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#vet school shenanigans
labvet · 2 years
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Today in Vet School:
One of my friends asked the group chat if any of us could say “thrombopathy” with a straight face. We ended up on a tangent and another friend declared he was “the best Disney princess you never heard of.” Long story short, I drew a picture of him in a princess dress and tiara and now it’s his contact picture in his wife’s phone.
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promptful · 1 year
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Best Friends to Lovers Things:
big boi.
WARNINGS: Mentioned death.
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Seeing them in a different way after a long time apart. 
Lingering looks.
Bed sharing, but only platonically. (Regretfully). 
Inside jokes. 
Late night [texts] 
Smiles that hurt. 
Always being each other’s +1 to any event. 
Forced proximity, that wouldn’t be such a problem if things weren’t changing between the two of you. 
Home cooked meals, made special by the other. 
Walking each other home from work. 
Falling asleep on the couch, intertwined. 
Fake-dating; either because you have to, (friends, family, a wedding, job) or because you two made an agreement when you were younger to get married. 
Having to vet the other’s SOs. 
Soft touches. A brush on the shoulder, across the waist, through the hair. 
Everyone knowing that, oh, it’s those two. 
People asking where’s the other if only one is present. 
Minted keys to each other’s apartment. 
^ (Bonus if it’s the only copy). 
Sleepovers because you're sick and they don’t want to leave.
Their parents always asking how you’re doing, and yours asking about them. 
Bets on your relationship. 
That kind of laughter that ends up like squeaking because you can’t hold it in anymore. 
Confessing your love in the worst ways. (In the middle of an argument, while in danger, in a drunken stupor, simply because you’re tired.) 
Using them as a seat, because that’s what you’re used to. 
Slow dancing. Totally platonic. 
Prom with one another. 
Spending sad anniversaries on the couch with buckets of chocolate, their arms curled around your shoulders. 
They only trust you with their problems. 
And you only have them to cry on. 
“Goodnight” and “Goodmorning” texts. 
“Did you get home safe?” texts. 
“If anything ever happens to you, call me.” 
Self-sacrificing behavior because neither of you can live without the other. 
Chiding the other while patching them up, inches away from their lips. 
When they throw themselves into danger, you’re there to pull them out. 
“Can’t sleep, come over?” 
Movie marathons. 
Hiding each other whenever you’re not supposed to be in their room, giggling.
“I can’t imagine being with anyone but you.” 
Petty jealousy. 
“Where are you?” 
Always sitting by each other in [school]. 
Fixing each other’s clothing; ESPECIALLY tying their ties, fingers brushing against their sternum. 
“I’ve wanted this forever.” 
Them being the only person who notices the small changes you make to either your appearance or house. 
Emergency contacts. 
Sleep-deprived nights because the other’s in the hospital. 
Platonic love proclamations, until they're not. 
An accidental kiss to the cheek that leaves both of you stunned. 
“I can’t keep going without telling you how I feel.” 
That awkward phase after you start dating where everything is new and you really don’t want to mess it up. 
“It’s just me.” 
The whole exaggeration about their dating. (E;g, we’ve been dating since I’ve known them.) 
“I didn’t know you loved me.” “I didn’t know you loved me.” 
Semi-protective behavior. 
Knuckle kisses that get progressively longer. 
Dreams shared in the darkness.
Working together—which means no productivity, basically. 
Playful arguments. 
Being able to resolve actual arguments because they both value the friendship too much.
“Take the bed.” “Not without you.” 
Stargazing, your head on their shoulder. 
Being there when things go bad with each other’s families. 
The “do you want to talk?” with pinched eyebrows. 
Knowing the exact shade of each other’s eyes from memory. 
Coffee trips in the middle of the day. 
Dropped off lunches. 
Random midnight snack runs. 
Nighttime road trips. 
A shared music taste and a bass that rocks the car, windows down. 
“Don’t replace me… please. I can’t lose you, too.” 
Straight-faced covering for them, even while they sneak out the backdoor behind you. 
Mutual shenanigans despite the consequences of said shenanigans. 
“Hey, what if we—” “No.” 
That first kiss that’s a tentative touch, then turns into a fervorous kiss, hands on shoulders, jaws, cheeks, squeezing their sides. 
Wanting to take their relationship slow. 
Each milestone meaning more than the last. 
Soft singing to put one another to sleep—perhaps a song that they’ve sang since childhood. 
Being ready to drop everything to go help them no matter what. 
Smiling when thinking about them [and being called out on it]. 
Objects that you have to get for them.
Board Game competition. 
Zipping up their dress, or tying their tie and fixing their cufflinks. 
Secret languages. 
“What are we?” “What do you want us to be?” 
Standing in front of them on the [train]. 
Memories that you can’t forget. 
Growing old with one another. 
Kids who they can’t decide which looks like who. 
The most outlandish anniversaries you can think of. 
“Happy That Time We Almost Died For the Second Time!” 
Communicating through simple expressions. 
And finally, the ability to trust utmost in one another. 
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boldlyvoid · 2 months
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Yours, mine & ours | Part 1: meeting matthew
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Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington | Single Dads fic
Summary: Eddie has a 6-year-old brother in need of a new legal guardian
Warnings: set in 1993, Eddie was never a part of the upside-down shenanigans, foster care, child neglect, death of a parent, Al Munson is a monster, Wayne Munson is the loveliest man on earth
Word count: 4.7k
Masterlist
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When he got the call from Child Protective Services, his first thought was: “Do they have the right Eddie Munson?” His second thought was: “of course, my dad would have another one of his offspring taken away.” 
“So, will you take him? Or should we set him up with one of our emergency families until we can find a permanent foster placement for him?” The woman asked, as kindhearted as possible. 
“Uh… yeah? Do you have to like vet me or check out my place?” He asks, worried he won’t have enough time to make his trailer look presentable. He’s only had it a few months now, just a few spaces down from his uncle Wayne, but that didn’t stop the ‘Eddie tornado’ from wreaking havoc on the space in such a short time frame. 
“A small one. I’ll bring Matthew with his things and I’ll take a look around, make sure it’s up to code,” she explains. “I know you were also taken in by a family member when you were a kid, so I’m sure you know what it’s like. He’s had a very rough day and I would like to have him settled with someone he can trust tonight.” 
“Yeah, yeah I remember… How old is he?” He asks, unsure if she’s said it already or not. His mind was in a bit of a fog, this was all a little surreal. He was 27, how the heck did his dad have another kid? What did he get out of jail? What did he do this time? His mind is absolutely racing. 
“6,” she says and he can tell she’s frowning about it. “I don’t think he’s ever been to school…”
“I missed a lot when I was with Al, too,” he shares. “I’ll get him enrolled. 6 is what? Kindergarten?” 
“It is, he should be able to catch up quite easily, he’s a very sweet and quiet boy. I think he’ll greatly benefit from being around children his own age.” 
He knows that’s true. “Okay, well, I’ll clean up a bit and get things ready here… when are you bringing him?” 
“We’re just in Indianapolis, so I’ll be there in an hour-ish?” She says, more so asking if that works for him. 
“Sounds good.” 
“Thank you, Eddie.” 
“Anytime.” 
He hangs up the phone on the receiver and looks around the room. He’s fucked. There’s no way he can clean everything and make it look presentable in an hour. 
But he’s damn sure going to try. 
He throws all his clothes in the washing machine, he rushes through dishes, and he runs the recycling and a few garbage bags down to the trailer park's dumpster. He tidies his room, and sets up a few spare blankets on the couch so that the kid knows he has a spot to sleep tonight before they get him set up with more… and just as he’s changing his shirt to something less heavy metal, there’s a knock on his door. 
“Coming!!” He shouts as he slips into the shirt and makes his way down the hallway. He’s barely got his arms in the sleeves as he’s opening the door. 
He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s still a shock to see a woman no older than himself holding a garbage bag in one hand and holding hands with a little boy in the other. She’s in a dress suit, hair all pulled back and a small smile on her face, “Eddie Munson?” 
“Hi,” he says, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looks down at his brother then, “You must be Matthew?” 
He has the curliest hair, curlier than Eddie’s ever was at this age. He has chubby cheeks, big brown eyes and the longest lashes on earth that batt against those big cheeks each time he blinks. He’s adorable. How the hell could someone have a child so sweet and put them in this position? Was he this cute when he was little? Was this how Wayne felt when he was on his doorstep at 12? Or was he long past that cute phase and more into the annoying tween people felt bad for, stage? 
Matthew nods, reaching up to brush his curls out of his face, he looks so tired. His eyes are red, he doesn’t smile, he’s in tattered old running shoes and pants too short for his legs and a sweater Eddie’s seen before… that used to be his. He left it when he was gathering things to leave for Waynes. It was too small for him then, but now it’s a bit too big for Matthew. 
“Come in,” he steps aside and lets them in. “I uh, I cleaned as best as I could with short notice. I’ll do more tomorrow once I can borrow the vacuum from my uncle down the way, he’s at work right now. He works nights.” 
“That’s okay,” she smiles, letting Matthew in first.
He takes a look around, arms crossed to protect himself. He doesn’t make eye contact, he simply wanders over to the living room to take a look at the figurines Eddie has on the shelves. Wayne would call them toys, they could be if they weren’t so expensive, but with their price tag, they are made to stay in their little acrylic cases and sit on his shelves collecting dust till he has the time to clean again. 
“You like Star Wars?” He asks, trying to make conversation but Matthew just shrugs. “I’ll have to show you the movies sometime.” 
“Okay,” he says, quiet and meek. 
He doesn’t notice the social worker looking around. She opens the fridge, nods a bit and then closes it. She looks in the cupboards and drawers, and she notices that there are clothes in the washing machine tumbling around in soapy circles and she looks impressed. She keeps going down the hall, peaking in the bedroom, “Is it just you who lives here?” 
“Uh, yeah, I just got the trailer a couple months ago… I was renting downtown for a bit but then I got the opportunity to own this place,” he explains. “I’m thinking I’m going to get a pull-out couch for me and he’ll have the room. That’s what my uncle did for me.” 
“Sounds good,” she gives him a smile. “He seems like he’s good here.” She references over to Matthew who’s flipping through pages of a comic book, sitting criss-crossed on the floor. “Here,” she reaches into her pocket and hands Eddie a white envelope. 
“What is this?” 
“You’re not technically a foster parent, but because you’re under the poverty line and taking him in, I pulled some strings and you’ll be receiving a $500 allowance for him each month,” she explains. “It should help with groceries and clothes, and I can help you file for medical and dental benefits through some charities that focus on children going through tough situations.” 
“Damn, okay,” he’s so shocked. Where was all this when he was a kid? “Wow…” 
“And then in the bag, there is a manilla envelope with his birth certificate and other important documents. We couldn’t find any records of him getting his vaccines, so he should see a practitioner before going to school.” 
“Okay,” he nods along, feeling overwhelmed. “I uh, I don’t even have a doctor… does he need a kid doctor or will any do?” 
“A pediatrician would be best,” she explains. “In Indianapolis, we have a local pediatrician who does pro-bono work for children in the system. I included their number in the envelope, my cards in there, too, tell them I referred you.” 
“Thank you. This is more than anyone did for me when they dropped me off with Wayne,” he says, trying not to tear up a bit. “I’m going to take good care of him.” 
“I know you will,” she gives him a real smile, she touches his arm and then makes her way to the door. “You call if you need anything, but I think we’re all good here. Bye, Matthew!” 
He looks up from his book and gives her a wave, “Bye.” 
And then she’s gone. 
It’s just them now.
He has a kid.
A kid that will live with him and depend on him for… 18-6 is 12 but he’s 27 and still dependent on Wayne to an extent, so that’s 21 years. He’s going to have this kid forever. 
Eddie just watches him read for a moment, carefully keeping his distance. “Are you hungry?” 
He nods, “kinda.” 
“Do you have any favourite foods?” 
He shrugs, “Pringles.” 
Eddie sighs, of course. He remembers being fed Pringles and candied nuts and beef jerky from the gas station for years. He never had a real meal between his mom's death and moving in with Wayne.
“Have you ever had Mac and cheese?” 
Matthew shakes his head, looking confused. 
“Well, then I guess I’m going to have to introduce you to my favourite meal.” 
He fills a pot up with water and sets it on a burner, throws in a bit of salt and turns it on high. He pulls a box down from the cupboard and walks it over to Matthew, “See, this is Mac and cheese, it’s these little elbow-shaped noodles and a cheese powder that you mix with milk and butter and it becomes so delicious, you’re going to love it. You can try it by itself, or you can have ketchup on it like I do.” 
“I like ketchup,” he gives Eddie a little smile. “The lady at the drink place gives me ketchup with my fries.” 
He knows he means the bar. His dad brought him there for dinner a lot too because most nights a plate of fries was free when you ordered 3 or more beers. Sometimes, he’d get a burger or even some chicken tenders if the bartender thought he was cute… that stopped after he turned 8. By then he was a lanky, dirty kid no one wanted to deal with.
“So, Matt, how are you feeling?” 
“Hew,” he says, looking displeased. 
“What?” 
“My name is Matthew.”
“Oh, yeah, I know that. My name is Edward but people call me Eddie. It’s called a nickname,” he explains. “I know our father wasn’t big on nicknames, which is weird considering his preferred name is a nickname… but you don’t have to only go by Matthew. People can call you Matt, or Matty.” 
“Oh,” he settles with that. “So my dad is your dad?” 
He nods, “yeah… I mean he’s our father. There’s a big difference between a father and a dad.” Matt looks confused so Eddie starts to ramble. “You see, any man can father a kid, but not every man can be a dad. A dad is someone who takes care of you. Someone who reads you bedtime stories and tucks you in at night and kisses your forehead to see if you have a fever… a dad is someone who loves you and is always there for you. When I left our father, I moved in with his brother, Wayne. He did those things for me. He made me feel safe and cared for. Wayne is my dad.” 
“Oh,” he softens, looking behind Eddie, sad. “My mom did those things.” 
“My mom did too,” he understands. “Where is your mom?” 
“She’s an angel,” Matthew sighs, missing her. 
