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#bird boy squawks
blightowl · 1 year
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Back in 2014, my two friends and I met this seagull who couldn't really squawk, just mew. We named him(?) Mew and he was our favorite bird from that day ❤️
@todaysbird a little mwoo!
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hummingbird-hooligan · 4 months
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just got a speeding ticket from a cam in DC... and I already couldn't pay my car insurance this month... fuckin cool... if anyone wants, my venmo is @ ChaoticJamie
I can do 3 card tarot readings if anyone wants to pay-what-you-want for that, feel free to shoot me a message 👌
I suppose I shall keep applying to jobs 🙃
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hawnks · 2 years
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i think when i turn like 60 i will finally be able to make it through castle in the sky without crying the entire way through
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sivavakkiyar · 5 months
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A young Buddha story I always liked (you might have heard it). When the Buddha was a young prince he was sitting in the garden one day when suddenly out of the sky a swan came crashing down, blood spurting everywhere, an arrow firmly lodged in it’s neck. It flailed on the ground piteously. The Buddha had not yet Awakened, so he ran over and panicked, started calling to his servants to come help him.
From around the corner comes his infamous cousin Devadatta with a big smile on his face. He says ‘don’t take it away! That’s the best shot I’ve made yet. That’s my spoils’. The Buddha is horrified, Devadatta is proud. ‘The bird needs help’, the young Buddha said. ‘The bird is my trophy,’ says Devadatta. The advisors aren’t really sure what to do, and the two boys can’t agree. So they go to the court room where the king and the ministers are gathered, and the court decides to hear the case between the two boys as a kind of break.
Devadatta makes his argument clear: ‘I shot the bird. By doing so, I claimed it. This is how everything works, every stone in this palace and each place of land one owns.’
The Buddha, young and bashful, says ‘Everyone agrees that things that hate each other belong apart, and that those who love each other belong together. Devadatta showed violence to the bird, who will not leave my lap, so you have to understand it as hate; I cared for the bird, who will not leave my lap, so it is clearly love. Hence the bird is under my care.’
The council weighs the arguments after the boys have spoken, admiring Devadatta’s maturity and a little embarassed by the Buddha’s emotional plea. Just as they’re about to make their judgement in favor of Devadatta, the king gives a small cough, and the courtiers remember themself: The Buddha is in the right, the bird belongs to him. Devadatta is outraged, screams injustice, storms out of the room.
Telling this story later in life, the Buddha says ‘Do you know? Devadatta had the better argument, of course. I only won because I was the king’s son—-pure privilege. In a sense, it wasn’t right. But I did care for that bird, and a week later it flew away squawking and happy.’
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henryleinart · 1 year
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A birb goes squawk.
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zorosdimples · 3 months
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mdni. reader has a vagina. i love big noses.
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it’s the sort of thing you don’t notice until someone points it out—then it becomes all you can see. higuruma hiromi remembers the exact comment (the first of countless) from when he was a little boy, running around on the playground.
“how come your nose looks like that?” one of his playmates asked, scrunching up a cute, button nose in what hiromi later recognized as disgust.
“like what?” hiromi asked, touching his nose. it didn’t hurt; nothing was broken; it wasn’t bleeding. so what was wrong?
“it looks like a bird’s beak!” the child squealed, making a squawking noise to emphasize their point.
that was the day hiromi became self-conscious of his nose. the remark spread around the playground, and made its way onto the school bus, and into the classroom. he couldn’t escape it, not even in high school. “hawk” was his nickname; he loathed it, but nothing he said helped.
hiromi never cried—boys don’t cry—but he may have shed a tear or two in frustration in the bathroom when he stared at his reflection, picking himself apart. he vowed that one day, when he became a lawyer and earned enough money, he would get a rhinoplasty and be done with his beak.
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when you meet hiromi, he’s a powerful lawyer. you discover his secret in the form of a stack of plastic surgery brochures when you visit his unkempt apartment after you’ve been dating for a few months. he’s shocked when you grab him by the face, running your soft fingertips down his aquiline nose, from the strong slope between his brows to the sharp tip that shades his lips.
