#we just wanted to hang out and eat bugs all day

[wonderfulworldofdarklords]

We finally fixed the music cues in our first episode so they sync properly! And it only took us two years!

[moonstruckme]

Thanks for being patient with me! This is edited on about four hours of sleep so apologies for any errors <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.6k words

Water sizzles on the stove. You reach over to turn down the heat, your side heating from its proximity to the boiling water, before spinning back around to keep speed-chopping onion. This is a result of poor planning. 

It’s possible that some of your nerves could be reinterpreted as excitement. Giddiness, even. You’re finally—finally—doing something to try and repay all the kindness James shows you. You’ve felt like such a mooch, eating his cooking and stealing his time with his friends, but last week had been too much for you to take. He’d discovered the stomach bug you were weathering, and James had completely devoted the next two days of his life to making sure you were looked after. 

Your fever had gotten so out of hand he’d very nearly followed through on his favorite threat (going into your phone while you’re sleeping and phoning your mum), and though you’d done your best to downplay it at the time there are admittedly gaps in your memory wherein you think you were simply too out of it to know what was going on. It’s not a very comforting thought when you’re harboring a humiliating crush on your roommate; you may well have been just as talkative as James always is, you don’t know. At least he hasn’t said anything. 

He had, thankfully, managed to avoid catching it. You’re not sure how he managed what no one on your shift at work did, but you assume it has something to do with all that kale he eats. Which is why you’re doing your best to make the thank-you meal you’re making him as healthy as might suit his standards. 

You hear his key in the door, and a little frisson goes up your spine. 

“You’re early,” you accuse as he walks in. 

“Since when do you know when my training ends?” James asks. You sound like you’re sniping at one another, but as usual the joviality in his tone is unmissable. 

The sounds of his entrance are familiar, perhaps more ingrained in your mind than they ought to be. Keys jingling as he hangs them on the hook, shoes toed off and left by the mat, heavy footsteps headed for wherever you are in the apartment. 

When he finds you in the kitchen, you both speak at once. 

“What happened to your shoulder?” 

“You know how to cook?” 

“Hurt it at training,” James answers, shrugging with the shoulder that doesn’t have an ice pack held to it. He’s probably too nice for it to occur to him to withhold his answer until you’ve given yours, as had been your first thought. “What are you making?” 

“How did you hurt it?” Worry pries at your tone. Your hands have stilled on the cutting board. 

“We had a scrimmage, and I got shoulder-barged.” He gives you a smile, a shadow of the real thing, but gentler. Reassuring. “It’s not bad.” 

You frown. “I don’t know what that means.” 

“Didn’t expect you to, love.” 

“Why do you need to ice it if it’s not bad?” 

There’s a look in James’ eyes that’s wavering between smugness and softness. You balk at the sight of it. “I need to be a bit careful with it,” he hedges, “but it’ll be good by morning. Now, you’ve distracted me. Do you mean to tell me you’ve known how to cook this entire time?” 

“Yes,” you concede with a laugh. “I’ve always said I cook for myself when you’re not around.” 

“And here you are, doing it right before my eyes.” James leans on the counter with his good arm. He looks immensely entertained. “I’m honored.” 

“This isn’t just for me,” you say, looking down to resume chopping onion as your face warms slightly. “It’s for—” Another remonstrative hiss from the stove, and you whip around, moving the pot off the hot part entirely. You’re a bit relieved for the excuse to face away from him. “It’s for both of us. Also, I just want to provide a disclaimer right now that I never said I was good at cooking, only that I knew how.” 

James’ laugh rumbles behind you, just as you knew it would. He’s too easy. You can practically feel the force of his smile hitting your back, like the sunshine brought inside. 

“Here,” he says, taking a couple of steps toward you, “let me help.” 

“No!” You whirl again, stopping him before he can actually enter the kitchen. “No way. James, I’m trying to do something nice.” 

“And it is very nice,” he says, earnest. “It just seems like you could use a hand.” 

“I’ve got it,” you insist. Your hands are up to ward him off, but you put them at your sides when you realize how close they’re hovering to his chest. “It doesn't count as doing something for you if you do it yourself. Anyway, you’re incapacitated.” 

“I’m…” James looks confused, but then he glances down to his icing shoulder. “Oh, come on. I’m hardly immobilized.” 

“For all intents and purposes, you are.” You do your best to infuse your voice with conviction. You’ve found that’s usually the way with James. If you show any hesitation, he’ll turn on the charm and have you eating out of his hand before you know what’s happened. You herd him away from the kitchen. “Go sit down. Dinner will be ready soon.” 

You can’t help but be aware of him as you finish up, knowing he has to hear the sizzling when you accidentally spill things onto the stove or the one mumbled curse you’re not quick enough to bite back. All evidence that you’re not nearly as practiced a cook as James. You can practically feel his grin from a room over. Still, when it's done you’re fairly proud of yourself. 

James is beaming as he accepts his bowl. He hikes his knees up so you can pass between the couch and the coffee table, making a show of sniffing the steam rising from the food. 

“Is this risotto?” he asks, waiting for your little nod before his mouth drops open in astonishment. “You are so sneaky! I didn’t know you could cook at all, let alone fancy shit like this.” 

“It’s not that hard to make.” You look down at your fork as you raise it to your lips, blowing. 

“Sure it is! Loads of people have a hard time with it.” 

“Do you?” 

James grins, caught. You feel your own smile tugging at your lips as you take a bite.

He follows suit, forking a bit of the risotto and blowing to cool it before taking it in his mouth. His eyes dip closed, head lolling back, and he moans. 

“Oh my god, this is good. I’m never cooking again, now that I know you can do this.” 

You take another bite to avoid a response. You’re fairly sure the heat from your face could power the apartment for a month. 

James makes a few more over-the-top compliments of your culinary skills, which you deflect as best you can. As always, you eat mostly silently while he chatters, but when you look over your attention gets snagged on his shoulder. 

He’s only using the one hand to eat, bowl resting in his lap while you hold yours up closer to your face. His ice pack sits beside him now that he can’t hold it on anymore. You catch yourself gnawing on the inside of your lip. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask. 

James looks over, following your gaze. “Yeah,” he admits. “Nothing I’m not used to, though.” 

You feel your eyebrows pinch. “You get hurt often?” 

He smiles bemusedly. “It’s rugby, love. Getting a bit roughed up is part of the deal.” 

This doesn’t sit right with you. Though you hadn’t pondered it much before, you realize you’ve sort of been thinking of James, with his muscles and constant smiles and easygoing manner, as somewhat invincible. He seems like such a source of light in the world, it hadn’t occurred to you that anything bad could happen to him. You don’t like the idea of him being hurt. In any capacity. 

You realize this is likely playing out on your face when you notice James watching you. His eyes are soft. “As much as I would love to milk this for attention and maybe a sponge bath,” he says, setting his fork in his bowl, “it’s really not that bad. See?” 

He pulls down the sleeve of his shirt, and the effort to placate you is wasted. You take in a quiet, horrified gasp at the deeply colored bruise on James’ shoulder. One of your hands raises as if to touch it. It hovers in the space between you. 

“That’s not that bad?” you look at James in alarm. “It looks broken.” 

“It’s not,” he laughs. It’s a bit awkward, as close to self-conscious as you’ve ever seen him. “Trust me, I’ve had a couple broken bones in my time. It’s only bruised, and the muscle’s a bit strained.” 

The muscle, you’re noticing now, is quite substantial. Your focus is on the bruise, but the shoulder beneath it is eye-catching as well, hefty and taut-looking, presumably from the strain. That, or James is flexing. 

You raise your gaze quickly to his. Brown eyes tinged with smugness. 

“You’re worried about me.” His lips stretch into a grin. Not your favorite one in his arsenal. “Aw, sweetheart, I love you too.” 

You direct your attention back to your food, face hotter than hot. “I have justification for worry,” you say, the teasing tone you were going for undercut by the unintentional softness of your voice. “You’re voluntarily participating in a sport that seems like it’s trying to kill you.” 

James takes a self-satisfied bite of his risotto. “I don’t know, I was pretty worried when you fainted in my arms last week.” 

You side-eye him suspiciously. “I didn’t actually do that.” 

“Guess you’ll never know.” 

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 17 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley loved settling in to a new routine with Rose at home. Taking care of you and the baby felt natural. If the most stressful thing he has to deal with was her godfather, then he counted it as a win.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, swearing, DILF Roo

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Here are your books," Bradley said softly as he carried his daughter around her nursery to her bookshelf. "And here is your crib." She blinked up at him and yawned, and he broke out into a smile. "And here's the chair from your grandparents where Mommy is going to feed you so you can take a nap."

You were standing in the doorway with both hands on Tramp's collar while he whimpered nonstop. "He's not going to rest until he gets to sniff her again," you said, fighting to hang onto him. "And lick her, and roll around on the floor next to her."

"Fine," Bradley said with a sigh. Tramp just spent twenty minutes losing his mind over the baby, but apparently that wasn't enough. Bradley sank down onto the floor with Rose in his arms, and she stretched her fists up toward his face and gave a soft cry. She looked adorable in the outfit your parents bought for her, and his heart clenched like always when he imagined how his own mom and dad would have reacted to being grandparents.

"Here he comes," you said, releasing the collar, and Tramp bounded the rest of the way into the nursery, whimpering and shaking with excitement. He licked the top of Rose's head, making her cry in the process before he started sniffing her hands.

"For fuck's sake," Bradley grunted, trying to coax Tramp to sit down while Rose curled up against his chest. "He's more excited about the baby than I am."

Carefully you sat next to him on the soft rug that looked like a cloud in the airplane nursery, kissing his cheek before you said, "Don't swear in front of the child."

He rolled his eyes. "She can't understand it yet."

You gave him a pointed look. "Don't make me take away your privileges."

Bradley opened his mouth to ask what you meant, but he was immediately silenced as you pulled your shirt over your head and got ready to feed Rose. "Shit," he muttered, wondering how the fuck he was going to last six weeks with your tits in his face and zero chance at intercourse. "I'll behave."

"While Rose eats, I think we should talk about a few things," you whispered, taking her into your arms with a smile and kissing her cheek before getting her situated.

Bradley pulled Tramp onto his lap, doing his best to keep him from loudly sniffing his human sister and making her cry again. Bradley watched you fidget with your leggings around your waist. "What's wrong? Are you uncomfortable?" he asked while you fed Rose.

"No," you muttered, not looking at him. "My body is like a deflated balloon."

"Baby Girl," he whispered, leaning in to kiss your ear softly. "You're only a few days postpartum. You birthed an entire person. And you look beautiful. You always will."

He gave up his quest to keep Tramp at bay and let the dog lick the baby's foot as you started crying. "I think my hormones are going insane again," you sobbed, and he wrapped one arm around your shoulders and helped you hold Rose with the other. "And I'm really tired."

"I know," he whispered, peppering your face with kisses. "That's why I'm sending you and the Nugget both for nap time as soon as she's done. Now let's talk about what you want to talk about."

"Right," you said with a sob, like you had forgotten all about it. "My parents aren't going to stop bugging until I tell them when they can come visit."

Now that the attic was available, Bradley didn't mind having them in the house all that much. "Since I'm taking the next week off, why don't you tell them to come out the week after that? So you can have some help when I'm on base?"

"That's a good idea," you said as you carefully maneuvered Rose to your other breast. "We also need to give Rose a godfather." Bradley closed his eyes and pictured literally anybody but Jake. "And I was thinking Jake."

He heaved a weary sigh. "Of course you were," he grouched as Tramp finally calmed down and curled up on the floor. You looked at Bradley without saying a word, and he rubbed his eyes with his fingers. Hard. Jake was a fucking pain in the ass. He always has been, and he always will be. But... he took care of you when Josh tried to assault you while Bradley was deployed. And Jake was the one he turned to when he had a panic attack about getting himself killed before he got to meet his daughter. Jake even graciously promised he would look after you and Rosie and finish building the playset if something happened to him. And he never gave Bradley a hard time for any of it.

"Fuck. How the fuck is this my life?" Bradley groaned, sprawling out on the floor with Tramp and staring at the ceiling.

"What did I say about all the swearing, Roo?" you scolded, but when Bradley focused his gaze on your face, you were smiling. "Does that mean you're okay with Jake?"

Bradley looked at Rose and then back at you. "Yeah," he rasped while wincing.

"Perfect. We can tell him when he stops over tomorrow."

"He's coming over tomorrow?"

"Yes. With Cat and Jeremiah," you said, wiping Rose's lips with a burp cloth as Bradley sat up again.

"Let me hold my Nugget to help ease my pain and suffering."

"You're so dramatic. It's not like you'll suddenly be related to Jake," you said with a laugh, literally flaunting your tits as you stood up. "I'm going to call my parents and then take a little nap as long as you've got her?"

Bradley looked at his daughter as she curled up in his arms. "Yeah. I've got her," he promised, and you kissed him before you left the nursery. 

"We're going to take a little walk," he whispered, picking up the burp cloth that you left on the chair. Bradley carried Rose through the house, marveling once again at how tiny she was in his hands as he tried to burp her. Then he slipped out the sliding glass door to the backyard as he said, "This Jake thing wasn't my idea. You heard your mother. She's got some weird ideas sometimes, but I love her too much to tell her no. So let's set some rules. Under no circumstances are you ever allowed to think your godfather is funnier than your old man, okay?"

Rose simply yawned as Bradley sat down on one of the swings, cradling her.

"Exactly. He's a snoozefest. I totally get the yawning." He pressed his lips to her cheek. "And when you're old enough to talk, I need you to tell him that your godmother is way cooler than your godfather. If you agree, then don't say a word."

Bradley moved the swing slowly as she snuggled against him and silently closed her eyes. "That's my girl," he whispered, keeping her warm against his body in the early spring sunlight.

------------------------------

When you woke up, your body was sore, and your stomach was growling. You didn't know what time it was, but your breasts hurt enough that you thought perhaps it was time to feed Rose again. You climbed out of bed and froze as you reached for your glasses. Something smelled good. Familiar. Your stomach rumbled loudly as you whispered, "Surely not."

Rose's door was closed when you walked down the hallway, and you found your husband in the kitchen, working in front of the stove.

"You're cooking Marry Me Rooster!"

He looked up at you with a bewildered expression on his face, like a deer caught in headlights. "I am," he replied, voice hoarse. "I've been training over facetime with your mom for months, but this is my first time actually trying it."

Your heart swelled with love as you took a step closer to him and your grandmother's recipe sheet, but he held up a hand and shook his head.

"I think it's best if I give this my full attention," he said, eyes wild as he turned back to the stove. "But maybe you should have the fire extinguisher handy just in case."

You backed slowly away from him, hand covering your mouth to try to keep your laughter in. Excitement bubbled inside you knowing you'd get to eat one of your favorite dinners tonight. Bradley was pretty good at cooking now. He could pull it off. Probably.

Your daughter's cries started ramping up in her nursery, and you had a visceral reaction to it. "I'm coming," you called out, already pulling your shirt over your head as you walked inside. The fact that she even looked adorable when her face was all scrunched up in tears was concerning to you; Bradley would be unstoppable with spoiling her.

As soon as you scooped her up into your arms, she quieted down. Her weight against your body was calming as you rocked her in the chair while you fed her, and you weren't surprised at all that Tramp was sitting at your feet with his eyes glued on the baby.

"Just wait until she can walk," you told him. "The two of you will be besties, terrorizing everyone else."

You heard some loud noises in the kitchen followed by Bradley's voice. "It's fine! It's all fine!"

"I'm kind of concerned," you whispered to Rose, running your fingers along her little bit of fuzzy hair. "But Daddy learned how to cook just for you and me. We are already spoiled."

To your surprise, dinner was mostly good. The kitchen was completely trashed, and Bradley looked like he just ran a marathon, but the food was edible. It even tasted good, if not a little bit on the salty side.

"I am so impressed, Roo," you said with a smile. He was holding Rose to his chest with one hand and inhaling the pasta and chicken.

"I wanted you to have something special. It's nowhere near as good as yours though," he mumbled with a shrug around some bites. "But it's okay. I'm kind of hoping Cat will bring food with them when they stop by tomorrow. She knows how to cook like you do. Jake and I would have probably starved to death by now."

He set his fork down to run his knuckle along Rose's cheek as you started to clean up the dishes. "I thought it was wonderful," you whispered. "Nobody else ever cooked just for me before."

That made him smile. 

----------------------------------

Bradley intended to write in the Nugget notebook while the events from the hospital were still fresh in his mind, but he passed out in bed as soon as you did. Rose cried three times overnight when she was hungry, and he realized he was actually quite useless when it came to that scenario. All he could really do to help was burp her. By the time he was making breakfast, you looked absolutely exhausted.

"That was kind of a rough night," he said while trying so hard not to burn the toast.

"I think that's just how nights are going to be for a while," you replied with a yawn as you carried the baby around.

Bradley spread some of the avocado concoction he whipped up onto the perfectly toasted slice of overpriced bread that you liked, and he took Rose from you so you could have a break.

"Thanks," you muttered before biting into your breakfast. "It's still so strange that you're the one cooking now."

"Oh shit," he said in delight as he kissed his daughter. "I almost forgot."

"Stop swearing!" you called as he walked outside to the garage where that fancy baby carrier thing was. 

He'd been using it to lift weights, training for this very occasion. He snatched it up and took it back in the house where he set Rose down on the couch to fasten the straps around himself. "Look at this!" he said, slipping the baby in against his chest. You were shaking your head and finishing your toast as he paraded around wearing Rose.

"You're so adorable, Roo."

"It's not me. It's the baby." He looked down at her cute face where her cheek was squished against his chest. "Can't get enough."

You wrapped your arms carefully around him, turning Rose into a sandwich as you ran your fingers through the hair along his temples. "You are such a DILF, Bradley. Gray hairs and heart eyes for your daughter."

"Stop," he groaned, turning to kiss your wrist. "Do you have any idea how hard it's going to be for me to not fuck you right now?" Someone knocked on the front door and he gave you a look. "What time did you tell Jake and Cat to stop by?"

"Tonight," you replied, heading across the living room. "It couldn't be them."

Bradley was relieved to see Maverick when you opened the door. "I'm not staying," he said as you invited him inside with bags in his hands. "I just wanted to see this little one for myself and drop some things off." He shook Bradley's hand and then just stood there with his hands on his hips, watching Rose slowly fall asleep in her carrier. "My god," he whispered, eyes shining with tears. "A brand new Bradshaw."

"Do you want to hold her?" you asked him, already reaching for the carrier. But Maverick shook his head.

"No, let her sleep. I'll come back one day with Penny and Amelia. We'll bring pizza. Just let us know which night is good." He looked up at Bradley, cuffing him on the shoulder as he said, "I wanted to be one of the first to say congratulations. Your mom and dad would have been overjoyed."

"Thanks, Mav," Bradley whispered, tears in his own eyes now. "I'm kind of obsessed with her, so I know my mom would have been as well."

Maverick shook his head, still giving Bradley's bicep a squeeze. "Your dad would have never shut up about having a granddaughter. That's a fact."

Bradley pulled his godfather in for a hug before he left with the promise to return later in the week when he was invited. Then he kissed the top of Rose's head as you rummaged around in the bags that had been left behind.