“So is my mom,” Eddie presses his lips together, awkwardly, trying not to smile but wanting him to feel comfortable. “But that’s okay, we’ve got each other now. I’m going to make sure we get you into school, and maybe tomorrow we can go shopping?” 
He nods excitedly, sitting up straight, “For what?” 
“Well, let’s see what you need,” Eddie says, looking for the bag of his things. He puts the box of Mac and cheese on the counter, the pot still isn’t boiling, it takes forever in here. He grabs the garbage bag and unties it, turning it over and dropping everything onto the carpeted floor. 
It smells so much like cigarettes that it honestly takes his breath away. “oh wow,” he tries not to gag. He smokes, sure, but not as much as Al, and definitely not in the fucking house. 
The pile of things is small. He starts to sort everything, he folds 2 pairs of jeans, 6 shirts, 3 pyjama bottoms and only 1 matching long sleeve top. He has 4 pairs of underwear that look like they’re for a toddler and no socks. There is 1 stuffed elephant and a picture of his mom in a frame… she looks a lot like his own mom. 
Al Munson has a type. 
“Okay,” he places his hands on his knees and bites his lip. “Well, looks like we need a bit of everything… new shoes, a good coat, some socks, a toothbrush, bathroom things? When was the last time you had a shower?” 
He shrugs, “I don’t remember?” 
“Okay, do you know how to shower alone?” 
He nods, standing up, “I do everything by myself.” 
“I figured… um, so while I make dinner do you want to go have a shower? I’m going to put your clothes in the wash later so you can wear one of my old shirts after?” Eddie offers, grabbing one of the other pairs of underwear out of the pile and standing up. “Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.” 
He shows him how the shower turns on and off, sets out some towels for him and tells him just how much shampoo he should use. He gets him a new shirt, places it on the counter with his underwear and heads to leave. 
“Thank you, Eddie,” Matthew says, giving him a little smile before he shuts the door, leaving him to do his own thing. 
In the kitchen he can hear the pot boiling, so he pours the macaroni into the bubbling water. He sets the cheese packet to the side and heads right to the washing machine. He switches his clothes over to the dryer and loads Matt's stuff into the washer. He’ll put it on when the shower turns off so he has good water pressure to get the soap out of his hair.
It’s remarkable how easy it is. 
This time yesterday he was eating cold pizza and drinking a beer, thinking he’d never have the kind of life his co-workers did. Today, he has a kid. Today he’s doing laundry and making dinner and he’s going to have to tuck a kid into bed. Tomorrow he’s going to have to take him shopping. He has no idea how he’ll keep doing this every day? If he’ll be good at it? If he’ll have the money, the strength, the energy… 
All he can do is try. That’s what Wayne did, and Wayne did a fantastic job. But Wayne also had help, he had friends with kids whom Eddie got most of his things from, ladies who watched him after school and neighbours who made sure he was up in time for the bus when Wayne worked late. 
He still has 6 minutes till the macaroni is done, so he heads to the phone, dials the number to his coworker and he waits. 
“Hello?” Daryl’s deep voice picks up. 
“Hey, it’s Eddie.” 
“What’s the van doing this time?” He asks, sounding annoyed. 
“Oh, nothing. No. That’s not why I called. I uh… my kid brother is going to be living with me from now on. He’s 6—
“Oh shit,” Daryl can’t believe it. 
“Yeah, you and Laurene wouldn’t happen to have your boy’s old clothes still, would you?” He asks, feeling bad but he has to ask. 
“We’ve got buckets of their shit down in the crawlspace, I’ll ask Laur to go through it later. I don’t think we’ve got shoes, though. Our boys went through shoes like mad— I swear if they weren’t outgrowing them they were blowing the souls out dragging them on the playground,” he goes off. Eddie can just imagine he’s shaking his head as he explains it all. 
“I’ve got an allowance for him from the state, so I can get him new shoes,” Eddie assures. “He has like 4 shirts and no socks. I need to get him a coat and a backpack, and do you guys have a good doctor? He needs to get a doctor.” 
Daryl laughs, “I never thought you’d be coming to me for parenting advice.” 
“Me either, but he’s my brother. I wasn’t going to let him go into the system. I was with 1 family before Wayne, it wasn’t terrible but I’ve heard the horror stories. I can’t let him go through that shit.” 
“You’re a good man,” Daryl compliments him. “I’ll see what we can find tomorrow, I’ll bring it by the trailer. You think he’s a regular-sized 6-year-old?”
He chuckles a bit, “I think? I’m not sure really. He’s so small. I don’t think I was ever that small.” 
“We were all small once,” he smiles through the phone. “How about you come over tomorrow for lunch, he can meet our boys and we’ll figure out sizing that way?” 
“Sounds perfect,” Eddie agrees. “Thanks again, Daryl. I really appreciate it.” 
“Any time kid, you have a good night.” 
“You too.” 
Dinner goes well, they talk about his favourite colours and if he likes music. He likes blue and his dad listened to the radio a lot. He hummed some songs he liked, nothing Eddie could really recognize cause it was probably new-age country. They put their plates in the sink, Eddie shows him where the ketchup goes in the fridge and they talk about getting some groceries tomorrow. Fun food. Things for snacks and easy dinners, and Eddie’s gonna have to start packing him lunches when he goes to school. 
He’s going to need a backpack and a lunch bag, a pencil case and pencils and crayons and Eddie’s going to need to help with homework. He doesn’t even know if the kid can read or write yet… 
Matt grabs the comic book again and sits back down on the couch, flipping back to the page he was on before, and looking at all the pictures. 
“Can you read?” Eddie asks, coming to sit beside him. 
He shrugs, “kinda.” 
“Cool,” he’s honestly impressed. “Have you ever had a comic book before?” 
“No… is that what this is?” 
“Yeah, I have a whole bunch. This is Wolverine 27, there’s 26 that come before it. I have most of them, you can read them all if you want?” He offers. “I also have some X-Men comics and a bunch of fantasy books— but they might be too advanced for you, so maybe I could read them to you?” 
He nods, a sweet gleam in his eyes, “Can you read me to sleep later?” 
“Of course, buddy,” he doesn’t even have to think twice. “Maybe I could read you my favourite book?” 
“What is it?” 
“It’s called Lord of The Rings,” he says with a smile. 
Maybe raising a kid could be fun. 
After explaining the plot to him and grabbing the old, well-read, book off the shelf, he looks at Matthew and the couple sheets he has laid out for him, “Would you want to sleep in my bed or out here on the couch tonight?” 
“I usually sleep in Dad's room,” he explains. “I have a bed in his closet.” 
The fucking closet again. Sure, it gives them both privacy, but a 3x5 room is nothing. It's stuffy and gross and you still hear everything Al gets up to in the middle of the night with his stupid friends. His heart breaks for Matthew. He wished he knew he had a brother sooner, he would’ve gotten Matthew and his mom away from Al as quick as humanly possible. 
Now all he can do is make it up to him. 
“Well, I was thinking you could have my room and I could get a couch that turns into a bed for me to sleep out here,” he explains his thinking. “I'm going to put all my clothes in the closet, I might get a new dresser or something for out here so you can keep all your things in your room.”
“Really? You mean it?” He lights right up. “I always wanted my own room.” 
Eddie smiles right back at him, “Well, now you’ve got one. It might take a little while for me to move my things out here and make it feel more like your space, but you’ll like it.” 
He nods, really happy with the thought of having his own space for the first time in his short little life. So happy, he gives Eddie a hug. 
“Oh,” he’s a bit shocked at first but then he softens, holding him back with a soft smile on his face. Eddie could really get used to this. “I’m glad you’re here, buddy.” 
“Me too,” he whispers against him, snuggling in, clearly tired after a long day. 
“Do you want to go to bed?” 
He nods, “Can I sleep with you?” 
“Uh… yeah, I just have to clean up a bit out here after I read to you but I can come back to your room?” Eddie compromises. He really wants to put his stuff in the washing machine before they go out tomorrow. 
He holds his hand and walks him down the hall to his bedroom, flicks on the light and watches Matt’s eyes light right up, “woah?” 
“You like it?” He smirks, it’s pretty basic. White paint covered in posters and homemade flags with his band's name on them. Homemade artwork from campaigns, photos from gigs and tickets from concerts and festivals he’s been to. 
“It’s so colourful,” he says as he lets go of Eddie’s hand and wanders over to his Iron Maiden poster. “He’s so… wow?” 
“His name is also Eddie… he’s the mascot for Iron Maiden, I’ll show you their music tomorrow in the van,” he promises. “You sure it’s not too scary to sleep in here?” 
He shakes his head, “No, it’s cool!” 
He can’t help but smile, it must run in the family to love this shit. He suddenly can’t wait to show him all the music he has, maybe teach him how to play guitar or hell, he might be into drums or bass and the boys can help him out. Having a little brother is a gift he never expected. This kid is so much like him, it’s going to be so fun. 
He never wanted a kid of his own… really, he just didn’t want to knock up some woman he didn’t love in the name of pretending to be straight. He didn’t want to change diapers and be up all night trying to soothe a crying crotch goblin. He’d do it if he had to, but he never put himself in the position to need to. Now he has Matt, he’s at a fun age, and he’s still mouldable. He can still be made into a good person, he’s not affected too much by their father which is a blessing. He was only with him half as long as Eddie was, and he turned out semi-okay? 
He turns the covers down, fluffs a pillow and flicks on the lamp light instead of the big light. “Come sit,” he offers, going to get his book from the shelf. 
Matt crawls into the bed, pulls the covers up over himself and sits there with his hands in his lap, patiently waiting for his story. 
“Has anyone read to you before?” 
He nods, “My mom did. Just little books, though,” he points at the massive book Eddie’s holding. “Not like that.” 
“I know, but the best part about these big books is that we can read this story every night for a while. It took Wayne a whole year to read it to me at bedtime,” he explains, taking a seat in the bed beside him. “So, it starts off kind of different… the narrator gives a rundown of the world first so that when you start reading, you’re not completely lost about what a hobbit is or where they live.” 
“Okay,” he nods along. 
“And the way the characters talk might be a bit strange, and the words are a bit long and some don’t exist in our world. If you need help understanding, don’t be afraid to ask me what something means,” he explains. “It’s hard to understand sometimes, but I’ve read it so many times I know almost everything about it.” 
He nods, leaning into Eddie’s arm and looking at the pages. “Are there pictures?” 
He shakes his head, “No, but I have drawn some of the scenes in my sketchbook, I can show you them later?” 
“Okay,” he settles against him and that’s how Eddie knows it’s time to start. 
“This book is largely concerned with Hobbits, and from its pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history…”
He reads in his most normal voice, he’ll introduce voices for the characters later. he’s actually really excited about that. Wayne used to try and do voices for him, but he never could keep them consistent. Eddie, on the other hand, would do voices in his head when he read the book to himself. 
“They do not and did not understand or like machines more complicated than a forge-bellows, a water-mill, or a hand-loom, though they were skilful with tools. Even in ancient days they were, as a rule, shy of ‘the Big Folk’, as they call us,—
“Wait, so Hobbits are tiny?” Matthew asks. 
He nods, “Yeah, they’re probably about your size when they’re my age, but they have big hairy feet.” 
Matthew laughs, “I think I’m going to like this book.” 
Eddie smiles, “I think so, too” 
Wayne doesn’t work the same night shifts that he used to. He’s too old for that shit. Now, he comes home around 11pm, gets to sleep all night and goes back in at 3pm. He likes it this way. He’s always been more of a night owl, he enjoys sleeping when the sun is up more than anything, it runs in the family. It took Eddie most of his life to get onto a “normal” schedule for his 9-5. 
Wayne knocks on the trailer door lightly just as Eddie’s switching the laundry over. He rushes to the door and holds his finger up to his lips as he opens it, “Hey, let me come out here.” 
Wayne’s a little confused but he backs up and lets Eddie outside. “What’s goin’ on? You got someone over?” 
“Al had another kid after he got out, or during? I’m not sure about the logistics, but he got arrested again and now Matthew’s going to be living with me,” he explains. 
“That old fucker got another woman knocked up?” Wayne can’t believe it. “The courts should castrate ya after CPS takes two kids out of y’r care.” 
Eddie just chuckles, “Yeah, well, at least this one got away at 6.” 
“6?” Wayne repeats, eyes wide, “are you sure y’r up for that?” 
He nods, “he’s pretty calm and quiet. The social worker got us set up with an allowance so I’ll get $500 a month to take care of him and Daryl and his wife are going to hook us up with some hand-me-downs. Tomorrow I’m getting him some new shoes and underwear and a coat. And socks. He didn’t come with any socks?” 
“You didn’t either,” Wayne reminds him. 
He sighs, remembering all too well just how hard it was to be with Al for so long. “Yeah, well, we’re getting him everything he needs now. I need to get him set up at school, he needs a doctor, too… but we’ll be okay.” 
“You said his name is Matthew?” 
He nods, “had to teach him what nicknames are too. He likes Matt so far.” 
“Good, good,” Wayne places his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “Wow, never thought I’d be here again.” 
“I told him you’re my dad,” Eddie explains. “Al’s just the man who made us, but dads take care of us.” 
Wayne lets out a huff and presses his lips together, his eyes well a bit, “boy…” 
“I know, I know,” Eddie laughs it off. “You’re not good with emotions, but it’s true. And who knows, he might start calling you grandpa with this logic.” 
“You’re gonna be a good dad to that kid,” Wayne compliments, meaning it with every fibre of his being. 
Eddie just reaches out and hugs him, “Yeah, well, I learned from the best.”
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General Taglist 
@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22
Steddie
@nosaladallowed-ao3  @wifeyreid @girl-with-an-orange-cat @sunshinemunchkin @luna-munson83 @manda-panda-monium @steve-thehair-mamabear 
Single Dads fic
@stevesbipanic 
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Text
Special
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Pairing: Dave York x virgin f!Reader
Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only) 
Word count: 7k
Warnings: large age gap, virgin!reader, first time sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, PIV sex (with a condom), possessive!Dave, ambiguous/dark ending
Summary: You’re part of the newest class of interns at the DIA. Told to either sink or swim, can you stay afloat long enough to get everyone’s coffee order right, deliver reports to the correct offices, and juggle the attentions of the gorgeous man in office 712, the only person at the DIA so far who’s given you the time of day?