“your nose is sexy, hiro,” you breathe, smoothing your palms to rest on his shoulders. “it suits you.”
hiromi doesn’t fully grasp what you mean until later, when you settle your knees on either side of his head, lowering yourself so that your pussy kisses his face. he starts slowly: he’s tentative in his licks to your folds, occasionally sucking, mouthing up to your clit, getting a feel for what you respond to.
when he tongues at your entrance, moving his face so that his nose smears through your juices and rubs against your clit, hiromi gets exactly the reaction he’s looking for. he uses his nose more: he nuzzles through your wetness and grinds right where you want him—where you need him, if your moans are anything to go by. your soul-shattering orgasm makes him realize something.
maybe his nose is sexy. regardless, hiromi throws the rhinoplasty pamphlets away the next day.
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strawberrysainz · 3 months
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supercut of us. max verstappen
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“ you weren’t expecting him to join the holiday. so when he does . . . you’re not sure how to refrain yourself from both slapping him in the face or pulling him into bed with you. ”
max verstappen x fem!reader
a mini enemies to lovers “blurb” (it’s 1.5k words lol) for my max lovers.
a warning — slightly mature scene, profanity, alcohol consumption
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3:36 P.M.
“My heart is pounding,” you admit, and your hand that absentmindedly clutches your moving chest allows you to let out a deep breath.
George chuckles. You’re both waiting for his girlfriend to come back from the bar with your cocktails - you for a drink, him so he can leave you two alone.
The bird that’s just made a grab at your bowl of snacks squawks from a metre away and you stare at it menacingly. Carmen comes back clutching two strawberry daiquiris, and George takes that as his cue to leave, hurriedly. You furrow your eyebrows. “What’s the man got to do at -” you check your watch -“three forty two pm on holiday?”
Carmen shrugs. “He had to get to the airport to pick people up, last I heard.”
You nod knowingly and lean back on the sun lounger, taking a sip of your drink.
Carmen starts to talk about drama from work, and you peer at her through your sunglasses as the warmth of the sun and the comfort of previous tipsiness starts making you drift off.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
4:56 P.M.
Around an hour later you’re rudely awoken by multiple cheeky voices; you can identify George’s loud voice through the squinting of your eyes through the sunlight, but there’s one voice that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It’s raspy - in a smooth way - but the short cackle that follows it allows you to realise that it's someone you definitely don’t want on holiday with you.
Pure annoyance makes you open your eyes. Carmen is nowhere to be seen; four men stand above you. You sit up, yawning, and hope that you’re not red with sunburn. (Looking down for a split second, you’re not.) Then you look up with some kind of synthetic smile and your blood boils as you look Max straight in the eyes.
“Hi boys,” you say, smiling, and get up to give everyone a hug; Lando spins you around and runs across the sand, and as you scream he throws you into the ocean.
Now you need a drink, for real.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
LATER. 11:37 P.M.
Head heavy in your hand on the counter, you’re woozy, blanketed by too many cocktails, and Lily and Carmen sit across from you stealing blocks of chocolate from a bar Alex bought.
Max strolls in and you grimace.
The anger hasn’t dissipated- being in a serene setting hasn’t changed what happened- and you toss him the drink he nods to; he turns straight back around and leaves.
“What’s the beef with you two, anyway?” Lily says curiously, and Carmen laughs. “It’s so dumb.”
“When we were sixteen-” you interrupt yourself to cough- “he dated two of my friends and caused us all to break up our group. Then he asked me out for a date, we went out, then he ghosted me. I was left with no friends. Then we met again two years later and we had a screaming fight outside a club, which ended up in a Dutch gossip mag. I was so embarrassed.”
Lily scrunches her nose. Carmen has zoned out, but she laughs to herself.
You look at her with the hint of a smile, tilting your head.
She nudges Lily. “They have to share a room tonight.” She whispers, and she throws her head back laughing and you stare at her incredulously. “Sorry?”
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
2:16 A.M.
“Max, I don’t fucking care, I’m sleeping on this stupid thing.” You kick the hard wooden bench at the foot of the bed. (It looks like a terrible place to sleep).
“Can you fucking get over yourself?” He says, rolling his eyes, and you’re drunk and upset and trying not to cry because he makes you so angry. “Just sleep in the fucking bed.”
You stand there in the room with your arms crossed, breeze softly blowing. He huffs and stalks off to the bathroom.
