#when i can’t have a single discussion properly

[thedensworld]

No Big Deal | L. Jh

Genre: fluff, dad au!

Summary: At the end of the day, both of you are a team. Even it sounds like a no big deal, it should be discussed.

Kim Mingyu had just become a father, and the entire group was ecstatic. Finally, the ever-enthusiastic, kid-loving Mingyu had a child of his own—one he could pour all his affection into instead of borrowing everyone else’s. The mood was lighthearted, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air as everyone gathered for a celebratory dinner.

Between bites of grilled meat and sips of soju, the topic naturally shifted to parenting.

"How do you even raise a kid properly when they’re growing up?" Mingyu mused, his eyes full of wonder.

The members who already had children began chiming in, eagerly sharing their own experiences and philosophies. Meanwhile, the single ones remained largely unbothered, focused on their food and drinks, merely listening in amusement.

Then, out of nowhere, Seungcheol turned to Jihoon.

"How about you, Jihoon? Do you scold your daughter?"

Jihoon, caught off guard, blinked in surprise. He wasn’t expecting to be pulled into the discussion so suddenly.

Jihoon was a father of two—a five-year-old son, Junho, and a three-year-old daughter, Jena. His children were widely adored, even by Mingyu, who often declared them to be the easiest kids to take care of. They were well-behaved, gentle, and polite—traits they no doubt inherited from both of their parents. It was hard not to love them.

Jeonghan, the ever-observant older member, leaned back with a knowing smirk. "There’s always a difference in how a father treats his son versus his daughter," he commented. "No matter how hard you try, you just can’t bring yourself to scold a daughter the same way."

Joshua and Jun nodded in agreement, chuckling.

Seungcheol, however, wasn’t convinced. "If I need to scold them, I scold them," he stated firmly.

Jeonghan chuckled. "That’s because you only have daughter. It’s different when you have both. Jihoon, what do you think?"

Jihoon let out a sigh, thinking back. Had he ever actually scolded Jena? He honestly couldn’t remember. Every time she looked up at him with those big, glistening eyes and her plump, rosy cheeks, he felt himself melt. Her giggles could soften even the hardest of hearts.

But Junho? Oh, he had plenty of memories of scolding Junho. When Junho made a mess, he scolded him. When Junho tripped over a cable, he scolded him. It wasn’t that he loved one child more than the other—it was just different.

"I think Jeonghan hyung has a point," Jihoon admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "I don’t think I’ve ever actually raised my voice at Jena… but with Junho, it happens naturally. I don’t even think about it, it just comes out."

The table erupted into laughter, knowing nods exchanged between the fathers.

"See?" Jeonghan grinned. "Daughters just have their dads wrapped around their fingers."

Jihoon sighed, taking a sip of his drink. "Yeah… it’s dangerous."

The conversation continued, filled with more stories, advice, and teasing remarks, but Jihoon couldn’t help but glance at his phone, where his lock screen displayed a photo of Junho and Jena together—smiling brightly, unaware of just how much power they had over their father’s heart.

"Are the kids asleep already?" Jihoon asked as he stepped inside, setting down his bag and spotting you curled up on the couch with a book in hand.

You turned your head toward him, a soft smile gracing your lips. "They've been asleep for a while now," you replied, glancing at the clock. "It's way past their bedtime."

Jihoon bit his lip, guilt creeping in as he realized how late it was. "Sorry, love. Seungcheol hyung wouldn’t let anyone leave early," he murmured, making his way to you. He plopped down beside you, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

You ran your fingers through his hair, letting his head rest against your shoulder. "It must've been fun, though. It's been a while since you guys had a gathering like that."

Jihoon hummed in agreement, his voice laced with exhaustion and amusement. "Mingyu was absolutely ecstatic about having a daughter. We even started listing potential names for her."

You chuckled, already knowing how ridiculous things could get when the group brainstormed anything. "Don't tell me someone suggested 'Bap.'"

Jihoon pulled away just enough to look at you, laughing as he nodded. "Oh, absolutely. We threw in every possible name that could go with Kim. It was chaotic."

Shaking your head in amusement, you leaned into him. "It sounds like kids were the main topic of the night."

"Pretty much," Jihoon admitted. "We ended up discussing a lot of parenting stuff—it was actually pretty informative. I can't believe how much the guys have changed now that they’re married." He let out a soft chuckle, still wrapping his mind around the fact that his once carefree bandmates were now giving fatherhood advice.

You smirked. "I bet Wonwoo, Dino, Vernon, and Seungkwan struggled to keep up with that conversation."

Jihoon grinned, nodding. "Oh, they were completely in their own world. The world of being single."

You playfully smacked his arm. "Don't make fun of them," you scolded, though the amused glint in your eyes betrayed you.

Jihoon only smiled, his gaze softening as he cupped your face. Without another word, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a lingering kiss, one that carried both affection and exhaustion.

When he pulled back, his voice was a gentle murmur. "Let's go to bed, love. You must be tired too."

With a small nod, you set your book aside, letting Jihoon pull you up with him. Wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, you followed him to your shared room, ready to end the long day in the comfort of each other’s arms.

*

"Hey, there's no need to scold her. It's not a big deal," Jihoon muttered, his voice carrying a slight edge.

It was his day off, and the two of you were sitting on the couch, finally enjoying some downtime. That peace was short-lived when Jena toddled over, her big, pleading eyes locked onto Jihoon.

"Daddy, can I have a candy?" she asked, her tiny hands clutching his arm.

Jihoon glanced at the clock—almost lunchtime. "Not right now, sweetheart. You’ll spoil your appetite."

Jena's pout deepened, and she tugged on his sleeve. He hesitated, but eventually, he caved, slipping her a small piece of candy.

That should have been the end of it—except she came back for more.

This time, you were in the room.

"Jena," you said, your tone patient but firm. "If you eat candy now, you won’t enjoy your lunch."

Jena didn’t like your response. Her expression twisted, and within seconds, she burst into tears, her tiny frame shaking as she threw herself into a tantrum. You let her cry, waiting for her to calm down, but when the wailing only grew louder, you had enough.

"You won’t get anything you want by throwing a tantrum, Jena," you said, your voice sharp enough to cut through the noise. "If you want something, ask politely. And if someone says no, it’s because they have a reason—a reason that’s good for you."

Jihoon shifted beside you. "She’s just a kid," he muttered, crossing his arms.

You turned to him fully, your patience thinning. "That’s exactly why she needs to learn now. If we keep giving in, she’s going to think crying is a way to get what she wants."

Jihoon sighed, rubbing his temples. "I just don’t see why it had to be such a big deal. It was one piece of candy."

Your jaw tightened. "It’s not about the candy, Jihoon. It’s about discipline. She needs to understand that rules exist for a reason."

He exhaled heavily, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I get that, but you don’t have to be so strict about it."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "And you don’t have to be so soft just because she’s cute. You’re teaching her that she can get her way if she looks at you the right way. Do you want that to become a habit?"

Jihoon didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flickering between you and Jena, who had finally calmed down and wandered off to join Junho, drawing sea creatures on the DIY board Mingyu had made.

After a long pause, he sighed. "I just don’t like seeing her cry."

Your expression softened slightly, but you held your ground. "Neither do I. But I'd rather deal with a few tears now than have her grow up thinking she can manipulate people to get her way."

Jihoon leaned back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. He hated to admit it, but you had a point. Still, a part of him felt torn.

Days later, Jihoon was sitting in his studio, lost in the rhythm of a song he was working on. Jena sat comfortably on his lap, bouncing along to the beat with a wide grin, her tiny hands clapping excitedly. Jihoon couldn’t help but smile at her, the warmth of fatherhood settling deep in his chest.

A sudden knock at the door pulled him from the moment. He turned just in time to see you walk in, your brows furrowed in concern. Without hesitation, you scooped Jena up from his lap.

"Junho is crying outside. What happened?" Your voice was firm, laced with worry.

Jihoon let out a slow sigh, already knowing this conversation was inevitable. He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together as he tried to explain.

"He was playing in here with Jena while I was working," Jihoon began, his tone calm but a little exasperated. "He tripped over one of my cables and shut my computer off."

You frowned. "And?"

"I just gave him a word or two. Nothing big."

Before you could respond, Jena reached for your face, her little hands patting your cheeks as she babbled, "Mama, don’t get mad at Daddy!"

You softened slightly, pressing a quick kiss to Jena’s forehead before setting her down and guiding her outside to play with her brother. Then, you turned back to Jihoon, crossing your arms.

"Was your file deleted?"

Jihoon sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "No, babe. But that’s not the point. This isn’t the first time it’s happened."

"He’s crying outside, Jihoon. I’ve never seen him cry that hard. You hurt his heart, babe."

Jihoon scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "It’s because you were there. He wasn’t crying because he was hurt—he was crying because he wanted you to talk to me. I know him, he’s my son."

Your eyes narrowed slightly. "How can you say that? You shouldn't invalidate his emotions like that. He's only five, Jihoon. He probably feels awful about what happened, and now he feels like he disappointed you."

Jihoon met your gaze, his own dark and steady. "I didn’t invalidate his emotions, and you know that. Just like you told me with Jena, kids need to learn. I gave him words, not punishment. He cried because he wanted your attention, not because I was too harsh on him. Why don’t you understand that?"

The room fell into a brief silence, the tension thick between you. Jihoon’s jaw was tight, and you could see the conflict in his expression—his natural instinct to be strict versus your softer approach when it came to Junho.

Your lips pressed into a thin line. "Maybe he just wanted comfort."

Jihoon let out a short, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "And maybe he needs to understand that actions have consequences. I didn't yell at him. I didn’t punish him. I just told him to be careful, but the moment he saw you, he turned on the waterworks."

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "He's a child, Jihoon. He makes mistakes, and he looks to us for guidance—not just discipline."

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening. "And you think I don't know that?"

Silence stretched between you, heavy and thick.

Finally, you sighed, your voice quieter. "Just talk to him, okay? He needs to know you’re not angry at him."

Jihoon hesitated before nodding, running a hand over his face. "Yeah… okay."

You watched him for a moment longer before stepping back. "I’ll be outside... with the kids."

Jihoon sat there, staring at the closed door. His chest felt tight, not just from the tension between the two of you, but from the realization that, despite everything, he was still figuring out how to be a good father, and a good husband.

*

Later that night, the weight of the day still lingered in the air between you and Jihoon. The house was quiet, the kids fast asleep in their rooms, but the unresolved tension from earlier sat heavy on your chest as you lay in bed beside him. Jihoon was turned to the side, his back facing you slightly, his breaths steady but not quite asleep.

You sighed softly, shifting closer to him, resting your chin against his shoulder. "Jihoon..."

He hummed in acknowledgment, but he didn’t turn around.

You hesitated for a moment, then exhaled. "I’m sorry for getting upset earlier."

Jihoon finally rolled onto his back, eyes flickering open as he looked at you. "You don’t have to apologize," he murmured.

"I do," you insisted, searching his expression. "I know you weren’t trying to be too harsh with Junho. And I know you love him more than anything."

Jihoon let out a soft sigh, rubbing his face. "I just don’t want to raise him to think he can get away with things by crying," he admitted. "I don’t want him to grow up feeling entitled."

You nodded, understanding his perspective. "I get that. And I don’t want that either." You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. "But I also don’t want him to feel like he has to suppress his emotions just to be ‘strong.’ He’s still a kid, Jihoon. He’s learning how to deal with feelings, and he looks up to you so much. The way you talk to him shapes the way he sees himself."

Jihoon was silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. Then he turned his head toward you, his gaze softer now. "So, what do we do?"

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "We find a middle ground. You don’t have to stop disciplining him, but maybe sometimes, instead of scolding him right away, we explain things to him first. Let him understand why something was wrong before we correct him. He respects you a lot, Jihoon. If you talk to him, he’ll listen."

Jihoon sighed, but this time, it was less of frustration and more of understanding. "Yeah... You’re right." He turned fully to face you, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "I’ll try to do better."

You smiled, warmth filling your chest. "Me too."

Jihoon let out a quiet chuckle, tugging you closer until your head rested against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, his body warm against yours. "Parenting is harder than I thought," he murmured, voice laced with exhaustion.

You laughed softly. "Tell me about it."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the tension from earlier melting away. Jihoon pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Love you," he whispered.

You closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you. "Love you too."

A few days later, after much discussion, you and Jihoon decided to seek advice from a child behaviorist. It wasn’t about proving who was right or wrong—it was about understanding Junho and Jena better, about making sure you were raising them in a way that nurtured them both emotionally and mentally.

The session was eye-opening. The specialist listened to both of your parenting styles and observed how you and Jihoon interacted with the kids. At the end of the analysis, they gave you their insight.

"If raising a child is like sailing a ship," the behaviorist said, looking at both of you, "then both parents need to steer in the same direction. If one pulls to the left and the other to the right, the ship won’t move forward—it will just struggle against itself."

That line hit home.

Later that evening, after putting the kids to bed, you and Jihoon sat together at the dining table, the analysis report in front of you. Neither of you spoke at first, both processing everything.

Jihoon exhaled, rubbing his temples. "So basically, we have different methods, and we don’t talk about it enough."

You nodded, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger. "I think we both just assume we’re doing what’s best without really checking in with each other first."

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "It makes sense, though. You’re more patient with the kids, and I—" he sighed, "—I tend to be strict, especially with Junho."

You reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You’re not wrong for wanting to teach him responsibility. And I’m not wrong for wanting him to express himself. But if we don’t agree on how to balance that, we’ll just confuse him."

Jihoon looked down at your joined hands, then back up at you. "So, what do we do now?"

You smiled, squeezing his fingers. "We do what we should’ve done from the start. We talk. Before making a decision about the kids, we communicate. If one of us feels like the other is being too harsh or too lenient, we address it together—not in front of the kids, but privately. We back each other up so they don’t feel like they have to pick sides."

Jihoon nodded slowly, letting your words sink in. "And if we don’t agree?"

"Then we find a compromise," you said simply. "Just like we do with everything else in life."

Jihoon let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "I guess I didn’t realize how much teamwork parenting actually takes."

You smiled. "Neither did I."

He looked at you for a moment, then lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Alright, then. Let’s be better together."

You grinned. "Together."

That night, as you both lay in bed, Jihoon pulled you close, his hand resting protectively on your waist. "Thanks for pushing me to do this," he murmured.

"Thanks for meeting me halfway," you whispered back.

And just like that, the ship of your family was back on course, both of you steering it forward—together.

*

"Oh my god!" You gasped as you saw Jena clutching Junho's favorite toy—now in two broken pieces. Your heart sank as you rushed toward her, gently prying the shattered toy from her small hands. Junho, who had been sitting beside Jihoon watching his favorite TV show, turned his head at the sound of your voice.

"My robot!" Junho yelled, his face a mix of shock and devastation as he took in the sight of his broken toy.

Jena, still too young to understand the gravity of what she had done, simply turned away and began to walk off. But Junho was faster. He grabbed her wrist, turning her to face him.

"Jena, did you do this?" His voice wavered with disbelief.

Jihoon and you exchanged glances, concern flickering in your eyes. Jihoon exhaled through his nose, subtly signaling for you to stay calm.

Tears welled up in Jena’s eyes as she stood frozen by the wall, sniffling softly. Junho, however, was not done. Without another word, he stormed off toward her toy basket.

Your stomach twisted when you saw what he was after—Jena’s beloved bunny plushie. Before you could stop him, he grabbed a pair of scissors from the nearby desk and held the plushie up, placing the blade at its neck.

"No... No... No!" You rushed toward him, your heart pounding.

"Junho, stop! Revenge is not the answer!" You pleaded, blocking his way.

Jena let out a wail, running straight to you, desperately reaching for her bunny. Your thoughts raced. How had things escalated this quickly? Where had he learned this behavior?

Jihoon, now standing, swiftly stepped in. Without raising his voice, he took the plushie from Junho’s hands, his firm but calm presence instantly halting the situation.

Junho blinked up at his father, taken aback. To him, he had just wanted to scare his sister, to make her understand how it felt to lose something precious. But now, he was the one facing Jihoon’s disapproval.

Jihoon crouched to Jena’s level, his voice even. "Jena, you broke your brother’s toy. You need to say sorry."

You hesitated for a moment but then loosened your grip on her, letting her step forward. Yet, instead of apologizing, Jena stubbornly reached for her bunny in Jihoon’s grasp, her little hands stretching desperately toward it.

Jihoon sighed. "You made a mistake, Jena. If you don't take responsibility, I’ll have to throw this away."

Jena gasped, her little hands gripping the hem of your shirt as she stared at Jihoon in sheer horror. Tears welled up in her round eyes, her lower lip trembling as she realized what was happening.

"No, Daddy! No!" she cried, her voice breaking as she stomped her feet. "Not my bunny!"

You felt your chest tighten at the sight of her distress, but Jihoon remained firm, his expression unreadable as he held the plushie just out of reach.

"Then say sorry, Jena." His tone wasn’t angry, but it was resolute.

Jena sniffled, but instead of apologizing, she lunged forward, trying to climb Jihoon’s leg to reach her toy. He gently blocked her, and her frustration turned into wails.

Junho, who had been standing stiffly a few feet away, clenched his fists. His face was still tear-streaked, but now, guilt flickered in his eyes as he watched his sister fall apart. His earlier anger seemed to fade into something softer—uncertainty, maybe even regret.

Jihoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Jena, you broke your brother’s toy. It was his favorite. If you don’t take responsibility, how is that fair?"

Jena only cried harder, shaking her head furiously. "I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to!"

You crouched beside her, rubbing slow circles on her back. "Baby, I know you didn’t mean to, but when we make mistakes, we have to say sorry. That’s how we make things better."

Jena hiccuped between sobs, but she wasn’t budging.

Jihoon turned to Junho, handing him the plushie. "Junho, you tell me. Should I throw it away?"

Junho's eyes widened as he looked at the bunny in his hands. His fingers tightened around it for a second, but then he looked at his sister—her face blotchy from crying, her tiny body trembling.

Slowly, he shook his head. "No…" His voice was quiet, unsure. "Jena can't sleep without it."

Jihoon watched him carefully. "But she broke your toy. Doesn’t that mean it’s fair?"

Junho bit his lip. He glanced down at the bunny, then at Jena, then finally at you—like he was searching for the right answer. After a long moment, he let out a deep breath and walked over to his sister.

"Just be careful when you play with my toys, okay?" His voice was soft, hesitant, but sincere.

Jena sniffled, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Then, in a flash, she threw herself at him, wrapping her little arms around his waist.

"I’m sorry, oppa!" she cried. "I didn’t mean to break your robot!"

Junho hesitated before patting her head. "Okay, okay… just don’t do it again."

You and Jihoon exchanged glances, both of you exhaling at the same time. The tension in the room slowly dissolved, replaced by something lighter—relief, maybe even pride.

*

"Woah… How does she have your attitude? She nearly refused to say sorry, babe!" you said in disbelief, a teasing lilt in your voice as you eyed Jihoon knowingly.

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was going. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

You smirked. "She has the pride of Lee Jihoon."

Jihoon let out a chuckle, shaking his head before pulling you into his arms. His warmth was comforting as you lay together on the bed, the tension from earlier slowly melting away.

"You were so stressed back then," he murmured, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back.

You let out a deep sigh. "How could I not be? Junho was holding scissors, babe. He was actually about to cut her plushie. I can’t even begin to imagine what could’ve happened if things went wrong."

Jihoon tightened his hold around you, his voice low and reassuring. "Don’t worry, love. I always step in—now or later. I would never let anything happen to them."

His words should have eased you, and in a way, they did. But still, the thought lingered in your mind. You let out another sigh, resting your head against his chest. "But I was surprised too, honestly. Where did he even learn that kind of reaction? Has he been watching something…?"

Jihoon blinked before realization dawned on him. "Wait… we've been rewatching Jujutsu Kaisen together."

Your eyes widened as you pulled back to look at him. "Are you serious? And you let him?"

Jihoon let out an awkward laugh. "I mean, he loves it! And it’s not that bad—"

You shot him a look. "That show has fights, curses, and literal revenge plots. Junho just tried to traumatize his sister with a scissor! Connect the dots."