A/N: I wanted to write first time sex with Dave York and this ended up going in a direction I did not expect! Dave is soft, but gets a little unhinged at the end, and the ending is ambiguously dark. I don’t use beta readers; instead I just send my friends increasingly unhinged screenshots with no warning or context to see how they react. Thank you to @leslie-lyman, @pedropascalx, @honestly-shite, and @radiowallet for dealing with my shenanigans, I love you all.
Masterlist
“First of all, let’s get one thing straight right now. You are not special. You think you were hot shit at Harvard? You’re worms here. The way the DIA vets their interns is simple: we throw you into the middle of the ocean. Some of you are gonna drown, that’s the point. The rest of you are gonna survive by crawling your way to the top of the pile and fighting to stay afloat.”
You try to keep your face neutral as the woman–who doesn’t look to be much older than you, but who clearly has a chip on her shoulder after surviving her own cutthroat internship at the DIA–introduces the new group of interns to their first day on the job. 
“You have questions about what to do, where to go? Fuck you! Figure it out. You–” she points at a young man beside you. “What’s your focus?”
“C-Counterintelligence,” he stammers. 
“Second floor, talk to Mike.”
“Who’s–”
“What did I just say?”
The man’s mouth snaps shut and he rushes away in the direction of the elevators. The woman sends several more interns scrambling in scattered directions, looking for their new offices for the next year. Finally, her finger lands on you.”
“You.”
You’re ready. “Cybersecurity,” you announce, keeping the waver out of your voice. 
“Oh.” She looks you up and down with a wrinkled nose. “That means you’re with me. Basement.”
You follow your guide down the stairs to a room at the end of the hallway. You look excitedly around the cramped room, where your fellow interns take up almost every available surface, typing furiously on laptops stacked on books or piles of paper. Everyone in the room is lucky to be here: all the tops of your classes in Ivy League schools, all considered prodigies in your fields, all with overblown expectations of yourselves before your careers even start. 
“Where’s my laptop?” you ask, eager to get started.
Your guide gives you a withering stare. “You can’t just arrive here on your first day and be top dog,” she says. “Everyone you see here has spent months earning their place doing the important work.”
“What am I going to be doing?” you ask warily.
“Coffee.”
“Coffee!?”
“Coffee. And–” she checks her watch, “–you’re late. Go up to conference room E403b and for God’s sake, take a notebook. You’re going to want to write it down.”
It takes you ages to find the conference room. You try first to look for it on your own, wandering the labyrinthian maze of offices and cubicles, trying to make sense of the naming convention on the doors. Finally, you have to ask a floor secretary, who looks at you like everyone seems to look at the interns at the DIA–with aggressive indifference.
The meeting is apparently in full swing when you enter, and you fight down the urge to grimace as conversations cut off in mid-sentence as every head in the room swivels to look at you. You hold up your little notebook and shake it slightly. 
“Coffee orders?”
Everyone speaks at once, of course, and you scribble furiously, trying to get it all down. Carmel latte, cappuccino, macchiato, americano–fuck, wait–which one of those was nonfat? It’s all the more difficult because you don’t know a single person’s name; you try to write down simple descriptions instead. Blondie. Guy with paisley tie. Hawkish nose. Thick glasses lady. Eventually, you look down at your writing. It’s chaos, of course.
“Thanks!” you squeak. “Be right back with your–uh, with the coffees!”
You run across the street to the nearest coffee shop, feeling more like a magazine editor’s PA than an Intelligence intern. All that’s missing is vague instructions to get various fashion designers on the phone. You juggle fourteen coffees on your way back, a delicate balancing act of cardboard trays and sloshing, hot liquid. 
By some miracle, you manage not to spill any on yourself when you reach the fourth floor again.
“Hi! Me again. Um–okay. So, americano… cold brew… iced latte…” you begin handing out the coffees, glancing down at your muddled cheat sheet in vain, trying to remember who had what.
"What's this?" the man with the hawkish nose asks, frowning down at the cup you’d placed in front of him. 
You look down at your hastily scribbled notes. 
"Uh, a… pumpkin spice latte?" 
The man's eyes narrow.
"That's mine," a woman to his left pipes up. “I’ve got your black coffee right here, Dave.”
The table is a flurry of movement as several other people switch drinks, correcting your apparently many mistakes. You want to sink into the floor–this isn’t what you’d signed up for in the slightest, and now this entire conference room thinks you’re a moron. 
“Thank you,” the man–Dave–says. “That will be all.”
You nod at the obvious dismissal, and retreat from the room. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 
Thankfully, the rest of the day is spent organizing a massive filing cabinet by alphabetical order, and you don’t have to interact with anyone else for the rest of the day after such a major fuckup. You’re just finishing up the V’s when you hear the same woman from before call out your name, and you cringe inwardly. God, what now?
“More coffee?” you ask with a wry twist of your lip.
“Hilarious. Will you take these up to Mr. York? He’s on the seventh floor, wing C, office 712.” 
A stack of reports is thrust in your face, and you have to scramble not to let any of them go cascading to the floor around your feet.
You mutter the directions under your breath as you take the elevator up. York. Seventh Floor. C wing. 712. York. Seven. C. 712. 
You tap timidly on the office door. The occupant looks up, and you have to suppress the urge to turn around and run away. It’s the black coffee guy. The man who’d dismissed you after you handed nearly everyone the wrong cup. 
Dave York.
Dave appears to be on a conference call, but he holds out his hand, beckoning you in. Before he drops his arm again, he makes a ‘just one moment’ gesture as he finishes up the call, so you wait, awkwardly rocking back and forth on your heels as you stand just inside the doorway, listening to the conversation. 
“We were fortunate that a potentially serious nuclear incident did not happen,” someone on the computer says. “Next time, we may not be so lucky.”
“All we can do is monitor the situation,” Dave responds. “I want a report that we can submit to the hill by Wednesday at the latest.”
When the call ends, Dave closes his laptop and looks up at you expectantly. “What do you think?”
You blanch.  “Think? I–”
“The call. Zaporizhzhia. What do you think?” Dave folds his arms and looks up at you with a neutral, open expression. He’s the first person who’s really looked at you all day. The one thing you’ve learned is that interns do have one superpower: invisibility. Most people have looked right through you, as important and significant as an office potted plant. 
To add to your nervousness, the man is gorgeous, and you find yourself staring at his pursed lips and dark eyes for longer than strictly necessary.
“I don’t… I’m just delivering stuff,” you mumble. “I brought these, uh, reports I was supposed to–”
“Our intern program only takes the highest talent from the most prestigious schools,” Dave interrupts. “I don’t believe for a second that you came here to just fuck up some coffee orders and deliver reports.”
Your gaze drops down to the floor, embarrassed.
“What school did you go to?” 
“Brown,” you answer automatically. 
"What was your major?"
"Cybersecurity."
“Honors?”
“Highest.”
You peek up at Dave through your eyelashes. He’s smiling now, as if he finds you amusing. 
“And I’m guessing you didn’t fund your education by working at Starbucks,” he says sardonically. 
“I had a fellowship,” you mumble. 
Your answer makes Dave laugh out loud, but you don’t find the humor in the situation. You can't figure out if he's making fun of you or giving you a very back-handed pep talk. 
"So, Miss Brown," Dave says. "What do you think?"
“The–the reactors at the plant are shut down,” you start slowly, “but there’s a risk that the nuclear fuel could overheat if power supplies to the plant’s cooling systems are cut off. They’ve already been forced to operate on backup generators a number of times. The–uh–the shelling should be tantamount to the use of a weapon of mass destruction.”
Dave listens, nodding intermittently. When you’re finished speaking, he holds out his hands for the stack of reports. When you hand them to him, he drops them on the side of his desk.
“Thank you.”
Another dismissal.
You nod and make your way over to the door.
“Brown?” Dave calls out, making you turn.
“Sir?”
“You’re going to be treated like a doormat for the next twelve months, but you are not one. The most important thing you can do right now is to have some fucking teeth. Got it?”
The words may be harsh, but Dave’s eyes are warm, one corner of his mouth turned slightly upward.
You nod rapidly. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
The smile grows. “Chin up, kid.”
Kid.
You nod, and with a little sigh, you head back down to the crowded cave that serves as a home base and office space for all of the interns in the building. 
– – – – – – –
The next week there are more reports to deliver to office 712. And the next week. And the next. You wonder just how many deliveries the man gets, or if it just happens to be you every time. After the first day, Dave continues to make small talk with you–sometimes asking about work, sometimes discussing current events, or just remarking on the weather.
Dave York is off-limits, but you can’t help the way your heart starts to pound when he looks at you, or worse, when he talks to you. Sometimes you feel like he must be able to hear that telltale waver in your voice that indicates how incredibly flustered he makes you. You feel off-balance whenever he’s around; your words are more breathless, delivered at a higher pitch, and you can’t stop yourself from looking at him with wide eyes and parted lips whenever he says anything. He fascinates you. He’s just aloof enough to be mysterious, but personable enough to give the illusion of approachability. 
Dave asks you things. Your opinions on foreign affairs. Your approach to cybersecurity. Your desired career path in Intelligence. Your… your weekend plans? Captivated by the older man’s attentions, you tell him everything. Sometimes you want to slap yourself for not being able to shut the fuck up whenever you step foot in his office, but Dave listens so intently–or, at least, gives the impression of listening intently–that it’s hard to stop. You tell him your career aspirations, your future dreams, your opinion on blockchain, the fact that you had a disastrous blind date last weekend, everything. 
“Disastrous how?” Dave chuckles. 
You laugh. “Where do I begin? First, he shows up twenty minutes late, then he won’t stop talking about his ex and his investment portfolio…”
Dave makes an exaggerated gasp, making you giggle harder. “He–that’s not all–he insisted on ordering for the both of us, which would have been fine, except he ordered filet mignon for himself and a house salad for me.”
“Where the hell do you find people like this?” Dave asks with a grimace.
You shrug. “Tinder.”
Dave shudders. “Doesn’t sound worth it.”
“There’s really no other way to meet people my age,” you mumble. 
Dave’s head snaps up. “People your age?” he parrots.
“Yeah, I dunno. I mean, I wish I could skip to the part where everyone knows what they’re doing, but that’s just not how it works, right?” God, how you wish you could find someone who could show you everything you’ve been missing, everything you’ve wanted but was never really sure how to ask for–at least, not with the right person. There have been plenty of wrong people, and it never seemed like the right time with any of them. Of course, now, at twenty-three, you’re considered a late bloomer–and that narrows the field of potential first partners even further. No one seems to want to deal with someone as inexperienced as you. 
You shudder to think what that dipshit from last weekend would have said if you would have confessed just how inexperienced you really are…
“If you want someone who knows what they’re doing, it sounds like you’re looking in the wrong place,” Dave murmurs, and is it just your imagination, or has his voice gotten deeper, more husky?
You swallow. “Probably, Sir,” you mutter noncommittally. “I, uh–I have to go. I’m supposed to be taking meeting notes down on three.”
“Stay safe out there,” Dave says quietly. 
You can’t help but turn back as you reach the exit, giving Dave a small, shy smile as you leave. His dark eyes are piercing into yours, and you feel the burn of his gaze long after you’ve left the room. 
– – – – – – – – – 
You start staying in Dave’s office longer and longer after you deliver your reports. You always sit in one of the chairs opposite his desk–the left one, usually–and talk with wide-eyed enthusiasm for a half-hour or more, sometimes. You start talking about everything. Your family. His. You learn that he’s divorced and has two girls. You learn that he plays the piano, and that he almost always reads non-fiction, rather than novels. 
“Any more dates from hell?” Dave asks one afternoon with a wry grin.
You laugh. “The last guy put me off of Tinder for a while.”
“Good.” 
Your eyes snap up to meet Dave’s questioningly. 
“You can do better, you know that, right?” 
You shrug sheepishly. “Not like I haven’t been trying,” you grumble. “They all seem sweet online, and then they turn out to be jackasses.”
“Maybe it’s the online thing that’s the problem,” Dave suggests.
“Old man,” you tease. “That’s how people meet nowadays.”
“Is it,” Dave murmurs. 
“Mmhmm. Well–I’m gonna go, I’m supposed to be handing in some statistical analysis of supply chain cybersecurity risks by the end of the day,”  you say, popping out of your chair and heading for the exit. 
Your hand is on the doorknob when Dave speaks again. 
“I would treat you as you deserve,” he rasps under his breath. 
You freeze on the spot. Did he really just…? Slowly, you turn your head to look back at the desk. Dave’s gaze is downright predatory, with hooded eyes and a little half smile that seems as if it’s challenging you to act.
“S-Sir?”
“Think about it.”
– – – –
You do. 
You do little else but think of Dave’s words for days. I would treat you as you deserve. Think about it. You speculate wildly about what it would look like–whatever Dave thinks you deserve. You have little to go on–so little experience, that you can only call up steamy romances and movie scenes for examples. What would Dave York be like as a lover? Would he be rough? Gentle? Intense? The prospect of this man being your first… well, it’s daunting. Intimidating. 
But if the idea scares you so much, why have you been soaking through every pair of underwear since Dave said those words to you? 
Why does your heart skip a beat every time you deliver coffee to his meetings, his dark eyes burning into you as you pass paper cups around the conference table? 
Why do you touch yourself to the thought of him, late at night, your fingers a poor substitute for Dave's deft hands?
Dave, for all of his intense staring, doesn't bring the subject up again. You would think his silence on the matter is a mark of chivalry–you didn’t accept his advances, and now he’s backing down–but for the way the man looks at you like a treat to be devoured. It isn’t the look of someone who’s been turned down.
It’s the look of someone who’s waiting. 
You know–and Dave seems to know, too–that it’s a matter of time before you approach him again. He’s achingly polite every time you deliver anything to his office, asking about your day and listening intently to the answer, although the subject of your failed Tinder dates doesn’t come up again. If it had, there wouldn’t have been anything new to report–you’ve stopped responding to any messages, unable to entertain the idea of anyone else when the person you want the most is right in front of you.
Dave has ruined you for any other man, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.