You get dressed for bed, in a big t-shirt because it’s hot and humid. Max walks out of the bathroom as you’re sliding on the shirt and you know he’s gotten a glimpse of your stomach and your underwear because his gaze changes from something frustrated to something you witnessed at the age of seventeen, across a dinner table as his hands move over your thigh.
He seems to be moving without knowing; suddenly he’s in front of you, eyes wild with desire you haven’t ever known, and it’s a test of patience, standing there under the twilight; the curtains blow.
You stand there with trepidation rattling your body and turn around, getting into bed like a stubborn little child.
He closes his eyes, opens the door and leaves.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
9:23 A.M.
The morning air greets you as you walk outside; Lando’s made mimosas on the wooden table next to the swimming pool, and you take a champagne glass gratefully. You wave to Lily and Alex who sit with their feet in the pool, and sip, the sun bathing you in light.
Lando comes to sit next to you by the pool loungers and you raise your glass as a thank you to him. “I heard you two had a little spat last night,” he says carefully, and you snort. “He instigated it and left.”
He laughs. “He went past my room to sleep on the couch. His footsteps were so fuckin’ heavy, I couldn’t even sleep for a good twenty minutes.”
You laugh.
George yells from inside that he’s made breakfast and everyone gets up with a yawn. Lando grabs a spare bottle of champagne and you all walk inside.
There’s some nearly burnt pancakes, heavenly smelling bacon, some sausage, and fried eggs. You all praise him heavily (Alex wraps his arm around his waist and pretends to kiss him) and Max walks in. He doesn’t acknowledge you and instead greets everyone else. You roll your eyes.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
13:43 P.M.
You’re a bit tipsy already, enough so that you can chat to Max amicably beside the pool as George and Alex play some mix of water polo and volleyball.
Your empty glass seems to shout at you from your side, so you pick it up and make your way back to the house.
As you enter the kitchen you hear someone stepping behind you. It’s Max - you know it from the soft thud of his foot against the wooden floor. Your eyelids flutter shut with some emotion you don’t know yet when he comes to stand next to you. You watch him out of your periphery, his hands, the soft, flowing movement of his body. His resting face, squinting with concentration to pour drinks. You bite back some words and carry on pouring.
As you turn around to go back, you two face each other, and your breath hitches when his eyes slowly move to meet yours, clutching your glass like it’s your protector. His gaze is… tender. In the kind of way that blurs out everything else.
The only thing that comes to mind is kissing him, so you move to go, and he sets down a glass to grab your arm. You clear your throat, and Christine McVie’s voice croons in the background when you look back. His eyelashes brush his cheek every time he blinks, and you study his face, forgetting all that came before.
Lando and Alex call, and you both leave. The feelings are left there, back in the house, when you go.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
12:34 A.M.
Stumbling back from the restaurant, everyone bids eachother a good night after a quick drink of a glass of water each. You find your room and start getting undressed in the middle of the room, carelessly, and when you hear Max come in you get a fright and clutch your chest. He lets out a little laugh as he gets his things and moves to the bathroom.
Two minutes later, when he walks back inside, you’re bending over to see your face in the mirror to take off your makeup and you can sense the energy inside the room has changed. He’s in a shirt and those gingham pants that look divine on any man, and he stands still for a moment before moving over to the window. You bend back up and you’re met by his gaze again, frozen in place. Your lips part momentarily and he steps forward, and you’re reminded of how much you hate his stupid face when his lips meet yours. His hands wrap around your waist, one dipping beneath your shirt to rest on your stomach, and you’re kissing him, hard, desperately, messily; in a way that you don’t realise how much you wanted to until now.
He moves slowly to the bed, large hands grasping your waist softly, sending shivers up your spine. His hips press against yours as you fall on the bed, gasping with pleasure as his hands meet your neck.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
TWO MONTHS LATER. 11:56 AM.
In the garage, you’re busy chatting to some mechanics when he comes up to you, and his hands slide around your waist from behind. You twist your torso to smile up at him as he presses a kiss to your cheek, and to your delight he pushes you towards his driver’s room, shooting you a knowing grin as he looks away, holding up five fingers and then a thumbs up. You bite back a broad smile as you walk away.
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i hope you enjoyed. heart, comment, reblog pls 🫶🤙 love u love u love u
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peachdues · 10 months
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Bundle of Joy -- Part 2
Here it is!
