mouth with his fist. “I meant the talk with Lace. Not the kissing. Now that you guys’ll be closer we can…”

Eddie hung his head as Steve trailed off and you quirked an eyebrow. “Closer?”

Katie took a large gulp of her wine and Steve gestured to the grill with a hook of his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna…”

“I’ll help!” Katie jumped up and followed.

“Eddie, what’s going on?”

He sighed, set his cards down, scooted his chair closer to you before his hands grabbed yours.

“I got a promotion, sort of.”

“Wh-what? Eddie, that's great!” You squeezed his hands, your heart hammering in your chest because he wasn’t looking at you still. The knowledge that there wasn’t really room for a teacher to get promoted stirring in your brain. “Wait, how…”

He grimaced, thumbs swiping over your knuckles as he nodded. “Right, yeah. So, it’s not so much a promotion, as it is a completely different job, at a completely different school. Or um, University.”

“In…in Chicago?” You were starting to piece it all together.

“Mhm,” he hummed, biting at his bottom lip that you instinctively reached up and pulled away from his teeth gently. He finally looked up at you, worried, and apologetic, but hopeful. “It’s, it’s a really great job. Tons of benefits. At the university. Way more pay. Flexible hours. I’d-I’d be home so much more. And I know, I know that moving is insane. But I just…”

He rambled, and you got lost, because you were thinking about telling the kids, about uprooting your entire life, about never seeing the patch of wall that the kids heights were on again. Your routine, your system, your grocery store, all pulled out from under you.

But then you then thought about how you’d only been on this vacation for a day and how much less stressed you were. How Steve and Katie and Robin and Nancy would be in the same city as you again. About how happy your kids were with all of them, how happy you were with them. The support you’d have. The promise of more time with Eddie. The adventure.

“Okay,” you said softly, interrupting whatever he was saying.

Eddie blinked at you, mouth parted in surprise.

“Okay? Okay what?”

You shrugged.

“Okay, let’s do it. Let’s move. Take the job.”

Eddie swallowed, he scooted closer and he cupped your jaw, thumbs grazing over your cheekbones as he murmured. “Okay, let’s do it, like you’re excited and want to, or okay let’s do it, like you don’t think you have a choice and you’re stressed and sad and I’m gonna have to unlock the door with the screwdriver again?”

“I mean,” you laughed, brushing over the worried lines of his forehead as you did, “Okay let’s do it. It’s gonna suck to move and tell the kids, but I think…”

They always tell you, you see stuff in slow motion in moments of panic, fear, but you never really believe it until it happens to you - seeing it all happen before it did.

“Oh my god!”

You were pushing back from Eddie, yelling your daughter’s name as she climbed up a tree, her foot about to step on a branch that looked dead and rotting even from this distance, and then she was falling.

There was a boy shouting beneath her, and his older sister’s shouting at him, screams of mom and dad that all four of you raced towards.

Everyone’s footsteps except Eddie’s slowed when you saw the eyelids fluttering over brown eyes pooling with big, crocodile tears and the leg already swelling with bright red trickling down from it.

Katie was shouting about grabbing the girl’s from inside, about ambulances and driving. Steve was pulling at all the other kids, reassuring them it was fine, and Eddie was focused on Lacey and Luke.

You don’t really remember what you did. You had arms around you and you spoke, but you don’t know what you said. Ushered into a car by big hands and a little one grasping yours tightly.

In the end, all it was, was a deep gash in her leg, nothing broken. Luke a little worse for wear with a fractured wrist, but he beamed when Lacey signed her name on the cast and asked you how to spell Princess before it, then kissed his cheek and told him thank you for saving her.

The rest of the week was the same as the first day after that, save for the two kids who huddled next to each other on the couch on the deck, their temples pressed together as they shouted at the screen of the Nintendo Eddie gave back almost immediately. Day three of watching his kid that close to a Harrington boy made him rethink the whole move and said it wasn’t happening anymore, which Steve promptly replied with, “Dude, they’re seven. Wait till she’s seventeen and dating a guy named Charlie.”

Nora’s head had perked up from coloring with the younger kids, an expression almost identical to her father’s as she scowled. “I thought you liked Charlie!”

“I do, I do sweetie.” Steve rubbed at his temple and gave Eddie and you a look that said he really did not like Charlie.

Time moved too quickly, and the light-hearted moments turned to memories, and soon bags were packed by the front door, and everyone was restlessly sleeping, not ready to say goodbye just yet.

Which is how you found yourself quietly making your way down the stairs to the kitchen, when you woke up to the empty bed and cold sheets.

You found him in the living room, eyes glued to the hand held device, his thumbs jabbing at it while he frowned.

“She wasn’t kidding,” he whispered, the girl in question tucked into his lap, her leg propped up on a pillow and drool spilling down his white shirt.

His arms flexed with each press, tattoos that were rarely on display anymore dancing under each movement. Short curls that the flecks of gray in stood out in the moonlight. Lines of worry and laughter all over his face, brown eyes gifted to all of your children because of the same ones maintaining their gaze on the console.

You slid onto the couch next to him, curling into his side with a yawn and a gentle rearrange of Lacey’s legs onto your lap. Fingers gesturing for him to give it to you.

Eddie handed it over, his arm scooping Lacey closer to his chest while his other wrapped around your shoulders.

You kept your eyes on the game as you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The breath huffed out of his nose hit your jaw as he quietly laughed, “Babe, what?”

Mario leaped over blocks as you told him again, “I’m sorry. I froze, I don’t know what happened. Thank you for taking care of her, of all of them, I don’t-”

“We’re a team,” he kissed your cheek, his smile stayed pressed to your skin, “You know, a wise woman once said, ‘it’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help.’”.

A hum from your lips that fought a smile as his fingers squeezed your shoulder. You couldn’t help but grin at the screen though, when you pressed A for the final time.

“I think I know her. Same lady who said Princesses can slay dragons, too, right?”

The screen lit up with little fireballs, trills and chimes coming from the console signifying you beat Bowser - this time, all of which you quickly tried to cover up as Eddie shushed.

“Mommy,” her sleepy voice muffled in his chest.

“Yeah, sweetie?” You whispered, console silenced.

“Volume,” word almost lost to the yawn she gave before she was snuggling back into the crook of Eddie’s elbow and was out again.

Eddie tried not to snort or let his laughter shake her as your mouth fell open in shock and he took the Nintendo back, moving on to the next level.

You shook your head at your daughter, and glanced down at her wrapped and injured leg, at the peaceful features of her sleeping face.

“Man, you’re lucky you’re so cute,” you sighed.

It was silent for a while, and your eyelids started to flutter closed too, when Eddie spoke again.

“I totally thought Bowser was a turtle.”

#eddie munson #dad!eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #superbly subpars writing #cw alcohol #cw injury #cw blood #easy like sunday morning universe #easy like sunday morning AU

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whotfelsewantedtobelynnyx · 5 months ago

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So I’ve seen a couple posts about the DELIGHTFUL possibility of Zestial/Carmilla/Rosie and although it’s not the most realistic ship I’ve ever seen in this show…something about it just makes my brain go

So have some headcanons!

TW: Some mild implied sexual content and mentions of alcohol. It is Hazbin Hotel 🤷‍♀️

- Zestial and Rosie are both enamored with Carmilla’s hair. Rosie is constantly trying to convince her lover to wear her hair down more often, while Carmilla insists she wears it up because Rosie CANNOT resist playing with it (and really, she can’t). Zestial, on the other hand, just likes being allowed to help her brush and style it. He claims he enjoys the intimacy of the act. Rosie argues that he just ALSO enjoys playing with Carmilla’s hair.

Zestial, gently running a brush through Carmilla’s hair: Mine dearest, what, pray tell, befell thee to put thy locks in such a state?

Carmilla, leaning back in his lap with her eyes closed: Rosie.

Zestial, subtly smacking something away with the brush: Ah.

Rosie, who had been sneakily winding a piece around her finger: >:(

- Her impressively long hair is also why Carmilla has banned showering together in her home (“If you want it so badly, you can pay the water bill.”) It already takes her the better part of an hour to wash, condition, and then restyle it without any…distractions.

- Cannibal Town is significantly further away from Zestial and Carmilla’s territories than either are from each other. Rosie keeps a little box of knickknacks stashed in her vanity (handwritten letters from Zestial, a bottle of Carmilla's perfume, and various jewelry that she's stolen from them both) for when she can't make it to see her lovers for too long.

- Carmilla sleeps in the middle when they share a bed. This isn’t necessarily out of preference (in fact, she’s really not a big cuddler and would probably sleep on her own mattress at least some of the time if given the chance) but because both her partners are INCREDIBLY cold bodied and insist on being curled around her much warmer self when they sleep.

- Carmilla is also CONSTANTLY sleep deprived. It’s mostly her own fault (she takes the phrase “working yourself to death” to a whole new level), but every once in a while she suffers from a bout of actual insomnia, which leaves her miserable to be around the next day. Zestial usually gets sent in at that point to convince her to take a break (and a nap), because she’s least likely to snap at him.

- Zestial is partially nocturnal due to his somewhat spidery traits. He still enjoys staying in the same bed as his partners, but spends at least part of the night simply just watching them sleep. Carmilla took awhile to be comfortable with it (though she warmed up to it eventually) but Rosie found it sweet.

- Rosie and Zestial often bond over classic literature, like a weird little two-demon book club. They’ve tried to include Carmilla in it in the past, but she shuts it down every time (she loves them both, she does, but what little she understands she finds either dull, depressing, or both). She will, however, drop by with a cup of tea and a kiss for each before leaving them to their own devices.

- Both Carmilla’s partners have a good relationship with her daughters. However, Zestial is more like to a second parent to them, whereas Rosie is closer to a fun aunt/godmother (which gets her in trouble sometimes)

Clara: Rosie, will you take us downtown tonight?

Rosie: Hmm. What’d your mama say?

Odette: She said no.

Rosie: Then why’re ya asking me?

Clara: Because she’s not the boss of you.

Rosie: Huh. Well-

Zestial, interjecting with a pointed look at Rosie: In fact, I do believe she is. Of us both, dear one.

Rosie: …yeah, that’s probably right.

(Side note- 90% of the time, Carmilla absolutely is the boss of them both. In more ways than one 😉)

- Zestial is the only person Carmilla will let see her cry.

- Both C and Z have some chronic pains from throughout their lives/afterlives (Carmilla gets horrible migraines, while Zestial has some old wounds in his back and shoulders that never healed properly, as well as some joint pain in his wings that flares up when he sleeps on them awkwardly). When it gets too bad, the other will usually take over their work for the day so that they can go to Rosie’s and rest.

- Rosie, for her part, enjoys fussing over her partners a little too much- while Zestial sort of enjoys the attention, it can be a bit much for Carmilla when her head’s already killing her. She can’t stay too mad though, especially when being cradled in Rosie’s arms like that is so soothing and she can tell Rosie left off her usual perfume and hairspray out of consideration to her headache.

- Rosie has a pretty high alcohol tolerance and can usually function fairly well when she’s been drinking. The only exception is when she goes out with Alastor. Carmilla hates these nights because she then has to go and haul them BOTH home.

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mrs-kodzuken · 11 months ago

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Teen Pregnancy ♡

Pairing: Kōtarō Bokuto x fem!reader

WC: 1.8k

Genre: angst to fluff

CW: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, teen pregnancy (please don’t get pregnant at a young age if you can try!), angst to fluff, reader thinks it’s sickness, injured!bokuto, obviously implied sex since reader is pregnant

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

I wiped my mouth with the back of my shaky hand as I just got finished puking into the toilet. This happened for the third time this week, but I hadn't gone to the doctor because of Bokuto.

He had, unfortunately, sprained his ankle while trying out a new skill during volleyball practice. The doctor said that he wasn't supposed to play for a week and to lay off it for it to heal.

As usual, that really made Kōtarō go into emo mode. Akaashi had managed to pull him out, but his bad mood hadn't gone away all week.

Me being his girlfriend, I took up the duty to help him around, even if I wasn't feeling well myself; I care about his well-being more than mine anyway.

After I brushed my teeth, I noticed a pale-ish look to my skin tone. Maybe I should make an appointment with the doctor's, I thought after grabbing my school bag.

Dark gray clouds swirled in the sky as the cold air nipped at my skin, releasing a shiver from my body.

It was probably going to rain, or worse, snow.

Being in the month of December, that was quite likely to happen. I arrived at the front gates of school, and

Akaashi had taken it upon himself to help get Kō here in the mornings.

I quickly hurried to his classroom, which was class one. I saw him pouting in his chair with his crutch leaning on the side of his desk and his hair slightly down. I sighed and moved near him.

"Good morning baby, how're you feeling?" I asked, trying to shift my problems out of my head and focusing on his.

"I want to play volleyball." His pout is not going away. Kōtarō always had an endless hunger for the victory of volleyball. I mean, that is why he is one of the top five best athletes in Japan.

And a small sprang could really do some damage to the poor boy.

"I know you do, but just bear with us for the next couple of days, and then you'll be back to smashing those balls on the court." I tried cheering him up a bit before I had to leave.

I heard the warning bell signaling that class would be starting soon, so I leaned down to give Kō a peck on the forehead before I left.

"I'll see you later, Kōtarō."

But when I started walking, I felt my bladder almost exploded. I had used the bathroom when I first got up this morning before my puking session, so I wasn't sure how I already needed to pee.

I hurried to the nearest ladies bathroom and relieved myself. While I was washing my hands, the bell rang for class to start.

What made it even worse was that my class room was upstairs since I was in class 5. My shoulders slumped as I walked even slower up the stairs.

It was only morning, but traveling up a staircase had worn me out.

I entered my class with the rest of my classmates staring at me, and my best friend's eyebrow quirked up as if to question why I'm late.

"You finally come to class, miss." My teacher said irritatingly as I took my seat, which was in back, after I mumbled a small apology.