"Penny seems to have gone a bit overboard with groceries," you muttered, pulling lunch meat, bread and some chicken breasts from one of the bags. "Oh! A bottle of pink champagne!"

"Put it in the fridge," Bradley said. "I'm going to need a drink after you tell Jake he'll be the Nugget's godfather."

You rolled your eyes and dug around in a gift bag that was overflowing with tissue paper, and you gasped as you pulled out two stuffed animals. They simply looked like birds, but when Bradley took a step closer, he laughed. 

"Mav really bought Rosie a plush goose and a plush rooster."

You had a bright smile on your beautiful face as you examined them. "He's quite the joker, but these are so cute. I'm going to put them in her nursery."

"After that, you should go take a nap," Bradley said, swaying slowly from side to side with his hand resting on the back of his daughter's head while she napped. "This little girl is sound asleep, and I can do a few chores with her in the carrier."

You gave him a look that would usually mean he was getting lucky later, but that was off the table right now. When you walked past, you kissed Rose's hand and then his cheek before you said, "Make sure you chill the champagne. We can have fun later."

-------------------------------

Jake, Cat and Jeremiah arrived with balloons, boxes of diapers, meals in tupperware containers, and a lot of excitement. 

"You didn't have to bring all of this," you said as Jake stacked things up inside the front door.

"Yes, they did," Bradley muttered, taking a peek in the food containers. "There's a casserole and a lasagna."

"You literally just ate dinner," you told him, handing Rose over to Cat who was practically vibrating with excitement. But Bradley wasn't listening as he followed the very inquisitive two year old boy around the living, making sure he didn't get hurt chasing Tramp.

"Why do babies smell so good?" Cat asked as Rose squirmed a bit in her arms. "So fresh and clean."

You didn't even get to respond before Jake squeezed you tight and said, "Congratulations, Angel. You mated with Bradshaw, and somehow the baby turned out cute."

"I would say something," Bradley retorted from next to the couch, "but I'm not allowed to swear in front of children."

Jake snorted. "I'm just messing around."

"Hey, I'm going to take him outside to play on the swings for a bit," Bradley said, scooping Jeremiah up before he could yank on Tramp's tail.

You gave him a pointed look and nodded toward Jake. "Don't we have something we'd like to ask him first?"

Bradley's smile turned into a bit of a frown. "No. I don't think we do."

"Bradley!" you scolded, and he tipped his head back with a groan.

"Fine. But I'm not saying it."

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you turned toward Jake. "Bradley and I would very much like for you to be Rose's godfather. If you're interested."

The words were barely out of your mouth before Jake had you flush against him in a bone crushing hug. "Wooo, boy. Godfather to a Bradshaw? We do live in some wild times, don't we, Rooster?"

Bradley muttered something incoherent while you asked, "Does that mean you're interested?"

He released you and turned toward Cat. "Please pass the godchild to the godfather. I'm about to make this baby an offer she can't refuse."

"She's a burrito! Not a cannoli!" Bradley called out from the sliding glass door before heading outside with Jeremiah.

"Is Phoenix her godmother?" Jake asked softly while holding Rose and supporting her head.

"Yes," you replied, in awe over how careful he was being.

"You realize that spells complete disaster, right?"

"Sure," you agreed. But you'd never seen anyone hold someone else's baby with quite as much respect as Nat and Jake held Rose.

------------------------------

Bradley played with Rose on the couch with an episode of Real Housewives of New Jersey on in the background. "You see what happens when you marry for money?" he asked his daughter as she wrapped her fingers around his pinky. "Sure, you get a Lamborghini out of the deal, but you also get arrested for tax fraud and embezzlement." He kissed her forehead. "Don't do that, okay?"

She cooed softly, and he took that as a sound of agreement.

"I'm ready."

Bradley glanced up to see you fresh out of the shower wearing the robe that Nat gave you. "I'll bring her right in," he replied.

"Grab the champagne, too."

He did exactly as he was told and handed the baby to you where you sat in the glider chair in the nursery before he carefully opened the bottle. The sound startled Rose, and she started crying hysterically. Bradley was on his knees in front of the chair instantly, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sorry, Nugget. That was way too loud."

"I think she's getting hangry, too," you mused, loosening the sash of your robe so you could feed her. And once again, Bradley was just captivated by all of it and so in love. He took a long sip of the pink champagne before offering you the bottle. "I can only have a little bit."

"I know Sweetheart, but it's your favorite." You had milk beading on your nipple while you fed Rose, and Bradley watched you lick your lips before handing the bottle back to him. He groaned softly, dizzy from all of it. 

"This is so fascinating," he whispered, taking another sip before setting the bottle down. When he reached out to touch your breast, you let him. You felt warm and heavy, and he took your milk onto his thumb and licked it clean.

"You know..." you whispered, switching Rose to your other side. "After having alcohol, it's probably a good idea to pump some of my milk to make sure she doesn't get any of it."

Bradley sat up a little straighter, willing to get you anything you needed. "Want me to set up the pump?"

"Nah," you replied, shaking your head. "I haven't gotten the hang of it yet, but I'm sure there's another way you can help me." Your graceful fingers stroked Rose's cheek as the milk drunk baby started slowing down. "When she's finished, it's your turn."

Bradley jumped to his feet as soon as Rose started to drift to sleep. "I'll get cleaned up and meet you in bed," you whispered as he took the baby from your arms. He deftly changed her diaper and got her zipped back into her sleeper before setting her in her crib.

"How about you sleep more tonight?" he asked. "Give me a chance to play with Mommy before she's too tired? I like her tits, too."

He could hear you laughing down the hallway. "I can hear you through the baby monitor!" you called out, but Bradley had no shame. He kissed his daughter one last time before turning on the night light and the ceiling fan, and then he was on his way to you.

When he stood in the doorway, you were sitting in bed with your robe open. Soft light from your lamp was making every curve of your body look irresistible to him, and now that he had you alone, he knew he was going to struggle.

He made a desperate sound as he ran his hand over his face. "Baby Girl," he whined. "I want you so bad."

"Come here," you coaxed, rubbing the spot on the bed next to you. He was there in an instant, sitting with his back against the headboard as you crawled into his lap. As soon as you nudged his shorts with your knee, he swallowed hard, saliva pooling on his tongue at the sight of your milk dripping from you and onto his shirt.

"Oh, shit," he whispered, letting you get yourself comfortable before he wrapped his arms around you. "It's my turn?"

You ran your fingers along his scarred cheek and back through his hair. "Your turn," you whispered, lips ghosting against his as he throbbed for you.

Bradley took your breasts gently in his hands, ran his thumbs along your nipples and rubbed his nose between your tits. Then he let himself taste you to his heart's content.

-------------------------------

Roo is living his very best life, other than potentially seeing Jake more frequently. Hopefully Nat will balance that out for him. Grandparents are coming to visit soon! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 18

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@marve2014

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

[kookslastbutton]

Lovin' You Right ༓ jjk (m)

✑ Summary: Your new badass neighbor won't leave you alone. You know the type, the guy your mama wouldn't want you bringing home. He'd break your heart as quick as he'd take it.

Pairing: new neighbor!jungkook x fem!reader

AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, e2l, neighbors, oneshot/drabble

Word Count: 2,031

Warnings: cussing, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, missionary, praising, rough s*x, d*rty talk, sp*nking overst*mulation, reader's first-time, sl*t calling once, oc a bit of an uptight b at first, little manhandling, jk rides a motorcylce, jk giving it to oc straight, a very wet date bc MV made me do it

Now Playing: seven by jjk

A/N: no explanation, this is just what i thought of when i listened to jungkook's song 'seven'. Hope you enjoy! 💞

He looked like a real hard ass with all the black leather he wore, arms covered in ink, and chains hanging from his neck. You know the type, the guy your mama wouldn't want you bringing home.

He was your next-door neighbor and he rode a mean motorcycle. It was loud as fuck and woke you up about ten times during the night. And every time he saw you in the hallway? He'd have this shit-eating grin on, like he wanted to devour you whole.

"Think our mail got switched up again," he said, handing you a pile of letters. "Gonna need to talk to the mail man or somethin'."

"Oh geez," you replied, doing your best to avoid eye contact of more than three seconds–his eyes were just a little too piercing. "Thanks." You shoved the letters under your arm and carried on your way. It was laundry day and you desperately needed to have clean clothes.

"Hey wait," he kept on your trail. "How's your day goin'?" He rushed ahead to open the laundry room door, allowing you to go first.

Look at him trying to be a gentleman, hmph. You held your head high and walked through the door. He'd break your heart as quick as he'd take it.

.

Like an itch that won't go away, Jungkook followed you as much as he could. No matter how much you scratched, he'd be right there, burning holes in the back of your neck. He'd watch you dump your clothes in the washer, walk you to your car whenever you needed to go anywhere, hell he even helped you carry in groceries when given the chance.

"What do you want Jeon?" You finally popped the question. He didn't look like he was simply "being generous" or "doing his part to make the world better". He was bumming around for something, he had to be.

"Go out with me," he simply quipped, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Excuse me?"

He rolled his eyes, he was too old for beating around the bush and he was fed up with you giving him the silent finger. Not once have you told him to beat it straight to his face so he's gonna shoot his shot. "Yes or no __? You know I like you, why else would I be bugging the crap out of you?"

"'Cause you want to fuck me then leave me for your other neighbor, the one who lives on the other side of your door." You crossed your arms against your chest. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He narrowed his eyes, tiniest of smirks on his overly gorgeous, no good, lying face. " No you're right. I do wanna fuck that pretentious attitude you got. It's been pissing me off for weeks."

He took a step towards you, caging you between himself and your kitchen island. "What gives you the right to be this bitchy huh? You act like you know everything there is to know about me, but you're too damn stubborn to open your eyes and see it's all a complete farce." He leaned his head forward to graze his lips along the edge of your ear. "I don't know what little girl fairytales you've been taught but I'm not the monster you need to watch out for....and prince charmings don't exist, princess."

You shoved your hands against his chest but he grips them tight in his own. "We don't have to go out anymore. I see what you really think of me."

He released your wrist and headed for the door. "It's really a shame," he hollered before leaving. "You're really beautiful."

God you hated him.

.

For the next week, Jungkook was no where in sight. He didn't come see you, he didn't bring you anything, he went completely M.I.A. It was a breath of fresh air but by the second week, you wondered where he was and if he was okay. He did drive a motocylce afterall, maybe he got in an accident and you didn't know.

You stared at his door, hesistant to knock in fear if him actually being in there. He'd likely laugh you off when he saw you, so you purposefully picked a time he'd most likely be out and about anyway. You hated that you kinda knew his schedule.

Jungkook quirked an amused brow at you when he finally cranked his door open. He was wearing light washed jeans and no under shirt, his pecs were on full display. "What can I do for you princess?"

"Nothing," you spat, definitely not looking below his thick neck. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid yet."

"Checking up on me huh?" He put an elbow on the door frame, eyes darkening. "That's sweet."

"Fuck off. You're healthy it seems so I'm gonna go check up on the other neighbors now. I think Mrs. Baker set the fire alrms off the other day so I need to make sure she's oka—"

You're arm was yanked back as soon as you moved to turn around. "Fuck you're bullshit __. You missed me didn't ya?"

"Not much to miss Jeon." You're such a liar, Jungkook muttered to himself. The whole world could see you were having a conversation with his pecs this whole time—too damn timid to look him in the eyes.

"Shut up and say you'll go out with me already. I'm tired of waiting for your ass to come around."

.

You swallowed your pride and there you were, watching Jungkook splash in every single puddle. He just had to propose going out the one day it was storming out.

"Wipe that sour look off your face!" He stomped in the water, drenching you entirely.

You shrieked at the sudden coldness. Big droplets of water soaked your face, clothes, shoes, everything. "You're such a child Jungkook!"

He ignored you and wrapped his muscular arms around you. The white tank he wore was drenched as well. "You're having fun, admit it."

You scoffed. The only reason you agreed to go out was to show him how ridiculous it would be for the two of you to go out. You and Jungkook were likely the most incompatible people for each other. While he was out riding his bike with heavy metal blasting, you were watching the latest law drama in you're pajamas. It was only a matter of time before this expirament of his would show him the true results of your intermingling.

"C'mon," he took you by the hand and dragged you through the rain. "Just be in the moment __. Let the rain shower over you and be free!" He grabbed your other hand and began spinning you both in circles.

"I'm going to get dizzy."

"Then only look at me. Look at me and don't worry about what's around us. Focus on a single subject and you won't get dizzy." He pulled you by the waist, forcing you to stare straight at him.

He was right. The dizziness went away but your knees feel like jelly.

"What's holding you back?" Jungkook smiled and it was the most genuine smile you'd ever seen. "Look at me __. Look at us. What do you see?"

As you stood there in the pouring rain, a pair of deep, boy-like eyes locked with yours. This was him, the thought dawned on you, a soft-hearted guy who wasn't afraid to open himself up.

You felt a pang of guilty settle in your gut–you weren't the better person like you so believed. You're closed off, comfortable in your space. Skeptical of anyone and everyone. You were wrong to see Jungkook as a careless, arrogant, motorcycle thug and it was a hard pill for you to swallow.

"I don't know." You replied softly, shivering at the faintest touch of his fingers supporting on your back. "I'm sorry, I don't know Jungkook."

"Well I see something worth sticking around for, rain or shine. I think I've become an idiot for you and I don't think that bothers you as much as you let on. You sought me out after I gave you space and I've literally been playing in the puddles this whole date and you haven't ditched me yet. So if you want some more of this, I'll give it to you with open hands, open heart, and I'll make sure to be loving you right." He winked before finishing. "As many days as you'd like."

Jungkook didn't give you much time to respond before he pressed his lips against your own. He made sure to go gentle, barely brushing them over your lips.

You understood immediately–if you wanted this, you were going to have to be the one to seal the deal.

And you did, kissing him with full force. You hoped you wouldn't regret this in the morning.

.

Ever since that night, you and Jungkook had started going out. It was slow at first but six months later, you and he finally made your relationship official.

"Shh," he cooed above you. He was a bit of a blur due to the pitch darkness of the room but you felt him everywhere. He was straddling your naked sides, praising your body like it was art. "Doing so good for me baby, making me so hard–fuck."

It was your first real-time being with a man and being your new boyfriend, Jungkook made sure to be extra attentive. "Kook," you moaned, back arching and pussy throbbing from where he had recently entered you.

He dragged his thick length out of you before slamming back in, a little rougher than the previous thrust. "That's it," he said through gritted teeth. "Let me hear those pretty moans. Been dying to hear them since I first saw you in those cute little sweat shorts you like walking to the laundry room in."

"Faster Kook, please." You gripped his muscular back, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. You needed him lodged so far in your gut that you'd literally see stars. "Plea–please."

"Shit baby, if you start begging this early I can't promise you I won't go completely feral and I don't want to hurt you."

"I want all of you Jungkook," you said. "You said you'd love me right, so do it." And that's all it took for your boyfriend to lock down on your waist with firm hands, pounding into you with all he had.

You tried looking up at him, wanting to look him dead in the eye as he fucked into you but you couldn't handle it. He was dripping with sweat, his muscles were tense, veins were protruding out of neck, and his teeth were clamped shut. He was focused and he knew what he was doing. You on the other hand were a complete opposite story.

"Jung-Jungkook, oh god, fuck!" You screamed incoherently. His big cock reached every inch inside you, stretching you out with every snap of his hips. Never in your life had you had so much pleasure in a short amount of time. And embarrasing it may be, you were definitely going to come far before the usual.

"Look at you fucking falling apart already. Too much for your tight little pussy to handle isn't it? Well you begged for this, and now you're gonna take this cock like a big girl aren't ya," he barked, landing a sharp slap to your ass.

"Shit!" You yelped, clenching around him automatically. "Gonna come Kook...please-please. It's my first time I-"

You came without finishing the plead, sticky white substance ran down your thighs and onto the sheets. Jungkook's wet length continues to move in you, pushing some of your cum back in. The erotic squelching makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Mhm yeah." He planted a trail of rough kisses up your neck, teeth nipping at the delicate skin. "And now you're gonna come again, and again, and again til you're dripping with my cum. I'm gonna then eat you out while my fingers play with your clit. But congrats on your first-time baby, because from here on out, you're gonna become my slut , and I'll be fucking you seven days a week."

A/N: written a little different than usual but yeah...haha idk. Tysm for reading and lmk your thoughts 💞

Masterlist

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[lunaraindrop]

We Are Not the Kissing Space Twins (part 2)

Fic by lunaraindrop

Well, you asked for it! Let's find out about Steve's secret twin!

The red numbers mocked her as her digital clock blinked over to 4:27 pm.

Robin's nerves were frazzled like the feather on her band uniform.

Tonight was supposed to be a fun night! Vickie had asked her last week if she wanted to come over to her house and have a movie marathon...and a sleepover. Of course she jumped at the chance! (Steve had said, excitedly and with way too many winks that Vickie was putting the moves on her.)

Robin had not known if it was a "friend movie marathon" or a "i-like-you-makeout movie marathon", but she had prepared for both.

But then Vickie called her earlier that afternoon to postpone. Apparently, her entire family got a stomach bug, and their house was a cesspool for germs.

Bummed, Robin tried to think of something else to do.

Hanging with Steve was out. His parents decided to grace him with their *lovely* presence after four months away on "business." They insisted on having a "family dinner." Steve always gets ultra stressed when he has to do the staunchy dinners in The Harrington Dining Room with the real silver, cloth napkins, and the Fine China that cost probably as much as his car. Telling him that her "maybe date" was off was just going to disappoint him too.

Eddie wasn't going to be any fun, either. All Eddie would do would be pine over Steve, try to sneak in a smoke, and eat whipped cream out of a can.

Nancy was spending the day with Jonathan. The kids made sure they all had things to do because Steve couldn't take them anywhere.

Then she had what she thought was a great idea. She could get her learner's permit! She had studied the written test bookelett front to back, as well as gone over all the driving rules and tricks with Steve and Eddie.

She wasn't working that day, and she was completely free. Perfect timing! All she had to do was get her birth certificate.

Which...proved to be harder than she thought.

Robin paced her bedroom, probably wearing a path in the carpet.

She never caught on that her parents were reluctant to give her her birth certificate. When she would suggest getting her permit or license, they would talk about how they couldn't afford to have her driving. A car and insurance cost a lot of money. Then they would guilt trip her into not driving at all with fears of her getting into an accident. She never knew her name, but that was how she was told her bio mom died.

She would always let it go when they talked about the "angel that gave them their precious baby girl."

But she knew now that they were hiding something from her!

When she pressed until they gave in, she saw what on her birth certificate. She felt so betrayed! How could they lie to her like that?

The taunting clock on her nightstand changed to 4:30. The DMV was now closed. Not that it even mattered!

She couldn't take it anymore! Robin picked up the phone.

"Hey, Nancy? I hate to ask, but could you and Jonathan come pick me up? I really need a friend right now."

---

In the Byers-Hopper living room, Nancy blinked up at Robin. "So, you are actually a year *older* than you thought you were?"

Robin threw her hand in the air. "Yes! And they didn't tell me! Evidently, it wasn't just that I took longer than the rest of the babies to walk! Oh no, I was in the NICU for *months*! I was so far behind in my milestones that my parents decided to just tell me I was a year younger and enroll me in school a year later than everyone else!"