Jihoon winced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, okay… maybe I’ll put a pause on anime night for a bit."

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. "Unbelievable."

Jihoon let out a soft chuckle, his fingers lazily trailing up and down your spine. "You stress too much, babe."

You scoffed, shifting slightly in his embrace. "Of course, I do! I’m literally trying to keep our kids from turning into little menaces."

He hummed in amusement, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing against your bare skin. "And I love that about you… but you should let yourself relax too."

You shivered at his touch, but you tried to keep your composure. "Easier said than done, babe."

Jihoon smirked, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Well, lucky for you, I know exactly how to help with that."

You narrowed your eyes at him, already recognizing the shift in his tone. "Babe—"

"Shhh," he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss on your jaw before tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. "Just trust me, love. Let me take care of you for a bit."

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise between the two of you as Jihoon’s fingers traced slow, teasing circles on your skin.

Maybe… just this once, you could let him distract you.

[vrystalius]

How would the Hashira + Upper moons react to their S/O reader kissing them during an argument (it's up to you what the argument is about but i was thinking maybe they were jealous bc she was way too nice to someone else) Like i can imagine them being angry and when they confront her she just kisses them and says a small "Sorry" they can't help but forgive her right?

The Upper Moons getting kissed during a fight

You kiss the Upper Moons during a fight. How will they react?

Pairing: Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza x reader

Note: Sorry for doing it a little differently, I only realised just now that I kind of misunderstood the ask. I’m planning on doing a version for the hashira as well where I will write it more accurately!

(Slight angst, arguments)

Kokushibo

Your arguments are more like debates and discussions rather than screaming. Somehow, Kokushibo demolishes you everytime. He delivers one argument after another, every single word was planned out to make you feel like you’re in the wrong everytime. You’re kind of starting to get sick of feeling stupid by him using terms you’ve never heard of. He has an unfair advantage of being alive for hundreds of years and having six piercing eyes that make you doubt your own ability to think.

This time, you’re prepared. You pulled Kokushibo in by his yukata. Your lips crashed onto his and all of his eyes widened. His jaw locked as you caressed his collarbone while his lips loved against yours for a moment. After pulling away, he became quiet for a moment, as if thinking, before speaking up.

“You use very dirty tricks. I will use them myself in the future.”

Douma

Douma is incredibly pouty and bored during your arguments. He mostly listens while you talk, only trying to tease you into becoming even angrier every now and then. After you went on and on for minutes on why he should stop having his meals inside your bedrooms, he again grew bored. At first, Douma just checked out his nails and picked on some loose skin while listening. After you went from complaining about eating his bloody meals in the bedroom over to how you don’t wanna sit on his lap during his sermons anymore, he began to zone out. Your lips look so soft while you talk. His rainbow eyes were locked with them, dreaming of pulling you close and just shutting you up with a kiss. Yes, that’s a good idea.

While you rambled on and on, Douma grabbed you by your arm and crashed his lips onto yours. He hungrily nibbled on your lower lip while giggling quietly.

“Did I distract you? My apologies, go on! I’m listening, I swear!… What’s with that look, huh?”

Akaza

He gets nervous when you two have an argument. Akaza tries his best not to get too angry and to lash out at you. He doesn’t want to scare you, or even worse, to hurt you in any way. But sometimes, you make it really hard for him to keep his cool. To him, your irritated face and words are the equivalent of the sun hitting his skin. His fists are clenching while he tries to listen properly, but he can’t concentrate. Akaza is trying not to threaten or yell back at you to be able to listsn to your talking properly.

You noticed how hard your boyfriend was trying not to be aggressive towards you and how hard Akaza was concentrating. You sighed and crossed your arms across your chest, watching how his lower lip was quivering. You can’t help but grow softer at the sight. Your hands cupped his cold cheeks as you pulled him closer, placing a kiss on his lips to reassure him that you still love him. You saw how quickly Akaza’s face softened up after your kiss. He let out a soft sigh and placed your hands into his palm.

“Sorry for being like this all the time. I’ll… try to be better. Can I have another kiss though?”

💠

I think Muzan would just continue to ramble on after kissing him, probably even taking offence that you have the audacity to interrupt him during his speech. Also, I really wanna write about cuddles and sleep lately, but I’ll try to restrain myself XD

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"THE FIRST DATE"

EXTRA CONTENT - "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 7k+ → a/n: the very long awaited first date. this was requested by several people. wahoo! also, fair warning for second-hand embarrassment. i think eddie munson is the only person who drag me dancing around a bowling alley and i wouldn't smite them on the spot.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

EDDIE: What about a fancy dinner date?

YOU: boring.

YOU: and too traditional. when were you even born, Munson? the 60s???

EDDIE: Ha. Ha. I don’t see you making any worthwhile suggestions, sweetheart. 

YOU: i don’t have to make any suggestions, old man. YOU’RE supposed to be wooing ME 

God forbid anyone walked in on you at this moment. 

You were like a high schooler, lying on your stomach with your feet kicking up into the air as you stared at the screen, happily bantering with Eddie over text. All the butterflies, all the blissful jitters, all that dopamine rush that comes with school girl crushes – every single cliche was present and was in full force as you discussed the details of your first date with him. You used to scoff (albeit with hidden longing) at all the romance movies that you truly believed had overplayed all the giddiness, but now you got it. It was disgusting, the way he had you wrapped around his finger so easily, the way he had turned you into a heart-eyed shell of the woman you once were in the matter of a week. 

EDDIE: So you have a thing for older men is what you’re telling me.

YOU: i NEVER said that.

EDDIE: Didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can read between the lines. 

Over the last week, since the two of you had won the bet and you had won over with insistence on him properly asking you out, Eddie had been tossing around date ideas as he tried to plan this very first occasion. The only time you had even seen him was when your entire group met up, the latest outing having been for brunch on Saturday under the guise celebrating the one week anniversary of you and Eddie surviving twenty four hours together without killing each other. 

Didn’t stop him from calling and texting you. And it clearly hadn’t deterred him from losing his mind over doing right by you with this entire first date ordeal. 

YOU: i don’t even have the energy to explain to you how many times you have proven to not do that in the past. 

EDDIE: I’ve read between the lines in the past! 

YOU: you most certainly have NOT

EDDIE: I was able to read when you wanted to kiss me that night. That’s reading between the lines.

And so the giddiness rears its head, full fledged as heat swarms your body and your cheeks ache from your smile. 

YOU: i hate you 

EDDIE: No, you don’t

YOU: i do. i really do. 

EDDIE: You’re such a shit liar

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock on your dorm’s door, annoying and persistent as it taps out some random rhythm that must be a song of some sort. But whatever song it is, you can’t recognize it as you stand, walking over to answer. 

“Did you forget your key aga-” you begin, assuming it was just your roommate. You’re shocked to see Robin and Steve standing there, “What are you guys doing here?” 

“We had a study date, in case you had forgotten and not seen our hundreds of texts,” Steve huffs, quickly crossing his arms. 

You hadn’t seen their texts. Most of your screen time had been a bit preoccupied with a certain metalhead. 

“Oh, shit,” your face falls as you open the door wider, side-stepping and motioning for them to come in. 

“Yeah,” Steve snarks as he comes right in, Robin hot on his trails and seeming in a far more pleasant mood as the boy mocks you, “Oh, shit.” 

Robin stops beside you as Steve helps himself to a seat in your desk chair, “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he has to get A’s on all his mid-terms to keep his 3.0.” 

“I am not cranky-”

“You are!” 

“Am not!” 

“You so are,” Robin continues to egg him on, choosing your bed as her resting place. 

Your phone bounces a bit from the way she throws herself down on the sorry excuse for a mattress, and you recall how you had yet to reply to Eddie. Fuck.

“When did we even make these plans?” you ask, genuinely confused as you shut the door. You already miss the peace and quiet of being alone, free to preen at your phone and giggle to your heart’s content at the world’s worst flirt over text.

“Saturday,” Steve groans, throwing his head back. 

“It was after brunch,” Robin clarifies, lifting herself up from how she was lounging amongst your blankets, “I mean, you seemed a bit distracted when you agreed, but… We did text you about it.” 

You had been distracted. Eddie had managed to quietly ask the waitress to include your tab with his so he could pay for it without your knowledge, and you’d spent the entire time torn between being upset with the boy and absolutely fawning. It was a bit pathetic, looking back at it – the fact that those were the only two options your mind had presented you with. You’d scorned him over the phone later that night, and he had only laughed. You swear you can still hear it now, having heard it several times since – a low chuckle that rattled into the caverns of your chest, that bounced amongst vines of affection and willed open blooms of adoration just a little bit wider. 

Part of you was still waiting for the wilting. For the other shoe to drop, for all of what had been exposed and had been planted to vanish from your grasps. That first Monday morning, you’d even woken up worried it had all been a dream. 

“I’ve been busy,” you lamely try to excuse your radio silence. 

“Busier than normal?” Steve’s brows quirk up, leaning back in your chair that emits a squeak of protest, “Or have you just been busy with new friends?” 

Your lips twist and your nose twitches in confusion, “New friends? What the Hell are you going on about, Harrington?” 

Robin fully sits up now, watching with piqued interest.

“Eddie,” Steve gets straight to the point, his previous sour mood finally melting slightly, “You can’t honestly tell me that nothing changed after that night.” 

It was something neither of you had really discussed. Steve had seen you two, knew that a lot had truly changed based off of the way you’d tossed him right into the middle of the mess there at the end, but you and Eddie had never said anything about being together. Not to your friends, and not even to each other. 

“Just because I don’t want to tear his head off his shoulders anymore doesn’t mean we’re spending every waking moment together,” you force your best scowl, as if that wasn’t exactly what you had yearned for all week. 

Eventually, it had to wear off. That’s what you told yourself – at some point the initial rose tones would fade less vibrant, and Eddie’s intense occupation of your mind would lessen with the hues. 

“I can’t believe it, but I am siding with Stevie on this one,” Robin finally contributes, “I mean, you guys won’t even tell us what happened that night.” 

“Nothing exciting,” you’re quick to lie, “Just… I don’t know. Boring stuff. Getting on each other’s nerves, sitting around on his couch,” that gets a bitter scoff from Steve that almost makes you freeze up. Damn Eddie for teasing him with the truth about the couch, “Nothing worth making a big deal over. Like I said, we just learned to… to… tolerate each other.”

Tolerate was an interesting way to put spending hours on the phone together each night, sometimes falling asleep while still on the line. 

Steve still looks as though he’s recalling all of Eddie’s annoying taunts from that night while Robin only grins salaciously. 

“Tolerate each other?” she mimics you, leaning forward and pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress beside her knees, “Babe, have you two even said a single mean thing to each other since that night? I think he even smiled at you on Saturday. You’re practically married with two and a half kids already.”

He had smiled at you – multiple times. And each one had struck the most delicate of daggers right into your chest, lighting you aflame under his attempted clandestine attention. Every time those big, brown eyes had met yours from across the table, the ache you’d started to hold for him had only doubled in size. By the end of that morning, when the day had technically started to bleed out into the afternoon, you were nothing more than a vessel of pining for the boy that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to brush against amongst your friends. 

“Whatever,” you murmur as you reach out to snatch up your phone, “I never even understood the whole half kid thing. Like, how the fuck do you have two and a half kids?” 

“I’m sure Eddie would be more than happy to show you,” Steve teases despite his still half-traumatized look.

You’re quick to reach out a hand to whack the back of his head, “Shut up. Are we gonna keep sitting here while you two try to pry something that doesn’t exist out of me, or are we going to go study?” 

Steve’s grumpy mood returns as he rubs the back of his head, him and Robin standing in sync to exit the room.

But before the three of you exit the dorm, you check your phone one last time, having to bite down on that girlish grin when you see two new text message notifications. 

EDDIE: It’s official. I’m a genius. 

EDDIE: Say, are you free tomorrow night? 

—

Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. A shift at your job, one too many hours spent sitting through lectures, ensuring a night of studying with Steve and Robin — all petty distractions, roadblocks on your path to the most highly anticipated first date of your life. Eddie wouldn’t even entertain you with details, only telling you to dress fairly comfortably and to put on your best game face.

And you did. To some extent, you really did.

But you’d finished getting ready hours in advance, something you blamed on nerves, and having that much time to kill with such nerves was dangerous.

Simple makeup turned a bit more extravagant, you had tried on nearly every outfit in your possession, you’d even eyed your hair curler on more than one occasion.

Comfortable. What the Hell was that even supposed to mean?

Your only solution had been to text the man of the hour himself, something to busy your thumbs instead of twiddling them or involving them in taking your date night look several steps over just comfortable.

YOU: okay, so. can you define ‘dressing comfortably’?

EDDIE: According to Google, “dressing in a way that makes you feel at ease in your body” :)

YOU: fuck off. you know that’s not what i meant.

Still no clues. He wasn’t caving so easily to your pestering. You should have known better, considering he’d been professionally dodging any questions or inquiries you had regarding the date for the last twenty four hours.

EDDIE: Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.

That certainly didn’t help. Not even in the slightest. 

You don’t even reply to his text, already back to pacing your dorm before you finally cave to an impulsive decision you’d been grappling with for hours now. 

There was a newish, sporty skirt in the bottom of your drawers. It was comfortable, it had built-in shorts, and it looked damn good on you. The hem fell right around mid-thigh and always flared in an overly satisfying fashion when you’d spin while wearing it. The material of the pleats was nearly impossible to wrinkle. It wasn’t overly soft against your palms as you still nervously smoothed it down once you’d shimmied it on, but you still repeated the motion in hopes of soothing some of your nerves.

You’re sure it’s the wrong option until Eddie sees you in it.

He texts when he’s on his way and you find yourself bounding outside to wait for him far too early to be reasonable. He hadn’t even arrived until after your back had nearly become one with the brick exterior of the dorm building's front wall, leaning into the scratch of the clay on your shoulder blade a welcome distraction until you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. 

You nearly grow dizzy from the sudden rush of nerves.

This is really happening. You’re about to go on a date with Eddie, the first time of what you hope will be many to come. 

“Took you long enough, Munson,” you snark loud enough for him to hear as he clicks the Yamaha’s kickstand into place right by the vibrant red curb. There’s a sign not even a full foot away from where he’s standing that clearly spells out NO PARKING. 

Oh.

Oh.

If you hadn’t already been riddled with nerves, your knees would have gone weak at the sight of him. 

Since when is that dressing casual and comfortable? 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” he shoots right back as he lifts the helmet off his head, and something inside of you clenched tightly at the sight with no plans to unwind any time soon.

Dark wash jeans plaster his legs, heavy combat boots smacking against the pavement as he walks to meet you halfway. The black shirt he’s donning isn’t extravagant, but something in the way that t-shirt material stretches across his chest has you burning from the inside out. He’s even gone so far as to tuck the shirt into the jeans, his black leather belt on show as he hugs the helmet below his bicep. And his normal leather jacket — you don’t believe you’ve ever seen it look better, ever seen it fit his shoulders so snugly. He’s dressed to perfectly match the all black bike, the image of a bad boy straight out of every cheesy movie you’d ever seen. 

The only thing that breaks the illusion is the boyish grin pulling the arrival of his dimples along with it as he watches you push off the wall. His eyes are sparkling as you approach him, a constellation of hope and new beginnings twinkling right before you. 

He’s not sorry that you waited on him. Not in the slightest. Especially when those starry eyes travel over your appearance.

You have to force yourself to tsk, because otherwise you might end up just another pile of ash for the poor landscapers to sweep up, “Haven't you heard it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?” 

You stop in your steps just far enough to catch the way his eyes take you in. Drinking slowly. Following the trace of the just fancy enough tank top that you’d chosen to balance the skirt. Lingering on the plush of your inner thighs, barely peeking out the bottom of your chosen outfit for the night.

You almost start to feel self conscious until he lets out a little sigh, nearly a whimper as his eyes trail back up to find yours.

“I’m sure I have,” he chokes out, composure momentarily vanished as you distract him so easily, “But aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

“I could say the same about you.” 

You’re like a shark. If you stop swimming in the upstream flirtations, you’ll drown instantaneously in his big brown eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you swear you see a hint of a blush across the highs of his cheek bones and sides of his neck as he holds out the helmet for you, “At least with me, it will.” 

“Even the top secret location of this date?” you ask as you take the helmet, considering putting up a fight. You still hated him not wearing one for your expense, and you weren’t exactly eager for any sort of helmet hair, “Do I have to wear-“

He knows the end of your sentence before you even finish, “Yes. No exceptions; you have to wear it every time you ride.”

“Every time?” 

“It’s for safety.” 

“Isn’t it sort of unsafe for you to go without one?” 

“You’re wearing the helmet,” he sighs, nose twitching with indignation as he holds staunchly onto the position, “And to answer your other question, no. I guess flattery will get you almost everywhere, but it’s a surprise.” 

You fiddle with the chin straps, looking down as you feel his gaze burning the top of your head from this angle, “Fine. But we really should just get me my own helmet. You need to wear one, too. And…” you look back up, pausing before you properly put on the piece of safety equipment, “It’s a little oversized. You know, considering it was meant to fit your big head first.” 

He narrows his eyes, still lit up with a sort of playfulness you haven’t grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of. 

You like him quite a bit more than you bargained for. A lot more than five hundred dollars, or twenty four hours, ever would have summarized. 

“We can go helmet shopping another day.” 

We. Not just him, not just you. But you and him. A unit. A couple.

“It’s a date,” you whisper just before you slide on the helmet. You completely miss the wildfire that the ghost of a blush has finally become. You completely miss the way that your talk of you two together, you two as a couple with a future, affects him just as his has an effect on you. 

Helmet hair is worth it, you decide, once you’ve saddled onto the bike behind him and he revs up the engine once more. You’re not as shy as you had been on that fateful night the week before, quick to wrap your arms around his middle and let your chest press hard against his back. The leather crinkles against the contact, the heat of him radiating, and you think you could spend forever like that. 

You’re almost upset that you can’t smell his cologne through the helmet. That once terrible scent of boy. 

Every curve and every slow stop is another excuse to cling to him tighter, every red light a reason for him to turn his head and catch a glimpse of you with a small grin that never once falters. You swear at one of the lights, when he revs his engine in a particularly rowdy fashion right as the light turns green and takes off particularly fast, you can hear his laughter over the loud wind mingling with the roaring engine. You know you can feel it, vibrating in his chest right along with your own that gets lost in the chaos of the unusually busy Tuesday night street. 

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the older building, you catch sight of the neon sign out front and find yourself laughing again. 

“Bowling?” you question, yanking the helmet off less than gracefully as he stands off the bike you’d just swung yourself off of, “You’re taking me bowling?” 

He takes the helmet from you, suddenly looking a bit shy as he averts his gaze, “Not just any bowling. It’s… It’s the coolest bowling alley you will ever go on a first date at.” 

“You say that to every girl you bring here?” 

You’re just teasing him, trying to poke fun rather than succumb to all the fluttering that bruises your inner chest and stomach. But then he has to ruin your fun, strike a match and set you aflame so adroitly.  

“Only the prettiest ones.” 

You should continue the banter, challenge him on just who else fell into that category, but you can’t. It’s in that glimmer of his eyes and the indent of his dimples, the way he looks at you as he slowly rises and somehow softens his gaze all while keeping a threat of a bite beneath the tone. His eyes tell you that you are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s referring to. That in this moment, you begin and you end his world, and not even the commotion of traffic or nip in the air that creeps up as the summer sun sets can deter his attention being set solely on you.

But his tone suggests something far more dangerous. He says it like you’re a prey, an unattainable catch that he’ll be chasing for the entire night. A wicked growl to that voice you’ve been falling asleep to over the phone far more than you care to admit in just a short week. 

He says it like he’s going to ruin you. As if he hasn’t already injected himself into your veins, as if he isn’t the gasoline drowning and raging the burn within you. 

But he keeps up the gentleman persona in the short walk up to the door of the establishment. Holds out his hand for yours to fit perfectly into, guides you to the inner sidewalk as cars fly past and the only thing between you and them is him. 