– – – – – 
In the end, it takes two weeks. It would have only taken one, but you spend the second week gathering up the courage to say something to the man. Your mind is made up, but you drag your feet until Friday, when the tension inside your body is so great that you can finally stand it no longer.
You knock on Dave’s door that afternoon with empty hands. No reports. No coffee.
Dave, when he looks up to see you standing awkwardly in his doorway, seems to know exactly the reason you’re there. His eyes dance with equal parts amusement and desire when he says, “Shut the door.”
You do as he asks and take a few steps forward, not moving all the way inside and sitting down in one of the chairs opposite Dave’s desk as you usually do.
“Don’t lurk in the doorway, pretty girl. Come sit down.”
You give Dave a shaky smile and sink down into ‘your’ chair, nervously smoothing your skirt with your hands as you do. “You–you know why I’m here,” you say timidly.
“I do.” Dave nods, leaning back in his chair. “I need you to say it out loud, though.”
“I–I want–” you trail off. What is it that you want? You can’t think properly, the only thing you want is him, you want this man and all of his dark, intimidating energy and you want his attention and most of all, you want to know what he meant when he said he’d treat you as you deserve.
“What do you want,” Dave prompts when you don’t finish the sentence.
“You,” you whisper. “I just–you. That’s what I want.” 
Dave’s smile is wolfish. “I’m going to need you to be more specific.”
“I want you to show me exactly what you meant,” you say, tilting your chin up and growing bolder. “You told me to think about it, and I have.”
“You’ve thought about it?” Dave repeats, his smile widening.
“I’ve done nothing but think about it,” you admit quietly. 
“Did you touch yourself?”
“Did I–Dave!” you protest, aghast.
“Did you?”
Your heartbeat pulses in your ears, and you’re barely able to hear your own answer over the rush of blood to your face. 
“Yes.”
“Good,” Dave murmurs. “Good. I want you to come over tonight,” he says. “Give me your number. I’ll text you the address.”
You dictate it to him with your heart in your throat while Dave taps the numbers into his phone. A few moments later, your own device buzzes with a text. 
“There,” Dave says. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
– – – – – 
Your head is buzzing with anticipation for the rest of the day, and the feeling grows when you arrive back at your little studio apartment to get ready for tonight. You shower again, taking extra care to shave, and you pull on the sexiest lingerie that you own–a black lace thong and matching bra. You spend too much time dithering over what to wear–should you be casual? Sexy? Flirty? The address Dave had given you is in a neighborhood; it’s clearly his home. Should you still dress as if it’s a date? After some deliberation, you choose your favorite ‘date’ outfit–a maroon dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves and an enticingly short skirt. 
You can’t help but notice the difference in the way the two of you live, when your Uber pulls into Dave’s neighborhood. You live in the cheapest housing you could find–a drab, postage stamp of an apartment with peeling wallpaper and faulty electricity. Dave lives in a pretty white house with a generous yard and a garage. You try not to think about the fact that the man must be fifteen years older than you, or more. What does he want with you?
When you knock on his door and Dave’s eyes widen and darken at your outfit, you know you’ve made the right decision to dress up a little. He ushers you in with a warm hand at the small of your back–the first time he’s ever touched you, and your breath catches at the simple intimacy of the gesture. 
When you enter the house, you’re hit with the pleasant aroma of food, and you shoot Dave a questioning glance.
“Did you… make dinner?”
Dave chuckles. “Did you think I invited you here just to fuck you?”
“...Yes?”
Dave tsks. “I believe I said I’d treat you as you deserve,” he says simply, leading you into the kitchen. He hands you one of two already-poured glasses of white wine, letting his fingers brush yours as you accept it. 
Dinner is chicken alfredo, which is incredible, but your stomach is already full of butterflies, and you don’t eat as much as you usually would. The two of you chat easily, as you always do, although things on your end are a little quiet. It’s not that you’re nervous, it’s that–okay, yes, you are nervous. Not because you don’t want to lose your virginity tonight to Dave York, but because you just don’t know what to expect. Will it hurt? Will he hold you after? Will you cum? Will he care if you do? Would he want to touch you first, would he, would he, would he—? With so many questions swirling around in your head, is it any surprise you can’t get a word in edgewise?
Eventually, Dave clears the plates and stacks them gently in the sink. Not sure whether to follow him or not, you take the awkward middle ground, rising from your seat and taking a few steps forward, standing in the middle of the kitchen feeling silly. 
You needn’t have felt awkward in the slightest; Dave walks toward you with dark, hooded eyes and a predatory smirk. When he reaches you, he runs one finger tip across your bare shoulder. “You dressed up for me,” he remarks. 
Breathlessly, you nod. 
“Sweet thing,” Dave murmurs. His hand moves up to gently cup your cheek as he steps in closer until you can feel his body heat. Your eyes flutter shut reflexively as his lips draw near, his breath ghosting across your face as he descends.
It isn’t your first kiss, by any means, but it’s the first that makes you forget how to breathe. Dave's lips are gentle, but insistent, his mouth moving sensually against yours until your lips part of their own accord and Dave's tongue flicks out to taste you. 
Dave is apparently spurred on by the full-body shudder it causes, and his arms are suddenly around you, crushing you to him, as he delves into your mouth and takes what he wants. You give it all willingly, although your heart is hammering at the prospect of more to come.
Your hands clutch at Dave's shirt uselessly as he deepens the kiss. You're vaguely aware of the little whimpers you're making into his mouth, the gasps and sighs as he subtly changes the tilt of his head or teases your tongue with a playful lick of his own. 
Finally, when you're about to drown in your arousal, Dave breaks away and takes your hands in his, pulling you out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom. 
Dave kisses you again beside the massive bed, and this time, his hand slides up your bare thigh underneath your dress, causing you to shiver again. 
Dave chuckles. "Poor thing, you feel like you're about to fall over," he teases. He guides you down onto the bed, and your heartbeat reaches a crescendo.
Dave is on top of you, a low growl in his throat as he presses his length against your thigh. His hand slips underneath the material of your thong and he groans at the wetness he finds there, but the feeling of his hand on your labia is foreign and unfamiliar and suddenly your body stiffens, your eyes going wide with trepidation.
Dave pauses, his hand still inside your underwear. His eyebrows draw together, his lips pursing with confusion as he pulls back to look at you. 
“Why do you look so scared?” he asks, concerned.
Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the right words. You search Dave’s face, trying to think of something to say, but all you can think about is his finger resting on your parted folds, the first time anyone has ever touched you there, and you feel like you’re about to spontaneously combust.
“Tell me,” Dave insists.
“I… fuck, I’ve never done this before,” you mumble. 
Dave looks as if a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. “Done what?”
“Any of it. I–I’ve never–”
Dave’s hand slips out of your underwear, his eyebrows knitting together as he takes in what you’re saying. “Nothing?” 
You press your lips together and shake your head. Oh God, this is it–the moment Dave realizes this isn’t what he thought it was, and you’re a girl playing pretend.
“Oh, honey,” Dave breathes. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”
“I didn’t want to ruin it,” you say quietly. “I know I’m too old to be–you know–and I just wanted to get it over with, and–”
“Shh,” Dave commands. “It wouldn’t have ruined anything. I just would have done some things differently.”
“Like what?” you ask timidly. 
“Moved slower, for one,” Dave answers. “Savored you.”
“Oh,” you say dumbly. 
“And I will,” Dave promises darkly. “Savor you. Enjoy you thoroughly. I need you to tell me one thing, though.”
“Anything,” you agree.
“Do you really want this? Think about it. There’s no going back.”
You nod rapidly up and down. “I want it.”
Dave surges forward and captures your lips in a passionate kiss. “It will always be me,” he growls against your mouth. “I will ruin you for anyone else.”
You barely have the presence of mind to utter one final word.
“Please.”
Just as he’d said, Dave moves slower now. He divests you of your dress and bra, letting his fingers dance across your cleavage, circling closer and closer to your nipples until you’re squirming slightly on the bed, your breath coming out in little pants. When the tip of his finger just lightly touches one, you arch off the bed as if an electric shock had just coursed through you. You’ve never been this keyed up in your life.
Dave chuckles at your response, and you duck your head in embarrassment at first, but he grips your chin and tilts your head back up to meet his dark gaze.
"Don't do that," he chastises. "I want to see every little thing that I do to you."
His mouth engulfs one nipple and you sob out loud into the room. Oh God, it's hot and wet and you can somehow feel the way his tongue is licking at you all the way down into your pussy. 
"That's it," Dave encourages. "Fuck, you’re so responsive.”
You feel like your brain is melting. Dave is a real and heavy and delicious weight on top of you, his hands pulling pleasure from you that you’ve never felt in your life, and he’s barely even touched you yet. He lavishes attention on your nipples until you’re shaking, licking and sucking to find out what you like–and he discovers quickly that you like it when he flicks his tongue back and forth against the little bud by the way it makes your head tip back as you gasp loudly. 
“Take it,” Dave whispers. “That’s a good girl.” 
Eventually, he kisses a path down the sensitive, soft skin of your belly, making you squirm and giggle slightly. Dave chuckles darkly.
“Ticklish?”
You nod breathlessly. Dave nips softly at the little swell of your belly before moving down to the lacy fabric of your underwear and running his nose up and down the material. 
“Oh,” you exclaim. “Y-You don’t have to do that, that’s–”
“I really fucking want to,” Dave says. “I want to taste this sweet pussy and I want to feel it shake around my tongue when it cums for me.” He inhales deeply with half-lidded eyes, making a low noise in his throat at the smell of you. When he finally hooks his fingers underneath your waistband and starts to pull your panties down your legs, you think you might combust. 
"Has anyone ever done this before?" Dave asks.
"No."
Dave's lips curl into a wicked smile. "Beautiful girl," he rasps. "I'm going to fucking ruin you."
The first little kitten lick to your clit nearly makes you cum right then. You clench violently, and Dave chuckles, the low vibrations sending little shockwaves through your cunt. 
"Ohh, I'm going to enjoy this," Dave murmurs before he starts lapping at your pussy again. You're impossibly wet, so worked up that you can already feel the telltale heat crawling its way up your spine. 
You babble at the ceiling– "Dave–Dave, fuck, I can't–oh my God, this is–Dave!" The last cry of his name ends in a squeak as you shatter for him, clenching around his tongue and feeling, rather than hearing, his resulting groan.
When you come back to awareness, Dave is hovering over you, his dark eyes flitting over your face, watching you come down. 
“Taste yourself,” Dave rasps, his lips–shiny with your slick–too close to yours. “How fucking sweet you are.”
You nod, and Dave lowers his mouth to yours, his entire body pressing against you again–and you feel the hot, hard length of him against your thigh. His hand grasps your hip, his fingertips digging into your flesh, and you moan at the feeling, and at the unfamiliar taste of you on Dave’s tongue. 
Despite the orgasm, you still ache between your thighs, an emptiness that cannot be soothed by just Dave’s tongue. 
“Dave, I need–” 
“Shh, I know,” Dave murmurs. “I know.” His hand moves to the button of his pants, undoing it with one hand and shoving his pants down around his thighs before kicking them the rest of the way off. You stare at the way his erection strains against the tight material of his boxer briefs. When you hesitantly reach out and touch it, Dave hisses but doesn’t move, letting you explore at your own pace. It feels… big.
“Dave,” you begin, shaking your head slowly, “it’s not gonna fit. It’ll–”
Dave chuckles low in his throat. “I promise, it will.” “But what if it—hurts?” you squeak, growing timid again.  
Dave lowers himself again until the two of you are flush together. “Look at me,” he directs. “Look at my face. Would I ever hurt you?”
You search his face, but all you can find is blunt honesty. “No,” you whisper. 
“No,” Dave agrees. “No, and by the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be fucking gagging for it, pretty girl.”
He sucks his index finger into his mouth, coating it in his saliva, before slowly sliding it into your soaking cunt. 
“You’re gonna cum again like this,” Dave states frankly, “with my fingers and with my mouth, and I’m gonna make you so fucking wet that it’ll slide right in.”
He thrusts gently with one finger, watching your face, those dark, burning eyes sweeping over your expression and assessing your reaction. When you start chasing his finger, making little mewling sounds when it’s just not enough, Dave crawls back down your body and lathes his tongue over your clit for the second time that night as he adds a second finger. 
Just when you’re about to reach your peak again, Dave pulls back, reducing the friction and causing the feeling to retreat. You shoot him a questioning glance, but he simply smirks back, gradually giving you more until you feel it building back up, and then eases off. He repeats this little ebb and flow of pleasure, this little game of give and take, over and over and over until you’re panting and squirming and desperate to cum. 
“Dave–” you whine when the pleasure recedes again.
“One more time,” Dave promises. “You’re doing so well, sweet thing, being such a good girl for me.”
It’s as if Dave has the ultimate control over your pleasure–knowing how to make it rise and fall at his pleasing, and he does, fucking up against a spot you’ve never reached yourself while his tongue swirls around your clit until everything starts to tighten again, when he stops. 
“Dave!” 
“I said one more, didn’t I?” Dave protests. “Trust me, I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard after working you up like this.”
He presses a gentle, feather-light kiss to the tip of your clit, his eyes dancing with amusement at your desperation. 
“Poor thing,” he goads, and his fingers start to rub insistently against you again. He sucks your clit into his mouth, gently flicking it with his tongue, and the spot inside you–you suddenly realize you feel like you’re about to–
“Dave–DaveDaveDave–shit, hang on, it–I’m gonna–”
He doesn’t withdraw in time, and something bursts inside you and splashes out around Dave’s fingers as you come apart again. You’ve never felt anything like this–it feels so fucking good but fuck, your face heats in embarrassment as you realize just how wet the sheets–and how wet Dave–is.
“Oh–oh no…” you mumble, but Dave is eagerly licking you clean with a deep groan, licking up into your cunt to chase the last droplets of the surprising deluge. 
“Dave, I–” you start to apologize, but Dave is on you again, kissing you passionately before you can utter another syllable. 
“My good fucking girl, so fucking sweet for me,” Dave murmurs against your lips. “Squirting all over me on her first time.”