Jonathan dodged a flailing arm and handed Robin a cup of tea. "Here, sit down and drink this. It's my mom's chamomile. I think you need it."

Taking a breath, Robin nodded her thanks and took a sip. Then made a face. "This tastes like laundry detergent and bourbon."

Jonathan shrugged with a small smirk. "I said it's my mom's."

Nancy went into investigation mode. "Okay, so your parents adopted you three days after you were born. Closed adoption. Your biological mother died, and no information about your biological fatherm. Instead of 1968, you were adopted in 1967."

Carefully putting the mug down on a magazine on the table, Robin ran her fingers through her hair. "Me being adopted is old news, Nancy. I've known I was my parents 'miracle baby' since I was able to walk...which I don't know when that is now! Was it *actually* six months after most kids, or *a year and six months* after most kids?!?"

Nancy waved her hand to cut Robin off. "Robin! I understand. I'm just trying to understand how nobody knew this information."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "About Robin being adopted?"

Nancy sighed. "No, about how Robin could go through the whole school system and sign government NDA's without getting flagged that her birthday was wrong. I'm wondering if her adoption records say something else."

She got up to grab a notepad and started scribbling. "The information given to the Buckley's, if they can believed- sorry Robin- is that the adoption was a closed adoption. Having records sealed makes sense, but not a closed adoption. There was no father, according to Robin's parents. Just her biological mother. Who died in a car accident. So...who made sure it was a closed adoption? Who isn't supposed to be contacted? Does that have anything to do with the year change?"

Jonathan got up and pulled out his wallet. "Robin, you've never had a physical ID, right?" He showed off his own driver's license with his awful bowl cut hair picture.

"No. I haven't even had a permit yet. At nineteen! I'm so far behind!"

Jonathan nodded and looked to Nancy to continue. When she nodded back, he handed Robin his license. "If you've never had an ID, the only time you would see your birthday written anywhere would either be at school or by your parents." He turned to Nancy. "If her school records say she was born in 1967, then they knew she was a year older, but didn’t say anything... If they filled out her forms saying 1968, then they lied to the Roane County Board of Education, and they didn't check her birth certificate."

Nancy pointed a pencil at Robin. "You might have accidentally uncovered a hidden adoption scheme in Hawkins."

Robin flexed her fingers. "That's nice, you guys. Really nice. I may be a part of some big adoption conspiracy. But the fact remains, I'm a year older than I ever thought I was, and my parents lied to me about it."

Nancy and Jonathan both flinched.

Right. Comfort Robin now, investigate later.

Nancy walked over and stilitingly pat Robin’s shoulder. She wracked her brain for something to cheer the woman up.

"Well, you and Steve can actually pretend to be twins, now! Your birthdays are now only three days apart!

Part 1 here:

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

I’m cackling at the idea of the bayverse boys going through the “baby’s first swear” moment 

Since the kiddos live in the sewer and all the turtles don’t seem like the type to swear around their kids (maybe Raph if especially angry) they would prolly end up learning it from Vern or Casey. 

Like just imagine any of the guys chilling with their kids, and then their little toddler son/daughter knocks over their juice cup and they just go “Shit” in their lil innocent kid voice with a grumpy pout, meanwhile their dads have snapped a wide eyed stare to them cuz WHERE did you hear that word?!- 

Obvs Leo would probably be the one who hates swearing the most and would be pretty angry in the moment but how would they all handle the aftermath? Like would they implement something sorta like a swear jar system? Would they just give their kids a warning? Interrogate their family to find out who taught their kid to swear?? The chaos that would follow sounds hilarious!

Your Kids’ First Swear Word (Fluff/Crack)

Children Series

Bayverse!Turtles x reader

A/N: I am Danish, and in Denmark, cursing is an important part of our culture. No beeping out curse words here! We say the shit fucking proud and fucking loud!🗣🇩🇰 Sure, we tell children that it’s bad, but we don’t care too much. Remember, the Danish versions of TMNT 1987 and 2003 had the turtles cursing. I learned a specific word for retard, because Shredder kept using it on Bebop and Rocksteady😂 But the turtles are American, and that is different, so here you go. Hope you’ll enjoy💚

Warnings: Cursing lol.

Leonardo:

Romeo is 10, Marcello is 7, Gerardo is 4.

The children always loved when uncle Vern, uncle Casey and aunt April came to visit in the lair. Other than their mother and aunts, these were the only human connections the kids had.

Funnily enough, the children took a strong liking to Vern, always hanging around him whenever he came to visit, which was way less than Casey and April. But why did the kids like Vern so much? Maybe it was his strong reaction of confusion and slight annoyance when one of them came running, wanting some sort of attention from him. Especially Marcello, who found that if he tugged enough at Vern, the human would start muttering all sorts of strange words under his breath, almost like he was spitting them in the boy's direction.

The other kids took notice of this as well, especially Gerardo who started taking on his older brother’s habit of bugging Vern whenever he was around, just to hear the strange words that he would mumble. Words that Gerardo found absolutely hilarious, and would save in his memory for a lifetime. Because then he learned what those words meant… or sorta.

Vern, Casey and April was once again visiting the lair, coming to eat dinner with the large underground family. In these cases they all ate together in the living area, at a bunch of tables, all lined out in one liner continuation. It was here, in the middle of conversations and laughter, that Gerardo suddenly perked up out of nowhere, in a way that only made sense for a child his age.

“Uncle Vern taught me a word!”, he said proudly to you and Leo, as he suddenly remembered one of the words Vern had said last time he visited, kicking his feet under the table in excitement.

“And what is that word?”, you asked smiling, eyeing Marcello as he poured up a glass of water for Romeo, no indication in the slightest for what was about to come out of your sons mouth.

“Shitling!”, Gerardo yelled out proudly.

Silence fell over all the adults at the table, all while the children kept talking and yapping. You and Leo made wide eyed eye contact, before slowly turning your attention to Vern, who sat frozen with his fork halfway into his mouth.

Needless to say, but from that day, Vern really had to restrain his vocabulary whenever he was around the kids.

Raphael:

Joan is 11, Minerva is 7, Ragnar is 4.

With your husband’s foul mouth, one would not be blamed for believing that Raph had been living his whole life on a ship out in the big open ocean, instead of in the sewers below New York City. It had long gotten Raph into trouble with his own father, often being the reason he would find himself in the hashish. Yet he never seemed to learn from his punishments.

Even as you and Raph got together, his foul mouth would be going. Never because of you, no no, never you. You could never do anything wrong in Raph’s eyes. No, Raph would curse at pretty much anything else. His brothers annoyed him - curse. He was angry and needed to get his frustrations out with a good work out - curse. He accidentally burned himself when cooking - curse. He watched a game and either something good or something bad happened - curse. Raph was in a good mood, and he wanted to let you know just how happy he was - sweet words with curses for emphasis. In order words, cursing was just a part of Raphael’s natural vocabulary.

But when you and Raph started having children, your husband was forced to keep his colorful words for himself, only letting his curses fly when none of them was around, usually when they were in bed. But somehow, even when he kept a careful eye on who was around, your children managed to catch a few of those words.

It was just like any other day in the lair. Your children was playing in the living area, Minerva and Ragnar’s laughter ringing out loud from the couch while Joan watched them from the armchair, making sure that her little brother and little sister wouldn’t accidentally knock each other out in their little play fight. You and Raph sat just a small distance away, seeing your kids jump around, ready to intervene should something happen, when all of a sudden-.

“Asshole!”, Mini yelled out loud, causing her and Ragnar to laugh even louder.

You and Raph sat up straight, eyes wide in shock, not fully able to believe what you had just heard, when Ragnar piped up.

“Fuck face!”, he yelled, making Mini fall over on the couch, holding her stomach in laughter, almost falling off and onto the floor below. Ragnar, continuing the game he and his sister had going, stood up on the couch, his little form looking so adorable as he tried to square up. “Shit maggot!”

For a solid five minutes you and Raph sat in absolute shock, still processing what the two youngest of your angels had just blurted out. That was when Joan turned calmly towards the two of you, shrugging her shoulders.

“If you think this is bad, you should hear them when you’re not around”, she said, before turning her attention back on her siblings’ play fight.

After this you and Raph started keeping a sharp eye on your children’s vocabulary, and started cracking down harder on Raph’s own use of words.

Donatello:

Galileo is 12, Dorothy and Marie are 7.

For a long time, you and Donnie had had problems with Marie’s tendency to suddenly blurt out things. You could be sitting at the dining table with family and friends over, when Marie would all of a sudden turn towards Vern and ask; “why do you look like that?”

Vern would in turn look at Marie a little confused and ask; “look like what?”

“Like that”, Marie said, pointing at his face. “Ugly”.

Casey almost choked on his drink, and even Splinter fought not to smile. And it would have been slightly adorable, if it wasn’t for the fact that she did this quite often.

Marie didn’t say these things to be hurtful, no, she said these things because she was honest and curious. She never thought that the things that she said could be considered mean. She just wanted to know, and just like she had been taught; if you wanted to know something you would have to ask. That was something Donnie had taught her and her siblings, but never had he thought that it would lead to Marie being so blunt. So blunt that sometimes even her siblings were shocked.

But one this was being blunt, asking out of the blue questions that would take people aback, but never had Marie cursed. But that changed fast one day.

You, Donnie and your children were sitting in the kitchen, eating your breakfast together, talking about whatever things families would talk about in the mornings. Dorothy was telling Donnie about her big plans for the day, aka, dress up, while Galileo told you about a new video game he wanted to play soon, when suddenly Marie perked up with a question that had been playing on her mind.

“Dad?”, she asked, leaving the spoon in her cereal.

“Yes, sweetheart. What is it?”, Donnie asked, happy to see that Marie was at least asking permission to ask a question, instead of just blurting it out in the open.

“There’s a word I don’t understand. Do you know it?”

“What word is it?”

“It’s actually more than one word”, Marie said.

“Is that so?”, Donnie asked. “What are they?”

“Shut the fuck up, shit face”, Marie said, looking up to the side, as if she was trying to remember the exact words as she spoke.

You and Donnie were shocked, staring at her with wide eyes. Dorothy was confused, looking back and forth between her parents and her sister. But not Gali. Instead he gasped, looking offended.

“I told you to get out when I was playing that video game!”, he gasped. “You snuck back in?!”

“You didn’t lock the door”, Marie shrugged, continuing to eat her cereal while you and Donnie was still trying to process what just happened.

Michelangelo:

Sunny is 4, Luis is around 1.

Your dear, sweet little bundle of sunshine, Sunny, was at that period of her life, where she would push boundaries, and say all the words she heard around her, just to get a reaction out of her family members, sometimes even yelling instead of actually speaking. She had also recently had her first real temper tantrum, which, thankfully was rare for Sunny, but sadly not the last to come in the next few years.

Sunny had recently taken to asking you or Mikey for food, only to bring it to the couch, and eat and play with it, causing her to spill everywhere, which you and Mikey obviously wasn’t too happy about, causing you and your husband to put in all efforts to get rid of her habit. That even meant that Mikey could no longer bring snacks to the couch, as that would totally undermine all that the two of you had been working for.

But that didn’t stop Sunny from trying, often ending in failure, which resulted in her first temper tantrum, screaming over the fact that she wasn’t allowed to bring her dino nuggets to the couch, but would have to eat them at a table. That didn’t fly by Sunny, what so ever, causing her to scream and cry for two whole hours, making Luis just as fussy by the sound. Oh, it was exhausting.

But that still didn’t stop Sunny from trying. No, in fact it made her attempts more elaborate, sometimes even taking you and Mikey by surprise.

It soon became a matter of principle for Sunny. It was no longer about her getting to eat on the couch, but simply the act of bringing food to the couch without you and Mikey noticing it. Chips from the cupboard, a pizza slice, a handful of popcorn and one time even a frozen chicken. But soon, Sunny came up with what she considered a genius idea - a cup of juice. If she could bring that to the couch, she would have won the battle. And so, Sunny asked you for a cup of juice while sitting at the dining table, drinking half of the cup, before slowly sliding off her chair, making her way toward the living area with her small cup of juice in her hands.

Here Mikey was sitting in the armchair, bottle feeding Luis. That was perfect for Sunny. With her father’s attention grabbed by her baby brother, there was nothing that could stop her. And so, she quickly and silently made her way towards the couch, her half filled juice cup in her hands.

Once at the couch, she placed the cup on the soft couch cushion, letting it whopple when she then began to climb up on the same cushion, when the cup suddenly tumbled over, spilling juice all over the couch. The exact thing her parents didn’t want to happen. And that was when a word graced Sunny’s lips. A word she had never used before, yet she had heard it being spoken around the lair in situations like this.

“Shit”.

That was when she caught the attention of Mikey, who stood from the armchair, still with Luis in his arms, seeing the mess Sunny had made, her small curse still ringing in his ear.

After that day, Sunny was no longer allowed to bring food into the living area, with each curse word he said from that day forward, resulting in a week without dino nuggets.

[ssahotchnerr]

girl dad aaron AMUSEMENT PARK EDITION!!!!!!!

he would spend all his money at the ring toss just to get his girl the prize she wants. he would hold her hand on the swings. he would give into her begging to go on the big drop ride. he would ride in her bumper car, whispering, “c’mon. let’s bump into mommy. it’ll be funny.” he would make sure to smear her in sunscreen. he would let her wear his sunglasses. he would buy her dippin dots and funnel cakes and cotton candy. he would carry her on his shoulders. he would get wet on the water rides with her. he would guarantee they get to sit in the back or front carts (it’s only appropriate to sit in the front on some rides. other rides, it’s only appropriate to sit in the back. he would know which ride requires the back seat and which requires the front because he’s asked around because he wants his girl to have the best experience on the rollercoasters she can.) he would pack so much water to make sure everyone stays hydrated (he’s also got a fanny pack. i don’t make the rules.) he would pose for the cameras with her on the rides (silly faces, bunny ears, kissing her cheek, etc.) and he would obviously buy them and hang them on the fridge until the entire fridge is covered in them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

aw aw awwww are you trying to make me cry?????? 😭💞💞💞

baby girl's his ride buddy of the day 🥹🥹🥹 it works out perfectly too. i feel like aaron's not too keen on rides - he gets nauseous easily and can only take so much 😭 whereas you're still okay - so you'll go on the more extreme rides with jack. as the two of you are doing that, aaron's on the more tame rides with baby girl, or standing on the sidelines with her in his arms, pointing out you and jack on the ride 🥰 and for the kiddie rides that don't fit an adult, jack happily goes on those with her hehe <3333 best big brother

aaron's hand is always in hers, she's in his arms, or in a stroller, just always accounted for. he's terrified she'll somehow wander away (although she knows not to) or he knows how easily someone could come swoop her up and take her far away (mosley lane 😭😭😭😭) and STOP the visual of her on his shoulders, in his sunglasses that are far too big for her, gripping onto his hair or his head as she chatters away - pointing out what she sees, what rides she wants to go on, what snacks smell yummy, or simply talking about anything <3333 sobbing

when it comes to the prizes, aaron's definitely paying way more than what that item probably cost to make, and knows it's 'lowkey' a waste of money 😭 but there's no price when it comes to baby girl's happiness, he'll do whatever it takes 🥰 the smile that forms on her face when she finally gets the plushie she wanted??? priceless and it's a memory they'll both hold onto forever - aaron takes full advantage of those type of memories 🥺

the bumper cars!!!!!!!!!!! the true highlight of the day 😭 aaron's with baby girl, you're with jack. hehe you peer over as aaron's sneakily whispering to her and eyeing the two of you👀, you know what he's scheming and tell jack the very same thing 🤭 "we gotta get dad and your sister". the laughs that erupt from both of them as they bump into each other 😭😭😭😭 it's contagious, you and aaron are equally as giddy and are loving every second of it 🥰 they even both insist on riding multiple times just to crash into each other LOL

and omg aaron's prepared and stacked for every scenario possible. extra clothes, shoes, socks are in the car (for each family member) for after the water rides. he packs dramamine, ibruprofen, bug spray. he also strategically plans out when to eat snacks or food - to prevent upset stomachs after eating and going on rides 🥴 he brings a tonnn of sunscreen and applies frequently. omg the four of you are pulled off to the side, drinking water and taking a break - you unscrew the top of a water bottle for jack, simply turn your head, and are met with aaron's hands on your face - applying sunscreen generously for you too 😭😭😭🫶🏻 he also brought hats for extra coverage - jack has a baseball cap, baby girl has a cute lil bucket hat 🥰

and AWWW the pictures 🥹🥹🥹 aaron's sure to get multiples too - one for the fridge, for baby girl's room (a pic of them on her bedside table 😭😭😭😭 especially useful when she misses him when he's gone on a case and she just wants her daddy🥺) and his office 😭<3333

as the four of you leave the amusement park when night falls, baby girl is absolutely zonked 😭 her face is smushed into aaron's neck, arms around his neck, maybe even drooling a bit, completely out. hehe so aaron veryyyy carefully places her into her carseat as to not wake her up 🥹 ugh she had the best day <333

[myosotisa]

Hiding Lately - s.h. & e.m.

Eddie Munson x Reader x Steve Harrington

‖  summary: You've been hurting and hiding. Steve and Eddie come over to check on you and offer to help.

‖  tags: hurt/comfort. depictions of depression, a depressive episode, and anxiety. suicidal ideations. she/her pronouns, no y/n, nicknames are sweetheart, baby, angel, and doll. could be read as platonic or romantic.

‖  word count: 2.1k

The knock on your apartment door had never felt more damning than it did in that moment.

A knock on the front door was always a nightmare for someone who struggled with their mental health but that was on good days. Today, a knock on the door was definitely not something you were prepared to handle.

So you ignored it. Pulled your covers even further up over your head and hoped that whoever it was would just go away.

No such luck.

You hear the muffled sound of the deadbolt turning and then the seal of the door breaking as it inches open. “Hellooooo?” Is the familiar echo out into the empty space of your place. “Anybody home?”

“She’s gotta be here, her car is out front.”

Fuck it’s both of them. Every hope you had of just hiding and Eddie leaving got thrown out the window the moment you heard Steve was with him. On their own, either might be disheartened by no response – decide they were invading your privacy and leave before venturing too far inside.

Together, encouraging each other, it’s only a matter of minutes before they knock at your bedroom door.

Your pigsty of a bedroom that is covered in dirty clothes and dishes and probably smells weird and they can’t see–

“Don’t come in,” you rasp from your bed, voice tired from disuse as you break your silence for the first time in who knows how long.

“Sweetheart, where have you been?” Steve’s voice comes through the door, obviously right outside it. “We've been calling and calling for days.”

“I… I’ve been sick.”

“Sick? Why didn’t you say something, angel? Could’ve brought you some soup or something,” Eddie adds, sounding concerned. You can clearly picture the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

Eyes closing from their stare at the ceiling, you take a deep breath to force down the sickness that is threatening to rise with every lie that leaves your mouth. “I’m contagious. Don’t want to get you sick.”

“Oh, come on. We’re big strong men, right Harrington? We can fend off a little stomach bug, no problem.”

“Super human immune system, baby,” Steve confirms, and you can hear the smile on his face. It nearly breaks your heart. “No chance you’ll give us anything. So can we come in?”

“No!”

