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#but yeah I need to clean up my following list one day
queers-gambit · 6 months
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Neon Sticky Notes
prompt: ( requested ) reminding your boyfriend you love him one sticky note at a time.
pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader pairing: Carmy x Peach
fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear
word count: 2.4k+
note: baby gets what baby wants! God, do i hope this is what you want, my baby...
warnings: probably cursing, Carmy needs a nap, men being simps, this is short and sweet! it's FINALLY edited!!!
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You knew he was struggling. Worn-out, beaten down, exhausted, run ragged, amuck, and into the ground.
It was evident in the way he carried himself; the prominent bags under his eyes, the way he tossed and turned in bed before being found on the living room couch in the morning. His hair seemed greasier then usual, his skin turning gaunt and grey, and you knew he wasn't making time to eat.
By comparison, you had a simple job, something corporate and in an office. Something that made decent money; something you were good at, something you could find pride in doing.
However, Carmy's job as a chef was different; being more than stressful, and while coupled together for years now, it was still a work-in-progress each time Carmen started on a new venture. Owning, running, and converting The Beef into something "better" should've been no different, only it was - it was totally different. Carmy was frazzled, looking deranged some evenings, as if operating on adrenaline, and you were at a loss on how to help.
So, you resorted to a natural instinct - communicating.
Carmy needed reassurance, he needed support, he needed to be loved for who he is, exactly how he was, in order to keep his head on straight. You never did mind the challenge that was Carmen Berzatto, finding him akin to a puzzle. So, on your way home from work one evening, you stopped at a CVS to grab a pack of neon, multi-colored sticky notes and a brand new Sharpie marker.
You had an idea.
When you got back to your shared apartment, you unloaded the groceries you needed onto the counters before calling Carmy. "Hey, Peaches," he answered on the third ring, usual kitchen clatter in the background, "everything okay?"
"Yeah, all good."
"Sure? Sound outta breath."
"The elevator's broken, I got groceries," you groaned, "and have been skipping the gym for a couple weeks."
He chuckled, "Never skip leg day, baby, you know it's our house motto."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever - hush. I'm just wondering if you had an ETA for tonight? I have an early morning meeting, so I want to go to sleep early."
"Uh," he trailed, a muffled ruffling sounding over the line before a small clatter that made him sigh, "yeah, um, you know what? I really don't know, baby, I'm sorry. You do your thing and I'll be quiet when I get in, just leave my stuff on the couch."
"No, come to bed," you whined slightly, "I miss you."
"Awh, yeah, miss you, too, Peach. I'll be there," he promised.
You finished putting all groceries away; the dishes following, then you got started on prepping dinner. Look, you were no cook - that was all Carmy. But you weren't totally useless in a kitchen, so, you didn't mind taking over most meals now that Carmy was waist-deep in The Beef's bullshit. You played music as you cooked, poured a glass of wine, danced around, and tried to think of a list of encouraging things to remind Carmy. You ate dinner alone, and when done with clean-up, faced off with your sticky notes and Sharpie.
The first note was scribbled and stuck on the covered plate in the fridge: Bone Apple Teeth, Chef!
Then you wrote a note to leave at the door where Carm was sure to drop his keys: make sure you eat the plate I left you!
Humming, you pondered a moment before smirking and writing a third note to be left on the TV remote: I know you too well. come to bed.
Lastly, you wrote a fourth and final note to be left in the bathroom: great job today, Chef! you're killing it!
You were fast asleep when he got home. He found the note in the key bowl, smirking at your kindness and thoughtfulness. Carmy saw the messily-drawn heart and pocketed the note, toeing off his shoes and entering the kitchen. He reheated the plate you left, pocketed the second note after a silent grin of amusement, and when ready, took his hot food to the couch.
Carmy laughed when he found your third note. He left it on the table as he ate, half-watching the news segment he flipped on. When he was full and his plate clear, Carmy turned the TB off, pocketed your note, set everything in the dishwasher, started it, and then went into the bathroom. Another soft chuckle emitted as he pulled the final note in his hand - and you already know he saved it.
When he got in your shared room, he made sure to leave the notes in a random shoe box, stashing it in his closet, changed for the night, and crawled into bed with you.
This was a regular occurrence now: Carmy came home late to a barrage of sticky notes, saved them all, then crashed in bed with you. You missed each other, but understood scheduling just didn't line up right now. It wasn't like you two never saw one another, you still did - but it wasn't like it was. Time together now felt fleeting, as if you had to savor everything, so you made the most of your situation.
Was it overcompensation? Possibly. But Carmy adored your notes.
Sometimes, you'll be sat in the living room, reading a book, working on your laptop, or scrolling Instagram on your phone, while he cooks and he finds a note left on the milk carton that reads: I am UDDERLY in love with you!
Get it? 'Cause cows have udders? You were pretty proud of that pun.
Other times, he'll be up at an unGodly hour, getting a steamy hot shower, and you'll come in to pee. He doesn't think anything of anything until he gets out of the stall only to see a neon orange sticky note on the counter, saying: i love your butt! lemme pinch it!
Carmy feels himself looking forward to your little surprises. Some were funny and a little vulgar, like the note found on the eggs: fertilize MY eggs!
Some notes were more innocent, like the one he found in his shoe one morning, reading: I'm so proud of you. have a great day today!
Some just said: be home for dinner @ 8! making your fav!
Others were found, saying: you're so fucking handsome. I'm one lucky ducky! You even tried to draw a little duck.
Some notes were motivational: you're doing a GREAT job, baby!
Some notes reminded: you have a dentist appt @ 10!
Some notes were sweet: call me during your break, cutie, i miss your voice!
And others found on the bathroom mirror were playful: you look too good today, go change! A second note added: don't need anyone looking at your fine ass! A third: i'm the only one allowed to look #respectfully
Each and every note had a drawn heart, being saved to a hidden shoebox. He found notes in his usual coffee mug, reminding him you loved him. He found notes on his toothpaste tube, telling him he was doing a great job. Cereal boxes now promised Carmy they were proud of him, pastas told him to have a great day, and the light switches assured reminded him how special he was.
The microwave told him you felt blessed to be his and in his jacket pocket, he was told how lucky you are to love him. Some notes swore to him he was one of a kind, others explicitly detailed what parts of him you wanted in parts of you, and a few reminded him of important dates, appointments, deadlines, anniversaries, birthdays, etc..
Sometimes, he found little treats with these sticky notes. Like when you had to make brownies for your little sister's bake sale, you left him a Tupperware full with a hot pink note, labeled: for the love of my life!
And then... One morning, when you got up for work, Carmy was already gone for his day. You went through your normal routine, entering the kitchen with the intention of making a to-go cup of coffee, only to pause and grin when a neon green sticky note greeted you from the stovetop. Written in messy, fresh, black Sharpie was: got you on my mind. love you, be home @ 6 tonight!
Carmy drew own heart and you beamed at the reciprocation. You didn't mind the distance for now, knowing he was busy and it wouldn't last forever; but the fact that he could reassure you as much as you could him warmed your heart. You felt like the Grinch when his heart grew in size, just without the painful grunting. If anything, you felt euphoric from his little note - thinking it was reassuring to still communicate even when your schedules differed.
The day passed sluggishly - only because you were actually excited to go home. Ironically, your last client of the day didn't leave until a little later than scheduled, so, when you FINALLY got off work and made it home, Carmy had beaten you. When you got through the door, you were met with a heavenly aroma; using Gandalf's advice and following your nose to enter the kitchen.
You sighed dreamily when you came to a halt in the doorway, bottom lip trapped between your teeth to attempt and restrain your ecstatic grin. Carmy was shirtless at the stove, stirring a pasta dish to coat it in the sauce of his choice. "Hi, pretty peach," he beamed at you.
"Oh, I've missed this sight," you squealed, rushing to his side to throw your arms around his neck. "Hi, baby, hi, baby, hi, baby," you chanted between chaste kisses to his cheek.
"Someone missed me," he laughed, cheeks blooming a bright red - but not from the kitchen heat.
"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever, and you know I don't do well alone, I need attention," you teased with a pout, his arm slithering around your waist - but a crinkle noise caught your attention. "Woah, hey. Did you get a new tattoo?" You pondered, looking down at his arm that was protectively bandaged.
He smirked and held his arm out, "Wanna take the plastic off for me?"
"What'd you get?"
"Find out," he whispered, staring at you with his intense baby blue eyes; waiting as you calculated your next move. Slowly, you reached out and unwrapped the protective cling wrap, getting to the gauze, then slowly peeling that from his skin.
"Ohhh, my fucking God," you whispered.
"Like it?"
"Are these... My hearts?"
He nodded, "I got 6 of them from your notes tattooed. 'Cause we've been together six years. Figured, each year, I could add one - but you gotta draw it."
"You're ridiculous," you laughed, in minor disbelief. "What made you do this?"
He eased, "You. I've never felt so confident in my life before, and I know you're a huge part of that. It feels right, being with you feels right and I wanted to show you that I see and appreciate all you do." His tone softened, "I wouldn't be me without you, Peach."
"You'd still be Carmy."
"A totally different Carmy, though," he chuckled. "I actually like who I am with you, baby. But look here, I know it's been real hectic lately, sweet girl, with the restaurant, but it's not gonna be like this forever. We're makin' progress, we're gonna get this settled."
"I know," you assured, "'cause if anyone's gonna get this done, it's you. Just don't forget to breathe every now and then - you're drowning in this stress and I need you to stay afloat, Carm."
"I'm good, Peaches, got you on my team so I can't lose," he eased, tucking you into his chest for an embrace. After a minute and a tight squeeze, he sighed, pecked the crown of your head, then mumbled, "Why don't you go wash up? Dinner's almost ready."
You agreed, stealing one last (prolonged) kiss before scampering off to the bedroom. When you got there, you almost tripped when you came to a halt; laughing loudly as the entire bed was covered in an array of neon colored sticky notes. Until you got closer and realized each note detailed a different reason Carmy loved you; from the way you search for him in your sleep to how you resembled a Gremlin if not fed within certain hours. From how you weren't afraid to dress up for the Renaissance Festival to how you throw blankets in the dryer for 15 minutes before movie nights. In fact, "movie night" was on a single note, being a fond yet routine date. You read each note carefully, tears wanting to build but you refused to let them, yet it was difficult when this was the sweetest gesture you've ever known.
Even things you were insecure about, like dimples or weight or hair color, was highlighted as a reason Carmy loved you. He listed your authenticity, generosity, thoughtfulness, charisma, incredible brain but even bigger heart. He praised your wit, your humor; adored your sneezes, and looked forward to coming home every night because he knew he was coming home to you.
You've never felt so loved before, wondering if this was what Carmy felt each time he found one of your notes.
Movement caught your peripheral, and when you looked up, Carmy was leaning in the doorway of the bedroom; arms crossed and lips pulled in a small smirk. He didn't speak, he just stared at you. You were at a loss for words, opening and closing your mouth twice; holding most of the sticky notes in your hands, but then, you settled on telling him simply, "I love you so fucking much, Carmy."
Dinner might've allegedly burned that night, but so did your love and passion for one another. Even the smallest of gestures can go farther than we anticipate, and showing someone you care could be as simple as leaving them notes around the apartment you cohabitate in, on neon colored Post It's.
Wanna know the cool thing about adult relationships? You get to love your partner out loud; being unapologetic in how you emote, and in return, you're loved by them. Each person deserves to be loved in the way they want to be loved - but you know how fucking great it is when two lovers respond to the same language? What I mean is, it could be considered rare that you, who liked to leave notes, would meet and fall in love with someone who liked to collect and read those notes. Your love language was the same as Carmy's, part of the reason you both worked so well together - but also why one day, he'd add plenty more hand drawn hearts to the collection on his forearm.
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requesting rules and masterlist
The Bear masterlist
2K notes · View notes
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Follow You Anywhere 1
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No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You're online existence threatens to leak into your real life.
Characters: Captain Syverson
Note: I couldn't help myself.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖
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"So... this is what it looks like today?" You aim your camera at the sky outside your window, "sorry, the screen is kinda in the way."
You let out a nervous chuckle and flip the camera to yourself. You make a silly face. You were never overly fond of your image on the screen but the vlogs help. Like a little diary, mostly for yourself. You and your seven followers on Insta.
You bat your lashes and fix the clip in your hair, "oh, I got this free. Yeah, I bought a new hair oil and they threw this in the bag." You let your thoughts run wild from your tongue. You found a journal too daunting, the blank lines leaving you just as empty. This is easier. "Anyway, I shouldn't have spent the money to begin with."
You give another splintered laugh. The one you let out when you're anxious, or scared, or happy, or even mad.  You bite your lip and catch yourself in your digitized reflection. You stop and turn your camera to your bedroom.
"Today, I'm gonna clean this mess. Me and you guys together."
You scour the room with the lens. Your laundry is piled on the floor and you have a stack of books you need to put on the shelf. It isn't the worst it's been but it's getting cluttered.
"But first, we'll have breakfast, can't start the stream on an empty stomach," you chirp and nearly drop the phone, "oops, uh..." You fix your grip and check the number in the corner. You have one viewer; on a good day, it's three, most days, it's just you talking to the void.
You go into the kitchen, just down the short hall from your bedroom, opening into your living room. You go to the counter and prop up the phone so the camera is on you again. You tap your fingers and hum.
"What should we have for breakfast?" You ask. You don't feel as crazy talking to yourself even if there's really no one watching. "Oo, French toast. Gotta use up the eggs."
You go to the fridge and pull out the eggs and the milk. You bring them back to the counter, shuffling around for a bowl, a whisk, and the cinnamon.
You mix up your ingredients and dip the bread, one piece at a time. You put on a skillet and fry up the slices, presenting a stack of three to the camera. You smile and dust some icing sugar over the top.
“Probably shouldn't have all this sugar for breakfast,” you shrug at the camera, “alright, quick break…” 
You put the stream onto the ‘back soon’ page and take your plate to the small foldout table against the wall. You're not a fan of eating on camera. You finish and rinse up before snatching your phone up again.
You return to your bedroom and put the phone on a middle shelf and flip the stream back to live. Still that one viewer…
“Anyway, I'm back,” you wave at the lens.
You hesitate, looking around as you stand straight and spin. Cleaning, right. Before you can set to work, the phone dings.
A message?
You go back to your phone and squint at the chat bubble floating up.
‘Looked delicious too.’
“It was,” you agree with a grin, “thanks.”
‘Don't mean the toast.’
The next message has you blinking. Your nape burns. They can't mean… you clear your throat and giggle.
“Well, let's get started,” you back up and clap your hands, “you know, I've been so carried away with work. This place is a pigsty.”
You sit on the floor and sort through the clothes. You toss them into the basket as you sit in silence. You stop yourself and glance at the phone.
“How about some tunes?” 
You walk on your knees to your bedside and turn on your bluetooth speaker. You go to your phone and find a playlist before pulling the stream back to full screen. As you do, you hear a noise you've never heard before.
‘BourbonBear has tipped.’ Huh? Really?
“Oh, thanks, er, BourbonBear,” you giggle around the name, “how nice. Maybe one day I can afford a proper camera for this, huh?”
You smile and go back to the dirty clothes. You quickly ball up a pair of panties and shove them in the basket. You carry on until they're all untangled.
You move on and tidy your desk, bending underneath to gather up a few loose pens. You make your way around the bedroom, putting away books, fixing the blankets on the bed, and straightening the little figurines on the shelf above the bed.
You grab the stick vacuum and suck up the dirt and proclaim your task done. It took a lot longer than you thought. It's after eleven. The one viewer is still there.
“Whew, okay, I'm gonna get myself washed up and go to the park. Maybe I'll post that later,” you give a thumbs up next to your head as you talk to the phone, “thank you.”
You end the stream and let out a sigh. Your videos aren't much and you doubt they're very interesting but it's like venting for you. Almost like having an invisible friend. You think you will take some pictures of the flowers to share.
🧸
You take your usual path through the park. The walks help you unwind your worries. You try to come after work at least a couple days during the week and both days on the weekend. You find the mindlessness of the routine to be calming.
The deeper you get into the wooded length of the path, you slow to admire the birds in the branches and the critters crawling in the brush. You take out your phone and snap a few photos of a blue jay before it wings away shyly. You smile and flip the cam, smiling as you take a goofy selfie. You can add that to your post.
The path winds ahead and you follow it in the din, listening to the river just down the incline to your left and the tweeting from the sky. You lift your face and inhale the woodsy scent. The sudden crack of a twig startles you and you spin to face the noise. There's no one there. Sometimes you forget other people are free to just walk on through.
You chuckle at yourself and continue on. The path leads out to a suburban street where you like to look at the houses. They're much more spacious and pretty than your grimy brick apartment building.
You come out from the shade of the trees and wander along the avenue. There's a mailbox painted to look like the house it stands before and a little nook for second hand children's books to be borrowed through the neighbourhood. Sometimes you picture yourself living in one of those houses though you don't think it could ever truly be.
As you crane your head, you sense a shadow in your peripheral. You're walking a bit slow. You sidle to the side to get out of the way of the other pedestrian. When no one passes, you look back. No one.
You must be imagining things. You shrug and plod along. You're already thinking of what kind of tea you'll have when you get in.
🧸
You sit down with your mug of ginger citrus tea and set to editing your post. You add a light filter to the photos as you shuffle through them on your laptop. The process is slow as the computer is nearly five years old now and chuffing on its 4GB drive. You get to the selfie you snapped, a stop.
You lean in to get a better glimpse of the background. It's fuzzy but there's a figure just over your shoulder. How could that be? You looked and there was no one there. That's so strange.
You stare as a chill courses through you. You're thankful you hadn't put your earphones in. You wouldn't have heard whoever it was and they may have even snuck up on you. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light.
You hit ‘post’ and try to shake off the foreboding. It's nothing. You're being silly. Besides, you're home and safe now. Next time, you'll be more alert.
A message pops up. You stare at the dot over the chat bubble. You tap with your thumb and bring up the DMs.
'Stream tonight?' BourbonBear asks.
You tilt your head. You already did some today. You're tired and want to lie down and enjoy your time off. You type back 'sorry, not tonight. tomorrow <3' and another notification vibrates. A comment on your latest post.
'Pretty sweater', also from BourbonBear. You heart their comment and leave a thanks below.
You flip back to the selfie. You can't really see your sweater in the picture, just the scalloped knitting of the collar. Well, you suppose it does look cute. You put your phone down and leave it on your desk. That's enough Insta for today.
🧸
You time your shopping trip for the least busy hour. It's early and the store is almost empty except for employees stacking bread on shelves or wandering listlessly around the deli. You have your phone in the basket of the cart, aimed at you as you roll it along slowly and check your list.
The stream is just as empty. It's only just started but you don't expect too many people to be up at this hour. You stop and grab a loaf of sourdough, checking the date before showing it to the lens and putting it in the cart. You smile and announce the next item.
"Strawberries... you know I was thinking I might get raspberries instead," you say, catching the eye of one of the yawning employees. You must seem like a weirdo. It's why you typically don't film in public.
As you roll around to the fruit, you notice the count change. One viewer. You choose a basket of raspberries and show those. You see a message float up; morning.
You smile and return the greeting softly and place the berries down carefully beside your phone. You need yogurt to go with the berries.
You work down the list, making some substitutes as you tick off each item. You linger in the ice cream section a bit too long and talk yourself out of a gallon of rocky road. You lean on the handle of the cart and smile down at the lens.
"Going to check out," you say, "see you all later."
All? There's still just the one. You end the stream and take your phone out of the basket.
You wheel around to checkout and line up at the only open till. You put your items up as you greet the cashier with a smile. She seems tired as she gives a dull response.
As you put the yogurt on the belt, you sense someone join the queue behind you. You glance over as a large man stands only feet away. He's tall and burly and staring at you. Maybe he heard you talking to your audience, or he would think, yourself. You continue to unload your groceries.
"Never tried those," he comments as you take out a box of strawberry Pocky.
You pause and hold them up, chuckling nervously, as you do.
"Pretty good," you answer, "I eat way too many."
You notice the man doesn't have a basket or a cart. That realisation needles under your skin. Maybe he's just getting lotto or smokes?
"You like sweet stuff."
"Too much," you squeak even though it doesn't sound like a question.
He just stares, not saying a word. You swallow tightly and pull the last few items out of the cart and get behind it to wheel it through the lane. As you do, he looms closely, adding to the sweat gathering on your lower back.
You roll along and wait for the cashier to ring through the rest of your things. She bags them up neatly in two large paper bags. You pay with your card and thank her as you lift the first into your cart. The man behind you moves forward and grabs the second, startling you.
"Got it," he says as he places it with the other, squeezing by you, crowding you.
"Oh, excuse me, sir," you stammer, "oh," you lean on the cart to roll it to the end of the lane as you make space between you and the stranger. "Thanks, er, uh... thanks."
You turn and grab the handle, jittering. He's really weirding you out. Especially as you realise he's walked right by the cashier. He's following you.
"I can help get ‘em in your car," he offers in a drawl.
"Oh, that's alright, I... bus," you cringe as you realise you've said too much.
"I could drive you. I have a truck."
"No thank you," you walk faster, the cart rattling with your pace.
"Why not?"
"I don't know you, erm, sorry--"
"You don't?" He catches up and shoves his phone in your face, your Insta profile glaring back at you, "I paid for the milk, maybe the berries..."
"What?" You stop, just by the door and turn to him. "I don't--"
"You haven't eaten, have you? I'll take you for French toast. That's your favourite."
"Um," you blink at him as your eyes tinge, "I don't..."
"You got me through a hard campaign, just wanna say thank you," he adjusts his cap and you notice the pin on it. He's a veteran. Oh, 'campaign'. 
“Just got back home," he shifts on his feet, a meek gesture for such a large man, "and... your videos helped me remember it. Helped me hold onto it in the sh-- in the stuff."
"I... wow, okay, that's... I'm glad I could do that."
"I really don't mind giving you a ride. Lots of weirdos on the bus," he insists.
"That's nice but--"
"Please," he softens his tone, "been a while since I sat down and had breakfast without worrying about the sky falling."
You shudder and grip the cart tight. You don't know how to say no. You didn't think about who was watching. You always just assumed they were bots. Then you think of the chaching noise and the amount flashing on the screen.
"BourbonBear?" You ask.
"Yeah," he cracks a crooked smile and smooths his hand over his thick beard. "Everyone calls me Syv.”
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strangersmunsons · 16 days
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read 'em and weep #4
you hear some rumors about Eddie.