I was not expecting Bundle of Joy to get as much love as it did, so thank you all for your kind words! It's a long one.
Read Part One here and the Prequel One-Shot here
CW: blood, some NSFW-esque content, swearing, angry Sanemi, soft Sanemi. Description of birth.
Tag list: @animeblog123 @fujochann @bonten-boys @tom01ka @theawkwardblackbee @stuckinthewrongworld @harpy-space
🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸
Sanemi had been pissed when his crow had swooped over his head two days earlier, the little cretin squawking at him to head “Head East! Head East!” To kill a demon that had managed to evade capture by lower-ranked slayers.
Whether it had been by luck or divine intervention, Sanemi had not had a mission for nearly the entirety of Y/N’s final month of pregnancy, and he had been elated to devote every second of his days to her and her needs, as their child’s arrival drew nearer.
Truthfully, the Wind Pillar had never known bliss quite like what he felt when he woke up each morning with Y/N tucked securely in his arms, his hands resting on the generous swell of her pregnant belly as he eagerly awaited the powerful kick of their child that signaled all was well. He had never before experienced the utter ecstasy of feeling the silky warmth of his lover’s skin as he trailed his lips down from her neck to her breasts, heavy and tender, as she fought to quiet the breathy moans and sighs that left her throat under the ministrations of his tongue on her sensitive nipples. And it had been pure heaven to wrap his lips around that small bundle of nerves resting at the apex of her delicious thighs, as he lapped greedily from her core that seemed to perpetually drip with her honey thanks to the excess of pregnancy hormones. 
And as much as he loved the intimate mornings with Y/N, he had never felt more peaceful than when he sat beside her on his engawa, her back leaning against his chest and his arms circled around her, as they both sipped tea and watched the sunset after he finished training for the day.
But all of that had come crashing to a screeching halt when his crow had brought him orders to dispense of some lowly demon that the piss-poor excuse of lower-ranked slayers couldn’t handle on their own. Pathetic.
As he prepared to leave, he pressed a soft kiss to the generous curve of Y/N’s heavily pregnant belly, before rising to kiss her once, twice on the lips, and again on her forehead, his lover reveling in his embrace.
“Don’t you have this kid until I’m back,” Sanemi had murmured against her lips, brushing his callused thumb over her cheeks.
Y/N rolled her eyes. “Because I can control that,” but she nestled her face deeper into his palm. “How ‘bout you get back here before I go into labor?”
“I’ll be back before you know it, gorgeous.” Sanemi winked at her, imparting her with a final kiss before disappearing in a swirl of wind.
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It had taken Sanemi a day and a half to track the demon into a swamp in the East. Sanemi had found its lair, littered with human bones, just as the demon rose from the brackish water, and lunged for him. The demon had not been particularly strong, but it was able to manipulate shadow, which is how Sanemi supposed it had managed to kill a large group of lower-ranked slayers. The familiar heat of the excitement of battle flooded his veins, as Sanemi – who had not had the opportunity to fight for nearly a month – relished the chance to let out some pent-up aggression.
The demon had tried to teleport itself between the shadows of the tree to attack Sanemi from behind, but he deftly avoided the demon’s claws, swinging his sworn clean through the demon’s arm. Sanemi grinned, enjoying the chance to toy with his prey.
“CAW!” the familiar screech of a crow sounded overhead, briefly startling both slayer and demon. “LABOR!” The crow cried; Sanemi only able to just make out the dark shape of the bird against the night sky. “GET TO KOCHO’S!”
Sanemi’s stomach flipped. Now? Y/N chose to go into labor now?
“Sorry, demon!” Sanemi’s gravelly voice boomed, a wide grin forming on his face as he swung his sword again, this time amputating the demon’s other arm as it howled in pain. “Gotta run! My girl’s havin’ my baby!”
Sanemi rammed his blade through the demon’s neck and wrenched it harshly to the side, the demon’s head falling with a pathetic thump! on the forest floor. Sheathing his weapon, Sanemi launched himself through the trees, using his wind breathing to gain momentum as he hurtled his way toward the Butterfly Mansion.