Soon, the teacher droned on about something that I wasn't too bothered by. I sat my head down on the desk and decided to take a little nap to pass the time.

I felt someone shake me a little bit as I pushed their hand away.

"Do you want to eat lunch or not?" was the voice belonging to my best friend as she awaited my answer, which was a bunch of words mumbled together.

"By the way, why were you late this morning? You're never late, like, ever." She questioned me as she sat in front of me with her bento box, deciding she was going to eat here with me in the class.

"I had used the bathroom after meeting with Kō and ended up late. I just don't feel good." I said, looking up at her, then at her food.

Suddenly, a thought struck at me, "And I forgot my lunch." I groaned and sat my head back down.

"I'm so sorry (Y/n). I really don't want to make everything worse, but our teacher assigned us a project that's worth ten percent of our grade, and it's due Friday."

Today was Wednesday, and I felt like crying at the thought of doing a school project. "Great, just great. great, great, great." I hit my head on my hands with every word I spoke.

"You don't sound great."

"I'm not great, (B/f/n)." I put my head in my hands and sucked it up, trying to focus on anything else besides the hunger in my stomach and the nausea that came with it.

"I'll be fine; lunch is almost over anyway. Do me a favor and wake me when the bell rings for dismissal." She nodded and packed her bento box away as people started to fill the classroom.

I also forgot my hoodie, so I laid there on my cold desk, shivering just a bit.

As promised, (B/f/n) woke me when class was finished. I headed outside towards the gym, knowing Kō would want to stay and watch his teammates play, even if he couldn't.

The sky had actually become really dark as little flurries of snow fell down. This was bad weather, especially with Bokuto being in a crutch.

I sluggishly walked into the gym, knowing that it would take a lot of convincing for me to get home.

As usual, he was sitting on the bench watching his teammates play with a grumpy facial expression.

I sighed and sat down beside him, wanting nothing more than to be embraced by his arms.

I laid my head on his shoulder and carefully watched out the window as the snow continued to fall.

Only two hours had passed, and it was pitch black outside, not to mention it was freezing too.

I had been trying to convince Bokuto to go home due to his injured leg. I knew I had been pestering him, but in the end he would give in and let me help him walk home.

What I didn't expect was for my plan to backfire on me.

"Goddamn it, do you have to be so fucking annoying all the time?" He snapped his head towards me as I froze; I could tell everyone else in the gym did too.

My heart was stuck in my throat as I gave him a weak apology; I didn't bother grabbing my bag. Held my head down low as I hurried out of the gym as the temperature dropped, making my skin freeze.

I couldn't see due to it being pitch black, but I still kept on, my legs never stopping. The only thing warm were my salty tears, which never seemed to stop rushing down my face.

I wasn't sure where I was, so I tried to slow down my pace as I slipped on ice, and my head rammed into a wall. The pain almost immediately giving me raging headache as I pressed a hand onto it.

I slowly slid down the ice-cold brick wall, not having the energy to move anymore.

My day was so fucking shitty.

Slowly, my arms wrapped around my limp body to suffice as something to cover me from the snow that still continued to fall from the sky.

Before I knew it, my eyes closed due to the pain in my head and my arms were wrapped not only around my body but my stomach.

"Kō." was the last thing my voice could manage out before I slipped into unconsciousness on the ground.

Muffled voices in a room awoke me with the annoying sound of beating. I felt warmth surrounding me and bandages on my face as I opened my eyes.

I squinted at the bright lights that were on the ceiling. I slowly sat up and looked at everyone in the room around me.

It was a hospital room and the annoying sound was my heart.

My parents, Bokuto's mom, Bokuto, and Akaashi, were in the room with me. I looked down at my lap, not liking how all the attention was on me at once.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Bokuto open his mouth as if he were to say something but shut it when the doctor came into the room.

"Hi, mom, dad. If you don't mind, I'm just going to check up on your daughter," she said as she rounded my bed.

"Hello sweetie, how do you feel?" She gathered a flashlight and a clipboard, ready to write.

"My head hurts." The voice that came out was all scratchy and low. It seemed to make my mom lean more into my dad, as if to hide her tears. The doctor handed me a cup of water.

"Well, you did hit it pretty hard. Are you warm enough? I can add another heated blanket if you want; make yourself comfortable. We still need to check if the baby is okay." She reached for another blanket as I froze.

"Excuse me?" My voice came out slightly panicked.

What baby?

"Don't worry, we already told your parents, so you don't need to worry about that." She concluded with a comforting smile.

"No, no. What do you mean? I'm not pregnant." I said, I was confused; I'm pretty sure I wasn't pregnant. Or at least, I think.

My eyes immediately reached Bokuto's sorrowful ones.

"Oh my god." I covered my mouth with my left hand as my right one went to my stomach. I couldn't believe what was happening right now.

"Oh. Mom, dad, and other mom, how about we give these two a few minutes to talk?" She politely said, giving Kō and I some time to discuss this.

Silence fell over the now empty room; Bokuto was the first one to speak up.

"(Y/n), I'm sorry for acting like that. I just wanted to play volleyball so bad, but that doesn't excuse my actions. When the guys found you and you were shivering uncontrollably and bleeding, I didn't know what to do.

“On top of that, you were out there with.. our baby in you." After he had finished, tears fell from his somber, golden eyes.

I reached a hand to his face and wiped a tear away while he leaned into my hand.

"Kō, I forgive you. But a baby? We're still in school, and you have your volleyball career that you plan on pursuing, and I still don't know what I want to be." I nervously stated, my eyebrows furrowed with worry.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. We'll work through it together, okay? We'll be the greatest parents ever." He gave me the smile that I missed the most.

And that reassurance was all I needed to process that we could handle this together.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

a/n: this is from my book “Haikyuu x Reader One Shots” on Wattpad! I hope you enjoyed and let me know if you have any requests!

the header is made by me, please like/reblog if used <3

#bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #haikyuu bokuto #hq bokuto #bokuto fluff #bokuto angst #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto koutaro x y/n #bokuto kotaro #haikyuu pregnancy #bokuto x pregnant reader #hq fluff

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ang3lc · 2 months ago

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Panther | FNG

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MASTERLIST AO3

cw: strong language, depictions of violence, 7.8k words

7.23.22 - 1143

The hotel room felt like a holding cell disguised as comfort. Beige walls, beige carpet, beige furniture—the place looked like someone had tried to save money by shopping for the most uninspired options available. A faint smell of industrial cleaner and something vaguely floral clung to the air, leaving an antiseptic sharpness in my nose. The bedspread, patterned with muted geometric shapes, screamed early 2000s nostalgia, but not the good kind.

I dropped my duffel on the bed, the springs squeaking in protest, and surveyed my temporary prison. No orders. No updates. Just waiting. My job was often like this—quiet stretches of tedium punctuated by bursts of chaos. But this particular stretch of quiet was gnawing at me. The unknowns about the mission swirled in my head, each unanswered question more frustrating than the last.

"One hell of a start," I muttered, kicking off my boots and tossing them by the door. The thud echoed briefly in the otherwise silent room.

The first thing I did was shower. The bathroom wasn't much better than the room—a cramped space with dingy white tiles and a warped mirror that distorted my reflection at the edges. I turned the shower knob to its hottest setting, waiting for steam to rise, but the water barely made it past lukewarm.

The spray hit my skin in uneven bursts, but I stood under it anyway, letting the tepid water wash away the film of airport sweat and grime. My hair clung to my scalp, plastered down in thick, wet strands, as I worked shampoo into my roots. The simple act of scrubbing felt grounding, almost meditative.

I leaned my forehead against the cool tiles, water streaming down my face as my thoughts spiraled. Who were these people I was about to work with? What kind of mission required this much secrecy? Was I walking into something I wasn't ready for?

The bathroom filled with the faint scent of cheap soap as I rinsed the last of the suds from my hair, the water trickling down the drain with an almost hypnotic rhythm. I can't allow myself to be human in this line of work; I'd be down in the gutter before I could count to three. Doesn't matter, I reminded myself. Stick with it.

After drying off with a towel that was more scratchy than soft, I pulled on an old pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt. The fabric clung uncomfortably to my damp skin as I brushed through my dark hair and stepped back into the main room.

The sun did its best to break through the thick curtains, but to no avail. The space was dim and flipping through the TV channels proved to be as uninspiring as the rest of the room. Home renovation shows featuring overenthusiastic couples arguing about countertops. Reruns of Friends with jokes that hadn't aged well. A game show where contestants embarrassingly misidentified pop hits from the early 2000s.

I settled on the game show, not because it was good, but because it was the least mind-numbing option. The canned laughter eventually fell to static in the background after a few hours or so. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, laid down, and started scrolling.

Stale group chats. Generic memes on Instagram. News articles. Spam emails promising discounts I didn't care about. Nothing to distract me from the oppressive quiet.

Just as I was about to toss the phone aside, it buzzed in my hand.

The screen lit up: Carlos calling.

I swiped to answer and sat up to lean back against the headboard. "Carlos," I said, unable to keep the small smile out of my voice. "How y'doin'?"

"Bea!" His voice was so loud and cheerful it felt like he was in the room with me. "Where the hell did you go? Witness protection or something?"

I laughed lightly, feeling some of the tension in my chest ease. "'f anythin', 'm prob'ly more likely to put someone in witness protection," I chuckled. "But somethin' like that. Just got yanked into somethin' new. Y'know how it is."

"Yeah, totally. Oh wait- Leon's here too," Carlos said, his voice muffled briefly before another familiar voice chimed in.

"Bea! You're alive!" Leon's tone was light, with just a hint of teasing. "So, what's with the cryptic Houdini act?"

I hesitated, staring at the beige wall as I chose my words. "Can't really say. Actually don't even know much. 'M just...waitin' for now."

Carlos snorted. "Cryptic as hell. You good, though? You sound...off."

"Yeah, 'm good," I lied smoothly, though the knot in my stomach said otherwise.

"Calling bullshit," Leon interrupted. "You're terrible at lying, Bea."

I sighed, running a hand through my still-damp hair. I had to assume everything about what I'm doing is classified. "'M just a little... antsy. Don't know what 'm about t'get into."

"Doesn't matter," Carlos said. "You're the Panther. You're top dog. You've got this."

I grimaced and cringed. "Hate when y'all call me that.."

I could hear Leon chuckle in the background, he chimed in, "Oh come on! We've seen you pull off some crazy shit. This'll be a cakewalk for you."

I chuckled and rolled my eyes., feeling the tension in my chest ease a fraction. "Y'all are ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you love us for it," Leon said, his grin practically audible.

Carlos interrupted. "Yeah, Bea. Remember the time you had to hot wire that Humvee on the fly in the middle of fucking Iraq? How'd you learn to do that anyway?"

"That's a can o'worms you just don't wanna open." I said bashfully, trying to shut down the hype they were giving me.

The conversation drifted into lighter topics, touching on inside jokes and harmless teasing. They never let up. I said "fixin' to" and they drop it for 30 minutes.

"If you could hear yourself," Carlos said, barely able to get the words out between laughs.

"Oh shut it," I shot back, rolling my eyes even though they couldn't see me.

Eventually the call came to an end and I tossed my phone aside. The afternoon sun was finally coming down and the long forgotten game-show was still running in the background, yet the room felt heavier, the lightness from their banter fading too quickly. I needed to move. The restless energy thrummed under my skin, and sitting still felt unbearable.

Dropping to the floor, I started with push-ups, counting off each one in my head. The muscles in my arms and chest burned, screaming for a break by the time I hit 60, but I kept going. Sit-ups came next, followed by planks and burpees. Sweat dripped down my face and onto the carpet as I pushed myself to exhaustion, each motion burning off a little more of my unease.

When I finally stopped, my chest was heaving, and my hands were trembling. I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, letting my breath slow. I got up and lugged myself back to the bathroom for another shower.

This time, I didn't care that the water was only lukewarm. It felt good against my overheated skin, washing away the sweat and replacing it with a sense of calm. The sound of the water, steady and rhythmic, drowned out the storm in my head, at least for a while.

Back in bed, the exhaustion hit me quickly, but sleep didn't come easy. My mind was still restless, thoughts flitting between the mission and the unknown faces I'd be working with. When I finally drifted off, the nightmares came fast.

The dream was jagged, a montage of half-formed memories and blurred faces.

My father's voice echoed, low and slurred, as he fumbled with his belt. A crash. A scream. My mother's blue face, the smell of gunpowder sharp in the air. The scene shifted, fragments colliding. The hollow sound of a shot, the thud of a body hitting the floor. My own cries drowned out by silence.

I woke up gasping, sweat sticking my shirt and the sheets to my skin. The hotel room was dark, save for the faint glow of the clock on the nightstand. 2:43 a.m. I pressed my hands against my face, grounding myself in the now.

"It's just a dream," I muttered, though the tightness in my chest said otherwise. It was a long time before I managed to fall back asleep. When I did, it was fitful, the shadows of the dream still lurking.

....

The morning light crept into the room through the curtains, painting the walls in muted yellows that did little to brighten the drab decor. My body felt sluggish as I blinked awake, the weight of the restless night still clinging to me. The clock on the nightstand read 9:47 a.m.—late, by my standards. The room was still and heavy with silence, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioning unit chugging along in the corner.

Rolling out of bed, I stretched, feeling the satisfying pull of tight muscles. My stomach growled, a low reminder of how long it had been since I'd eaten anything more substantial than a granola bar. Room service seemed like a small indulgence, but the idea of heading down to the lobby and facing the fake pleasantries of strangers wasn't appealing. I picked up the laminated menu from the desk and scanned the options. Pancakes, eggs, toast—the basics. I dialed the number, ordered a bit of everything, and sank into the chair by the window, letting my gaze drift across the parking lot below. It was weird and entirely unfamiliar to be somewhere so... normal. I had been practically living on bases for years.