Neither of them say a word after your quick and forceful denial, leaving it to feel like it’s echoing out around the room and grating back into your own eardrums. Just to get it to stop, you softly add, “Please don’t.”

While you’re worried it might’ve been too soft for them to hear, you’re proven wrong by Steve saying, “Then will you come out here?” It’s a soft plea, warm and velvety in its concern and compassion, and it feels like a knife in the chest. “Tell us what’s really going on?”

There’s no way to get out of this. You haven’t showered in days, you probably smell rough and look even worse. You’ve been wearing the same sweatpants and hoodie for a week. And you’re going to have to open your door and face your two closest friends like this.

If you don’t go out there, they will come in here. And that’s too much, it’s safe in here, they can’t come in here–

“Okay, okay. I’m… Just gimme a minute.”

“Take your time, we’ll go hang out on the couch,” you hear one set of footsteps away from your door after Steve’s confirmation.

“Not too long though,” Eddie teases, “I’m gonna raid your fridge and eat all of it if you don’t stop me.”

The threat means nothing as he walks away too. There’s nothing in your fridge left that’s edible.

Anxiety from them being here and wanting them to be gone is enough to get you out of bed for the first time today, picking through the remaining pile of clean clothes to find a different pair of sweatpants and a top that isn’t as marinated in body as your current set, slapping on some deodorant and changing your underwear at the same time. You do the bare minimum to make your hair look less like a greasy, horrible mess and gargle some mouthwash because it’s easier than trying to brush your teeth. This already feels like so, so much effort and you haven’t even faced them yet.

This shouldn’t be this hard. Why the fuck is being a normal human being so hard for you? What is wrong with you–

As soon as you’ve even cracked the door open, their murmuring to each other stops and they turn toward you, looking small and unsure in your doorway. Two pairs of brown eyes staring holes into you, seeing right through you, and it feels so fucking painful that you want to just slam the door shut again. They’re looking at you so softly, with so much warmth and openness. 

Because they pity you.

“What do you want?” Your voice is colder and softer than you meant it to be, not moving from your spot that blocks the view of your room from them. You could step out into the living room and close the door behind you to hide your shame, but leaving the safety of your bedroom isn’t something you’re willing to do yet.

“Your fridge is empty.” Eddie’s voice is as soft as yours but the corners of his mouth are turned down in a small frown. “The dishes in your sink have started to smell. Your trashcan and your mailbox are both overflowing.”

Shame and embarrassment presses hot behind your eyes, looking down at your feet. “If you’re just here to point out everything that’s wrong, you can get the fuck out of–”

“Sweetheart.” Steve cuts you off, not cruelly but enough to make you stop anyway. “When’s the last time you ate anything?”

Your heart drops into your stomach when he slowly stands, starting to slowly walk toward you like you’re a skittish animal. “I dunno… I’m not hungry.”

“Shit,” Eddie mutters from the couch, head falling to look at his clasped hands as he leans forward on his elbows.

“When’s the last time you showered? Left your apartment?” Steve continues, looking like his heart is breaking.

“Steve…” You whisper, a croak in your voice again while you shake your head at him. “Please, don’t… Don’t make me answer that.”

Eddie’s head raises again, drawing your attention. He looks just as heart broken as Steve. “Why didn’t you say anything, doll?”

A humorless laugh leaves you, sounding more like a choked gasp. “What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh? ‘Hey, sorry guys, I can’t even get myself to go to the fucking grocery store like a normal human being, can you help?’”

“Yeah,” he answers, sounding almost angry, shaggy hair falling off his shoulders when he nods, “for a start.”

“Eddie.” Steve looks back at him sharply, giving him a warning look that makes him soften again. When he looks back to you, still a safe few feet away, he asks, “What happened, sweetheart? What’s got you…?”

“Hurting?” Eddie offers when the other falters, pushing off his knees to stand as well.

“It’s just…” Your voice cracks, tears you haven’t been able to find in days suddenly pushing at your eyes without warning. You squeeze them closed as your breath catches to try and stop them.

What are you gonna tell them? ‘Oh everything’s so hard.’ Just tell them you’re a fucking child who can’t handle being alive? Might as well push them out the door now–

“Hey,” Steve’s soft voice interrupts your mental berating, taking another few steps closer. “It’s okay. You can tell us anything.”

“No judgement,” Eddie adds, an echo of one of the first things you said to him when the two of you met. It’s been a constant in the relationship you have with both of them. Anything any of you say – no matter how stupid, or fucked up, or wrong – no judgement. Maybe some teasing, depending on how stupid. But they’ve never judged you for anything and there is no reason for them to start now.

But this? Trusting someone, opening up to someone, letting someone in about this? The idea is terrifying.

“Everything’s just…” You trail off again, looking off and down the hallway away from them as you bring your arms up in a sort of hug for yourself. “It’s all just a lot, right now.”

“Will you…” Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets as he kicks out his boot like he’s kicking a rock. “Will you let us help you?”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the sentence. “I– I can’t ask you to do that.”

Steve’s fingertips brush your elbow, the first human touch you’ve had in longer than you can remember, and it has your head whipping toward him. “You’re not asking. We're offering.”

Hot tears increase the pressure in your head, now starting to pool at the bottoms of your eyes as you struggle to make eye contact with either of them.  “I don’t even know how you could help. It’s just… I can’t…”

I want to curl into a ball on the floor and wait to die–

“How about this,” Eddie walks up, moving to rest his shoulder on the wall beside the door frame you still occupy. “I’m gonna run to the store and stock up, plus grab us all something to eat on the way back.”

You open your mouth to protest but he holds up his hand, “Ah, ah, ah.” It’s enough scolding to close your lips again in a tight line before he points at Steve. “Mr. Mom here can get started on cleaning up the kitchen so it’s nice and easy to cook in. And you tell us what you want to do.”

Your teary eyes finally look back and forth between them, begging for an answer – for them to put you out of your misery for even just a moment. “I can give you a couple of options to choose from, if that would help?” Steve offers, fingertips still lightly resting on your elbow.

Door 3, door 3, door 3, every bone in my body wants to get back in bed and never get up–

Squeezing your eyes shut, both to let some of the tears fall and to push back the shame that wants to explode out of your mouth, you give him a stuttered nod of your head. “Okay. Door #1: While we do that, you go and try to take a shower.” The immediate pain must show on your face, because he quickly moves on.

“Door #2: You come out here and lay on the couch while I start to clean up. You can take a nap, or we can talk, or we can listen to music – whatever you want. And Door #3, you go back and curl up in bed and we come back to get you when Eddie has some food for us.”

A shaky breath in and out, you open your eyes to look at them. Eddie’s face is forced casual while Steve offers a small and supportive smile. You know they wouldn’t judge you if you picked Door #3 and got back into bed. If you went back to the indent you’ve most likely made from all the hours and hours spent in the same spot. But you want to try. Even if it’s just a little bit. Even if you end up back in bed right after anyway.

“If… If I pick Door #2,” Eddie’s mouth tilts up slightly and Steve’s eyebrows raise in interest, “then can I have a hug?”

“Oh angel,” Eddie presses a hand to his chest, right over his heart. “If you thought you were going to get away without a hug in any of those options, you’re sorely mistaken.”

You exhale a small laugh out of your nose, a teary smile on your face as they both step up to sandwich you between them in a tight hug. Eddie’s face presses to your ear, curly hair tickling your nose as he rests his mouth on your shoulder. Steve settles higher, resting his cheek on the side of your head as he tucks you closer to his chest. Both boys are warm, solid, and alive on either side of you – almost crushing you with the force of the embrace. But it’s the best crush you’ve ever felt, one that tells you that you’re alive and that someone cares. It makes the tears come through faster, falling down your cheeks with more force as you shudder in a breath.

Steve presses a kiss to your temple, squeezing you just a little bit tighter. “We’re here for you, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s hand fists in the back of your shirt, forcing you an inch closer. “As long as you need us. Not going anywhere.”

-

now I live in a place that feels smaller by the day four walls closing in from months spent inside them there is too much grief packed into this small place packed into this bed with unchanged sheets packed between these ribs that somehow are still unbroken and no one has ever been here not in this space, not in this bed, not between these ribs they are too full of my own grief for there to be any space

-

-

-

-

-

-

thanks for reading. please reblog and leave a reaction if you liked it, they make my day.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 41

Part 1 Part 40

Eddie’s twitchier than usual all throughout the school day. He sits through shop and history and band, rocking back and forth in his seat, staring at the door. He wants to bolt out the classroom door and hunt Steve down.

He doesn’t even know Steve’s school schedule.

It’s too soon for him to be back. Medically and maybe emotionally if that showdown with Hagan and Perkins was anything to go by.

Eddie didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. He’d been picturing Steve slinking back into the shell of King Steve, curling all that jagged edges tight enough to cut himself.

But, no. King Steve had rather publicly and spectacularly abdicated his throne.

Eddie wants to be happy. That was one of the most public declarations of possession Eddie’s ever seen. Steve Harrington had scorned his friends, and walked away, with Eddie.

But Perkin had looked hurt, and Steve’s eyes had gone dead and cold, and that lifeless gaze had stayed all the way through Eddie dropping him off at his classroom like he was a kindergartener and Eddie was his parent.

So, Eddie is stressed, buzzing with useless adrenaline as he speeds through the cafeteria, grabbing his usual droll lunch, and dropping down at his seat.

Gareth plops down beside him and says, “so, I heard a rumor.”

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, eyes flitting around the cafeteria, barely listening.

Steve’s not in his usual seat, center-stage at the jock table. What if he doesn’t show up for lunch at all? Will Eddie have to search the entire school to find him and make sure the asshole is alive and eating?

“I heard Harrington showed up to school in your van.”

Eddie snaps his gaze up, only just noticing that Jeff is sitting across from him, staring him down with furrowed brows. “So?” Eddie asks, like it’s not a big deal at all.

“So?!” Gareth replies, leaning toward Eddie, bringing their faces alarmingly close together so he can glare right into Eddie’s eyes. “So, you’re sick for a week.” He pauses here to emphasize the little finger quotations he puts around the word sick. “And come back to school with the jock of all jocks?”

“Shut up,” Eddie says. He has no rebuttal, can’t say much else without finding himself chained to another chair in that same cold, windowless room. “He’s just going through some stuff.”

“And that’s your problem because?” Jeff asks, biting into his shitty school-lunch lasagna and scrapping his teeth against his fork just because he knows it bugs the shit out of Eddie.

Eddie sighs, running his fingers through his bangs vigorously. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s already frazzled beyond repair.

“Just be nice,” he hisses, glaring between his two friends even as Doug sits down beside Jeff and starts eating his burger like he doesn’t care about anything that’s happening. He’s now Eddie’s favorite.

“Are you serious?” Gareth asks. “You’re asking us to be nice to fucking Steve Harrington of all people? When would we even see him?” He throws his hands in the air; palms open like he wants to slap the shit out of Eddie but he’s hanging on by a thread. Eddie echoes the sentiment.

“Look—” Eddie starts.

But then there’s a lunch tray placed beside his own, and the subject of their conversation takes a seat by Eddie’s side without even a by your leave. Jeff and Gareth are both gawping, lunches forgotten. Even Doug stops eating to look between Eddie and Steve with a raised eyebrow before clearly deciding it’s none of his business.

Steve’s opted for the same over-cooked hockey puck hamburger with fries, but he doesn’t seem interested in eating it. Eddie resists the urge to cram it into his mouth. Just like the doctor ordered.

“What is happening?” Jeff asks, but he, too picks up his fork and begins eating.

“Lunch?” Eddie says. Beside him, Steve snorts, and Eddie’s insides flutter alarmingly.

“And you can’t sit with your friends over there because?” Gareth asks snidely, gesturing rudely over to Steve’s usual table.

“Dude,” Steve says. “My only friends are a twelve-year-old and this guy.” He points at Eddie like he’s something he scraped off his shoe, smirking like he knows he’s making everything worse.

“Stevie,” Eddie says, giving him his most devastating kicked-puppy eyes; the ones that always melted Uncle Wayne when he pulled them out of his arsenal. “Barb would cry if she heard you say that.”

“I would cry if Steve said what?” Barb asks, shoving him gently sideways so she can squish herself into the open spot at his side.

“Stevie here said you two aren’t friends,” Eddie tattles gleefully.

Barb looks over at Steve, eyebrow raised as she looks him up and down, smiling at the wardrobe change that was one of Eddie’s worn-out band T-shirts. “You’ll do, I guess,” Barb says, before turning to glare across the cafeteria. “Besides, I’m going to need some new friends at this rate.”

Everyone’s eyes track the movement, following her line of sight to where Nancy and Jonathan are cozied up next to each other. They both look as studious and serious as ever, but Eddie can see their thighs touching beneath the table. He glances over at Steve, feels relieved when Steve’s little face isn’t scrunched up in heartbreak. If anything, he looks confused.

“Ouch,” Eddie says, nudging her shoulder. “Tough break.”

“I don’t get it,” Steve says, still squinting in confusion over at the pair.

Barb sighs, picking at the seams of the peanut butter and jelly she pulls from her backpack. “All Nancy cares about right now is Jonathan.” Her shoulders slump as she nibbles around her sandwich, only eating the crust like a weirdo. “At least with you, I knew it wouldn’t last.” She keeps talking over Steve’s little, offended, “hey!” “Now, when am I going to get my best friend back?”

Steve’s staring at Barb like he wants to burrow into her skull and root around. “She’s right there.” He points at Nancy rudely. Luckily, Nancy doesn’t seem to notice; too wrapped up in her nerdy little version of a honeymoon phase. “Can’t you just go hang out with both of them?”

“Dude,” Jeff says, staring at Steve like he’s an especially weird bug. Even Gareth is too baffled to seem all that hostile anymore. Eddie feels smug. How Steve passed for a suave, cool jock for so long is a mystery.

Barb groans, biting her sandwich in half viciously. “It’s not the same,” she says. “They’re all wrapped up in each other.”

“Didn’t Hagan and Perkins go through a honeymoon phase?” Eddie asks. “What did you used to do when they’d go on their romantic dates?”

If anything, Steve looks more confused. “Go with them?”

“You’re shitting me,” Gareth says aggressively, like this is some weird hazing ritual.

“Wait, no. Let’s let this play out,” Eddie says, turning his back on Gareth so he can watch Steve. “So, let’s set the stage. It’s valentine’s day, 1982. Tommy Hagan has set up a candlelit dinner with Miss Perkins to celebrate their eternal love. Where are you in this scenario?”

Steve’s still got his brows furrowed like he doesn’t understand the assignment. “Have you been like, stalking me?” The little freak sounds almost flattered at the accusation.

“Are you serious, Stevie?” Eddie asks, unsurprised when Steve nods.

“So, you, Steve Harrington, showed up at your best friend’s valentine’s date last year and that was just fine?” Barb asks, deadpan.

“Usually, I help Carol do her make-up before,” Steve replies, blessedly finally picking up his burger and taking a bite. He looks over at the jock table, something small and forlorn twisting his mouth even as he bites savagely into his burger like he’s trying to kill it. “She’s not good at doing her own eye shadow without looking like a hooker.”

Everyone’s just staring at Steve while he eats his burger, oblivious.

“What the fuck?” Gareth asks.

Eddie looks over to the jock table. Tommy and Carol are both seated, glaring at the back of Steve’s head with poorly concealed jealousy. “You know,” Eddie says, looking away quickly before he accidentally meets either of the wonder twin’s eyes, “this actually explains so much.”

Barb sweeps her empty sandwich baggy into the trash like the middle-class girl she is and says, almost like she’s thinking about it, “I don’t think I can go on Nancy and Jonathan’s dates.”

Jeff, having finished his lasagna in silence, says, “Okay, they’re both freaks.”

“Here that Stevie?” Eddie asks, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulder and shaking him as he tries to swallow his bite of hamburger without choking. “You can stay!”

Steve takes another bite and talk around the mouthful like the heathen he is. “I was never going anywhere.”

Eddie smiles down at Steve, not dropping him as he takes a bite of his own lasagna. He lets the warmth in.

Part 42

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar

[yongbokology]

baby daddy! satoru x baby mama! reader

black coded reader <3

warnings; none really, just fluff tbh

wc; 1.1k

an: maybe i’ll write a part where the actual baby making takes place if this doesn’t flop 🤷🏾‍♀️

* baby daddy! satoru who looks at you with wide eyes as you show up to his apartment with a positive pregnancy test. before this situation you both were friends with benefits for a year and some change; having met him during your shift at the bar you currently work at.

* baby daddy! satoru who nearly falls over once you decide that you want to keep it (after all, it’s him we’re talking about)

* baby daddy! satoru who respects your decision after the initial shock and let’s it be known that’s he not going to be a deadbeat… (unlike someone)

“please don’t tell me we have to get married.”

you roll your eyes as you continue to clean the used shot glasses left behind by patrons.

“i’d rather self amputate my arms and legs, satoru.”

* baby daddy! satoru who tries to make it to as much doctors appointments as he can— sometimes even taking off of work for them.

“so, you’re currently at the end of your first trimester. everything is looking good, baby is looking healthy. any questions?” the doctor smiles sweetly at the both of you as she looks through yours and the baby’s charts.

satoru sits up from his chair, eyes perking up in the process “how long until you can tell if it’s going to be the most powerful being in the world?”

“satoru!”

“what… just curious..”

* baby daddy! satoru who secretly buys everything on your registry.

* baby daddy! satoru who watches you marvel at everything he bought, acting surprised with you.

* baby daddy! satoru who poses the idea of the both of you having a place together after a serious talk with shoko.

“don’t you think it would be safer for both her and the baby? y’know cuz you’re practically cursed.” a freshly lit newport hangs off her lips as she eyes her old friend.

“what?! i’m not cursed..”

“think about it— the world shifted off kilter when you were born. people were quite literally planning your murder before you could walk. you don’t think they’ll be rubbing their hands at the chance to get at your offspring?”

satoru breaks his friend’s stare and chooses silence, opting to take another bite out of his onigiri.

* baby mama! reader who accepts the offer because you’re literally just a twenty-something girl trying to navigate this unfair world, living paycheck to paycheck (😪)

— fear not tho because baby daddy! satoru got his baby mama covered!

* baby mama! reader who gets to know satoru more since moving in and he’s honestly such an interesting character.

* baby mama! reader who thinks it’s truly nice seeing him for who he was rather than him being a complete whiny mess after an orgasm for a change.

“do you just starve yourself all day? there’s literally nothing here to eat, toru!” you have your hand placed on six month old pregnant stomach and the other is holding open his stupidly expensive smart fridge that currently has one singular bento box that is half eaten.

“i don’t know how to cook!”

“good lord, what am i going to do with you?”

* baby mama! reader who takes off from the bar after satoru essentially pleads on his knees for you to stay home.

- he eventually convinces you to quit altogether.

* baby mama! reader who learns the truth about satoru’s job after waiting for him at the and seeing a fucking panda just holding a conversation with some weird kid with markings around his mouth, simply replying with “salmon.”