 The hunt is on from the moment he opens that door for you. 

“Ever the gentleman,” you muse, voice hardly above a whisper as you brush past him and finally catch that smell of boy. 

You think you’d drown in his cologne now if he gave you the chance. Bury your face in his chest, wrap your arms around him and press any inch of your own bare skin to his. 

“Always,” it would have been a weak response if he’d only said it and nodded his head, but he takes it a step further. Right as you pass him, entering the brisk AC, his hand ghosts over the expanse of your lower back. Fingertips nimbly brushing right above the band of that skirt, grazing your tank top just hard enough for you to feel it and shiver. 

It doesn’t stop there. The back and forth, the chase, the hunt.

The way he makes sure your knuckles brush his as he hands you your shoes, even more brushes of his palm flat against your lower back repetitively, the way he insists on a heavier ball that makes his arms strain and muscles display. Over the chatter from the bowling alley’s fairly nice bar and the music trickling out of the overhead speakers, you’re sure that your heartbeat has joined the ranks of audible noises to echo the nice haunt. You’re positive he can hear every thump, can pinpoint the exact moments that poor aching muscle inside your chest begins to race. 

You go for a smaller weighted ball. You don’t think you could handle anything heavier with your current case of weak knees.

“Only an eight pounder?” Eddie tuts at you as you approach your designated lane again, “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.” 

No, I can’t. Your fault, really.

“I have weak arms,” you try to defend yourself as you rotate the red ball in your hands. 

His favorite color. It hadn’t been intentional, but the swirling shades of stark scarlet and deep maroons is a nice touch. 

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaning into you as you deposit the ball right behind his own ball on the track where it already rests.

A twelve pounder. A smoky quartz design, black base swirling with misty white and gold accents. Far prettier than yours by a landslide. 

And fitting for the pretty boy you’re faced with when you turn to watch him shedding his leather jacket onto the bench a few steps away. 

“Not all of us are some big, strong macho man,” you scowl insincerely, moving to sit beside him and follow his lead in switching out shoes, “I’m betting now that by halfway through the game, you’ll be caving and begging to use my ball, Munson.” 

You’re looking down as you casually say it, one shoe already half off and unaware of just how close he had gotten until his hand reaches over. Not even a second later, he has your chin pinched between his fingers, gentle as it guides you and forces you to look at him, “Careful. Bets seem to be awfully dangerous when it comes to the two of us.” 

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. 

The graze of those fingers against your jaw leaves a trail of ash, burning that lingers and thrums beneath your skin, heart officially skipping beats rather than merely speeding up. You’re coming to realize that when it comes to keeping up with Eddie Munson in his element, in all his charm and flirtatious banter, you’re a bit hopeless.

He has you trapped under his thumb — metaphorically and literally.

“Are you always this flirtatious with all your dates?” you spit out against your better judgment.

Why do I keep bringing up his previous flames? Do I really care? Do I really want to put myself through the torture of hearing about all of the girls, or guys, he’s wooed before me? 

The same glittering eyes, the same hidden smirk from earlier. “Only the prettiest ones.” 

“You keep saying that,” you mumble, chin pressing into his fingertips against their hold, “Just how many pretty dates have you had?” 

The pride softens in an instant. His gaze is less sharp, grin less predatory as he raises his eyebrows. 

“Does it really matter?” 

You can’t help it. Your mind races ahead of you before you can stop it; you’re plagued in an instant with images of how many dates, how many other people he had indulged in over the year you two had wasted hating each other. You try to recall overhearing him describe any of those dates, try to remember if Nancy ever mentioned Eddie passing up one of the hangouts for a romantic endeavor.

You come up empty handed, but it doesn’t stop the overthinking. 

“I guess not,” you feebly answer, unable to tear your eyes from him. 

I guess not is really code for it matters so much more than I care to admit. An impossible riddle you can’t even expect him to pick up on. 

His hand falls from your chin and finds home on your bare knee, warm palm swallowing it up. He gives it a squeeze, and you wonder for a moment if maybe he can read your secretive language. Maybe he’s seeing right through your overconfident front, maybe he has felt every racing of your pulse. 

Maybe, he’s as nervous as you are.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t think you can bear another moment of this new intimacy. It had been easier when the two of you were on a ticking clock, confined to his apartment and parameters of a bet that never really mattered. Vulnerability had less of an edge when you could yearn and pine to see it flourish in the real world — but now, here it was, twisting away within you both a week later and pricking away as the stakes at hand come to light. 

“Are you ready for me to absolutely demolish your ass at this game?” you joke.

“Demolish me? That’s some big talk for someone using an eight pound ball, babe.”

“It’s not about how much you’re packing, pretty boy,” you scoff, “Just that you know how to use it.” 

He smiles slowly, but the quick squeeze of his hand tells you the vulnerability is here to stay. He feels that cutting edge too, and he’s not shying away. 

He leans right into it, just as he does your personal space, “Bring it on.” 

—

“You’re cheating!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! Who the fuck gets three strikes in a row?” 

Eddie strolls back towards you, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips and his hips swaying with arrogance as you continue to pout at his sudden show of sportsmanship, “I believe the answer is me, sweetheart. Wanna see me make it four?” 

“I hope you just jinxed yourself,” you scowl as you hop up off the couch and Eddie swaggers right past you, hardly affected by the palm you smack into the center of his chest for good measure, “I hope you roll nothing but gutter balls the rest of the game, you prick.” 

“Like you have been?” 

“Burn in Hell.” 

Eddie’s cackle echoes through the fairly busy alley. It wasn’t overwhelming, the lanes of either side of yours staying empty, the only other groups several ways down. So far, the date has been good. Even if Eddie was wiping the floor with your severe lack of skill. 

Both of you had opted for Cokes rather than alcohol, Eddie had ordered some sort of platter with onion rings and mozzarella sticks that the two of you had easily been devouring between turns. Playful banter had been kept up easier than breathing, barking words without bite being snapped back and forth loud enough for the entire establishment to hear the two of you being exceptionally childish. 

At some point, your nerves had melted. And you didn’t even need a lick of alcohol in your system for it to happen. 

“Try to aim for the pins this time,” Eddie continues to taunt you from where he’s spread out on the brown faux leather bench you’d been taking turns warming the seat of. 

Your fingers slide into the holes of your ball with ease, courtesy of the grease from all your snacking, “Try shutting the fuck up.” 

More of his laughter sounds off, and you nearly trip on your walk up to the markings on the linoleum wood flooring. It’s a nice sound; a beautiful response to words that could easily read identical to how the two of you used to fight. But these aren’t fighting words, they’re words passed between two… two… friends? 

Is that how you should continue to classify this? Were you and Eddie really still just friends? 

The sound of your ball stuttering in hops across the beginnings of the lane replaces his laughter 

No. Easy question – there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the two of you were definitely not friends. Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken. And for the remainder of this date, you could live with that. 

Eddie sucks in an audible breath, letting the air whistle between his teeth as your ball veers at the last second and misses the pins entirely. Again. 

“Th-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, spinning on your heel and holding up a warning finger. It’s harder to hold in your own grin when Eddie’s already smiling into his fist, leaning his elbows onto his thighs as his big eyes peer at you, clearly amused, “Don’t say a word.” 

His knuckles dig further into his mouth.

“I meant to do that.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, still not speaking.

“It takes real talent to avoid pins like that.” 

He leans over a bit further, and you swear you hear him emit a snort from behind that damn fist. 

You open your mouth to continue with the bit when the clattering of your ball returning to the ball rack comes from behind you. Eddie only shrugs cheekily as he finally drops his fist to grab for a mozzarella stick, his smile contained but those damn dimples still flashing you brilliantly. 

Without taking your eyes off him, you hold up a warning finger for emphasis once more, trying to bite down any signs of your own amusement as you take a few steps back in the direction of the rack and repeat yourself, “I meant to do that.” 

“Sure you did,” he muses before taking a bite of the mozzarella stick smothered in marinara sauce. 

“I did.”

“I believe you.” 

“I-”

It seems the Universe is in the business of interrupting you two. As if it seems all that hope and potential flourishing in the space between you two and decides that simply won’t do. As if it’s too much. 

Maybe it is. But maybe, just maybe, you’re enjoying too much. 

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence or grab for your ball, the lights of the alley have dimmed. A few spotlights over the alleys themselves light up, erratically waving patches of light over the shining floor as the music that had been playing overhead cuts out to be replaced with some poor employee’s voice. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen-” you and Eddie share a confused glance, “-The time is officially ten o’clock, meaning nineties night has officially begun! Have fun, and enjoy yourselves as we throw you back to the decade of Nirvana and Beanie Babies for the rest of the night with these straight jams.” 

Your face scrunches up in a comical cringe before the buzzing static of the speaker can even cut out and the beginning lines of Say My Name by Destiny’s Child begins to play. 

You aren’t entirely sure of how it happens. Maybe it’s all the playfulness in there, in all that electric teasing at the tip of Eddie’s tongue and all that hopelessness bubbling up in your chest as it dawns on you of the fact you were finally on a proper date with Eddie. Maybe it’s simply a good night for you to continue to make a fool of yourself, and Eddie sees it as a chance he’ll always be right there with you, prepared to make a scene as he follows your lead. 

He stands up to approach you where you’re still rooted beside the rack, matching your own grin that blooms genuinely at the sound of the song. 

It was one of your favorite’s. A small fact about yourself you don’t think you’ve ever told Eddie – that you can remember. 

It’s small, at first. Just mouthing along to the first verse as he moves towards you, recognizing that excitement lighting up in you, shimmying his shoulders ever so slightly. He looks like an idiot – he’s absolutely your idiot. 

“Did you know it was nineties night?” you mumble as he gets closer, shaking your head slightly.

“Stevie might have mentioned something about you enjoying nineties nostalgia,” he drawls, still taking sure steps towards you. 

“Did you ask him for advice for our first date, Eddie?” 

“No,” he scoffs quickly, finally close enough to grab you gently by your hips. He’s nowhere near manhandling you, but it’s still reminding you of the game, of the hunt, at play. You’re his prey and he’s officially making his move. Carelessly, nonchalantly. “He mentioned it ages ago. When they were trying to convince me you weren’t all bad.” 

Your smile widens, “Was this around the time I threw a glass at your head, by chance?” 

“Maybe.” 

The dulcet instrumental of the song continues on overhead, beginning to pick up in beat, making you nod your head along as Eddie finally starts to tug you closer. 

You’re in public, and you both should know better than to make absolute fools of yourselves, but it doesn’t seem to matter when all you can really see is him. 

Your friends had also spent ages trying to convince you that Eddie wasn’t all bad, but you’d always known that much. You’d seen glimpses of the good in him from that very first night. When he’d made you feel welcome, when he’d given you a life-preserver to cling to when you’d felt most out of your element. You knew that Eddie Munson was one of those people who had a hardwired habit of trying to make people feel welcome.

Even in a room full of people, when you’d be non-stop embarrassing yourself endlessly. 

All his jests had been further proof, but when he sees your rock on your heels as you enjoy the music, he takes it a step further. He grabs one of your hands with his free one, keeping a hold of your waist, encouraging all your giddiness over the song. Every single person in the establishment could be staring at the two of you – you didn’t care. 

When he starts dramatically mouth along to the chorus of the song, swinging you around slightly, it takes very little provocation for you to join in with him. 

You both could’ve taken a step further, and properly sang along in the most obnoxious voices possible, but you don’t. There’s still the slightest blanket of security there as Eddie keeps the antics mostly silent, reserving his dramatic reenactments of vocal runs for your eyes only. Even yanking your hand up close to his mouth, as though it was a microphone, as he swings you around again. You quickly become a giggling disarray, hardly able to keep up your own footing, eyes squinting with joy and what must be the messiest and ugliest smile possible showing off all your teeth. The type of smile and laughter you’d normally try to hide on instinct. The kind of smile you cover up. 

But you can’t, because Eddie is keeping his sturdy grip on your hands with his own, and he’s drinking in every second of your joy. He’s vibrant as he watches the way he’s entertaining you. Shamelessly staring, making his antics falter. 

“Baby, say my name,” he purposefully sings along dramatically, quietly but terribly off-key.

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Eddie, you’re an idiot.” 

He ignores you, and continues to give you your own private concert, switching rapidly between singing the main song and the backup vocals, which only makes your stomach further ache with laughter. 

This is what you’d been yearning for the last year. This silly side of him, an absolute fool who couldn’t care less about the stares of others. 

The seductive side of him was enticing. The honest version of him nice. But this side of him? Carefree, rowdy, indiscreet? It may be your favorite yet. 

Only the sound of a nearby teen couple mocking you two break the moment, just as you’ve begun to jokingly whisper-sing back into Eddie’s pretend microphone made of your joined fists. They make what must be vomiting noises, and you catch the tail end of one of them jokingly poking a finger towards their outstretched tongue as you finally sigh deeply. 

You should probably feel embarrassed. Later on, when you find yourself in bed later tonight and attempt to find some rest, you’ll probably ruminate and burn yourself alive with all the embarrassment. But not right now; not with your boy still in front of you, smiling just as desperately wide as you were. 

His dimples would probably consume him if you let him go on any longer. 

“Eddie,” you choke out through residual laughter, tugging your hands free as the song starts to fade out. You make no move to remove yourself from him, though. Your arms find home around his shoulders, hands splayed just below the nape of his neck, “People are staring.” 

“Good,” he snipes back, finally dropping the act but not the glee, “Probably entranced by how pretty you look right now.” 

“Pretty? I probably look like a loser. They’re probably already engraving a trophy for world’s ugliest smile-”

“Oh, don’t do that,” his forehead falls against yours, rolling his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment. I love your smile.” 

There’s something unspoken there. He loves your smile, yes, but he’s also been denied of it for a very long year. It’s the first step of making it up to you, making up for lost time. 

Making a fool out of himself, just to see that goddamn smile. 

With your arms around his neck, his forehead pressed against yours and the tip of his nose bumping yours, the game of bowling is all but forgotten. Even the teens, still side-eyeing the two of you, can be pushed aside in your mind. 

All your insecurities of the night that have crept in the shadows become insignificant. You don’t care how many dates Eddie has been on before you, you don’t care that you’ve clearly become a prey caught in his web. You don’t even care about the way you’re losing. 

It’s the perfect first date. When one of his hands wander, playing with the hem of your skirt, knuckles and rings brushing against bare skin, it’s perfect. 

“Hey,” you whisper, “I’ve got a question.” 

“I have an answer.” 

“You sound very sure there, big guy.” 

“I am sure,” he pulls his face away just a bit, but his gentle touch against your thigh lings. The other hand stays warm against your lower back, keeping you pressed up against him, “What’s up, sweetheart?” 

Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken.

Hearing him say it out-loud will still be nice, though. 

“Does this mean we’re official?” you breathe out, trying to cling to all your bravery and not let it slip away, “Like – God, I sound like a high schooler right now – does this mean we’re… you know…”

“Dating?” he’s grinning, unable to hide his giddiness. 

“Yeah. Dating.” 

The hand tracing circles on your exposed outer thigh rises up to your cheek, brushing along it as he tucks a bit of your hair back. You swear you see it shaking out of the corner of your eye. 

“I sure would like to be,” it was shaking. You know it surely, because his voice is as well. Vulnerable and honest, just how you like him, “We don’t have to tell the others, we can take it slow, but-”

“But we’re dating.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement – an affirmation. You and Eddie Munson, the man you swore you hated just over a week ago, were dating. 

He only nods, and you consider the way that his dimples might just swallow you whole instead of him. 

Not enemies, not friends – lovers. It has quite the nice ring to it. 

“Well, in that case,” you finally pull away, dropping your arms slowly and letting your fingers catch on the chain of the necklace he currently wears. A red guitar pick, something you’ll surely learn the story behind soon enough. “Better go and roll that fourth strike, boyfriend.” 

His head rolls back, and a joking groan falls from his lips as his neck stretches and nearly distracts you momentarily, “Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re making fun of me, you little shit.” 

Another laugh falls from your lips as you step around him, quirking an eyebrow. Perfect first date, indeed. 

“Get used to it, Munson.”

“I plan to, Sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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[mythicmanuscripts]

Imagine aegon going into sub space for the first time

This is such a great question anon!! I can't believe I've actually never discussed Aegon going into subspace for the first time.

Originally I planned on only writing about the first time he went into subspace but I ended up also just talking in general about the first few weeks of him starting to submit as well so I guess you guys are just getting more sub!aegon than planned. Anyway, sub!aegon below the cut!

So firstly, I definitely think there would be a few times he came very close to subspace in non-sexual settings first??? Like, he so desperately wants someone who can guide him gently.

And gently really is the key word there.

Alicent ‘guides’ him all the time, but she’s harsh and cold and she makes him feel bad. When you smile gently at him and take his head and suggest that maybe he should let the master coin finish their sentence before he kicks them out… he melts. And then when he listens and then dismisses the master of coin and you praise him for being so good? He’s a puddle. You no longer have a husband you have a happy little puddle at your feet, absolutely zero thoughts left.

Anyway point is, those types of interactions are the first times where he starts to come close to subspace. This is especially true when you’re sitting alone with him in your shared bedroom. When the fire is roaring and the blankets are so soft and you’ve got a hand in his hair, of course he’s gonna start to feel all fuzzy and warm and it’s utterly perfect.

Once you start to show that guidance aspect, he stops with the summoning of you to your shared chambers to try for an heir. He can’t do that anymore when he starts to see you as the most special thing he’s ever had. He doesn’t care how much Alicent yaps on and on about him getting an heir, he won’t do that, not when he can spend that time genuinely feeling safe again.

Of course because it’s Aegon things will turn sexual eventually. And this is an idea I had a while ago but I haven’t found a reason to bring it up so I’m just gonna do it now: once that intimacy starts he stops going to brothels and stops fucking servants, he can’t do it. He can’t do anything with anyone else. But this of course does eventually cause a bit of an issue because he’s a very sexual person.

Long story short, the first time he goes into subspace properly with you is after a few weeks of him not going to any brothels. He ends up taking an impromptu nap in your shared bed after he had spoken to you for a while and he wakes up so hard. He’s cuddled against your chest and grinding his hips down against your thigh and of course when he wakes he’s absolutely mortified.

But well, he’s been so good. Of course you’re going to help him.

You end up giving him a hand job, letting him hide against your shoulder as you slowly stroke him and he loses his little mind because it’s perfect.

That’s the first time he truly reaches subspace, and you can tell because he’s actually quiet. Usually he’s a babbler, always talking, never being able to stay still or silent, but now he’s relaxed back into your arms not making a single sound besides the occasional little whine when he breathes out. He cums with just a whisper of your name and then turns to nuzzle into your chest, his body completely devoid of tension.

(Side note: Aemond is the opposite, he’s loud in subspace, so so loud)

You get worried actually, because you’ve never known him to act like he is right then. But at the same time, he’s clearly happy?

When he recovers and finds the ability to speak again, you ask him if he’s alright and what can you do to help him and he just says he’s fine, he’s absolutely perfect in fact.

[konfeitos]

IN HALF BROKEN JAPANESE.ㅤ⸺͏͏ㅤHAWKS X GN! READER

❛ ⠀♡ . ˑ⠀featuring :   takami keigo aka hawks ╱ gender neutral reader

❛❛ ⠀In half broken Japanese, I wrote to you 愛してる oh 愛してる ... ⠀❜❜ ⠀or ⠀a partial canon divergency of post-final war arc, you reunite with your lover !

❛ ⠀♡ . ˑ⠀notes  :   dedicated to @falryllghts / @brunette-sketches ! gender-neutral reader. reader isn't from japan and is learning japanese; they're a foreign hero that has volunteered to help with the restoration efforts. established relationship. be gentle with me and my interpretation of hawks. it has been a while since I've written for him. minor spoilers for chapters 424 & 426. not proofread. WC — 2.1k.

A week passed.

Despite the lack of villainous activity, both minor and significant, people still wait with bated breath for any horrid news to drop each morning. It’s difficult for Japan’s citizens to trust the calm that has finally arrived from the end of the war.