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Chapter 4 Eddie x Bookworm!Reader Series Read Ch. 3 -> Here!
Contains: Eddie x Reader, fem!bookworm!reader, mix of fluff and angst, lots of kisses, reader realizes she may not know as much about Eddie as she thinks she does (but don't worry, they're gonna be fine). Warnings: some nasty remarks are made about Eddie’s reputation. Word Count: ~ 4.6k I feel bad that all this wait has led to an angstier chapter, but I'm hoping the next part will be written sooner than this one was!
“I disagree.” 
“Look, The Shining is really good, I like it! I just don’t think it’s his best book.”
“I’d take more stock in your opinion if you weren’t putting It at the top of your list. Great book, but such a terrible ending.”
Eddie holds a hand up like he’s swearing an oath. “I’ll admit that it isn’t a perfect book, but it’s still some of the best writing Stephen King’s ever done.” Then he grimaces. “The notable exception being that…one scene in the sewer, um…I don’t really think it needed to be in there.”
Your nose wrinkles in distaste, knowing exactly which scene he’s referring to. “I read that ABC is making a TV show out of it — I’m sure they’ll cut that part out.”
He laughs. “I think he was doing a lot of coke back then.”
Eddie is playing for you chauffeur today. Once again, after a late night he coaxed you into staying over at his place — but instead of just  dropping you at home the next morning and then leaving, he waited patiently for you in your living room while you got cleaned up and changed, before driving you to work.
“Although, now that I’m thinking about it,” he muses, “maybe The Stand is number one for me.”
You concur. “Oooh, good one!”
“Did you know,” he exclaims, suddenly excited, dark eyes shining, “that Ride the Lightning by Metallica is a reference to a line from The Stand?” 
You search for familiarity in the phrase, and don’t find it. “It is?”
“Yeah, there’s a guy on death row who says it when he’s talking about the electric chair. That's why there's a picture of one on the album."
“Huh. Cool.”
Eddie snubs his cigarette out against the library’s exterior brick wall as you fumble with the keys. When the big double-doors are both unlocked, he pulls one open for you, and you kiss him on the cheek as you breeze past. “Thanks. I’ll see you later, okay?” You pause, and reach back to give his hand a final squeeze. “Have a good day!”
Inside, you make it about halfway to the front desk before you realize that the unmistakable sound of Reeboks squeaking against the floor is following you.
You turn around, bewildered and amused. “Can I help you?”
Eddie just shrugs. “This is a public institution. I’m allowed in.”
“I didn’t realize ‘let me drop you off’ meant ‘let me come to work with you.’ Gosh, aren’t you tired of me yet?”
His reply is immediate. “No.”
The incredible thing is, you actually believe him.
You shake your head in awe. “Eddie Munson, you’re really somethin’, you know that?”
He leans in to kiss you one more time, soft and sweet, but you pull away before it can get too heated, keenly aware of the fact that you’re at your place of work, and that making out in full view of the entire — albeit currently empty — library? Probably a bad look.
Just in time, too, as Marissa was apparently not far behind you. You see the doors open again from over Eddie’s shoulder and the older librarian hurries into the building, low heels clacking noisily against the tile. Her face, which is seemingly-always pinched in annoyance, scrunches even further beneath her dark bangs when she realizes you’re not alone. 
“Good morning, Marissa,” you greet her politely.
“We’re technically not open yet,” she spits back, staring pointedly at Eddie. “He can’t be in here.”
You open your mouth to reply, but Eddie beats you to it. “My apologies, ma’am. I was just heading back out.” It’s a remarkably respectful response for Eddie, who you’ve learned has a general distaste for authority, and you know that it’s for your sake. 
He gives you the tiniest wave as he walks away, and you return it with a smile, though your heart pangs with each step that takes him further away from you.
After clocking in you make your escape to the children’s area. It’s practically its own library, in a way — it takes up the whole back corner of the building and then some. Hundreds of thin, colorful books are jam-packed onto the shelves, which are built at an intentionally low height. The floor is covered in deep green carpeting, in contrast to the elegant, black-and-white tile that lies in the main library; all the flat surfaces are topped with stuffed animals and puppets and other baubles for the kids to admire and play with.
In the center of it all, there’s a wide space that’s been cleared out for Story Times and various other programs, which is headed by the overstuffed armchair that you like to read from. A number of miniature tables and stools line the side of the area, which are dotted with neatly-placed baskets of craft supplies. 
You’re pleased with the theme for the day: amongst the books you’ve chosen there are copies of A Bear Called Paddington and Corduroy ready to go. Markers, buttons, googly eyes, and glue have been set out on the tables, so they can make their own little bears for the craft activity. You’ve taken the initiative of cutting out the teddy shapes from heavy cardstock for them already — one less accident with scissors you need to worry about.
You’re nearly finished setting up when someone clears their throat behind you. Startled, you whirl around to see Marissa again.
“Hello,” you greet her in surprise. She usually lets you do your thing on Saturdays without much interruption. Your take in her expression, a little puzzled; the look on her face suddenly makes you feel like you’re in trouble.
She gives you a tight smile, although it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hello, dear. Everything going okay?”
“Ye-es…” Your answer drags out uncertainly. “Almost ready here.” You gesture unnecessarily around the room, unsure of what she’s getting at.
“Good, good,” she nods distractedly, not bothering to look and verify that you’re actually doing your job. “Listen, when you finish up this morning, come and find me. I want to have a little chat with you, alright?” Seeing the panic split across your face, she quickly adds, “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. It’s not work-related.”
Your head cocks to the side curiously, but she spins on her heel and leaves before you can ask her to elaborate.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur, Marissa’s request lurking in the back of your mind all the while, though you try to focus on your reading. She’s not really the warm and fuzzy type — somehow you doubt she’s interested in having a little girl-chat.
Some odd-two hours later, when the last of the kids have scampered away, you head cautiously back to the front desk where Marissa and another young clerk are speaking to one another in low voices.
Your coworker sees you approaching from over Marissa’s shoulder, and gives her a subtle nod, warning the older woman of your presence. A hush falls over their conversation, and you feel a stab of annoyance, knowing intuitively that whatever they were talking about, it certainly had something to do with you. 
She’s already blabbing to your coworkers about whatever this is? Gross. 
Marissa turns to face you, pretending to look surprised at your approach.
“You wanted to see me?” you ask her pleasantly.
Another one of those tight-lipped smiles. “Yes, why don’t you come back here with me.” She moves towards her office, waving for you to follow along. “A little more private in here,” she stage-whispers. 
When you’re alone in the tiny room, she shuts the door behind you, and takes a seat at her desk. You perch awkwardly on one of the folding chairs opposite her, clasping your hands on your lap — you feel a little bit like a wayward student in the principal’s office.
“Is…everything okay?” She said it wasn’t work-related, so you don’t have a clue what’s up. Surely if it was about Eddie being in the building before open, she would have reprimanded you earlier, when you were the only two people there. And that would be considered work-related anyway, wouldn’t it?
Marissa doesn’t answer immediately, so you try to be proactive. “If this is about my friend being here this morning, I’m so sorry about that. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Not…exactly.” She purses her lips, not giving anything away. 
You blink, and try again. “Um, if this is about the oobleck thing again, I promise I was able to get it off the ceiling. You can check, it’s all clean.”
She almost cracks, a rare flash of amusement in her eyes, though it’s snuffed out quickly.
“It’s not that, either. I want to ask you about how things are going, just in general? I know you’re still pretty new to town. Have you been settling in okay these past few months?”
You think of the warm welcome you received from nearly everyone you’ve met. “Yeah, everything’s great. Everyone’s been really nice.”
She nods slowly, and when she speaks again, her tone is off — you can clock the feigned nonchalance right away. “I’ve noticed Eddie Munson has been here quite often this summer.”
You take this as confirmation of what you had already suspected — that Eddie’s frequenting of the library has more to do with you than anything else, and your lips can’t help but turn up into a fond smile.
“He likes to read,” you offer simply.
She’s more direct this time, eyes locking onto yours from behind her thick lenses. “He spends a lot of time talking to you while he’s here.”
Nervous heat starts to creep up your neck and into your cheeks. Is that what this is about? Has the quality of your work declined since Eddie started visiting you here? 
You’ve worried about this before. When your friendship began and he started coming in pretty regularly, you made a point that if Eddie was to be there, the distractions had to be kept to a minimum. He was very understanding about it. And in his defense, he did mostly keep out of your way — he sat and read, and chatted with you when you weren’t busy, or if you happened to be hidden away amongst the shelves working, out of Marissa’s sight. He even helped you clean up the mess left behind by your Storytime kids. But you suppose he had been a presence nonetheless.
Waiting for the hammer to fall, you bow your head. Your job is very important to you — as much as you like Eddie, you don’t want to jeopardize your position or your standing with your boss by having her think you’re boy-crazy. Guiltily, your mind scrambles to find the words for an apology, some promise to do better in the future.
But Marissa doesn’t even go there. And what she says instead startles you right out of your self-deprecating spiral.
“Do you know about Eddie Munson?”
Your head pops back up in surprise, and you stare at her blankly, confused. “Know…what about him?”
“Listen, you’re a nice girl,” she simpers. “You’re a stellar employee — I wouldn’t want anyone else leading Family and Youth Services here. I think you have a lot of potential, and I don’t want you to squander it by getting involved with the wrong sort of people.”
Offense rises in your throat like bile. “Excuse me?”
She holds her hands up in defense. “I’m just trying to look out for your best interests, dear,” she insists. “The Munsons have a reputation in this town — that young man especially —”
“Marissa,” your tone is sharp; she’s treading into dangerous territory. 
“He’s a criminal,” she warns. “Jim Hopper is far too soft on him. If he actually got in trouble for every law he broke, he’d be sitting in a jail cell right now.”
You gape at her. “What has he done?” you demand. 
Marissa sighs, and takes her glasses off, setting them aside while she massages the bridge of her nose tiredly. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this” — you note that she doesn’t really sound sorry at all — “but he is a drug dealer, and a Satanist, amongst other things. He sells dope to kids and he all but started a cult when he was in high school. The oldest senior in Indiana, by the way,” she adds derisively.
You’re speechless.
She pushes on. “His father was a deadbeat, and in all the time that Eddie Munson has been living in Hawkins, all he’s done is prove that the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, fuming. Her audacity is too appalling for you to have any real reaction to the accusations; and regardless of whether or not those rumors are true, this certainly doesn’t feel like an appropriate way for you to find out about them. 
You take a deep breath, and choose your words carefully. “Respectfully, who I choose to associate with outside of work is no one’s business but my own. If you feel like my relationship with him is infringing upon my performance here, then by all means, tell me where I’m lacking, and I’ll improve. But please do not sit here and try to convince me to shun my friend because —” you falter, trying to keep your anger in check, “because of your personal feelings towards him.”
Because you’re a Grade-A bitch who listens to small town gossip.
Marissa settles back in her seat, face impassive. She purses her lips. “Alright. I see your point. But don’t be upset, dear, I’m really only trying to help you.”
“I appreciate your concern,” you lie through gritted teeth.
“But before you make your mind up about him too quickly,” she adds, examining her fingernails casually, “ask him about Chrissy Cunningham.” Her eyes dart slyly up to yours, searching for any hint of recognition at the name.
There isn’t any — you’ve never heard of this person — but there’s an odd swooping sensation in your stomach at the mention of Eddie possibly being involved with another girl. It makes you feel sort of…ill. 
But you won’t let your face betray your surprise. You keep your expression neutral, composed. You manage a final nod at Marissa, and rise to leave. She doesn’t say anything to stop you, so you take that as your cue to exit the office, your mind swirling with unanswered questions.
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Across town, at the Munson trailer, a Dungeons and Dragons session is set to begin any minute. Dustin Henderson has arrived early with snacks, and is making himself all too comfortable on the squashy sofa.
Hellfire Club had still gone on strong three years after Eddie’s miraculous, long-awaited graduation, due to the combined efforts of the small group of freshmen he recruited in his last year. And it will continue to do so even now that they’re gone, thanks to one Erica Sinclair, who is rumored to be the most brutal Dungeons and Dragons player in the entire Midwest…after Eddie, of course.
Despite the fact that he remained in Hawkins, and that Dustin often begged him to join them, Eddie had respectfully bowed out of any and all Hellfire-related activities after graduating, in an effort to display a modicum of maturity. He didn’t want to be that guy hanging around his old high school because he didn’t have anything better to do.
But as a favor to his favorite kid, Eddie’s DMing their summer campaign as a last hurrah. Just Wheeler, Henderson, Sinclair, and a slightly newer addition — Will Byers, who came after his time, but seems a nice enough kid. It gives the boys a chance to all play together one last time before they part ways.
Eddie hopes they manage to stay friends, despite it all.
“Thanks, Henderson, but I think I’ve got a handle on things,” Eddie says sarcastically.
Dustin gives him an annoyingly-superior look. “I’m just saying, Suzie and I have been in a loving relationship for many years now — if you need any dating advice, I’m your guy.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms. “Dude, she’s spent almost all the time you’ve known her across the country in Mormonland.” 
Purely defensive. He hates to admit it, but Dustin’s right. He and Suzie’s relationship has lasted for a far, far longer time than any fling Eddie’s ever had. But that doesn’t mean he’s gonna sit down and let the little twerp talk to him like he knows something about something.
Little — Dustin Henderson is college-bound, heading off to some fancy private school on a merit scholarship, leaving Hawkins and grabbing life by the balls. He might still be a shrimpy dork, but Eddie’s secretly mourning the impending loss of his young friend.
“So,” continues Dustin, chomping on a Twizzler, lounging back against the cushions, “when do I get to meet her?”
Eddie chuckles, yanking the candy bag across the couch towards himself. “Uh, I don’t know. Whenever she wants to, I guess.”
Dustin snickers. “Would you be mad if I just showed up at her job and ambushed her?”
Eddie cuts his eyes over to the younger boy, wry smirk on his lips. “To be honest, I’m kind of surprised you haven’t done that already.”
“I haven’t been reading much this summer,” Dustin admits. “Too busy trying to cram in a bunch of stuff before we all…” he trails off, gaze growing distant. 
“Yeah,” Eddie mutters back. He’s been there.
Dustin coughs. “Anyway, you should invite her to meet us at Benny’s after this. You said you’re picking her up from work, right?”
Eddie thinks it over for a moment, then shrugs. “Sure. I’ll ask her.”
The rickety front door swings open, a trio of laughing teenage boys barging in without bothering to knock. Tall, gangling Mike; Lucas, smiling in his letterman jacket; and Will, hanging back shyly, clutching his player’s handbook.
Eddie can’t help but grin. Dustin cocks an eyebrow at them.
“You assholes ready or what?”
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Throughout the entire day, you think about what Marissa told you. 
Yes, you’re angry at her for somehow thinking that would be an appropriate conversation for the two of you to have. Yes, you’re upset to hear her say such disparaging things about someone you’ve known to be nothing but sweet and kind. It feels like such an injustice, that Eddie be subjected to such cruel remarks. 
But still, there’s a sliver of uncertainty in your heart now, a dark cloud looming in the distance of yours and Eddie’s budding relationship. 
When your shift ends, you linger outside by the doors, waiting for Eddie to pick you up. A tiny part of you regrets the decision to let him bring you in to work, but you try and shake the feeling away.
You hate that you’re feeling this way. Internally, you scold yourself for letting Marissa’s words get to you. Why should you listen to what she says, anyway? Don’t you trust that you know him better than she does?
Do you believe Eddie to be a devil-worshipping cult leader? Certainly not. Eddie is a far cry away from what the media makes guys like him out to be. He’s not violent, or practicing any Satanic rituals; he just happens to like scary music and think that fantasy games are cool.
Do you believe Eddie to be a drug dealer? Well, that one, maybe…
Do you believe Eddie to have some sordid past — or, more worryingly, present — with someone named Chrissy Cunningham?
Before you can decide what to think about her, the sound of a wailing guitar drifts through the air, getting louder and louder — finally, a familiar green and white van is turning the corner, Eddie’s dark head, visible through the open windows, bobbing up and down in time with the music.
“Hey!” he shouts with a grin as he approaches the curb, yelling so as to be heard over the noise. With some effort, you smile back. He lowers the tape so it plays at a more bearable volume, as you open the door and climb into the passenger seat.
“Hi,” you greet him.
He leans across the center consol to give you a kiss, one calloused hand cupping your cheek. You can his smell cologne, the sweat beaded on his neck, and a faint smokiness clinging to his curls, you suppose, from his last cigarette; these, combined with how soft and plush his lips feel against yours push the thought of Chrissy Cunningham temporarily from your mind, along with any other thought you may have potentially had in this moment.
Eddie pecks at your lips again and again, then settles back in his seat, letting his hand fall onto your knee. “How was work?”
You squirm uneasily. “It was fine,” you half-lie, not sure what you should tell him. 
“Kids behaving?” he asks.
“About as much as I could expect them to,” you sigh.
Eddie gazes at you, his dark eyes curious; you’re normally much more upbeat than this when you see him after a long day. His face brightens when he remembers what he wanted to ask you, thinking that it may cheer you up. “Well, it’s all over with now, right? You’re free. And I had an idea, if you’re up for it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” he explains, “I was thinking, I can take you home, or — if you want — you can come get dinner at Benny’s with me and the guys?” He smiles hopefully. “The others are on their way there already. They’re dorks, but they’re good kids, and Dustin has been bugging me to bring you around.”
You think it over. Admittedly, you’ve been dying to see how Eddie acts around his teenage friends. And maybe this is just what you need to dispel your discomfort; a night out with Eddie and his pals, surrounded by people who know and love him.
Eddie senses your hesitation. “We won’t be out too long,” he reassures you, “because I’m working tonight. But still, no pressure if you’re not up for it.”
He leaves the choice up to you, but he’s giving you the puppy dogs. You nod, giving in. “Okay,” you agree. “Sounds like fun.”
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Being crammed in a diner booth with five other guys isn’t normally your idea of comfortable, but their raucous laughter and boyish antics make it just that — comfortable. You’re pushed up against the wall, with Eddie pressed into your side, one tatted arm slung over your shoulder. Dustin sits opposite you, with Will and Lucas; Mike occupies the last seat next to Eddie. 
The affection between the younger boys is tangible; this is a group of friends who have known each other a long, long time. They all talk at once, interrupting and speaking over one another, unless someone shoots a question at you, in which case, Eddie holds up a hand to silence them all, so your response can be heard.
Eddie interjects every so often, arguing playfully and poking fun at them, but he mostly watches with amusement, letting them carry the bulk of the conversation. It’s funny; he has the air of a cool uncle about him, the one who supervises carefully but also lets you sneak a sip from his can of beer when no one’s looking.
More than once, you notice Eddie glancing sidelong at you, watching your reaction to the spectacle before you. He smiles when you catch him, and squeezes your thigh under the table. 
“So you woke up early to take her to work, ran D and D all day, and now you’re going to work a late shift? Are you planning on going to sleep on top of the bar?” Dustin is staring at Eddie in disbelief.
Eddie shrugs. “I sleep all day on Sunday.” He suddenly flicks a french fry at Dustin across the table. “What can I say? I’m extremely devoted to all of you,” he says sarcastically.
“One of us, anyway,” snickers Lucas, nodding his head at you.
“And don’t you forget it,” Eddie replies sternly, tightening the arm he has around you, holding you as closely as the cramped space permits. Without an ounce of shame or embarrassment, he leans in and smacks a wet kiss to your forehead.
A chorus of “oooh”s erupts, along with one “gross!” and you can’t stop the happy smile from unfurling across your face. 
In this greasy diner booth surrounded by teenage boys, with Eddie so unabashedly declaring his affection for you, the pressure that’s been weighing on your chest since this morning dissipates almost completely.
“Ask him about Chrissy Cunningham.”
Almost.
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The car ride home is quiet. Eddie has foregone his metal tapes, and instead lets the radio softly crackle out a tune from The Cure. Normally he’d switch the station in distaste, but something about it tonight just feels right. 
“You’re just like a dream…you’re just like a dream…”
You’re gazing out the window, seemingly lost in thought. He can’t stop sneaking looks at you, at the way your lips are parted, the slight furrow to your brow. He wants to kiss the worry-line away. 
“Everything okay?” 
Your eyes refocus on him, and you give him a half-smile. “Everything’s okay,” you tell him, looking back down again, twiddling your thumbs.
There’s a hitch in your voice that concerns him. “Tired?” he asks hesitantly, unsure if he should press the issue.
“Yeah, kind of. Things were…a little overwhelming today, I guess.”
Eddie frowns. “They should give you a helper or something. That’s a lot to deal with by yourself, even if it’s only for an hour or two.” He pulls up to the curb in front of your house, engine idling. Then he moves in for another kiss, gentler than any other he’s given you today. 
After just a few moments, you’re the one to break it, pulling back ever so slightly and leaving him wanting.
“Goodnight, Eddie,” you whisper, breath ghosting over his lips. You’re already reaching behind you for the door handle.
Eddie's caught off guard by the speed of your goodbye. “Goodnight,” he replies, dazed, sad to see you wrenching the door open so quickly, without the usual lingering kisses and touches he adores. 
You hop out and he watches your retreating back as you tread across the sidewalk towards the house. He leans over the center consol, towards the open passenger window. “Sweetheart?” he calls out.
You turn back to face him. “Yeah?”
He makes a come-hither motion with two ringed fingers. “Come here for a second.”
You double back and make your way around the vehicle, so you’re standing on the other side of Eddie’s door. With your arms propped against the sill of his window, you lean against the van, letting it support your weight.
You look at him expectantly, waiting.
He reaches out and touches your face, stroking his thumb across your cheekbone, savoring the feeling of your skin underneath the rough pads of his fingers.
“Thanks for coming with me tonight. I know I sort of sprung it on you,” he says apologetically.
You smile at him, warm though tinged with a sadness he can’t put his finger on. “I had fun. You’re right — they are nice boys.” 
Eddie sighs, still tracing your flesh. “Could I trouble you for one more kiss?” he asks quietly, blushing cheeks dimpling. “For the road?”
To his relief, you seem to melt a little, swaying lightly on your feet as you hold onto the sill and oblige him. 
Eddie’s other hand molds to the back of your head, cradling it in his palm as he kisses you one last time, urgency pervading all his senses, as though he might not get another.
When he releases you he's breathless, and he rests his forehead against yours for a moment, letting your noses rub together. Finally, he relaxes back in the seat.
“Get some sleep, honey,” he says.