* baby daddy! satoru who thought it would be fine to just have you sit tight for a couple of minutes while he checks up on his students since he’s been off from work but clearly he was wrong when he comes back to see you bug-eyed and pacing back and forth.

you’re already trampling over your own words when satoru walks over to you with a concerned look on his face. “w-why did i just see a fucking talking panda satoru!”

he’s sliding a hand over his face and is pulling you into the nearest room and sliding the door shut behind him. it’s there that he explains the world of jujutsu sorcery and what he does and why you saw a talking panda roaming about.

he decides to kill two birds with one stone that day and introduces you to his students and the both of you are bombarded with a magnitude of questions.

there’s a brunette who hasn’t taken her hands off your stomach since introduction and there’s a pink haired young man who’s enamored with you overall.

“kinda surprising someone would willingly have a child with you.”

the brunette takes her hands off your stomach to pound her fist into the dark-haired kid whose names you learned was megumi.

(you caught a glimpse of a younger version of him tucked into satoru’s wallet after spending the whole day in the grocery store)

“just because we’re all thinking it doesn’t mean you have to say it out loud, fushiguro.”

* baby mama! reader who grows fond of the trio after initial introduction and ends up seeing them more often after that.

* baby daddy! satoru who doesn’t mind one bit and opens up his house so you could spend more time with them.

* baby daddy! satoru who’s in the middle of an intense fight but stops once he hears the specific ringtone he picked out for you.

“give me a minute would you? someone rather important is calling.”

his opponent is stunned and confused at the sheer audacity yet they don’t dare move an inch.

satoru presses his phone to his ear, a soft smile appearing on his lips as he answers you. “what’s going on, pretty girl?”

“baby. coming. now.”

“be right there.”

satoru’s smile drops as he reverts his attention back to his opponent, his arms preparing to conjure a finishing blow.

“sorry to cut our playtime short but someone truly worthy of my time just called.”

* baby daddy! satoru who makes it just in time to see his beautiful son being born.

* baby mama! reader who’s exhausted from giving life to a literal being. you’ve got your arms wrapped around the newborn that finally stopped crying all while sharing glances between you and satoru.

* baby daddy! satoru who has this weird feeling in his stomach after receiving his son in his arms. the expression on his face resembles one of pure bliss as he takes a seat in the chair not too far from your hospital bed.

after much-needed reassurance and satoru helping you to sleep, he’s slowly pacing around the room with your son, whispering sweet nothings and quiet promises.

“not that i doubted it for a second but you’re certainly mine alright.”

he smiles at the piercing blue eyes staring right back at his own.

* baby mama! reader who isn’t actually sleeping and watches the both of them with tired eyes and in that moment knows she made the right decision and is content with the possibility of a domestic life with the strongest sorcerer of the modern age.

.

.

.

© yongbokology y2k23

feedback is encouraged.

boarder credz @leopardprnt

[ranhaitanisgf]

Can I please request the love at first sight trope and seven minutes in heaven for Mikey :) (just an idea but maybe he sees her forms a crush and stuff then he invite her to a party hosted by toman) also I absolutely love your writing I've been binge reading!

— manjiro [mikey] sano // love at first sight // seven minutes in heaven

☆ ˎˊ˗ hi anon !! thank you for requesting for my event !! i'm ngl i did nawt kno what i was doin w this ... just kinda cranked this out lawl ... hopefully you all will enjoy anyways !! xoxo

☆ ˎˊ˗ fem!reader

☆ ˎˊ˗ wc ; 1.1k+

masterlist || 2k masterlist

you are so nervous right now. 

“hey, don’t worry about it! everyone’s going to love you!” 

“right…” you replied, still feeling nervous as you and mikey stood outside the door. 

you had been confused when mikey first talked to you on one of the rare days he came to school, and you were even more confused when he had invited you to hang out after school. you had only ever spoken to him in passing, so when he invited you to go eat out with him, you were sure that he was trying to play you. 

at first, you didn’t fall for his wily tricks, even when he ended up falling asleep on your shoulder when he was taking the train home with you, (yeah, you definitely didn’t think it was cute…nope…). you had been suspicious of him, wondering if perhaps he’d been dared to try and get you to fall for him, (unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time that happened). 

however, when he confessed to you, things changed. 

you hadn’t seen it coming at all, but he casually admitted to having feelings for you while the two of you were walking to get food one day, saying that he immediately had thought you were one of the most beautiful girls he’s ever seen. 

“i’m flattered mikey, but you can stop it now…”

“huh?” 

“you’re probably doing this on a dare, right?” you sighed, furrowing your brows. “you can stop pretending to like me now.” 

“(y/n)-chan, you’re the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen in my life.” mikey responded, his face dead serious. 

“w-what?! stop! how could that even be true?!” 

“it is true. you can choose to not believe me, but i’ll keep telling you until you accept it.”

since that day, you’d been unsure of how to feel about him. you really wanted to believe him and accept that he liked you, but at the same time, you were too scared that he might be trying to prank you. he really did keep his promise of telling you every single day though, which was slowly starting to convince you. 

and so, here you were. 

he had been bugging you to come to a party with all his friends, saying that he wants everyone to meet the girl that stole his heart, (it was a cheesy line, but it made you feel all fuzzy inside). when you finally accepted the invitation, you knew you wouldn’t be able to back out of this when you saw the excited smile on his face. 

“you ready?” mikey asked, bringing you back to the present. he was looking at you with a soft smile, calming your nerves a bit. 

“yeah.” with a nod, mikey opened the door, leading the two of you inside to where everyone was. as soon as everyone caught sight of the two of you, they were immediately staring, making you fidget with a lock of your hair as you stood next to mikey. were you supposed to say something?

also, why were they all sitting in a circle. 

“mikey, good timing! we were gonna play seven minutes in heaven!” a boy with pink hair piped up, (why was he smiling so much?). 

“hah…? everyone here is dudes…” mikey stated, obviously confused. “i thought we were gonna play monopoly!” 

“well, you’re right, so you and your lady friend can go first!!” a boy with long black hair suggested, suddenly standing up and walking towards the two of you. “you don’t mind, right?” he asked you. 

“uh, i suppose not…” you responded, feeling a bit confused as to what was going on. when you looked at mikey, you could tell that he had something he wanted to say to everyone, but didn’t, instead just staring at them with a deadpan face. 

“well, since there’s no complaints, let’s get this started!” someone yelled out, making everyone cheer. without a moment to spare, the boy with black grabbed both of your arms with a gentle yet firm grip, dragging you and mikey towards a nearby closet.  

“oi, just whaddya think you’re-!” 

“shaddup, mikey, you’ll thank us later!”

before you could even think to question what you had just agreed to, the two of you were pushed into the closet, a click! sound coming from the doorknob, leaving you and mikey in darkness. 

“uh…what just happened?” you hesitantly asked. you could hear mikey sighing, beginning to knock on the door. it was to no avail though; they had turned the music back on, blocking out his voice to the outside world. 

“buncha idiots…” he muttered. “it’s okay, they’re just playing a prank, so let’s play along!” he said. through the darkness, you could see him sitting down, gesturing for you to sit down as well.

when you sat down next to him, you weren’t sure what to say. you had been really nervous to come inside and meet everyone, but now you were nervous because you were in this enclosed and dark space, very close to mikey, (you weren’t nervous he was going to do anything, you were just nervous that…actually, you’re going to be too flustered if you think about that). 

“by the way, (y/n)-chan, you’re the prettiest girl i’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

“h-huh? why’re you saying that now?” 

“well, i haven’t said it today, right?” mikey asked, seeming to be thinking for a moment. “i don’t think so…” your heart was starting to beat faster; of course, he’d been saying that to you since he’d confessed, but being in such close proximity to him in this situation was making you feel more and more convinced of his feelings. 

“...mikey, you…” you started, your eyes dropping to stare at your fingers in your lap. “you’re the best person i’ve ever met. i really like you.” you finally let out, shutting your eyes in anticipation. 

maybe i shouldn’t have said that…

“woah, seriously…?” you heard him say. you slowly opened your eyes, glancing over at mikey beside you. 

he was looking at you with the most childish and excited expression; you could almost see the sparkles in his eyes as his lips were curled into the most boyish and cute smile you’ve ever seen. 

“are you serious right now? you’re not joking?!” he asked, his voice shaking with nervousness and excitement. 

“no, i wouldn’t joke about that…” you murmured, smiling shyly at him. 

he suddenly moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around your frame tightly as you pulled you close to himself, his face buried in your neck. 

“ahh, i’m so happy right now…” he said, his voice low and soft, (you were trying to not focus on the fact that you could feel his breaths against your skin). 

hesitantly, you wrapped your arms around him as well, relishing in the way that he held you a bit tighter, as if he was never going to let you go. it felt like there was nothing that could affect you while in his arms; all you knew was mikey. 

“thank you for trusting me, (y/n)-chan.”

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Ace's Story - 3

Source for pic

Firestarter 3

Word Count: 4300

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader, slight NSFW (It's mature, not explicit), slightly sugestive behaviour, flirting, jealousy, frenemies, sexual tension, miscommunication, unresolved tension, slight angst, slow-burn, romantic comedy vibes, alternate universe modern setting, swearing, drinking, fluff, feelings realisation, denial of feelings.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You intended to have some alone time, to reflect and heal, but your childhood friend's older brother, Ace, seems to be there just to upset that fragile peace you're striving for. He's a flirt and a womaniser. But why does he also have to be so handsome and perfect? And how long can you resist his charms?

Notes: Are you guys liking the story so far? I'm almost done writting it. It will be around 10 chapters, maybe 11. If you wish to be added to a tag list, say so! Thank you!

Masterlist for previous introductory chapters.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“How was the run, bug?”

“Fine.” Grumbling, you drink a large glass of water and start biting down on an apple. “What do we need to do, today?”

Shanks sees your foul mood and deftly avoids it, enumerating all the menial tasks that need to be done. Not only on the property, but also in the house. 

“Okay, I'll take the inside of the house, you get started outside. Fair?”

Shanks nods as he reaches for his straw hat. 

“At lunch we'll discuss your surgery. I've given you enough time.” Your voice is stern and you almost sound like your mother. Shaking that thought away, you grab your supplies and get started. Cleaning the house has always allowed you time to think, and you're in desperate need of that. 

The bathrooms aren't that dirty since it's really only the two of you in the house and, surprisingly, Shanks is pretty clean. So, as you scrub the shower, you start to think about Ace. He's the epitome of the boy next door. With all the repercussions of it and all the girls that come with him as well. And despite your mind telling you constantly that you should not be with him, you can't help your body from desiring him. 

You even consider giving in to temptation and getting with him, just for fun, so you can finally get him out of your head. But that's just stupid. And counterproductive. So you scrap that thought. 

But you still revisit that ‘friends’ idea. You have fun with him and you could use some fun in your life. You just need to stop thinking about him carnally. How hard can that be, really? 

Just on cue, your phone buzzes and, after finishing the shower, you remove your gloves to read it. 

Dinner? Friends have dinner together. You both need to eat. But you have to make sure that it's nothing romantic. He needs to understand that. Or that you're not just one of his usual girls. He needs to understand that as well. Yet you seem to be taking a while to answer, so he adds another thought. 

You exchange a few more texts to get the hour and arrange to meet him since he's going to be there sometime in the afternoon. What should you wear? Well it's just a friendly hang. You don't need to wear anything special. 

Maybe you should call Nami… but that is a double-edged sword. Do you want to involve Nami in this? You know she'll be all up in your business with incessant questions and… Groaning you dial Nami's number and set it on speaker as you use your nerves to tackle the toilet. 

“Hi, girl!

“Hey, Nami, you busy?”

“Nope. It’s actually my day off, and Vivi managed to escape her City Hall duties earlier than expected, so we’re hanging.” You smile into the toilet. You had met Vivi over online calls but you had yet to meet the real thing. She is Nami's girlfriend and an angel for putting up with her fiery attitude. 

“Send her my love. Can you help me?”

“What is it, sweetheart? 

You sigh, but ultimately decide to treat this as if it was a band aid. Just rip it and scream after. 

“Well, Ace invited me to hang with him at the firehouse so he doesn't spend his shift alone. Pizza and movies.” You ignore the high pitch squeal on the other side and are already regretting all of the life-choices that led to this moment, but you continue. “It's a ‘friends’ thing!” You emphasise. “I just need to know if you have any tips on what I should wear? For a friendly hang!” You need to reinforce that notion. 

All credit where credit is due. Nami doesn't squeal anymore on the phone, though she can't quite disguise the amusement in her voice. 

“Honey, can I come over after lunch? We can choose together.”

“Oh, no, no. I can't intrude on your time with Vivi!”

Nami giggles on the other side. “I'll bring her along! And some of my clothes too… Talk later, hun!”

Crap, you shouldn't have called Nami. She's going to bring the skimpiest clothes ever. 

-*-

“That's too much, Nami!” You whine and kick the high heels away from you. “It's a friendly thing! I'm wearing sneakers! Help me out, Vivi.”

The blue-haired girl giggles and shows Nami an apologetic smile. “She wins, Nami. Simple is better in this case.”

“Fine!” Nami concedes with a pout and you sigh exasperatedly. You're tired of trying on clothes and you still need to take a bath. “But you're not passing out in thigh-high socks or shorts!” She squeaks. “I know that showing your thighs like that will drive him crazy.”

You roll your eyes at her as you set aside the chosen outfit. It's not that bad. You won, it's simple, yet cute. “I don't want to drive him crazy.”

“Sure, honey. And I don't want to earn money.” 

“Unrelated.” You bite back. 

“Still, both are untrue.” She winks as she gathers the skimpy outfits she brought while muttering that she'd make you wear them on another occasion. “What about your hair? We could-...”

“No, no! It's fine! I got it from here, Nami. Thank you so much for your help. Vivi, thank you for coming, your help was precious in handling Nami.”

She giggles and agrees. Both girls tell you to have fun tonight and Nami begs for a text with an update when you get home. Even if it's in the morning, and she double winks when you remain stoic at her joke. Before your bath, you go downstairs to accompany them and have a quick word with Shanks, who avoided surgery conversation at lunch like a professional. 

You wave the girls goodbye and then saunter to the living room, where your father is watching some sports game on TV and scowl while clearing your throat. 

“Oh, bug! The girls left? I thought you were going out for dinner?”

You blush slightly. “I am, just not with them.”

He mutes the TV to look at you with a raised brow. “Want to tell me who you're going with?” He raises his hand in the air. “Only if you want, baby, I know you're an adult now.”

“It’s just a friendly dinner. Ace wants to show me the firestation and we’re going to eat some pizza and watch some movies.” You seem to be finding it quite hard to hold your father’s stare.

“Ace?” His brows knit together but he nods. “Okay, be careful.”

Your head cocks to the side instinctively. “With what?”

“Just… it’s a dad thing, okay? Be careful!” He gets flustered and unmutes the TV but you’re still not done, so you position yourself in front of the screen on purpose. 

“The surgery, dad.”

Closing his eyes, Shanks sighs and turns off the TV. “Okay, let’s talk.”

-*-

You’re blow drying your hair after a quick shower while humming to a song. The talk with your father went as well as expected. He refused the surgery and you probed him so hard with questions that you finally understood he is simply afraid of becoming even more impaired than he already is.

You assured him that everything would be alright and that the condition his back is in is going to leave him impaired anyway and, after some coaxing and perhaps a slight hint of coercion, you managed to convince him to schedule a time with Dr. Law so he can give you both a step-by-step of the surgery, to assuage any fears you have remaining. 

You stare at the time and curse. You have about ten minutes to get ready and leave the house before you’re officially late. Finishing your hair, you apply very light makeup and then proceed to dress in the outfit that gave you a headache during the afternoon: jean shorts, thigh-high black socks, and a fitted black t-shirt with the most appropriate lettering for the occasion - ‘Firestarter’. You had almost doubled over laughing when you came across that shirt from your collection. You finish the look with your black and white sneakers and some bracelets. 

One last look in the mirror makes you shrug your arms and sigh. “It’s a friend’s thing. Stop overthinking it!” You growl to yourself and leave with a hasty step.

“Bye, dad, see you later!” You hear him rushing to the door of the living room and stare at you, his arm under his chest as if he was crossing it with his missing arm. You blush and add. “There’s lunch leftovers in the fridge if you want. Bye.”

“Bug.” You stop with the door open and turn back with a soft smile. “You look great.”

“Thanks, dad!” Your smile widens and you step out. “I really have to go, love you!”

You hear a soft ‘love you too’ before you close the door behind you. 

Luckily, your car - that’s now fixed thanks to Kid - doesn’t give you any trouble starting and you arrive at the fire station at the aforementioned time. Parking the car and taking a deep breath, you walk to the door and knock softly, phone already in hand in case he doesn’t hear you since the firestation is huge! It has three rolling garage doors for when the trucks need to exit and it looks old, its red bricks faded by the sun.

He must’ve been standing right on the other side of the door because it swings back and you are greeted by a smiling Ace.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

His smile falters as he sees you and you notice his eyes lingering on your exposed thighs. Nami was right. You want to giggle, but you remain composed. 

“Hi Ace.” Your eyes also linger on his muscular chest. You're used to seeing him without a t-shirt so you’re not quite sure why that black, fitted shirt makes him even hotter. 

“Wow.” He mutters. “You look… damn! Firestarter, indeed.” He chuckles nervously and you raise an eyebrow. Has the player run out of moves?

“Thanks.” You stand at the doorway awkwardly while he’s still hung up on how you look. It’s quite flattering, actually, and you are glad you took Nami’s advice. “Should we get inside?”

He gasps and moves away from the threshold. “Yes! Come in! I’ve already ordered the pizza, Deuce should be here any second now.” You nod and get inside while looking around. You enter some sort of reception area, so he leads you inside.

“This is the day room.” It’s a larger room with a big table, some chairs, a TV and a grey loveseat. “We’ll be watching a movie here.” He smirks as the doorbell rings. There’s a doorbell? You missed it. “Oh, it’s Deuce, I’ll be right back!”

“Wait, Ace! Let me give you some money for the pizza.”

“Are you kidding me?” He snorts. “No way.” Then he dashes through the reception room to get the pizza. You hear some sort of discussion but you can’t make out the words. You’re curious, but you don’t mean to pry since Ace acted as if he knew the pizza guy, so you entertain yourself by watching a case with old photos and trophies. 

Until you hear a hushed, ‘no, Deuce! Oh, come on!’ and a rustle of feet approaching. You turn to the door to be met with a grinning tall man with blue spiky hair and carrying two boxes of large pizza.

He chuckles and settles the pizza on the table, his eyes never leaving you. “Hi.” His grin widens and Ace enters the room with a scowl. 

“This is my idiot friend from school, Deuce. Deuce, this is…” He stammers and you take over.

“The idiot brother’s friend from school.” You tell him your name and extend your hand to shake it, but he smiles, takes your hand and places a kiss on the back, making you blush from the surprise.

“Delighted to meet you. You’re gorgeous.”

“Alright, okay, that’s enough. Bye, Deuce! Don’t you have more pizzas to deliver?” Ace grabs Deuce by the collar of his t-shirt and pulls him, making him let go of your hand.

“If you get tired of Ace, I’m great fun!” He replies, making you chuckle as Ace pulls him even harder. He’s halfway through the reception when you hear him exclaim: “You were right, Ace, this one is something!”

“Shut up, idiot!” 

The smile vanishes from your face as you stare at your reflection in the trophy case. ‘This one’ he had said. As if it’s a regular thing for Ace to bring girls to the firestation. Cute girls, apparently. Girls he actually wants to kiss. 