All you can do is hope that your presence, along with the other foreign heroes that have volunteered to be here, can help their nerves. 

The second that news spread that Japan was entering a restoration phase after the war had ended, you jumped at the chance to offer your support. A hasty decision that you probably shouldn’t have made considering you had an entire agency to run, but you had full trust in your staff and sidekicks to hold down the fort without you there.

Honestly, you can’t even recall how long you rattled off to your poor secretary on how long you’d be away to come out and help.

That’s definitely something you should be spending your break on to properly discuss with your agency on when you’ll be returning. 

But instead, you started wandering off from the district you were assigned to, flashing polite, albeit awkward, smiles at any heroes you made eye contact with and hoping none of them tried to initiate a conversation. Even with the micro-translator devices that everyone was provided with—which were built by that one support course student from Japan’s number one hero academy—you still hesitated to converse with them unless it was absolutely necessary. 

There was a chance that you could’ve been given the one faulty translator.

And what if you only found out once someone tried to talk to you?

What if it malfunctioned and was set to translate to a different language other than your native tongue?

What if—

Your eyes immediately land on Keigo once you step foot into the district he’s overseeing, cutting your thoughts short.

Finding him in a crowd of people has never been a challenge for you. Your gaze never fails to gravitate towards where he stands like he’s a beacon that calls out solely to you. 

From a single glance, Keigo looks as carefree as he normally does as he watches everyone. 

However, in your eyes, you can easily piece together from his stance that he’s more lost in thought than he probably thinks he is. And the more you inch closer to where he’s perched, the more you can confirm your suspicions.

You note the tension in his stance as he’s somewhat hunched over like he’s actively thinking about the loss of weight on his back. (Which he probably is. His sense of balance has been a recent struggle from what he has told you before you arrived in Japan. He has shared some instances of losing his balance here and there. These stories have always been accompanied by his laughter while you would just sit there and think how you’d help him steady himself whenever he felt off balance.)

The wind starts to pick up a bit; it’s a gentle breeze that’s enough to make you aware of its presence and stir memories in Keigo’s mind judging from the way his gaze grows distant.

His hair, now tousled by the wind, dances around his face. 

If you focus solely on his face, this would seem like one of the many pictures you’ve seen captured of him in the middle of flying that would appear on your timelines. 

You wonder if to Keigo whether this serves more like a stark reminder of the freedom he once took for granted. 

Keigo’s body instinctively shifts forwards almost as if trying to follow after the direction the wind blows in from where he is to the best of his ability. There’s the faintest hint of a bittersweet smile that rises to his lips as he glances up at the sky that remains just out of reach. 

As much as you enjoy staring at your lover, you feel like it’s best to make yourself known than continue staring and getting caught.

The unfocused state of his gaze clears up at the sound of you clearing your throat. Just as quick as his former flying speed, his eyes shift over to you. In an instant, his pupils dilate at the mere sight of you and warmth blossoms from his stare.

One of his hands reaches up to tap the micro-translator device in his ear, presumably to turn off, and you find yourself mirroring his action. After all, he’s the only one you’re actually able to hold a conversation with due to Keigo’s fluency in your native tongue.

“What brings you over here, sunshine? Miss me?”

No longer does a bittersweet smile rest on his face. A wider, affectionate grin replaces it with ease while he steps away from his post to approach you.

Your immediate thought is to deny it. 

Except you know very well how that interaction would play out, and being called out by Keigo isn’t entirely something you wish to go through right now.

Yet, admitting to missing him felt a bit too much. Knowing yourself, you may sound more vulnerable than you would like. All your worry and concern may leak out the moment you utter a single word.

Which is also something you don’t wish to go through right now.

Not yet at the very least. Not when you’re both in the middle of helping out with the Restoration Efforts.

The lack of a quick and witty response from you seems to catch his attention since he moves closer. With a gentle nudge to your side, he waits for you to meet his eyes before he nods his head to the side.

“Want to join me in getting a drink?”

He doesn’t actually wait for your answer when he starts to walk off. He’s confident in the fact that you’ll follow him no matter what, and you inwardly curse at the way your legs instantly move to catch up to him.

By the time you stand at his side, he’s sliding in a few yen coins into a vending machine. “What would you like?” Keigo asks, pushing the button for that canned coffee that he enjoys. He’s already sliding more yen coins into the machine before he looks at you.

“Oh,” You blink a couple times and examine the options in the vending machine a bit frantically. 

It’s just as you thought.

You can read none of it.

Well, there are some labels you can read, but that doesn’t exactly help you in figuring out what the drinks are exactly. 

After what feels like an eternity to you, you finally sputter out a sheepish, “Uhm, water’s fine.”

There’s no way you were going to spend anymore time staring at this machine like it would magically translate itself for you. You’re sure that even if you could read the labels that you would still be fighting against your indecisiveness to make a decision.

“Alright.”

Despite his acknowledgement to your answer, Keigo pushes at a button for a different drink. Your mouth drops partly open before you lightly smack his arm when he bends down to collect both drinks. 

“What—hey! I said that water's fine. You didn’t have to get me something else.” 

“I know,” Keigo offers nothing more than a smile and shrug, “But I can tell you’ve been working hard today, and you should hydrate with more than just water. Besides, I think you’ll like this.” He holds up the drink, shaking it lightly to draw your attention towards it. “It tastes the same as that brand you like back at your home.”

Your heart squeezes tightly at his words.

Maybe it’s the fact that he sees past your act of being fine and not tired from how long you’ve been helping out in the district you were assigned to. Or that he remembers something as mundane as the type of drink and flavor you like and offers you something similar so you can have a sense of a familiarity while you’re out in a whole other country. 

Either way, you’re a mess.

So much of a mess that your thoughts are circling around one singular thing.

You truly, truly love Keigo.

Maybe you love him a bit too much. You’re starting to think so because you find yourself compelled to do one thing and that’s to blurt it out right then and there.

And not just in your language… but in his.

Your Japanese reading skills may be lower than beginner level, but you have been practicing speaking it. Especially a couple, certain phrases.

What’s the worst thing that can happen? He laughs at you?

Thinking about it, Keigo would laugh regardless. That idiot, you think affectionately, is always laughing around you. A habit of his that you’ve never understood. (Often you’d catch him with the corner of his eyes crinkling whenever he stares at you and starts to laugh. His sudden bursts of laughter is something he never explains but promises mean nothing bad.)

A gentle tapping against your forehead draws you away from your thoughts. You huff lightly and reach up to swat his hand away, ignoring how his chuckle makes your stomach twist into itself.

“I can see you overworking that pretty little head of yours. What’s on your mind? You can tell me, it’s just me.” Keigo says that so casually like he isn’t the most precious person in your life.

Like you don’t stay up late when you’re in your respective home country simply to receive his texts or be on video call with him. Like you didn’t just jump at the chance to head straight to Japan after hearing the news solely because one of your biggest concerns was how he was out on the battlefield during the war. 

You know yourself. 

If you don’t say it now then there’s no chance you’ll muster up the courage to say it later.

Locking eyes with Keigo, you take a deep breath and utter out a shaky, “愛してる¹.” 

The silence that follows afterwards feeds the anxious thoughts growing in your head.

Was your half broken Japanese that bad that he didn’t understand it? Or maybe he did and it was way too soon to even think about telling him that. Oh god, maybe you should have practiced more to ensure that you would have nailed the pronunciation.

“Woah,” Keigo breaks the silence, yet it hardly does a thing to calm your nerves. You spill out an ‘I love you,’ and all he does is go, ‘woah,’ and nothing else.

Before you can take back your words, he continues.

“When did you have the time to practice Japanese? I thought you were too busy worrying and fussing over me lately.”

This was a mistake.

“Forget I said anything!” Turning your head away, you can feel your cheeks growing warmer by the second. Your drink suddenly looks far more interesting than anything else around you.

Except Keigo would never let you take your eyes off him.

It doesn’t take him long to start leaning against your side. “Say it again!” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t actually mean it.” Your words elicit a boisterous laugh from him, which only causes your cheeks to flush even more.

A moment passes before he’s calming down and a more gentle looking grin settles on his face. “I think I’m going on vacation after all this.” Keigo states out of nowhere that you pause for a moment. 

Huh? Where did that come from?

Catching onto your confusion, Keigo chuckles. “I was offered to take over as the president for the HPSC.” Hearing that has you widen your eyes a bit as you vaguely recall what you did know about Japan’s HPSC. He doesn’t let you dwell too long on these thoughts with his next words. “I’m turning the offer down. That kind of responsibility just isn’t for me.”

However, Keigo doesn’t stop talking there.

“What would you say your hometown is like during this season?” 

It truly should be illegal how easily he can turn your thoughts to revolve around him and the things he says. Because now you can only think about him (which is nothing new) and at your place!

“It’s… It’s nice. Uh, yeah, you should totally come visit. If you want. I might know a place for you to stay for as long as you’re there.” 

“Really now?”

Oh, you need to wipe away that look from Keigo’s face now before you explode. 

“Or maybe you can go sleep outside for all I care.” You spat out of embarrassment, ignoring the way he breaks out into laughter yet again.

A sound you’ve heard plenty of times but never gets old to you.

“Keigo.”

“Hmm?”

“... 心を愛してる².”

“I love you too.”

愛してる ¹ — I love you 心を愛してる ² — I love your heart

[fuctacles]

<< 2 | 3 | 4 >>

The quickly approaching Saturday would be impossible to forget even if Steve wasn’t excited about it himself, because Max had been discussing her outfit every single day. 

When Eddie’s van came screeching onto their curb, her wardrobe was all over her bedroom while Steve was busy doing the dishes. He could hear the familiar sound of his garage door opening, the steps approaching the side door, and the tiny knocks Eddie always gave as a warning before popping his shaggy head into the kitchen to say hi.

Steve, despite himself, was already smiling as he turned towards him. The man waved his fingers in greeting, grinning back.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Excited for today?”

“Man, am I?” he hopped up and down on the balls of his feet. “We haven’t played a weekend gig in forever. The turnout is always so much better.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

Eddie opened his mouth to say something, but loud stomping on the stairs interrupted him.

“Mr. Eddie!”

“Yes, Mad Max?!” he yelled back to match the girl’s volume.

Steve winced at their antics.

“Is this good enough for a metal concert?” she asked as soon as she barged into the kitchen. No greeting, just her spreading her arms and doing a spin. Eddie, of course, humored her, rubbing his chin in thought.

“I’d say so, yeah. Personally would add more rips in the jeans, but it’s good anyway.”

Steve whipped around, eyes wide at his kid's outfit: Black and white T-shirt, jean jacket, and black ripped jeans. His eyes narrowed.

“You don’t own ripped jeans,” he pointed out. The redhead looked up at him like a deer in the headlights, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Next to them, Eddie wheezed in barely contained laughter. Steve turned to glower at him.

“So this is why the parents don’t like you?” he asked the man covering his mouth.

“Excuse me, I go to work dressed professionally with no holes in my clothes.” He raised his hands in defense.

That much was true. He dressed differently from the rest of the staff but not enough to be unprofessional. He often came to practice at Steve’s place soon after leaving school so today was a rare day when he could see how the metalhead dressed off the clock. He was wearing a Dio crop top, jeans shredded to pieces and a studded belt.

“Actually,” Max spoke up, pulling him away from eyeing his metalhead guest (friend?). “I saw it in a photo of Dio in an article.”

“See?!” Eddie gestured pointedly.

Steve scoffed, wiping his hands, so he could cross them and convey his annoyance properly.

“She wouldn’t know who Dio is if not for you.”

Munson, of course, exhibited no remorse. Instead, he smirked with satisfaction.

“And you wouldn’t either.”

“I don’t think it would change much in my life,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“He was already listening to a lot of rock,” Max pointed out, the little traitor. “He kept most of Billy’s tapes.”

Steve’s eyes darted to Eddie, whose eyebrows were raised with curiosity. He didn’t say anything, though, and Steve was grateful for that.

“I see,” he nodded instead, dragging his eyes along Steve’s body. “I hope you'll dress your father accordingly as well.”

Steve frowned, looking down at his polo and jeans.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Max sighed deeply and Eddie leaned back, with played-up pity in his eyes.

“Oh, darling, where do I even start?”

Darling, darling, darling, darling.

Eddie loved his nicknames and playful banter, but they usually didn’t have time for it. Which might be a good thing, considering how quickly Eddie’s whole persona was growing on Steve.

Thankfully, Gareth's voice came through the garage door.

“Eddie! We don’t have whole day!”

The man straightened up, fumbling with his back pockets.

“Coming!” he yelled back, before turning back to the Harringtons, holding something out. “I got you these, just in case. I know it’s not the most kid-friendly environment but backstage will be open for you guys to hang out without being trampled by drunk metalheads.”

Before Steve could react, Max was snatching the offerings from Eddie - two lanyards with laminated plaques.

“Holy shit!”

“Language,” murmured Steve, eyeing what appeared to be backstage passes for the two of them. He looked up, meeting Eddie’s gaze, and felt himself go soft. This guy was thoughtful enough to think about Max. “Thank you. That’s very considerate of you.”

“Yeah,” Max nodded along. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he shrugged. “Wouldn’t want my suburban middle-class guests to mingle with the common folks.”

“That an insult?” Steve raised his eyebrow, to which Eddie started backing out toward the garage.

“Ehhh,” he waved his palm in a ‘kinda’ gesture. Then he pointed at Max to say, “Dress him up!” before disappearing.

She grinned at him, but her smile faltered when Steve’s gaze dropped to her pants.

“Don’t think I forgot about the pants, Maxine.”

“Will you forget about them if I help you to impress Eddie?” she asked innocently, making Steve straighten up.

“What?”

“Don’t make me spell it out for you,” she rolled her eyes. “You acted the same around Billy.”

His head whipped to the garage, but the doors were already closed and the faint sounds of a guitar were coming from behind them. He leveled Max with a gaze he hoped was threatening but she was, of course, unfazed.

“What? You’re allowed to date, you know?”

“I know,” he gritted out,  brows furrowing at being reprimanded by a teenager.

“We’re doing well. My therapist thinks so, and so does the social worker,” she points out, the little smart ass. Steve wouldn’t change her for anyone else. “We can move on.”

Steve hummed in consideration. Maybe he should have gone into therapy as well. It was true he hadn’t dated since Billy. His death, fighting for custody while trying not to lose his business, and then dealing with a kid aged him ten years in a short time. But they settled into a comfortable routine now. Max might be right, as insane as it sounds.

“Fine,” he spat out. “I’ll forget about the pants if you keep your hands out of my love life.”

Her eyebrows shot up mischievously.

“Who said anything about love?”

“Go. Go call Mike to brag about the passes, I know you want to.”

“Hell yeah I do!” she admitted with a wide grin before darting to the phone.

------

Steve didn’t want to admit the comments about his appearance got to him, but the fact that he was staring at a pile of rejected tops was speaking for itself. His hair was certainly ruined by now with the amount of frustrated finger combing he was doing.

“Need help?” Max’s amused voice approached from the entrance of his bedroom. He turned over his shoulder, glowering. Her smile only widened. “Because I might have just the thing,” she continued, waving a piece of fabric in her hand. Steve’s eyes followed.

“What is it?”

With a smile that said evil demon child spawn of Satan, Max let the fabric unfold. It was a raglan t-shirt with a logo Steve recognized from the drums residing in his garage. His eyes widened.

“Where did you get that?”

“Won it at a music trivia Mr Eddie was hosting. It’s not exactly kid-sized though, sooo…” she trailed off suggestively.

“They have their own merch?” Steve asked curiously, motioning with his hand for the shirt.

“Yep. Mr. Eddie makes it himself!” She beamed like it was her own accomplishment and not just her music teacher being a crafty nerd. Steve smiled despite himself.

“That’s pretty cool,” he admitted.

“He makes t-shirts for school clubs too. He said he’ll try to host a screen printing workshop in the summer,” she said with that particular intonation that made Steve know she wanted something.

“Hm. That sounds like a fun activity to keep you away from drugs.”

“It does, it does,” she agreed, nodding aggressively.

“Well, consider me convinced. Now shoo, I'm not stripping in front of you.”

“Okay, Dad,” she rolled her eyes, pushing herself away from the door frame and skipping away.

As he pulled his shirt off, Steve remembered his concerns about raising a teenager by himself. Meanwhile, Eddie was a significant enough influence on her to make him feel more at ease. Was he a cookie-cutter role model? Hell no. Was he a responsible teacher who also remained cool and aloof enough to make kids listen to him? Absolutely. With someone like that on his side, parenting didn’t sound that scary.

The t-shirt with Corroded Coffin’s logo, while not being kid-sized, wasn’t Steve-sized either. It stretched across his chest and ended just at the hem of his jeans. When he pulled his arms up, his happy trail was on display.

But…

Seeing Eddie’s band on his chest, wearing a t-shirt he made himself, made all the best knots in Steve’s stomach tighten. He ran his fingertips across the exposed sliver of skin above his waistline, wondering fleetingly if the girls wearing his letterman felt similar to this.

He found a flannel Robin left in his closet at some point and threw it on to finish the look. He looked at himself in the mirror, rubbing the fabric of the overshirt between his fingers. The memory of his best friend soothed his nerves a bit.

He ran downstairs, eyeing the clock. The Hideout wasn’t a far ride from their place, so they still had time to grab a bite before leaving. A quick PB&J sounded perfect for his nerves.

“Maaaax!” he yelled from the kitchen, halfway through lathering a piece of bread in peanut butter. His precious housemate came rumbling down the stairs as he expected, just as eager to leave as he was. In fact, they still had sandwiches hanging from their mouths as they entered the car.

it's been A WHILE and this and the next part will be lower quality than my current writing bc its OLD so let me know if u want off the taglist i dont care if u do: @blasvemous @wheneverfeasible @phantomcat94

@dreamercec @theohohmoment @ellieslapdancer @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere

[g3tj1nx3d14]

jayvik headcanons !!

feeding you guys since i’ve been a neglectful poster 😭

SFW and NSFW, NSFW under the warning, spoilers up to act three season two !!! most definitely OOC at some points

SFW

• Jayce and Viktor have developed a secret language of sorts. Random phrases, hand movements, looks, and sounds replace actual sentences when they’re in the lab and super into their work. It’s not intentional, and they can’t even translate what most of it means besides it just… making sense in the moment.

• (I saw this before, I believe on Tik Tok or here but I’m not sure?)Jayce was a chubby ass baby. Actually, a fat ass baby. Ximena takes great joy in showing Viktor baby photos where he just looks squishy. If they argue over text, Jayce thinks he’s hilarious if he texts a baby photos with the caption “this is who you’re arguing with”.

• Jayce is the type to seem like he’s only into mainstream music, but he’s also really the type of guy to A, listen to the songs his mom likes whenever he feels slightly upset, and B, have a random niche band with four hundred followers on Sound Cloud that he’s been obsessed with for years and is convinced will go big. Viktor tends to listen to music without lyrics, typically video game sound tracks or calm beats while he works. I could also, alternatively, see him being very into insanely heavy metal while he carefully works. You could scream bloody murder and you’re not louder than his headphones.

• Viktor tends to be much more socially aware to undertones in conversations than Jayce. While the latter is good at smooth talking politicians due to Mel’s training, he tends to forget that everything they say tends to have a double meaning. Viktor enjoys telling him exactly who was clearly hating him or hitting on him.

• Viktor is a clothing thief. Genuinely so bad. Jayce entered the relationship with fifteen hoodies in his closet and after seven years, he has one on a good day. They’ve become pajamas and Viktor will be genuinely offended if he takes them back.

• Do not watch a movie with these motherfuckers. They’re talkers— at least when they’re at home, Jayce would be mortified to talk in a public movie theatre. But every single time they’re watching a movie in their apartment, they’re pausing it every three minutes to have a ten minute discussion about a random topic, usually vaguely related to the movie.