After some time, a knock came at the door, the smell of coffee and bacon was already seeping through the hallway. I opened the door to a young man in a surprisingly crisp uniform who wheeled in the tray with a polite smile, his movements practiced and efficient. The food was neatly arranged: fluffy scrambled eggs, toast cut into perfect triangles, syrup glistening on a stack of pancakes. I poured the coffee into a white ceramic cup and took a long sip, the bitter heat jolting me into full wakefulness. This was way better than expected given the room. I had a feeling that this was more than just a dingy motel. Thanks, Laswell.

After eating, I headed for the shower again to wash off the night terrors and the sweat and torment that came with it. The bathroom's mirror was still fogged from last night's use, a faint outline of my reflection visible in the glass. I turned on the water and let it get hot for a few moments. I stared at my reflection, looking at myself indifferently as if I wasn't even real. A large scar ran across my left eye, several on my lips and cheek. To me, it was unsightly. No wonder people do double takes when I walk by.

The steam filled the room as I stepped under the spray, letting it wash away the stiffness from sleep. The scent of generic hotel soap filled the air, a clean but unremarkable smell that somehow felt comforting. Showers were a luxury I didn't take for granted. In the field, water was often scarce or cold, stolen moments of hygiene were wedged between long days of sweat and dirt... Sometimes mud or sand. The water rushed over my skin, pooling at my feet before swirling down the drain.

I didn't know if I should wear my fatigues or my civvies. I opted for my fatigues and figured it was a better way to make good first impressions. I slipped on the camouflage pants and tucked my forest green shirt into the waistband. I tried to lose myself in the endless loop of hotel TV. The channels hadn't improved overnight. A cooking competition played on one, the dramatic music and over-the-top commentary that grated after ten minutes.

When my phone buzzed, the sound cut through the monotony like a lifeline. I grabbed it off the nightstand, seeing a random number on the screen. Swiping to answer, I pressed it to my ear.

"Hello?", my voice steady.

Laswell's tone was brisk and to the point. "Two men will be at your door in thirty minutes to escort you to the plane. Be ready and packed."

"Yes, ma'am," I said automatically. She was probably using a burner.

The call ended before I could ask anything further. I set the phone down, the weight of her words settling over me. Thirty minutes. Plenty of time to throw everything back into my duffel, though I moved with purpose anyway, folding clothes and stashing toiletries with precision. I could hear my Drill Sergeants voice in my head from Basic Training yelling at me about how to pack.

Right on time, there was a knock at the door. I opened it up and two men in dark suits stood in the hallway, their expressions unreadable behind tinted sunglasses. "Ms. Dawson?" one of them asked, his voice low and professional.

"That's me," I replied, slinging the duffel over my shoulder.

They nodded and led me downstairs and out to a sleek black car waiting at the curb. The ride to the airfield was silent, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle as one of the men shifted in his seat. The city blurred in the distance as we got closer to the private terminal I came from just a day ago.

When we arrived, the private plane was already waiting, its sleek white body gleaming in the sunlight. The stairs were down, and I could see two figures waiting at the top—Kate Laswell and John Price.

I climbed the steps, my boots thudding softly against the metal, and nodded at them. "Ma'am. Sir."

Price gave me a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "At ease, Soldier. No need for the formalities right now. Just Price will do."

"Yes, si—Price," I corrected myself quickly, this habit would be so hard to break if this continues.

Laswell's gaze was sharp, but not unkind, as she motioned me to take a seat. The interior of the plane was immaculate, all leather seats and polished wood.

I settled into a seat across from him, glancing out the window as the engines roared to life.

"You're already a decorated Ranger," Price started, his tone casual but probing. "Air Assault, Jungle Warfare, Arctic Survival, 8 deployments... Silver Star... Hell, you've got more certifications than some of my guys."

"Thank you," I said simply as I sat up straighter, not sure where he was going with this.

"And..." He continued, "You killed Barkov."

"I did, Sir." I affirmed. That's how I got that stupid Silver Star.

"I was hunting him for a while. Glad someone got to him when I couldn't." Price gave me a genuine, yet controlled smile before returning to look at my file.

"Overqualified for most things," he continued, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Which is good. Means you're ready for whatever this is."

"I sure hope so," I said, my voice steady even as my mind raced.

"And the therapy?" Laswell interjected, her gaze sharp.

"I've been dealin' with it. It won't interfere, Ma'am." I responded firmly.

"Good. We don't babysit." she responded, seemingly satisfied.

After a few beats of silence, I turned my attention to Price and spoke up. "Who's your crew?"

Price promptly grabbed an accordion folder from his side as if he'd been waiting for me to ask. He opened it up and pulled out some files, sliding the first one to me.

"Sergeant Garrick. Kyle Garrick. They call him 'Gaz'."

I took the file, observing the picture of the man on the front before he pulled out another.

"John Mactavish. SAS. Sniper- Demolitions. Goes by 'Soap'."

I sat back as he spoke and I eyed the file as he slid it toward me. "Why?"

"That's classified."

I took the file and stacked it atop the other, making no attempts to argue with the Captain. Price pulled another file out and chuckled.

"There he is," He tossed it in front of me with finality. "Simon Riley."

I sat up and looked at the file curiously before meeting Price's eyes. "There's no picture-"

"Never." He interrupted. "Now the rest comes if we determine that you can work with us."

I nodded the gravity of the situation settling deep in my bones. This wasn't just a field OP. This was a fucking coalition Taskforce with men that make Carlos and Leon look like they're fresh out of Basic. I glanced at the files once more before looking back to Price.

"What's your Taskforce called?"

Price crossed his arms and sat back, a look of pride in his eyes, likely to the fact that this was entirely his.

"141."

....

The rest of the plane ride passed in a blur as I absorbed everything I could from the files, the quiet hum of the engines a constant backdrop. Simon Riley—Ghost, SAS, British, Lieutenant, 6 foot 5... The man was a fucking war machine as far as I could tell. John Mactavish—Soap, the name was weird as fuck, but mine was Panther, so I couldn't say much. SAS, Scottish, Sergeant, 6 foot 2. Then there was Kyle Garrick—Gaz, also British, SAS, Expertise in target elimination, weapons tactics, covert surveillance...By the time I studied them all, I was sure I'd gone cross-eyed.

By the time we landed at an airfield in what I guessed was Belarus—though I couldn't be sure—I felt more prepared, though still on edge. They were all Brits. Last time I worked with a British guy, I had to get someone to practically translate for me. Price and Laswell exited the plane first, their figures outlined against the dull gray sky. The chill of the airfield hit me, sharp and biting against my face as I stepped off the plane. Clouds hung low and gray, diffusing the light and casting everything in a dull, washed-out tone. My boots clattered against the metal stairs as I descended, the wind tugging at my hair. Standing near the edge of the tarmac were three men, their postures casual but their presence anything but.

The first one caught my eye immediately, mostly because of his mohawk. He had a boyish charm to him despite the hardened lines of his face, his grin quick and easy as his sharp blue eyes tracked my approach. His clothes were relaxed but practical—jeans, a plain shirt, and boots that looked like they'd been through more than a few scrapes. When I got closer, he tipped an imaginary hat and said, "John MacTavish, b'ye can call m'Soap." His Scottish accent was thick, the words tumbling out in a way that left me scrambling to decipher them. They were giving me their full names. Back at base we just toss out our last names and keep it going.

I managed a polite nod, offering a terse, "Dawson." His grin widened, and I wondered if he'd expected more.

Next to him stood a tall figure whose presence was as imposing as his attire was understated. He wore a black hoodie and dark jeans, blending into the dreary surroundings, but his face—or what little of it I could see—was unforgettable. A balaclava stretched over his head, the skeletal outline of a skull painted across it. Only his eyes were visible, sharp and assessing beneath the fabric. He didn't speak immediately, just extended a gloved hand.

"Ghost," he said, his voice low and gravelly.

I shook his hand, the contact brief and almost perfunctory. The mask unsettled me, though I kept my expression neutral.

The last man seemed the most approachable, dressed in what could've been casual streetwear: a jacket, a t-shirt, and jeans, topped off with a baseball cap. His expression was calm, his brown eyes warm as he offered me a small smile. "Kyle Garrick," he said, his accent lighter and easier to follow than Ghost. Or really Soap's, for that matter. "Most call me Gaz."

"Dawson," I said again, keeping it short.

As I stood there, my eyes flicking between the three of them, everything felt... off. They didn't look like soldiers—not in the way I was used to. No fatigues. No rank patches. No insignias to give away who or what they were. Covered faces, hats and mohawks... I'd spent years surrounded by military structure, the hierarchy so ingrained it was second nature to clock someone's rank and unit at a glance and approach accordingly. Here, they just looked like three men who, albeit shredded, could've stepped off the street, and I was definitely out of place.

And that's when it hit me. These weren't just Special Forces like I was Special Forces. They were Special Forces. The kind of guys whose faces you'd never see on the news because they were blurred out. The ones who didn't exist in the official reports. I'd been plucked from my comfort zone and thrown into something that felt leagues above what I was used to. But this was what I was trained for, wasn't it? I reminded myself of the certifications, the grueling schools, the endless hours of preparation. I was ready.

"Shall we?" Price's voice cut through my thoughts, and I followed the group inside the nearby building. The interior was all business: gray walls, functional lighting, and the faint hum of a heater somewhere in the background. We walked down a corridor and into a conference room with a large table at its center and chairs arranged neatly around it.

Once we were seated, the real introductions began.

"So," Soap said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. "Where exactly are ye from? 'Cause tha's one 'ell of 'n accent."

It caught me off guard for a second. I knew my accent was noticeable to some Americans, but hearing it called out like that made me suddenly self-conscious. "Georgia," I said simply, but the single word drew a smirk from him.

"Ah, we read that in the file," Gaz chimed in, his tone light. "Didn't quite expect it to sound like that, though."

"Like what?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Like w'need subtitles," Soap said, grinning.

The other two chuckled, and I felt my ears heat up, though I tried not to let it show. "Y'all ain't exactly easy t'understand either," I shot back, glancing at Soap. "'Specially you."

His grin only widened. "What's th' problem? Ah'm speakin' plain English, Bonnie."

"Sure you are," I muttered. "'N that's not my name."

At that, Gaz and Soap looked at each other as if they had some inside joke, their lips collectively pursing to hold back laughter. Ghost looked like he'd rather be anywhere but in the room.

I didn't know what they were giggling about. Price had the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers and Ghost was watching the two, and me, with ever observant hazel eyes.

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his expression amused. "It'll uh-" He cleared his throat before trying to maintain some sort of professionalism. "... Take some getting used to, for both sides, I think."

Price cleared his throat, bringing the room back to focus. "Right, 'nough of that."

As the conversation shifted, I couldn't help but glance at Ghost. I was trying to decipher the kind of man he was. Was he the 'large-and-in-charge' type, or the 'straight-up-asshole' type? The mask was he wore impossible to ignore. It wasn't just the look of it—it was the way he wore it like it was part of him, as natural as the rest of us wearing shirts. The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

"What's with the mask?"

His gaze shifted to me as if he knew I was already watching, and for a moment, I thought he might not answer. Then he said, simply, "To hide my face."

I blinked. "Well, sure, but... why?"

"To hide my face," he repeated, his tone flat, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The corner of Soap's mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh. Gaz just shook his head, clearly used to this kind of interaction. Defintely a straight-up-asshole.

Deciding to drop it, I focused instead on Gaz, who seemed the easiest to talk to. His voice was smoother than the others', his accent less pronounced, and he had an easy way about him that put me at ease. We chatted briefly about training and the differences between our experiences, though I still had to concentrate to catch everything he was saying. Soap chimed in occasionally, his words rapid-fire and impossible to follow at times.

By the end of the introductions, my head was spinning, not just from the accents but from the realization of what I was stepping into. These men were leagues beyond anything I'd experienced before.

.....

The base had a weird vibe. The walls were all utilitarian gray, the kind of color that felt like it sucked the personality out of the place. There was a faint hum from the fluorescent lights overhead, and the air smelled like oil, metal, and... something earthy. Maybe it was the boots dragging dirt in or just the age of the place. Either way, it was sterile in some parts and oddly homey in others.

After the "introductions", I'd been told to "familiarize myself." That was it. No details, no specific instructions, just those two vague words. I wasn't sure if it meant the base or the people, but wandering around seemed like as good a start as any.

Eventually, I stumbled into a kitchen. And when I say kitchen, I mean something that wouldn't have been out of place in a rundown apartment. Counters were scattered with mugs that didn't match, a few jars of instant coffee, and a box of cookies that looked like it had been forgotten halfway through a snack break. The fridge hummed in the corner, looking like it had seen better days.

It wasn't what I'd expected in a high-stakes special forces base, but then again, nothing here was what I'd expected so far. Still, the sight of the fridge sparked a faint glimmer of hope. I walked over, tugged the door open, and leaned down to scan the shelves. Water bottles, leftovers in containers with no labels, some condiments shoved into the door—no surprises so far.

"Y'all got any tea in here?" I muttered under my breath, my voice barely louder than the fridge's hum. I didn't expect an answer.

Which is why I nearly jumped out of my skin when I got one.

"Tea? What're ye lookin' for tea in the fridge for?"

I spun around so fast I nearly slammed the fridge door shut with my hip. Standing in the doorway, looking like he'd just walked out of a casual Saturday afternoon, was John? Johnny? Or Soap, as they called him, I couldn't figure out which to use. He leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world, his arms crossed over a plain blue t-shirt that showed off his forearms. His mohawk was a little messier under the kitchen lights, and of course, there was that trademark grin.

I frowned, trying to tamp down the irritation at being snuck up on. "Yeah, I'm lookin' for tea. What of it?"

Soap tilted his head, his grin widening like I'd just said the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. "Tea's not somethin' ye keep in the fridge, lass."

I narrowed my eyes at him, gesturing to the open fridge like it was obvious. "Yeah, it is."

He straightened up a bit, his grin slipping just enough to show he was genuinely confused. "What're ye sayin'?"