“Please,” you beg him. “Please, I want more–”
Dave rolls off of you to rifle around in a drawer. He pulls out a condom and a small packet of something else, and you watch as he removes his underwear, heavy cock bobbing free between his legs, before rolling the condom on and opening the packet, drizzling the viscous fluid into his hand before coating his cock. He slides the same hand between your legs, coating you with the thick, slippery liquid. 
“It’ll be easier with lube,” Dave says by way of explanation. You expect him to crawl between your legs with you on your back, but instead he lies down beside you, urging you onto your side and pulling you flush against him so the two of you are spooning, instead.
“Just lay like this,” Dave murmurs into your ear, sending goosebumps to the surface of your skin. He grabs your top thigh and pulls your legs open, so that your top leg is splayed over Dave’s. His lips are still at your ear when you feel the thick tip of his cock sliding back and forth against your pussy, and your breath quickens even as your hips instinctively push back against him. 
“Shh, relax,” Dave soothes, and slowly starts to push in. 
“Oh–” you breathe, feeling him breaking you open for the first time. True to his word, it doesn’t hurt. It’s overwhelming, and somehow incredibly emotional, even though you’ve never really attributed any significance or meaning to your virginity, viewing it more as an inconvenience over the past couple of years. Still, the reality of Dave pressing inside of you feels profound in some way, and you think back to what he’d said earlier. 
“I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”
He might be right. At this moment, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever want anyone else. 
Dave pushes in inch by inch, taking it slow, paying attention to every little hitch in your breathing, until the two of you are completely joined. 
“Feel that?” Dave grits out, his voice sounding unusually strained. “Feel me?” 
You nod, breathless. 
“Tell me.”
“It feels–fuck, I feel so full.”
Dave’s hips flex experimentally, and you whimper pitifully. 
“Again,” you exhale. 
Dave obeys, giving you his cock with slow, deep thrusts, one arm banded around you, holding you flush against him and the other still gripping your inner thigh. You can feel every inch of him, heavy and thick inside of you. You never would have imagined that sex with Dave would be this sensual, this intimate. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear, his breaths getting heavier with effort and pleasure. His lips nip at your earlobe, then brush messily up and down the side of your neck. He finds a little spot just behind your ear that makes you shiver every time he passes it, and he sucks a mark into your skin there, making you moan pitifully. 
“That’s my girl,” Dave rasps against your skin. “My precious girl. I wanted this from the beginning, you know? That morning with the coffees, I pictured laying you down on that conference table and eating that pretty cunt until you begged me to stop.”
The dark timbre of his voice, the filthy words, and the drag of his cock along your walls all combine to make you a puddle in Dave’s arms. 
“Little did I know that I’d be the first to taste you,” Dave continues, his thrusts increasing in intensity as he speaks. “The first to make you come undone with my fingers, the first to feel how fucking tight and hot you are.”  
His hand slides up your inner thigh until his fingers strum at your clit. “I’m gonna make you cum around my cock and once I feel it squeezing me, I will never let you go, you understand? I’m going to make you mine, sweet girl. I’ll give you everything; ruin you for everyone else so you’ll never want anyone else. Say you’ll let me give you everything,” Dave commands, his voice deepening to a low growl.
“Y-Yes,” you breathe, stunned at the shift in tone. 
“Yes, what,” Dave leads.
“Yes, you can give me everything.”
“Good girl,” Dave coos. “I’ll treat you how you deserve. You won’t have to worry about anything; you’ll be my special girl. Won’t you?”
Dave’s possessive words are slightly unsettling, but the coil is tightening inside of you thanks to Dave’s deep thrusts and his fingers circling your clit, and you can’t find it in you to disagree as you start to reach the point of no return, the little moment of vertigo before the plunge. 
“Yes,” you gasp.
And you fall. 
– – – – – 
The first thing that comes to your awareness is something warm and damp between your legs. Your eyes blink open sluggishly and you turn your head to see Dave kneeling between your legs, wiping you gently clean with a washcloth. 
His cock is softening, resting inoffensively between his legs, no longer flushed and angry, and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully as you watch him. 
Dave notices you looking, and he smiles.
"Did I hurt you?"
You smile and shake your head. "No."
"Good." Dave discards the cloth and joins you on the bed, folding you into his chest. 
"Is it always like this?" you ask softly. 
"It is with me," Dave answers frankly.
"Did–did you mean… all of the stuff you said? I mean–at the end?"
"Of course," Dave says. "You are my special girl, aren't you?"
"I–" you swallow. "Yes?”
"I'll give you everything," Dave promises. "You won't be an intern anymore, I'll see to that. I want you as an analyst on my team, working for me directly."
"Won't–won't people object to that?" you ask, aghast. 
"They wouldn't dare," Dave rumbles. "They don't go against me. And they won't go against you, either. You'll be mine, and that means you're off-limits. Wouldn’t you like that?”
You nod slowly in agreement. Would it be so wrong to let this man help you along in your career? Especially a man who’s so very attentive to you, who says that he’ll give you everything, who says sex with him is always this incredible. Wouldn’t it be akin to madness to say no to this?
“Perfect,” Dave says. “You’ll start on Monday. You won’t go down to that basement cave any more, you’ll work in my office. With me.”
“Oh,” you say, hardly able to believe what’s happening. “I–wow, Dave that’s really sudden–”
“Mmm,” Dave hums, nuzzling into your neck. “All the best for my special girl, hmm?”
You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay,” you giggle. “Yeah”
Dave chuckles too, deep in his throat. 
You glance at the old-fashioned alarm clock sitting on Dave’s bedside table. It’s nearly ten. You start to second guess yourself–would you be intruding if you stayed the tnight? Do people usually stay over after the first time, or do they leave? Why didn’t sitcoms prepare you for this moment? 
“Should–should I go home?” you ask, unsure of whether Dave wants you to stay.
“You think I’d kick you out after this?” Dave teases, his fingertips digging into your ribs to make you squeal ticklishly. “Silly girl. You’re staying right here.”
You nod. “Good,” you mumble. “‘Cause I’m feeling a little tired.”
“Go to sleep,” Dave says softly, kissing that little spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. 
Your eyelids are impossibly heavy, and you think you must fall asleep in a matter of minutes.
Just before you do, you think you hear Dave say one more thing. 
“My special girl, you are home.”
It was probably just your imagination.
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Things I would have wanted from a teen wolf movie:
(partially keeping in mind canon and what characters are not currently returning)
I could seriously sit through hours of just Scott McCall going around and doing good deeds during his college years. 
Maybe guiding young supernaturals.
He's having a good time in vet school. Probably has a rad internship where he is the most loved intern by people and animals. 
if Stiles cant be there then nothing drastic happens so it makes sense that Scott wouldn't have to call in him, 
but maybe Stiles sends him a conspiracy board in an email to be helpful. It's probably too convoluted to be legible to anyone but him. 
Scott and Malia finally get to enjoy a long term relationship uncomplicated by supernatural means.
Mason and Corey also get to have this 
If we could have Kira back I would personally love for her and Scott to get back together 
(and honestly, if they’re going to put Scott and Kira together, then Scott and Malia, and put in the scenes of Kira and Malia together they might as well all date. That might be optimistic of me.)
Speaking of Kira, would love to see her come into her power as a kitsune
would love to have her back at all actually 
Malia doesn't have to go to collage because she's skilled as fuck in other aspects and her intelligence isn't based on how well she does in school.
I feel like she would enjoy being a park ranger or something.
We actually get to see Henry Tate be the good dad who loves his daughter that we were shown he was
If Malia wants a relationship with Peter he should just get his shit together and do that for her
Lydia just gets to do what the fuck ever, completely unincumbered by gross ass men and adults telling her she doesn't know what she's talking about. 
an actual apology from Jackson would be nice if he has to be there 
Buddy duo Liam and Mason show up and they have some fun shenanigans. 
If Corey can’t be there maybe he's busy with an exchange program or an internship
They. are. all. going. to. the. same. college.
Or close by 
They just get to be regular ass teenagers because the McCall pack worked their asses off to give themselves a normal college life and to let those guys have some regular teenage years 
Scott gets to reassure Liam that he's doing a good job in Beacon Hills with help from Mason, Corey, Theo, and Alec (and eventually probably Nolan) 
"We're brothers now" and they meant that
Nolan gets therapy 
Theo gets therapy 
(They all need it)
Theo is fully a member of the pack
he has a house or an apartment
if he’s not there he’s just riding around in his stupid compensation truck 
They bring back Isaac from London and he’s doing great
Melissa and Chris should adopt that boy even if he's an adult. 
Just let him have one parental figure who is good and stays 
We finally get to see Hayden Romero do cool werewolf stunts 
they let her be more than HaydenLiam’sExGirlfriend
maybe they give her a girlfriend
Melissa/Chris and Braeden/Derek  just get to be happy 
We get Cora Hale back because both her and Derek deserve to have a normal family member who is alive and loves them after everything 
Her and Malia would also be a phenomenal cousin duo  
her and isaac get to talk about Boyd becuase they both cared about and lost him. Issac gets to talk about Erica
Maybe someone finally puts Kate Argent in jail
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tabithian · 2 years
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Itty Bitty!Tim following Batman and Robin and stumbling over a pregnant stray cat one night and he's like, well I can't just leave her here.
Selina's out of town or otherwise nowhere to be found, so Itty Bitty!Tim takes this little bedraggled stray to a vet clinic/animal shelter to get looked at?
She's healthy enough but said clinic/shelter does't have the room/funding to look after her or the kittens she'll have so of course - of course - Tim just takes her home because what else can he do?
(Besides, it's not like his parents will be around to notice. And even if they did come home early or canceled a trip there are plenty of rooms to choose from he can set up for the stray where they'd never run across her or her kittens, so, you know. Win conditions all around?)
So Tim fosters this mama cat and her kittens until they're old enough to adopt out - he goes through the clinic/shelter he first took her to or his friends at school and so on who he's been lamenting all his kitty-woes this whole time.
And then when the kittens are all adopted out Tim is like :( because no more kittens getting into little kitten shenanigans all over the place?
(Also lol him for thinking he could keep them and mama kitty contained in the room he set up for them, even with all the cool stuff he got/made for them to keep them entertained?)
But he still has mama cat because she's a sweetheart and he's a soft touch and home would have been too quiet and lonely and sad without at least one little furry menace running around, right?
Anyway, Tim goes back to following Batman and Robin around and it's great for a while? But then one rainy night he finds this box of abandoned kittens somewhere and it's straight back to the clinic/shelter and the people there are you again?
(Tim all soaking wet and looking not unlike the kittens he's toting around in a soggy cardboard box, and the staff is like this kid, because who the hell is he and why is he running around Gotham at night and so on, but Tim gives them a different fake name every time he's there, right. Running joke between him and the staff and anyway.)
Tim takes the kittens home because same song and dance about lack of funding to look after them properly and anyway, he still has the kitten room at home and some food and all the necessary stuff?
And then it just.
Becomes this thing he does, fostering kittens and other cats and strays he comes across on his adventures following Batman and Robin?
Eventually Selina catches him at it, this Itty Bitty kid with a pet carrier of strays on the way to the clinic/shelter to get them looked at and she's like hmm because isn't that interesting? When Tim tells her he's been doing this for a while, finding strays and fostering them.
And of course there's this whole thing where she tries to foster Tim, but he's like, he'd love to? But he's got a lot going on with his current batch of furry menaces at home and school and everything else, but thanks anyway?
Selina is like ??? because what is this kid, okay, but it's not like she can strong-arm Tim into being her sidekick or whatever, so.
*hands*
At some point the clinic/shelter Tim's been going to with his strays gets ~anonymous funding - who knows where it comes from, is the thing, you know?
And Tim comes across this stray too sick to just take home straight away, and the clinic/shelter is short-handed even with the boost in funding, so Tim sticks around and helps out where he can?
Which then turns into a proper volunteer position for him helping look after the strays and whatnot there and taking some home to foster until they can be adopted out and then!
Tim just kind of falls into becoming a veterinarian as time goes by, because of course he does.
Just like.
Tim going through the process/educational track of becoming a veterinarian and working at that same clinic/shelter he's been working with since he was Itty Bitty!Tim.
He takes the night shift because old habits and whatnot, or maybe it's a part-time gig between being a veterinarian and DI or something, idk.
But naturally he's at the clinic/shelter one night and goes to check some ~suspicious noise at the back door and there's some an injured Bat or Bird and Tim is like *SIGH* because Leslie's clinic is on the other side of the city, right?
Clearly this Bat or Bird is in no condition to get there on their own and Tim's not a human doctor by any means, but he can patch a vigilante up just as well as a random stray who'd show up, so yes.
And then it just becomes this...thing?
The Bats and Birds know Tim might grump at them for being stupid enough to get all banged up, but he'll fix 'em up and send them on their way again. (Or find them a spot to rest up until they can go on their way again if they're hurt badly enough.)
And of course, of course, Jason's the worst of the bunch, right?
The most annoying of them and Tim totally doesn't enjoy bickering and bantering with him, and especially isn't charmed at coming in to check on him one night to find the ~notorious Red Hood covered in this latest batch of kittens that are almost ready to go home with Tim to foster them, right?
These adorable little fluffballs screaming their little kitten heads off as they clamber all over Jason who is being so, so careful with them because tiny, adorable kittens and Tim may or may not take a million pictures of them on his phone, because cute as hell, okay.
And of course this little scene doesn't result in a ~flirtation starting up between Tim and Jason - God, could you imagine??? - of course not.
(Except for how it totally does, because reasons.)
Afterward Jason bringing all these strays he just ~happens across to the clinic/shelter Tim works out like a bouquet of flowers or whatever and the staff - who totally figure out Tim and the Red Hood are like, Pining ridiculously at each other - giving Tim so much grief over it, because it's stupid cute, okay.
Anyway, yes.
Tim fostering cats and kittens and becoming the veterinarian who sometimes patches up a vigilante here and there when they can't get to Leslie or the Batcave or whatever.
Also Jason ~wooing Tim with adorable kittens and so on, and idk what's happening anymore, just that it's late and I'm tired and this whole mess is very, very funny to me?
Also, also, when Tim's older he totally helps fund the clinic/shelter with monies from DI or wherever, and looks into funding other clinics/shelters in Gotham. Starts a charity/fundraiser just for that purpose and so on and other good things.