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thank you for reading!!
taglist: @eddiesgirlforever, @eds6ngel, @sheisahauntedhouse, @lokis-tardis-companion19, @teary-eyed-egg, @whenshelanded, @nanaminswhore, @witchwolflea, @kores-mun-son-n-more
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The Hashira and their Sense of Humor
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Apologies for the hiatus! A lot has happened over the last couple of months and I'm finally getting some of them (somewhat) resolved through therapy and A LOT of patience with myself. So here's a post that I written back in October that brings me so much joy! Thank you all for your patience ^^
Word count: 2k~
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Mitsuri Kanroji
You know those types of people who want to tell you a really funny story but they need to stop laughing first?
And they've been laughing for the past fifteen minutes?
Yeah that's Mitsuri
I'm not entirely sure what to categorize this either than comedic storytelling
She could probably be a standup comedian too, she has some good stories to tell
But Mitsuri is really in her element when when someone else is telling a mildly amusing story
She will just keep adding onto it to somehow make it even more funnier than it was originally intended
Misturi could make an inside joke between you guys too, she is the designated funny friend of the Hashira
I also feel like she sometimes makes self-deprecating jokes, but not on any serious topics
Like she enjoys poking fun at the fact that she's still single
For an example, Mitsuri and Shinobu could be making an order at a restaurant for lunch
By the time Mitsuri finishes her first round of food and hands the dishes to the waiter, she accidentally drops them causing all the plates and bowls to shatter all over the floor
She tries to help clean up but the staff insists that she shouldn't worry about it
Sitting back down with Shinobu, cheeks red from embarrassment, Mitsuri will crack an awkward smile and say "Yeah, this is why I'm still single!"
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Obanai Iguro
Obanai is the most sarcastic motherfucker on this list
I feel like his number one policy is "Don't ask me stupid questions"
He's already annoyed like 70% of the time, just don't annoy him even more
But then again...
"Hey Obanai, did you lose this?" "No I was just playing hide and seek with an inanimate object for fun, YES I fucking dropped it"
"You look really tired, are you doing okay?" "Hell yeah, nothing says healthy like eye bags as dark as my hair"
"Can I pet your snake?" "Yeah you just gotta let him nibble you first but don't worry, he's only venomous"
Usually he's kinda rude about it but he does have his nice moments
"Hey Obanai, can you pass me that?" Obanai will just say no but hand and just hand it to you anyways
Some people just don't understand sarcasm all the time and that's when he kinda runs into some trouble
Obanai and Kyojuro were walking to a meeting together, but Obanai had forgotten his jacket AND haori
It was quite chilly outside too, so poor Obanai was shivering while trying to keep Kaburamaru warm
Kyojuro asked Obanai "My friend, winter is coming! Aren't you cold?"
Obanai deadpanned and said "Of course not, I'm just practicing my acting. Glad to see that my shivering is that convincing"
"How interesting! Maybe you should audition for a play at the theatre!"
Obanai's annoyance kept him warm for the rest of the day
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Tengen Uzui
Quite an obvious statement, but Tengen’s humor mainly comprises of sex jokes and innuendos
The man has three wives, of course he would find that shit funny
Like he will be in the middle of a meeting, and everyone will line up to receive some gifts from Kagaya
He will say "Come in a straight line, my students"
Tengen will chuckle and say "That's what she said"
Tengen is also the type to be "gay with the homies" and loves to embarrass Sanemi and Obanai by making jokes about being in love or hooking up with them
He chooses specifically those two because it felt awkward to make the jokes to Gyomei
Tengen once spent forty-five minutes explaining to Kyojuro that he didn't actually want to buy him dinner after Kyojuro gave him a genuinely offended look to the highest degree
"How deceitful of you, Tengen"
He pretty much wrote off saying jokes like that to Kyojuro following that incident, but he really can't help himself sometimes
I don't think that Tengen solely has generic innuendos he uses on everyone, he likes testing what SPECIFIC category of sex jokes makes people uncomfortable
Like if Giyu goes to the bathroom, Tengen will saunter up with a finger gun on his chin and ask "Pissing all by yourself, handsome?"
Everyone is throwing their shoes at him
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Sanemi Shinazugawa
Of course this sadistic bastard likes slapstick, what we’re you thinking?
He may be good at holding in a laugh, but you can still see that stupid smirk on his face if anyone stumbles
One time Tengen's six foot ass fell face first while running late to a meeting
Sanemi actually struggled to keep his composure that day, he had to bite his lips together to hide the uncontrollable grin on his face
People getting smacked upside the head, tripping others, people getting violently angry, Sanemi loves it all
He refuses to admit that Zenitsu is funny
Now a regular civilian is one thing, but children getting roughed up is another
there was a particular incident where Sanemi had come across some kids swinging on a tree branch near a market he occasionally visited
This week ass branch definitely didn't have the strength to hold up any of those kids
So Sanemi did what any sane person would, and stuck around to watch this disaster happen
Well unfortunately for this one child, the branch snapped mid-swing and fell right on their face
And there was Sanemi, a hand over his stomach from laughing at these dumb kids
He didn't even stop to help them or anything, just calmed down from laughing so hard and walked away to continue shopping
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Shinobu Kocho
An absolute queen of insult humor
Even Sanemi can’t beat Shinobu at her best
Do you even think she would stick with the basic ass jokes? Of course not
She can be an absolute menace if she really wants to
Shinobu is just tired of everyone's shit, and she can get even more exhausted from putting on that smile nearly as much as Kyojuro
She just can't keep up
Which brings me to my main point, which is that Shinobu's funny side usually comes out in rants or vents with the people closest to her
She and Mitsuri both express their humor by storytelling, Shinobu's just originates more from anger an annoyance rather than an effort to be entertaining
Regardless of who Shinobu's around, everyone can tell that when she walks through the door with steam coming out of her ears, everyone's gonna be laughing their asses off
As anyone can agree if they've worked in any form of customer service, there are some days where you are so damn close to breaking your cool
When Tengen got placed in the Butterfly Estate's infirmary, Shinobu was actually going to kill a patient instead of saving them for once
Like this man was just demanding shit and teasing his friend left and right, and Aoi had never been so afraid of her mentor in her entire life
Aoi tried to calm her down, "Sticks and stones Shinobu, don't let him get to you!"
Tengen only snickered
Ooooo, she lost her shit
"Sticks and stones may break my bones but PLEASE. FUCK. OFF"
Angy Shinobu is best Shinobu
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Kyojuro Rengoku
Look me in the eyes and tell me Kyojuro doesn’t like puns
I know you can't do it
He will howl with laughter nearly every time you tell him a pun
"Hey Kyo, you're never gonna believe it! Remember my friend with a bakery? Well it just burned down!"
At first he'll show genuine concern, politely shouting "How unfortunate!"
"Don't worry about it, his business is toast"
Give him a minute...
"Ahahaha! Good one!"
Not only does he like being told puns, but if he has a good opportunity to tell a well timed pun he will not stop giggling until he tells it
One time you, Tengen, Mitsuri, and Kyojuro were all trying to decide where to eat after a long day of work
At one point Tengen suggested hotpot, even offering to take you all to one that Makio and Suma liked
Kyojuro tried muffling his laughing, but his attention was redirected when you asked him what he thought of the idea
Finally able to cease his giggles, Kyojuro proudly shouted "SOUPER"
It doesn't matter if you find the joke funny or not, Kyojuro's laughter is so contagious that you're dying at the silly pun
What a fucking dork <3
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Giyu Tomioka
If there was a form of comedy that’s applicable at any given moment, Giyu would use it on a daily basis
Luckily for him, Giyu discovered it very quicky and refuses to let the tactic go
That's right, Giyu is physically incapable of stopping himself from making a "your mom" joke
Everyone can blame Obanai for that one
Quite literally at any opportunity, Giyu will mutter the phrase under his breath
Unfortunately, because it has become such an unconscious thing for Giyu, this bad habit of his ends up kicking his ass at the worst of times
with all due respect to Giyu's efforts, it just makes him unintentionally funny
in an awkward way
Giyu visited one of his favourite restaurants on his day off, the waiter asked "Is there anything else you would like, sir?" after giving his order
Now Giyu didn't mean it, he really didn't
It just slipped out of his mouth so easily
"Your mom"
Let me tell you, the silence was absolutely deafening
After the two stared at each other in mutual confusion, Giyu just wordlessly left due to the sheer embarrassment and awkwardness he had caused
He tried to go back, truly, Giyu made the effort and walked through the door
But he made uncomfortable eye contact with that same waiter and walked out
He hasn't gone back to that restaurant since ;,)
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Gyomei Himijima
I have already established in my Gyomei Headcannons post that Gyomei is the dad friend of the Hashira (go check out that post if you haven’t btw ^^)
So of course he's going to make dad jokes, everyone saw this coming
God forbid you ever complain around him, he will see it as an opportunity (usually)
"Man, I'm really hungry" Gyomei will hand you a bento box and say "Hi hungry, I'm prepared
He is THAT GUY that makes "I haven't seen you since last year!" jokes
Every single year without fail
Shockingly, Gyomei and Kyojuro will bond over their mutual love for super corny jokes
One time while training Genya, Gyomei asked him "Child, what is long and sticky?"
Genya paused his routine to think for a moment, slightly disturbed by the question
"I don't know what you- fresh mochi?" Gyomei shook his head
Genya made a claw gesture with his hands, knowing Gyomei couldn't see it
"No idea, what's long and sticky?"
Gyomei gave a small, sly smile before responding
"A stick, little one"
To be honest, Gyomei's jokes do annoy some of the Hashira whenever he makes them (mainly Shinobu, Obanai and Tengen)
Normally because he's so calm about it
Tengen usually is one to lose his temper over it though
"You really got a joke for about everything, huh?" "Indeed I do, Tengen. I even have one about construction"
Tengen's eye will twitch as he taunts Gyomei "Oh yeah? Well let's hear it then!"
"I'm afraid I can't, my friend. I'm still working on it"
Kyojuro's laugh echoes throughout the meeting as Tengen realizes he most definitely walked into that one
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Muichiro Tokito
His sense of humor is weird
That’s all I have, anything that Muichiro finds funny is actually kinda strange
He does this thing where he will go in with a fistbump, but change it to a high five last second
Muichiro can do it the other way around too, but regardless it results in this silly fist-five thing that makes him chuckle
He's a little bit of a devious child so his sense of humor kinda comes from whatever will annoy the other Hashira
Sometimes he will sit in the middle of a meeting and just blow raspberries while spacing out a little
It annoys the fuck out of Sanemi and Obanai because Muichiro's spit gets EVERYWHERE
Even Giyu thinks that kid comes with his own splash zone
He's not one for pranks per say, but he likes reaping a bit of terror amongst the other Hashira
One time Muichiro stole Tengen's red eyeliner one weekend purely for entertainment
the next day when everyone showed up to the meeting, people got to witness a very distressed Tengen
Holding up Sanemi and Obanai midair by the collar of their shirts, Tengen interrogated the both of them where they hid his shockingly expensive liner
Of course no one would suspect the slobbering kid, who was inconspicuously blowing raspberries
Had anyone asked Muichiro if he saw Tengen's liner, Muichiro would turn to the fuming man and giggle
Secretly, Aoi is Muichiro's unknowing accomplice in these scenarios
"Here Aoi, could you hold this for a while?" "Uhh, sure? What is it for?" "Hmm? Oh nothing..."
Don't underestimate this little shit
꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚ ꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚ ꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚
Hey y’all! Hope you liked this post, it was such a pleasure to write it ^^
I’m hoping that now I’ll be able to write more for this blog now that I have more time, and I have more posts lined up in the future :)
Ask box and requests are still open, just please read the rules before submitting anything!
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Text
Endings and Beginnings (Part 2) - Rooster
Pairing: Rooster / Fem!Reader (Wife!Reader)
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: Pregnancy, Labor and Delivery (Nothing Explicit, Fade-to-Black Magic), Hospitals, Stressful Situations, Use of "You" (Second Person POV), No Y/N, No Physical Description of Reader
This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.
Summary: Rooster gets you to the hospital to welcome Baby Bradshaw into the world.
A.N. Thank you so much for all of your support with the last one! I had no idea that it would get so much attention, so thank you and please enjoy Part 2!
Here's Part 1 if you missed it.
Master List
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“Babe!?”
“What?” you called back, reaching the top of the stairs.
Rooster rushed up the stairs behind you, acting like a chicken with his head cut off, and followed you as you waddled into your shared bedroom.
“You’re in labor!?” Rooster asked, failing at not freaking out.
“It seems like it,” you replied, pulling out some new underwear from the drawer.
“We have to get you to the hospital!”
“I know,” you assured him, turning towards your closet.
“Let’s get you to the car,” Rooster insisted, following right behind you. “I left the go bag in the trunk, so all we have to do is call the hospital. And your parents. And Mav. And probably Phoenix and everyone else and—”
“—Bradley, honey,” you interjected, holding a hand to his mouth to get him to stop talking. “Can you just help me shower first? I’ve got stuff all over me right now.”
Rooster hurriedly nodded before leading you to your shared bathroom. He quickly undressed you and turned the shower on to a mild temperature. You stepped inside and started to wash away any of the residual fluid and leftovers from a long day at the beach and Hard Deck. Rooster washed your ruined clothes and hung them up to dry before quickly calling the hospital and your doctor.
“Okay, okay, the hospital said that they have a room available for you, so all we have to do is get you there. I called your parents and they said that they were going to try and move up their tickets. And I called Penny and she said that she would take care of everything at the Hard Deck,” Rooster listed off in quick succession as he strode back into the bathroom. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” you grunted out as a contraction hit you. “Just peachy.”
You leaned on the shower wall a bit and let out a groan, which instantly had Rooster concerned. Shutting off the water, he quickly grabbed a towel and stepped into the shower with you. Carefully drying you off, Rooster got you to rest your weight on him.
“It’s okay, just breathe,” he coached, just like you practiced.
You rocked your hips a bit as Rooster supported your weight and dried you off. When the contraction passed, you let out a breath and slowly straightened up.
“I’m fine,” you repeated, like you weren’t just doubled over in pain.
“Are you sure?” Rooster asked, helping you out of the shower.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured your husband as he grabbed your new clothes. “Just a contraction.”
“You’re in labor,” Rooster reminded you, helping you into a new pair of underwear. “It’s okay if you’re in pain and you’re not fine.”
“Just the early stages. We’ve still got time.”
Rooster got you dressed and brushed your damp hair before you two headed down the stairs. You held the railing and Rooster was suction cupped to your other side with his arm wrapped around your waist and his hand holding your free one.
“Bradley, I’m not dainty. I can walk down the stairs,” you reminded him gently.  
“You’re in labor.”
“Yeah, I’m aware,” you replied dryly. When he started to pull you towards the car, you pulled against him. “Wait, we need to clean up the kitchen.”
Bradley stared at you like you had grown two heads in the span of three seconds. He blinked rapidly and was very clearly trying to pick out his words carefully before responding to you.
“Honey,” he began softly, “the kitchen floor will be fine. We need to get you to the hospital.”
“But it’ll stain and get all gross if we leave it.”
“Then I’ll call someone to stop by and clean it up. While we’re at the hospital.”
“Oh, Bradley, the baby isn’t going to fall out of me. We have some time.”
You swore that Bradley twitched in place, but he acquiesced to your ‘ridiculous’ request. Leaving you by the stairs, Bradley hurried to clean up the fluid on the ground. He mopped furiously with the Swiffer, reminding you of Olympic curlers. You thought about taking a video of it for shits and giggles when you felt another contraction hit you.
Checking your phone for the time, you sucked in a breath when you realized the proximity of the contractions to each other. You let out a grunt and leaned heavily on the railing, rocking your hips again. Rooster, noticing your distress, practically tossed the Swiffer into the closet and sprinted over to you. Resting a hand on your back, he transferred your weight from the railing to him.
“We need to get you to the hospital, okay?”
You nodded, leaning against your husband as a soft whimper escaped your lips. After your contraction passed, Rooster led you down to the car and rushed back to lock up the house.
This wasn’t a drill. He was going to graduate from father-to-be to dad today. Tonight. Whenever the baby decided to actually join the world properly. There would be a little baby with you two for the rest of your lives.
And part of him was scared. No, absolutely terrified at that realization. But he couldn’t focus on that. He needed to be a rock, a pillar of strength for you right now. Even if you denied the fact that you were in need of support, he needed to be there for you. So, Rooster quickly locked up the house and hurried back to the car where you were rubbing your bump.
“How are you doing?” he asked, starting up the car.
“I’m fine,” you breathed out, cradling your large bump. “I’m fine, really.”
“Okay,” Rooster replied, even though he didn’t believe you. “I’m going to get you to the hospital. And if you need anything or want to hold my hand to squeeze, you just let me know. I’m here for you and the baby and I’m going to get you to the hospital as quick as I can. Okay?”
“Yes, okay,” you agreed, nodding along as you sunk a bit in your seat.
The drive to the hospital was not supposed to be too long but given the fact that you were driving at a rather traffic-heavy time, it took longer than it should have. Rooster was torn between driving erratically and thereby getting you to the hospital faster or driving safely and making sure that he didn’t get the both of you in the hospital for another reason.
“Oh, fuck,” you groaned, curling in on yourself.
“I know, honey, I know,” Bradley stated, clearly frazzled. You were sitting at the fifth red light of the drive and Rooster was really starting to lose his patience with it. “Just breathe. We’ll be there in about five minutes.”
“I’m. Fine,” you grunted out, squeezing the life out of his hand. You let out a half-scream that absolutely terrified Rooster to his core.
“Breathe. Just breathe,” Rooster coached, driving through the intersection. “We’re almost there.”
“It’s okay,” you whimpered out, taking a shaky breath. “I’m fine.”
As soon as you reached the hospital, Rooster got you into a wheel chair and hurried towards the labor and delivery wing. You were immediately admitted to the wing and Rooster could not hide the fact that he was relieved that a doctor was looking over you.
“Alright, Mrs. Bradshaw, you’re moving along quickly here,” the obstetrician stated, pulling off her gloves. “Your cervix is already dilated five centimeters and based on the current rate of progression of your contractions it looks like your baby is very eager to join us.”
“What?” you replied, somewhat dumbly. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, quite sure,” the obstetrician replied calmly.
“But this is my first pregnancy. Shouldn’t it go slower than that?” you insisted, wrapping your arms around your bump.
“That’s a general rule, yes, but every mother, baby, and labor is different. You’re just progressing quicker than most.”
“Oh . . .” you trailed off, anxiety clear in your features.
“I’ll come back to check on you in a little bit, but press the button if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Rooster stated on your behalf when you simply stared into space. The obstetrician left the room and Rooster immediately turned back to you. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine,” you replied quietly, slowly stroking your bump.
“It’s okay to not be fine,” Rooster assured you softly, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. “Don’t feel like you can’t be honest with me. Or the medical staff.”
“I’m fine,” you insisted, though you looked on the edge of tears.
“Babe,” Rooster called, causing you to turn to face him.
You kept up a brave face—mask, really—so far during this process. But when Rooster gave you that look that screamed that he knew that you weren’t actually okay, you finally broke down a little bit. And by a little bit, you really meant a lot.
Rooster quickly sat up and gathered you in his arms, rubbing your back soothingly as you let out a tide of emotions that you held back. Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, Rooster quietly took a moment to compose himself before turning back to you.
“I’m here,” Rooster assured you, resting his head on top of your own. “I’m here and I love you and I love our baby so much and it’s okay if you’re not fine or you’re scared or anything like that. I’m here to help you. Just tell me what you need or what you feel and I’ll help you.”
“I just thought that we would have more time,” you croaked out, burying your face into his neck. “Why are they coming so fast?”
“Because they’re just so eager to meet you.”
You let out a half-laugh before latching onto your husband again. Rooster pressed a kiss to the top of your head once again and drew circles on your hip with his thumb.
“I just thought that we had more time,” you repeated quietly. “I’m not ready, Roo.”
“That’s okay,” Rooster stated softly. “It’s okay to not be ready.”
“We didn’t even pick a name.”
“I know, but maybe we’ll think up a perfect one once the baby’s here, okay?”
“Yeah . . . that’s a good idea,” you conceded, sniffling a bit.
“Thank you, I thought of it myself.”
“You’re going to be the worst with dad humor, aren’t you?” you sighed, shaking your head.
Rooster smiled down at you and pressed a series of kisses to your face. Pressing one final kiss to your lips, he rested his forehead against your own.
“You’re going to be okay. The baby is going to be okay. And I’m right here.”
“I know. Just . . . don’t leave me . . . please,” you requested, still clinging to your husband.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he assured you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m here. I’m here. And I love you and I love our baby so much.”
“I love you too,” you returned softly.
And just as the obstetrician predicted, you delivered Baby Bradshaw a few short hours later. Baby Bradshaw weighed in at eight pounds and six ounces, with ten fingers and ten toes, and a large set of working lungs. After checking you and your baby over, the medical staff gave the three of you some personal space to bond with your baby.
“I can’t believe that I was wrong,” you murmured quietly.
You stroked your daughter’s head carefully with your finger. She laid against your bare chest for some skin-to-skin contact and was peacefully sleeping. For now, anyway. You leaned back against Bradley, who climbed up into the hospital bed with you and held the both of you in his arms as you sat in between his ridiculously long legs.
“Just blame Hangman for it,” Rooster replied, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
“I like that option,” you agreed, chuckling softly to not wake up your baby.
Rubbing her back soothingly, you leaned back against your husband’s chest. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and rested his head against your own as the two of you watched your daughter peacefully sleep against your chest.
“Thank you,” Rooster whispered to you, causing you to turn to him.
“For what?”
“For her,” Rooster stated, pressing a soft, loving kiss to your forehead. “For all of it. For giving me a family of my own.”
“Thank you for not passing out on me,” you mused, earning a chuckle from Rooster.
“I also won us fifty bucks with that.”
“What?”
“There was a bet that I would pass out during your delivery,” Rooster explained to you. “So, how about I treat you to some good takeout when we get home?”
“Sounds good to me,” you mused, leaning back against him.
Though you tried to fight it, the exhaustion of your last day was quickly catching up with you. And Rooster, the attentive husband and father that he was, quickly picked up on it. Carefully sliding out for behind you, Rooster settled you back against the pillows and gently took your daughter into his arms. Pressing a kiss to your lips, Rooster adjusted your blanket.
“Get some rest, honey. I’ve got her.”
“You sure?” you whispered out, already half-asleep.
“I’m sure. Get some sleep. I love you.”