Now it was my turn to stare at him like he was the dumb one. "Y'don't know what tea is? Are you kiddin' with me?"

"I'm not!" he said, hands up like I'd pulled a gun on him. "Tea's tea, aye? Ye brew it hot, maybe add a wee splash o' milk, bit o' sugar if yer feelin' fancy."

I blinked at him, my jaw slack. "What? No. That's not tea. That's..." I paused, searching for the words. "That's hot tea. Like... what y'drink when you're sick or somethin'."

He recoiled like I'd just insulted his mother. "Sick? It's a bloody staple, tha's what it is!"

"Well, where I'm from, tea is tea. Cold, brewed with enough sugar to make your teeth ache."

The way he looked at me, you'd think I'd just told him I put ketchup on steak. "Yer serious?"

"Dead serious," I said, crossing my arms.

We stared at each other, the air thick with mutual disbelief. I couldn't tell if he was about to argue with me or just walk away shaking his head. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls like it had been bottled up for hours.

I watched him, unimpressed, as he finally wiped his eyes. "Ach, tha' explains it," he said between chuckles. "Southern lass, aye? Aren't the lot of ye supposed tae be sweet? Should've known ye'd have yer own rules for somethin' simple like tea. "

I raised an eyebrow, the irritation creeping into my voice. "If you're lookin' for 'sweet' outta me, you gon' be mighty disappointed. If I was fixin' to be nice, I would'a joined a book club, not the Army."

Soap grinned like I'd just proved his point. "Aye, fair enough."

We both stood there for a beat, the tension easing just enough for a smirk to tug at my lips. "You know," I said finally, glancing back at the fridge, "I think I'll take my chances and just make my own tea later. Whatever this place considers tea... I'm good."

Soap chuckled again. "Aye, we'll get along just fine, Dawson. Once we figure out what the hell we're sayin' to each other."

I shook my head, turning back to shut the fridge. "Yeah, good luck with that."

Despite myself, I couldn't help but feel just a little less like an outsider. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

....

I spent some time making myself at home in the tiny, sparsely furnished quarters I'd been assigned. I wasn't surprised—it was a far cry from the usual military accommodations, but I wasn't exactly here for luxury. There wasn't much to unpack. Just the essentials: my kit, my clothes, and the few personal items I'd managed to bring along. A small cot sat in one corner, its mattress thin and creaky. There was a chair that looked like it belonged in a dentist's office and a desk with a few scattered papers and a lamp, but nothing much else.

I decided not to bother unpacking my duffel—just stashed it in the closet. The walls were bare, save for the faded insignia of the base. It smelled faintly of stale air, probably from disuse, and I didn't mind. It had been a while since I'd stayed anywhere that felt this... utilitarian.

With no one around to ask questions, I continued to explore a little. I didn't expect to find much, but it felt better than sitting still. I wandered through hallways, checking out the base. It wasn't big, but it was functional—something that could be packed up and relocated in a heartbeat. Eventually, I ended up in what looked like a gym—a decent-sized room with mats, machines, a few heavy bags, and weights scattered across the floor. It was quiet, except for the faint sound of weights clanking somewhere in the distance.

I continued walking and turned a corner and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Ghost standing there, leaning casually against the wall. The skull mask was just as unsettling in the dim light of the corridor as it had been earlier.

"Price wants you in his office," he said, his deep voice carrying a weight that made it clear this wasn't optional.

I nodded, following him silently as he led me through the base. He didn't say much, which wasn't surprising, but the air between us wasn't hostile. If anything, it felt calculated, like he was trying to get a read on me.

When we reached Price's office, Ghost opened the door and gestured for me to enter. Price was seated behind a desk cluttered with maps, papers, and a mug that I'd bet good money was full of tea.

"Sit," Price said, nodding to the chair across from him.

I sat down, and Ghost, instead of leaving, took a seat on the edge of the desk. It felt deliberate, like he was part of whatever conversation was about to happen.

"We've been going over your file," Price started, his tone steady but not unkind. "You're lethal on paper. Qualifications out the ass."

I stayed silent, waiting for the but I knew was coming.

"But," Price continued, "we need to see it for ourselves. Paper's one thing. Real life's another."

I raised an eyebrow. "So, what's the plan?"

"Skills check," Ghost chimed in, his face unreadable behind the skull mask.

"An hour from now," Price added, his eyes locking onto mine. "Head to the gym. Sparring first. Then we'll see how you handle weapons, close-quarters. We need to know you can keep up with the team."

I nodded, standing up. It was what I expected, honestly. Nothing I couldn't handle.

One hour later, I was in the gym with work out attire, stretching out and loosening my muscles on the mat. Soap and Gaz entered a few minutes later, looking ready to roll. Soap was grinning like he always did, while Gaz seemed more composed, his face a little harder to read. I threw a few jabs into the air, working on my technique, when Price came through the door. He glanced over at me, then turned to Soap.

"Let's see what she can do," Price said, and Soap gave a sharp nod, taking off his jacket.

"Ready to dance, lass?" Soap asked with a wink as he stepped to the center of the mat.

I rolled my neck, stretching out my shoulders. "Let's go."

We started with MMA, both of us moving around the mat, sizing each other up. Soap came at me fast, throwing jabs that I deflected with ease. He wasn't sloppy, though—each punch felt measured. I responded with a low kick to his thigh, then stepped in for a quick clinch. He tried to knee me in the ribs, but I blocked it and shifted my weight to take him down to the mat. I stayed on top for a second, keeping the pressure on, then he twisted out, using his leg to sweep me off balance.

The fight went back and forth like that—each of us landing solid blows, countering, and repositioning. Soap had quick reflexes, but I was used to handling someone who fought dirty. A few more exchanges, and I managed to lock him into a submission hold, straining until he tapped out, panting heavily.

"Not bad," Soap said, rubbing his neck with a grin. "Yer a tough one."

"Thanks," I replied, already sizing up Gaz as he moved into position.

Gaz and I started on jiu-jitsu. He was precise, working from a neutral stance. We moved into a series of sweeps, escapes, and joint locks. He kept trying to set me up with a few shoulder locks, but I was able to adjust, using my hips to break the hold before he could sink it in fully. Every time he adjusted, I did the same, matching his intensity.

I felt the sweat start to bead on my skin as we grappled, neither of us gaining an advantage. Finally, I managed to roll him into a top position, securing his wrist and pulling him into a quick submission. He tapped out, laughing a little as he rolled to his feet.

"Good," Gaz said with a nod. "You've got a hell of a grip."

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, breathing heavily. "You're not bad yourself."

We moved outside, where a range was set up for firearms testing. I grabbed the rifle that Price handed me, my hands naturally fitting around the grip. I went through the standard drills—standing, kneeling, prone—picking off targets with precision. The rifle felt smooth, as though it were an extension of my arm, and I was hitting bullseyes and headshots faster than I expected. I guess I work best while being watched by four men.

Ghost's gruff voice spoke authoritatively. "Move to the house."

I did, following his commands. My hands were steady, my mind focused. There was nothing distracting me. Just the target and the task.

I swiftly moved to a makeshift house setup outside, where cardboard cutouts of enemies popped up from behind walls. Ghost's voice crackled in my ear as I put the rifle down and got ready. I picked up a pistol and its magazine that was set on a table just outside the house. I popped the mag in and pulled back the slide and released. It snapped forward with a click and I knew the gun was locked and loaded.

"Clean house. Time's critical. Go."

I dashed forward, entering the first room and immediately spotting a cardboard enemy behind a corner. I squeezed off two quick rounds, head and chest, then moved, clearing the room with smooth efficiency. Ghost kept barking orders via a megaphone, guiding me through each step, my feet barely touching the ground as I cleared the rooms. It was all instinct now—years of training, muscle memory.

By the time I finished, my heart was pounding, adrenaline still coursing through my veins. I walked out of the house, eyes focused.

"1 minutes and 13 seconds " Price said, his voice calm but there was an edge to it. He was impressed, and I could tell.

The team exchanged glances, and Ghost gave a small nod. It was subtle, but it was there. I had proven myself.

...

The training session ended as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the air cool and crisp as night crept in. I was sore in places I didn't know existed, every muscle in my body aching from the relentless sparring and shooting drills. As I made my way back to my quarters, I felt the familiar buzz of exhaustion settling in, but my stomach growled louder than my fatigue. I hadn't had a real meal since I arrived, and all the energy I spent today made me ravenous.

I walked through the narrow hallways of the base and into the kitchen, hoping to scrounge up something to eat. As I opened the fridge, I squinted at the contents—the same as earlier. Definitely not what I had in mind.

I turned to the cabinets. Still nothing worth eating, just the usual dry goods and what I assumed. A sigh escaped my lips. "You guys got any MREs around here?" I muttered to myself.

"That's a no-go," came a voice from behind me. I spun around to see Gaz leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed. He gave me a grin that seemed genuine. "Haven't had an MRE in like... three years. We eat actual food around here."

If one more guy snuck up on me in this damned base, I was gonna it blow up. "Oh." It didn't surprise me that they were eating better than the standard issue stuff. These were some of the best soldiers in the world, after all.

"Look," Gaz continued, walking over to the counter, "we're all heading out to a pub around the corner from here. You should come with us. Get some food, have a drink."

I raised an eyebrow. A pub? Maybe the guys were a little too comfortable around me. "Not really my vibe."

Gaz leaned against the counter with a grin that never seemed to leave his face. "You're coming. Come on, no excuses. You've been all business since you got here. Y'need to unwind."

I didn't answer immediately, just looked him over. I wasn't exactly in the mood to be social, but I was hungry, and honestly, I was starting to realize I might need to get along with these people if I wanted to be effective in whatever this group was. Plus, there was no point in staying holed up in my quarters.

With a grunt, I gave in. "Fine. But don't expect me t'start singin' on table tops or whatever the hell y'all do for fun."

He chuckled and nodded. "Deal. Just be ready in thirty."

I headed back to my quarters to shower and change. The water in the shower wasn't exactly warm, but it was enough to rinse off the sweat and grime from the day. I scrubbed my skin, trying to wash away the tension that had built up in my muscles. The soap smelled like cedarwood, something oddly comforting. It wasn't much, but it was enough to help me relax.

Afterward, I tossed on a black shirt, some jeans, a leather jacket I had stowed, and my boots. When I walked back out, the guys were already waiting outside—Soap, Ghost, Price, Gaz, and Laswell. It felt strange to be stepping out with them, like I was joining a team, even though I wasn't sure I was quite part of it yet.

We piled into a truck—Gaz took the driver's seat, and the rest of us settled in, all silent except for the occasional joke from Soap. I sat back, staring out the window, the streets unfamiliar and dull under the dim streetlights. I couldn't help but think about how much better it would feel to be on my bike, wind in my hair, engine roaring beneath me. It was the only way I really felt alive anymore. Out here in the field, everything felt stifling. Even this pub felt like it would be one more thing I was expected to conform to.

We got to the pub after a short ride. The building looked worn, nothing special, but I could tell it was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, and I was just an unfamiliar face. The guys took their usual spots, settling into a back corner. Soap was already making jokes about something that had happened earlier in the day, and Price was giving him that look like, Not now, Johnny. Laswell, however, seemed more focused, scanning the room as she sipped on a drink.

I sat at the edge of the table, nursing a beer that definitely wasn't Bud Light, keeping mostly to myself. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate the offer of company—it was just... I wasn't used to being part of a group like this. They were a unit, seasoned and tight-knit, while I was still the new one. Sure I had Carlos and Leon back home, but we were just a clique, per se. They ended up asking me the usual questions, ones that I knew were meant to break the ice.

"So... Panther," Soap said, his Scottish accent rolling through the nickname like it was the most natural thing. "What's the story 'hind tha'?"

I froze mid-sip. Clearly, that was something I didn't talk about, at least not with strangers. I never chose it. It was a reminder of the things I'd been through. The long, brutal stretches of time spent in the Russian forests and the constant fight for survival. It wasn't just a name—it was a scar, a ghost of a past I didn't want to revisit. A branding.

I set my beer down a little too forcefully, then put on a passive aggressive smile. "That's a story for another time, bud." The words came out harsher than I meant them to.

Soap looked at me, eyebrows raised, clearly sensing my discomfort. "Alright, alright. We'll keep it light."

But my mind started to race, recalling the isolation and brutality I'd experienced. The memories of that bloodbath clawed at me, and I felt my breath quicken, chest tightening. I curtly excused myself before I could think about it further.

I pushed the front door open and leaned against the cold brick of the building. The air surrounding me nipped at my cheeks, goosebumps spreading over my skin as I tried to catch my breath. Moments later, Ghost appeared beside me like the very thing he was named after. His figure was nearly lost in the shadows of the streetlight, his tall frame imposing, even without him saying a word. There was no noise, no warning—just the sudden weight of his proximity.

He didn't speak, didn't even look at me as he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cigarette. Without a word, he flicked the lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face, the outline of his balaclava, and the faint glint of his eyes staring straight ahead. Then, he offered the cigarette to me, a silent invitation.

I hesitated for only a second, the instinct to refuse warring with the need for something, anything, to pull me out of my spiraling thoughts. I took the cigarette, our fingers brushing for the briefest of moments. I brought it to my lips, inhaling slowly, feeling the burn in my lungs. It wasn't the same as the sharp sting of adrenaline, but it was something—something that could fill the space between the chaos in my mind.

We stood there in silence, the world continuing on around us while we shared that smoke. The air was thick, not with words, but with something else—something unspoken that clung to both of us. His presence was suffocating, but not in a way that made me want to flee. No, there was a strange sense of comfort in the quiet, the understanding that neither of us needed to say anything to know what the other was thinking. We were soldiers. We both knew how to be silent.

The cigarette passed between us, each pull deepening the silence that stretched between us. The burn in my chest from the smoke was nothing compared to the ache that had been there all evening, lingering since I stepped into this world, a world that wasn't quite mine, and maybe never would be.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, Ghost spoke. His voice was steady—too steady. It was almost monotone, without a hint of anything that could be construed as emotion. "You'll be a good asset."