Sanemi arrived at Kocho’s estate in record time, having only taken a few hours to speed as fast as the wind could carry him, to get to Y/N’s side. When Sanemi arrived, the grounds of Kocho’s estate were abuzz as Kakushi and Butterfly Mansion girls darted around, gathering supplies. As he made his way inside the medical wing of the Mansion, he wondered whether some incident with a demon had occurred, given the urgency with which people moved.  
“Lady Kocho said she needs more towels and fresh water, quickly!” A tiny, pigtailed girl dressed in the Mansion’s sterile linens cried to another, her small arms full of bloodied towels.
Shit, Sanemi thought, his eyebrows rising. Nasty battle.
“Y/L/N-san must be bleeding a whole lot!” The other girl tearfully responded, her voice trembling.
The pig-tailed girl nodded. “If the baby doesn’t come soon…” The girl’s mouth kept moving, but Sanemi could hear nothing over the ringing in his ears.
There had not been a battle – it was Y/N. Sanemi whirled around, looking at the towels the girl carted away.
They were saturated in blood. Y/N’s blood.
Sanemi’s legs began moving of their own accord, his arm reaching out to snag the young girl by the back of her collar as she choked out a tiny, terrified scream.
“Where.” Was all he said, his arms shaking, eyes wild.
The girl gulped, lifting a trembling hand to point to her right, towards the back wing of the hospital. “The last room around the corner!” She squeaked.
Sanemi set her down and stormed towards the Eastern Wing of the Manor, not caring whom he barreled over in his haste.
You’d better be okay, Y/N. Sanemi thought, his fists balled as he willed himself to move faster. You and that baby had better be healthy.
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Sanemi Shinazugawa never believed himself to be a good person.
He could not possibly be good, because his life was marked by his failure when it had mattered most. He had been unable to protect his mother from becoming a demon, or from her killing almost all of his siblings. He had been unable to save Masachika. He had failed to prevent Genya from joining the Demon Slayer Corps, a veritable death sentence for most.
So it had been easy for him to withdraw, to shut himself off from everything – and everyone -- else. Sanemi could not fail anyone if he cared for nothing. People would still die, but it would not be because of his failures. He had been content to live his life, forever disconnected from the world around him.
But then, everything changed because he met her, and she became everything. 
Y/N had been the most precious surprise of his life. He had not paid her much mind as she had worked her way up through the Demon Slayer Corps, only really becoming familiar with her once she became Kinoe. He had been impressed by her skill, having not seen Lunar Breathing in action before the pair had been sent on a mission together, and she had used her eighth form – Lunar Eclipse – to shield him from the backlash of a demon’s attack. The move had cost her a rather deep gash to her side, and at one point, Sanemi had feared her insides would end up on the ground before the Kakushi arrived and whisked her away to Kocho’s Manor. Rather than cry or moan, Y/N had instead cracked jokes, trying to goad him into comparing battle wounds. Sanemi, in between cursing Y/N for her recklessness (because why should she risk her skin to save his?), had been beside himself, knowing that he lacked the general first-aid skills to at least staunch Y/N’s bleeding. It was only later, as Sanemi watched Y/N pant and try to talk herself through the pain as the Kakushi stitched her back together, that he realized that she had done it for his benefit – to keep him calm.
That she showed care for him before herself – that she had wanted to make sure that he did not spiral – had cracked something in the armor he had built around his heart.
Because until Y/N, Sanemi had not been able to remember the last time anyone put him first.
After she recovered, Sanemi had insisted on training Y/N on decent defense techniques, so that she would never again have to struggle to keep her internal organs inside her body where they belonged. He had reasoned at the time that she was the first slayer in years he had seen show true potential – true gumption.
Seeing her beautiful smile more frequently hadn’t been a bad thing, either.
Then Y/N had become a Hashira – his equal – and still sought him out for training. Sanemi had not dared let himself hope that her continued presence on his estate’s training grounds had anything other to do than with her desire to get stronger.
Yet there she had been that day, the day he could no longer hold himself back, grinning like she had won their spar. She had looked so smug, so infuriatingly beautiful, that he had not been able to stop himself from tasting her, just once. And then she kissed him back, and the first swipe of her tongue against his had turned him into a man starved, a man who could not resist taking more from her that she had been only too willing to give.
How foolish he had been to believe his desire for her could ever be sated.