“I love you too,” you murmured out, falling asleep about thirty seconds later.
Rooster walked over to the coach that he planned to sleep on for the night. He temporarily placed your daughter down in her hospital bed before pulling off his shirt to get some skin-to-skin contact of his own with her. Laying down with your daughter carefully resting against his chest, Rooster smiled down at her as he stroked her back.
“You really scared your mama back there. And you sure as heck tired her out,” Rooster mused quietly, glancing over at where you were sleeping. “But we’re really happy that you’re here, sweetheart. And we love you so much.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before leaning back to simply observe the perfect little baby that you and him made together.
~~~~~
The next morning, your recovery room was flooded with visitors, since your daughter was conveniently born after visitor hours the day previous.
“Ha, I was right. You were wrong,” Phoenix whisper yelled at Hangman, who rolled his eyes in response.
“She’s so precious,” Maverick breathed out, cradling your daughter in his arms.
“Just make sure that you support her head,” Rooster reminded Maverick softly.
Bradley held his hand against your daughter’s head to make sure that it was properly supported. And maybe they should have made his callsign ‘Hawk’ based on the way that he was watching over your daughter. He was overprotective over you, especially when you were pregnant. But now that your daughter was born, he was overprotective over her as well.
“He’s holding just her fine, Brad,” you assured your husband supportively.
“Here we go,” Hangman huffed, shaking his head. “Mother Hen is here to stay.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Rooster warned him, half-joking, but really deadly serious.
“I think that she looks more like her mom,” Penny commented, standing to Maverick’s right.
“That’s why she’s so beautiful,” Rooster replied softly, keeping a close eye on your daughter.
“Aw, thanks Roo,” you called back.
“Kiss up,” Hangman coughed under his breath, earning a smack to his arm from Phoenix.
A.N. I decided to leave the baby's name up to you guys to avoid repeating anyone's name. I hope that you enjoyed this little sequel! I don't think that there will be a Part 3 to this little series, but if there is, I'll tag from the replies on this one. Thanks!
Tags: @cherrycola27
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thehusbandoden · 8 months
Text
You Flinch During an Argument -Todoroki Shoto
Sooo I decided to change this into drabbles instead of headcannons and a drabble bc I'm a lot more comfortable writing in this format, sorry if this bothers anyone <33
Oh and this is a lot more fluffy bc I'm so soft for Sho <3
I'll make Bakugou's a lot more angsty tomorrow >:))
Angst to fluff/comfort | 1,057 words
Warnings!: Mention of arguing, flinching, fear of hurting/scaring your s/o, mention of abuse (Shoto's childhood), and spending money in copious amounts (is that a warning??). Pls let me know if I miss any <33
Dabi | Hawks | Todoroki Shoto | Bakugo Katsuki | Midoriya Izuku | Shigaraki Tomura | Aizawa Shota | Amajiki Tamaki | Kirishima Eijiro | Shinso Hitoshi
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The argument was getting nowhere, you were exhausted, angry, and hurt. You also bet that Sho felt the same.
Sighing, you stand up and walk towards where Shoto was pacing around.
"Listen Sho, let's just go to bed, we can talk about this in the morning."
"Fine then, you go to be-" Shoto froze as he saw you flinch away from him, he wasn't going to.. hurt you. He would never hurt you.
"Did.. did you think I was going to hurt you?" Shoto asked, inwardly panicking as he rushed to your side, hands hovering over your arms, shoulders, and hands, too scared of hurting or scaring you to touch you.
"No baby no. It was some kinda reaction from my body, probably because the tension was high and we're heroes." You coo, grabbing Shoto's hands comfortingly.
"A-are you sure?" Shoto asked, body shaking as he moved his hands up and down your arms, trying to comfort you as best as he could.
"Positive my dear, lets just get to bed, yeah? We can talk about our.. disagreement in the morning." You smile, causing Shoto to nod as he followed you to your shared bedroom, hovering behind you as you go through your night time routine.
"Baby.. I promise I'm not scared of you." You whisper, turning around to hug Shoto as he hovered over your shoulder, heart broken.
"I- I know.. it just reminded me of mom.. and him.."
"Oh baby, no. That is completely different."
Hugging Shoto tighter, your heart partially broke as Shoto clung to you, burying his face in your neck, seeking any kind of comfort he could.
"T-this was a one time freak accident.. right?" Shoto asked, a few tears staining your shoulder as he let you comfort him, needing some kind of stability for him to be sane.
"Yes, yes this will only happen this one time. I was not scared of you, my body moved on its own, I hold zero fear towards you, my love."
"Promise?"
"I promise. Now, let's get to bed and cuddle, yeah?"
Shoto simply nodded, shuffling his feet in a way where he could move yet stay attached to you, and he completely climbed on top of you, burying his face into your chest as you played with his hair, kissing his forehead sweetly.
~~~
The next morning he was attached to you until you had to go to work, and even then he was very reluctant to let you go, asking for kiss after kiss as you attempted to leave.
You came home to a completely cleaned house, your favorite meal, and your favorite at home activity set up.
And the next day, after he came home from work he brought you flowers, your favorite treat, take out, a movie, and a book that's been rotting in your 'tbr' list on Amazon.
It stayed that way for at least a week and a half, Shoto doing everything he could to show you how much he truly loved you.
~~~
"Baby I'm home." Shoto calls, shutting the door with his foot as he moved to set todays findings on your kitchen island.
"Hey, you're home early!" You smile, quickly making your way to kiss Sho's lips before hugging him, smiling at the comforting warmth and smell.
"Yeah, I missed you too much and there wasn't much going on. If there's any thing they need my help with they'll simply call me in."
Pecking his chest as acknowledgment, you turn to the island, blushing in embarrassment at the multiple bags on the smooth surface.
"Sho, how many times do I need to tell you that you don't need to keep buying me things?" You sigh, smiling as the hero pecked the back of your ear to help you cool off.
"And how many times do I need to tell you that I know I don't 'need' to, but I can, and want to spoil my queen."
"Sho you're too good for this world." You huff, blushing at Shoto's bold honesty.
"I belive that is you, my love."
"Okay okay- what did you get this time?" You sigh, peering at the bags curiously.
"You have to wait for this one," Sho mused, picking out a small black bag from the bunch, maneuvering it so you wouldn't see the brand name.
"Ah c'mon Sh-"
"and this one is for dinner-" Sho continued, shushing you with a quick peck to the lips, setting the grocery bag aside.
" and the rest is for you to enjoy at your leisure." Shoto smiled, causing you to blush.
Smiling, you look through the remaining four bags, smile widening at the sentimental gifts Shoto had gotten you.
One bag was full of books and movies you were dying to read/watch, and another one was full of bags of sweets you enjoyed from the gas station near your house -which means he most likely grabbed them on a whim, barely putting a thought into spoiling you as he remembered all of your favorites and which one you liked the most.
The other two were full of some of your favorite hobbies, and things you were meaning to get. Needed a new pair of earphones for long hours of patrol? Sho got the new model, making sure to get your favorite color. Oh- did you want a pair of fuzzy socks for the upcoming winter? Shoto got you just that, spending extra money to make them just right for you. The list went on and on, causing you to both feel giddy and annoyed.
"Shoto, you can't just spoil me. You need to be spoiled too, and all of your money is going into this isn't it?" Giving Sho a look to stop him from interrupting, you continued, "but, I really do appreciate this. You're too sweet for this world, Sho."
Shoto just smiled at you, eyes holding a certain spark that made you giddy.
And that alone stopped you from telling him to stop.
Because he truly enjoyed spoiling you, and you won't be that one to dampen that light, you'll be the one to continue to let it grow.
Plus you started spoiling him too- and now it's basically part of your routine
Series' masterlist | Shoto's masterlist | Main masterlist | Navigation
Tips <3
~~
Reblogs help spread and support my work, and therefore help me out a ton, but any support is appreciated <33
Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging.
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whimsyfinny · 2 months
Text
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.
Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut
Warnings: SMUT, the forbidden quickie
Chapter Word Count: 3548
—-MDNI—-
A/N: ahhhhhhhh I finally wrote some spice! Sorry it took a while. This is a little tame I guess but we can work up to the extra lewd stuff
——————————————————————
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Please read the below first:
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
I’m Not Your F*cking Maid
Chapter 6
The following day rolled around quickly and before we knew it there was only an hour remaining until the auction house charity event. The disturbing events of yesterday were pushed to the back of my mind, the boys respecting my wishes on not wanting to talk about it. Sam told us over breakfast that he’d managed to access the auction house database and add our names to the guest list for the party, making it easy for us to attend without getting caught out as uninvited visitors. Now back in my room, I was rummaging through my duffel and pulling out my evening attire: a long black dress made of soft satin that had a slit up to the hip on one side. The neckline was a deep v-plunge and the dress was entirely backless.
“I guess no bra for me tonight then,” I mumbled to myself, also pulling out a clean pair of black lace panties and a pair of closed toe, VERY high black satin heels that had a neat little buckle on the ankle strap. I was already showered and my makeup was already done so I dropped my towel and slipped into the dress, pulling the thin straps over my shoulders. I followed by pulling on my panties, stretching the lace over my hips so it wasn’t visible through the slit in the dress. If you didn’t know any better, it would look like I wasn’t wearing anything at all. I sat on the edge of the bed and put on the heels, securing them in place before standing up and doing a few practice laps of the room - wearing shoes this high was not a common occurrence for me. I finished up by dusting my skin with the same perfume I wore yesterday, breathing in the pleasant smell before tucking the bottle along with my rouge lipstick into my little black clutch. I fussed over myself in the mirror for a few minutes when I heard a knock at the door. Pacing over I flung it open to greet the Winchester boys, and when I did I couldn’t help but do a double take over the oldest brother. I hated to admit it but he looked good. REALLY good. He was dressed head to toe in black: a slim fitted suit, shirt and tie, all of which seemed to flick something on in my brain. His suit jacket hung open and beneath it the shirt was clinging to his well defined torso, the top two buttons straining a little.
“You scrub up well, Dean,” I said to him, trying to sound pleasantly surprised. Instead, I think I sounded incredibly flirtatious. Dean didn’t seem to notice though as I watched his jaw slacken and his eyes flit over my body.
“Uhhh-um yeah, thanks,” he said, clearing his throat a little as he stepped aside to let me out.
“You look great, (Y/n),” Sam said, making such intense eye contact with me like he didn’t know where else to look, his cheeks glowing a little.
“Thanks Sam,” I smiled up at him before locking the motel room door and trying to ignore the fact that Dean didn’t say anything. Back to being an ass I see.
“So (Y/n), you’re with Dean. It should be pretty simple: get in, get the hair pain, get out. With that many people at the event, we don’t want to risk anyone getting hurt so I'll be ready and waiting outside with everything we need to destroy it and put the ghost to rest,” Sam briefed us before carrying on, “I’ll head back to our room to get everything and I’ll meet you there - you guys get going,” he nodded his head to Deans car which was parked out front. Dean said a quick farewell and headed out and I did the same, giving Sam a wave as he turned to leave.
I climbed into the front of the Impala, running my hands over the plush leather seat.
“You really do have great taste in cars Dean,” I said, looking around at the immaculate interior. He hummed in agreement, putting his arm over the back of my seat as he reversed out of the parking spot. Those top two buttons on his shirt were not going to last all night. I crossed my legs, getting comfortable for the short journey into town - the satin of my dress falling open and completely exposing my thigh to Dean. I watched him take his eyes off the road and fixate on my bare skin, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. Returning his eyes to the road I saw his chest rise as he took a deep breath, a small but deep groan emitting from his chest.
“You ok?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“I’m fine,” he rasped.
“Ok… you’re acting strange though,” I said, leaning on the passenger side door to watch the street lamps turn on.
“Can you blame me?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
There was a few seconds of silence before he flicked on his cassette player and classic rock filled the car, bringing a smile to my ruby lips.
“Good taste in music too? I’ll be damned, you’ve got more of a personality than I thought.”
He scoffed a little before smirking, “there’s more to me than meets the eye sweetheart.” He looked over at me, green eyes piercing into mine with such intensity I suddenly felt a little warm. I looked away, quickly counting my lucky stars when I noticed we’d arrived.
Dean parked up and I reached for the door, however Dean stopped me from opening it.
“Wait,” his tone was authoritative as he reached a hand out to stop me, his rough fingers lightly grazing the soft skin of my thigh. Before I could even respond, he’d hopped out, slamming his door shut before striding around the front of the car to open mine for me. He held his hand out, which I grasped delicately and he pulled me to my feet.
“What was that for?” I asked, puzzled as he closed the passenger side door behind me.
“Just trying to keep up appearances for this shit-show,” he stated bluntly before he walked off ahead of me towards the front door whilst he left me to navigate the uneven cobbles in these death-trap shoes.
“Jerk,” I muttered under my breath, but he must’ve heard me because he turned around, sighed and held out his arm for me to take.
“Just ask if you need help,” he leaned in and said quietly, his face close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin. I sucked in a breath, which was a mistake as he smelt positively divine. He was filling my senses and I didn’t want him to.
We made it into the building with no trouble at all thanks to Sam’s hard work. The inside of the auction house was a grand spectacle indeed; with high ceilings, a chandelier made up of thousands of tiny pieces of crystal and two symmetrical mahogany staircases at the end of the entrance hall. It was busy, lots of people in expensive attire milling about and drinking equally expensive sparkly wine.
“Shall we get some champagne?” I turned and asked Dean, who chuckled slightly.
“You’re already more fun than Sam,” he said before whisking two flute glasses off a passing waiter and handing me one. We chinked glasses, laughing a little at how awkward all of this pomp and ceremony was for us before we both downed the expensive alcohol like shots. Dean winced slightly, handing his now empty flute back to the same waiter who gave him a concerned look.
“Aw damn, those bubbles - that shits wrong.”
“That’s because you’re supposed to sip it,” I laughed at him, placing my empty glass on an old polished oak sideboard.
“Then why did you neck it too if you knew?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows at me. I shrugged.
“To be honest I don’t know - I guess I wanted to lighten the old-money mood in here.” He nodded, seeming to understand where I was coming from. After that fiasco we made our way towards the immense curved staircases at the end of the room, Deans hand occasionally touching my exposed back as he guided me in front of him, making me shiver involuntarily. We ascended, making our way up and past people who were at the top of the stairs, idly chatting and leaning on the bannister - not paying us any mind as we turned down a quiet corridor. We walked quietly, the hum of chatting remaining behind us as we made our way down the dim corridor, looking out for the room number Sam had given us.
“Room 19, room 19, room 19…” I chanted to myself searching every door until we found the right one. Coming to a stop, Dean quickly knelt down and pulled a lockpick from his pocket. I watched in fascination as he inserted the device, ever so gently manoeuvring it with a look of pure concentration on his face. I couldn’t stop myself from looking over at him whilst he was unaware; looking at those focused and hooded dark green eyes, slightly parted lips that he wet with his tongue and large muscled shoulders that were almost as wide as the doorway. I didn’t want to admit it, but God damn he was attractive. There was a click and he stood up quickly, pocketing the lockpick and opening the door, hurrying me inside. I walked gingerly into the room which looked like a mixture between a study and a museum. There were large bookcases spanning the walls, sideboards boasting an array of intriguing items, all contained in secure glass cabinets, and finally a large leather-topped mahogany desk in the centre of the room. This place smelt old.
I heard Dean close the door behind him as he paced in after me, immediately scanning the room.
“Right,” he said, his tone stern and authoritative, “you take that side and I’ll take this side.” I nodded, immediately scouring every surface for our haunted item.
We must’ve been looking for around ten minutes when Dean called me over.
“Do you think that’s it?” He almost whispered, pointing to an item that I would definitely have described as a jade hairpin.
“Yup,” I whispered back, leaning slightly closer to him so I could get a better look. I felt him draw a sharp breath in before sighing slightly. “Can you pick this lock?” I asked, ignoring his antics and sticking to the business at hand.
“Yeah give me a second and I’ll get it open,” he stepped in front of me. Not wanting to get in his way, I walked into the centre of the room to where the desk was and leant against it, looking around at all of the bizarre items. Surely there are some other haunted things in here other than what we came for. My eyes eventually landed on an old gramophone.
“Oh that bitch is definitely haunted,” I mumbled to myself right as I heard Dean pop the lock on the glass cabinet. I watched as he wrapped the hairpin in a square of fabric before shoving it into his pocket and clicking the cabinet closed.
“Mission complete,” he said, a slight grin on his lips as he walked to stand in front of me. That grin fell from his face though when suddenly there were voices outside the door and keys rattling in the lock. We hadn’t planned for this. He looked at me in a panic.
“Kiss me,” I blurted.
“What?”
“I have a plan: Dean just fucking kiss m-” it was like I didn’t have to tell him twice before he had a hand in my hair and his lips were on mine. My heart started pounding and his mouth was hot against my cool skin. I hummed, sliding my fingers up his chest to grip the lapels on his jacket, pulling him further in towards me. Before I could get sucked into whatever it was that I was feeling, the study door flew open and two older gentlemen in brown tweed suits walked in, stopping in their tracks at the sight of us.
“Good heavens! What are you doing in here?” One of them exclaimed. Dean turned his head to look at the men, a smirk on his face and I couldn’t help but blush furiously at the sight of my lipstick that was now smeared on the corner of his lips.
“So sorry gentlemen, the door was unlocked so we just let ourselves in. I hope you don’t mind…” I watched, my eyes widening a little as he lifted his jacket slightly, showing the gun that was tucked into his belt. The men’s eyes also widened and they backed up towards the door.
“Yes, yes! Of course you did! Please, take your time. Just…” the man paused, his eyes darting to the precious items on his desk, “please try not to make a mess - it’s all I ask.” And with that they both left as quickly as they arrived, closing the door behind them. I let out a sigh of relief, looking up at Dean.
“Thank fuck… Dean I’m so sor-” I didn’t have a chance to think as Deans mouth was back on mine; rough and needy. I sat in shock for a second before being pulled back to reality when Dean held the side of my face, his fingers sliding up to tangle with my hair. I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him back, my mind racing and going blank simultaneously. His free hand ghosted up my exposed leg, touching so gently I could barely feel him. He soon decided though that gentle wasn’t working for him, and he gripped my thigh, his fingers digging into my soft flesh and making me gasp - his hands on my body were already working their magic as I couldn’t stop his name from leaving my lips.
“Dean…” I moaned. I can’t believe it - I had actually moaned his fucking name. He groaned into my mouth, obviously liking the sound of his name rolling off my tongue. Tearing his hand from my hair and gripping my other thigh, without warning and with rushed movements, he lifted me with ease so I was sat atop the desk.
“Wrap your legs around me darlin,” he said with a deep lustful tone against my lips. I whimpered involuntarily as I did as he said. He pried his mouth from mine and started to kiss elsewhere; my cheek, behind my ear… my neck. I ran my hands over his shoulders and up the back of his neck, running my nails over his scalp and making him shiver. I gripped his hair and yanked, forcing his head up. I locked eyes with him, his eyes no longer that brilliant green but now blown and black with lust. My own eyes were probably no different. His gaze fluttered from my eyes to my lips, and before I let him kiss me again I leant forward and pressed my lips to his throat, my tongue on his skin. It was his turn to moan as I reached a hand down and traced a finger up the hard weapon growing in his pants. His large hands moving from my thighs to my ass, gripping tighter than ever before as I seemed to be pushing all the right buttons. He slid me to the edge of the desk so my lace-covered intimates were pressing right against him, friction and pleasure commencing. I pulled my lips from his throat before tugging his face down to mine, instigating the finale. I spoke breathlessly over his lips, already craving the taste of him again.
“Are you gonna fuck me or what, Winchester?”
Dean practically growled, frantically fumbling with moving my dress aside. He hooked a shaky but skilled finger into my underwear, trying to pull it aside but the elastic wouldn’t allow for it. I began to tremble as his digits kept ghosting over my most sensitive area. He soon gave up with his first plan, and his second plan made my eyes roll into the back of my head. Dean pulled a large hunting blade from inside his jacket and slid the flat side against my skin and up my thigh until it was under the lace fabric. The ice cold metal made me shiver before he swiftly sliced the blade up towards him, cutting my panties to shreds as he repeated the motion on the other side.
“Fuck that was hot,” I panted as he put the blade away and captured my lips again, running his tongue over mine. I gasped suddenly when he dipped a finger inside me, curling it and caressing that soft, sensual cushion that was hidden away. When I moaned, he added a second finger, leaning away from me slightly so he could see what a mess I was beneath him. After a few moments of utter bliss, he pulled his fingers out, sticking them straight in his mouth.
“You’re fucking delicious,” he groaned, standing up straight to shimmy out of his jacket. I leant forwards, grasping his belt buckle, undoing it and pulling down his zipper. Slowly I reached in and pulled him out of his boxers, his rock hard manhood hot and heavy in my palm. He closed his eyes as I ran my thumb over the tip, guiding my hand up and down, up and down, again and again until he grabbed my wrist.
“Let go so I can fuck you ‘til you can’t walk,” he practically growled, making me weak. I leant back on my palms, watching as he lined himself up and then disappeared inside me in one earth shattering motion. My eyes rolled back and my lips parted as I locked my ankles instinctively behind his back, my heels catching on the gun still tucked into his pants. He started to set a rhythm as he fucked me into the desk, the wooden structure sliding back with every thrust he made. He had both hands firmly planted on the desk beside me and I gripped his forearms tight, my head starting to spin from the overwhelming pleasure. It didn’t help that Deans head had dropped into the crook of my neck and his heavy breathing was like music to my ears. He kissed the skin there softly, drawing a moan from my lips with the sudden tenderness. The pounding was speeding up, and he suddenly wrapped an arm around my waist, desperately trying to get closer - to get deeper. The need for release was building and I’d lost control of my voice; Deans name tumbling from my lips like a prayer. I pressed his lips to mine feverishly, his breath ragged as he managed to pant out;
“Shit, (Y/n) I’m so close… I’m gonna need you to cum for me…”
I whimpered at the sound of my name on his breathless lips and he let go of my waist, placing his large palm on my stomach and sliding it down until his thumb connected with that bundle of nerves.
“Shit-Dean-,” whining against his mouth I started to feel the tension in the pit of my stomach build - the feeling of him pounding into me and stretching me more than ever before combined with his thumb on the magic button was a recipe for a quick release. And Dean knew that. He was fucking me so hard now that the sound of wet skin on skin echoed around the room and the banging of the desk could surely be heard from out in the corridor- maybe even downstairs. That knot was tightening, and tightening, and tightening until:
“Fuck- Dean I’m gonna cum!”