I could feel the weight of those words settle over me. Not a compliment. Not a critique. Just... fact. Cold, hard fact. And yet, there was something in it that made me tense all over again. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Maybe it was the way he said it, like he already knew everything about me, like he could see the pieces I hadn't yet figured out. Maybe it was the implication that, in this world, there was no room for doubt. You either were or you weren't. And there was no time for anything else.

I nodded, but I couldn't shake the chill that had crept up my spine. "Thanks."

The air between us thickened again, and I could hear the hum of the streetlights above, the occasional car passing by in the distance. But it was almost like the world had fallen away—just the two of us, standing there, with nothing left but the burning tip of the cigarette that eventually flickered out in the night.

Before I could respond further, the door to the pub slammed open, and Laswell stormed out, her expression grim. "We just got intel on his movements."

Ghost snuffed out the cigarette under his boot and looked over at me, his eyes unreadable as ever. The others were already filing out, their faces hardened, all business now. I stood there, my stomach sinking. "Who the hell are y'all talkin' about?"

No one said a word as we headed back to the van. Whatever this was began to settle on all of us. Finally, Price took a final drag of his cigar before clipping the ashed end.

"Ivankov."

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stansthemans · 1 month ago

Text

Yall my fem stan brain rot is so bad rn. I just looked at my wips. 78k for fem Stan. 4k for dude Stan. lol oops anyway here’s some more

Sometimes it feels embarrassing to ask, like she really is still a child. But Ford never denies her, even when he’s really busy with some project or studying for some exam. Stan knows how important those things are to him, and even though she thinks he needs to relax about it—he’s miles ahead of everyone else at school, even the teachers—she doesn’t want to drag him away from it unless one of them really needs it.

Today, it’s her.

Nothing has gone right today. She actually tried her own homework, like really tried, not just half assed it or copied Ford’s. Predictably, she beefed it, and her teacher actually took the time to call her out in front of the entire class. She tripped on the way to English class, bruising her knee and sending all her shit flying. She hadn’t been fast enough gathering it all up, and she got a tardy. One of her gloves busted at boxing practice, and she hasn’t yet had the guts to tell Pa because she knows he’s going to blow a gasket at having to buy a new one. Dinner was an icy affair. Shermie had apparently called and he and Pa got into it about something. Then, cleaning up the kitchen, Ma had taken out her frustration on Stan.

Stan is glad it wasn’t Pa. She’s always glad when it isn’t him and not just because hiding the bruises has recently gotten much harder. But it still doesn’t make it nice when Ma locks a sharp, critical gaze onto Stan and picks apart everything that’s wrong with her. Too loud and opinionated. How is she ever supposed to catch a man if she’s got the crazy idea that she’s allowed to think anyone cares to hear what she has to say? Not to mention her waistline. The extra dough in the middle—she had pinched Stan’s side here—that Stan certainly didn’t inherit from her. And still with the boxing? It really was high time to stop that brutish, unladylike nonsense.

As if she doesn’t know exactly why Stan needs to keep it up, needs the easy excuse to hide behind.

As soon as she’s able, Stan retreats to the bathroom. It takes a good couple of minutes for the water to heat up, so while she waits, Stan strips down and stares at her reflection in the mirror. She isn’t vain, she doesn’t think. She doesn’t wear any makeup, doesn’t do much more to her hair than run a brush through the waves to manage any tangles. She doesn’t care about trendy clothes or the latest styles. A pair of jeans or shorts, depending on the season, a simple t-shirt, and some high tops. That suits her fine.

She isn’t stick skinny like her mother or a lot of girls at school. She isn’t fat either, not even really that chubby. She’s just kind of thicker. And she’s got muscles from boxing. Not much by way of hips.

How are these ever supposed to bear a child? Any nice boy at the temple, any potential mother-in-law worth their salt, they’ll be looking for that. Hips like these, bad figure elsewhere too. She doesn’t have the looks enough for any good husband to overlook all the other things wrong with her.

Stan steps under the stream of water, hoping that it’s warm enough to wash her mother’s words off her skin.

It isn’t. It never is.

Ford is deep into whatever assignment when she comes into their room, deep enough that he doesn’t look up and watch from the corner of his eye while she changes into pajamas. He’s been doing that for a really long time, but he’s been a little more obvious about it the past few months, and every time it sends a thrilling jolt down Stan’s spine. But he isn’t looking right now, and that makes her feel even worse, despite the fact that he doesn’t look every time and that he’s clearly fully immersed in his textbook.

Stan folds her arms over her stomach, leaning up against their dresser as she watches him. He isn’t hunched too badly, despite how into his work he is. She’s glad to see that at least. The way his spine will pop when he stretches out sometimes really isn’t right for a sixteen year old boy. He took a shower while she was still cleaning up after dinner, and his hair, much shorter than hers, looks so soft and puffy in its freshly cleaned state. His eyes are sharply focused on the textbook, even as his pen dances over his notebook in his neat, looping writing.

He’s so deep into his work, but Stan’s heart is aching too much to keep standing there or even to go curl up in her bunk alone. She steps over to the bookcase. Over the years it’s changed a lot. More and more space is taken up with Ford’s textbooks and scientific journals and less and less their treasures found while out exploring or their comics. Still, there is a small section of novels. Stan picks up one of the most worn down and shuffles over to the desk.

“Hey, Sixer,” she asks, and Ford hums in acknowledgment. “I know you’re real busy.”

“Yes,” Ford says, but not dismissively. “I’m writing that proposal to send in to the Rutgers field office. I told you about that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Stan says, hugging the book to her chest. “Big deal if they take it, right? Maybe get this dump cleaned up some.”

“That’s the hope,” Ford says. “And it will make an excellent addition to my academic portfolio.”

“Yeah,” Stan says again. “Yeah, it’ll be real good.”

The pen stops moving on the paper, and Stan presses her lips together as Ford looks up. His eyes flash as he takes her in, and he opens his mouth. Stan can’t have him ask her what’s wrong because she just can’t, so quickly she blurts, “I know you’re busy but—“ And she shoves their battered old copy of The Hobbit in his direction.

Ford leans back in his seat, almost jumping a bit. She isn’t standing close enough that the book would have smacked him in the face, but it is a close thing. He blinks at it and then again up at her. Stan thinks she must cut a very pathetic figure, but she also doesn’t care in that moment.

Ford studies her with a furrowed brow for only a brief moment before he stands up. He takes the book with one hand and lightly touches her cheek with the other. “Sure,” he says. “I’m at a decent stopping point for the night.”

He absolutely isn’t. Stan wouldn’t understand anything about his proposal if she picked it up to read it, but she knows that he’s lying and going along with her, and she’s so grateful for that. Ford neatens up his work while Stan arranges the pillows and blankets on her bunk. He crawls in after her, and they find a comfortable way to lie tangled up together. Ford opens the book and begins to read aloud.

They both loved this book so much as kids. It wasn’t on the ocean, but it was fantastical adventures fill with daring fights and golden treasure. It was odd, out of place, little people who were still heroes in a big, big world. Sometimes, Stan would read too, picking a couple of the characters that she wanted to voice, often sillily to make Ford laugh. But usually, it would just be Ford reading, them lying together just like this, his voice low, breath ghosting over the top of her head.

It’s soothing. It is. The knots in Stan’s stomach are beginning to loosen, but she still feels heavy in an unpleasant way. As the party reaches Rivendell, Stan decides that she needs more than this, and she hopes Ford is willing to give it.

“Ford,” she asks, and he stops. Stan knows that he can tell she’s about to say something important. She really doesn’t use his name very often.

“Yes, Stanley?”

“Can you do me a favor,” she asks.

“Of course,” he says. “What do you need?”

Need. Because this isn’t a want. She needs this, or she thinks she might shake apart, and Ford doesn’t have to know any details to know that much.

Stan shifts against him just a bit, changes the way she’s lying against him just slightly. Then she reaches up for his hand that was scratching lightly at her scalp. She brings it down her body, under her shirt, and lies it over her breast. Despite being a bit bigger in her upper body, Stan really doesn’t have large breasts. Ford’s big hand covers it completely, and the feeling starts to unwind some of the tension that his voice couldn’t cut through.

Under her, Stan can feel his breath pick up a bit. They haven’t done this outside of her periods before. For the past several months, that’s been the excuse. Ford touching her like that is just him helping her through the very real discomfort of what that week puts her through. And if—when—they do other things, well, they’re hormonal teenagers. Hormones can be such crazy things, overwhelming sometimes. Overwhelming enough to forget the very important fact that they are siblings. Twins. And then when the cramps and aches are over, they go back to being normal.

This isn’t normal. This is outside of that very specific set of parameters where they have decided it’s ok for them to act in ways that they never should have even considered. But Ford’s hand is on her now, skin to skin, and it’s warm and it’s safe.

After a moment, Ford squeezes at her, something questioning, and Stan, her hand still over his, squeezes back and says lowly, “No. Just this.”

“You just want me to hold it,” Ford asks, his voice just as low.

Stan nods. “I just—it’s comforting,” she says.

In a whisper, against her hair, Ford says, “I can feel your heart beating. More than usual.”

He doesn’t need to touch her to feel that, just like she doesn’t have to touch him. It’s always there, right alongside hers, has been for their entire lives. Two hearts beating side by side.

Ford sets the book down in his lap. He doesn’t take his hand away from her, doesn’t move it at all, but his other reaches for her cheek, turning her gently to face him. And then he does something that they also have not done outside of her periods. He brings his lips to hers. Stan sighs against him, lightly dragging her fingers over all six of his before curling around his wrist.

Ford pulls back just slightly. “Whatever Ma said, she was wrong,” he says, and Stan could cry, but his hand is resting directly over her heart, and it keeps her grounded. He kisses her again, a sweet, gentle thing, and then he picks up the book and resumes their reading. Stan melts into her brother, and his voice and touch drives away everything bad in the world.

#stancest #fem stan #I just think she’s neat #also these two just make me really emotional because this isn’t going to last

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forever-rogue · 1 year ago

Note

SPOOKY SEASON IS MY FAV!!! how about

maybe i’ll summon a demon so i can hang out with someone. + what I want to be for Halloween is loved

with Eddie, bc he can be so dramatic those two fit so well 🥰 maybe some best friends to lovers where you were going on a date for Halloween but finding out Eddie was going to spend the night alone you cancel and go visit him and feelings happen?

AN | We’ve got some friends to lovers and Halloween goodness! Enjoy 🥰

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Guess what!" You walked into Eddie's apartment without bothering to knock, knowing it would be unlocked for you, "Edward!"

You beamed when you spotted your best friend in the kitchen, stirring what looked like a pot of macaroni. He stopped what he was doing and looked up at you, his features softening when he realized it was you. You bounced over to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek that made his entire face flush.

"Hey," he playfully swatted your hand away as you tried to get a spoonful of the pasta, "it's almost finished! Hold your horses. What's the big news then?"

"Oh!" You paused for a moment before going into the fridge and pulling out a couple of beers, "oh. I was at work this afternoon, you know as one does, and the new guy I told you about - Seth - he asked if I wanted to go to this big Halloween party with him!"

His face fell almost comically fast as your words washed over him. He tried to keep his cool as you passed him a beer and took a big swig of your own, "l-like a date?"

"Like a date," you confirmed, sighing wistfully, "he's so dreamy. I'm so excited!"

"Wow, that's…umm…great," he clinked the neck of his bottle against yours as he quickly busied himself with finishing dinner. It was your weekly movie and junk food night, but now it seemed like the last thing he wanted to do.

"Did you make any plans yet?" You grabbed some dishes to help him but he pointedly kept his gaze turned away, "I know we usually do something together…maybe you can come with us?"

"I don't want to be a third-wheel!" He snapped louder than you had expected, causing you to recoil, "I-I'm sorry. It's just that…I'm not looking to third wheel all night to you and some guy I've never met."

You gnawed on the inside of your cheek before slowly nodding. Really, you would have rather spent the night with him, but you weren't exactly in a place to be turning down dates. You rarely got asked out on them and you couldn't wait around for Eddie forever. You'd made peace with the fact that you were sure he only viewed you as a friend. And with that, you decided to put in more effort to go on dates and try to find someone. Anything that would hopefully help you to move on and get over Eddie.

If that was even possible.

"Sorry," you mumbled under your breath as you busied yourself with getting plates and utensils ready. You felt the back of your eyes start to prick with tears, blinking rapidly to make the stinging to go away, "u-umm, what are you thinking about doing for Halloween then?"

"I don't know," his voice dropped to an almost whisper as he started to plate everything up, "maybe I'll summon a demon so I can hang out with someone."

"Eddie-"

"Hey," he turned to you with a little half smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. This time his voice was soft but it just sounded so…off, "its alright - seriously. I'll figure out something to do. Don't worry about it."

"Okay," your skin felt electric as his fingers brushed yours when he handed you the plate. You wanted to say something, something more but when you noticed how he was pointedly avoiding your eyes you didn't push it, "okay."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eddie might have told you not to worry about it. But…you worried about it. There was a nagging feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach that you couldn't shake. And it didn't help that Eddie seems to be pulling away from you little by little. Any time you asked him about it, he pretended like it was all fine. The fact that you knew he was lying made it even worse.

It wasn't until Halloween came around that things came to a head.

You were finishing getting ready for Seth to pick you up to go to the big Halloween party. You were dressed as a pirate, cute and flirty, and ready for some fun. But…something still felt off. You knew what it was but didn't know how to go about it.

Once you finished getting ready, you grabbed the phone and dialed Eddie's number, pacing around as you waited for him to answer. Just before you were sure it would go to the answering machine, he answered.

"Hello?" He didn't sound anything like his normal self and that made your heart constrict.