And just, like. Shenanigans???
(All the terrible ~flirting between him and Jason that the Batfam get a kick out of almost as the staff at the clinic/shelter and Tim is like forever /o\ because how is this his life now?)
Because yes.
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10ish Things I'll forever be disappointed we didn't get to see on Sons of Anarchy part 2
It starts off heavy but will turn sappy and downright fun by the end. I promise.
Part 1
6. Juice’s back-story.
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What made him? How did the kid from Queens end up in Charming? Who was that girlfriend he kept coming back to? So many questions.
7. Opie finding happiness
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Not following Jax {You know who should've followed Jax that day - Clay. Dammit Pope, if only he reached out to Jax before, I'm sure they could've arranged a lil somethin' somethin' };
Divorcing Lyla;
Getting his Road Captain flash (Let's face it, he was never a VP material), which would suit his nature perfectly AND would give him an excuse to give Bobby shit about his Fat Boy being not road-worthy;
Meeting a nice FUN girl, someone like Cherry or Erin Thomas ( I know, I know) or hell even grown-up Tristan Oswald. Point is a girl, who'd take him and the kids roller-blading and trick or treating and would make the boy freaking laugh.
8. {Which leads us to} The couple that should've happened: Lyla and Chibs
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The set up for them in the second half of season 5 was perfect and after 6.2 I felt robbed - ROBBED - of that story line… *sigh* You cannot tell me these two weren't perfect for each other. Although, if they were to explore a poly relationship with Happy, then who's to stop them?
Sidenote: I also wouldn’t be opposed to seeing some Bobby/Ima dynamic :)
9. Riding just for the fun of it;
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The boys riding to the desert, spending the night under open sky, smoking, drinking and talking. Gangland Undercover had that, why couldn’t SOA men get that…
10. Fights in the ring (after season 1)
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Fight me on this one if you must, but if they utilized that ring to resolve tension more often, they could’ve had their happy ending.
11. Happy's love interest
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I mean, come on:
Tiggy got his OTP, which apparently in this case stands for One True Penis
Chibs had steamy scenes ( even if… ya know… he took the whole fuck the police way to literally)
Even RATBOY somehow ended up with a hot girlfriend. And that’s just season seven, if we dived into more historic shit then we would have to count Piney and the meds dealer and let's not forget Bobby (LeAnn, Precious, Daytona and endless puss shenanigans).
HTF did Happy end up as the group's choir boy?!
12. What became of Tristan Oswald
13. Domestic Life 1% Edition;
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Just imagine:
Tiggy doing midnight ice-cream run for whomever, Juice trying on new jeans at the mall and sending Tig a pic asking for his opinion, Chibs getting a haircut, Happy helping his mom and aunt clean, Chibs worried sick because his semi-feral cat got sick and was an absolute GEMMA at the vet’s office and tried to claw the vet tech’s eyes out, Bobby teaching his oldest to drive, Happy picking Ellie from school when she was having hard time because of bullies, Venus teaching her how to handle those idiots and be a fierce queen, all the boys helping Lyla and the kids move, Tig ordering toys online, family BBQs, Tig being affectionate with Venus during SOA parties...
BONUS:
Because I'm a thirsty broad and I want it all:
Bobby’s and Opie’s kids wrecking havoc together for Halloween
Auntie Venus dropping Abel off at school
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And THAT conversation between Tig and Chibs: “So, Venus is your Old Lady now, huh?” “That from the man who’s taken the phrase ‘fuck the police’ one peep show too far?” “How do you know about that?” “Bro! Quinn’s so traumatized by that, he still cries about it” And Happy chiming in "So, are you guys gonna put your crows on them or what?"
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ETA: Seriously, people. Feel free to comment on any of it
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soranihimawari · 2 years
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Phenomenon like You
Once, when Miya Atsumu attended a press conference during his rookie season with the MSBY, it is rumored he tripped on stage because he saw his first love—and no, it wasn’t a volleyball…
Word count: 6.3+K
Pairing: MSBY!Miya. A x reader
Warning: adult relationships, non-in depth descriptive sex and days leading pre and post, malamutes are adorably affectionate// 🔞MDNI -> for reasons above
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Heavy breathing followed by a pair of heavier footsteps can be heard outside of a closed gym. On the rotation sheet for conditioning training, the MSBY Black Jackals had scheduled a self-monitored practice. Granted, those with families waiting for their favorite player to come home do wind up free of cleaning duties postcool down calisthenics. So why and how did an adorable almost full-grown malamute pup navigate its way to the gym, one can’t figure out.
The barking is what threw off a majority of the team still on the floor picking up a few stray balls. Considering at least three out of the four second year starters had seen Bokuto’s favorite ‘away-game’ film, looking at you Air Bud, one could jump to the conclusion this was exactly the case.
Fifteen minutes go by and though the pup starts sniffing around the players the pup chooses to follow a blonde like a second shadow. A few of the others who had their phones on hand decide to record the shenanigans the dog and human create. In no particular order, the series of events are listed:
Pup nips at Miya’s heels during a recent receive drill.
Pup sniffs the open palm of one Hinata Shoyo who just melts.
Sakusa, contrary to popular belief, is the most calm because he thought of his cousin doing vet work for volunteering hours in high school.
Bokuto sprints with said special guest when aforementioned guest gets a burst of energy.
Another ten minutes pass until a tertiary set of rushed steps are heard. The janitor for the change of shift (mid to night) is heard talking to someone—said person is the owner and master of the adorable dog. You’re busy apologizing again when you noticed you are slowing down in front of a particular gym door. In one hand, you hold your phone and wallet attachment; in the other, the snapped tether of a frayed leash.
“Are you sure I won’t interrupt anything sir?”
Shaking his head, the janitor replies with a joke saying those boys might be up to trouble, but nothing their teammates (“or me”) can’t handle. You hear the ruckus and instinctively charge through the door to find a rather dashing collective of athletes entertaining your adorable unit of a companion.
Sticking your fore and middle fingers placed in a ‘finger gun’ position in your mouth, you inhale with a deep breath in one second and the next you give one of the loudest wolf whistles you can produce. Did you want to call attention to yourself? No, not really. Did having a v-league team comprised of the city’s most eligible bachelors whet your appetite? One -hundred percent of people would concur. Your dog whines when he sees his master with an annoyed, yet forgiving look. It’s similar to the second time your pup discovered where you hid the new treats for his age.
A couple seconds go by as the team sort of analyzed the newcomer to their practice. Clearly no one thought any of the support staff would be in due to a mini-team building retreat that was scheduled to have ended days early, yet when an attractive stranger with a killer whistle had practice come to a screeching halt, the guys were bound to notice.
Your running/trainer shoes squeaked a bit while approaching the center of the court. A majority of the balls were already put in their respective wheel carts and the nets there still were strung up. The player closest to you introduces themselves and as introductions were made, you gracefully bow and apologize for not coming sooner. You still hold the broken leash and you also explain the butcher’s shop you frequent on your routine shopping days is in the next street over, so your dog, energetic as six five year olds, suddenly jerked forward with enough force to snap the leash thus leading to where you are now.
The boys laugh a bit while your dog receives praises and headpats from the youngest members of the team (roster wise, not age).
“Thanks for finding him,” you smile. You beckon your pup to come toward you and though one final half bark, half whine is given, you have a thoughtful expression before kneeling down. You talk to your dog line a grown adult scolding a child, but it seems like you change your inflections in your voice to fit what you’re about to suggest:
“I know you had fun bub, but these guys are professionals,” you scratch the sweet spot behind your dog’s ear. “Maybe if we see them at the beach house auntie has next weekend I’m sure they’d love to play with ya ‘gain.”
The guys seemed to create a semi-circle behind you all giving varying degrees of nods and vocal iterations of, “hell yeah we would!” Your dog seemed to have more pep in their step while you had a moment to be distracted by a more bold member of the team. You hear your dog walk side by side after the captain allowed your dog to do a few final laps with the new friends he had acquired. Their number 13, on the other hand, had been meticulously checking you out. It’s not in a creepy way either, until he was called out privately by a snide remark made by another teammate.
Standing next to each other, you too almost get caught noticing the blonde’s redeeming qualities: like the way his workout uniform shirt with his number and burgundy shorts seem to accentuate the body he worked on during weight training days; the compression additions to his attire highlighted the muscle definitions under the false light in the gym; then the way he glistened underneath them making him seem a bit more intimidating.
“Ya like what ya see?”
You���re caught. In a slight moment of fight or flight, you let out an short laugh perhaps hinting at an “it depends who’s asking” response. Noticing the sport the gym was primarily used for, you recall certain key positons from days when you learned how to play, but the my don’t need to know that just yet, right? Right.
“You’re the setter, right?” You point at the net that was being folded.
“You play?” he chuckles at the way your eyes dance around the room.
“Nah, but acquaintances and friends of mine still do. Told me about numbers and some important ones designated positions depending on the team and traditions for wearing said number, Miya. Oops. Did I pronounce that right?”
Miya Atsumu blinks back at you a bit before nodding eagerly to move the conversation naturally along. To be fair, after you called your pup over a second time, you offer to exchange contact info with the blonde bombshell after handing your phone over to him. Funnily enough, you watch him take three selfies before settling on the second one to make his contact photo as. Upon hitting save, you turn to leave and say your final goodbyes over your shoulders.
Outside, your dog gives you a judgmental stare. It’s as though he was communicating a sassy, “Mmhm. Thought you’d like him best.”
“You definitely are the best wingman out here,” you say after leaving the front doors of the MSBY facilities.
A few weeks and couple promising texts later, you’re flying solo on this date with a cavalier individual. Your sister gracefully decided to clear her schedule to pick up her four-legged nephew to spend some time at the dog park on your side of the city. Across from you where you’re seated, your date bounces his leg anxiously hoping no one disturbs the date. Then again, it’s the talk of the town in the posh restaurant scene Miya Atsumu, second year starting setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, has been spotted with a mysterious date. Twitter and other social media outlets were either freaking out or a buzz with excitement when a vague post of his ought for the day went viral. Currently, as he wraps up his story about the last away game they just came home from, you tilt your head to one side before leaving back in your chair. You’ve got a playful smile on your face because you’re currently fighting a broadening blush which would have highlighted the sun freckles from your outdoor job.
“Quite an interesting story there Tsum-tsum,” you were on a first name basis with the young man.
Who knew meeting a professional athlete whose team absolutely adored your dog (though through a singular incident of an older leash snapping), would lead to having dinner with such a popular guy? Only movies and maybe plays grounded in reality would have this development, yeah? Yeah.
“Tsum-tsum?” He points at himself before leaning in to rest his chin on his arm situated on the table top.
You nod, your canines show through under your top lip seemingly pensive in the way it nibbles on your bottom lip.
“You don’t like it?” you sound like you’re five when you do.
He raises a hand telling you how endearing it was.
“As long as I can get to call you ‘baby’ someday soon. What do you think?”
The ice in the cocktail glasses clink when he does this and you have a hard time not losing yourself in the pools of amber honey. The new toner he used shimmers in his hair and you take into account how well his shirt stresses the buttons across his hardened chest. If he was a flirt like all the tabloids had said, he is doing exceptionally well for someone who was perpetually single. Is it any wonder at all when your sister pieces together the puzzle on your ambiguous date to the latest embarrassing story of how your dog practically became your wing-person? No, of course not.
You might be older than she is by a few years, but the fact of the matter is when a high caliber player from any v-league team asks you if you’re free on a Saturday night, you might as well say yes because it’s been a while since you’ve secured a date. The withdrawals are real when your sister and you have a heart to heart conversation about your tumultuous sex life or lack there of in the love life department regardless of ending things with a ‘shitty excuse for a salary man’. Your ex was a lawyer for a pretty popular firm handling business permits and the like, yet since the relationship was stagnant with no signs of marriage or homebuilding. Though everyone in your family thought he was the last person who you would marry, you manage to single handedly sabotage your mother’s holiday dinner by announcing your breakup. Surely the pompous lawyer ditched you admitting his infidelity (and you confirming it by saying his lover’s name in your speech about honesty), saying the other party he was headed to seemed more prestigious compared to your inner-city middle-class home. Your sister toasted to his leaving the second the rideshare app buzzed on his phone. However now that you’re enjoying the company of one Miya, you find yourself genuinely happier than you could recall. Even if it’s been over a year and a half, you didn’t expect yourself to be so fond of the man so quickly. Dinner was already on its way to the table when said man asked you that silly question.
“You may, if you want to,” you answer.
Once the plates arrive you raise your glass to toast to new beginnings with him and he winks at you mentioning you’d be the only one allowed to call him the nickname.
Dessert is shared between you both as he declares from tonight onward whenever he is with you, it is an automatic cheat day. You concur his statement as the latte paired with the creme brulee touches your lips. The mug remains warm, very much like how you feel when he whispers a charming, ‘sexier than a mug.’
“Are you jealous of a mug, Tsum?” you inquire with an eyebrow raised. You take a secondary sip while he polishes off the creme brulee; you already had your share of the dessert.
“Are you jealous of this spoon too, huh?” he licks the spoon as though it was a toothpick and you almost choke on your second to last sip of latte. “Don’t worry sweetness, I plan on letting you know what else my mouth can do.”
“Atsumu!” You gasp, laughing saying the probabilities of that happening was a little higher than he thinks.
As you exit the restaurant via the back door courtesy of the owner, you fall in line with your date. You allow him to ask questions about your past including your ‘son.’
“So, a malamute?” His hands are in his pockets, kicking a small pebble out of your way.
“Yeah, hah,” you place your arms behind your back to stretch a little bit. You bring your arms back to your side in a relaxed position, almost inviting your date to lace his fingers lazily through your own. You don’t stop him when he does as you both come to a pause at the pedestrian crosswalk; explaining how your pup eventually became adopted by you. You also explain the brief side story of having your heart on the mend because you needed someone who would be loyal—
“I’d be loyal and so much more,” he says, puffing his chest.