“Fuck,” was all he managed to groan before I shattered around him, that knot snapping and sending me into probably the best orgasm I’ve ever had. As I tensed up I pulled Dean over the edge with me and he buried his face into my neck, breathing heavily and cursing occasionally.
We stayed like that for a few moments, regaining some clarity and returning to earth. He took a few deep breaths before standing up and pulling out, tucking himself back into his pants and doing up his belt as his cum dripped down my thigh. He couldn't seem to look away, even when he reached for his jacket on the floor and put it back on.
“Stay there,” he said finally, disappearing behind some shelves for a second before returning with a box of tissues. He helped me clean myself up, tossing the tissues in the bin as we attempted to get rid of the evidence.
“Are you ok?” He asked sincerely, concern in his eyes as he offered me his hand. I smiled a little bashfully, placing my palm in his.
“I hate to admit it but I feel great.”
He helped me down off the table, placing a hand on my waist to help steady me on my still trembling legs. We both stood in a comfortable silence for a few moments before realisation hit us both and we looked at each other with wide eyes.
”Oh shit - Sam!”
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Up Next:
Chapter 7
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clockwayswrites · 9 months
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A Broken Sort of Normal Part 7
WC: 1011 Masterpost
After the concussion, Danny started seeing Flash more. It was nice; it was actually really nice. It made Danny realize how alone he had been— how long he had been keeping to himself. When he could manage to be painfully honest with himself, Danny could admit that he had been isolating. He had turned down offers from coworkers and even a few neighbors to be social. It had just been too hard to fathom getting close to anyone when he was still hurting from the loss of Sam, Tucker, and, worst of all, Jazz.
Flash (the younger mostly, but even sometimes the older) didn’t really give him the chance to turn them down. Danny was sure that if he pushed that the heroes would have backed off, but Danny found that he really didn’t want to push them away. It was nice to have people who stopped to check in with him just to see how he was doing.
Questions from Flash the younger started out as post battle check-ups turned to ‘how was your day’s to whatever inane thing was running through the hero’s mind. And there was a lot that ran through the hero’s mind. (Danny tried not to dwell on the fact that he thought of that personality trait as adorable.)
“Dude, no,” Flash bemoaned, leaning against the van as Danny double checked his list that everyone on his team had fully reported in.
“I said what I said,” Danny insisted, head ducked to try and hide his smile. It was just too much fun (and too easy) to rile Flash up.
“No, I refuse to believe that you actually think Ghoulie Girls Two is better than the original game!” Flash said, gesturing wildly. As he spoke his words sped up until they were hard to follow. “The second game lost all of its soul! It was just fan service! Which, yeah, okay so One was fan service too, but it had heart! It had an actual story! Two’s story made no sense!”
“But it set up Three where the other OG creator was back on the project and Three was amazing,” Danny pointed out, tucking his tablet back in his kit.
“Okay, look.” Flash spread his hands. “I won’t argue that Three was amazing. Redeemed the series— pushed it ahead. Introduced Helena who is both amazing trans rep and just plain amazing. Lilly’s arc made me cry. All amazing. But Danny, my dude, you cannot say that because it set up Three that Two is better than One!”
Danny looked up at Flash, blinking innocently. “Well… maybe a little of it is just that I played Two first so it got me into the series… and, well, how much it offended you.”
“I— you troll!”
Laughing, Danny walked away to finish packing up with his coworkers. Being one of the early teams on the site was always hard, but it was rewarding work and Danny found he preferred it over the clean up jobs. They were lucky that there was no need for search and rescue that day; Danny would have felt compelled to stick around. As it was, Danny put out a call on his radio for his team to load up so they could head back. They would have a quick debrief, fill out their reports, restock their kits, and finally be able to head home.
Flash caught Danny before he could pile into the front seat of the van with a gentle hand on his elbow. When Danny turned to him, Flash backed off almost nervously.
“So, um, right. I had an idea? And I was wondering if I could pick you up at your place later tonight for it?” Flash asked in a blur of words.
It took Danny a moment to parse it all. “I— sure? Yeah, okay. I’m going to be a few hours though.”
“Really?” Flash asked, grinning widely. “Yeah! No prob! I’ll grab you at eight— no, nine. Bring a jacket! Bye!”
Danny was left blinking at the spot that Flash used to be, bemused by whatever had just happened.
-
Flash knocked precisely at nine. It was, in fact, so precisely at nine that Danny had to wonder if Flash had just been standing awkwardly outside the apartment for a few minutes waiting to knock or if the accurate timing was just part of the speed force.
“Hi, Danny,” Flash chirped with a nervous little smile. He was back in the separate mask, though he seemed to be wearing something not that different from his tight super suit under the large Cyborg themed hoodie. He had his Flash themed backpack again and it looked almost over filled.
“Hey, Flash,” Danny said, hoping his smile would calm whatever nerves Flash was having. “Do I get to know the plan?”
“Nope! I mean, not if you trust me? But like, if it’s bothering you to not know the plan I can totally tell you the plan so that you don’t worry, I just thought that maybe it would be a nice surprise, but maybe you don’t like surprises—”
“Flash,” Danny said, cutting off the rambling. “I’m okay not knowing.”
“Okay, okay cool,” Flash said after he took an obvious breath. “Um. Arms or piggyback ride?”
Danny glanced up from putting his shoes on. “Hum?”
“To be carried. I need to run us somewhere.”
“Oh, uh, back I guess?” Maybe it would make him feel less unsteady than being picked up.
“Okay!” Flash said. He bounced eagerly on his toes as he waited for Danny to put on his jacket and lock up. When Danny finally turned to him, Flash handed over his backpack, spun around, and crouched down. “So make sure to hold on tight! Arms and legs both.”
“Sure,” Danny said. He had no intention to even risk being dropped.
He felt a little awkward climbing onto Flash’s back, but the hero seemed perfectly comfortable with it all. Flash gave a little bounce after he was standing, as if to make sure Danny was secure, and then they were off in a blur of light and color.
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AN: Aaaaah these two are just so fun to write! They're just so cute. I also always enjoy writing people just being nerds~
(I'm still not very well, so I've been using this fic as my warm-up then poking at LBFD as my brain allows.)
Stay delightful, darlings!
Due to the new post editor and a few other reasons, I no longer tag people. You can be notified in much the same manner by subscribing to the master post here.
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yandereheathen · 5 months
Text
The Boss's Plaything [18+ Ateez Yandere Hoongjoong x Fem Reader]
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Paring: Yandere Hoongjoong x Fem Reader
Yandere songhwa x Reader if you squint at the end. Warnings: Yandere dark themes!! NSFW Non-con, Mentions of hurting other people, jealousy, voyeurism. Choking, knee grinding, no protection (BAD) Disclaimer: This in no way reflects any of the real Ateez members. This is my own fan content :> I also do not endorse these kind of relationships. Enjoy with your own mental heath in mind <3 Word count: 2.5k "You know what they say about Office romance."
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Working for Kim Hongjoong was an experience. Long days, short deadlines, and odd requests were quite normal. However, the pay was terrific, along with the benefits. Also, you had the fortunate situation of studying and being best friends with him before his creation and rise of the Cromer Corp. You, him, and Songhwa were good friends. You and he naturally followed Hongjoong after schooling to help him with his dreams. He was ruthless but hard-working, and you knew this company was his whole life, and you wanted nothing more than to see him grow and achieve that.
So, you started your day seemingly like any other. 5:30am Two americanos, one black with extra ice for him, the further your own with cream and sugar. You liked things sweet. 
Little did you know, so did he.
You called up the elevator to his high-end apartment, going through your phone and seeing the schedule for today. Meetings, some project updates, and, of course, The Halazia Party. You and Hwa had been running ragged along with the other branch heads. Well, mostly, you had to keep Woo and San more to task than the others. 
You have gotten along very well with the other branch members. All brilliant in their rights, you always felt a little out of place. You know the lower associate whispered that you didn't quit having the background or shine they did and that you had only gotten this position due to your friendship. First, do your best to ignore those and work as hard as possible. You never wanted to bother Hongjoong with that stuff. 
You opened the door with your hip, put the coffee down at his desk, and opened the blinds, looking around his office. It was just like him. It was clean but had a carefully cultured style. Everything in the room had meaning. Small, expensive gifts were the case from investors, and his awards and degrees were also put in specific positions on the counters around the room. Only one thing was slightly out of place. You pick it up from the right side of his desk. A picture Hwa had taken of both of you in school. You were laughing at something happening on screen, and Hongjoong had a rare small smile on his face, looking up at you. Not that he didn't smile. He had the charming smile he saved for clients or investors and his "demon face" when he put someone in their place. This was a smile you didn't see often, but you caught glimpses. 
Only when looking at you.
"Y/N. I see your habit of coming in unannounced still going strong."
You smile to yourself, turning. Hongjoong was already dressed impeccably. His hair spilled black and bleached and slightly slicked back. A sly played on his lips, looking you up and down. To check if you are dressed appropriately, of course. He was so particular about fashion.
Boy, did that skirt he had bought you hug your curves.
"Yeah, well, I want to ensure you had sun and coffee for when you got in. It is a big day."
You beam at him, but he sits, taking a sip of his coffee and looking at his computer but still giving you glances.
"We do. Have you and Songhwa finalized the food, venue, and security?"
You nod and start listing off confirmations and any other information that he would need to know. Emails he needs to answer or reminders.
You worked so hard for him. Even since school, what you lacked in pure born talent you made up with hard work, determination, and empathy. He loved to see how hard you tried for him. To impress your best friend turned boss. It more than stroked his delusional ego. You were his best project, along with Cromer Corp, of course. A sweet, nervous girl, pure and so tentative. It was easy to fall for you and keep you in his clutches. Hongjoong has liked to collect things ever since he was young, whether it be things, money, or people. 
His carefully created branch members and brand. You and Songhwa are the jewels. Park Seonghwa, someone who he found was the only person to match him, a perfect right-hand man for all aspects of his business. Even the more unsavory parts that you didn't know about. Then there was you, Y/N. The sugar in this recipe. His one guilty pleasure. Something to be carefully shaped and modeled into his perfect little plaything.
Tonight, he was going to take that next step.
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"I don't want to wear this. It will look silly. It looks like a collar."
You frown at Songhwa as he helps you zip up your dress. He bites his lip, eyeing the leather in your hand. He knew, of course, that Songhwa knew everything about his boss. 
Things he had helped Hongjoong with. The threats of the people who wanted to talk to you in school, then the carried-out threats on the people that threatened his friend's careful little relationship. There was one part of him. The empathetic human part that made him squirm thinking about it was the blood and screams. However, he knew he was no different. He liked the neat little world Hongjoong and Y/N had with the other members. He also would do anything to keep that peace. Even if it meant dooming you to your part in his plan.
"It is fashionable Y/N. You know he will throw a fit."
He takes it, slipping it over your neck, fixing the latch so it is tight but uncomfortable. He glances at the ceiling, a slight shine of a camera only seen by the tall man. He gives it a quick look:
"Are you watching? This is what you wanted, isn't it, Sir."
You smile, greeting the guests, trying to hide your slight annoyance. For the event, Hongjoong liked to dress you and all of the members. Typically, he had you in a simple but still conservative outfit. This was not the case. A tight red dress is lined with lace dancing around your hips and chest. The leather band with a latch in the back and a tiny hourglass charm in the front only made you feel more self-conscious. 
You took a sip of your wine in your glass, waved over by Jongho and Mingi, sitting at a far table. Both dress smartly, of course, but with their own personalities shined in. Jongho had a more straightforward, classic fitting for the head of HR, while Mingi had more colors and tight pants showing his old legs, perfect for the marketing head. You flop in the chair next to them, fanning yourself. 
"Thanks for calling me over. I need a break just for a moment before I do my rounds on the other side."
"Joong, has you rubbing around in a dress like that? he must be crazy. Minji winks at you.
You roll your eyes.
"Yea, yea, I know I look ridiculous in this. I don't know what Hongjoong is thinking."
you pick at the dress, painfully aware of any "flaws" it shows.
"I don't think that is what he meant, Y/N."
The younger man sips his drink, looking into your eyes with a ... knowing look? What was that about? 
You playfully hit him, standing up and stretching. You feel a hand sneaking around your waist, pulling you to his side; you let out a small yelp.
"There she is. I have been looking all over for you. I need help with something."
You look at the handsome face of Hongjoong. He is dressed to the nines like always in a front tye suit, the inner shirt matching your own dress, a pocket square of the same lace in his front pocket. His mouth pulled into an odd smirk, his eyes lingering below your chin. You don't haul away used to his closeness by now. Hongjoong always said he liked to be more hands-on with things.
He really did enjoy handling his "things."
"I was just taking a short break. Did the Reps from Stay Offices come yet. I know Chan and Bin said they would-"
Hongjoong ran his finger on your chin and traveled lightly with his nimble gloved fingers to the collar, tugging it ever so slightly.
"This looks good on you, Y/N. It really suits you."
Your ears got warm as you met his eye, not pulling away in embarrassment. 
"Is this some joke calling me your pet, huh? I get enough slack from the associates."
You laugh light-heartedly, but he doesn't match you playing with the small charm eyes cold.
"I told you to tell me if anyone was giving you trouble, Y/N I would handle them."
Mingei and Jogho cough, getting up and waving at you. 
"That is our cue to head out and schmooze. You both have fun~"
Mingi winks again, and Jongho looks at you slightly. Was that worry? You just brushed it off, turning back to your boss.
"It is fine. Harmless teasing, I promise I am a big girl. You don't need to take care of me so much. I am supposed to do that for you!"
You smile, holding his face and rubbing his cheek lightly. His whole body seemed to soften at your touch, but he pulled away quickly, looking around, making sure none of his business partners had seen this moment. You weren't ready yet, after all.
"Y/N. Can you come with me quickly? I need to speak to you about something."
You tilt your head, letting go and crossing your arms in front of your chest.
"Are you sure? People are still-"
"This can not wait."
You already have made him wait too long.
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You walk into his office, slightly nervous. You run through your head everything that needs to be done. The food tasted and perfect, you triple-checked every guest. What could-
"You look beautiful, Y/N."
He steps forward, cornering you to his desk, putting his hand on it, boxing you in, and smiling at you.
This was a new smile, almost.
Predatory. his black eye held something more than the softness or anger. 
"Well, the dress you picked out was perfect, as always. Was this all you needed to"
He cuts you off again, pulling you by the leather collar onto his pouty lips, his other hand pulling you against him. He lets a soft moan into your mouth, a release almost as you feel his hand grope your backside and something poke your leg.
Your brain goes a mile a minute. Shock, confusion, anger, and something else mixed inside you. You try to pull away, but he grabs you harder, forcing his tongue into your mouth and mixing his saliva with yours. You continue to struggle, but it seems to only strengthen his grip. After another minute of young wreaking in your mouth, he pulls his mouth away just so slightly to gently kiss the top of your ear.
"That's a good plaything. Y/N, you were waiting for this, weren't you."
You quickly shake your head, face and ears hot.
"Hongjoong, a-are you drunk or something that's going on?"
He only laughs, his knee sliding up between your legs, rubbing the soft fabric of your clothes sex.
"Halazia can mean Hearts awakened Y/N. I chose tonight to awaken your heart and mind to your rightful place. Next to me. Forever."
He nuzzles into your neck, kissing it lightly, knee rubbing faster; you let out a whimper, hands on his chest, and you try to push away from him.
"Hongjoong, please, I don't; you are my boss. We are best friends. Let's go back to the party. You must have been drinking too much."
Hongjoong rows into your shoulder, pushing you onto his desk, the objects painfully cutting into your back. He stands between your legs, rutting into between your legs, his eyes lidded and breathing heavily.
"I don't think so, Y/N. I have let you simmer long enough. It is time for my meal. You. Are. Mine."
He rips up your dress roughly, pulling down the thin fabric of your panties. You scream, but it is cut short by another kiss. Even rougher this time mixed with whispers of.
"That's a good girl."
and 
"Look nice and wet for your Sir already, are you."
Your brain screams for him to stop, but your body heats up, enjoying the feeling of his fingers rubbing your clit gently as her ravages your mouth. He pulls away, leaving you rambling and light-headed, before undoing his pants and rubbing the top of his cock on your slit.
"How long I have waited for this day, Y/N. You have no idea. You were teasing. The frustrated night, the people I had to hurt to keep you my perfect plaything. All min now."
Before you can question him, he trusts you. Thanks to his fingers, your body was prepared, not your mind. This was Hongjoong, who you loved like a best friend whom you followed, loved, and supported your whole adult life. You had no idea he had these feelings and weren't sure you liked them. 
You fought his thrusts in vain. He was too strong, and the adrenaline of finally fucking the love of his life only boosted that his lips found your chest young, hungrily licking around your sensitive bud. You wiggle under him, trying your best not to call out in pleasure that was coming in waves from your core. He stood up, egged on by your little noises.
"That's it. You are taking me so well, Y/N. Look at how perfectly your little pussy fits around me. Take it, take me inside of you, let me fill you with all my cum. Let me fill your womb that is begging for my seed. My precious little plaything."
He closes his hand around your throat, resiting your air as he mercilessly pounds into you, the object cutting your skin. With repeated motions, he lets out a hiss as he pours inside you.
"F-fuck, that's it, take it. Take it like the good object you are."
You bite into your lip, drawing out blood. The metallic taste mixes with his taste in your mouth. as your body betrays you. His love filling your already sore and abused pussy is too much. Everything was already too much. His confession, anger, and mark on my heart, body, and soul. You could only mutter out jibberish as you lay on his desk, the picture of both of you beside your arm.
He grinds into you, taking out his phone to take another picture. He could also frame this one but keep it on his desk, and then he would have to send it to Songhwa to give him a better angle after all. He waves at the small red light his other assistant thought he didn't know about hiding on the shelf. 
"You will enjoy your new position with me, Y/N. I will make sure of it."
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Author note: *Cries* this was a heck in a half I am not great with real people, but the great Kpop Yandere writers have been such an inspiration for me I wanted to try <3 Thank you for your support :> reminder my asks and requests are open!
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thehmn · 11 months
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Just some follow up thoughts/responses on my last post.
When I say I’m a cleaner people on the internet often feel like they have to be nice about it but it’s okay. I know it’s seen as demeaning low-paying work in a lot of countries but here in Denmark it’s considered a proper respectable job that pays pretty well. I’m paid way more than people who answer phones at call centers (like when you buy a ticket over the phone) and only slightly less than my sister’s job as a journalist despite her getting a fancy degree. I’m only balancing on the poverty line because my ADHD is keeping me from working full time, but at the same time cleaning is perfect for me. I get to move around a bunch and I don’t work the same place every day.
And the pandemic really made people understand the value of cleaners. At the start of the pandemic most businesses didn’t feel safe having someone like me visit them because I visit a bunch of places and is around strangers all the time. They thought “Yeah it’s not going to be as nice as usual but surely we can swipe our own floors” That lasted all of one month before they changed their minds. People are messy (especially with coffee) so keeping a workplace clean requires dedicated time. Also, so far I haven’t had Covid once because, you know, even cleaners like to stay clean.
Trust me, if you’ve ever had the thought “Oh well, gives the cleaner something to do. It’s their job anyway” after spilling something you might as well start being rude to waiters and cashiers too. We have plenty to do even if nobody ever spilled anything. Do you think the dust just blows away? Or alternatively, have you been wondering why your workplace is so dusty? Might it have something to do with the coffee stains on the wall that keep disappearing? Cleaners aren’t talked about a lot in conversations about treating essential workers better because we usually show up after you go home but that doesn’t make it any less rude.
And talking about essential workers, remember that list that made the rounds on the internet during the pandemic of what jobs should be considered essential and non-essential and how people got really up in arms about artists being on the non-essential side? As someone who literally got half my pay from cleaning and the other half from working as an artist at the time, my job as a cleaner was a 100% more important during a pandemic. “But people are stuck indoors. They need entertainment for morale and not going stir crazy” I’m sorry but there’s an almost limitless well of entertainment on the internet you haven’t consumed yet. Yeah, I want to see (and make) new art too but trust me, it would mean nothing if we had to walk around in filth. There are a lot of other situations where artists would be more important than cleaners but a pandemic ain’t it.
And finally, I kept saying robot cleaner instead of Roomba in my last post because Roomba is a brand name. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Roomba in the wild despite seeing loads of robot vacuums.
Have a lovey, hopefully clean day ✨
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deanbrainrotwritings · 3 months
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—  SWEET KANSAS HONEY
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SUMMARY : invited by her friend to a bee farm, but Dean wasn’t invited to their cute day out. Dean gets pouty… and, ya know, horny.
PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader
CHARACTERS : lavender mcclenic (oc), athena fonseca (oc)
WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), phone sex, dirty talk, sexting, voice kink, masturbation 
WORD COUNT : 1.5k
A/N : jamies elsewhere song title. this fills the free space square on my @jacklesversebingo card. lavender is based off of my best friend (athena is based off her gf) we have fictional plans to live on a farm, and have a tunnel connecting our houses LOL xxx
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“Ah, this is exactly what we said our future would look like,” Y/n grinned, fixing the sunglasses on her face. She turned to face her friend, who did the same, walking towards the little shed where they could change into protective gear.
“Not really,” Lavender laughed, “you’ve got a boyfriend you love with all your cheesy heart. We don’t have a tunnel under our house like we said we’d have,” she listed, playfully. Y/n rolled her eyes and kicked the door open gently, sliding her foot along the bottom of the door as she stepped in before Lavender, looking around curiously. 
“Well, at least we’re still here, on a farm, makin’ money,” Y/n grinned, letting the door shut once her friend was inside collecting the white suits for them to slip into. Y/n placed her phone on the wooden table inside, the walls decorated with tools, and other items she didn’t know how to use. 
She changed quietly with Lavender, lifting the white suit over her regular clothes. They looked up at the same time and bursted out laughing for no reason at all. They were both bad at emotions, at least at saying them out loud, but Y/n had a feeling that laughter was a wordless I missed you. The phone on the table buzzed and Lavender looked over curiously when Y/n didn’t look. 
“It’s that boyfriend of yours,” Lavender teased, “you were so against dating, remember that?” Y/n shook her head and laughed, making sure she was ready to leave as Lav finished up.
“Whatever. So were you,” she dismissed, grabbing her phone with bare hands at the text notification with Dean’s name. She smiled, but she didn’t open it, and Dean sent another message. Her smile got wider.