"Hi Ed," your voice sounded small and his sharp inhale wasn't lost on you, "I just wanted to say hi before I left. You're going to hang out with Robin and Nancy, right?"

"Umm…no. Not anymore," he sounded tense mixed with a hint of sadness. It felt like it made your heart crack. Halloween was Eddie's favorite holiday and the idea that he was spending it alone? Absolutely unacceptable.

"What happened, Eddie?"

"They're going to a drive-in movie instead and then dinner. Basically a date," you held in your sigh, "they said I could go with them still but obviously…I really don't want to be tagging along on their date either."

"That's awful," you looked at the alarm on your nightstand and contemplated your actions. You had about twenty minutes before Seth was due to pick you up. Suddenly that sounded like the last thing you wanted to do, "listen, I could-"

"No. No. Its fine," his tone suggested that it was anything but fine, "I'll just…figure out something. Probably just stay home and order a pizza or something."

"Eddie-"

"I know you gotta go," he sounded so small and defeated. You hated it, "I'll talk to you later."

"Wait, listen, I-"

Before you could say anything else, Eddie had hung up the phone and you were left listening to the dial tone. That had just made up your mind.

You picked up the phone again and dialed Seth's number, hoping he hadn't left yet. It was like, all along, you'd secretly been hoping for this to happen. To have an excuse to cancel and go to Eddie.

Oh Eddie. It really always came back to him.

Maybe it was time to tell him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eddie groaned at the sound of knocking on his door. It was loud and incessant; he'd just ordered a pizza for fucks' sake. It shouldn’t have been a trick or treater either - he'd put out a giant bowl of candy and he doubted it was empty by now.

He grumbled under his breath as he wrenched open the door, ready to yell at whoever was on the other side.

"What do you -" his breath caught in his throat when he realized it was you. Big brown eyes looked you up and down as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, "oh."

"Hi Eddie," you didn't wait for him to say or do anything else before throwing your arms around him and wrapping him in a tight hug. You could feel him relax almost immediately as he closed his eyes and sighed softly, "you're not dressed up!"

"Didn't really have a reason to," he exhaled slowly as he buried his face in your neck. The smell of your shampoo and perfume were enough to calm him, "what are you doing here? I thought -"

"I canceled on him," you shrugged it off as he pulled out of your arms, confusion maring his features, "he didn't seem phased really, just kind of went with it. I think I made the right decision."

A small, hopeful smile crossed his features as he stared at his feet. He nodded, mind reeling with possibilities, "why are you here?"

"You know why," before you let your nerves get the better of you, you reached for his hand and took it gently in yours. You could see the way his cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink as he looked at your entwined hands. You couldn't help the nervous giggle that bubbled up as he laced your fingers together, "can I come in?"

"Oh! Right," he pulled you inside and quickly shut the door before leaning against to try and slow down the wild beating of his heart. He studied your pirate costume, "you look cute."

"Thank you," you twirled around to give him a full look, "you're just missing a costume now! The night is young and we can get something together for you and then go out - we can try and go trick or treating! What do you want to be?"

"I…it's stupid. Even as a joke it sounds dumb," he shook his head and avoided your eyes, "forget it."

"I will not," you insisted softly as you reached you over and tenderly put your hand on his cheek, "tell me."

"You won't laugh?"

"I won't laugh," your whispered promise made him feel okay and he swallowed thickly.

"For Halloween….I just want to be loved," he closed his eyes, trying to blink back tears as you looked at him. When he allowed himself to take a peek at you, he saw nothing short of adoration on your face. You weren’t ridiculing him or ready to laugh or make fun of him.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re already loved,” and just like that, it all came out and came to light. And it didn’t feel scary or hard at all…it felt so natural and so right. You anxiously rocked back and forth on your heels, “very loved. By a lot of people…but a whole lot by me.”

His eyes opened almost comically wide as he checked to make sure that you weren’t joking and weren’t going to throw a just kidding in there. When he saw that you were dead serious, he stepped closer to you, leaving only a small gap between your bodies. It was the last barrier to cross and once it was, everything would change between the two of you. You knew that it would change everything, but at the same time…you knew things really wouldn’t have been that different at all. It was just the natural progression of things - of your lives.

You knew that Eddie was leaving the last bit up to you - you almost threw yourself into his arms, hugging onto him as tightly as possible without squeezing him to death. He responded in kind, his body melding into yours as you closed your eyes and tried to remind yourself that this was actually happening. This was real.

After a few moments, he pulled back and gently took your face in his large, warm hands. You were beaming at him and if he thought he was in love with you before, it had nothing on this.

“You’re so pretty,” he brushed his thumb over your cheek, trying to soak in every detail of this moment, “beautiful. I…umm, you are very loved too. I adore you.”

“I know,” you turned your face slightly, pressing a kiss to his palm, “I adore you.”

“I love you,” he had to say it out loud - had to get it out there. Those three words that held so much weight. Words you’d known to be true for so long finally verbalized.

“I love you, Eddie,” you vowed then and there that you would remind him of that little fact each and every day, because it was true of course but also to see that expression on his face. It was beautiful.

“May I kiss you?” The fact that he was still asking was so Eddie and made your heart so happy. You’d pictured this exact scenario dozens if not hundreds of times by now, and yet this was better than you could have ever imagined.

“Yes,” you felt a wave of emotions wash over you as he leaned in, “please.”

He pressed his lips to yours, gentle and hesitant. When you didn’t recoil or tell him to stop, he kissed you a little more, a little deeper, his hands settling on your waist. You looped your arms around his neck and kissed him back, with just as much hunger and passion. It felt so right and so natural to be kissing him; you wanted to do it forever, you wanted to learn him in every possible way.

Eddie only pulled back when he was getting dizzy from kissing you; he didn’t want to stop. You made a small sound when he pressed his forehead against yours, “that was…wow.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, leaning and stealing a few kisses from him, “something like that.”

Eddie took a step back, shaking his head causing his curls to bounce as he touched his lips and cheek where your lips had blessed his skin. He almost couldn’t believe that this had happened and he needed to make sure it wasn’t some sort of dream.

“So…you wanna dress up and go out tonight? We can either find a party to crash or try to get away with trick-or-treating-”

“Nah,” he shook his head as you raised an eyebrow at him, “I wanna stay in tonight - with you.”

“Yeah?” That honestly sounded like the best idea of all. You hadn’t wanted him to feel like he had to stay in, but you were definitely excited to spend time with just him. Especially now that any remaining boundaries between the two of you had been taken away.

“Yeah,” he’d leaned in again and was so close to brushing his lips against yours…but was promptly interrupted by another knock at the door. He groaned as you quickly kissed his cheek, “it better be the damn pizza this time.”

“Oh?” you crossed your arms over your chest as you tried to give him a serious expression, “is the pizza a more welcome guest than me?”

“Of course not, sweetheart,” suddenly the nickname held so much more weight, “but I think you and pizza might be the best thing ever.”

“That I can allow,” you snorted in amusement as he answered the door and paid the delivery person, “what kind did you get?”

“A half and half…your favorite and mine,” he admitted sheepishly as you looked at him in awe, “w-what’s wrong?”

“You got both of our favorites?” your voice almost cracked as he nodded, “even though you thought I wasn’t going to be here?”

“I guess I just held onto some hope,” he tried to shrug it off like it was no big deal but to you it was everything, “w-what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” you took the pizza from his hand and set it on the counter, “I just…I really love you, Eddie. For so long now.”

“Funny,” he reached for you again, pulling you as close as possible, “I really love you too, and have for a very long time.”

“I definitely think you should kiss me about it,” the two of you grinned at each other like fools, shy and electric with all these new revelations, “if you want to.”

“I want to,” he was already kissing you again, soft and gentle but with a promise of more, “I really, really want to.”

“Happy Halloween Eddie.”

“Happy Halloween sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “best Halloween ever!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #joseph quinn #st

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goodeapple · 10 months ago

Text

unravel me (aemond x baela x oc)

The dragon must have three heads...

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC) x Baela

warnings : it's a three for all (ffm), breeding, tongue twister, under negotiated/undisclosed kinks

word count : 2,000+

title from "Unravel Me" by Sabrina Claudio

“So good for me, my love.” Baela whispers against her cheek, and her tone is so pretty and praising that it sends Ysilla whining, and she burrows her face into her cousin’s naked shoulder. Soft hands slip over her back, fingertips dancing up the curve of her spine like a snake in the sand. Wisps of Baela’s curls tickle her face, the moonlight strands pecking her with a million tiny kisses.

A brush of lips at Ysilla’s right shoulder signals the last piece of her puzzle notching into place.

The sound that builds in Baela’s chest is more that of a rabid beast than a Velaryon Princess.

“She's mine.” Baela snarls, pure dragon, and yanks Ysilla closer to her.

Their breasts meld, their skin sticky from the summer heat that refuses to break, even though night has fallen and blanketed the scorched earth below. Baela clutches her tighter, rolling Ysilla forward along the thigh squeezed between her legs. Ysilla’s breath hitches, eyes glassy, and she rocks her hips back and forth, grinding her wet cunt along the smooth ridge of it.

A snicker, mean in sound and careless in its release, is an answer Baela does not want to hear.

Aemond curls his hand around Ysilla’s ankle and with one good, strong tug, he rips his niece away from the other girl, splaying her out on her belly, her legs suddenly dangling off the side of the bed. Ysilla gasps, startled at the new position. She feels him press up behind her, the linen of his trousers soft and thin. Her arousal starts to soak through the fabric, and she tries not to arch back into the bulge she feels nudging apart her folds.

“Let’s not talk about who this one belongs to, girl,” Aemond brings both of Ysilla’s wrists behind her, securing them with one hand at the dip of her lower back, spacing her feet further apart so she’ll be a bit more stable for what’s to come.

“Because when it’s my cock inside of her, she loses all fucking thought.”

Baela glares at him with enough hatred to fuel a thousand fires. Ysilla stares, drinking in her cousin’s state as if she is a cool drink. She was made by the Gods themselves, Ysilla swears it. Long, powerful legs that climb to muscled thighs- rider’s thighs before the curvaceous flare of her hips demands devotion. Then, up to a tapered waist before her chest blooms with beautiful, bouncy breasts that Ysilla always seems to find in her mouth. All of her gorgeous, heavenly body wrapped up in smooth, lucious sunloved skin that seems to glow and whisper take me, take me, take me into your den and keep me. It’s one of the many reasons Ysilla asked for her hand, even though her other was already entertwined with Aemond’s.

Through all of that, the pinched look on her sweetheart face detracts from Ysilla’s happiness. How many times must they go through this?

“Enough you two, I’m tired of hearing your- nnngh.” Ysilla cuts herself off with a guttural groan. She’s so wet, absolutely dribbling with want from Baela’s sweet touch that Aemond slides inside of her without any resistance. He drags her back and forth off of him, her trapped arms easy for him to loop his own through and puppet master her through their coupling. The bedspread crinkles under their movements and the softness scrapes at her nipples that sends bolts of overstimulation streaking through her tendons. He finds that perfect spot inside of her, as if his cock is a compass determined to find her pleasure, and drives the blunt mushroom head of himself straight into it overandoverand over again.

Ysilla screams, smothering her face into her sheets. She shoots up onto the tips of her toes, her peak washing through her like a tidal wave but Aemond doesn’t pause in his pace, fucking her through it brutally, her walls fluttering weakly at his assault. He’s trying to prove a point, even if it’s at her cervix’s expense. But Ysilla can’t bring herself to mind, her brain a puddle sloshing between her ears.

“Baeeee-la,” Ysilla slurs. It’s hard to think, to talk, to breathe while Aemond does his best to fuck her stupid. Her paramour looks at her, the venom in her beautiful brown eyes dissipating to make room for tenderness and she sits up straighter, giving over her full attention.

“Yes beloved?” Aemond growls at the name and Ysilla manages to curve her leg around his calf, stroking up and down the muscled limb. He’s such a boy- never knowing when to share.

“You didn’t… finish earlier…” Ysilla manages to croak out, biting at her lip as Aemond drags himself through her walls in a way that makes her ache. Baela gifts her a small smile, at the ready with a dismissive shake of her head.

“No, no.” Ysilla answers before she can be told. She twists around, giving her lover a pleading glance. His skin is slick, glistening like his bejeweled eye. Scars and muscle weave a story Ysilla knows every word to, her husband a man just as complicated as he is handsome. Aemond nods, unlacing his arms from hers only to circle one around her hips. He always needs to be touching her. Ysilla slithers up his body, enjoying every ridge and dip along the way.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweet boy. Taking such good care of me. How I love you so.” Aemond blushes, she can tell from how hot his face feels where he presses it to her neck. Ysilla drops a kiss beneath his ear, stroking the arm around her lovingly. He reaches up to cradle her breast in his hand, and he plucks and pulls at her nipple in a way that has her gushing.

“Come here, ñuha prūmia." Ysilla lets her eyes fall heavily onto her lonely lover, her voice deep and thickened. It’s constant work, to spread her attention (her admiration, her desire) between her husband and wife. Their hers but not each other’s, not even with all of Ysilla’s begging and pleading. She only pokes them enough when the time is right, careful about toying across their battle lines.

Baela blinks, unable to tear her stare from the veiny, pale hand swallowing up her wife’s tits. Aemond is so much bigger than both of them, so much stronger, it’s a bit intimidating. Sometimes, when Uncle and Niece get lost in each other, her rage dims into something more… warm. The intimidation into something a lot like yearning. Baela doesn’t entertain that feeling.

The dragonrider comes back to herself, seeing an expression that’s far past pleading spelled out on Ysilla’s face.

“Now, Baela.” She blushes, a perfect cherry tint to her umber skin and Ysilla is so fucking hungry for her. Baela crawls forward and while Ysilla loves her face as much as the rest of her, the swing of her breasts is hypnotizing. She’s finally close enough, the sweet mint on her breath wafting over Ysilla’s face and the Princess finds her fingers and laces them with hers.