• Viktor smokes weed. Sure, maybe some would argue that it’s not good for his health, but he’s a Zaunite living amongst the Piltover elite. He needs a joint once in a while (nightly). Jayce enjoys smoking with him sometimes, but he thinks holding it in makes him look cool and ends up coughing his lungs up.

• Trans man Viktor !!! Jayce tried to be helpful and help with his t-shots, but he tends to end up awkwardly looking at the floor while Viktor does it himself and he’s there for emotional support. He doesn’t like needles.

• Viktor can get slightly cold and Jayce immediately tries to bundle him up. He gets extremely freaked out whenever his loved ones get cold due to the lingering trauma of almost losing his mother. Viktor makes sure he turns the heat up in the colder months so Jayce doesn’t spiral, even though he insists it’s solely because of his pain.

•Jayce learned how to massage people properly (read a book and everything) to help with Viktor’s pain. He’s shockingly gentle for someone his size. Viktor finds a lot of comfort in knowing that someone who could easily hurt him is purposely being so, so gentle with him.

okay freaky time

NSFW

• Agreeing with the popular headcanon, Jayce is such a fucking sub. Holy shit. Sure, he does like to top, but he likes to listen, especially with Viktor. He likes getting to drop his responsibilities and working on making sure Viktor feels good and getting praised in response.

• Jayce always thought that he was a vanilla guy, but Viktor called him a good boy once and the praise kink awoke like a damn sleeper agent.

• Viktor has a bad habit of mixing up his lab voice and bedroom voice. It’s not too different, just a bit of a different vibe. It just gets awkward when Viktor means “come here” and pats his desk as in “look at something I’m working on” and not “bend over the desk”.

• Viktor also tends to treat discovering Jayce’s interests like a science experiment. They don’t have a sex tape, they have a sex voice recorder with Viktor recording their adventures in the funniest way possible.

• I genuinely can’t imagine them taking it too seriously. Sure, there’s serious and tense moments, but there’s a lot of silly, soft, intimate moments of them laughing and joking with each other as they make each other feel good.

• In edition to trans guy Viktor, Jayce is an eater. Whenever he tops, he tends to be a service top, and he genuinely enjoys pleasuring Viktor with his mouth. Whenever Viktor’s pain is acting up, Jayce tends to volunteer to “get his mind off of it” by spending literal hours on his knees, lab— many times while Viktor works on lab reports— or bedroom. He gets his head scratched in return.

• The lab is bedroom #2. Tell me these two freaks were alone with each other constantly for seven years in that lab and nothing ever happened in there? Absolutely not.

• Jayce tends to leave a few marks because he likes to bite a bit, but Viktor thinks it’s hilarious to leave obvious ones. Bright hickies, bite marks, stereotypical back scratches, the works. Before their relationship was public, everyone in Piltover was convinced that Jayce was sleeping around, and Viktor found it really, really funny. Seeing Jayce be slut shamed was the highlight of his day.

• Sure, we can all agree that Jayce is a freak, but Viktor is matching, if not surpassing that freak. They’ve tried everything for the sake of science.

• Viktor really enjoys seeing Jayce beg. It’s almost endearing to see a man of such high status on his knees whining.

• Jayce is loud. Like, really loud. Hearing him through the walls is a genuine concern loud. He is physically incapable of shutting up when he feels good.

[dancingtotuyo]

9. the fear of what's to come

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You and Joel navigate life changing news.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, mentions of potential pregnancy complications including but not limited to miscarriage and stillbirth, single reference to a fetus being a child (not intended in a pro life way), angst, grief, complicated feelings surrounding pregnancy.

Notes: A huge thanks to my amazing beta readers and friends @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin & @janaispunk

If you have not checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3088

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

You know three weeks after your missed period what is happening. It’s not hard to figure out. It’s just like last time. Menopause crosses your mind briefly, but the symptoms don’t line up. You’re sensitive to the same foods, nausea rolls in and out like the ocean tides throughout the day. The insatiable craving for a tomato sandwich cements it two days later. Tears run down your cheeks as you quickly finish off the sandwich and prepare another. 

You don’t get excited. You don’t make plans, and most importantly, you don’t tell Joel. You’re 45. Joel is in his late 50s. You know the statistics, the pre-end-of-the-world ones. You can’t imagine they’ve improved. 

Instead, you just hope that when it happens, nothing goes wrong. There’s no DNC, no pills to make sure everything passes properly or ensure no infection sets in. You’ve aided many women through this, many much younger than yourself. Some make it just fine, others have complications with nothing but prayer, poultices, and 20-year-old antibiotics to help. You’re not sure what actually does it when the women make it through. Some of them you've buried. Their faces flicker through your mind. You cannot be one of them. You cannot leave Carter without either of his parents in this world.  

You tell Maria. You tell her everything she needs to know. What to do step by step when it happens. Since Adam’s injury, Dr. Pooley refuses to practice anything more than simple first aid. You’re both certain it’s dementia. You spend most mornings listening to him talk through different lectures he attended. On the mornings his brain won’t cooperate, you sip tea together. He’s writing down what he remembers, but you have to fact-check it. He’s already taught you most of it anyway. 

“You have to tell Joel,” Maria says when you tell her. 

You refuse. You won’t do it. You won’t bring him into this. You have this silent agreement that you’re partners in this world, but he still lives in the house across the street with Ellie. There’s never been discussions about moving in together or anything past that. You don’t call him your boyfriend. He doesn’t call you his girlfriend. Making those commitments, those plans, it will hurt too much when the world takes him away. 

Carter calls him “Daddy.” It makes Joel smile every time. He’s accepted that commitment. It makes you smile too, but there’s still a little ache in your heart each time. Carter knows about Gabe. You tell him stories all the time. If you ask him, he says he has two daddies. One here and one in heaven. 

But you won’t tell Joel about this child. He’s lost one. He doesn’t need to lose another. 

Maria fights you on it. She looks at her son pointing out that she was 2 years older than you are now when he was born healthy. You don’t remind her she almost died, but she sees it in your eyes. You still have nightmares about that night.

You’re firm. You’re not going to tell Joel. Neither will she, and she damn sure won’t tell Tommy either. 

You wait for the cramps and the blood, but they never come. You hit the 3-month mark, your 2nd trimester at the beginning of October. You don’t cry in the bathroom. You square your shoulders. Second-trimester miscarriages happen. Stillbirths happen, but hope gathers in the depths of your soul, growing with each day. You push it away with logic and reasoning. 

Two sides of you war against each other. You can’t bring another life into this world. At one point you were okay with it. You felt safe here, and while you still do, it doesn’t feel okay anymore. The world still digs its ugly claws into this community. Yet, the hopes you used to hold in your mind, the ones you had with Gabe, and the ones you had before the outbreak still linger. In a perfect, uncomplicated world, this is what you would choose. 

You hide the sickness from Joel with relative ease. He’s often awake and out of bed before you for patrol shifts, early morning chores, or waking up with Carter so you can sleep in.

You deliver the Crosby twins a week later without complications. Melissa is only a couple of years younger than you, but at your age, you know how crucial those few years are. When you finally reach your front porch, you sit in the darkness of Wyoming and finally let the tears fall because fate seems to be telling you that this is happening, or just sending you another person to lose. The realization hits you like a freight train. Time is up. You have to tell Joel. 

You crack open the door to Carter’s bedroom. He’s sound asleep and it relieves you to know he's here. You’re less on edge when he’s close, and It means Joel picked him up from Maria and Tommy’s. It means Joel is in your bed.

Sure enough, he’s there when you creep in. He sleeps on his side curled up over your pillow. You roll your eyes. Yes, it's endearing, but it’s also a pain in the ass to get your pillow back.

The bathroom light is blinding at first, but your eyes slowly adjust as you turn on the shower and steam fills the space. Goosebumps spread across your skin as you undress, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. You’ve noticed the subtle changes in your body over these past couple of months, but they’re becoming more noticeable. Your breasts have grown, they’re so sensitive, and your sports bra pulls at the seams. Joel commented on it last week. You joked you were packing on extra weight for winter acting like it was nothing. 

Your favorite pair of jeans no longer fit. You’ve mostly stuck to leggings since. You’re starting to clock the subtle changes in your body. They’re happening faster than with your last pregnancy. The past week, you’ve shut Joel down sexually, scared he would catch on despite your sex drive skyrocketing. It’s been difficult. 

The shower washes away everything: the sweat and grime of the day, your tears, the tension in your muscles. You stand under the water until it runs cold, slipping on Joel’s worn soft t-shirt.

Your pillow is back on your side of the bed, Joel still on his side. A smile creeps onto your face. He keeps his eyes closed, but you know he’s awake. You don’t say anything as you slide into bed, but your anxiety spikes, your heart fluttering in your chest. You have to tell him. 

You’re staring at the ceiling when he breaks the silence. “What happened?” 

You suck in a breath. He thinks something went wrong tonight. He’s probably preparing to dig a grave. “Nothing, mom and babies are fine.”

“So it was twins?” 

“Yeah.” You had suspected as much, but the ultrasound machine doesn’t work, try as you might to get it operational. You hadn’t been able to find a second heartbeat with the Doppler. 

“So what’s buggin you?” His drawl is deeper, soaked with sleep. 

He scoots a little closer, hot breath tickling your ear. You can’t move. You should look him in the eye when you tell him, but you can’t. The words are at the back of your throat surging forward toward your lips. The anxiety in your chest feels like a herd of buffalo stomping across the countryside. You squeeze your eyes shut to try and stop it.

“Sweetheart?” His hand reaches toward you, eyes trained on your profile as concern laces his brow. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

His hand stops over your arm. You feel its warmth so close, and then it goes away. You dare to look at him. You expect him to get out of bed and bolt. You don’t know why. He’s only shown you otherwise the entirety of your relationship, but this is more than either of you signed up for. Instead, you watch as it sinks in. He connects the dots, all the symptoms and signs that were right in front of his face, his subconscious absorbing them, but refusing to put it all together. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.

You look back toward the ceiling, tears slipping from your eyes. 

His hand covers your abdomen, forehead pressing against your temple. He starts to feel the changes to your body for what they are. You shudder. 

“How long have you known?”

There’s not a trace of judgment or fear in his voice, but it does little to assure you. You’re scared. It doesn’t matter what Joel says or does, the fear is overwhelming. 

“Beginning of August.”

“Shit, baby.” He pulls you into him, cradling your head against his chest. “You didn’t have to carry this alone.”

“I didn’t think it would last.” After months of holding the tears back, you finally let them out, a mix of relief and fear. “I didn’t- I didn’t want you to-” 

You can’t finish it. You can’t say it out loud, but Joel knows what you’re trying to say. You didn’t want him to lose another child, and it wrecks him. His grip on you is crushing, but it soothes your shaking frame. Just as you come down, his sobs greet your ear because he’s scared too. Every single fear and anxiety that has come over you the past months, he feels too. Maria’s labor and delivery flash through his mind. If that happens to you, who’s going to save you? 

You reach up to cradle his face. He presses into your neck. Your skin is sticky and salty again, but you don’t even think about it as the man you love and can’t tell cries in your arms. You’re unable to return his soothing squeeze, but you lay there to provide any comfort you can. The two of you fall asleep tangled in each other. 

You feel Joel’s fingers dancing across your abdomen before you’re fully conscious. There’s no rhyme or reason to his movements. His other hand brushes over your temple and through your hair. Every once in a while you feel his breath and lips across your neck, up and down your arm, over your collarbone. It feels like he’s memorizing you, fear present in all of his movements even now. 

You finally open your eyes. His movements still as you look at him. There are tears in his eyes as his head falls forward, resting against yours. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.” You reach out, nails raking across his arm. 

He shudders under your touch. “I wish you told me sooner.” 

You bit your lips. “I’m sorry.” 

He lets out a deep sigh, kissing your forehead. His hand drifts to your abdomen again. You watch his eyes, so expressive filled with fear and anxiety and maybe a little bit of awe and guilt?

“I should’ve been more careful.”

You press your head to his, inhaling softly. “We.”

Joel’s fingers scrape along your jaw, his beard rough against your chin. “I like being a we.”

“Me too.”

Silence settles between the two of you. The wind knocks against the window, but it’s warm next to Joel. His arm snakes around you, tugging you closer to him. 

“I suppose you’ve told Maria?”

You can’t hide the guilty smile on your lips. “If it makes a difference, she told me I needed to tell you right away. Pretty sure she was gonna tell you herself if I didn’t do it soon.” You mess with the collar of his shirt. 

“How long do we have?”

“Figure it’ll be May. If we get that far.” You say. Joel nods and something clenches around your heart, a need to protect him, warn him of the danger. “You know there’s a lot of risks. No guarantee…” 

“One day at a time.” He kisses your cheek but you see all the fear he’s pushing away plastered to his face like a movie poster. 

Joel asks you how you are, but other than that, you don’t talk about it. You feel like a weight has lifted off your shoulders but there’s an anvil hanging above your head, waiting to drop at a moment’s notice. 

You’ve outgrown your last pair of jeans. When you manage to trade with someone, they give you a look, like they know what’s going on inside your body. 

You take more naps, sometimes at the clinic, sometimes on the couch. You’re constantly tired. Maria brings dinner to the house every few days. She never asked, but you don’t complain. 

One evening you open your eyes to find Ellie staring down at you, worry etched in her features. It startles you at first. 

“You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” She says. 

“You’ve noticed?” You pull yourself into a seated position. It feels like someone shoved a bunch of cotton into your mouth. You reach for the now room-temperature water on your end table. 

“You only take naps when you’re sick or depressed.” You raise an eyebrow at her. She crosses her arms as if to say she knows you’re neither right now. “What’s going on?”

You finish off the water. Despite its temperature, it helps. “I’m fine.” You reach out, placing a hand on her shoulder, but it does nothing. At 17 years old, Ellie is turning into a woman before your very eyes. At times, you’re convinced any semblance of childhood has been replaced with adulthood, but there are other times you still see the slivers of the girl you met two and a half years ago. Right now, she’s the one sitting in front of you.  

“Bullshit. What’s going on? You and Joel have been acting weird.”

Had things really been that different in the past couple of weeks? You open your mouth to speak, unsure of what to say. You and Joel hadn’t talked about telling anyone, which seemed silly. You can’t hide this forever. 

The door opens and Carter bursts in with Joel on his heels. A smile instantly finds your lips. 

“Mommy! Look!” He holds up a package of seemingly new Crayola crayons. 

Your eyes widen with exaggeration. “Wow, buddy. That’s awesome.”

“John Lacy found a bunch of them on patrol. They handed them out today,” Joel smiles. “Grabbed you some colored pencils.” He hands a set of non-crayola pencils to Ellie.

“Thanks.” She smiles but is still distracted by her worry over you. 

Carter crawls up beside you, eagerly pulling out the surprisingly intact crayons one by one. Joel leans over to kiss your cheek and tousles Ellie’s hair. She makes a face of displeasure but doesn’t fight him on it.

“You two look like you were talkin about somethin serious.”

“I was trying to figure out why the two of you have been acting weird,” Ellie says. 

Joel’s drops to unreadable. He looks at you and you shrug in response. “We have to tell them eventually.”

Worry makes its home on Ellie’s face. “So something is wrong with you.with you.”

“Nothing is wrong with me.” You sigh deeply. You run your fingers over Carter’s head, kissing it. 

“You’re sure acting like there is,” She says impatiently.

“Ellie,” Joel reprimands, traces of his asshole voice laced into it. 

Ellie bites her lip. It looks like she might be fighting off tears as she looks directly at you. “I’m worried about you.”

You force a smile, leaning forward. Your forearms rest on your knees. One would think it would get easier to say each time. Instead, it’s like picking at a scab that’s not healed. You’re forcing yourself to say something, your brain isn’t ready to accept. “I’m pregnant.”

Ellie sits up straighter, her eyes widen with shock. “Oh wow…”

You wonder if the pictures fill her mind too. She saw Maria the night Elias was born. She saw the blood that covered you. Joel’s fingers brush over your shoulder, squeezing it lightly before they run over the back of your neck. You lean against him. “I’m sorry we worried you. We’re still getting used to the idea,” You say. 

She nods and then her arms around your neck. She basically knocks you backward with the force of it. “I’m glad you’re not dying.”

You squeeze her tightly, a faint lilt of humor in your voice. “Me too.”

Then her voice drops to a whisper right at your ear. “You’ll be okay. I know you will.”  

Your head rests on Joel’s bare chest that night. The full moon sends light drifting through your window, casting the room in a cool glow. You play absentmindedly with the hair on his chest. His heart beats under your ear. The room is otherwise silent. 

“I told Tommy today.” 

You nod. 

“He wanted to know why I was so quiet. Told him I was always quiet.”

That pulls a smile across your lips. “Surprised he shut up long enough to notice.”

Joel chuckles. His arm around you tightens. His lips find your forehead. “I know we’re not ready to think too much about it.”

“Don’t think it’s something we can really ignore.” You nuzzle further into him. 

“Baby steps.” He kisses your nose this time.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Baby steps? Really?” You flip onto your stomach while you still can.

He chuckles. “Poor word choice.”

You kiss his bicep and then his shoulder. He looks at you like your entire world and your stomach erupts in butterflies and twists in knots all at the same time. You still won’t let him say it, but you feel it every time he looks at you like that. 

You rest your chin on his shoulder. “What are these steps you had in mind?”

His thumb traces over your jaw and cheek. “Don’t bolt on me, okay?”

“I think it’s a little late for that.”

He chuckles and then inhales deeply. “I think we should probably share a house. I figured you’d prefer to stay here, but it’s up to you.” He searches your eyes for any signs of panic or signs that you might shut down but finds nothing. In fact, you’re so calm that it’s hard to read. 

“It would be nice to have you officially living here,” you say. It feels right to say, to think about. “And Ellie if she wants.” 

“That was easier than I’d thought it would be.”

“You pretty much live here as is.” You turn on your side, nuzzling back into him. “I’ll miss your fireplace though.”

Joel smiles. “Guess I'll just have to keep you warm instead.” 

[ultravhasart]

Cassandra Cain’s Speaking Patterns

I was trying to write some fic and started saving a bunch of comic panels to analyze Cass’s speech patterns, so here’s my notes for myself and others! Most of the panels are taken from more recent stuff, like Birds of Prey (2023), Batgirls (2022) and Batgirl (2024).

I have nine points:

Only speaking when necessary

Typically monotone

Sentence Structure

On the job vs off the job

Slang

Facial Expressions and Body Language

Miscellaneous

My personal headcanons (still with some evidence)

I've also been forced to split this post up, since I can't add more than ten images per post :(

1: Only speaking when necessary

Unsurprisingly, Cass doesn’t talk much. This is especially true in group situations, since she doesn’t need to drive any conversation.

[Birds of Prey, Issue #2: Zannah and Black Canary are discussing plans, going back and forth about how to get onto Themyscira. Cass adds “or they’ll be on high alert.”]

The panel above is from a scene showing the Birds strategizing, and this is the only time Cass talks. She’s silent the rest of the time.

For one-on-one situations, she still doesn’t expand much, preferring single-word sentences.

[Batgirl (2024), Issue #2: Lady Shiva dropping some exposition, and Cass asking a question with one word.]

In tense situations, she can forget to speak ‘properly’, dropping words like ‘I’ll’ in the panel below:

[Batgirl (2024), Issue #2: Cass fights Kalden the Unseen after he hurts her friend.]

Also, she’ll talk more casually with people she���s comfortable with, like Steph!

[Batgirls, Issue #4: Cass and Steph banter a bit before being interrupted by Barbara.]

2: Typically monotone

Cass sounds very monotone, a lot of the time. She barely ends her sentences with exclamation marks or asks rhetorical questions. It’s fun to see her contrast her with characters who are more excitable/long-winded!

[Birds of Prey, Issue #7: Cass and Bertha go back and forth after being beaten in a fight.]

Cass also keeps up her usual tone in most fights. Here she is, battling a giant squid creature, focused as ever.

[Spirit World, Issue #3: Cass chides her teammates for bickering at each other rather than focusing on the fight.]

When in more alarming situations, she’ll raise her voice like everyone else. It’s uncommon, but only because it’s uncommon for her to be overwhelmed.