You sigh and shake your head as you hear his footsteps approach. No matter. You were only here for a movie and pizza. Nothing else. 

“Sorry about him. Deuce is a good friend but he’s a dick sometimes.”

You smile as Ace grabs some paper plates from one of the drawers and opens one of the pizza boxes. “Soda or beer?” 

“Soda’s fine.” You answer as he takes out two cans from the fridge. “What do you want to watch?”

Ace insists on watching a horror movie, thinking it might scare you, but turns out he’s the one doing most of the jumping. You eat three slices of pizza and Ace finishes the rest of the boxes. The man sure can eat.

Ace sits on the floor to eat the pizza, but as soon as you are both done, he climbs to the sofa, stretching as he does it to make it seem like his back hurts. You lean down, intent on removing your sneakers so you can get more comfortable on the couch when he gasps.

“What the hell is that on your arm?” He points and you eye him with a raised brow.

“What do you mean?”

“There!” He points again at your left forearm where there’s a big purplish bruise and you smile at him.

“Oh, this! It was from the other day. When I was almost hit by a car. It barely hurts.” You wave your hand dismissively but he grabs your arm to examine it closer and you clench your jaw. Why are his hands so hot?

“I did this?” He murmurs while his index finger ghosts over the bruise, creating a little trail of goosebumps.

“Well, yes, but, technically, you saved me so-...”

“I’m sorry.” He looks really apologetic, his eyes never leaving your bruised arm. The loveseat is pretty small so he’s really close to you and you can almost feel heat coming off of him. It’s not just his hand that is warm, it’s all of him. How is that possible?

“Ace, it’s okay. Really.”

He removes his eyes from the bruise and raises them to meet yours. You could close the distance between both of you with a mere blink, such is his proximity. His hands are still reaching and holding your arm, so he’s already leaning all over you and, once again, you feel some sort of magnetic pull. Some animalistic desire that makes you want to kiss him.

Your eyes dart down to his lips inadvertently, and your breathing accelerates. 

Friends, friends, friends!

Your mind keeps screaming at you, but his smell is inebriating and you want to drown in it. You want to drown in him. 

You’re just another girl. You’re just another girl.

He’s close, so close. 

The horror movie on TV unleashes a jump scare with a loud sound and this time, for the first time during the whole movie, you jump and get up abruptly. “Bathroom. I need to use the bathroom.”

Ace takes a deep breath and scratches the back of his neck. “It’s that door over there.” He points and you nod. You don’t really need to use the bathroom. But you needed to get out of his hold. Quickly. 

-*-

The mood returns to relaxed and normal when you return. You sit on the couch, having removed your sneakers, and sit with both legs bent to the side. Ace seems to find the seat small, so he stretches an arm over the back, behind you. 

The oldest trick ever. 

“So how come you still live with Mr. Garp?” You need to cut this sexual/romantic tension so, what better way to do it then by creating tension with his existing family member. 

You sense the change in his demeanour but his eyes never leave the screen. “It… just never happened.”

“Luffy and Sabo left. Is your grandpa ill?”

“No.” You sense his discomfort with the situation so you don't probe anymore. If he wants, he'll tell you about it. Which he does, after a moment. 

“I screw up a lot.” You turn to him. The seriousness in his tone conveys his real feelings and you hang on every word he's willing to give you. “I always have. I never had perfect grades, I just got by. I didn't go to college and I never joined the Marines like grandpa wanted.” He sighs and his gaze remains fixed on the TV though the ending credits have just started rolling. “I don't have any goals, I can't keep a steady relationship and, even if it looks like it, I don't have my life together. Grandpa doesn't believe I'm capable of great things. And it's true.”

Your eyes bore into his, but he doesn't turn to you. Swallowing a hard lump on your throat, you nod slowly. This man doesn't let his life move forward because he doesn't believe he is worthy of it. Garp had other plans for his grandson's life and, apparently, laid his frustrations upon Ace. Who now cannot escape this life on his own. 

“But you are capable of great things, Ace.”

He scoffs. “How do you know? I've changed! And even so, we hardly even talked before you left.” He doesn't mean to be hurtful, but it's true. 

“You're right. But here's how I remember you: A caring big brother who watched over Luffy when they got home from school and made sure he ate plenty of fruit with his snacks; A protective big brother, who caught Luffy with a broken lip and didn't rest until he found the bully and forced him to apologise; And even if it went against your aloof and bad boy persona, a loving brother who knew how to comfort and show love to a boy who needed it.”

His eyes finally turn to you. They're downcast, but you're sure he absorbed everything you said. Perhaps it is the beginning of a healing process for him. You can only hope so. 

“Thanks. I… I needed that.” He still seems lost, so you hold his hand and entwine your fingers with his, giving him some slight pats on the back of the hand. 

“Anytime you think you're not good enough or not capable… think of me, okay?” You grin and wink at him. 

Finally there's a hint of a smile on his face and that manages to warm you up. It felt nice to speak with him without him trying to escape the conversation with funny remarks. 

His thumb starts to trace gentle patterns on your hand. “I'm already thinking about you all day, what's the difference?” You want to believe him. His smile is genuine and you can almost perceive a small embarrassed look. But you can't really believe in him. The notches under his belt are too heavy to ignore. 

“I'm sure that works with all the girls.” You scoff and point your head at the TV. “Movie's over. Can you show me around?” You let go of his hand and lean down to put on your sneakers. 

“Yeah.” He replies dryly. 

-*-

He's shown you the locker rooms, the comms room, the small bedroom with two bunk beds, for when they spend the night, and now you're both standing in front of the pole. 

“Wanna do it?” He grins. “We need to get down so I can show you the truck. It's pretty cool…” He tempts you. 

“I don't know…” You eye the thing suspiciously. Technically, it's not hard. It's just sliding down. 

“I'll go first and I'll catch you if anything happens.” He assures you but you're still weary. “As much as I would love to catch you, I doubt you'll need it. You're so brave, courageous, strong-...”

“Eugh, stop that! Fine. I'll do it.” You giggle excitedly and he claps before grabbing the pole with both hands. 

“It's not rocket science. You grab, and you go down.” His voice descends as he slides down and you chuckle. Your nerves are getting the best of you. 

“Okay, okay, I got this.” You grab the pole with both hands. “Grab, and go down.” You do a little jump and squeal as you slide down. Ace is there to catch you but he was right, you don't need it. Though he still places his hands on your hips, just in case. 

“You're a natural.” His breath kisses your eyelids as you look up to meet his gaze. 

Magnets. 

But you need to reverse the polarisation. You need to be repelling, not attracting. 

“Thanks.” You whisper back. 

Reverse the poles. 

You walk away from him and act amazed at the huge space the trucks are in. It's a garage with firefighting equipment and two trucks and an ambulance. “It's huge!”

“Yeah I get that reaction a lot.” He chuckles and you can't avoid a snort. 

“You're quite cocksure.” 

“I sure am!” He keeps grinning and you laugh out loud. “Come inside.” Opening the door to one of the trucks, he, once again, sets his hands on your hips to help you up. Does he have a thing for hips? Because it sure seems like now you do! Everytime his strong hands grip you, you shudder and gasp at the feeling. It leaves you wanting more. How would his bare hands feel against your bare hips? 

Friends, damnit! Friends! 

Right. The truck! “So many buttons.”

He sits down in the driver seat and leans back. “Want to play the siren? It's quite fun!”

You look at him with half a smile, fairly tempted. “No, we shouldn't. We might give a heart attack to some senior citizens.” You grin. 

He still shows you where the button for the siren is and what the other buttons do. But after a moment in companionable silence, it's his turn to ask you a difficult question. 

“Why did you want to get married so young?”

It takes you by surprise as your face whips towards him, holding his gaze. He's serious again. “I… don't know, exactly…”

It's your turn to focus your eyes somewhere else and you choose your hands as you fidget with them. 

“It seemed like it was the right thing to do. My mom married my dad after high school. So when Ichiji proposed, I thought I should do the same.” You snort. “Look how well that worked out. To my parents and to me!”

Ace rests his head against the headrest and crosses his arms behind it, making his taut muscles bend and flex and you regret having looked, so you return your stare to your hands. Your innocent hands. 

Ace is very sinful. 

“I think it did. Both ways, actually.”

“What?”

He turns his head your way, slightly. “Clearly your parents weren't made for each other. I remember hearing them fight all the way to my house.” You can't help but agree with that. Both your parents were a lot happier and more civil with one another, actually, once they separated. “And your ex, clearly, was not meant for you. I mean… It takes a special kind of dumbass to cheat on someone like you…”

You fight against your better instincts. You should know better than to be swayed by his words. He's a player. He's got moves. He's got the right words. 

And they freaking work. 

Because you are a mess right now. Your heart keeps fluttering against your chest with all the sweet things he's saying and you've been rubbing your thighs together since he grabbed you by the hips when you descended the pole. 

Clearly you want him. You want him so badly. 

But you can't! Because you were never a girl for casual relationships and Ace doesn't do serious! He said so himself. So you sigh, do a little more rubbing and try to focus on grounding yourself. 

Off-limits. Off-limits. 

“Thank you for tonight, Ace. It was fun. I should get going.” You move so you can leave but he sets his hand on your forearm. 

“Are you leaving already? Did I do anything wrong?” Your stomach tightens and your chest aches. 

“No, Ace. You did everything right.” Leaning in, you give him a quick peck on his face. Then you turn and jump out of the truck. “I just have to go. I need to help dad, tomorrow. It's late, I'm tired.”

And you need to get away from him. 

He nods with a silly little smile on his lips. Your kiss helped make him realise he did nothing wrong. 

“Okay, sure. I'll walk you out.”

And after you gather your things from the day room, he walks you to the front door and into your car. You keep thinking that a goodnight kiss would be very nice. But you already gave him a very innocent kiss on the cheek and that should be enough. 

It's not. 

So you say another goodbye and enter the car. Your heart feels both heavy and light. It's a weird dichotomy that leaves you wanting more. Ace is fun and easy. But he's not boyfriend material. 

And you seem to have started to develop feelings for him. 

And that is not okay.

[visceravalentines]

fever dream

Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

7.6k words. dubcon ofc. reader is absolutely mentally bankrupt. stockholm is where we live, it's where we are, it's where we'll die. sporadic smut, pnv, fingering, and oral (fem!rec). blood and sweat everywhere. Bo calls reader a bitch a couple times but like, it's out of love or some shit. somno. alcohol use. nightmares. ghosts. swamp things. the ever-looming threat of death and depersonalization.

welcome back to my youtube channel. I have been. working on this fic. since May of last year. and it's finally done(?) it is long and weird and maybe bad and meant for you to get lost in. a journey with no destination. a haunted house only you are the haunted and the haunt and the house. tbqh I'm rewatching HoW today for the first time in months and months and I had to get this out of my drafts so I can check back into the sanitarium with minimal baggage, y'know?? I hope it makes you feel some type of way.

The summer heat is in your blood and the swamp is in your lungs and he is under your skin. 

You’ve never known an August like this, like a blister. You go to bed sticky and wake up drenched in sweat. The ceiling fan is a hurricane agent that offers no respite, just blows the humidity in vicious cycles. There’s no air conditioning in the house; it’s too old. Instead you wrap ice cubes in dish towels and press them to the back of your neck. 

A storm’s been hanging on the horizon for days. Thunder rolls out of a wall of iron gray, an idle threat. The air is soupy and super-charged. No rain comes. 

The nights are delirium. You go to bed on opposite sides of the mattress, oil and water. He sleeps naked, sprawled out like a water skeeter. The quilt sits scrunched at the foot of the bed for the season and he kicks the sheets off around midnight like something forcing its way out of a soft-shelled egg. 

You lie awake, listening to the cicadas and waiting. Just when you’ve started to cool down and drift off he reaches over and fumbles at your leg, grabs your arm. He pulls you on top of him, hands on your body beneath his old t-shirt. You ride him with your eyes closed and your breath hot on your lips. It’s a fever, the sweating, the shaking. 

You wake every morning suffocating under his arm in the center of the mattress with honey between your thighs. 

.

He drinks his coffee hot even though the steam can barely rise above the rim of the mug in the humidity. You pour yours over ice and savor the feeling as it seeps down your throat and into your stomach. You curl your toes on the linoleum and almost smile at him across the table. He’s golden from all his time in the sun. You can trace the lines of his wifebeater over his shoulders, across his chest. You stare at him across the table and think about the taste of his skin. You want to run your tongue along that tan line. 

He catches you staring. “What?” he says flatly. 

You redirect your gaze to your hands. Shake your head. Wait for him to move on so you can resume your perusal of his body.

When he looks away, out the window, the sun catches those eyes and turns them to sea glass. He needs a haircut; walnut curls crest over his ears like kudzu. When you get up to clear the table your skin peels from the vinyl seat cushion with a sting that makes you wrinkle your nose. 

“Be good,” he tells you before he leaves. You wonder what he means, what he thinks you might get up to in this house full of dust and guns and ghosts. You know better than to ask, and you nod and kiss him goodbye and feel his lips on your lips for hours afterwards. 

The day languishes. They all do. You kill a thousand flies. You mop the floor and track your own footprints across it before it dries. You hang his shirts on the clothesline in the side yard and feel like an insect trapped in the sap of time. You shave your legs in a cold bath and examine your skin:  sunburn, bug bites, bite marks. 

When he pulls into the driveway you’re on the front step eating a popsicle and counting the minutes. He saunters across the gravel like John Wayne, shoulders exposed, hair plastered to his neck. You meet his eyes and wrap your lips around the cherry-flavored mess dripping onto your fingers. He spits into the weeds and eyes you through his lashes. 

“What’s for supper?” 

You suck on your sticky thumb. There’s a full spread on the dining room table, ready and waiting. “Whatever you want.” 

He licks his lips. 

Supper gets cold. 

.

He brings home a bag of saltwater taffy, all raspberry. 

“Thought of you,” he says when he hands it to you. To your recollection, you have never mentioned taffy or raspberries or anything of the sort. You wonder who he thinks you are, whether he has you confused with someone else. 

You sit on the porch steps and amass a pile of wax paper wrappers beside you. It’s soft and melty, peels out of the wrapper with a sticky crackling sound. It’s salty and sour and tastes like cheap sugar. Like a memory of summer that may be real, or maybe not. Could be yours, or could be someone else’s.

You eat more than you want, until your teeth hurt and you can feel the hot spot on your tongue where a canker sore will form. You rake that spot back and forth across your incisors. You can’t help it. Sometimes it feels like things have to have a hurt to them. 

“You ever been to the fair?” you ask him over your shoulder.

He grunts from the porch swing. “Used to go when Vince ‘n me were little. Took Les a couple times when he was old enough.”

“You ever take a girl?”

“Nah.” His boot thumps on the porch, an offhand punctuation mark. “Couldn’t find one to go with me.”

You doubt that; you’ve seen his yearbook photos. But then again, maybe he was off-putting as a teenager. Spooky. Hadn’t quite learned how to camouflage yet. Came on too strong, wore too much cologne, used too many teeth.

You survey the vast swath of woods that surrounds Ambrose and try to imagine a ferris wheel, red and blue and blinking, rising from the green like the hump of a whale.  “I’d go with you.”

He snorts. “Yeah?”

You look down at the piece of taffy in your fingers. You don’t really want it. You unwrap it anyway. “Yeah.” You gnaw on the candy like a dog savoring a scrap. “Be like a date,” you say thickly.

“What, you wanna skip down the midway holdin’ hands? Makin’ out in the Tunnel of Love?”

You can picture it, sunset and a sundress. He’s laughing. You’re laughing. The crowd is made of wax. “You could win me a stuffed animal.”

He scoffs again, but then he asks you, “What kinda stuffed animal you want?”

You think for a second, unstick the taffy from your molars and push it around your mouth with your tongue. “A Louisiana crocodile.” A souvenir from your time in the South. Maybe it’ll be wearing a little trucker hat and a smile that doesn’t reach its eyes.

“Ain’t got crocodiles here, sugar. ‘S all alligators.”

“Fine, an alligator then.”

You run your hands over your shins, sticky with the humidity. The chains of the porch swing creak rhythmically behind you. The sea of trees is dark and still and endless.

“Fair don’t come ‘round here anymore,” he says finally.

You force the taffy down your throat, swallow hard, and reach for another one.

“Figures.”

.

You’re buzzed and reckless, sucked down a pair of beers too fast just because they were frosty. The shears snick like some needy, nipping thing. You found them upstairs under the bathroom sink once upon a time and you always put them back when you’re done. They’ve been there longer than you’ve been alive. You comb your fingers across his scalp and loose locks drift onto your clean floor. 

“Don’t take it too short,” he admonishes into the mouth of his beer bottle. “You butcher me, I butcher you.” 

You roll your eyes behind his back. “Have I ever?” 

He grunts in acquiescence. That’s as close to a win as you’ll get. 

The windows are open; the thunder presses against the frayed screens. A gigantic moth flings its feathery body repeatedly at the ceiling light. You run your hand through his hair slow just to feel it between your fingers, thick and soft. Your thumb glances off the scar on the left side of his skull and comes back for another pass. 

He jerks his head, puts a stop to that. “You done?” 

“Almost.” 

You’re particularly fond of the curls at the nape of his neck, always save them for last. You coil one around your finger. You want to ask him if you can keep it, but you’re afraid he’ll say no or worse, that he’ll say yes. He’ll ask for something in return. You’ll give it to him, no matter what it is. You give him anything he wants, everything he wants. It’s the least you can do, the most you can do. 

You snip them one by one, bittersweet. 

“Done.” 

He leans over in the chair to examine his reflection in the window. “Good enough.” 

He stands up and drains the dregs of his beer. His hand finds your waist and he pulls you in and you bend like a reed, peering up at him, inspecting your work. He smells like sweat and sun. You grip his shirt in your fists and move with him as he sways lazily side-to-side. 

He gives you the gift of a smile, half-cocked and handsome. “You wanna dance, mama?”

Your fingers spider-creep up the shield of his chest and lock behind his neck. His skin is hot and sticky against your wrists, clipped hairs poking and itching. Your hips bump against his like a car on a back road, lost, no cell service. You wish there was music playing. 

He tilts his head towards you and you get caught in the trap of his mouth. The thunder moans. You can feel the sweat beading on your upper lip, in the pit of your elbows. His hands are heavy on your bones. 

His jaw scrapes along your temple like a razor blade and a fever chill rolls over your skin, hot-cold. “G’on upstairs, get those clothes off.” 

Have you always been such a good listener? 

.

He comes home drunk and fucks you on the table, in the midst of supper left cold and waiting for him. You knew he’d be hungry. You are right about some things and wrong about others.

You wince every time a dish topples off the table and shatters on the faded linoleum. He doesn't look at you, not once.

Afterwards, he disappears for a while and leaves you to clean up the kitchen. You are dazed, legs unsteady, leaning on the counter like an old friend. It’s been a bad day. Dinner has soaked through the back of your shirt and so you take it off, hang it over the back of a chair for later, and set to work on the mess.

You cannot puzzle out how he managed to get blood on every dish you are trying to wash until finally you realize it is yours, seeping quietly from a slice on your palm. When he comes up behind you your spine stiffens, arching like a snake making a final stand. He puts his hands on your bare waist and his lips against the back of your head like a sweetheart, like a husband, like a different person.

“Leave it, darlin’. Come sit on the porch with me.”