A laugh escapes from your lips and you glance up at his profile. He tells you despite what you think his intentions are by asking you out on this date, he wants you to be happy even if this doesn’t work. The light changes and as you both walk in tandem with each other, you wait until you cross the street to inform your charming companion his blush deepening the longer you walk. Eventually, you reach the valet lot designated for the restaurant as well as other businesses along the strip mall you went to. Atsumu still lingers by you, slowly loosening his grip on your hand to suavely move a bit higher, like the small of your back. You’re thankful for the jersey dress and kitten heels combo you chose to wear because out of all the ‘date’ outfits you own, you clearly hypnotized your date way before this part of the night.
“Yer ex was an idiot,” his observation makes you give your thanks for the same thought.
When the diver comes back with said vehicle, your date tips him for his trouble, then goes through the motions of opening the passenger doors for you.
The car ride back to your single story house in the middle of the south-eastern point from the surrounding neighborhood. The radio is taken over by your choice of loFi tunes. Your date reminds you that even though he is the driver, he defaults to the passenger’s taste for background music. Somehow you’re a firm believer in having music sharpen the driver;s abilities, yet here you sit at another red light while he’s painting a picture for one of those younger-years memories with him and his twin brother wreaking havoc on the gym prior to practice starting in Inarazki High School. As your neighborhood comes into view, you choose to roast him slightly saying how you’d secretly hope your dog was having a fun time at your sister’s. Once the car is parked in your driveway, your seatbelt is still unbuckled while turning to your date to wrap up this part of the date.
“Hey, ‘Tsum?”
“Yeah?”
You twist your body three-quarters of the way to face him, extending your right hand to touch his cheek. You mumble a ‘cute’ when you firmly turn his face to view you. His breathing suddenly slows and the atmosphere is charged with something else other than the radio signals. Be brave, your mind says before you make the simple decision to thank him for the outing with a chaste kiss. Though brief, you had seemed to caught the setter off guard and he nearly squeaked when you a break the kiss. You don’t apologize for doing so, no. Your smile and nod when you uttered a, “thank you for everything,” caused his heart to beat in the doki-doki rhythm. Your teeth flashes his own bewildered, yet satisfied stare in a large smile, as you make ready to take your leave. You remind him to call you when he arrives back to his own residence. Essentially, as he waits for you to walk inside your own home, you mentally count until you reach the number thirty-nine. Within those seconds, three things happen: one, you tell your sister to watch your pup for a while longer mentioning that you’ll pick him up tomorrow; two, both siblings (yours and Atsumu’s) tease both of you for teetering and teasing each other all night with those stolen glances and flirtatious footwork underneath the restaurant tables; and finally when you answer your door still somewhat dressed (your heels are put away as you currently wear knee-high stockings with bunny slippers) a familiar pair of lips crashes into your own.
A different type of hunger looms over you as you begin to walk backwards quietly ushering your guest to lock the door behind him. Murmuring your name against your lips in a ghostlike fashion, Atsumu realizes just how bad he might have fallen. Well, to be frank, since he did meet you, he proudly boasted to the rest of the team he called dibs on the pretty young thing whose dog was more friendlier to people like himself and for some odd reason, Sakusa. (“Probably because I use this product where the icon looks like a chibi version of him,” you send him a text of TEAM PUP & SUDS DOG WASH at the grocer’s store. Atsumu busts out laughing during practice right at the tail end of a water break).
You’re currently surrendering to the knee buckling way his hands are firmly holding you close to his chest. He might as well go fully into dipping you considering you both carry on until you reach the short step separating the genkan from the rest of the entranceway of your abode.
“Down boy,” your flustered breath tickles his ears and it is insane how your clothes still remain intact especially with how he groans, tilting his head back only to have yours cradle the soft blonde tufts at the end of his undercut.
“Devils be damned,” he nips at the corner of your mouth the moment he lets you come up for air shortly thereafter. His calloused hands wander up and down your rib cage, massaging small circles seeing if you’re more ticklish on one side than the other. Your laughter is something Miya Atsumu could memorize and it’s just as deadly as a siren’s song.
“Focus Tsum,” you egg him on, pouting with your eyes. He nods pecking various points of your face and neck, whatever exposed skin your clothes let him see, he kisses with a quiet resolve.
“Baby, I am, believe me,” he lets you round your initial corner toward your living room, but you have a very different end goal in mind. Your guest bedroom is the first room proper—this was a date, it just turned into a sleepover. And neither of you could fault the other for wanting more. Surely, neither of you regret being undressed quicker in the silence than the service at the posh restaurant from earlier. You’re sure you’d save a country in the past because when the moment your date’s shirt hits the floor next to the bed, he watches as your pupils dilate even further.
“Holy fuck,” you grumble.
“I should be sayin’ that about you babydoll,” Atsumu’s voice is dipped in a need to please and you beckon him to come closer. Your dress has since been thrown over your head, though he hovers above you, you notice he pays attention to the small scars from childhood surgeries. His hands trail over the ones on the back of your legs and he frowns slightly when you whisper a short whimper: “sensitive. Tread lightly.”
“Tell me,” he honors your request, ghosting over the tissue with lithe fingers. You ask him if he can help you sit up for a moment to give him more insight on how the scar came to be and you apologize for sort of dampening the mood.
“Ya got nothin’ to apologize fer,” he kisses your cheek.
“Mm…”
Atsumu sits across from you, holds your hands in his and brings them to his lips; his breath is warm when you notice the way he stares at your own eyes before you feel his lips once more press a final kiss to your knuckles giving you the courage to tell the story of how you narrowly escaped the clutches of sacrificing everything for the sport you love.
“It all happened when I was at speed skating practice the winter of the junior Olympics six years ago,” you begin.
Toward the end of the tale, you’re brought into a comforting embrace. Such a soft guy, you think. For Atsumu, being an athlete with rumors surrounding his participation in the trials four the Olympic team, he felt a sort of kinship with you. Your gift of speed was essentially sullied, but now that you were one-hundred percent back, you mention you’ve been sought out for professional qualifying teams for the upcoming seasons, yet you realize you’ve been more mindful of having your dog accompany you to away meets and the like. (Thankfully, your coaches adore the bejeesus out of your dog, so he’s allowed to travel too in the busier time of the season—yay!)
Atsumu takes a deep breath and upon his exhale, you suggest a different sort of bedtime act.
“I don’t wish to be coddled, but is it ok if,” you shift out of his hold to lie back down on the bed you currently share. “You hold me for a bit? You can leave if you want to, I won’t stop you if you have morning practice or something if you want to leave right now…”
He pouts at you. Great,
“Why would I do that, huh? My babe needs me, so I ain’t goin’ nowhere, angel.”
His hands make a sign to scoot over and though he is careful when he curls into you, you’re hearing him praise yo and congratulate you for a job well done…
“But I didn’t do anything,” your tone gives off an annoyed child.
Atsumu kisses your shoulder before his hands squeeze your love handles and you turn around with his help. Then he flicks your forehead second, teasing you so.
“Because it ain’t easy to admit yer shortcomings,” he whispers against the reddened skin at the apex of your brow. “Oh and don’t worry about killin’ the mood or whatever. I could always have ya get breakfast.”
“Tsum!”
You hit his chest with a soft fist only to fall into a case of the giggles with the man keeping your guest bed warm with you.
Essentially, you both keep talking until the clock towers by you chime with the latest hour, drawing a yawn from you. Your partner runs your shoulders affectionately whispering a sweet dreams on your shoulder’s skin, burrowing himself underneath the blanket you semi-cocooned yourself in a few minutes prior.
The mid-morning sun greets you and apparently your setter from last night becomes very possessive in how much wiggle room he gives you. He groans when you elbow him trying to sit up, but he also mutters a “quit squirmin’ or else” under his breath.
“Fine,” you chew your inner cheek a bit, trying so hard not to quake with laughter. His morning voice is coyly asking you to lay back down beside him and you over with a dreamy sigh.
Couple hours later, post mid-morning nap, you come to find yourself awake alone in bed: the spot where Atsumu had lain in was still a bit warm, the pillows and sheet smelled like his cologne. You easily sit up, covering your upper body with a blanket again before picking up on the voices coming from your kitchen. You hear the familiar padding of paws as well as the sizzling bacon. Your sister is in the kitchen probably after texting you she was on the way to drop off your pup before heading into diner for her mid-shift. Stumbling out of bed and performing your “just woke up” stretches, you dress yourself in some of the spare pajamas you stowed away in the guest bedroom dressers.
“You like my sister a lot, huh?” your sister was grilling the guy cooking breakfast at the moment. She meant it as a teasing joke, but when she herself notices how easy it is to fluster a successful smitten athlete, well who could blame him for stating the obvious. From where you stand, you notice Atsumu wears his shirt from last night, unbottoned though, with rolled sleeves. His pants though were still in the room atop the dresser, so even if nothing risque had occurred, he had to defend himself against your sister who sometimes forget she’s the younger of the two. She is feisty in terms of giving your new potential beaus the n’th degree because younger siblings, in your opinion, are kind of like aggressively cute malamute puppies. Lords and gods above know how easy your sister can figure out which guys are totally wrong for you via the vibes alone.
“I do like ‘er a lot. Even him too,” he pats the dog's head saying what a good boy he is. “Without this guy I don’t think our paths would ever cross.”
Your dog barks happily to be of service. Same fluffy pet also noticed how lonely you must have been after your ex stopped by to collect the last few boxes of his things. For a few months to almost a year, you and your pup spent a majority of time together working to move past the broken trust and though you went out with friends to places where people meet (and or date), you couldn’t find anyone who matched your interest. Except for now, because when you think about it, all night long your date in the kitchen never pressured you once into doing what you did—he was shy, charming, suggestively naughty, and all around kind. Kind like a young king learning to love a commoner despite what the public will say; kind like an athlete who wouldn’t mind being humbled during an interview when you’re pulled into the frame of the latest broadcast post-game; kind like he wants to always be there even if he’s a million miles away from home as long as he sees/talks to you at night. All these come in time, but for right now, your sister sits by the kitchen counter on the barstool observing the way his body language has her cackling on the inside since from where she stands, Miya Atsumu looks like he’s in love already. Your dog nudges his calloused hands to massage behind the ears and the blonde obliges. The kibble bowl is already half empty, but that is to be expected since it’s a bit later than originally planned (in terms of waking up).
“You’re lucky she likes ya too Mr Handsome-Setter,” she casually said.
Atsumu nods, biting into a strip of bacon from the pile on the plate. Your sister aids him in portioning out the side dishes and as you look in at the scene in front of you, you think you could get used to lazy Sunday mornings.
“I think I like him too,” You admit your feelings easily that morning. You greet them both and after a tense teasing between the three of you, you kneel down to hug your dog. Few licks over your cheek makes you laugh, mumbling a “missed ya too bud” into his fur.
Your sister, once she had eaten per share of the breakfast that was prepared, leaves to start her commute to the diner mentioning a lewd joke over her shoulder before you politely slam the door on her face.
Meanwhile Atsumu is busy trying not to give you anymore reason to be embarrassed, but here he was trying to eat the rice in the bowl without acting on what your sister insinuated with her joke. Your dog yawns as he finds his plump cushion of a bed by the window near the backyard.
“Thanks for the breakfast,” you said returning to the bacon plate and ‘southeastern Asian style fried eggs’ in front of you.
“Anytime,” he winks at you. The coffee in the percolator is almost done and as your thoughts lead into last night's conversations and this morning’s third wheel by proxy, you decide to give Atsumu a taste of what else you had in mind. You ask him if he wants any of the beverages and he does, so you serve him his cup with the cream on the table and sugar cubes from the pantry. You watch as he meticulously finds the right ratio for this morning’s cup, but you instead prefer it black with the lightest hint of salt to cut the acidity.
Regardless, as you sit across from him, a whole conversation happens silently. As the coffee and food essentially dwindle down to the last bits and with your pup enjoying a nap, you find yourself being raised on to the kitchen counter by a pair of stronger arms. Though you make a silent sign for him to be a bit quieter in his act, he defies what you asked the moment those amber eyes harden into a mischievous glare. He growls into your exposed skin a negative response along the lines of, “I believe yer the one who might need ya’ watch how loud ya get…”
It’s how he worms his way between your legs and how he catches you from falling backwards all the way with his lips breaking his fall as you pull him above you. Kissing him is like learning to breathe underwater. If you were a swimmer, you’d drown for him and his love. Your hands roam his body, learning every dip and curve and you feel him smiling into the next kiss that leaves you gasping. He holds you firmly with one arm curled behind until you the other cages you between the counter and him. You’re pressing against him with enough vigor as of now you’re essentially pushing the fabric off his shoulders again. Wondering hands of his move against the granite as you take over the dominant control of this morning kiss: you tilt your head slightly more, humming when you feel his fingertips trail higher until he pulls away noticing something isn’t there on your back.
“For me?”
You pressed your forehead against his, nodding. Though he says nothing, his arms slide smoothly away from your back and right before your lips meet again, you feel him hook his forearms under your legs as he drags you forward to meet his hips. Your bottoms make you slide to this new position with ease and you huff out a breathy whine.
“My room…now.”
The faux blonde doesn’t need to be told twice as he hoists you into his arms; your legs wrap around him and one of the best feelings in the world right now is hearing how his laughter rumbles through his chest. Your door is not that far from the kitchen, so when Atsumu comes into contact with your bed, he bends with the intent of having you straddle him. He groans when your fingers trace mindless patterns and you know you have him where you want him when you gently buck your hips against his in an effort to get him to lie down. He obeys only after he helps you out of the shirt you wear.
“Let me see you,” four words he breathlessly says between kiss bruised lips. His arms holds your wrists aside before aiding you to hover above him; your hands twirl the blonde locks on either side of his face.
“Tsum,” your finger curls to caress his cheek.
“Hmm?” A softness in the way he sees the sunshine through your blinds makes him wonder if all mornings can be like this.
“You’re welcome to stay,” you sheepishly admit.
“Hon, I’d stay even if ya kick me out,” he chuckles, hugging you with enough force to have you lay comfortably atop of him. Chest to chest, and as he plays with your hair strewn lazily along your back, he kisses your forehead.