Before long, he found himself anxiously checking the minutes as they ticked down to their next rendezvous, found himself worrying about her well-being. When she cried on the anniversary of her family’s death, Sanemi had felt as though his heart would crack in two, and he had not stopped himself from reaching for her to comfort her, to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. It was then when he realized he would do anything to see her smile again, that Sanemi had known he was a goner.
By some miracle, she had chosen him, too. She had chosen to stay by him even when he tried to push her away when he thought he was so undeserving of any kindness from her. He had been convinced she could hear the cries of his loved ones as they echoed in his head after he would jolt awake, would hear them scream of his failures, but instead, she had stayed with him, offering him nothing but solace and warmth, and he had not been able to resist her.
And she loved him. She loved him, and though it went against everything in him, and contradicted every measure of self-preservation he had built up over the years, he loved her, too. He loved her so much, it hurt him for her to be away, when he could not feel the reassuring warmth of her body next to his, or when he could not smell the floral honey of her perfume. Sanemi knew that he could scarcely breathe when she was not near, knew that his soul had become inextricably bound to hers.
And though Sanemi had survived a great deal of loss in his life, he knew with certainty that he would not survive losing Y/N.
—————————————————————————
Sanemi’s teeth gnashed together as he sped up, finally rounding the final corner before the last room. His arm was outstretched, ready to punch the door to the birthing room open, but before he could do so, he smashed into something solid. He stepped back, sputtering, the instinct to destroy every obstacle, every threat that stood between himself and Y/N making his blood roar.
“Woah there, Shinazugawa.” It was Uzui, standing in front of the doorway, arms folded. “Sorry, you’re not allowed in there.”
Sanemi blinked, not understanding Uzui’s presence here, where his Y/N was giving birth to his child. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” He demanded, moving to shove the Sound Pillar aside.
Uzui stood firm. “Kocho said you’re not to be let in there, and I’m following her orders.” His tone patronizing.
Sanemi’s eyes narrowed as he glared at his fellow Hashira, his fists clenched. “You do know I’m the fuckin’ father, don’t you?” He snarled, his anger rising and mixing with the panic he felt the longer he was kept away from Y/N.
“We do now,” Uzui said coldly.
A hand wrapped itself around Sanemi’s forearm, clenching it tight. “And we were instructed to keep you out until we knew it was safe for you to be in there.” Tomioka’s monotonous voice came from beside him, causing Sanemi to tense as the Water Hashira wrenched him back from Uzui.
“Safe? Are you fucking kidding me?” Sanemi shook Tomioka’s grip from his arm with a sneer, as he looked between the two Hashira in disbelief. “What the fuck does she need protecting from? That’s my fuckin’ baby she’s having!”
Tomioka’s face remained infuriatingly impassive. “Look, Shinazugawa, Kocho just wants to make sure Y/N is comfortable having you in there, and until she says so, you need to stay out.” The Water Hashira’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, the threat clear. “We do not want this to turn violent.”
Sanemi was shaking with rage, in part because he could infer the accusation that neither of them had the stones to say to his face, but mostly because every second out there was another second he wasn’t with Y/N, who was bleeding, who needed him.
Before Sanemi could snap back, an agonized wail ripped through the walls.
“NE-MI.” Y/N cried out, her voice cracking from the strain.
The combination of the pain and desperation in Y/N’s voice, paired with the severity of the situation caused something in Sanemi’s chest to audibly snap, a strange calm flooding through him. Both Uzui and Tomioka exchanged a look at Y/N’s use of Shinazugawa’s nickname and turned to face the trembling Wind Pillar.
Sanemi’s hand fell to his own blade, the veins in his arms threatening to burst through his skin. “I’m going to give you one second to get the fuck out of my way, or I’ll turn this hall into fuckin’ rubble.” His voice was low but deadly, a murderous glint shining in his eyes.
Uzui opened his mouth to respond, but the hesitation gave Sanemi the opening he needed to slip past both Hashira and push through the entryway into the birthing room.
“Dammit!” Uzui snarled, stumbling to grab onto the back of Shinuzagawa’s collar to yank him back into the hall, but it was too late.
Sanemi did not announce himself when he breezed into the birthing room Shinobu and the girls had crafted. The smell of blood had been overwhelming, and it had sent every hair on Sanemi’s body standing as he took in the sight of the woman he loved, sweating and pale on the floor, covered in the sticky, dark substance, her chest rising and falling unevenly as she struggled to take even shallow breaths.