[Spirit World, Issue #4: A mysterious force takes control of Cass and Constantine, Cass looks scared, shouting “Can’t control… my body!”]

Once again, she’s more expressive with Steph. She’s more comfortable with her, and matches Steph’s energy when they’re both excited.

[Batgirls (2022), Issue #2: Steph and Cass exclaim “Bondo?!” at the same time, christening the car.]

[itsa-not-me]

@nightunite you’ve cursed me with this. I gotta get this out of my system stat.

I’m just…I’m sorry

CW; threesome, anal play, rimming, oral, anal sex, vaginal sex, cum eating, more loss of my sanity

Johnny’s always one to come up with funny plot ideas for his videos for the holidays. He’s seen all the serious ones or the ones where it’s maybe some throw away line about step siblings or being short on cash for the pizza guy, growing up. And he likes the serious and the cliche shoots, he likes sex, but the silly shoots? Oh those are great.

He personally thinks he’s outdone himself this year. He’s gotten Simon to agree to wear these honestly hideous green fuzzy boxers, and for himself he helped costumes make a headband with puppy dog ears and a single antler attached between them. (Theres even a tail that Johnny wears, Simon only agreed to the boxers because Johnny let Simon finger his ass until he was crying to loosen him up for the tail plug)

And then that left you, the present in the middle. You’re new to the company, just signed on a couple months ago and you like how nice everyone’s been, and how transparent they are about health statuses, the use of birth control, boundaries.

You’re excited for the shoot. Even laughed when you saw the truly ridiculous or sparse costumes your costars have on (Johnnys only wearing the headband and tails). It’s not like you’re much better, you got a single ribbon wrapped around your neck, tied up in a pretty bow in the back, and not much else. Simon does help you put on nipple covers, since the boys are strapping you down to a collapsible cube doggy style, and he says that he knows from experience that the hard top can chafe the nipples.

Everyone goes over the stoplight system, what your personal safeword is, and what to do if you can’t speak for whatever reason and you need it to stop (there’s a loud buzzer button placed in your hand to squeeze if its too much). Once you’re set and everyone is good to go it’s show time.

As soon as the director shouts action, you can feel Johnny diving into your ass, mouth and tongue working to prepare you for the plug you’d agreed to. You’re not left alone long enough to sink into the feeling without distraction. Simon’s coming up to you, cock already out through the front fold of the awful green boxers and hard. He slides his fingers into your hair to hold it firm at the base, the way you had showed him you liked it earlier, and you can’t help but moan at the pleasant ache.

Simon’s ordering you to stick your tongue out, tapping the head of his cock against it when you do. It gives you the barest taste of his pre, really it’s just a tease, and you look up at him with pleading eyes, only he’s looking at Johnny behind you. They must have some silent conversation because Simon is rocking the head of his cock along your tongue, something that keeps you both a little on edge as you hear and feel Johnny spit on your asshole.

Before you can whine to have a little more, Simon’s pushing into your mouth just as it feels like Johnny is pushing a finger in. Your moan is cut off as you choke on Simon, throat squeezing around the head of his cock, while your ass squeezes around Johnnys fingers.

Even if it’s something you’ve discussed already, Simon still pulls back enough to check in, asking if everything is green only for you to nod eagerly, sighing as you tell them both you can take more. So they give you more.

Simon takes his time to enjoy fucking your throat, pushing deep enough that your nose is buried in the fake fur and your drool is matting it. Johnny on the other hand, seems to want to see how fast he can pull you apart. He’s making sure that you’re prepped properly, doesn’t want to hurt you, but he’s making it a mess of spit and lube, fucking your ass with three of his big fingers only to pull them out and see how you gap just a little.

He can also see how your cunt is getting wet, pretty folds seemingly begging for attention. He wants to spit on your pussy, see if it clenches the same as your ass did, but he knows he has to wait for it, doesn’t want to risk cross contamination. Instead when he has three fingers hooked into your ass with one hand, he takes his cock in the other and starts to rub the head of it through your folds, letting it catch at your weeping hole, but ultimately going to focus on your clit.

And you must feel good because the way you’re moaning and swallowing around Simon’s cock has him moaning, grip tight in your hair as he starts to fuck your face. You just take it all so beautifully. At one point he pauses to just push as deep into your throat as possible, counting to five slowly so you don’t panic before pulling out to let you take a breath. He does that over and over again until he finds himself on the edge and he has to pull out entirely, telling Johnny to put the plug in.

He holds your gaze, wiping away stray tears and ignoring the way his cock bobs in front of you like it’s begging for attention again. He enjoys the way your eyes flutter as the anal plug gets pushed it. It makes you look cute along with your flushed face. Once it’s in Simon gives Johnny a nod to go and wash his hands and mouth. He keeps a hand on you as he moves around to your backside and oh don’t you look like a pretty gift for them.

The plug’s base is decorated with fake mistletoe, so it looks like it’s hanging above your cunt, and boy does it look like she’s begging for a kiss. He can see your clit is already plump and shiny from Johnny coating it with his precum. And you’re soaked, so much that you’re dripping down your thighs.

The man can’t ignore a holiday tradition can he?

The way he kisses your pussy is nasty, tongue starting at your clit and dragging all the way to shove into your hole once, then twice. He knows it feels good, even if he couldn’t hear the way you’re moaning he’d be able to feel how you clamp down on his tongue.

But he really isn’t suppose to be in the holiday cheer is he?

So he pulls back to your disappointed moans, mouth already coated in your slick. He tries to hush you, says that you’ll be getting your presents soon enough, but you still beg him to fill you, to fuck you. Simon tsks you, but he says he’ll be generous at least. You think it means he’ll give you his fingers, or maybe his mouth again. Instead you feel as Simon pushes a toy into you, the low vibrations already making your toes curl. Where Johnny found a candy cane themed vibrator Simon will never know, but he’s enjoying the insight of it all. Because it’s such a cute look, ass full of mistletoe and cunt full of a thick faux peppermint stick.

So Simon goes about torturing you with the vibrator as you both wait for Johnny. Sometimes he’ll fuck you fast and hard but with the vibrations on low, other times it’s slow and gentle, but the vibrations are clicked to max.

That’s what Johnny walks back into, Simon slowly circling the vibrator in you while it’s set to max, making you cry and beg to cum. Simon just gives Johnny a smirk when he comes back to lick your slick that’s still on Simon’s face.

You don’t expect Johnny to be the one asking if you’ve been a good girl this year coming into your line of sight as he walks around to your head. He almost coos at how teary and pleading you are when you tell him you have. He pets your hair, moving it out of the way before telling you that maybe you should do a little more to prove you’re on the nice list. And that’s how you’re sucking and swallowing Johnnys cock like your orgasm depends on it.

You must be doing good because suddenly Simon is fucking you with the vibrator, fast, hard, and with the vibrations set to the highest setting. Johnny doesn’t even pull out of your throat entirely when you cum screaming, just pulling back enough so you can get some air.

But it’s not like you’re giving any reprieve though because what feels like seconds into your orgasm Simon is forcing his cock into your pussy and fucking you through it and into the next one.

And you’re held like that, Johnny fucking your throat while Simon does his best to ensure you’re not walking straight for the next 24 hours. It’s absolute bliss even if you feel like you can’t tell up from down. After a while Johnny pulls out, letting everyone hear Simon fuck the voice out of you. You have no idea what he’s doing, but suddenly the front of the cube is being lowered, arms stretched out and tied up above your head so you’re in a wicked but not uncomfortable curve downward.

Simon enjoys the view even more once Johnny has you all set up, arms tied in the same pretty ribbon around your neck. He lets himself enjoy the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock and squeezing like it’s begging for every last drop. He asks if you’re ready for your gift and you practically please for him to give it to you. How could he deny you?

He waits until Johnny is back at his side before fucking into you with short hard thrusts before a deep grind as he cums deep inside your pussy. You moan at the warm feeling filling your tummy, but the boys moan at the view of Simon pulling out of you, cum spilling every time your poor used hole clenches.

Simon doesn’t even have to tell Johnny to do anything before he’s diving into your pussy, already licking up the cum that’s dripped down onto your clit, before going straight to the source. The attention makes you whine but you don’t tap out, because it feels so good to be at their mercy and to let Johnny feats on your pussy like it’s his last meal. And Johnny is savoring it. He is. The taste of you and Simon mixing on his tongue is divine. But he’s also so excited for what comes next his cock is dropping on the floor.

Johnny isn’t inconsiderate though, he makes sure you get a few good orgasms as he eats you out, making your pussy clean with his spit. Then he’s onto his prize. He’s at least gentle as he starts to lightly push and pull on the plug, gently fucking your ass with it as he asks if you’re still green. He doesn’t hear the answer, but don’t worry, Simon’s there. He’s pressed up tight to Johnny, pumping his cock with a lubed hand as you slur you’re green, that you’re still good.

With a dark chuckle Simon is grabbing the plug with Johnny, the two of them starting to pull the plug further out of you after pushing it in. It’s a delicious kind of torture until it comes out with a pop, leaving your ass to gap a little, and really it’s an invitation for both men to spit on you.

You’re not left empty for long, the plug being replaced with Johnny’s cock. He’s so gentle with it to, slowly giving you more and more of his cock with every thrust. The lube that Simon pours directly onto the two of you is a little cool but that’s because Simon’s a little mean and he likes the little gasp you give.

Soon Johnny’s fucking you in long smooth strokes and it feels heavenly. You’re warm and when you squeeze down on him it sends a zing of pleasure up his spine.

And then Simon starts pulling at his own plug and he knows it’s going to feel better. He moans when the plug gets pulled out, giving you a hard thrust that makes you whimper a little before he’s murmuring apologies.

That all goes out the window when Simon starts to thrust hard into him the way he likes it though. He almost pulls himself out of you with how desperate he pushes back to get Simon as deep into his guts as possible. It’s only the other man’s grip on his hips that keep him from doing so. Simon uses Johnny as a toy to fuck you with for a few moments, pushing the man into you before pulling him back onto his own cock. He only chuckles when Johnny whines for more, telling the man he’s gotta do the work then.

So Johnny puts in the work. He’s practically going cross eyed from how good it feels to fuck into someone and to be fucked into. You can’t even talk because the feeling of both men fucking you is sending you to a new state of being. You don’t even realize you’re cumming from the feeling, it’s all just one big pleasure ride.

Johnny can tell though, and again it’s Simon that’s forcing his hips as deep into you as possible to make sure Johnny’s cum isn’t escaping you…yet. In fact it’s Johnny’s turn to lose his mind as Simon keeps him buried in you, fucking him until Johnny is hard and thrusting into you, only to be forced to cum into you again. It’s a cycle that gets repeated until Johnny’s drooling and you’re now also dripping onto the floor.

Finally Simon’s deemed you full of enough cum, and it’s knowing that you’re both a fucked out mess that sends Simon over the edge, fucking his cum as deep into Johnny as he can. After a few seconds he starts to shuffle both him and Johnny back, for him to finally slip out of you. And for the cum to start dripping without Johnny’s cock to plug you full.

Sliding his fingers into Johnny’s mohawk, he forces the man face first back into your ass, telling him to clean up the mess he’s made. Johnny’s happy to comply, and it’s only once he’s into it does Simon pull out of him, letting the camera get the view of his own cum starting to drop out of Johnny.

Edit;

This is the second version cause tumblr ate the first when i tried to post it.

[spicyclover]

In a haze

Summary : In the car, there are millions of thoughts that pass one after the other. The brain accumulates and releases at hundredths of a second all the information we need to be good drivers. However, sometimes it happens that the information never comes back and we are lost in this infinite mist.

Request

Hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know in the comment section.

Thank you! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

WARNING : mention of crash | lose of consciousness

The humidity is at its peak. Singapore is really one of the most physical races. The overwhelming and stifling heat prevents the brain from accumulating air properly. I already regret leaving the refrigerated hospitality to join the garage. I meet some fans on my way and I stop to take some pictures.

I am quickly escorted out of the crowd. I run to join the others to start the parade. I regroup with the two Ferraris and Max who discuss qualifications. I am P8. I could have had more, but a moment of distraction made me lose seconds in a corner. I smile at Charles and shake Carlos’s hand. I'm sweating in my team gear, it's really the worst. The Ferraris boys are not better, Charles is red as a tomato and Carlos look like he's going faint any second.

In the distance, I see Daniel. He is in a corner, his headphones on his ears. He has his face of concentration. He's cute, makes him look more serious. Since the beginning of the year, he hasn’t smiled as much. He’s not the same as before. He gradually realizes that his days are numbered in this sport and it scares him. I understand that feeling. I am the only woman on the grid and at my first mistake, I have a horde of men wanting to replace me with their macho and sexist criticism. Daniel raises his head and crosses my eyes. A smile expands on my lips and he seems to relax.

With the parade over, I return to the garage for the final preparations. I visualize the race in my head. I review the turns, the areas of acceleration, the areas of deceleration. I calculate the pressure of my tires and I look at the temperature one last time during the race. Filling my brain with all this information helps me not to be overwhelmed by pressure. I relativize and focus on the fact by what can happen.

It’s already time to get in the car. As always, the pressure goes up and I feel like my head is going to explode. I get in the car. I put my helmet on. When the helmet goes on my head, I no longer calculate what’s around me. Everything around me gets foggy and only my car counts. I hear my engineer in my ear and listen to the instructions.

The journalists and the teams leave the track. The crowd is on fire. I allow myself to look around. Oscar is on my right at P7. Lando is P6 ahead of me. Behind me is Daniel P10. The light turns red and the formation round begins. Max starts the pace. I warm up my tires and check my brakes one last time. I barely have time to think that the finish line is in front of me again. I install the single-seater in my starting lines and I prepare myself.

One. My pulse begin to quicken. Two. I'll move faster and faster, the fan roaring beside me. Three. My thoughts begin to wash away in a cloud of wind and dust. Four. The crowd thunders. Five.

My hands release the brake and I press the accelerator. The first corner comes quickly. I find my line among all the cars and I concentrate. The first few cars slow down and I’m right behind. I start turning the wheel. The next few seconds freeze in time. My brain tries to interpret what is happening before my eyes, but I can’t. I feel the back of my car rising in the air. In a straight perpendicular line, all I see is black and white asphalt. I let go of the steering wheel and the barrels start. My body is wandered from left to right in the car and I try to maintain myself. All this happens in seconds before I crash into the security fence.

I hear his laugh. I look up and he is in front of me, his smile bigger than the sun. I chuckle before I tongue him. I get up and start running to the ocean. He rushes after me. I peek behind me and he’s already behind.

"It’s not fair," I said, with a sulky pout. "You’re faster than me." He grabs my face in his gigantic hands and kisses me. I try to resist, but these kisses are magical that I can’t keep acting. I surrender to these lips.

"I am a high performance athlete, athletes speed." I laugh and I push him away a little. He loses balance and leads me to his fall. The fine sand is quickly encountered and my eyes get lost in his. I remove some rebellious streaks from his face. He meddles his fingers between my hair and he passes them behind my ears. "You’re beautiful." I pouffe before I kiss his lips again to silence him.

I’m back in the car. I fainted. Oh no, I lost consciousness. My vision is blurry and my ears are ringing. I try to straighten my head to look around, but I can’t. I feel like my heart is in my brain. It’s pounding and I can barely breathe. I feel a hand on my shoulder, but I can’t react. Gradually my vision darkened again.

"I don’t want us to hide anymore," whispers Daniel.

The night is cool and we’re in our hotel room in Los Angeles. This is the first time that we meet after weeks of meeting at the bend of an evening or a race. We have been living in this secret relationship for a few months now and I must admit that it is happiness. I like to find it even for a few moments, but it is true that with each separation, they become harder. I smile as I relax my head.

"We have no choice." I say, slowly fading away in my sleep.

And it’s true, we are stuck in this spiral of PR. Being the only woman on the track, I have to be attractive to the male fans. A girl in a relationship is not interesting. I hate every day since this phrase came out of my manager’s mouth. What do I give a shit about male fans? I’m not there for them, or thanks to them. I long to make a big finger in all this, but the more I think about the consequence and the more it scares me.

I am transported out of my car, I distinguish the lights of paramedics who check the dilation of my pupils. I blink and red and white flashes pass in front of my eyes. The ambulance. My helmet was removed. I don’t remember much. They talk to me, but I can’t tell the words. Everything is confusing. Yet, this hand I know. It’s his. Daniel. My eyes are frantically searching around me and I finally see him. He too has crashed. I don’t have time to think more than the paramedic pulls it out of my hand and takes me in the ambulance to the nearest hospital.

The hours that follow are a perpetual blur. I get lost in the dozens of exams and questions I am asked. I answer as best I can, but I get tired and I ask him to be beside me. I whisper his name between my lips. Many hours have passed. My senses come back little by little and I hear again the noises that surround me. I hear the beep of the machines, I hear the nurses who pass by the door of my room. I hear the television on, but I can’t understand the words. Most importantly, I hear his voice. He’s there with me. I painfully open my eyes. In the first place, everything is blurred. I can only see the light, but very quickly my vision clears and I can look at his face.

"I am so sorry, my love. I am terribly sorry." He whispers repeatedly, my hand in his.

"Hey, stranger." I say in a hoarse voice. I feel like I’ve been smoking for forty years with that voice.

"Y/n!" He cries while looking up. "You are awake."

"You didn’t think you’d get rid of me like that." I said with a laugh. I try to move to get up, but my body hurts. I moan and Daniel looks at me worried. "What happened?"

"We crashed into each other… I ran into you by accident. The car behind me didn’t brake and I was right in your corner. You rolled, I thought I’d lose you." He chokes a sob before he takes over." You landed in the safety gate and the race was paused for a long time. I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t go on without knowing if you were okay." He caresses my hair tenderly. I feel the pain in his voice and it hurts me.

"You disqualified yourself for me?"

"For you? Always." I smile and reach for him. I grab the top of his neck and our lips meet. Our kiss lasts a few minutes. We enjoy the present moment and the presence of the other. "Just to let you know, but I may have told everyone about our relationship and the media is crazy about it."

"What?" I write to myself as I step aside. What did he do? He didn’t… Oh no!

"We’ll talk later." He kisses me again with a smile. "You need to rest and heal."

"Dan…" I try to argue, but he won’t let me continue.

[b00tyliciousbabe]

hey i loved your Jordan Riki himbo x male reader. can i request one with himbo sweaty Reece Walsh with fetish? smut with reader worshipping his body?

thank you so much :)

AWWW STAWP IT! that means a lot, I’m glad you liked it. jordan and reece are carrying my interest in rugby rn, smth about those himbo australian/new zealand players just gets me going.

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crutches

reece walsh x male reader

summary: just me fantasising about this man for a bit.

notes: i have been obsessed with the girl group flo for a while now and they recently dropped a new single that inspired me to write this.

song rec: ‘walk like this’ - flo

‘if he keeps this up, i might need crutches…’

your boyfriend, reece walsh was a star on the pitch. and you were always there to cheer him on. during practice, sending you kisses and stares from the field. his dad calls him lazy, that he shouldn’t let you distract him from the bigger picture. ‘if you truly loved him, you wouldn’t be such a distraction.’ the coach’s words reverberated in your head for a while and you suggested that it’d be best if you stopped coming to see him. it wasn’t a break up, and y’all would see each other everywhere else, but your heart couldn’t take the possibility of being the cause of his failure.

reece always went to the gym when he needed to clear his mind. you watched him rep with a sad typa aggression. knocking, you asked if everything was alright. ‘babe i don’t really wanna talk about it.’ your bf said as he moved on to bench press. ‘tough,’ you straddle him with a brattiness that you knew, deep down, he loved to fuck out of you. ‘I ain’t movin until you tell me what’s bothering you.’ he sat up properly , palming your lower back to stabilise himself, ‘you’re insufferable you know that,’ reece huffed. you stroked his cheek with your thumb, the anger in his face melting at the love you’d always shown him. ‘you know you can tell me anything.’ you reassured, knowing that his father’s word got to him deeply. his frown softened, wanting to unburden himself at the gentleness of your voice. reece took another breath as you laid your hand on his heart. ‘i just hate that he sees our relationship as a distraction,’ he sighs, shoulders getting heavier, ‘if anything, seeing you makes me more work harder.’ reece goes in to kiss your neck and breathes out ‘my own personal cheerleader.’ you cradled his head, placing your fingers in his locks. you broke apart, as you tapped his nose. ‘you’re so cute!’ you lovingly teased. ‘shut the fuck uppppp.’ reece droned, turning red as he hid his blushing in your ample chest. you felt a thick, warm rod pressing in between your cheeks, urging you to untie your bf’s shorts, whilst he placed light kisses on your pecs.