Eventually, as this series of soft touches progresses, you fidget underneath your covers now. A rough hand sneaks its way between you’re love bitten thighs. It’s only two in the afternoon and you’ve already cursed the man currently building you up again. How did you get here? Like it wasn’t too long ago you had breakfast with a handsome devil, making out with said athlete and now this? Atsumu called you out for being a bit turned on, but you teased him right back saying he started it by making breakfast. You reminded him about the “or else” anecdote too, so when he flips you on your back, he begins his onslaught to making you feel good, great, even. Lips of his trace a linear road from your head, down your neck and collar bones, toward the middle and underside of your chest, ribs, hips then with a final, “may I?”—
“Ah~! Hurry up,” you bite the back of your palm while the other is gripping the pillow supporting your head.
“And miss seeing your face?”
Another breathy moan has you trying to focus on something other than how skilled he actually is. You actual let curses fall from your mouth, only to be silenced when the theoretical chord snaps. Your high is rewarded with a breathy “god damn gorgeous.”
You’re panting like a rabid dog right before you blink away the tears making your vision blurry enough to see him bob his head between your legs to begin cleaning you prematurely with his tongue. Sensitive though you were, you eventually remove your hand from the pillow as you gently push your partner’s head down further. This afternoon, as you come around his tongue for a third time, you realize you might be in love with a demon. However, all bets are off when you tell him a few moments later where your latest stash of contraceptives are kept and if he is eager enough, you give your consent to ruin the mattress and sheets you lie in. Trying to out do the other would make sense, but when he eventually raises you by your arms, you let him set the pace when he guides your body up and down. The initial stretch and burn has your eyes roll to the back of your skull. He’s too busy listening to you adjust and create broken sobs of his name.
“I know, baby, I know,” he hums into your hairline.
“Tak-take it easy,” you hold his shoulders as he angles you a bit and with the next brute jab, your nails leave crescent marks.
“Ya like that huh?”
“Mm-hmm, s’good.”
Miya “I aim to please” Atsumu, slowly and steadily, loses to you. Your body has him surrendering himself to a love that heals your spirit; a force neither he nor you could have predicted possible.
Elsewhere in the guest bedroom, a phone buzzes several times. Certain names whom you will come to know as his best friends and former teammates leave behind messages of “enjoy your day off from practice ;)” and or “tell yn-san and mala-kun (your dog) I say hi! 🐾”
Regardless, you’re busy entertaining each other to care about the outside world. Not when your entire world in one person is busy rocking you steady between breathier confessions and when you eventually open your eyes to observe the way atsumu’s contorts when he is driven off his theoretical cliff, you realize perhaps you could (and are) getting used to this.
Panting and wanting more but knowing the limit might have been reached, you both agree to put a pause in your coital act for a moment.
“We should clean up,” you suggest.
“Not yet,” he pours.
“Eager to claim me again?”
You smoosh his cheeks together with your hands and as you relax, his lips teasingly tickle your palms. For whatever reason, you’re still joined from the waist down, however, considering the pounding you just went through, you know how sore he’d made you.
“Don’t tempt me.”
Hissing as he guides you off him, he wraps a well crinkled blanket around your shoulders as he disposes of the used barrier between your bodies. You tell him the bathroom is adjacent to the towel closet and he essentially returns to your room with a tender expression on his brow. You adjust the blanket to create a make-shift toga, and in all his nude glory, Atsumu nearly pounces on you, by passing your shirt on the floor, kissing you profusely muttering “cute brat of mine,” and you laugh peppering his face with the same sentiment.
It’s not surprising as the day progresses, you encourage him, once fully clothed, to return home for a little while. When asked why, you teasingly suggest if what happened last night and the is morning was any indication of how most of your dates would end or start, he might need to carry an overnight bag in his trunk. And the occasional squeaky toy makes it’s way into the same bag. Suffice to say if you were asked who would win a canine fight between a malamute and a jackal, you always bet on the jackal ecause of how they eventually learned to fall for a curious, lovingly compassionate, malamute. After all, you hear his new nickname for you uttered on tv post game: “I have a phenomenon waiting for me at home. See ya soon babs.”
You shake your head while your sister teases you handing you a bottle of cider toasting to the latest win (and further advancement) of the MSBY team. Your boyfriend though makes no further comments on the relationship he alludes to as he is called to do another repost game interview with the other teammates huddled together for a team photo. Suffice to say with what Atsumu had said, his official social media accounts are a buzz congratulating him not only on the win at the court, but in his private life as well.
You’re half asleep when he arrives home: the replay of the game is on commercial break after the third set. The glow of the tv stops when your now boyfriend scoops you up in his arms, kissing you gently, holding you like a child being transferred to their bedroom. Bridal style is the latest way you Iola to be held, and Atsumu being charmingly handsome, he always obliges your wishes. Especially now, seeing as you inhale deeply and you recognize the scent of your shared detergent. Lately, he’s been spending more time with you, so he lives with you rent free until your contract is up. The next phase is finding a place together, which can be discussed come the morning. Right now, you don’t stray too far from his hold, lazily kissing him with the intent of waking yourself further.
“Miss me pretty?” His voice asks, rubbing soothing circles on your back.
“Mmmhm,” you nod. You seemed drunk on the lightest bit of attention he gives, and neither of you have the heart to poke fun at the other.
“Sleep well,” his lips mould atop yours, a bit more languidly than before. You oblige the act, encouraging a deeper understanding of how he came home a bit earlier than the last time.
“Red eye flights are great,” he says, voice above a whispered tone.
“Mm, that they are handsome,” you kiss him sternly before you knock out yourself.
Come the morning, he has you snoozing in his arms wondering if life can get any better. Your dog stands guard at the foot of the bed happy that his human’s favorite human is back.
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famouslysleepy · 4 months
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Personal Life Complaining Time!
you know of all the side effects to get besieged by from my first dose of the rabies vaccine (<- this is a very recent state requirement of vet tech students but luckily my school could afford dish out their own vaccines with the costs just being added with the tuition i think instead of dealing with the upfront costs from like cvs i guess)
i gotta say the muscle aches and joint pain are definitely the most annoying and inconveniencing side effects for me personally
cuz ya know considering my default method stimming typically involves pacing around sometimes physically jumping up and down and generally moving my body around a lOt
i’m handling it well enough i guess but MAN it’s super annoying to feel like my muscles are telling me “WOAH SLOW DOWN THERE Ain’t nobody told you to STRETCH first?” meanwhile all i did was literally just stand up or increasing my walking speed just a little bit or hold my hand in one position just a sec to long
like siggghhhhh can’t i get One Weekend free of body shenanigans like my period had to gall to start and end during my thanksgiving break just last week now this?
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dactyli0nn · 2 years
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Hange appreciation/analysis
Ohhh I’ve been waiting for someone to ask about my theories. We’ll see how long I can go before I get bored of typing but ughhh OKOK so
I’ve adored Hange since I was in middle school (about 6-7 years?) ever since they were introduced in the show. I love how lighthearted they appear and at the time I really enjoyed all the goofy shenanigans people would headcanon for them. Obviously that’s like, the baseline what’s on the surface analysis of their character but I’ve just always loved the “crazy sleep deprived scientist who’s too curious for their own good” trope. It provides some MUCH needed comedic relief for the show and in the fandom, but also they’re really unique among the rest of the vets due to their more positive way of thinking, even if it’s fake most of the time. That being said as I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten more into the character analysis side of things in everything I watch, and it’s made me appreciate Hange a lot more past the fandom based uwu scientist view we often see them under. They have a lot of hate and anger in their heart, towards the Titans and towards humanity as a whole in some ways. I kind of like seeing their anger issues kick in, because they’re a very emotional driven character who’s often placed in situations where they have to keep everything in for one reason or another and it’s oddly satisfying to me when they just go nuts and let that all out. Knowing that they’re such an emotional person makes them all the more strong to me as well. Sometimes their anger is hot and misguided, sure. Like in the journal OVA when they argue with Erwin, it’s mainly emotionally driven anger y’know? Or when they get pissed and kick the table in s3. But what gets me is the cold side of their emotions. The calculation and the rationalization they go to. Their speech to Oulo in the OVA about how to defeat an unbeatable enemy you have to watch them. Observe them. Learn every little part of their routine and exploit what you can. That sort of anger, the intensity is my favourite. Because it serves as a reminder that they’re not just a quirky scientist doing this just coz. They’re smart and lethal
I’m losing my train of thought here soooo bad oh my god. Point is there’s so much I absolutely adore about hange’s personality and writing 😭😭 here’s a little doodle I did to warm up as a thanks for reading
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labvet · 2 years
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Today in Vet School
My buddy sent the group chat a photo of him mid-shave with his facial hair looking like an American civil war general. Instead of studying like I was supposed to, I spent 20 min photoshopping his face onto one General Burnside, cackling like a maniac the whole time.
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vermillioncrown · 2 years
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Hello Verm! Out of curiosity, for Mulan&ZYX, is Mulan's characterization from the poem, Disney, or other adaptations? How does she interact with ZYX's friend group in either Reverse Universe-ity or DBD? What would be the username that she gets called by Airplane-bro?
Hello Verm! Out of curiosity, for Mulan&ZYX, in all iterations of the college au (Oblivious, Alternate Universe-ity, and RT) what do you think Mulan majors and minors in? What is her friend group like? What kind of crazy shit does she get into with or without ZYX?
gonna answer both in one ask
i didn't read the poem nor was it a story my dad told me as a kid (compared to rotk in the same historical fiction vein), so the only thing i have is the disney movie lol
that 'au' was just a joke - i have no thoughts in having mulan in the college au. she cannot appear in dbd bc she's long dead at that time (the north and south dynasties era is about three centuries behind when dbd is set). she also would not be a cultivator, so there's no interaction there. hm. the only chance would be during imperial court shenanigans, if they were set during the same time period, post-mulan going to war (but then that would also make things weird for the cultivators; we'd never hear the end of how messy things are up in qinghe)
in college, mulan and zyx would share classes and get to know each other there (it has to be some random af class that is for general ed credits). she would not be part of the cucumber/airplane/banana trio. just another friend from a different friend group (mulan has her own social group), in which no one thinks have anything to do with one another (zyx and mulan can team up during beer pong during parties, or random school-hosted events if they spot one another nearby, just "hey get over here" "ok"). people have their own friend groups and that's just a thing, even if you're really good friends with someone
idk what she'd major in - there's not much to go on her likes/dislikes from the movies bc war takes precedence. hm... because she is very filial (to an extent) and family-oriented, likely whatever her parents thought was best for her that she was okay with, she is doing. common diaspora chinese daughter occupation: nursing (at least, that's what a lot of girls i grew up with did if they didn't run off towards liberal arts. or doctor. or dentist. or vet). it's more trouble than its worth to search up exactly how a nursing program works, so i imagine it's liike some amalgam of premed-trade program.
her friend group are the guys from the movies lol. they all went to the same high school, and now the same college. mulan prob tried to make new friends in uni, but found that she didn't mesh with the people in her program. zyx also doesn't have many friends in her major, let alone other girls, so the two felt like kindred spirits.
(i find that more believable than some "i'm not like other girls, i only make friends with guys" shit; she's only friends w her boys because all of each other's embarrassing teen moments and are holding each other hostage in the best way)
i don't think she's up to anything crazy in her spare time. she's down to party, but also down to stay home. if not for the demands of her class schedule, she'd be just as chaotic and gross as college zyx (whereas zyx has a demanding schedule but still acts disgusting)
lol there should be hangouts with the cucumber/airplane/banana trio for obliviousness (mulan does not know what shang's random compliments mean. because he vacillates being intense and focused on his own thing, and then awkwardly says something nice, and she's just ??? "are you having a stroke???") but no, no oblivious hangouts.
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happysadyoyo · 2 years
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I’m seeing the light at the end of the tunnel for my current WIP. 
Reality is it’s actually not going to be finished (this draft I mean) until the end August/September, but I’m looking forward to start planning out the next WIP. 
The thing is, I can’t decide which one to work on.
The secret changeling falling for a CEO/learning who he is?
The Philadelphia based secret wizard school with a corrupt govt? (YA)
My collection of gendercide stories?
Post war romantic tragedy of two (gay) war vets?
Haunted hotel shenanigans? (midlit)
My Twilight riff where Bella dies and Carlisle and Charlie fuck?
H e l p I have too many ideas.
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frutavel · 2 years
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LET IT BE KNOWN THAT I WON THE CLASS KAHOOT TODAY
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tabithian · 3 months
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Watching The Meg now (today is couch potato day, I guess???) and cannot decide which is funnier:
Batfam torturing Bruce with movies with the Idiot Billionaire + Animal Research Facility(TM) = Deep Blue Sea/Jurassic World/The Meg-type scenarios on family movie night and so on?
(And claiming they're being used as "cautionary tales" and such?)
Or just crossover/fusion ideas in which WE somehow winds up with such an Animal Research Facility(TM) and then Bruce living the plot of one (1) of those terribad movies and being like.
*SIGH* the whole time because his horrible kids will never let him live it down?
(Combination of the two? So many wonderful possibilities.)
RE the crossover/fusion idea, possible scenarios start like these???
A ~mad scientist got past the usual WE human resources/whatever vetting process and managed to hide the whole thing because Plot Reasons and when it is uncovered Bruce is like. *SIGH* because now he has to investigate as Brucie and the Batkids are like.
"We knew this day would come," and so on and the above mentioned movies suddenly show up on movie night???
And/or Bruce had WE "acquire" an Animal Research Facility(TM) - latest VotW built it before Batman found out, some other idiot billionaire had it built (bonus points for it being someone Bruce knows through business dealing or went to school with at some point???) and then Brucie just has to investigate as "new management" in his Brucie Wayne persona, which is when shenanigans happen???
Meanwhile there are like.
The genetically altered sharks/suddenly (escaped) dinosaurs!!1!/pre-historic creatures running amok and Bruce trying not to get eaten while trying to keep anyone else around him from being eaten and it's just.
Like.
The Worst(TM).
(Also, shark repellent jokes abound, even if sharks aren't actually involved???)
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rapunzelswiftie · 5 years
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Advice from a Veterinary Professor
Professor: We all know that the first rule is to do no harm right?
Professor: Does anyone know what the second rule is?
Professor: You better treat them before they get better if you want to get paid
*cue laughter*
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