“We grew up then,” her friend suggested, walking towards the door to open it with her back. 
“Sort of, I still like bees and honey,” Y/n told her, taking her own gloves before following her friend out.
“And I still think we should build a tunnel connecting our two houses. There’s plenty of land. I’d… do anything for you,” Lav hesitated with the last part, her cheeks turning pink. 
“Lav… that’s sweet, but-”
“The offer stands. Five years, or tomorrow—until we lose it all.” Lavender waved her hand to dismiss it and walked faster to avoid the embarrassment of being, well, loving. Dean texted her once more and she groaned softly. Either it’s an emergency or Dean’s just trying to get her attention. 
“I’m gonna…” Y/n trailed off and Lavender turned around and tilted her head at her friend. She lifted her phone and shook it. 
“Yeah, go, before I embarrass us both and keep saying sappy shit like that. I need a cleanse,” Lavender grunted, meeting her girlfriend who had the honey collecting tools on standby.
“Me too,” Y/n smiled, then turned around to check Dean’s messages. 
dean : Good morning, sexy, it’s been fifteen hours since I last saw you and I’m bored. So bored. How did I go through my childhood without you? :((
She laughed softly. 
dean : I woke up early and I was so cold because you weren’t sleeping next to me. 
Liar. He wears socks, pyjama pants, and a Henley to sleep. He’s the one who provides the warmth. Of course, he was just trying to be cute. And it was working. 
dean : I did a whole bunch of chores though. I cooked. Took Miracle out for a walk. Cleaned our room. And the Dean Cave. But I’m done now.
She smiled as she imagined him doing all of that. He’s undeniably adorable. He knew that. He knew how much he meant to her. She saw three speech bubbles appear, so she waited for his next message. 
dean : Oh. Hi, baby. I see you’re reading my texts now. I just want you to know… I’m picturing you coming home with a whole bunch of honey. And guess what? I’m licking it off your body. Yummy. 
She bit her lip as heat bloomed across her face. 
me : Good morning, handsome. I miss you, too. You’ve finished doing all that? Why don’t you watch a movie now? Read one of those books you’ve been wanting to read. Go to that bar that serves your favourite nachos, boys’ night out. I’ve got loads of suggestions if you run out. 
me : Also, you weren’t cold, but that’s cute. 
me : Second also, you can’t text things like that when we’re not together… very naughty, I don’t appreciate it. X
She saw the speech bubble again and she bit her lip, looking across at Athena and Lavender laughing together while they scraped the panels for honey. She smiled at them and missed Dean even more. 
She didn’t expect to see a photo. Not one quite like the one Dean sent. 
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, looking back up. She clicked the photo anyway, a smile growing on her face, and arousal dampening her underwear.
Dean was in the shower. 
Of course he’d take his phone with him. Of course he’d take the chance to get off. He had a high sex drive. He was daring. Unafraid. And he knew how hot he was. Especially all naked and wet. With his body all taut and flushed pink from the heat of the water. With his face distorted in delicious pleasure as he touched himself, his lip plump and trapped beneath his cute teeth. With his hand wrapped tightly around his cock. 
dean : I fig read what you seny 
She laughed softly. And decided to call him instead. He picked up instantly. She heard the water falling against tile and skin before she heard his heavy breaths or his husky voice. 
“Dean,” she whispered, her cheeks on fire.
“Hi, babe,” Dean moaned and she gasped, her stomach twisting with excitement. “I was expecting a text, a photo, not a phone call, but, uh, I appreciate it.” She shook her head, listening closely to the loud, lewd, sound of his wet hand moving quickly along his cock. 
“You’re jerking off?” She blurted out, looking up at Lavender and Athena who were waving her over impatiently. She smiled at them and nodded, putting her finger up. 
“Mmm, my morning’s been good, too. Well, kinda, thanks for asking, beautiful,” he replied sarcastically, moaning occasionally as he spoke. Her clit pulse and she squeezed her thighs to stop the discomfort of her arousal. 
“Dean…” She moaned, but there was a hint of hesitation that he picked up on. He groaned. 
“I’ll hang up, but please, text me something dirty so I get at least a bit of reality in my fantasy,” he begged. She heard him swear quietly and then he laughed breathlessly. 
She closed her eyes and thought about what to do. What to say. He sounded so hot, groaning and moaning her name, pumping his cock through his fingers faster and faster. 
“Dean,” she purred. He hummed softly, distracted by his pleasure. “Be a good boy and cum for me,” she instructed, smirking when he groaned long and loud. “I want to hear you, baby. Fuck, I wish I could see you. I wish I had you in my mouth right now so I can swallow every ounce of your cum.” Dean cursed loudly, brokenly moaning her name as he came.
He panted into the phone and she bit her lip, waiting patiently for him to recompose himself. 
“Ah, fuck,” he murmured and she lifted a brow curiously. “That was hot, baby. We should do it often. Like… even when you are here. I’ll be in the dungeon and you can be in the garage,” he laughed softly to himself and she rolled her eyes. “I miss you. I know it hasn't been that long and that I’ve been sleeping for a majority of the time… I guess I’m just not used to being alone anymore. Without you. I’m sorry for interrupting your time with your friend.”
Her smile softened. “I miss you, too, Dean. And it’s okay… I’ll be back Sunday evening. That’s tomorrow, by the way,” she teased and Dean laughed shyly.
“You didn’t say yes or no to my idea,” he reminded her. 
She smiled. “Of course it’s a yes.”
“How about tonight? Can we set up a time for it?” He asked excitedly, then the water shut off, and she heard his wet footsteps, then the soft sound of his towel. 
“Yes, I’ll text you,” she breathed out. “Now, stop doing… whatever it was that turned you on, and get some proper work done,” she laughed, putting one glove on as she prepared to go with her friends.
“I… just got horny suddenly when I was taking a break. I was reading… ya know, All About Love,” he hesitated. 
“What? Why?” She laughed, but she knew him well, and she’d read the book. “Stop thinking of me. It makes me wet,” she pouted playfully and he laughed again. “And next time you take a break, don’t touch your dick… Until I tell you to do so,” she added with a grin.
“I love you.” She could hear the smile in Dean’s voice, the open and shut of doors. 
“I love you, Dean,” she responded lovingly. She could hear him breath softly and hum shyly, a whispered bye, and she hung up. 
“Wow, you just throw around the L word, now, eh?” Lavender teased as Y/n walked closer to them, ready to join them. Y/n laughed sarcastically and Athena giggled. 
“Shut up,” Y/n grumbled, playfully snatching the tool in Lavender’s hand to help them out.
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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform
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whiskeynwriting · 8 months
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How the Boys Act With Their Brand New Babies
Captain John Price, John “Soap” McTavish, König, Simon “Ghost” Riley
Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings: Pregnancy, descriptions of birth (natural and cesarean), breastfeeding, established relationships/marriages, mentions of drugs (during C-Section), godparents, and I think that’s it! 
A/N: The baby fever is so real you guys. Also, the only one out of this group that screams “boy dad” is Price and no one can change my mind.
Thank you so so much to @thesleepingmusicneek for helping me with beta-reading and general plot additions with this piece and so many others I've posted recently 🥰🥰🥰
Masterlists - Price | Soap | König | Ghost |
Join My Taglist!
Captain John Price (~1k words) 
Benjamin Price
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John’s base instinct is “protector and provider” and Lord does that skyrocket with your son.
“No.”
“John.”
“I said no, not happening.” Turning, he held your son out of your mother’s reach. “She hasn’t washed her hands.”
Chuckling, you crossed your arms. “Baby, I think it’ll be o -”
Reaching over to grab a bottle of hand sanitizer, he held it out to your mother. “At least sanitize.”
There was something ridiculously funny about John, your hardened soldier, holding onto this pudgy, little baby. And what made it even funnier, was that Benji had a straight face nearly the entire time; staring over at his grandmother as if to say, do what my daddy says. John and his son were two peas in a damn pod. 
Watching others hold his baby wasn’t an easy task. Regardless of whether or not they were family, it made his palms sweat, made his breaths shallow and fingers fidgety. What if they dropped him? Pinched him too hard? Bounced him too fast? Made him frown or cry? And by the time his thoughts started spiraling, he’d just get up and snatch him right back. 
While John was more than proud to show off your little family, he might as well have “look, don’t touch” painted across his forehead. Even his own parents didn’t have access to Benji unless they followed his standards. And family friends? Strangers at the park? Yeah, they can forget even saying hi to him. 
“He is a cutie, isn’t he?” John beamed, nodding along to one of your friend’s comments. “Hey,” He then said, holding out a hand. “What’re you doing?”
“Oh, I was just going to hold his little hand!”
“I don’t think so, Deb.”
“John, she’s only being nice.” Chastising him lightly, you tilted your head with sympathy. 
“Nice or not, she’s not touching my son.”
John acted as if everyone was out to snatch up his son and take off running. And he didn’t care if he hurt anyone’s feelings in the process of protecting him. 
“Love, you’ve got to be nicer.”
“Why?”
“Because these are our friends, our family!”
“Just keeping him safe,” He then turned to the chubby bundle in his arms. “That’s all.”
As per usual, Benji had that straight look on his face, expression matching that of his father. And Christ, do they look alike. He’s practically a carbon copy of John. 
Shaking your head, you chuckle. “You and your mini me.”
And John’s face lifts with the brightest grin, cheeks cherry red with happiness. “Handsome chap.” He says, bouncing Benji on his lap. 
Try as you might, there’s no changing John’s mind. In order to keep your baby boy happy and healthy, everyone and everything had to be clean. John ran a tight ship, something you’ve gotten used to in your marriage. And, you figure, in the end it’s only helping Benji. 
When it came to the birth of your son, John made sure to have a plan. You and your doctors discussed a scheduled C-Section beforehand, and the two of you adapted well to this. They informed you of every detail, and after that, you discussed things on your own end. Back at home, John helped you devise a game plan, a list of things that you’d need and the exact steps to take when the day came. And when the moment finally arrived, everything went surprisingly smooth. 
While it was difficult for John to see you under the influence of so many narcotics, that was the least of his worries. During your procedure, he focused on yours and the baby’s health. And even though you weren’t entirely conscious, he made sure to stay by your side. While you bore the weight of the most intense struggles, your husband intended to take on the burdens of every other task that he possibly could. That meant aiding in your recovery, and your son’s growth. 
Once home, John was your round-the-clock nurse. On a timed schedule, he’d clean your incision and make sure it was healing well. He kept your nightstand fully stocked with water and pain medicine, as well as your comfiest heating pad. The ensuite had all the postpartum pads you could need, and he never left you alone in the shower. When it came to Benji, John did all of the nighttime feedings, and all of the nappie changings. He didn’t want you lifting a single finger, not while you were resting. 
In the evening, John often cuddled in bed with you, bringing Benjamin along to nestle between your bodies. You both admired him, pet him softly and kissed his little hands and big, round belly. It was mesmerizing to you, the fact that you created this perfect, little soul. And while you focused your affections on your newborn son, you and John made sure to save some of it for each other, too. 
“Beautiful.”
“I know,” Cooing quietly, you smiled down at him. 
“No,” Shaking his head, John drew your attention back to him. “You, lovie.”
“I’ve been in bed for three days, this isn’t beautiful.” While you laugh, John tuts sadly.
“Don’t know how you could be so blind.”
But what you certainly aren’t blind to, is John’s unconditional love. And that is more healing to you than any medication on the market. 
Though, that doesn’t stop the rest of the boys from trying. In their thoughtfulness, Johnny and Kyle have brought you gift baskets full of after-pregnancy goodies. Snacks and sweet drinks, fuzzy socks and cute onesies for little Benji. They were even kind enough to include postpartum pads. 
“You guys are too much.” In the midst of it all, tears roll down your cheeks. 
Shrugging, Kyle just grins. “Least I can do for my godson.” 
Out of the entire group, John was the first to have a baby. And he wasted no time in making Kyle Benjamin’s godfather. And the boys understood; John and Kyle had a bond that exceeded brotherhood. 
Of course, Simon tagged along. But he wasn’t exactly familiar with babies. Soap encouraged him to bring a gift, but all he could come up with was an Amazon gift card. 
“I um, well… here. For his… things.” Ghost handed you the card awkwardly, but you smiled brightly regardless. 
“Thank you, Simon.” Bringing him into a firm hug, he released a soft grunt, eventually patting your back. 
“Alright, alright.” Johnny announces, “I think it’s time, Cap. Where’s that baby?”
Christ sake, John internally groans. “Have you sanitized?” 
John “Soap” McTavish (~1.2k words)
Elsie McTavish
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Is so excited about the baby that he sometimes forgets himself.
“I know, I know.” He’d respond, only half annoyed.
“Just, p-please,” Reaching out with shaky hands, you watched as Johnny swung your newborn infant around in his arms. “Watch her head!”
“Aye,” Johnny sighs, rolling those beautiful blue eyes. 
Pulling her to his chest, he lets her head rest on one of those broad shoulders, bouncing a bit as he pats her on the back.
“How’mie supposed to have fun with my daughter if ye won’t stop nit-pickin’?” 
“Baby, I’m just, I want her to be -”
“Safe, I know, bonnie. She is safe with me.” He then grins, turning to your daughter as he holds her up in front of him. “Aren’t ye, wee lassie? 
And you suppose he’s right. Being a helicopter parent isn’t fun for anybody. Besides, Johnny loves your daughter enough to keep her safe and you should trust him with her. 
“Ohh,” Johnny starts, and you think, here we go again. “Elsie and her daddy, say he’s a good ‘ole laddie. He’ll keep you safe and happy. We’ll play all day and sing away, yes Elsie and her daddy.” 
Your husband’s makeshift songs never ceased to put a smile on your face. Johnny was always a fun and carefree man, but with your daughter? He was the goofiest dad. 
Whenever you needed rest, he’d jump right to his feet, swooping in to take her to wherever she needed to be. The changing table for a new nappie, the kitchen for a bottle, or simply to the couch to give you some much-needed alone time. There was never a complaint, never a sigh or roll of his eyes. Oftentimes, you’d stumble into a room to find Johnny enjoying himself even more than Elsie. He became so animated when reading books to her, acting out scenes and making the noises of each animal. And it made her giggle wildly. He’d fidget with the toys on her playmat while she laid with him, roll the rattles around and build with the rings and blocks. But most of all, he’d interact with her. Regardless of her being barely two months old, Johnny had full-on conversations with your daughter.
“And then what happened?” He’d ask, sounding completely interested. And she’d babble back to him, as if she was truly joining in.
Nodding, he raised his brows. “That’s wild, lass. Shouldn't have to put up with that.”
Another babble, a little giggle. 
“Aye, nothing wrong with that.”
Sometimes, she’d slam her little hand, and Johnny would raise his own in defense. “Oi, no need to get political about it.” 
Johnny’s newest baby obsession is doing her hair. She was born with so much of it that he decided one day, he ought to do something about it. And so, he bought a pack of colorful bows, using them to make a little mohawk in her hair. You happened to walk in on him in the middle of it one day, your daughter sitting on his lap and cooing innocently while he made her look like a rockstar. 
When he looked up to find you in the doorway, he grinned. “Like it?” 
And you’d be daft to say it wasn’t the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 
Your husband truly embraced the excitement and general fun of fatherhood. He figured enough seriousness surrounded her birth, why not make the rest of her life as joyful as can be? 
It was an emergency C-Section, something neither of you were prepared for. There was no question of whether or not he’d be in the room with you, he simply put on the plastic hospital gown and cap and followed you in. His hand didn’t leave yours, not even for a second. Even though you were given medicine to dull the pain and any real feeling, he wanted you to know he was there. 
When your daughter was successfully taken from your womb, things finally started calming down. After that, your health went back to normal. You didn’t lose too much blood, your stitches went in properly, and you were wheeled back to your room to start your recovery. Johnny was thanking the Lord that the two of you made it out okay, that both of his girls were safe. And while he waited for you to wake up, he sat in the room with your newborn baby, laying her over his chest while she slept. 
“Little bonnie,” He whispered, kissing her head. “My Elsie girl.”
It was at that moment that she became his new best friend, his partner in crime, his perfect angel. He saw it as a privilege, really, taking care of you in your recovery while also caring for Elsie. Not everyone has this, he often thought to himself. My wonderful family.
And he couldn’t wait to show off his little clan. 
As soon as she was ready for visitors, he invited everyone he possibly could. Friends, family, an entire get together just for her. And she was definitely her father’s daughter, blue eyes bright with excitement as each and every person greeted her with delight. Ever the extrovert herself, she giggled for hours, bouncing on people’s laps as they each took turns entertaining her. 
“Oh, oh! And watch this!” Johnny says, setting down his glass and leaning toward his little girl. “Elsie, look at daddy!” And that’s just what she does, watching as Soap widens his eyes with his brows raised high. Perfectly, she mimics him. 
“The smartest little thing!” Her nanny cheered, clapping with pride. 
“Ah ken, ma!” Johnny responds to his mum, agreeing with her wholeheartedly. “She’s just a wee little thing, already clever as wits.” 
And your side of the family couldn’t possibly be more proud. They’d been waiting for ages to have a grandbaby, and knew if they waited for the right time, you and Johnny would give them just that. 
“Oh, what’s this about?” You chime in, frowning when Elsie suddenly begins to cry. 
“She’s hungry, eh?” Your husband chuckles, reaching out to stroke her mini hand. “Go on then, go to mummy.”
The two of you were lucky enough to have a respectful family, entirely understanding of whenever you needed to take her away for a feeding. And oftentimes, Johnny would come with you. He saw it as a bonding moment, for all three of you. When he first asked, he seemed incredibly timid about it, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But you thought it sweet; him holding you, while you held your baby, lulling her to sleep with your warm milk.
“She’s dozing.” Johnny whispers into your ear, head dipping to kiss your shoulder.
Together, you’d gone up to your marital bedroom, sitting up on your bed. Johnny’s back rested against the headboard, while your own rested against his firm chest. He’d butterfly his legs out, welcoming you between them and holding you close with every limb. And sitting like this, is when Elsie was the coziest. 
“You’re amazin’, bonnie.” Keeping his voice hush, Johnny rests his chin on your shoulder, admiring your baby from above. “Thank you, so much.”
“What for, baby?”
“For givin’ me her, our sweet Elsie. And just… bein’ with me. You’re everything to me.” 
König (~1.2k words)
Gisela and Avelina
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He had been enamored since the moment the test showed positive. 
The word paternal is the perfect description for him. Even before having a baby in his arms, König embraced fatherhood wholeheartedly. He read all the baby books, took you to all your classes and participated equally in them. Every night, he’d sit by your tummy and read, talk to the baby and sing German lullabies. He thought he had everything figured out, thought he was prepared in every way. 
That is, until he learned that there were two of them. 
“I… I can’t believe it.”
“Oh my gosh…”
Your collective shock made the doctor giggle, continuing to inform you that not only were they identical, they were girls.
“Daughters,” König then said, eyes widening. “Two daughters…”
Worry began to swirl inside your belly from his words, his hesitancy. Glancing up at him from your lying position, you asked quietly, “Are you not… you’re not happy?”
“My love,” Releasing a quick breath, he knelt by your side, immediately taking your hand. “I couldn’t be happier.” And he was beaming. “Daughters, Schatz. We’re going to have two little girls.” (Sweetheart)
And to prepare for their arrival, he bought nearly everything in sight. 
“Schatz, look! Look at what I bought for them.” (Sweetheart) 
Lumbering in with three shopping bags, he sat you down in the living room to show you everything he got to welcome your baby girls into the family. One by one, he pulled each item out, displaying multiple onesies, mini dresses, bows for their hair, new blankets and swaddles, the list goes on. 
“So cute,” He muttered to himself, holding up a purple dress. And just hearing this mountain of a man use the word cute made you smile from ear to ear. 
“Gisela will wear pink,” Your husband decides, “And Avelina, she will dress in purple. Matching, but different, ja?”
When König found out he was having two babies, he knew he’d have no problem giving them both an equal amount of love. He never once worried about having to devote time to each of them, make them each feel cared for and adored. In his mind, it wasn’t even a question. He knew he had more than enough affection to give to each of his girls. 
He’d even gone out of his way to stock up on the essentials - diapers, creams, wipes and bottles. And although the twins won’t be able to use them for a few months, he also took it upon himself to buy some toys - mostly soft blocks, rattles, play mats, and stuffies. 
“They’re going to be spoiled.” You grinned, not the least bit annoyed by your husband’s overzealous preparation. How could anyone be annoyed by that? 
And now that they’re here, König finally has the opportunity to truly shower them with all his love. Every nighttime feeding was, in his words, their best time to bond. When the world is quiet, and you are finally resting, it’s just him and his daughters. And with his imaginative and resourceful talents, König figured out a way to tie their bottles to their little rockers, pushing the chairs back and forth as they ate. He never wanted to feed them one at a time, he thought it cruel to have one watch their sibling eat while they themselves were hungry. 
Whenever the girls were done eating, he’d hold them, lay them both over his broad, bare chest, allowing them to feel his warm skin. It comforted the girls, cuddling with their father. You thought maybe one of them might favor you, but that hope quickly dwindled. They are definitely daddy’s girls. But it was hard to be jealous when every one of this trio’s interactions were breathtakingly sweet. Their bond was something that genuinely brought a tear to your eye, in both sentimental and humorous ways.
“GG!” He calls to her, holding up his phone. This nickname for your gorgeous daughter came quickly, along with Gisela-Bella, Ella, and your personal favorite… “Meine Schnuckel!”
“What does that even mean?” Chuckling to yourself, you watch as Gisela’s father attempts to take a picture of her. 
“My cutie!” He answers cheerfully, your daughter looking right at him as soon as he says it. 
“Yes! Perfect, my beauties.” And then he’s leaning over to show you. “Look, look at them. The cutest things. I’m so happy Ava was already looking.”
Avenlina’s nicknames consisted of Ava, Lina-Ballerina, and… “My little Spatzi.”
As if responding to her German name, Avelina babbles back to her father, just like she always does. Between the two of them, she was certainly the talker, always chirping away, König’s little sparrow. 
The photo he shows you prompts a small laugh from your end, a wide smile growing across your lips. He’d dressed them up in the most adorables outfit you’d ever seen, strawberry and blueberry dresses. GG wore the pink one, of course, with Ava in blue. Each outfit had a berry hat and matching shoes, too. 