The girls’ lips brush, demure and proper, something barely considered as a kiss. Baela frowns, trying to stomp down her jealousy as Ysilla breaks away to gasp out a cry. Being made to share her wife with a man who she knows to be undeserving of her drives her to madness. Having to witness him bedding her is like salt in a wound and some days, the only thing stopping her from tearing through The One-Eyed Prince with her teeth is the pleading purple eyes of her ābrazȳrys.

Baela could- no, can make Ysi cum harder, moan sweeter, love deeper than he could ever hope to. Spitefulness bites at her heart, and her voice crawls up her throat, forming into would you like me to leave you two alone? until Ysilla rolls her head forward and lets the longing in her eyes drip over Baela like hot wax.

“Spread your legs for me, Bae.” Baela sighs happily, her girl’s attention back to where it should be. She settles back on her elbows, butterflying her knees apart and offering herself up on a platter. Who is she to deny her Queen?

Ysilla dives in, all tongue, lapping her cream with a hunger reserved only for their bedchambers. Baela drops her head back, a ragged gasp ripping from her throat. Her hips swivel off the bed, rising to fuck Ysilla’s eager tongue. She can’t help it, when she reaches up to cup her own breast and rolls the plump weight in her skilled hand. She tangles her fingers in Ysilla’s roots and pulls, slanting her face harder into her soaked cunt.

Aemond moans and it’s such a nice sound, Ysilla will try to have him make it more often. He’s rutting into her, animalistic and fevered, spurred on by the sinful painting his wife and her lover make right before him. Ysilla slips a hand between her legs, caressing her clit in a way that sends her spasming and her husband groaning. She lets her slick pool over her fingers, getting them nice and drenched before tearing away from herself, and sliding them into Baela’s tight hole.

“Ysi!” Baela gasps, hips bucking wildly and if it were just the two of them, Ysilla would climb on top of her and ride. “Ysi, fuck, don’t stop!”

Driven by nothing more than greed- rocking back into Aemond, pushing her face forward against Baela, Ysilla drowns herself in the scent/feel/taste of them, feral and needy and endlessly ravenous.

“Silli, iksan jāre ribazmoqitta kesīr.” Aemond curses into the back of her neck before he lifts her up, hunching over her back and fucking into her like she’s a ragdoll, like she’s just a hole for him to dump his cum into, like she’s a Dornish slut busy with her Velaryon consort- fuck!

His release takes him by the throat and squeezes. He thrusts deeper, however possible that may be, his spend sloshing from her juicy walls as he burrows into her womb. Aemond collapses onto her back. His heavy breaths at her neck and the weight of him on her is a comfort, keeping her pinned so she doesn’t float away from her body. It keeps her focused too; she still has a job to do. Her jaw aches but she fights through the burn with gusto, her focus unwilling to waiver.

Aemond’s left hand joins her hold on Baela’s leg, his pale fingers digging into the dark flesh. They’d look so good together, so right. They’d fight before they’d fuck, or maybe both at the same time. Baela’s hand wrapped around Aemond’s narrow neck, choking him out as she bounced on his lap. His hand striking each of her ample cheeks, the buttery globes quaking before he snaked his long fingers to the dripping honeypot purring between her thighs. Ysilla wraps her lips around her cousin’s pretty little pearl and sucks, long lost in the haze of her fantasies, curling her fingers up to press at the spongy spot that undos all of Baela’s ties.

Baela shouts, back bowing and head flying back, her curls waterfalling off her shoulders. She searches blindly for Ysilla’s wrist, desperately yanking her hand still when she finds it, guiding herself through her own peak and humping her wife’s fist to draw out her tremors. Ysilla flicks her tongue over the wiggling flesh, reveling in the sharp rise of her wailing.

Aemond’s thumb strokes Baela’s quivering calf as his other goes to strum at Ysilla’s button like she’s a harp string. The Princess shudders, finally giving herself over to euphoria, cushioning herself between both halves of her world.

Baela flexes her toes, her whimpers dying out, deep rattling breaths taking their place. Aemond hums, sated and sound, edging Ysilla up the bed so that they can both curl up and rest. Baela presses the sole of her heel into his forearm to stall his movements, in a way that’s not quite as threatening as it appears tender. He drums his fingers down her leg, before pinching at her ankle. Ysilla watches and smiles, peppering kisses along the silky skin of Baela’s inner thigh. She pulls out her fingers gently, making sure to go nice and slow, letting her feel every inch that pulls out of her. Her wife shivers, crossing her thighs, perhaps suddenly aware of Aemond’s heavy eye getting quite the view of her womanhood.

Ysilla lets herself be selfish, happy that Baela is still lost in the clouds before she turns to her husband. Grinning slyly, she feeds her fingers into Aemond’s mouth, his hungry tongue swirling around them and sucking ravenously.

Se zaldrīzes ēdruta emagon hāre heads.

ñuha prūmia . my heart

ābrazȳrys . wife

iksan jāre ribazmoqitta kesīr . I'm going crazy here

se zaldrīzes ēdruta emagon hāre heads . the dragon must have three heads

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #baela targaryen #baela velaryon #aemond tagaryen x oc #aemond targaryen smut #baela targaryen x oc #baela targaryen smut #aemond x baela #baemond #ysilla targaryen #hotd pwp #hotd smut

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ladykailitha · 2 years ago

Text

Oh For a Muse of Fire! Part 3

Just know that Steve is being an unreliable narrator to Robin about his day, and had been spiraling all day.

Part 1 Part 2

The three of them together got down and showed Opal what she had to do, making quick work of the process.

Things went well for a first night and once they had cleaned up for the night and divvied out tips, Opal watched as Steve and Pearl walked out together.

She turned to Diamond, “I thought we weren’t supposed to know each other’s real names.”

Diamond grinned. “They come as packaged deal. If you hire one, you have to hire the other. They’re like symbiotic soul twins or something. But they’re good workers and I don’t mind it so much.”

Opal nodded. “So they’re not a couple? I mean they said they weren’t, but I was watching them all night and they’re couple level cutesy with each other.”

Diamond shook his head. “You’re more Pearl’s type than Garnet is.” He winked at her and patted her on the shoulder.

Steve started removing his shirt the second he and Robin got home.

“Just how many times did the new girl splash drinks on you?” Robin asked eyeing the several different stains.

“Three times,” Steve mumbled. “The other two were from patrons trying to get free drinks.”

Robin winced. “I’m sorry. At least Opal seems nice.”

Steve sighed. “I’m sure she’ll fit in fine. It’s just going to take a while for her to get used to everything.” He ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced. “I somehow got booze in my hair.”

Robin grimaced back. “Gross. Go get the first shower.”

Steve kissed her cheek. “You’re the best, Robs.”

As he was about to close the bathroom door, she called out, “And when you’re done I want to hear all about your class. Because don’t think I didn’t notice you being off today.”

He groaned and slammed the door. He didn’t want to think about it. But he also knew that talking to his best friend would make him feel better. He turned on the water as hot as he could stand it and then stripped. He stepped under the steaming water and let it wash over him.

Let it wash away the pain both emotional and physical of the day. He washed his hair and then as the conditioner set he worked on scrubbing away the filth and slime of working at bar.

He put on his pajamas and walked out, towel drying his hair.

“Come on,” Robin said, patting the spot on the sofa next to her. “I dug out our emergency rocky road ice cream.”

Ouch. Steve supposed that his day had been worth the rocky road, but the fact that she had picked up on it was what hurt. He flopped down next to her with a heavy sigh. He took a spoon from her and began digging into the ice cream tub.

“So, you know how I had to get special permission to be in Mrs Byers class?” he began after several bites.

“Yeah,” she said around a mouthful of ice cream.

“Apparently the rumor is that Daddy threw his weight and money around to get me in the class so I leer at naked women.” Steve stabbed at the ice cream. Yeah, Eddie had been the one to say it, but he could tell it was what everyone was thinking.

Robin winced. “Ouch. Instead of that you know the professor?”

Steve nodded. “I tried talking to her after class, once people had gone, but she kinda brushed me off.”

Robin wrapped her arm around him and kissed his temple. “I’m sorry, Steve. Maybe she was just trying to keep up appearances so the two of didn’t get into trouble.”

He sighed. “I suppose. But she could have said that.” He threw up the one hand dramatically. “It’s not like anyone else was there. And anyone in the hall wouldn’t have been able to hear what we were saying. It just...”

“Hurt.”

Steve laid his head on her shoulder. “That wasn’t even the worst part.” He pulled his knees up to his chest.

She looked down at him. “Yeah, what was worst than that.”

“The live model is Eddie Munson,” he said. “And he hates me.”

Robin’s eyes went wide. “Eddie? As in went to Hawkins, stood on tables, and took three times to graduate Eddie?”

Steve nodded. “Also known as the longest gay crush I’ve ever had. I’ve had crush on him since my freshman year. And now not only do I have to see him naked, without any of the fun parts, but doing it knowing he hates me.” He let out a sob.

“You don’t know he hates you,” she whispered in his ear and kissed the top of his head.

Steve told her everything Eddie had said.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Robin breathed into his hair. “I guess the saying is true for crushes as it is for heroes. Never meet them.”

He just sobbed as she made soft murmurs of comfort.

Steve walked into his class with his head held down and made his way to the seat he was in before. He managed to avoid catching Eddie’s eye and he sat down with a sigh. He just had to suck it up for fifteen weeks. Keep his head down and his mouth shut. And hope to whatever god was out there that he could keep his interactions with Eddie to a minimum.

Joyce stood in the center of the classroom a little in front of Eddie who was sitting on the same stool from last time.

“I hope you are all sitting in seats that you like,” she said, “but after today you won’t be able to change seats.”

There was some uproar, but she quieted them down with an ear piercing whistle.

“Hey!” she called out. “It’s because you’ll want to be drawing from the angle every time otherwise your drawing and for the final oil painting will not turn out well.”

Everyone eyed each other and grumbled, with a few people getting up and shuffling around. Joyce let them.

Steve stayed in his spot. It was far enough back that the model (Eddie, his mind helpfully supplied) would be in full view, but close enough so Steve could make out details.

Someone tried to make him move.

“Come on, I want to sit there,” the girl whined. “It’s the best spot in the room.”

Steve smiled up at her, tight lipped. “I know. That’s why I’m here. I need this class to graduate.”

Eddie frowned. He supposed that could be true, an art credit for whatever business or law degree the dude was getting.

“Just move, asshole,” she sneered.

Steve worked his jaw back and forth. He didn’t want to get Joyce involved, mainly because he was pretty damn sure she would take the girl’s side. Be the gentleman and all that.

“I’m not moving,” he said firmly. “I was here first. I picked this spot because it’s got the best view of the model. This is my last class and then I’m done with school and I’m not going to fuck it up on the second day just because you feel entitled to a chair and an easel.”

She looked about to explode when Joyce came over. Steve closed his eyes expecting the worst.

“What’s going on here?” Joyce asked firmly.

The girl teared up. “He stole my seat, Mrs Byers. I was there first and when everyone else was moving around he slipped in and took it from me.” Steve looked up at her in shock.

Joyce raised a single eyebrow. “Steve?”

He looked back and forth between them. “What does it matter? No one’s going to believe me anyway.” He leaned over to grab his stuff, but he felt a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Steve...” Joyce said. “Just tell me your side.”

He let out a shuddering breath. “I sat here last time. When I arrived first thing it was empty. I sat down, same as before. Then she came up and started demanding I get up.”

Joyce looked at the girl. “Is this true, Michelle?”

Michelle shook her head, tears still falling down her cheeks.

Joyce looked around them. “Did anyone see what happened?” she called out.

Eddie stepped forward and Steve knew at once that he was fucked. He would be regulated to the back, and he would fail the class. Again.

Eddie put his hands on his lower back and rocked back on his heels. “She’s a lying reptilian bitch.”

All heads snapped to face him.

“Excuse me?!” Michelle protested.

“You heard me,” Eddie sneered. “Save your crocodile tears for the drama department, they’ll go over better there.”

Steve gulped.

“It happened just like Stevie here said. He didn’t do anything wrong. And I don’t think he should be forced to give up his spot just because she’s a woman, either,” Eddie continued.

Joyce turned to Michelle. “Take a spot in the back and come see me after class. We will be discussing whether or not you will be continuing my class.”

Michelle squealed in outrage. “But Mrs Byers!”

Joyce pointed at the back of the class and she was forced to walk back, every eye in the class following her.

Joyce pressed on the bridge of her nose and sighed.

“All right, now that we are all settled,” she said to the class. “We are going to work on upper body today.”

Eddie grinned. He looked Steve straight in the eye and took off his shirt. Steve reached down and grabbed his water bottle. His mouth was so dry right now. He gulped down the water as Eddie walked backward to sit back on his stool. He tied his hair back in a neat bun and got into position.

Steve was going to combust.

He picked up his drawing board and set it on the easel. He pulled out his pencils and got to work.

When Joyce came around, she stopped to admire it. “You’re really good, Steve. Just remember to go lightly at first, so it’s easier to correct mistakes.”

Steve blushed. That was his problem in all aspects of his life. He always went into heavy. Too dark. And when it inevitably blew up in his face, he was scarred for life.

“I’ll try, Mrs Byers,” he replied. He picked out an 4H pencil to force himself to go lighter and she nodded approvingly.

She walked on and Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He really valued her opinion. She was the one that convinced him to try for art school. To teach art to others.

As he was cleaning up his stuff, Eddie came bounding up to him. With his shirt still off. Asshole.

“How did you know this was the best seat in the class?” Eddie asked as he tugged the shirt over his head. Not like it changed much. The sleeves had been off and most of the sides stretched so that Steve could count his ribs. Something he was very much trying not to do.

“I’ve failed the class three times,” Steve bit out. “So I’m really hoping to not do that again.”

Eddie laughed. “You failed three times? You must really like to leer at naked people.”