‘w-wai-wait.’ reece says groggily. your face dropped, afraid you had done something wrong. ‘what’s the matter?’ you asked, as he remained silent, dragging you off of him. ‘i can’t fuck you here,’ he said with a sincerity in his tone. ‘i need one place where i can actually focus on training,’ seeming more rational by the minute. he breathed deeper. you could see exactly how hard it was for him to say this; the two of you had been together for some time now, and sex was one thing that he never messed with. for him, your body was sacred, one he needed to give full attention to. ‘i get it, you just look really hot when you’re all sweaty and stuff.’ you respond, eyes widening at your last statement.

you had told him the one thing, you swore never to admit. ‘so all of those times i came home from practice all gross,’ he grinned at how open you could be in your discussions with him. ‘you liked that shit?’ you looked up, sheepishly as a mumbled ‘yes.’ escaped your mouth. trying to solve his problems and save yourself from further awkwardness , you quickly changed the subject. ‘we can’t do anything here,’ you elongated the final word in a slutty attempt to arouse him. ‘so, how are we going to solve…’ gesturing to the the bulge in his shorts that ceased to go down. no words were exchanged. reece grabbed your wrist and rushed you two into his dad’s office.

he pushed you against the locked door and closed all of the blinds. invading your neck and upper chest with lovebites, he was like a creature, ravaging you. ‘reece, wait.’ you say using your might to push his desires off. ‘are you sure you wanna do this? here?’ he watched, unable to think clearly whilst staring down at your pretty face. ‘never have i ever wanted to fuck you as much as i want to right now.’ he grunted as you palmed him through his boxers. though left unsaid, you both loved the idea of literally ‘fucking over’ his dad’s feelings towards your relationship.

before you knew it, y’all were fully naked; if you weren’t in his company, you might’ve felt some vulnerability in your exposure, but he soothed those concerns with his touch. something about how the beads of sweat decorated his tan skin, and danced around the contours of his muscles, always astounded you. whenever the two of you made love, nothing else mattered. reece walsh, the biggest prick in the world (literally), was such a mess with your mouth wrapped around his cock. ‘ughhh fuck,’ he smiled, stroking your hair ‘shit baby, you suck my dick so well.’ you adored his cock, loving how you decorated it with your glittery saliva as the shades of light brown skin and pink hues painted his rod.

‘stand up for me baby,’ he demanded. reece loved your body. cupping your cheeks and toying with them, he looked into your fuck me eyes as he grinded his dick between your thighs. jumping up to allow him greater access he sat himself on the boss’ chair, deepening his kiss. ‘y/n, you ready?’ reece breathed, fingering your hole. riding him in the team office was not on your 2024 bucket list, but you certainly weren’t complaining. his light green eyes staring at you so lovingly, as he fucked himself up into your hole with no remorse. The duality turned you insane. the tensing of his biceps, strength of his shoulder blades, you were putty in his hands. ‘I will never get tired of you.’ he moaned, the sloppy sounds coming from your pussy. ‘I love you so much, my beautiful boy.’ you stroked his ego making him blush. he could snap out of being lovesick very quickly, but you were much better at bringing it out of him.

reece had found a rhythm; each time you lifted yourself from his huge dong, he gripped your plush waist and impaled you hard as you felt the veins of his cock imprint their way into your organs. it was a sight of true love. ‘fuck reece, you’re too big, i c-can’t.’ you subtly pleaded for him to slow down. your hole began to burn with a fiery stinging, but that was quickly forgotten as he reassured you: ‘i know baby, but you take it so well. that pussy is practically begging for my load.’ he wasn’t wrong. your tight lips involuntarily milked him so well that he couldn’t think straight. you bounced on him sloppily, signalling to your bf that you were getting close. he loved seeing his pretty boy fucked out on his cock. jackhammering at an insane speed he obliterated your ass, ‘FUCKKK FUCK REESE OH MY GOD!’ you exclaimed at the assault on your hole. it felt so good to have him rearrange your body, and you loved being his. ‘yeah, take it, imma give you it all,’ he groaned. the sounds of your wet hole and his precum made a symphony of pleasure, creating a percussion that accompanied the vocals y’all made. ‘cum for me,’ he grunted deeply, as he impaled you one last time, stuffing you with his batter. you painted his abs a bright white as he giggled seeing you in a trance. ‘every. fucking. time.’ you breathed out, recognising how whipped you were. ‘what?’ playing coy. as he licked his abdomen. ‘you know what,’ you playfully caressed his ear ‘turned me on so much that im sat in your dad’s office with his son’s dick up my ass.’ you both laughed, as reece savoured the sight of the boyfriend he loved so dearly.

despite how uncomfortable it would’ve been cockwarming your boyfriend, for the next 30 minutes, time was not a constant. you were lost in his company. a few kisses were exchanged, skin was stroked, but it was the first time you could just be present with him. ‘as much as im enjoying you squeezing my dick, my legs are falling asleep.’ he teased. ‘babe, i legit cannot walk.’ bursting out in laughter, as he pulled you of his pole and across the desk. after getting dressed, he grabbed some crutches from the medical room and drove you home, his seed still bubbling inside you. ‘how you feeling?’ reece asked, placing his hand on your thigh. you loved how sexy he looked driving like that. ‘a lil sore, but i’ll survive.’ you admitted ‘sorry baby, i did go a bit too rough.’ he answered with a hint of sadness at hurting you. ‘aww stop, don’t do that, i enjoyed every minute of it.’ you reassured. ‘besides, i know that your balls are aching right now from the pressure i put on them so…my bad’ he giggles at your attempt to lighten the mood.

the next day was the big match. the two of you had agreed to tone down your interactions during the game, and that you’d see each other after. a couple of his teammates greeted you during halftime. ‘HEY Y/N! long time no see.’ you walked over to them, a sway in your hips that Reece had fucked into you. they looked at you with furrowed brows until the realisation set in. this was certainly not lost on them as one of his best friends immediately knew. ‘walshie’s the reason that y/n is walking like that.’ he laughed pointing at your bf who looked so cute concentrating on the game. you could only smile at the prospect of taking him again after the game. bonus points if the team won x

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tag list:

@gayaristocrat

[mickeyswhore]

Foreign Beauty

A/N: Might get in a silly goofy mood and write a part 2, let me know if I should. 💕

Summary: After your father made you attend Oxford, you took a detour during the holidays to Birmingham and there you met Thomas Shelby, and the two of you got pulled towards one another.

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: toxic father, smut (a little bit though)

Tag: @mrkdvidal1989.

You hated your father now, he made you go to Oxford university. You wanted to only live in 

Paris and be able to just live your life and buy pretty dresses and have fun with your friends, but not now, you needed to be in a gloomy town with people that can’t even dress properly and that made you angry.

“Father, if you insist on me getting an education why not Paris? We already have a place there.” You had no idea why your father wanted you to pursue an education, it was only a matter of time until you were married off for an alliance anyway.

“You cannot be just a ditsy woman that only thinks about what’s on her body, you must feed your mind. End of discussion.” With that your father left you and you went to your room to cry.

How could he do this to you? Wasn’t enough that he was a criminal and you could never bring your friends to where he was? The fact that your mother left and he never allowed for you to have a relationship with her? Every single thing about your life was about your father, and no doubt that he wanted bragging rights to all of his associates of how he had his only daughter to attend Oxford.

If you had to do this, you wouldn’t be caught dead in British clothes. You told your father that you would get a new wardrobe with the latest Parisian fashion, if you can’t change your father’s mind, you would definitely make his wallet hurt. That was exactly what you did, went to Paris and ordered a whole new wardrobe to all of the fashion houses that you could think of. Your father was furious but didn't want to say anything, as  long as you were going to university, nothing else mattered to him.

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

The boat trip to Cardiff was long and dreadful, and to make things even worse it was raining in Wales, as usual. Your father’s men were waiting for you, and you had so many suitcases that it filled both cars. People in England took their time to stare at you, it always happened, you would never brag but your were a pretty woman in a pretty dress in gloomy Wales, people will stare. You got into the car and waited for your father’s men to be done with loading the cars.

The drive was boring and it was raining in most places, so you decided to take a nap. You woke up with commotion in the car and two of the men were fighting in the front of the car.

“What is happening?” You realised that the car was stopped, and the other two men were outside in the rain trying to fix it.

“Sorry, ma’am but the car broke down and we are nowhere near Oxford, we’re in Birmingham.” You saw a map pf England once and was confused, these are the men that your father employs? You took a deep breath and grabbed your umbrella and left the car, there seemed to be a pub nearby. “Wait, ma’am where you’re going?” One of the men tried to stop you but you kept walking.

“It’s cold, it’s raining and I saw a pub here. Could you please let me know when we can go?” He nodded and you kept walking towards the pub. When you entered the smell of cigars and booze hits your nostrils, and the warmth as well, it wasn’t that crowed so you simply took a booth and removed your very expensive fur coat.

You bought a drink and again all of the men and women were staring at you and you needed to get used to it. You were starting to get bored, maybe going back to the car was the best option. When you were about to leave, both doors were opened and a few men came in, they must be important since everyone got out of their way, you saw the one with the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life and the man was incredibly attractive.

The man noticed you quite fast since you were the only one staring at him, quite unabashedly as well. He went to your table and sat down right in front of him, with a grin on his face, that made you smile.

“Never seen you here before.” You smiled, never having the opportunity to interact with people that weren’t from your father’s circle. “I would’ve noticed if I seen you here before, who are you love?” He seemed genuinely interested and you were basking on the attention. You said your name to the man.

“We lost our way to Oxford and the car broke down so I decided to come here and be warm with a drink. May I ask who you are?” You took a sip of your drink and the two of you couldn’t stop smiling at each other.

“I’m Thomas Shelby. Pleased to meet you.” He extended his hand and you shook it, and the two of you couldn’t deny that you felt something when the two of you touched. “Would you like another drink, love?” You nodded and Thomas went to get your drink, after he came back, he sat down near you.

“You’re quite forward, aren’t you Mr. Shelby?” You grinned at him and he seemed very pleased with himself.

“I have to, with a foreign beauty like yourself, someone might steal you away.” Thomas was being coy, he knew that no one would dare to talk to you with him there, but he wanted to make you feel special and also acknowledge the fact tht all of the men wanted to be with you.

“You don’t have faith that you are the most interesting?” You quickly realised that you love to tease Thomas Shelby.

“I know that I am, it simply might not be the case for you.” He wasn’t boring, you had to give him that and also confident, a man has never looked as attractive as he is now.

“Touche, Mr. Shelby.”

The two of you started talking about other things, politics mainly. But also art, and history. You were much younger than Thomas but he didn't mind it all and you loved the fact that he was older, mature and most importantly, confident.

The two of you were touching each other, his hand were on your thigh and your hand in his arm as well. The tension between the two of you was getting worse, the two of you even stopped talking just to keep looking at each other and touching each other. Thomas leaned into your ear, sending shirvers down your spine.

“Should we go somewhere more private, love?” He whispered in your ear and you only nodded, guiding him towards the bathroom.

When the two of you got there, Thomas put you against the wall and started to kiss you. His kiss was full of hunger and passion and you were more than happy to indulge him, you needed this too. Thomas started removing your dress and you removed his shirt, you were only dressed in your undergarments now, and Thomas still had his trousers. He started kissing your neck, drawing moans out of you.

Your hands went to his cock, he was painfully hard and you could tell that he was painfully hard. Thomas removed your bra without you even noticing, you felt his warm lips on your nipple, making you moan, with one of his hands Thomas started playing with your other nipple. His tongue felt like heaven on one nipple and his fingers were twisting and pulling the other, you were panting and moaning. You’ve never felt this way before, your pussy was clenching around nothing and you were so wet. The pressure on your pussy was increasing with every lick of one nipple and the pulling of the other.

“Tommy.” You whispered and a strangled moan espcaped your throat, Thomas stopped his ministrations and looked at you, he had the smugest look on his face.

“Did you just cum from me just playing with your nipples, love?” Thomas’ hands removed your panties and he started fingering you and playing with your clit. You closed your eyes from how much pleasure you were receiving but he was having none of it. “Keep your eyes on me, love.” That’s what you did, you’ve met this man a couple hours ago and he already had so much power over you. With his thumb making small circles on your clit and two fingers deep inside your pussy, Thomas wanted to make you cum as quick as he possibly could. “You look divine like this, love. I need you to cum for me. Can you do that, eh?” The noises that were being made were lewd, if you could think straight you would definitely be embarrassed by them.

As if Thomas has full control of your body, you cum again, Thomas enjoys the feeling of your pussy clenching around his fingers, he couldn’t wait to fuck you. Thomas was helping you ride out your second orgasm when you heard yelling coming from outside, the two of you looked at each other and out your clothes back on in a matter of seconds.

“What is going on ‘ere?” Thomas yelled, and the men that were with him fighting with your father’s men, you slapped Thomas’ men hoping they would stop assaulting your employees.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” One of father’s men asked you, clearly terrified that something happened to you.

“Of course, is the car ready?” All four of them nodded and if this wasn’t a sign for you to stop doing something you’d later regret, you don’t know what is.

You were about to leave when Thomas stopped you with a gentle pull of your arm.

“Leaving so soon, love?” He seemed almost sad that you were leaving, that made you smile.

“I’m going to Oxford university, if you want me come get me when you can.” You winked at him and he smirked at you.

He was going to get you, alright. With that, you left the pub to the car.

[sqyyadina]

how much sand can a hand hold?

Pairing: Lady Jessica X Reader

Word Count: 4k

Tags: fluff, smut (with feelings!!!), Jessica!receiving, body worship

Summary: Lady Jessica needs to be held. You're the one to do it.

Author’s Note: She must have put a Bene Gesserit spell on me bc I cannot stop thinking about this woman!! This is also on my AO3!

The torrential downpour of Caladan has always soothed you.

Perhaps it was the soft patter of raindrops against the roof of the Atreides estate or the constant fog hiding your small corner of the world from the wandering eyes of greedy onlookers. The rain silenced your mind better than any Bene Gesserit mind trick or calming tab ever could.

You can’t remember just how it was that you wound up outside, standing in the courtyard of the great house, robe soaked through, shoes long abandoned to better feel the cool concrete against your toes. Your hair, once braided back in the style that all Atreides maids maintained, now fell around your shoulders, wet strands plastered against sun-starved cheeks.

You can’t remember how you wound up here, nor can you remember how long you’ve been sharing space with the elements. The concept of time was increasingly hard to come by these days. Your duke had removed all but one clock from the home, and it towered over the long table in the dining hall, ticking where a portrait of the Old Duke once hung.

The portrait had vanished in an instant, along with other important photographs and large statues that once decorated the halls of your home. The Castle Caladan was slowly beginning to empty out, and yet, you were entirely unsure of where The Duke’s family heirlooms disappeared to. You didn’t want to place your suspicions on a thief— those employed by the Atreides name were too good of people to deal in stolen goods. You’re not one to speculate, and are perfectly content in unknowing, yet a quiet alarm at the back of your head still wails.

Your Lady has taught you well.

Though you’re not properly trained in the Bene Gesserit way, you’ve now spent three years tending to the lady of the house, and you’ve learned far more from her than you ever did from the Mentats that taught you in primary school.

She’s taught you to read people, read their every facial tick, the slight tone changes during conversation. To be a lady’s maid of one of the Great Houses has granted you the near ideal situation to learn about every single politician and army higherup that enters the Atreides fiefdom, all while remaining in the shadows.

You spend so much of your time focused on the way that the duke’s armored patrol discusses everything there is to mindlessly chat about, that restorative time spent standing in the rain is more necessary than sleep.

Even sleep brings no silence.

Your mind is at peace now, focused on the heavy patter of the rain against plasteel and vibrating shields. The courtyard receives few willing visitors, especially this late in the evening, after the great family has fattened themselves and most of their keep has lofted to bed. You very well may be the last one awake on Caladan, all alone in the rain, with only the slow drum of thunder to keep you awake.

There are only a few small lights illuminating the courtyard— you’ve yet to be granted a personal suspensor light despite your years of service— but you’re far from worried. You’ve never once felt scared since you first entered the tall gates of Castle Caladan, and yet when a slim, protective arm sneaks around your waist, a wave of comfort washes over you.

Her head nuzzles into the dip of your shoulder, lips quietly pressing kisses to your water-soaked flesh. Her hands, always probing, wandering, searching for answers just as she was taught, slide under your silk tunic, pressing warmth into the chilled skin of your stomach. You fight the shiver that runs down your spine; you know how your lady will read into every involuntary movement of your body. Yet you don’t care. Lady Jessica has already searched every square inch of your brain, already inhabited and occupied all of your thoughts. You’re entirely her’s, and there’s no need to hide anything.

Your eyes shut, head lolling back to accept her whispered kisses, and you begin to pray to whichever God you’re supposed to pray to that she’ll stay here with you forever.

“Come inside.” She purrs against she shell of your ear, her voice a mere breath, yet she still drowns out the thumping of raindrops all around you. “We need to talk.”

She’s never used the Voice on you, and will never need to. You only exist per Jessica’s request, and your every action is methodically planned to best please the woman you serve.

You take her hand in your own, and she doesn’t pull away. She knows, as you do, that the residents of the home are long gone, and you risk no prying eyes this late into the evening. You are perfectly safe to display your affection for one another, with only the stars looking down on you.

You follow your lady in through the large glass doors, suddenly lit by the warm glow of a bouncing suspensor light. You hold onto her delicate hand as if someone were trying to steal her from you as the two of you move towards her quarters, tracking in water that you’ll be the one to clean up soon enough.

Her garments are clinging to her body, impossibly tight, black fabric now translucent against the curve of her hips. The hood that she hides beneath so frequently now draped down her back, water droplets hitting the floor with each step.

Your heart never ceases its heightened beating when you’re around the lady of the house, even when you plate her meals and refill her wine, you find her presence so very overwhelming. Her softspoken nature and the well-assured manor with which she carries herself is enough to make a young woman fall in love in a second.

And that you did.

She drops your hand, much to your chagrin, when you are safely behind the closed doors of the lady’s bedchambers. Your touchless anguish doesn’t last long though, before the same hand moves to cup your cheek, pushing away the pinwheel curls that have glued themselves against your skin. Her smile is inviting, yet shy, as it always is. Her eyes are dilated, searching for yours in the low light of the room. You return her touch, your shaky hands resting on the apex of her hips, bunching the fabric together to pull her in the centimeter it takes to connect your lips.

Each of your lady’s kisses brings another tear to your heart. They’re hurried and desperate, as if constantly racing against the clock of fate. Jessica’s lips were always warm, always coaxing, as though she were searching you for secrets. You wonder if she kisses the duke like this.

It’s growing increasingly difficult to pull yourself from her, but the way that her body pins you to the heavy door and her kisses become sloppy, inattentive, you force yourself back, panting for breath for a moment.

“What ails you, my lady?” You speak quietly, your hands now moving upwards to envelop as much of the woman’s body as possible, arms holding her like she’s a young fawn ready to flee at any moment.

A small panic racks over Jessica’s face before it drops from view, her forehead leaning to press against your shoulder.

“The emperor has granted the family rule of the spice planet. Arrakis.” Her voice is muffled against your skin, and as you strain your ears to hear her, you note a sense of fear in the Bene Gesserit’s voice.