Shinobu stepped back from her place between Y/N’s legs, ready to throw the Wind Pillar out herself, or at the very least order him to stand back and let her do her job. She drew short, however, when she saw Y/N, who stretched out a trembling hand desperately towards the man, relief flooding her tired, pained eyes.
“‘Nemi,” she whimpered, tears of exhaustion spilling over her cheeks.
Nemi paid neither Shinobu nor the other girls on hand any mind, instead focusing solely on Y/N and her swollen belly. Shinobu watched in dumb silence as Shinuzagawa knelt behind Y/N’s head, positioning one leg at each of her shoulders. Wordlessly, he slid his arms under her, sliding down to grip gently around her lower rib cage so that he could lift her upper torso enough to work himself beneath her. He settled her upper body in between his legs, her back pressed against his front, and wrapped his arms around her, locking her against his chest.
Shinobu felt so foolish for having doubted the Wind Pillar, especially as she witnessed Y/N— who was no doubt in incomprehensible pain — visibly relax in his embrace.
Shinazugawa peppered Y/N’s forehead and the side of her neck in comforting kisses. “‘M sorry it took so long, sweetheart, but I’m here.” He cooed in a voice so gentle, Shinobu had wondered whether she was truly looking at the Wind Pillar at all, and not some strange doppelganger.
Y/N, panting and sweating from the toll of her labor, just nodded. “I waited, ‘Nemi. I waited for you. I love you.” Her head lolled back against Shinuzagawa’s scarred chest, seeming as though she was on the verge of falling unconscious.
Shinuzagawa squeezed her lightly. “I know. And you’re doing so fuckin’ well, baby. So fuckin’ well. You’ve just got to try for a little bit longer, sweetheart. You’re almost there.” He murmured into her ear, pressing more kisses onto her face and the top of her head. Shinazugawa finally looked up at Kocho, his eyes narrowed, and his face expectant.
Shinobu shook off the surprise she felt, kneeling back down at Y/N’s feet. “The baby has gotten turned around in the birthing canal,” she began to explain, checking once more between Y/N’s legs. “I can try to rotate the child, but at this point, I’m worried both Y/N and the child are in too much distress. She could bleed out before I have the chance." Shinobu’s face tightened. “Or else I’ll have cut her open to get the child out.”
Y/N moaned, her head rolling to slump at her other shoulder, and Sanemi’s grip around her tightened. “What’s the other option?” He demanded.
Shinobu thought for a moment. “If Y/N can use total concentration breathing to push right as I rotate the baby, then she might be able to deliver naturally.” Shinobu met Sanemi’s eyes. “That would also keep her from bleeding out.” Shinobu’s gaze dropped to her friend’s face. “But she hasn’t used Total Concentration in months – I told her not to, since there was a risk her body wouldn’t know if something went wrong during the pregnancy.”
Sanemi nodded once, focusing his gaze back down on his semi-conscious lover. He brushed his lips against her temple, and her ear, slightly jostling her into opening her eyes.
“Did you hear that, baby? You just need to use Total Concentration when Kocho says, and then our kid will be here.” Sanemi smiled gently at Y/N, kissing her head once more. “But you’ve gotta help Kocho out, sweet girl. Can you do that for me?”
The blood loss had made Y/N’s eyes bleary, and unfocused as she tried to force her eyelids back open. Slowly, Y/N lifted her gaze to Shinobu, her head twitching slightly downwards in a nod.
Kocho ordered Aoi to hand her a long, sinister-looking tool that she referred to as forceps. Sanemi’s stomach dropped, realizing how Kocho would be using the tool to turn the child stuck in Y/N’s womb. Y/N must have seen it too, for she began to tremble beneath Sanemi, whimpering slightly and shaking her head.
“Shh, shh Y/N, baby.” Sanemi soothed, pressing his lips to her sweaty temple. “Eyes on me, okay? We’ll use Total Concentration together.” He promised, moving so that Y/N could see him better. Her exhausted eyes drifted up to meet his own, and she nodded, her grip around Sanemi’s forearm tightening.
“We’re ready.” Kocho said, face determined as she waited for Y/N to begin using the breathing form.