You bite your lip, lift your palm so he can see it, watch the world blur with saline. “I cut myself,” you say, and only then does the sting set in, so sharp you can feel it in your teeth.

He makes a sympathetic noise and cups your hand in his. “Now why’d y’go and do that?”

You open your mouth to answer but only a moan comes out as he lifts your arm and seals his lips over the cut. He sucks, gently at first and then harder, hard enough you feel the seam of skin separate and your fingers jerk like puppets to the pain. He lets you go and you cradle your hand to your chest as he laps your blood off his lip.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, takes your arm, tugs you from the sink. “C’mon. I need a smoke.”

You follow him onto the porch, curl up in his lap with a dishrag pressed to your palm and watch smoke and moths float around the light.

Your blood dries on the dishes with the gravy.

.

The clouds boom a reminder that they are still hanging above the house, but you are already awake in the split second beforehand. You are cocooned in the sheets and panic for a moment, arms pinned to your chest, bedroom black as a coffin. When you claw free, gasping, the air is like moss draped spongey and damp across your face. 

You worm out of the bed, out of the room, stagger into the hallway and down the stairs in the dark. You are mere steps ahead of some emaciated beast, its breath muggy on your cheeks and the back of your neck. You twist your shirt off and throw it on the floor of the den before it can strangle you, wrench the front door open and slam through the screen with both hands. 

The night is wet in your nose. One hundred million insects scream to God. In the back of your mind you think about joining them. Your toes scuff to a stop on the precipice of the porch and you peer into the darkness with round eyes, bare chest heaving for more air than you can hold. You are drowning here, surrounded by trees, surrounded by more green than you ever knew existed in the world. 

Somewhere out there, someone is mourning you. You can feel it tonight, crackling in the ozone like the storm that won’t break. 

You wrap your arms around yourself and sink to the ground, sit perched on the top stair in your panties and sweat-drenched skin. The nail of your index finger rips apart the cuticle of your thumb. Mosquitos float open-armed to your legs like swamp angels. It’s too hot to cry. 

The yellow porchlight struggles to life. The screen door bangs flatly behind you. He can’t ever pick up his feet, scuffing through the dust you haven’t swept. 

His fingers brush the bone of your shoulder. You don’t flinch nowadays, usually. “Y’alright?”

You don’t have to answer that. Let him wrap his hand around your throat and fishhook his fingers into your mouth to pull your jaw open, you don’t have to answer that. You grit your teeth and dig crescent moons into your thighs with all ten fingernails.

Your silence doesn’t bother him. He leans on the railing to your left, curling his toes on the concrete, looking out into the night. Sleep has mussed his hair to one side and left imprints of the sheet fanning across his chest. There’s a hickey in the shape of your mouth in the curve of his neck. Lightning flutters shy among the clouds and the thunder reprimands it. There’s something stuck in your throat, something you can’t swallow down no matter how hard you try. Moths flock to the porchlight. If anyone was alive in the town to look up the hill, they’d see you haloed, and him too. 

“‘S late. Come back to bed.”

You can’t remember your home address. You can picture the house, the sidewalk in front of it, cracks in the driveway. The rest is like a dream. The house behind you doesn’t have an address. No number, no mailbox. You can feel it sucking at the base of your spine like a leech, coaxing you in, tipping you backwards all wrong like a gravity hill. You feel eyes on you, all the time, no matter what room you’re in. 

“You listenin’ to me? Let’s go.”

You can’t go back inside. You can’t go back inside. Something in you doesn’t line up right. Someone is holding a pillow over your face.

“No,” you think you say out loud. The word flutters off into the night. You watch a mosquito drift beyond the reach of the porchlight and disappear. The stars bow gracefully into the arms of the clouds. 

After a beat, he shuffles out of your periphery. The screen door slams. Maybe this time. When you least expect it. Maybe he's sick of you at last. You pick at a scab on your knee until it comes loose and flakes off, and then you pinch the skin around the wound and squeeze until a bead of blood, scarlet-black, mounds and breaks and gets all over your fingers. You raise them to your mouth and suck them clean and it tastes familiar. Safe. 

He doesn’t come back with a knife, or a gun. He comes back with the quilt and sheet from the bed, a pillow stuffed under his arm. He unfurls the quilt on the porch. The pillow flops to the ground like something hunted to extinction. He follows suit. 

“C’mere.” He wrestles with the sheet, props himself up on an elbow and punches the pillow into place. “C’mon.” 

You breathe, just for a minute, watching him. You want to hate him so bad it hurts. You want him to hit you so you’d have a reason to hit back. You want to fight for your life because you can feel it slipping away, waning, evaporating in the heat. Already you’ve found shreds of yourself under the couch, covered in dust. You are drowning. You are thirsty. He is water, cold and brackish. 

You rise from the stairs and come to him because you need him, because he is all you have. 

“Get the light,” he says. 

You go and come back and his hand finds your calf in the dark, slides up the back of your knee, guides you to the ground. The quilt is a mockery of softness, the porch unyielding beneath. You curl up with him at your back and he folds his arm around you, thumb worrying aimlessly at your nipple. His breath is hot on the nape of your neck. 

The air roils in your lungs. The night surges in. You are alone, so alone, aching with loneliness, now and always. You close your fingers around his wrist and guide his hand between your legs. He rubs the cotton of your panties with something like pity and you let a moan seep from your throat. 

Your face lolls into the pillow and it smells like fever dreams and cold-sweat nightmares. The fabric of your underwear catches on your clit and you gasp, arching against his chest.

“Easy,” he murmurs as his fingers drag back and forth. He hooks his foot around your ankle, forces your legs open. You asked for this. You’ll take it and thank him. 

Lightning silhouettes the world beyond the porch in black and purple. When you close your eyes, you see the rooftops of the town in the colors of heaven. You rock against his hand and pretend you’re someone else somewhere else. You feel the thunder in your teeth and wish with all your heart the rain would fall. 

He puts an abrupt end to the friction and cups you in his palm, wide and warm. You make a plaintive sound and wiggle your hips, push your ass against him. You need to feel something. You need him to help you. Otherwise, you might disappear beneath the horrible blanket of the night. 

“Please,” you moan. 

He presses his lips to the back of your neck, whispers into the shell of your ear like a lover. “You love me?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Yes.” 

His teeth graze your skin as he slips his fingers past the waistband of your panties. 

“Good.” 

You wonder if he knows he keeps saving your life. 

.

The house is a midden of family misery. There’s barely space for you between heaps of clothing and glassware and mass market paperbacks. You live sideways amid the boxes and bottles and beer cans. He refuses to let you throw anything away. No matter how much you sweep and dust and tidy, the clutter seems to crawl right back across the carpet like morning glory. 

Late morning finds you in the master bedroom. It’s sweltering up here. The air sticks to your face like tattered gauze. The junk in here is of a particular breed, more meaningful—photo albums, baby clothes. Much of it has been stacked high just inside the door like a battlement. A fortification between this room and the rest of the house. You’re not allowed in here. 

Neither is he. 

Beyond the wall, everything sits untouched. A layer of dust rests primly on the bedside tables, the vanity, the yellow quilt still neatly made up on the bed. The art on the wall is sun-bleached in evenly spaced lines from the half-open blinds. The silence crowds your ears. It feels like standing in a tomb, the family crypt. 

With courage paper-thin, you've decided you'd like to confront the heart of the horror. Like shoving your fingers down the throat of the beast trying to bite you. Like making a home in its mouth, a bed in its bed. You want to eat me so bad, you’ll have to savor every scrap. 

It’s eerie in here. This room is brighter than the rest of the house by far. You can feel that parasitic presence all around you, cajoling you with hands that are soft and dry. There is a faint, floating smell of faded flowers. You breathe slowly to keep yourself from sprinting back downstairs.

You gaze at yourself in the vanity mirror. The dust almost erases you from sight, almost. You reach a finger out and draw a single streak across the silvery surface. You’re in there, somewhere. Sometimes you forget. 

The front of the vanity holds a trio of slim drawers with tiny gold handles. You catch one with the tips of your fingers and tug, just slightly. It creeps open without resistance. The inside is lined with green velvet. You pull it open all the way and search through the contents with your eyes. Blush, lipstick. Eyeshadow in seven shades of blue. You slide the drawer closed and move on to the next one, the widest one in the middle. 

This one holds a treasure trove of golden baubles:  a jumble of earrings, half a dozen hairpins, a long, thin cigarette holder. A string of pearls that look too chipped and dull to be real. And a locket, oval-shaped and decorated with a halo of tiny vines. You pick it up and the chain slips over your fingers like a thin, shining snake. 

You dig your nail into the seam and pop it open. To your muted disappointment, it is empty. No husband. No children. 

It’s yours, you decide suddenly. You want it. You've earned it. A prize, a consolation for the hell you’ve been through. For the fact that you have survived him, and she has not. You wonder if he’ll recognize it. Part of you hopes that he does. You imagine the look on his face and his hands on you afterwards. Your mouth is wet. 

This might be her house, will always be her house. But you do not belong to her. You have been spoken for again and again, and perhaps you should thank him for that. 

In the daylight you remember that you aren’t scared of ghosts, and that you have nothing left to give. Plenty of dead women have laid claim to you already. This one cannot have you, and for that matter, she can’t have him either. 

You hear the rumble of his truck out front and the thrill of fear that shoots down your spine is so cold it’s almost welcome in the stuffy room. You shove the locket into the pocket of your shorts and fling the drawer shut. It closes with a soft, complicit thunk. 

You pick your way back through the boxes and slip through the door like a reptile into water; smooth, silent. You make sure it latches behind you before you hurry to the top of the stairs. 

Out of the corner of your eye, just before you dip out of sight below the banister, you see something bend the light that reaches through the crack beneath the door. You freeze, turn your head only slightly. You see nothing. Only sunlight. Certainly no feet, dainty and bare, padding across the carpet with red-lacquered toenails. 

Panic, delayed, breaks loose. You gallop down the stairs so quickly you forget to skip the ones that creak. 

By the time he comes inside, slamming the door fit to shake the frame of the house, you are hunched over the dishes in the sink like you’ve been there all morning. If you are unduly quiet, he doesn’t seem to notice, and if he notices, he doesn’t seem to care. 

.

“I think I love you.”

You say it half-casual, half-pronouncement, the way you might tell your mom you’re dropping out of college. Tell your boyfriend you’re over him. Tell your boss you’re moving to Louisiana. “I mean it this time.”

Bo snorts, lifts his beer to his lips. “That so?”

You shoo a bee from the rim of your glass and suck down the last of your drink. You just might be drunk. “Yup.”

“Think that’s the bourbon talkin’.”

You roll your eyes, shimmy a little in an effort to make the busted lawn chair more comfortable. You thought he’d be more excited. “Why don’t you ever believe me?”

He smacks his lips like he’s considering his answer. The sunlight shifts through the trees and you close your eyes, blissful. “Lemme ask you this. You ever set a snare, baby?”

You can feel it in your blood:  the sun, the breeze, the brook bubbling over your toes. It’s not so bad, you think. Sometimes. It’s not so bad.

“Hey.” He leans over in his chair and snaps his fingers, splintering your peace. “I asked you a question.”

“Nah. Never set a snare. Some of us were normal kids.”

He ignores this and you feel like you’ve gotten away with something. “Well, sometimes you catch a critter, but it don’t strangle to death like it’s s’posed to.” 

You frown. 

“So you gotta do somethin’ about it, right? But you gotta be real careful. Can’t get caught up by the sufferin’. Gotta keep your head about you, y’know?” He’s not looking at you, but you can picture his lips, twisted in something like a smile. “‘Cause it don’t matter what it is…raccoon, possum, bunny rabbit…that sucker’ll take your hand off if y’let it.”

Your throat is sensitive all of the sudden, feels closed off. Maybe you swallowed a bee. “What are you even talking about?”

His head lolls lazy to the left and he stares at you for a second in a way that makes your hair stand on end. Then he chuckles, winks at you, turns away and leans back in his chair. 

“Nothin’, sugar. You’re awful cute.”

.

The heat wreaks havoc on the lifeless inhabitants of the town. You trail behind him like a listless kite as he makes the rounds, checking for damage, hauling the worst afflicted home to Vincent. It baffles you how much he seems to care about them. How much investment he has in keeping the rot contained beneath a pristine cosmetic veneer. For what? For who?

You don’t tell him it’s all rot, all of it, the people, the buildings. The trees. The air. Him. You. 

Some days, most days, you can’t quite look them in their faces. It’s guilt, you suppose. Guilt and acknowledgement of a fear so pervasive you no longer notice the way it clings like a second skin. You’ve convinced yourself if you meet their eyes you’ll find them glaring at you, envious and accusatory. Or worse–you’ll see the future, suspended in the flat, glass pupils of a dead game animal.

Occasionally you punish yourself by looking too closely. You note the receding hairlines, where the skin beneath the wax has dried and pulled taut and shifted the scalp along with it. You observe the way the light shines through plump round fingertips that are only hollow shells of wax, all that soft flesh desiccated and shriveled to a skeletal wedge underneath. You wonder, sometimes, whether Vincent smoothed over any flaws–scars, moles, asymmetrical lips. You touch your face subconsciously and think about the things he might fix for you.

It makes you feel like you are tiptoeing on the precipice of sanity, arms wide, just waiting to topple.

You take a particular interest in their clothing, wonder whether it belonged to them or to someone from the town. You never ask Bo, although you know he could tell you. You ignore the obvious parallels like a badly stitched seam. None of the clothes you wear belong to you either.

There are more residents than you ever imagined, half the houses not as empty as you assumed. Ten years, three brothers, three hundred and forty-nine holes to fill. You were decent at math in a past life, but nowadays, you try your hardest not to solve problems, no matter how they howl and scratch at the door. You’ve become adept at avoidance of the obvious in favor of learning how to assimilate into the cobwebs and shadows. No one can kill you if you’re already dead. You believe that so hard sometimes you can’t see your own reflection.

You believe it so hard that when you find it, on a girl in a house on a street you’ve only been down once or twice, you can’t make sense of it for several long seconds, staring dumbstruck and stupid while the static subsumes your brain.

“Let’s go,” he barks from the sitting room. The couches are pink and floral and faded.

You cannot move. You are made of wax.

“You deaf? Come on.”

She’s wearing cutoff jeans and the t-shirt you bought on a trip two years ago, or maybe three. There’s blood, brown and faded from half-hearted washing, streaking the collar and left sleeve.

Her hair is lighter than yours, and shorter. Her feet are smaller. Her nose is bigger. But the shirt is yours, and so is the blood, and for a second, you know you are a ghost.

“Hey.” He grabs your arm and turns you around. You think maybe she’ll move, now that you’re not looking. “You got a problem?”

You cannot answer him, because you do not have a voice. Because your lips have been glued together and painted the perfect pink. His gaze flicks from you to the girl and back and you wonder if he kissed her the way he kisses you. You hope he can see it, the way you are withering under the wax. You hope he will pick you up, cradle you in his arms, take you home and take care of you, make you whole, make you human.

Isn’t that all you’ve ever asked for?

He snaps his fingers in front of your face and you flinch, because you are real after all.

“Let’s go.”

You let him push you towards the door, hear him close it behind you, feel the floorboards shiver as he follows you down the hall. He puts his hand on the small of your back and ushers you out of the house, down the sidewalk cracked and stuffed with weeds keeling over in the heat. You can feel your feet melting to the concrete, skin crawling, sagging. You try not to stumble. You don’t want him to leave you behind.

“She ain’t you,” he mutters at the end of the street, so low you barely hear him over the buzz of the cicadas.

You aren’t sure if he’s lying, now or ever. You don’t ask him where her clothes are and he doesn’t offer. She might not be you, but you might be her. And you both might be someone else.

Either way, the shape of her is burned into your vision in blue and green, and she shakes her head at you when you close your eyes.

.

You wake to the sound of rain on the roof and it pulls you immediately from bed, stumbling sightless over your feet to get to the window. You yank on the mangled cord to raise the blinds and sure enough, the dust of summer is melting down the window in waves.

“Bo,” you say hoarsely. “Bo, look.”

It is then that the silence of the room seeps into your brain, the conspicuous lack of snoring. Your heart sinks into your wringing stomach. 

In a perfect world, he’d be taking a leak. He’d stumble back to bed and wrap you in his arms, press a kiss to your temple, and you’d drift back to sleep in the bliss of air conditioning. 

Your world is a few dirt road miles south of perfect.

You have to go find him. Find him and haul him out of whatever dark place he’s waded into, before he comes back worse than he went in.

The hall is a throat you have to fight against to get to the stairs, black and humid with walls that breathe. You feel cobwebs on your face and slap them away only to realize it’s your own hair caught on your lashes. The glow of the TV laps at the bottom step like floodwater, makes the carpet undulate like something just sank below the surface. You hesitate, for just a second, before you step down and feel solid ground beneath your feet.

He sits slouched on the couch in front of a screen full of static, deadeyed, jaw clenched. He doesn’t seem to notice you, quiet, creeping thing that you are. The static sounds like rushing water. Mangroves rise from the shadows in the corner of your eye. Lilypads part around your feet. If you turn your head just right, his eyes flash red in the light.

You stop halfway between the stairs and the couch, unsure what kind of animal you’re approaching. Your hands float up like a shield, like a bridge. “Bo,” you say softly, and it echoes in the night. “Are you okay?” 

He blinks, like a person. You notice a bite mark, a purple half moon in the meat of his forearm. Your skin is well acquainted with the shape of his teeth. 

“Bo,” you whisper. You don’t want to get closer. “Come back to bed.”

You hear a splash in the kitchen. The carpet squishes between your toes. Something brushes your ankle and wriggles away. You need to get out of here. You can’t leave without him. 

“Baby…please.” You step towards him and freeze as he lurches forward, sits up straight. His hands dangle between his knees, his gaze still locked on the fuzz of the television. 

“I killed my mama, y’know.” 

His voice is pitched, low and dull. A sheen of sweat glistens on his upper lip and cheekbones. The color is gone from his face and here, in this place, he looks almost green.

You fight to form breath into words. “I…I know.”

He’s speaking again as though he didn’t hear you. You can see in his eyes he is far, far away. “I watched her die. Took a real long time. But I stayed…waited. Had to make sure.”

The water is rising, cold and slick, over your ankles and up your calves. Panic rises with it, packs into your throat like silt. “You were real brave, baby. You did it. You made sure.” Your voice is thin as a reed. 

A terrible, empty grin cracks his face and then vanishes without a ripple, and now he looks at you for the first time and his eyes are hollow and blue as marbles and he whispers, “Then why ain’t she dead?”

The water surges to your knees like it’s been displaced by something large, something prowling. You teeter forward, heart hammering, splashing as you regain your balance. Too loud, too loud. Do alligators eat each other?

“She’s dead, Bo. She is.”

“Don’t lie to me, bitch!” He rises to his feet so fast you lose your balance again, flinching back from him. “She ain’t and you know it. You’ve seen her, she’s here! In this fuckin’ house!”

You shake your head quickly and in your periphery something ducks beneath the surface of the water. “No. She’s not.” Convince him, convince yourself, make it true.

His chest is heaving, his gaze darting around the room, searching. You can picture a shadow in shadow, curled up and waiting in the corner of the ceiling like a fat black spider, fingers splayed wide and tipped sharp and red. 