“Is this not a blessing?” You ask her calmly, a hand raising to the back of Jessica’s head, releasing her hair from its strenuous bun and smoothing the soft hair when it falls. “The Atreides name will become synonymous with power. Is this not what the duke has wished all along?” The lady’s head suddenly snaps up, eyes dark and glistening with the beginnings of tears. “I do not care what the duke wishes.” Her voice is now a low growl, as if she intends to rip Duke Leto apart with her teeth. “This will not bring honor to this Great House. Dealing in Spice will only bring ruin.”

Her eyelids shut tight before the tears are overwhelming, streaming down her angled cheeks like the very rain you’ve just escaped.

“My lady…” you begin, but your words fail you as she begins whispering the Litany. You’ve always hated when she does this. You wish she would feel the wholeness of her fear, especially when she is entirely protected, held tightly in your arms, where she can accept her fear, knowing that nothing will ever hurt her as long as you’re by her side.

Your thumb lightly swipes at the wetness of her cheek, but you deem the action too impersonal, and quickly replace the finger with your lips, sprinkling kisses to each of her freckles. The saltiness of her discarded water tickles at your tongue, and you begin to worry for the lost water, for the way that she will soon yearn for it on the dunes of the desert planet.

“Come with me…” she rasps, her head returning to your shoulder. “To Arrakis.” Her voice is weak, pleading, praying. A short of silence fills the room, save for the pattering on the roof above you. “Please.”

You’re sure that if you were any other member of her staff, she wouldn’t ask such a thing of you. That the rest of the Atreides fief will be easily replaced by whatever thirsty breed of human resides on Arrakis, if there are any habitants there at all. It’s an incredibly heavy demand that she’s laid you, a demand that has made your stomach drop. To abandon your life in the serene halls of the castle, to drop you onto the hottest planet in the system, to dehydrate your life and to fill your palms with sand instead of the green leaves you cherish so much…

It isn’t even a demand worth making.

“Of course. I’ll never leave your side, my lady.” You purr back to her, arms squeezing so tightly around her frail body that you fear you may take all of the air from her lungs.

She returns your embrace, telling you without words how much she needs you, how desperate she is for your presence on a planet that may soon become her final resting ground.

“You’ll catch a cold if you leave these clothes on for too long, my lady.” You hate to break your hold on the woman; these moments are so few and far between that this one might very well need to sustain you for the next few weeks.

Jessica nods weakly, unsticking herself from you, and beginning to undress. You help your lady, as is your job, and now, your only natural instinct. You work in tandem to pull the floor-length gown over the woman’s head, the wet garment falling to the floor with a dejected whump.

She’s left in only her undergarments now, freckled skin glowing in the pale light from Caladan’s moon.

You feel your heartrate begin to quicken once again. Though you’ve seen the lady in this state several times over the years, as it is your job to dress and undress her as many times as she may need to in a day, you’re still left shaken from her beauty every time.

You chew on your lower lip to fight the feelings that have now overcome you, and you toy with the long sleeves draped over your fingers as you avert your gaze to the floor. No one should see the lady of the house like this, not even the duke.

It’s only a second’s time before those skilled hands are under your blouse, tugging it upwards, forcing the fabric off of your body. Jessica’s hands push your skirt over your hips and onto the floor as well, and when you step out of the circle, your lady catches you in her arms. 

You won’t mind the difference in weather on Arrakis as long as you still have a place in your lady’s arms.

She’s nimble, focused, ever working towards a goal. You barely register the way her hands unclasp your bra and work it over the crests of your shoulders, nor the way you’re quickly rid of your underwear.

Her hands are methodical, as though making sure they’ve touched each square centimeter of your shivering skin.

You feel completely vulnerable, standing naked in front of the woman you’re made to serve. Though you’re not embarrassed, not one bit. The way she’s whispering praises in the old Bene Gesserit tongue, her eyes scanning over every little goosebump that’s raised, you can tell how deeply she cares for you, how beautiful she finds you in this moment.

She kisses you, languid and wanting, gripping into your flesh so tightly that you’re sure to be left with a few bruises. Her lips taste of berry, and if you look hard enough, you may notice that they’re dyed a dark purple. She’d been drinking tonight, either to strengthen her mind or to weaken it’s worry.

“My lady…” you manage out between heavy kisses, your hands desperately tugging at her own bra’s clasp, whines escaping your lips when it does not effortlessly unhook. You don’t really have anything to say now, only to revel in the way the words sound leaving your lips. You’d called her such a title with such admiration for so long, now she was your lady.

“Stay with me tonight.” Jessica begs into your lips, praying to you as her hands leave your skin to remove the rest of her clothing.

You swallow in a dried throat, nodding eagerly to the woman who draws you to her bed. She lays flat against the bed, frail body enveloped by the sea of satin sheets and heavy duvet. Sitting above her, eyes and hands frantically searching over the body that’s always so purposefully modest, always covered in yards of expensive fabric, yet now on full display for only your eyes.

You can feel the heat in your face, and are impossibly thankful that for the dim light for hiding your bright pink blush. The heat between your legs, however, cannot be concealed.

Your lady, adoring the innocence in your gaze yet growing increasingly impatient, props herself on her elbows. She hooks a slender finger under your chin, pulling your wonder-filled gaze up to meet her own.

“I’m yours.” She whispers into your lips before greedily biting into them, her familiar kiss burning with passion. The words fill you with a sense of dedication, of true love, which is only coupled with an intense sense of dread when you realize that she will never be wholly yours. That she will always linger on the arm of the duke, no matter what planet you’re on.

A flash of lightning fills the room with a strikingly white light when Jessica pulls you down on top of her. You eagerly sink into her, your wet lips moving from her own down her jawline, reveling in the way her back deliciously arches into your body when you kiss the smattering of freckles that run down Jessica’s neck and lead you to the curve of her breasts. Your hands flatten against her spine, feeling the tense, full muscles of her back.

The way her skin jumps, her muscles spasm… it’s evident that, much like you, your lady has not known the touch of another in quite some time. It breaks your heart, truly. A woman as gifted and as, simply put, entirely bewitching, as she is, deserves to be loved and worshipped every moment that she breathes.

You deem yourself extremely lucky to get to be the one to love her.

You nip at her, knowing that whatever marks you leave on her porcelain skin will be easily covered come morning, but the knowledge of their existence is worth more than anything. You’re staking claim over the woman beneath you, in your own triumph over the man that has done nothing but degrade you for as long as you’ve known him.

The Lady’s svelte fingers are curled tight in your hair, tugging hard, but the pain is welcome. Her breath is hitched, her light moans filling the heavy air around you, though you’ve barely begun your worship of her body. Her whimpers escalate when your kisses make their way to her pebbled nipple, sloppy kisses from swollen lips, lovedrunk from the intoxicating scent of her lavender perfume.

Jessica’s hips begin to buck up into your own, her moans turning to desperate whines, throwing words into the room in a language you don’t understand. When her stuttering voice becomes a bit too loud, you force yourself off of your lady’s breast and connect your lips once again.

“My lady…” You purr, your hips now matching her bucking rhythm, pressing your dripping cunt into her own. “You must be quiet.” A smile pulls on the corner of your lips, understanding that you are now in the position to tease the woman that so frequently toys with you. “You don’t want the duke to hear how his favorite concubine has fallen victim to her lady’s maid, do you?”

You lightly giggle before pressing another silencing kiss to the lady’s lips, but even physically quieting her moans does not do much to keep her at bay. Her begging has made it into your mind whatever Bene Gesserit ability makes her capable of putting thoughts in your head is working overtime. Though she has seemingly reverted to the old tongues now, you understand fully her few weak attempts at pleads.

You slide your thigh between the witch’s legs, tightening your muscles so that Jessica can hump against you while you fight for control of your own mind back. You dip your head, pressing it into the woman’s shoulder blade, hoping that the blood will rush back to your skull, and you will think clearly once again. Or, at least as clearly as you are ever able to when around Lady Jessica.

“Please, my love.” She pants, burying her nose deep into your hair. “Please.”

It’s a true gift to be begged by a Bene Gesserit, especially one so high in command in one of the Great Houses, and you know it. Only a handful of men have ever experienced such a thing, you’re sure. And you’re the most fortunate among them, for you get to hear the genuine pleads of a woman desperate for your touch.

As you’d do anything that your lady requested of you within a heartbeat, her imploring is unnecessary, but delicious for your ears. Your hand swiftly drops to replace your thigh, reveling in the warmth of Lady Jessica’s heat. You release a moan of your own, ignoring your rule of silence, when the first of your fingers slides into your lover with ease.

You bite down on Jessica’s shoulder with hopes to muffle yourself, eliciting a sharp whine out of the woman, and you instantly feel regret behind your decision. You pull your teeth from her flesh, peppering soothing kisses and licks to the red flesh you’ve left behind.

You whisper countless apologies against her skin, but the lady is far too swept up in rocking against your palm to voice her acceptance.

Your second finger glides into Jessica, thumb rubbing circles against her clit. She’s close to undoing, her body spasming with every lightly peppered kiss, every stroke your fingers make. As your thrusting quickens, you feel her clench around your fingers, as though she’s unwilling to let you go. Not that you’d ever go willingly anyway.

Sensing her closeness, you return your kisses to her cheeks, pressing gentle, loving pecks to her beauty marks, wrapping a hand around her jaw to hold her forehead against your own.

“Come for me, my lady.” Your panting breath matches her own as she does just as you’ve asked, her body tensing against you, hands wandering over your flesh to find something suitable to hold onto as she rides through her orgasm.

When Lady Jessica finally hits the back of the bed, her chest heaving and arms fallen to grip into the duvet below her, you remove your hand, creating quite the unbecoming display as you greedily lick her wetness from your fingers.

“You are so beautiful, my lady.” Your voice is low as you drop to lay against her chest, pressing the last of the kisses you can muster before your head drops from its own exhaustion. Your lady is quiet. Her arm is lazily draped over you, hand toying with your hair. Her lips are quivering, as if searching for the appropriate words.

What does one say to your lady’s maid after she’s turned you into a whimpering mess for the entire castle to hear?

“You are incredible, my darling.” She whispers into the room, head dropping to take its place nuzzled into your scalp.

Jessica pulls one of her once discarded blankets over your sweating bodies, turning to envelope you wholly, arms finding comfort wrapped over your shoulders. She yawns quietly into your hair while you match her embrace, eyes shutting when your tiredness from the day truly sets in.

These delicate moments are all you can afford to gift your lady, and while the duke may garnish her with the priciest jewels from across the galaxy, you know that he’s never once treated her kindly, never once given her the gentle touch that she so desperately deserves.

You sleep soundly, knowing that you can at least offer her your softness.

♱

“We’ll have to give up the black dresses.” She meets your gaze in the mirror as you brush through soft hair.

You giggle softly, admiring your shared reflection in the mirror. She’s right, it’s not often that either you or Lady Jessica are spotted outside of your matching black gowns. But unless you both wish to die of heatstroke on your new planet, you may have to find a more suitable color.

“I’ll have your tailor come to meet you by the day’s end.” You hum, placing down the brush to begin tying your lady’s hair back.

“Come to meet us.” She corrects you sternly, yet still in that most endearing voice that constantly makes you swoon. “I’ll have a new wardrobe made for you as well.”

“No, I can’t possibly—” you retaliate, eyebrows turned up as you think of how much money a new desert-safe line of clothing would cost. Especially from the man that Jessica frequently shops from.

You’re cut off by a gentle pinch at your hip, which makes you laugh, though it still upsets you, because you feel so very guilty accepting gifts from her, even though you know it’s the duke’s money she’ll be spending.

“I do hope my eyes don’t turn that awful blue-within-blue.” Jessica’s nose turns up at the thought. You don’t know many who frequently use the Spice Melange, but those that you have encountered, those empty, total blue eyes staring straight into your soul, have not been very kind people.

“Your eyes will be beautiful no matter what. Arrakis could never take your beauty from you.” You smile back to her, placing your hand on her shoulder when you’ve finished the hairstyle that has become second nature to you. You imagine that the dual suns on Arrakis will tan your skin within the week that you’re there. Jessica’s will manifest in more of the lovely freckles that dot her skin, and you will welcome them.

Jessica places a hand atop yours, leaning her head to meet your chest. You feel your chest swell, like she’s taking the breath out of your lungs simply through her touch. You would truly travel to the ends of Arrakis to ensure that the smile that you adore so dearly will always remain on her lips.

You love your fair lady so dearly, and it pains you that you’re the only one that will ever know.

[fox-bright]

OKAY SO I HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THE WHOLE SENDING CREMAINS TO THE MOON THING If you haven't heard about it, a bunch'a dead people (cremated) (just a teaspoon or less of each) are going to the Moon, where they will stay forever. They left this morning, riding up on a United Launch Alliance rocket for Peregine Mission One, technically out of Pittsburgh, PA but launched as usual from Florida. There are five NASA payloads on the mission, so Science is Happening. That’s cool, I’m all for it. But I, and it turns out the Navajo Nation, are not very cool with the Elysium and Celestis parts of the deal, which is sending a hundred something dead people’s remains up there. I’m against it because while I’m all for scattering cremains in nature—returning your carbon to the cycle—and I’m all for cemeteries and tombs, this won’t be either; there’s not any breaking down, there’s not any cycle, and there’s no hallowed ground. The Navajo Nation, in the letter they wrote to NASA in December, is against it because to them the Moon is sacred. You don’t just drop corpses on sacred things, basically. They weren’t asking to stop the mission, just to be consulted about how to handle it with grace; their request was denied. NASA couldn’t have done anything for them, anyway, because this isn’t a NASA mission even if they’re sending payloads up. So the Magical Flying Husband and I good-naturedly Got Into It on the topic, on Saturday, and we still don’t quite agree. To my mind, it’s gross and tacky to throw a Space Rubbermaid full’a cremains up there. There were already the remains of one single person on the moon, as Eugene Shoemaker’s ashes went up with the Lunar Prospector thirty-something years ago. He was a scientist who trained Apollo astronauts about what to expect when they reached the Moon; a geologist with his eyes on the stars. Having him up there doesn’t oog me out. Having a bunch of randos who only get to go there because their families have the money for it, that oogs me out. And then there’s just the pure metaphysical aspect; we put gates around our cemeteries for a reason. We make specific places out to be the resting places of the dead, so that we can say here are the dead and here the dead are not. Most of the religions or belief systems which have the dead remain in the home, on altars or in special (holy!) rooms within the building, also have requirements for attendance on those lost relatives. Incense, prayer, attention. You can’t do that if you lawn-dart Grandma onto the Moon. So throwing a bunch of bodies into a place where they will never degrade, without marking out land as “this specific place is where our dead go,” is either a hugely expensive method of littering, or it makes the whole Moon into a cemetery.

So the MFH and I have this discussion, back and forth, and then we realize we don’t really have any data. How many people are going up? Who are they? What’s the deal? So I looked it up. There are two companies sending cremains on this trip, Celestis and Elysium. Both of them have (frankly, tacky) websites selling you the ability to send Grandma to the Moon.

Celestis starts you at about three thousand US dollars to put some ashes onto a payload that goes up, and then comes down again; the equivalent of tying her to an Estes rocket that you launch from the park, only this is a proper spacegoing rocket that gets up there. She just doesn't get to take the whole ride.

Further Celestis packages allow you to put Grandma into orbit, send Grandma to the Moon, or send Grandma out into Deep Space.

(Reading that aloud is the point where the MFH's ears really quirked. It is very difficult and very expensive to get something properly into Deep Space. That offering is bullshit, and can't not be bullshit, and this is where the MFH decided probably this whole thing was more than a little scammy.)

The Orbit Grandma package is particularly romantic; the orbit she'll be put into is a degrading one, so that after some time spinning around our gorgeous blue marble, she'll reenter the atmosphere and become a visible shooting star.

(The MFH said "Is there going to be a big enough payload to be visible with the naked eye? What amount of matter is required for that?" and then we had to do Math about it. Of course, it's not just Grandma who would be on that bus, it's another hundred people or whatever; the image appears to show a hundred or more thimbles of cremains stored separately in basically a large cube container. So maybe the size of a soccer ball? I think it would be visible. It is, however, impossible to say "look there, and you'll see Grandma!" so while it would be visible to someone, it's not going to be something you can make sure to see.)

Elysium offers all the same packages, with slightly different names. But unlike Celestis, Elysium has a little row at the bottom of the page with photographs of previous launches. They've done this before, they're saying, and Grandma is safe with them.

So I looked up the launches, and found a Wikipedia page on them. And oh my god. That's where my ears quirked, and then I started cackling, and the whole slightly-fractious discussion with the MFH absolutely dissolved into macabre jokes.

Because, yeah, there have been two previous launches. One of them failed to reach orbit. A payload of Grandmas was put onto the next one, to make up for the failure.

The second launch, which was to be a Shooting Star trip for the god knows how many people that the first launch failed? That one made it to orbit! All good, right? Now Grandma can orbit for a while, and then immolate for a second time, this one much more spectacular and high-velocity than the first?

ABSOLUTELY not.

Because of licensing issues.

(image: two columns of text describing Elysium launches: ORS-4 Elysium Star I, launched on a Super Strypi, was destined for reentry failed to reach orbit.

SSO-A Elysium STar II, launched on a Falcon 9, was destined for reentry and made orbit successfully. "Orbit was to decay in 2 years, but satellite was locked into the Lower Free-Flyer dispenser due to license timing issues." )

Grandma is stuck in the dispenser. Grandma's in a gacha-gacha that just spins around and around and around and around, never releasing its prize to her glorious conflagration.

Because of licensing issues.

I'm siding with the Navajo Nation with this one, either way, but I have to wonder if those folks are actually getting to the Moon as planned.

[madschiavelique]

If Miguel got a partner do you think he’ll neglect them because of the multiverse work? What if them dying is a canon event!? :o

Okay so I think there are a few possibilities (in all objectivity at least i think) that this would go :

The possibility off him actually neglecting his partner is indeed strong, because I think that Miguel is giving this sentence : “A hero will sacrifice you to save the world, a villain will sacrifice the world to save you” (which is a sentence I deeply love ‘cause I’m all in for villains, although in this context Miguel would appear more as the hero of course.)

He might’ve been hesitant at first of being in a relationship, because he thought it might slow him down in his works or impeach him of advancing properly. I also feel like his partner is someone related to his work, as in it’s thanks to it that he met them and got with them. But the other way is still possible, his partner might not be related to his work at all although I feel like because of his workaholic behaviour meeting new people outside of work would be limited.

The start of the relationship would be sweet, he’ll be in the first weeks of love and try to make it work, but as time goes he’ll go back to his work more and more. He’ll pass on diner dates, he’ll pass on movie nights, he will also probably forget about a little something his partner would’ve planned to spend with him. He cannot count the times he came back home to them sleeping on the couch waiting for him.

And because of this rhythm, his partner might probably leave him and in this case I think it can go both ways : he realizes how he has neglected his partner and they discuss about it like adults to come up with solutions to balance private life and work, or he is indeed torn by the separation but feels less guilty now of having to work for a relationship that he cannot handle outside from work because of his obsession for it.

On the other hand :

I feel like this man has lost so much already that he’ll do anything to keep his partner by his side. He’ll buy them little gifts and send them when he’s working longer for a night, he’ll probably invite his partner to come to his work office so that he can spend time with them and see them while still working, he’ll cherish every single moment he can have with them because he thinks this is it, this will be his last partner for the rest of his life that he will love till his last dying breath.

(Now I’m not saying that he will have yandere tendencies because he wants to keep them at his sides at all costs, but I am saying that he’ll go wherever they go, need his partner to send him messages of whatever they’re doing at all times, and make sure he has a tracker in their phone to know where they are at all times.)

He is protective, he doesn’t want his partner to leave because they are the only one remaining that he loves and that loves them back.

If his partner dies in a canon event :

I feel like it would either be back to case one and getting over it by reinforcing all of his work, or it will be the moment he gets a click of how he lost so much time trying to create a perfect organization for it to lead to the death of the person he loved the most and pull himself together to cut the bullshit.

Maybe it’s time for him to realize the hard truth that sometimes you can’t save everyone, even the ones you love the most. So maybe this time he should try saving himself.