Genuinely, he could never get enough of them. Whether it was spoiling the girls with presents or giving them every bit of his time, your husband did everything he could to be the best father. But there were times he’d have no choice but to hand them over to you, their daytime feedings being one of those scenarios. Although, it’s not like he didn’t join you. 
Laying beside you in bed, he shifts onto his side, watching with love in his eyes. You’ve gotten used to feeding them both, being blessed with the ability to produce enough milk to sustain them. And while sitting back against the headboard, you do just that, rocking the girls gently as they drink. 
“She has my eyes, don’t you think?” Reaching over, König taps little Gisela’s chin.
And he’s right; her piercing blue gaze is just like his. “Absolutely.” 
“Sie sind so schön.” Whispering, he stares up at his daughters with sincere wonder in his eyes. “You made them.” (They are so beautiful)
“I know.” Giggling, you nod in response. “Do you think Ava has my nose?” You wonder aloud, watching as their eyelids begin to droop.
“Of course, that perfect little button.” He adds, gently booping his younger daughter’s nose. Though, only younger by two minutes.
Unable to help himself, König then leans in, placing a gentle kiss to Avelina’s head, being that she’s closest to him. And then one of those large hands is lifting, petting gently at his eldest’s thin, blonde hair.
“Let me put them to bed, Schatz.” (Sweetheart)
“No,” Whining quietly, you puff out your lower lip. “I wanna.”
It was something the two of you often ‘fought’ about; neither of you could get enough of your precious daughters. Even while giving birth, he practically tried to catch them with his bare hands. He was the first to hold them, each of them, even before they were placed on your chest. It made for quite the special moment, though. It was him who laid them onto you, one at a time, your little family coming together as you finally held your daughters, your sweet babies. 
To König, there was nothing more inspiring than seeing you give birth to his daughters. You were fierce, powerful, and he was there to support you every step of the way. Hell, he was practically your birthing coach. He cheered you, doted on you until you’d insisted you were okay. In his mind, no one could care for you or your daughters better than him. And that caring instinct only continues to grow as your family does. 
Simon “Ghost” Riley (~1.3k words)
Charlotte Riley
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Isn’t quite sure what to do, and always looks to you for guidance.
It’s not that Simon doesn’t love his daughter, or isn’t interested in her, he’s just afraid. Afraid he’ll hurt her, make her cry or just do something wrong. He’s so big and she’s just so… little. She’s the most precious, fragile thing he’s ever seen and honestly, he’s wondering how he was even capable of making her. 
“Do you want to hold her, Si?” Your voice is gentle, looking up at him with encouragement in your eyes. “She wants you.”
“I don’t know, love.” 
The huge, menacing man you grew to love was quickly dwindled down to a nervous wreck when it came to your newborn daughter. He’d wring his hands, rub the back of his neck and constantly shift his stance. When Charlotte was with you, he was calm. But in literally every other scenario, he felt like he was about to lose his head. 
During the birthing process, Simon was sweating bullets. You were in an ungodly amount of pain and he had no idea what to do, there wasn’t anything he could do. But after a moment, his instincts kicked in. Thanks to his background and general personality, his body often chooses to take action in these fight or flight instances. And he figured the best thing he could do was to just be there for you. He leaned down, wrapped an arm around your shoulder and kept his head right beside your own, holding your hand with his free one and letting you squeeze and claw him as hard as you needed to. You called out for him, crying miserably through the pain. It tore his insides to shreds, it was heart-wrenching. 
“I’m here, I promise I’m here. And you’re so strong, sweetheart. You can do this, you can.”
And now, it’s your turn to reassure him. 
“I promise it’ll be okay.” Pushing your folded arms out toward your husband, you bring her just a bit closer to him. “You don’t want to hold your baby?”
“I, I feel like…”
“Don’t be nervous, Si. She loves you, she trusts you. You can do this.”
He gulped then, eyes floating down to the small bundle in your hands. Only, it’s not just a small pile of blankets. It’s his daughter, his Lottie girl. And so, with a sigh, he nods, straightening his stance. 
I can do this.
With a smile on your face, you watch as he gently, slowly, takes her from your arms.
“How, how do I -”
“Support her head.” Answering softly, you show him just how to do it, gently maneuvering his strong arms and large hands. “There you go, just like that.” 
At first, you were annoyed with him. Did he not pay attention in your parenting classes? Did he not actually read the books you gave him? But an honest conversation quickly put those worries to rest. Simon did pay attention, he did read those books, he had all the knowledge he needed to succeed at this. But he just didn’t trust himself with it, with her. None of those classes prepared for him an actual baby. He thought he’d surely and properly fuck this up if given the chance, but right now, he’s proving himself wrong. 
“Look at you, Si.” The reassurance in your tone makes his heart beat with happiness and pride. All he wants to do is please you, both of you. 
Glancing down at his daughter, Simon nods, uttering a quiet yet confident, “Yeah…” 
But a breath of air is quickly sucked in when he sees her squirm, his body stiffening immediately. You hold out your hands and pause, urging him to just wait. And within seconds, she’s calming down again, tiny body snuggling into his chest. 
“She, um…”
“She loves you, baby.” Stepping closer, you slide a finger over her little hand, cooing, “You love your daddy, Lottie?”
“Stop it.” He orders playfully, eyes unwavering from Charlotte’s sweet face. And when you quirk a brow at him, he continues grumpily, “Making me all emotional.” 
But what you said was true, he can do this. He wants to do this. 
And he does. 
It takes less than a week for Simon to get used to this, becoming so comfortable with your daughter that he openly scoops her up from your arms whenever he pleases. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of how to feed or burp her yet, but he has been helping you with diaper changes. He’ll watch you perform the task or explain a piece of it, and then he’ll do it, testing the waters a bit. It’s slow, but it’s progress. 
What helps with this is his best mate, having a baby of his own to demonstrate. 
“Hold the bottle like this.” Johnny instructs, showing Ghost how he holds his own daughter. “Yeah!”
“Alright,” Ghost nods, voice quiet and a bit shaky. 
Charlotte’s head rests on the bulk of Simon’s bicep, the rest of her body cradled on his lap. And with the bottle perfectly angled, she drinks easily and happily. Elsie does the same, but that’s nothing new. 
“Have you read to her?”
“Read to her? But… she doesn’t understand it, Johnny.” 
“Doesn’t matter,” Soap shrugs, grabbing his baby’s backpack to pull out some of her favorite stories. Well, Johnny’s favorite stories. “Elsie loves it! Surely my little godlassie will, too.”
How that came about, nobody really knows. It sort of just… happened, the two of them being their daughter’s godfathers. Nobody fit the role better than them, it was just common knowledge. 
Opening an interactive tale about animals in the jungle, Johnny reads to the girls, their eyes watching him intently. Now that they’re done eating, they focus on Johnny and the way he’s speaking, his facial expressions and movements. 
“The monkey says… ooh! Ooh! Ooh!” Reaching forward, he quickly tickles their tummies, watching as they erupt into laughter. “Here Si, you give it a go.” 
Shoving the book into his hands, he watches his friend gulp. It’s as if an entire crowd is in front of him, and not his best friend and two baby girls. 
“The, um… the lion says… roar.” 
The girls do nothing, and Johnny rolls his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, put your heart into it! The lion says roar!”
Clearing his throat, Ghost nods, staring at the simple picture book. “The lion says… ROAR!”
But instead of giggling, the girls start crying, and Simon is tossing the book down in an instant. Scooping his daughter up into his arms again, he mutters a grumpy Christ while patting her back and bouncing her lightly.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Daddy’s sorry.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but Johnny can still hear him. And he smiles. 
“Don’t worry about it.” Keeping his chuckles to himself, Johnny then says, “Lottie’s got a great dad. I can tell.” 
“How in the bloody hell is this so hard?” His voice is still low, keeping his cheek beside her own in an attempt to comfort her. 
“You’ll get the hang of it.” Soap is resting easy, having calmed his daughter down in less than a minute. “What d’ya say we have a day together? Just us four?”
“And do… what?” Simon hasn’t yet mastered the art of interacting with his tiny baby. He doesn’t know what she’s receptive to. But how will he ever know if he never tries? 
“We can go to the zoo! Practice those lion roars.” Johnny jokes with a grin, watching his best mate roll his eyes. “Really though, it’ll be good for the girls.” And you, but he doesn’t say that part out loud. 
“That… actually sounds nice.” The hammering heartbeat in his chest has slowed now that his daughter has grown silent, only small coos slipping from her lips. 
Honestly, Simon doesn’t know what he’d do without you and Johnny. He’d be completely lost, and in more ways than one. But with your collective encouragement, he finds himself growing into his fatherly role more and more every day. 
Bonus - Uncle!Price (~500 words)
Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) Underage drinking, mentions of drug usage, partying. 
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“You’re shitting me.” He says into the phone, dumbfounded. 
“I didn’t mean to, Pricey. Promise!”
Charlotte’s tone on the other end of the phone only makes the situation worse; she’s very clearly inebriated. The background noise doesn’t help the conversation, either, nothing but boisterous teenagers shouting and singing. 
“What pub are you at?”
“Not at one,” Hiccuping, she then swallows. “At a… party.”
“Christ, Lottie.” But he’s already walking out to his car and starting the engine. “Text me the address, lovie.”
“You won’t tell dad?” She whispers on the other end, as if Simon could somehow hear her.
“No, hun. But you’ve got to be better about this.”
It wasn’t the first time John had picked his niece up from a situation like this. Out of the group’s kids, she was definitely the partier. As soon as she hit her teenage years, she ran Simon up a goddamn wall. But she honestly didn’t mean to, she wasn’t a bad kid. She just sometimes got herself into bad situations. There had even been times at her friends' houses where she was uncomfortable and nervous, times when they’d bring hard drugs she wasn’t expecting or willing to experiment with. These situations made her far too nervous to contact her dad, fearing he’d just be angry with her. That’s where Uncle Price came in. 
Of course, if she was ever hurt or in serious danger, he’d tell her parents straight away. But in these types of situations, he figures he’s helping her dodge a bullet. He knows how harsh Simon can be, and after all, she’s just a teen. At the end of the day, she’s safe, and that’s what matters. 
“Thank you for calling me. Last thing we need is you driving like this, or driving with someone else like this.”
“Yeah…” Trailing off, she sighs. And in this small lull, John hears a familiar voice.
“Who -” He pauses, did he really just hear who he thought he heard?! “Who was that?!”
“Um… who?”
“You know who!” 
“Is he coming?” The voice then says, and Charlotte is quick to hush him. 
“Benjamin!” John shouts, eyes wide as he continues to drive. “You’re there too?!”
Handing the phone to her cousin, Benji gives the excuse of, “Had to look after her, da.” 
“Yeah, right job you did there.” His father returns, nodding. “Anyone else I should know about?”
“Well… maybe.”
“Elsie! C’mon! Uncle John is almost here!”
Christ sake. 
Groaning, John rubs the bridge of his nose. “You lot are out to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Nothing wrong with a bit of fun!” 
“Yeah, yeah.” Rolling his eyes, he peers out the window while at a stop light.
Internally though, John is grinning. This entire situation is reminding him of his own memories, recalling the crazier nights of his youth. What an absolute shitshow, that was. And on top of that, he didn’t have the type of parents that could get him out of tough cracks, they just didn’t understand. He had to rely on himself. And now, he’s glad these kids can rely on him, too. 
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Text
Not A Date
Pairing: Frank Castle x Female Reader
My Masterlist
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Summary: You get stood up on a date and Frank decides that's unacceptable and you deserve to be taken out tonight. Except it's absolutely not a date, he swears, despite the fact it has all the makings of a perfect first date.
Warnings: Just all the fluffy goodness of friends to lovers. Some swearing because this is Frank we're talking about. Mild alcohol use. Author's questionable understanding of billiard rules.
AN: My first time writing Mr. Castle. I have a headcanon that Bucky goes to Curtis' veteran group therapy and I think he and Frank would be friends from that so both of those guys make an appearance. Feedback is always appreciated!
WC: 2151
The three flights of stairs up to your apartment leave you feeling winded even on a good day, but the complimentary glass of wine the waitress provided after feeling sorry for you buzzes through your system and couples with the twinge of disappointment, making the trek up to your home a feat akin to climbing Everest.
You fumble with your keys, but the knob on your front door gives way, no longer locked as you left it an hour before.
“If you’re gonna break and enter, at least lock it behind you,” you shout out, closing the front door behind you.
“Not breaking and entering if you give me a key,” a gruff voice answers back as you hang your now discarded jacket on an overcrowded hook in your entryway.
“A decision which I deeply regret,” you reply, entering the living room to find a familiar large man sprawled out on the sofa.
“Better than me breaking your window locks again …” his response cuts off as you enter the room, giving you a glance up and down. His brow furrows at the sight of you, more overdressed than usual, in front of him.
“What are you all dressed up for?” he asks
“I had a date. And it could have been a disaster if it had gone well and I brought him up here only to find my very intimidating and more-than-occasionally bleeding friend on my couch.” You gesture, taking note of the lack of open wounds on Frank’s body.
Finding Frank in your apartment was not an unusual occurrence, though it was always a surprise which state of distress he’d be in - whether he was dropping in for a friendly visit, or bleeding so profusely you weren’t sure the whole of the Red Cross’ supply could replenish him. Thank god, you didn’t also have to deal with stitching him up tonight.
“Okay. Clearly didn’t go well since you’re alone and it’s only 8:30,” he responds, checking his watch.
“Yeah well, he stood me up so…”
“You’re shitting me.” Frank's lips purse and his signature vacant stare glazes across his eyes.
“Nope,” you sigh, flopping down beside him. Your relationship with him so comfortable that you don’t even register the change in his expression, let alone fear it. You nudge your knee against his, attempting to reclaim some personal space from his massive frame currently dominating your tiny New York apartment. Frank does not yield, too focused on the tale of your love-life’s misfortunes.
“What a shithead. What’s his name?”
“Frank, no.” you say sternly.
“I just want to talk to him.”
“Yeah sure, talk to him.” you give air quotes, “Talk to him with your favorite shotgun.”
“Pfft don’t need a gun to let him know what I think. Fists’ll do just fine.”
“Well if the Punisher is suddenly going after scumbags who stand up women on dates instead of your usual criminals, I’m happy to provide a whole list.” you say dryly
Frank swallows thickly, fingers mindlessly plucking at his jeans as fury begins to grow inside him.
“Really? There’s more than one idiot standin’ someone like you up?” he gestures to how well you’ve cleaned up for the evening, letting his gaze linger on the way your outfit clings to your body.
“Apparently a very good majority of men in this city,” you respond with a shrug, trying not to notice the way his intense stare follows you to the kitchen as you stand again. Your fridge is embarrassingly empty and you mentally curse yourself for not doing any food shopping this week as a small gurgle rises in your stomach.
Frank cracks his knuckles and shakes his head and you swear you hear something similar to “assholes” mumbled under his breath.
“You hungry?” you ask “Cause I didn’t eat anything at the restaurant while I waited for that jerk, and now I’m starving. I’m gonna order something if you want?”
“Nah. Don’t order in tonight.” he replies, planting his weighty boots on the area rug and pushing against his thick thighs to stand.
“Frank, I’m starving, why not?”
“Cause we’re going out. You got all dressed up and I’m not gonna let some fucker ruin your night.” he explains, a mischievous spark dancing in his dark eyes.
“I am not letting you take me on a pity date, Frank.” you argue, cringing at the thought
“Not a date. But you’re hungry, I’m hungry. So let’s go somewhere.”
“Fine. Where are we going?” you resign, knowing there is no arguing with him once his mind is made up.
____________________________________
The small windows of the bar are caked in a layer of dust that matches the brown shade of the sticky wood floor Frank leads you across. The chatter from the handful of the evening’s patrons is punctuated by the occasional glass shattering from a barback tossing an empty beer bottle in the trash and the whack of cue poles hitting pool balls in the corner, where you and Frank are currently locked in a heat battle with two of Frank’s “fellow FUBAR veteran group” friends (as he lovingly introduced them.)
Deviating from a normal situation with you two, no one gives a second glance at Frank, worn jacket slung across his large frame and mud-crusted boots not even garnering a raised eyebrow from the several patrons seated at the bar top, all of whom in some way resemble the cast you’d see in b-grade cop show. Your chosen ensemble for your defunct date stands out among the casual crowd, prompting a few glances every once in a while from a passing handsome stranger. Frank does not hesitate to display a particularly harsh scowl, causing them to scuttle away in regret for even looking at you.
Frank’s calloused hands sneak a french fry off your half-eaten plate as you rosin up the cue pole, racking your brain for how you’re going to proceed strategically.
“Kay sweetheart, Curt and Barnes are up a point, so all you need to do is sink the 13 or the 9 and we can beat em’.”
“Angle’s too tight on the 13,” you respond “I think I can make the 9, but I’m not loving how close the 8 ball is.”
“You can do it, we just gotta get you lined up right. Here…” Frank ambles over to you, carefully bracketing his arms around you and guiding your hands into position. His broad chest barely sweeps against your back as he leans over you, sending an icy shudder down your spine. Usually so steady and precise, you swear you see his hands tremble for a moment as they rest on top of yours, lining up your shot with his military-trained eye for accuracy.
His breath is hot on your neck as he mumbles “All you” into your ear and takes a step back, the nearness of his body to yours stringing tension in thick spider-webbed threads between you.
“Kay, 9 ball. Right corner pocket,” you announce, throat suddenly feeling dry. You take a deep breath, over compensating for your current shortness on air, before pulling your elbow back and releasing.
A sharp crack rings out as the cue makes direct contact with its mark. The 9 ball wizzes across the green velvet, narrowly avoiding the 8, before sinking cleanly into the intended target. You jump up with a “whoop!” as Frank wraps his strong arms around you in celebration.
“Atta girl!” he cheers and you’re buzzing, though whether it’s the joy of victory or the way Frank is currently enveloping you and your senses, you can’t say.
Bucky and Curtis groan in frustration. As Bucky steps up to rerack the game, Curtis speaks up.
“You know you surprised me. The way Frank’s always describing you, had me thinking you’d be more demure and shy. You’re really more than he gives you credit for.”
“You talk about me at group?” you whip around to Frank, who stepped toward the back wall to take a swig of his beer.
“Mighta mentioned you in passing.” he shrugs, fiddling with the label of the bottle.
“Can’t get him to shut up about you.” Curtis replies
“C’mon Curt!” Frank rolls his eyes
“What else does he say about me?” you turn back to Curtis and a broad grin spreads across his face.
“Reracked and ready for round 2.” Bucky announces
“Barnes has an unfair advantage with that roboarm.” Frank complains, hoping to deviate the current subject away.
“I think Curtis and I are at a disadvantage going up against two of the best sharpshooters the country’s ever known,” you argue back, Frank’s attempt at changing the subject nearly working to take your mind off Curtis’ comments.
“Yeah well, only one of us isn’t a hundred.” Frank steps forward to take his shot and Curtis uses it to his advantage, leaning in to speak only in your ear.
“He says you’re the first thing that makes him feel good about himself since Maria and the kids died. Like he’s got a purpose for himself instead of just existing to be the Punisher. Those of us in the profession like to call that hope.”
Heat rises in your cheeks as Curtis steps away to go order another round at the bar, his words lingering in your mind as you glance over to Frank. His dark eyes meet yours, then he clears his throat, and quickly turns his attention to Bucky, who is circling the pool table with deep concentration. You swear you see a dopey smile growing on his face as he looks at the floor, avoiding your gaze.
____________________________________
The wind is loud in your ears as Frank’s motorcycle weaves and zips through the New York streets. You grip tightly to his back and breath in the hints of his woody aftershave mixed with the remnants of gunpowder still engrained in the fibers of his jacket. The Brooklyn Bridge looms large above as you cross over it, making your way back towards your apartment.
“Tonight was fun, Castle. You bring all your first dates to such a romantic spot?” you ask as you and Frank stroll down the sidewalk, stretching out the steps it takes to walk from his bike, which he parked an entire block away in a not-so-subtle act of extending the evening, to your front door.
“Told you sweetheart, that wasn’t a date. And no, I got a little more class than that,” His hands shoved in his pockets as the crisp evening air stings against a still healing bruise on his left cheek bone.
“So where do you usually take your first dates?” you ask
“Italian. There was a little place in Hell Kitchen that I used to take Maria to, but it’s been closed for years now. Gotta find a new spot.”
Frank has never shyed away from bringing up his family with you. You love that he feels comfortable enough with you to do that and he’s made it clear one of the reasons he keeps you around is because you don’t “get all weird” around him when it does come up.
“Well this is my building.” you say with a nod of your head towards the front door. He knows that and you know he knows that, but still you weren’t quite sure what to say as the evening is clearly coming to it’s end.
Deep, dark eyes meet yours and you both stare for a moment, before he cups your jaw and draws your face close to his. His lips are soft, even hesitant as they meet yours gently. He doesn’t linger, but pulls away just enough to give you the choice about what happens next.
“You kissed me,” you comment, lips still hovering inches from his as a giddy smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.
“Yeah, that’s what you do at the end of a date when it goes well. Know I’ve been outta practice for a while now, but didn’t think that part changed much.” The boyish charm you know hides behind such an intimidating man now appearing behind his soft stare and lopsided grin.
“I thought this wasn’t a date.”
“Shit. I did say that, didn’t I?”
“I like Italian.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” you respond nodding your head “So take me for Italian. On an actual date. And if it goes well, kiss me again.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.” you confirm with another soft peck on his lips.
And for many years later, the number one argument in your relationship is which evening actually counted as your first date and which day your anniversary actually is. Frank lets you win that argument every time though. As embarrassed as he is when you tell people your first date was at a “seedy, Brooklyn dive bar no rational girl would’ve called him back after” (instead of the very romantic Italian spot he picked the next night,) it meant that you were his and that’s all that mattered.
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static-sulker · 5 months
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I might maybe possibly be thinking of a modern fantasy apartment AU with the main crew. All of them being stupid ass magical roommates without tadpoles...Just letting them be happy.
Also my Tav is in there because...yeah. His name is Silk and he is such a silly guy ridden with the 'tism. Drow Warlock who sees the good in everything... Such a...A yeah...
Little notes i've been conjuring about this...
Gale and Wyll made a chore chart in the kitchen, with little magnets for each person. Astarion regularly will switch his magnet in the middle of the night just so he doesn't have to do the fucking dishes and EVERYBODY knows besides Gale and Wyll. Wyll is on the fence about it, but Gale wholeheartedly believes when Astarion lies through his teeth about never having done it.