Bo grips the back of his head and moans and it echoes off the trees, too loud, too loud. “Fuckin’...everywhere.”

Faded flowers. Blush, lipstick. A trick of the light. A locket wrapped in vines. Something hunting, just below the surface. If you let it rip him apart, would it come for you next?

“She’s everywhere…in my goddamn head….” He sways on his feet like he might fall and if he does, if the swamp swallows him, you’ll die here in this place.

“Hey.” You close the distance, push through the muck, brush his elbow. “Hey!”

He smacks you away, snaps his jaws closed. “Don’t touch me!”

You cringe and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. Something groans in the dark. Something moves near the ceiling. 

His eyes on you are predatory, cold and empty, and his brow furrows. “Who are you?” he demands.

Wide-eyed, you open your mouth to answer him, but there is nothing on your tongue but moss. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

He leans toward you. “Who the fuck are you?”

You hold your hands up in front of you, backing away, mud between your toes. Your fingers are skeletal. Your nails are painted red. “I don’t know!”

A terribly low, vibrating sound is rising from the water, sending ripples in all directions, freezing your heart in your chest. He moves towards you and the swamp parts around him, allows him to pass like he is a part of it.

“You ain’t leavin’, baby.”

His teeth are sharp.

He lunges.

You scream.

The sound gets caught in your throat like a wad of feathers and bones and you choke, twisting, coming to in your bed. In his bed. Disoriented, you gasp for breath and release the death grip you have on the sheet. Your brow is so sweat-soaked your eyes are beginning to sting. The air is dry on your skin; the blanket is gone. The lower half of your body is tingling.

His head lifts from between your thighs and he looks at you with eyebrows raised. “Easy, sugar. Ain’t done with you yet.”

“Wh…what?” You rub at your eyes, trying to shake the sensation of water closing over your face. Somewhere, some version of you is bleeding in the silt.

His tongue makes another pass and you whimper, arms shaking with the effort of holding yourself up, of treading water, of fighting the maw of a monster. “Relax, baby. Go back to sleep.”

It’s all so insurmountable, the weight of it on your chest, and you sink back into the mattress without a ripple. His mouth is wet and warm. His dark hair is disheveled and you wonder absently if he misses it, that lock you stole. The room is silent save for the sound of your drowning.

“Is it raining?” you whisper, and hate yourself for the hope behind it.

He pauses, meets your gaze over the watery surface of your body. All you can see are his eyes and you could swear, for a second, they reflect neon red. “No.”

You let your head drop back onto the pillow, let him devour you, feel a tear slip over the brim of your lashes and disappear into your hair.

.

The storm breaks on a Wednesday. 

At first, you don’t register the rain on the roof. You don’t even take note of the thunder anymore, after weeks of torment. It’s become a fixture like the dust, like the pervasive smell of decay.

It starts slow, cautious, rolling into town like a tourist with a busted GPS. You mistake the patter for the familiar buzz of TV static even though that makes no sense, even though you’re the only one in the house, even though the TV is off in the next room. All you can hear is the rough swish of the scrub brush on the hardwood floor, coaxing flecks of blood from the gaps between the boards. It’s already beginning to reek in the heat.

You wanted to clean it up last night when it was fresh but he wouldn’t let you, strongarmed you up the stairs and pinned you to the mattress. You’d never admit it to him, to God, or to yourself—and really, is there a difference in Ambrose—but he fucks so good when he’s riled up like that, when it feels like he can’t get enough of the killing so he’s going to take it out on you, take everything you have to offer him plus a little bit more.

The cut on your palm is half-healed and hurts when you put your weight on it. There’s something about that—familiar, comfortable, not grounding, not really, but like static. Stable. Buoyant. Like the bruises on your knees. A constant that cradles you and takes you up and out of here, not too high, just above the trees.

A stair creaks behind you and you freeze like a hare in the shadow of a hawk. It could be Vincent, but he’s busy with last night’s batch. It’s not Bo.

You ease yourself up onto your knees, rock back, stand up, and creep to the foot of the stairs. They are empty. You are alone with the sense that someone has just disappeared out of sight, retreating up into the aching cranium of the house, skirt swishing.

You are never alone, not really.

It’s only then that the sound of the rain seeps into your brain, soothes the hair standing up on the back of your neck. A weight you have been holding on your shoulders since the end of July dissolves like sugar and your spine lengthens by inches. You drop the brush, forget the ghost, walk barefoot through the bloodstain on your way to fling open the front door.

It rains.

It rains even though the clouds are thin, the sun forcing its way through in places like it just can’t bear to admit defeat. It rains and pools in the potholes of the driveway that have been waiting open-mouthed to be filled. It rains and the grass and weeds release a sigh of bliss, stop begging for mercy.

You step down from the porch in a trance, palms up and open, trailing pink-tinged footprints that melt across the concrete like raspberry taffy. You walk across the lawn, scuff your feet in the grass, wonder if maybe you’re dreaming and decide you don’t care.

You sink to the ground, sprawl on your back, feel the damp soak into your clothes and your skin and it makes you whole, makes you new, makes its apologies for taking so long. You are floating, only eyes above the water, surrounded by salvinia and duckweed.

You hear his footsteps just before he calls to you. “The fuck you doin’, girl?” he shouts, but when you open your eyes, he’s losing a fight with a grin, picking his way up the slippery hill.

You sit up halfway. “It’s raining.”

“Y’don’t say.” He drops to his knees beside you, slumped with relief.

His wifebeater is splattered with blood and water but you grab it with both fists and pull him to you, catch his mouth and coax him to the ground.

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters, but he guides your hands to his belt and grips your ass with both hands as you fuss with the buckle, even rolls onto his back to ease your way and lifts his hips so you can tug down his jeans. “Right here, huh?”

“Yes.”

“In the front goddamn yard.”

“Yes!”

“It’s fuckin’ rainin’!”

“I know!”

He laughs and the heavens giftwrap it with a roll of thunder. You're giddy, beaming at him, and he traces your smile with the pad of his finger and something akin to admiration.

You're brand-new, him too, and both of you together. Like it's the first time, a better first, another universe. His hands are on your thighs and his shirt rides up above his stomach. Water drips off your nose and onto his lips and he licks it off like it might save him and maybe it just might. Maybe it’ll save you both.

Exhausted, exalted, you wash the sweat and grime off each other with filthy hands and thirsty mouths. You wrap your fingers around his bare shoulders and ride him with your eyes open and your breath hot on your lips. It’s a fever breaking, the panting, the shaking.

The locket taps against your chest, the lock of his hair tucked inside it. He cups your face, slips his thumb in your mouth, and there’s blood beneath his fingernail. You suck it clean with greed and obedience, savor it, turn your face to the sky and let the crocodile tears run down your cheeks.

“That’s my girl,” he growls, and you bask in the rare and wondrous glow of his approval.

You come apart in splashes like raindrops, small, staccato swells in your core while he kisses the rain off your skin. His hands find the bruises they’ve left on your hips and squeeze and it’s all you could ever ask for, to be held. To be hurt. To be his.

Maybe it’s not so bad, you think. Sometimes. It’s not so bad.

“Y'know, girl, maybe you're right,” he says. "Just this once."

You’re confused until you realize you’ve spoken out loud. You look down at him, cold skin, wet curls, a smudge on his jaw that could be mud or blood, his or yours or someone else’s. He looks back like he sees you.

“You love me?” you ask him before you can think better of it. Before the rain stops.

The corner of his mouth twitches. His gaze slides past you, goes somewhere else, above the sea of trees. The sky is in his eyes. “Sometimes.”

You don’t smile, don’t sigh, just push the hair off his brow and sink slow and gentle beneath the surface and into the green, not a ripple made in your wake.

“Good.”

[dira333]

Tummy Aches - Multifandom - Kuroo Tetsuro

Inspired by this post by @alienaiver -> Komori -> Shinsou

Warning: Bathroom talk. Nothing too graphic, but if that's not your thing...

“Perfect consistency,” Kuroo announces as he takes a seat at the breakfast table. “Color is a bit off though.”

Kenma curls his nose in disgust. “Please! Can you not talk about your shit for one day?”

“You did eat a lot of ice cream yesterday,” you comment, ignoring Kenma. “Do you want some probiotics?”

“No, thank you, but do we have some Kombucha left over?”

“Oh, fantastic choice. Do you want some too, Kenma?” You turn, but Kenma’s pulled away, curling his hands protectively around his gigantic coffee mug. You suspect he brought it with him, it didn’t fit the vacation rental’s aesthetic at all. 

“Leave me alone with that stuff,” he hisses. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s healthy,” Kuroo cuts in, plopping a perfectly peeled orange onto your plate. “Here, you need more Vitamin C.”

“Thank you. Did you put on Sunscreen?”

“Ah,” Kuroo grins. “I forgot. Can you do that for me later?”

Kenma rolls his eyes so hard you fear he’s going to faint.

-

“Cold?” You ask as Kenma huddles into his hoodie.

“No,” he huffs. “I always dress myself so I sweat like a pig.”

“Pig’s don’t sweat,” Kuroo point out, approaching. “Here. Your water is almost empty.”

“Oh, thank you.” You take the bottle, unable to keep from smiling at the sweet gesture.

Kenma snorts.

“Did you catch a cold?” Kuroo asks, already all over his - your - best friend.

“No. But you know what? I want to go onto the Ferris Wheel.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea.” You nod. “Let’s go there.”

The Ferris Wheel is not far, a proud fixture at the Beach. Surely a ride would be even prettier at night or at sunset, but even now it’s nice out, the clouds hanging in the sky like puffs of cotton. 

Kuroo’s hand brushes against yours as you walk. More than once his pointer finger curls around yours. Pointedly you keep looking at Kenma as he talks, a lump in your throat.

Soon enough you’re settled in the little cabin, barely room enough for the three of you.

“All set?” The guy working the Ferris Wheel asks, grinning at the three of you.

“You know,” Kenma says, clearing his throat. “I think I changed my mind.” He jumps out of his seat like he hadn’t just complained in length about how drained he’d been feeling. “You two have fun. Don’t forget to kiss at the top.” 

He’s out and about before you can disagree, your mouth still open from his comment.

“Well, off you go.” And before you can say anything, your little cabin moves, up and up and up.

Your left side is pressed against Kuroo, thanks to you trying to make space for Kenma. He’s warm next to you, a familiar presence.

“It wasn’t even my idea,” he mutters lowly under his breath, barely loud enough for you to catch.

“But?” you ask, heart in your throat.

Instead of an answer, his hand curls around yours. You lean your head against his shoulder, let your heart do what it wants. What it wanted to do all along.

-

“So?” Kenma asks as you step out of the little cabin, hands joined.

You can’t wipe the smile off your face. Kuroo looks a little dazed.

“I think we need to eat something with blueberries,” you say and Kuroo perks up like his name has been called.

“Oh,” he says, grinning. “The phytonutrients in them are good for your heart.”

“Exactly.”

Kenma groans. “Fine. As long as you stop talking about your digestion.”

“They can change the color of your poop too,” Kuroo interrupts him, winking at you. “Just so you know.”

-

If you're wondering why Kenma was third-wheeling that vacation, he was not. I'm the fourth person in this vacation setting but I've caught a stomach bug and had to stay behind at the AirBnB, resting. 😅

[allaboutnayeli]

stupid lil headcanons about mapi

author notes: i'm pushing out more of these dumb posts than fics but i swear fics are coming 🙏🏾 just let my mind work it's magic y'all. anyways stupid headcanons about mapi that hold no value, enjoy!

➜ mapi probably asks ingrid to talk to the waitress when she receives the wrong order. it's not really that she's scared to say something, it's just mapi doesn't want to say anything herself

➜ she probably sends ingrid stupid memes in spanish about the most irrelevant things that ingrid is always like "wtf? where did you get these from?" (she got them from twitter)

➜ doesn't care for tiktok that much but sometimes someone sends her an edit off of that app and she giggles

➜ this woman be low-key confused when the barca coach talks about the team's game plan. afterwards she always asks alexia to explain to her in simple terms

➜ we all know she had that emo phase. during that phase she still listened to a lot of spanish music (she couldn't get with the actual emo music) and used tumblr like it was god sent

➜ mapi be giggling and kicking her legs while stalking ingrid's instagram during international break. she has like a thousand photos of ingrid in her gallery, but the instagram posts just hit different

➜ double texts everything. never writes in paragraphs and she probably have many typos in her texts because she be typing at the speed of light

➜ mapi's favorite type of kisses are cheek kisses because she finds them really cute

➜ if the word clingy had a picture in the dictionary, mapi would be the photo. this woman is attached to ingrid so bad and just likes hanging off of her. half of the time she just annoys ingrid but refuses to move away when her when ingrid tells her off

➜ clumsy at the worse moments. could be holding a plate full of food and mapi is going to slip on thin air

➜ likes piggy back rides especially from ingrid

➜ mapi is the biggest cryer when it comes to movies. it could be the happiest movie ever but let one sad thing happen and she's bawling

➜ begs ingrid to do her hair in silly lil hairstyles and always talks cute selfies after

➜ a cuddle bug. not just with ingrid but also her cat

➜ mapi shall not be trusted with knives or any sharp objects, she always end up cutting herself. ingrid has to comfort her afterwards

➜ is so annoying to play against in a fifa game. she will do anything in her power to make you lose (pushing, saying the most out of pocket stuff, screaming at the top of her lungs, anything to her opponent to lose the game)

➜ dyes her hair when stressed (but don't tell anybody that)

➜ either a fun drunk or a sad drunk. depends on the day and if ingrid is around

➜ she randomly flexes in front of ingrid to try to impress her (ingrid doesn't give a fuck but gives many compliments)

➜ speaking of impressing ingrid, this woman will stop a car with her bare hands just to have ingrid give her a compliment. what can be said? #girlfriendvalidationisthebest

➜ 100% is a pouter, a whiner, a "but babeee:("

➜ the type to get a tattoo for her girlfriend and not even tell anyone until someone just notices

➜ mapi is surprisedly flexible, don't ask how she figured that out

➜ follows ingrid around like a lost puppy. she just loves her girl so bad

➜ her favorite season is summer and her favorite thing to do during summer is to go to the beach. for one, she loves to be in the water and for two, she gets to see ingrid in a bikini. a win is a win

➜ says the most random shit that pops up in her mind like "do you think dinosaurs are related to chickens? and if they are related to chickens then when someone eats chicken, are they eating dinosaur meat?" and ingrid would just be like "please just eat your food"

➜ not the best dancer in the world but no body can tell her that

➜ mapi sometimes just gets baby fever and pesters ingrid before forgetting about it then she sees a baby & the process happens all over again

➜ overall mapi is just so silly 😝

© thinkingaboutjaedyn

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Jules Nichols Headcanons (Pt. 2)

Previous part in collaboration with @ilovehotactresses

(She helped me with a few (most) of these, but she's being a bitch and not SHARING Jules. She's OUR beefy boyfriend!!! (If the Jules fic gets pushed to the bottom of the WIP list, you know why).

Jules x Fem!Reader (Boobs are referred to).

General Personality

-This woman is one bad day away from locking herself in the generator room and never coming out.

-Upon first introduction, (if you can even call it that), she says her name and maybe three words.

"Hi Sheriff Nichols, I'm [Name]"

"Oh. It's Jules. Don't call me Sheriff."

"Oka-"

*POOF*

-Has the ability to literally disappear like a cat. Doesn't want to be seen? Won't. You won't find her anywhere, don't try, she climbs up in the vents. Yeah. You heard me. The fucking air vents.

-BOY HUMOR. She's been around men her entire life. Her humor is absolutely rancid. Every dirty joke in the book. Not 'one of the guys' , she is a 'guy'.

-All of her friends are men. They slap each other on the back when hugging, first hugs are going to be interesting.

-First contact you'll ever make with her is a handshake. Very firm. This woman can GRIP.

First Date/ Getting to know each other

-Jules doesn't know what dating is. She's the equivalent of a Silo Comp Sci major, except she wears deodorant. You bet your ass asking her out is like asking out a brick wall.

"Hey Jules, I was wondering if we could hang out sometime...?"

"We're talking right now."

*Stares. Just fucking STARES.*

-But if she has feelings, it is at least ten times harder.

"Hey, want to grab coffee?"

".... What's coffee?"

*Looks at you with bugged out autistic eyes.*

-She lurks if she has a crush. Looking out from the corner of the room with those same bugged out eyes. She doesn't talk. Maybe she fixes something in your tool kit without asking, but you bet your ass she's not talking first.

-It's like trying to befriend a feral cat. Good news? She can and will be bribed with food.

Awkward Stage

-After you coerce Jules into a date, because you will have to be the one to make the move with her, she becomes worse with the lurking.

-Breathing over your shoulder, her front almost touching your back but never quite making contact. Itching to touch, but also not wanting to touch. INDECISIVE.

-Sniffing.

-Yeah bud, you heard me. She sniffs. Finds out what soaps you use, maybe perfume. Invests in that shit.

-Starts naming things after you. Her favorite wrench? Now it's [Reader] wrench. New mechanical equipment? Automatically your name. EVERYONE around her knows she likes you simply because she refers to the generator with your name once.

-(She climbed into the air vents after that screw up).

Relationship Stage

-CLINGY.

-We've established she's a bottom. Wants to be babied all. The. Time. She's like one of those large Newfoundlands that want to be held like a baby. Is she baby sized? Can she even fit in your lap comfortably? No, but she sits there anyways.

-Eating EVERYTHING in your house.

-Can't cook? You're gonna have to learn to. This woman doesn't cook, only eats. If you don't feed her she will bitch and moan until you do.

-SO. FUCKING. HANGRY.

-Being alone with her is like having a breathing shadow. Wants to cuddle, needs to cuddle. Cuddling on the sofa, in the kitchen, in the bed, in the shower.

-Nibbling. Forget wearing anything except turtlenecks, your neck is covered in red marks constantly. Lots of kisses though, so it works out.

-Nose in your neck. Face in your shoulder, face in your boobs if she can. Face. Must. Touch.

-Loves your boobs. Mesmerized by them every time they come out. Also mesmerized by other things ;)

Random (Basically Jules being autistic)

-Investing in a stim swing would be the best present EVER. Swing is life. Bouncing and spinning, just the feet out. It's her new air vents.

-Wants TIGHT hugs. They have to be tight. As tight as you can make them. That pressure is good.

-Ties her shoes really tight too. Would wear tight pants if she could avoid harassment, therefore all of her pajamas are tight.

-Saltines are her favorite snack. You heard me. Crispy, same texture every time and just salty enough. Munches on them like a hamster.

-Saturday night activities include taking apart your kitchen toaster and fiddling with it until it works RIGHT. (It was making a high pitched noise that was driving her nuts).

-Does all the fixing in the house not because you can't but because she cannot watch you do it because you're not doing it 'right'.

-The bug eyed look is basically her resting face.

-Brings home a kitten from the generator one day, proudly naming it Lug-nut. (Luggie for short). This cat is basically Jules in cat form. They have the same expression. At all times.

That's all!

Tag list: @marvelwomenrule @midnight-lestrange @bjoerkumlaut, @lovelyy-moonlight, @coffee-is-my-oxygen, @appparadox407

Send a message/ask to be added. Ageless bios are automatically put in the SFW sub category.