And there it was. Steve really shouldn’t have got his hopes up that Eddie was a cool dude.

“It’s not like that,” he growled. “And you know what? I don’t have to defend myself to you. Now, excuse me, I have to go get ready for work.” He brushed past Eddie, knocking their shoulders as he stormed off.

Eddie scowled. He jumped in because he didn’t like the way Steve immediately thought everyone would have gone against him. He liked proving people wrong. But every interaction he had with King Steve left him feeling like he was in the wrong.

He didn’t like that feeling. Not at all.

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Epilogue

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#My writing #stranger things #steddie #art school au #gay steve harrington #bisexual eddie munson #ladykailtiha writes

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in-ghost-we-trust · 1 year ago

Text

No dew on the morning grass

Chapter 2

Dewdrop x reader

Rain x reader???

A rewrite of twilight new moon

When dew left you crumbled into pieces, you've blocked out everyone

Rain = jacob???

Swiss = mike???

Also so very sorry this is so bad I'm on my phone not my computer, I haven't used my phone to post somthing on tumblr in years and I've completely forgot how to find bold and italics so pleaseeee don't judge I'm working with what I got

You haven't left your room in days, why should you? He's left and there's nothing else for you out of this room. When you do let yourself think, you realize that it sounds mean seeing how you have the rest of your friends, rain primaril. He was your best friend since he was summoned, you"ve been to peas in a pod ever since.

The first couple of days you didn't leave your room, he'd tried and tried to get in or you to come out, just anything, somthing. After you never did he would sit outside your door and tell you about his day, any stunts swiss pulled, mountains new flower beds for spring. He'd never get a reply but he could hear you shuffle out of bed to sit on the other side of the door, head pressed to the cool wood. You listened to him, took everything in. Anything he told you, you'd think about it when your mind wasnt on dew. As much as you wanted to open up that door and see rain, as much as you wanted his embrace, his familiar face, his safety, you couldn't bring yourself to open it. Your room was your salvation, no questions, no looks, you could just sleep, forget or dive into your grief, make yourself feel all the pain again and again. The pain was the only reminder that he was real, when mountain brought you back the pictures you had hanging from a line of fairy lights were gone, the blanket he got you for Christmas? Gone. All the shells he had dived into the lake by the abbey for you? Gone. It was as if wherever he had gone he had tied strings to anything that would directly remind you of him and tied them to himself and walked away.

You were in your bed when you heard it, the lock of your door being wiggled and a soft click, you weren't facing the door, you couldn't see who was comming in. Did you even want to look? You shut your eyes praying whoever this was would think you were asleep. A soft creak at the end of your bed sent a shiver down your spine, it didn't cross your mind it might be a creep or a werido until then. Staying still you heard soft foot steps and some rustling next to you. Your bed was about four feet from the window, you and dew had picked out a rocking chair when you both decided which one of your rooms to stay in when you became a couple. You hear it quietly creak like someone was sitting in it and rocking back and forth. A hand brushed stray pieces of hair away from your forehead, you fought the instinct to shoot your eyes open. The hand was cool and remind you of the smoothness of a rock. The hand left your skin and footsteps lead to the bathroom, the sound of water and more creaks towards you sounded in your ears. Your arm is lifted and a cold rag ran over it, you haven't even noticed you were burning hot, the rag moved to your other arm and the sheets you had covering you were moved away and you could feel the coolness of water run over your legs and stop just above your knee, at least whoever this is, is respectful. You heard a little drip drop of water and felt wetness on your face, gentle and safe, like you would wash a small child after they fell off their bike in the mud. It leaves your face and you don't feel anything else until a small part of your hair is moved, like someone trying to play with it. The rocking chair creeks and sounds like it is being pulled closer to the bed more than the window. You buck up enough to open your eye enough to look asleep and to see whoever it was.

Rain sat there looking at you, fingers fidgeting with the tips of your hair. You shut your one eye again. You relax a little bit but your brain starts to wonder. How long has he been doing this? How did you never notice? You decide to flip on your stomach to face him more, you feel his hands snatch away and a sharp intake of breath. You pretend to mumble somthing. You hear a shaky exhale and him starting to talk "I couldn't sleep again, swiss thinks it's werid for me to be here but I have to know your okay, I miss you so much ______ I mean everyone does but everyone has someone else" your stomach drops "cumulus and cirrus and sunshine, aether and swiss, mountains always been more to himself but me? I don't have you anymore" you feel like crying, you've been so caught up with your own heartache you've caused one "whenever you're okay and come back, I'll be there, as much as you need me" thank satan you had your eyes closed because if not tears would have been running down your face. You don't know what to do, you feel you have to do somthing. You "mumble" in your "sleep" again and stretch a arm out from under your head and let it flop on the arm of the rocking chair. You feel his hand take yours, it was a awkward angle but it was nice to feel his skin on your own. "I miss you so much _____" he whispers and traces your hand with his index finger. You actually do start to fall asleep with his voice as a lullaby. When you wake he's not there, your door is locked and there's no rag by your bed, no water, the rocking chair back in its spot. No evidence of him, just like dew.

Thanks to @the-fem1n1ne-urge for commenting, it really gave me motivation to write

Also sorry for no word count I'm writing this in tumblr and not my normal word docs

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collectivecloseness · 2 years ago

Note

Thoughts on doing an euphoria make up on j

Kurt while sitting in his lap (can be nsfw or sfw)

I don’t really know what euphoria make up means sorry, but doing Kurt’s make up? Hell yeah!

Also lmfao halfway through doing this I was like ‘hmm this feels familiar’ and I had a whole drabble already done, just not edited, about this exact thing 😂

He’d probably want you to do it as a ‘girlfriend does my make up challenge’ for his YouTube. Promoting it constantly on his socials, with tiktoks of all the make up you two bought. Instagram posts teasing his looks.

Kurt loves it, because not only does he get to be super close to you, and having you touching him at all times. But the entire session is just filled with you praising him! Telling him how pretty he looks before. Telling him how pretty he looks as you’re working. Telling him how pretty he is when you’re done! “Pretty boy..!” Becomes his new lifestyle. And you praise him for being so good the entire time. Not moving, even when you have to sit on him, or lay on him. Not being too ticklish, even as you brush at his nose. Calling him brave for keeping his eyes open and steady as you applied eyeliner and mascara, since you knew he was nervous about having you poking about near his eyes.

Kurt thinks your eyelash extender is scary though, says he always thinks it looks like a torture device whenever you pick it up. You decide to go with fake lashes instead. Kurt really wants jewels though! He wants those ones people put at the corner of their eyes, and when you suggest some glitter on the eyeshadow, he gets so excited! You put in your own opinions, on what might work, but Kurt’s the one to come in with all the ideas of what he wants to look like, by the end of his video. He really did plan it out! And, you very much enjoyed yours and Kurt’s shopping spree to go buy all the make up things you two could think of. He bought whatever you wanted, for your personal make up use, too of course. Just throw it in the basket! No problem babe, that’s what he does. You two are a couple! :)

It is very cute the way Kurt scrunches his face up when you tickle him. You’re laughing even as you tell him to hold still, applying maybe more setting power to his nose than necessary, because it was just too precious.

When he wrinkles his nose, you ‘aww’ down at him, asking “Are you gonna sneeze? Like a cute little kitten?” Kurt’s lightly shoving your hand away, delicately brushing at his nose, as he laughs at you to “Shut up.” Both of you laughing in front of the camera. Even though he won’t lie, having you on top of him cooingly calling him a kitten was doing things to his poor heart.

Kurt tries to describe what you’re doing, although he sort of gives up and let’s you take the reigns in the technical department, when he keeps getting things wrong. Although he always covers it with a “-the thingy! Yeah I knew- that’s what I meant, totally. Glad we’re on the same page babe!” His never ceasing enthusiasm always charming you.

Kurt almost falls asleep at your soft touches, as you’re constantly holding his face. Your hands even on his shoulders, or hair. Stroking his hair when you place your hand there, as you work. It takes everything in him, if he’s consciously aware he wants to doze off, not to collapse into your neck and nuzzle reverently into you, so he can nap.

Although at one point, when you were on top of him and he was flat on his back, you genuinely only rested your hand on his neck for balance, and to hold him still, with an authoritative “Quit moving” then a crooning “Good boy.” You only kinda realised what you’d just done, as you were holding him by the neck, when Kurt was staring up at you, so awed, and eyes massive.

That was the point he suggested you two take a small break, turning off his camera for just five minutes to calm down. He knew if he asked for your help down there instead, he probably wouldn’t get the video done, or he’d by tearing up and washing your beautiful make up away. So he had to focus on his video, his work! He knew you were going to fuck him when he was all dolled up in his pretty make up anyway, so he was able to calm himself down well enough.

Whenever you lick your finger to get rid of smudged make up, it makes him go red every time. You just don’t want him to burn and melt off your masterpiece, before it’s even done. Swiping your licked thumb over the edge of his lips though, you should’ve known would’ve caused him to whine. Maybe with some slight audio editing skills, that clip can still be useable. You’re sure Kurt will love it, not only as shipping bait for his fans to make edits of and such, but to also show off you, getting your spit on his lips on purpose! He thought people would go wild.

It’s intimate in many ways. An act of love, as you share this skill with him, help him out, do something to him you do nearly every day yourself. He can feel what you feel, understand your thoughts behind it, how and why you do certain things. Intimate because he’s so close and touchy with you. Domestic yes, and in a ‘one of Kurt’s top love languages is physical touch for a multitude of reasons’ way. Also he tries not to think of your boobs, resting against him a lot. He doesn’t normally think about when they are, in every instance of a hug or close touch, simply since he’s so used to your touch by now, now you two are a couple. Which is just a normal thing, since you’re together! But when you’re there for ageeees, with your chest pressed against him for minutes and minutes at a time, because you’re focusing hard on his make up, the thought does pop into his mind.

But there’s also so much praise back at you! “B-baby you are so good at this. I don’t know how I’d remember all this stuff.” Trying to hold your free hand that you’re tying to pin him down with. Getting fidgety when you keep moving your hand away to hold him and get better angles. Although while he is whining a little because you keep taking your hand out of his! ...You do always place your hand right back on his body. So maybe swapping a hand hold, so you can pick up his chin between your thumb and forefinger, and start breathing down his neck, as you start his lip liner, is an okay compromise. He’ll still whimper, when his lips are free from your reign, since he doesn’t want to get menacingly stared down by you again (not right now anyway, that can be saved for later), and give you a “Thank you for helping me. You’re doing such a coo- good job. You really th- are the best girlfriend, ever.”

At least he gets to hold you back, the entire time. His hands are free! He can hold you however he wants, and you’re still so close to him! Chest to chest in some positions, while he can’t help but hug your waist, and try not to sway in happiness at the same time.

He tells all his viewers how skilled you are. How he sees you do your make up nearly every day, and how he always just likes watching you, being so proud of your skills. A fact that makes you blush, biting down on your own lipstick. Quickly followed up by Kurt, half smoothly, even with the cringy statement, telling you “You’re beautiful, with or without make up.” And even though it is cheesy, your laugh doesn’t change his lovestruck but serious face. So you just have to peck him anyway! You can’t mess up his lipstick though. Might as well give him another peck before you reapply it. Although Kurt asks, in a stammering suavey way, if it’s possible for you to just put lipstick on him by transferring it from your lips? Something that gets another laugh, and kiss, out of you.

But although Kurt doesn’t really care much about make up, outside of videos, he definitely wants you sometimes to just sit on his lap and use those blank brushes and sponges against his face. He likes the feeling, the peace, holding you close as you focus just so purely on him. And they really do feel kinda nice.

He might ask for funny face paint if he wants an excuse for the feeling, maybe he can do a scary prank video with zombie make up? Although you do warn him that’s not exactly your forte. And you do... lightly question if he thinks certain ‘scary pranks’ are the best idea. He still credits you as ‘make up artist’ in his videos with make up effects though, and in the description he links your socials. Which makes you smile because he didn’t tell you he was gonna do that, he clearly just thought of it. In a scenario where you’re happy for him to share them, of course.

Kurt gets a little more into experimenting though. Not his top priority, and not something he’s that much into, but he doesn’t mind being curious if something makes him tilt his head first. He’ll see guys with certain make up additions, and ask you to try it out on him. He might have you manicure his nails, and paint them clear, or one or two on each hand painted a certain colour, like a yellow or blue of his brand, but it’s not an everyday occurrence. (Especially if he’s constantly scrubbing blood out those fingernails what.)

Of course, Kurt would do any make up you’d like, on you too! You don’t ask a lot, but he enjoys painting your nails for you if you ask. And he’s giggling the entire time. Kicking his feet and chatting with you, as he gets to hold your hands, and carefully focuses. Doing such a good job and being such a good boyfriend, as he makes your nails look all pretty! Just like you asked of him!

He thinks the black eyeliner you do makes him look kinda cool, maybe he could’ve worn it to fit in with some of the punks in high school. Those guys were never that cruel or ignorant towards Kurt, compared to some others. He uses it for skits occasionally when he’s playing the badass, since that’s apparently how he sees them. But he always insists you do his make up for him, no matter what it is. Even if he has to put his video off for a day or two.

Even before the first time you did his make up, Kurt has half of your used lip balms in the pockets of his jacket that he always rewears, the glovebox of his car, on his person, etc. He likes using chapstick, he likes the way they make his lips feel, and the flavoured ones, but especially knowing you’ve used it. You do get kinda annoyed when you can never find them though. You gave Kurt one of yours when he mentioned his lips being dry (that was after kissing him, because you thought it was a flirty way of him asking), but you didn’t know he kept collecting them.

One thing is a definite, however. And that is you two will be recreating that picture. With you on top, of course.

#kurt kunkle #anon #ask #spree 2020 #Kurt Kunkle/reader #Kurt Kunkle x reader #Kurt Kunkle fluff #Kurt Kunkle drabble #Kurt Kunkle blurb #kurt kunkle headcanons

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