Karlach and Halsin go on grocery runs in the mornings. Karlach goes for the running part, while Halsin comes along for the run as well as to stop Karlach from buying the most horrendous shit. The one time she went alone very early in the houses lifespan, Karlach bought like 3 bags of go-gurt, about 50 dollars worth of cheap booze, and a big piece of raw steak to cook. She burnt said steak. But she's trying now, at least.
The team will take turns every now and then to get Astarion blood from themselves as it gives Astarion a lot more energy then normal settling blood. BUT they do have "blood bags" that they set up in the kitchen fridge whenever they know nobody with the right blood is gonna be available to give him blood if he needs it. They TOTALLY get it by legal means and it TOTALLY doesn't melt Astarions heart that they try so hard to help him.
Silk finds a stray dog in the alleys of their building one day when they went out to work (they do freelance art with their magic for like startups, it's fun). After casting "speak with animals" they find out this dog, Scratch, is waiting for his owner to return. His owner was killed out by some gnoll gang downtown. When they come back from work later in the evening, they find Scratch again, still waiting. Long story short, Silk adopts scratch in their very strict "no pets" rule of an apartment. And don't get me STARTED on the owlbear cub. Lae'zel and Halsin were out, originally to get some spare lightbulbs and tools for the apartment and find the little critter getting chase by some goblins in some backalley parking lot. Lae'zel plans to ignore the thing, but Halsin assists the cub. Once done, they plan to leave, before the cub begins to follow them home. Halsin names the cub "Vauva" and Lae'zel soon becomes SO attached.
They have presentation nights, where everybody makes slideshows about literally anything. Last week, Gale made one about the conflicts of archmages and the idea of apprentices. Karlach then made a tier list on the worst monsters ever documented, Lae'zel helped with that one. Shadowheart made this whole discussion over her favorite and least favorite teas (she fuckin' hates green tea for like no reason). Wyll made one on Baldurs Gate history. Astarion made a smash or pass list of all of the political leaders in Baldurs Gate. Silk made a presentation on the weirdest underdark myths and rumors they have heard on their time above ground. Halsin presented (well more like persuaded) on getting a new herb for their kitchens row of herbs and spices set on the windowsill. They have too many and he got like 5 minutes of stand time before Karlach kicked him off.
Lae'zel hate-cleans when shes mad at somebody in the apartment. Basically, she cleans every room in the entire fucking apartment BESIDES any of said "victims" parts of the house. One time, she got into a fight with Shadowheart and threw all of the dirty laundry she had so carefully put into the laundry room back into her room just all over the fucking place. If shes calm though, the house is normally fairly clean under her and Wyll's watch. It's one of the only things they agree on.
Because every bg3 piece of content I make loops back to bloodweave, I think they would have a little reading time together. Like whenever everybody is settling down for the night and they are up for it, they take this lovely window seat couch/bed thing in Gales room and just take out a good bottle of wine and a book for each of them and just read until late. They originally did this separately, but when the two find themselves both in the living room at 2 in the morning reading, they decide in silent agreement to make it routine. They sometimes read in silence, other times just talking absently about anything. Shadowheart finds out first by coming in to Gales room late one night to return a book he lent to her to find the two both passed out, tucked away in the window, books still in hand before they accidentally passed out. Shadowheart then teases them with photos the morning after.
Karlach and Lae'zel both do these really intense shadowboxing exercises in Karlachs room whenever the two have freetime and enough energy to go through with it. It's a heated bitter rivalry in the eyes of the githyanki, but Karlach just loves a little workout with her friend! Lae'zel does enjoy the workouts, as she doesn't get many options to really let off ALL of her steam, even if she works at a gym as a personal trainer. She is constantly told shes a bit TOO rough with the clients so she has to "tone it down". So it's nice.
Astarion and Shadowheart have girls nights. Like they paint each others nails and watch like twilight together (ironically they get so heated at how wrong they get it. "Just another human writer writing about shit she doesn't get" is used a lot in their rewatches). They also talk about like...their feelings. But it's very sparse and done so by a copious amount of wine (wine with a heavy amount of blood on the side for Astarion). Both of them never got to have moments like this in their childhoods, of just pure calmness and domestic childhood enjoyment, so they make due with what they can.
BY THE HELLS I JUST REALIZED I WROTE THIS MUCH. DAMN OKAY.
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dreamauri · 5 months
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begging for a new “for sentimental reasons” chapter.
I AM STARVED
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𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗦 - part nine ─ ୨୧ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ :🪴: ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ୨୧ ─ ╮ ┇forgetting is troublesome especially ┇when you used to be enemies !! ┇︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦˚₊   ┇ . 🌿 :: pairing — ( charles leclerc  x  fem! driver! reader ) ┇ . 🫧 :: ⁠genre — ( angst )  ┇ . 🌿 :: ⁠word count — ( 780 ) ╰ 🫧  :: ⁠ content warning — ( X )
★ ☆ very short, sorry. AND BEFORE YOU READ. IM ALSO VERY VERY SORRY. theres still a few more chapters to get to. so, relax .... 😀 ━━━━━━━━
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( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests )
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You gulped as you turned up the volume on the tv, tears stinging your eyes as you watched Andrew Garfield's spider man on the TV, swinging around. And no matter how loud or visually distracting the movie was you could still hear your father shouting on the phone in the other room. Your one chance at getting a sponsor and you perform a very lovely last place. "ARE YOU HAPPY WITH THIS, BECAUSE I AM VERY HAPPY." You flinched as you watched him enter the room, shutting the door. "What was I even thinking? You're just a stupid girl."
"Hey." You wiped your tears looking up at the blurry figure. "Bad day, huh?" He sat beside you. You looked at him confused, who was this guy? "You had a bad day too?" "Very bad." You could almost put a finger on his accent. "What happened to you?" A deep sigh rocked your chest as you reieved your memories from earlier. "I haven't been performing that well in my profession recently, my team is going to drop me . . . My dad was right, I'm just a stupid girl." "I beg to differ . . . When I look at you I see, . . . this strong woman who's put me in shock several times. She's very strong, and just as beautiful." You tried to blink your eyes clean. Who was this drunk stranger trying to comfort an equally drunk girl on the side of the street. "What's your name?" “Carl.” He lied straight through his teeth.
“Carl? Are you following me? What are you doing in this part of the world?” “I was going to ask you that question! I missed you!”
“How long till she realizes Carl is the guy she hates the most in the world?” “Shut up, Lando.” “Oh, I’m sorry Charles— I mean, Carl.”
“Hey?” You snapped your head up, looking at the boy confused. Now was really not the time. You were balancing your whole weight on your feet. Rehabilitation sessions after a 48g crash wasn’t something you could chat through. “Leclerc. If you don’t mind, I’m expecting company—” “I am company.” “Boy, just go. I have no energy to fight with you.” “I’m Carl . . .” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Yeah I know, now please leave.”
“Y/N, please.” Charles held your hand. “In the time I spent with you, I’ve grown . . . feelings for you.” You chuckled. “You grew feelings? What is it? A plant? You don't grow feelings, Charles.” “Now's not the time to correct my english!” “Yeah yeah. Okay well, we were drunk, drunk people do stupid stuff.” “I wasn’t drunk! You were.” “—I’ll punch your face.” “SORRY, sorry. Just. I really do love you, Y/N!” “HAH— AND I'M A POTATO.”
“Give me this one chance! Please, Y/N." "Why should I?! Why do you love me?" "I— I dont know?! You make me happy! You make me feel safe. Its just— sentimental reasons, okay?"
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
“Oh . . .”
In extreme truth revealing situations, emotions are always easy to blind humans, especially when it comes to betrayal. Somepeople may act rashly and take risks. Some people stand incredibly still. Their eyes wide, heart cracking and shattering. Some feel silent anger, others feel a panic attack crashing in. 
Maybe things can be better. Right? You can always fix what's broken, whether it was objects or bones. Feelings too. You can fix your feelings, yes? Yes? You can forgive him. Of course you can, can you not? You love him. You need him. 
The tears that fill your eyes start to run down your cheeks and neck. A hiccup slowly leaves your lips as you continue to look down at your shoes. Breathing was getting harder and your hands that hugged you into yourself gripped your biceps a little too harshly, warm crimson was dripping down your arm and fingers.
“H—how—” how dare you, you wanted to ask. The blurry figure in red tried to take a step closer only for you to take one back in return. “I thought I— I thought—” You shut your mouth to hold back the sobs. You brushed your hair from your face, a sad chuckle leaving your lips as you wiped your eyes.
“Why—” You looked at Charles, demanding an explanation. The pain felt immense. The panic washed away and was soon replaced by anger and sadness. “I thought I could trust you? I thought we were a team?” You took a step forward grabbing his wrist holding up the pliers. “I don’t even want to know what you were doing.”
 You dropped his hand before pushing past him. 
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lestappenforever · 8 days
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With the Lestappen-overtaking-Maxiel situation going on: Could you maybe make a little recommendation list of your favourite Lestappen fics (can be yours and/or other people's)?
Hi anon!
I absolutely can, what a fitting celebration!
As I'm still working on a proper fic rec list as I keep reading more and more fics, below you will find a small selection of my all-time favorite fics - both to read and to write!
Full list of my all-time favorite fics that I have read and written below the cut!
My all-time favorite fics that I have read:
Monaco Malaise (part 1 of Temptation's Trajectory) by @cupidskissx Rated E | 8,037 words | Complete
Using the reflection in the mirror above the vanity, he steals occasional glances into the bedroom as he wets the cloth and cleans himself off. Charles is still on his forearms and knees, face buried in his pillow, he doesn’t look like he’s going to be moving any time soon.
Max and Charles have been hooking up for a few months, casually, no string attached — definitely no feelings involved… The disaster that was Monaco 2021 sees them in Charles’ apartment, with Max having to deal with the fact that Charles can’t get out of his head.
Azerbaijan Abnegation (part 2 of Temptation's Trajectory) by @cupidskissx Rated E | 16,972 words | Complete
Charles stares at him intently, “Last time was an anomaly.” Not for the first time, Max recalls the awkward swell of humiliation after Charles had told him to stop. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle at the memory of everything that followed, “Yeah, that better not happen again.”
After Monaco, Max thought he’d made up his mind about Charles, and their little arrangement. They’re in Azerbaijan and Charles is everywhere: in his head, in his messages, in his hotel room… Will Max be able to hold onto his resolve, or will his attempts at self-denial only prolong the inevitable?
Mona's comment: I have read these two fics more times than I can count, and I'm going to keep reading them again and again and again until the day I die. Loz is such an amazingly talented author, and her writing has honestly altered my brain chemistry numerous times.
you and me, just us (and your teammate sergio) by @oscar-fastri Rated T | 3,377 words | Complete
Checo was fully aware of what he’s walking into. Still, he seriously doubts that anyone could have been prepared for the full force of Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc being heads over heels in love with each other and not even trying to hide it.
Or: 5 times Checo thirdwheels Max and Charles + 1 time it's everyone else's turn
Mona's comment: This is the "You, me and your friend Steve" song in perfect fic format, and let me tell you the sound I made when Avery published it was not human.
The Nights Are Long (But It's Easier Together) by @f1writingbyme Rated E | 43,759 | Complete
“Oh, God, what is it?” Max groans. “It’s Mr. Corvetto, right? I knew it. I’m telling you, never move into an apartment next to elderly people. It’s just– Why does she call me? What the hell can I do? Doesn’t she need to call an ambulance or something? Or, I don’t know, her family, or–” “Max.” Charles interrupts Max’s ranting. He ends the phone call, cutting off Mrs. Corvetto’s panicked yelling with a simple press of his thumb. He stares at the blue-eyed man in front of him. “Your apartment is on fire.”
Or: The fire in his apartment is only the beginning of a long list of misfortunes that await Max. Fortunately, he has Charles by his side to help him through it. That is until Charles is the one that gets targeted.
Mona's comment: I don't even have words for this, it just needs to be read. WARNING: Prepare for heavy angst.
And That's How I Foksmashed Dad's Championship Trophy by @il-predestinato Rated T | 6,500 | Complete
All of that would have been forgivable if not for the Green-Eyed Monster’s complete disregard for the pre-contracted occupation rights of Max’s lap. Such rights had long been pre-determined and belonged to Sassy (and occasionally to Jimmy, she admitted begrudgingly). However, no amount of quiet hisses and vicious glares seemed to penetrate the creature’s thick skull, and he would greedily occupy Max’s thigh for more than 95% of any given afternoon. Sometimes with his head, sometimes with his feet, and a few times he even straddled his entire body over Max; the latter could not have been comfortable for Max, as the Green-Eyed Monster was enormously overweight compared to Sassy. (Jimmy had insisted that it was not nice to shame another living creature about their weight, but she was not wrong. With her compact size and considerably more reasonable mass, Sassy was confident that she was much more comfortable for Max to have on his lap than that horrendously oversized creature.)
Mona's comment: I have never read anything as great as this, and I don't think I'll ever read anything as great as this ever again. I want to move into Elle's brain and live there forever.
set my midnight sorrow free (part 1 of this is our place, we make the rules) by @il-predestinato Rated T | 13,439 words | Complete
He doesn’t blame Max, not really. If he could have Charles for one night, he would never let him go either. Maybe he isn’t the one who is losing; Max is also playing a losing game. You can’t open yourself to Charles and try to exist in his charmed life without becoming irrevocably enamoured. When Max let Charles walk into his motorhome, when he let Charles slip into his existence, Max didn’t know it then but the battle was already lost.
we don't know how to rhyme, but damn, we try (part 2 of this is our place, we make the rules) by @il-predestinato Rated M | 4,862 | Complete
He pulls back reluctantly and misses the warm mouth almost immediately. Stars, he was doomed. “I want this too,” he tells Charles. “I don’t believe you.” He can be so infuriating sometimes, so contrarian. Some day, he might actually make Max lose his mind.
even the sun sets in paradise (part 3 of this is our place, we make the rules) by @il-predestinato Rated T | 27,774 words | Complete
If he had to name the place where the story of Max and Charles began, if there was a moment that divided them into Before and After, there would be a few candidates. But there was only one correct answer. He would never forget the name. The place is called Val d’Argenton. Stories are still being written there. Charles likes to tell the story of the incident - turn by turn, infused with poetic drama, detailing every single emotion: frustration, anger, pure spite. Every time he tells it, his smile grows along with the laughter in his eyes, even as his words recount a tale of opposing emotions. “I never want to go back to Val d’Argenton,” Charles once confessed. “We’ll never go back there,” he promised, and Charles knew what he meant.
Mona's comment: This series is such a rollercoaster of emotion, and I don't think I'm still fully recovered from reading it the first time. Elle is a true genius in every way.
p19 by @sennaverstappen Rated E | 5,619 words | Complete
“Charles,” it comes out soft, worried, upset. Charles will light himself on fire. He hears Max take a few steps towards him, feels two warm, winning, arms wrap around his fast-breathing chest. He’s still wearing those golden shoes. Max snuggle into his neck. “I’m here for you.” And Max had won, and he’s winning the season, and he’s P19, and losing this season. And Max is winning, and he’s not even talking about it – choosing to comfort his Charles instead. Every little thought converges into a single, red-hot one. He’s going to fuck the pole sitter so hard he’ll be sore tomorrow. “Max,” he whimpers, trying to find his voice, find his grip, find his footing in this world. Max tightens his grip around his waist. “Yes, angel?” And he can feel Max frown against his nape, soft breath against his earlobe. It turns his body white-hot. “Get on the fucking bed.”
Mona's comment: This one is just *chef's kiss*. Mindblowing. Incredible. Just like its author.
My all-time favorite fics that I've written:
Devil's Roll The Dice (Angels Roll Their Eyes) (part 1 of Devils Roll The Dice (Angels Roll Their Eyes) Rated E | 55,362 words | Complete
It all started with a crash. Well, technically, it started with a blue-eyed boy with blonde hair getting screamed at in a language he couldn’t understand when he was only 12 years old. He remembered looking at the boy, who couldn’t be much older than himself - (two weeks older, to be exact, he’d learn later) - and watching the spark disappear right out of those icy blue eyes. That was the first memory Charles Leclerc had of Max Verstappen: Watching Jos Verstappen, Max’s own father, scream at this 12 year old child with an intensity that turned his face red and made every blood vessel in his neck look dangerously close to bursting. But if anyone ever were to ask Charles when he started to realize that his feelings towards that same Max Verstappen he had known since childhood had begun to change into something else, something bigger, something terrifying he couldn’t - or wouldn’t - quite put his finger on, he would say that it all started with a crash. Because of fucking course it did.
OR: The slow-burn story of Lestappen that has brought me back from the dead, which starts with Max's crash at Silverstone in 2021.
Like Snow At The Beach (Weird But Fucking Beautiful) (part 2 of Devils Roll The Dice (Angels Roll Their Eyes) Rated E | 17,064 words | Completed
The wedding of Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen was always going to be a grand affair. Not necessarily because it had been either man’s dream to make a big deal out of getting married, but simply because they knew so many fucking people. And because Charles had mentioned once — in passing, ages ago, long before Max went down on one knee and proposed — that he had driven past a property in Italy he’d found so beautiful that he’d had to stop the car in order to have a proper look, and that upon walking through the grounds of the property, he’d found himself thinking it would have been the perfect venue for a wedding. Max had been hellbent on finding out which property that was ever since.
OR: The lavish wedding sequel to "Devils Roll The Dice (Angels Roll Their Eyes)" that you've all been (hopefully) waiting for.
Stop (You're Losing Me) (part 3 of Devils Roll The Dice (Angels Roll Their Eyes) Rated E | 6,399 words | Completed
And now, here they are, with Charles feeling like he’s the only one making any sort of effort to keep their marriage healthy and happy outside of race weekends. He never would have imagined being married to Max could end up feeling so lonely. Another two hours pass before Max comes out into the living room, where Charles is sitting on the couch with a bowl of Andrea-and-Brad approved pad thai from their favorite takeout place just down the street, rewatching Money Heist for what has to be the tenth time. Max stops at the end of the couch, frowning down at the Monégasque. “I thought we were going out for dinner?” Charles looks up at him, face expressionless. “We were.” Max points at the bowl. “But you ordered takeout?” “I did.” “Why?” “Because our reservation was two hours ago, babe, and I was hungry.”
OR: Max and Charles have been married for 3 years, and it turns out marriage isn't always beautiful. Sometimes, it's ugly and tiring and painful.
Mona's comment: This series is what got me back into writing after a 7-year long hiatus from fic writing, and I treasure this series so much because it's what got me to make a Tumblr blog again and fully embrace the F1 fandom after being into F1 for 20 years.
19 Times The Grid Saved Lestappen (And One Time They Didn't Need To) (part 1 of Lestappen + The Grid) co-written with @f1writingbyme Rated M | 16,107 words | Complete
In that exact moment, all Charles wants to do is grab a hold of the front of Max’s stupid Red Bull polo and pull him into a kiss. He’s just about to do it, too, when a pen comes flying out of fucking nowhere, hitting Max smack dab in the face. It brings them both out of their little bubble, and Charles turns to see Lando standing a good distance away from them, already in the process of yeeting another pen in their direction. Charles reaches out to catch it before it can hit Max again, putting his reflexes to good use. Next to Lando, Carlos nods his approval at the catch. “Lando, what the hell?”
OR: Keeping Charles and Max from accidentally outing themselves to the whole world is becoming a full-time job. and Lando decides to enlist the entire grid to help him out.
18 Times Lestappen Tried To Hide Their Relationship (And One Time They Failed) (part 2 of Lestappen + The Grid) co-written with @f1writingbyme
Charles is pretty sure he is going to die of a heart attack at the age of only twenty-six because of all the sneaking around and almost getting caught every time. The only positive thing they have going for them is that they haven't been caught yet. How that's possible, Charles isn't sure, but he thinks it might have something to do with the fact that their friends either aren't paying much attention or are just plain stupid. Charles secretly hopes it's the last one. But of course, luck is not on Charles’ side, as one Mr. Lando Norris, tucked away in the safety of his driver's room on the other side of the paddock, is typing away on his phone.
How (Not) To Third Wheel Lestappen co-written with @f1writingbyme Rated T | 10,344 words | Complete (for now)
Lance doesn’t know which of his emotions is more overpowering; the secondhand embarrassment he feels at how blatantly obvious they’re being, or the fact that watching Max and Charles in their own little world is actually kind of cute. He realizes it’s the secondhand embarrassment as he watches Max shamelessly grin at James and proudly explain that he was just talking to Charles. Lance has to resist the urge to roll his eyes, especially when he notices how Charles is quite literally the embodiment of the heart eyes emoji where he’s standing next to Max for his entire interview. And the beeline Charles makes for Max as soon as he hands the microphone to Lance after his P2 interview is even worse than the heart eyes. He definitely should have been paying attention to that group chat, Jesus fucking Christ.
OR: There is a WhatsApp support group chat on how to deal with being top 3 with Max and Charles. Lance hasn't been paying attention to it at all, and lives to regret it. And then others suffer at the hands of Lestappen as well.
Mona's comment: Writing fics with Ilse is one of my favorite things in the world to do, and I can't even begin to describe how much fun it is to write all our Lestappen + the grid fics.
The Wonders of Valentine's Day (Or Whatever) Rated E | 9,933 words | Complete
Max, having completely lost the ability to speak, just stares at the sight before him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. What the actual fuck? “Hi?” Max phrases it like a question. Charles grins at him. “Hello,” he greets, and Max watches as the grin fades away as Charles’ gaze moves down Max’s body, one eyebrow lifting. It’s only then Max realizes that he never put on pants after his shower, and is standing there in his bright orange Netherlands jersey and black boxers. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to let the internal panic he’s currently experiencing show on his face.
OR: Max isn't a fan of Valentine's Day. Charles is a menace on a mission to change that. Naturally.
Mona's comment: This was just a self-indulgant fic I wrote due to my own dislike towards Valentine's Day, but let me tell you, I had a blast from start to finish while writing this.
The Seasons of Heartbreak co-written with @f1writingbyme Rated T | 14,075 words | Complete
As the ‘I can’t do this anymore’ slipped from his lips, Charles missed his exit and continued straight ahead, unable to fully see the exit sign through his tears. The tears fill his eyes as quickly now as they had done in his car that day, and Charles finds himself realizing that he hasn’t felt happiness since. Not even once.
OR: When two men are hurting from a break-up, they can only use each other to make it right again. But they have to realize that first.
OR: The seasons of heartbreak, seen through the eyes of both Max and Charles.
Mona's comment: The sheer amount of tears shed while writing this, my God.
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