Weakly, Y/N sat a little taller against Sanemi’s chest, shifting so that she could grip his forearms with both hands.
“If I hurt you… ‘M sorry.” She breathed, looking up at her lover so tenderly, so apologetic that Sanemi had to restrain himself from crumbling.
Of course she was more worried about him and his comfort when she was the one bleeding out on Kocho’s floor.
Sanemi shook his head. “Just breathe, baby. One…two…” He counted down.
Y/N took a deep breath, her lungs screaming as they expanded beyond their normal capacity for the first time in months. In tandem with her inhale, Kocho pushed the cold, silver instrument into Y/N, the latter wincing at the sensation of the foreign object.
“I’ve got it!” Kocho said, sweat beading on her forehead. “Push now, Y/N!”
Beneath his arms, Sanemi felt every muscle of Y/N’s body contract as she pushed with all her might, her body curling in with the force of her exhale. The grip Y/N had on Sanemi’s forearms threatened to crush his bones, but Sanemi grit his teeth, holding Y/N steady.
“Almost there, one more time!” Kocho panted.
Y/N repeated her breathing, but on the exhale, a scream tore from her throat as she forced herself to push harder than she ever had, her nails breaking the skin of Sanemi’s arms.
Y/N collapsed against Sanemi’s chest, too exhausted to move once more. All was quiet for a moment; the air was still.
Until a new cry filled the room, small, yet loud, and so, so strong.
A wide smile broke out across the Insect Pillar’s face. “You did it. You did it, Y/N.”
-------------------------------------------------------
There were two things that Sanemi Shinazugawa knew with certainty: first, he had never known what happiness was.
Not true happiness, anyways. He thought he had known it, when he was a boy and his old man had finally kicked it, leaving him and his siblings and mother free from his abuse.
He had thought he had reached peak happiness again the first time Y/N fell asleep on his chest after a particularly rigorous romp, as he folded his arms behind his head, fascinated to watch her sleep, content and safe against his scarred torso.
Hell, he even thought he had known true joy when the little man in the nearby village began making ohagi just the way he liked it and sold it to him at a fraction of the cost he charged civilians. civilians.
Those had no doubt been happy times, but nothing, nothing compared to this.
As he tentatively reached out a finger, Sanemi realized that happiness, true happiness, was his daughter’s sleeping face, her little cherub cheeks impossibly soft against the callused roughness of his touch. Happiness was Y/N’s teary smile as she nuzzled against the soft mop of downy hair on their daughter’s head, as she whispered how perfect she was.
Second, Sanemi knew he was not good. While Sanemi had always known Y/N was a good person — the best person he had ever known, really — he had never considered that he could be labeled as anything close to “good.” He was too scarred, too hardened to be capable of doing anything remotely good in the world.
Yet as he stared down at his daughter, sleeping soundly in her mother’s arms, Sanemi couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, there had been some good in him after all.
--------------------------------------------------------
By the time the Sound and Flame Hashira had been permitted back inside the birthing room (Rengoku having returned some hours earlier after realizing the futility of trying to catch up with Sanemi), both could only stand over the Lunar and Wind Pillars and gawk as they beheld the small bundle fitted snugly in Y/N’s arms.
They could only gawk at Shinazugawa, who was still on the floor with his arms wrapped around Y/N, resting between his legs, as he ran a hand over the sleeping infant’s head with such care that they felt as though they were hallucinating the scene all together. Because Sanemi Shinazugawa had never treated anything so gently in his time with the Demon Slayer Corps as he treated the woman and baby daughter in his arms.
“Let me get this straight,” Y/N said loftily from below them, her eyes not leaving her daughter’s face. “You thought Sanemi was, what? A danger? A threat?”
Uzui laughed, nervously. “Not at all! We just wanted to be sure that he… you know… was supposed to be here.”
Y/N finally looked up at the reddening Sound Hashira, a mix of annoyance and amusement dancing in her eyes. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to interpret the insinuation that I could not hold my own against a man.” She smiled sweetly, but the threat was clear.
Kocho spoke up from the other side of the room. “I accept full responsibility for that decision, Y/N.” She said, only slightly sheepish in her admission. Kocho had remained in the room to monitor Y/N post-birth, to ensure that the Lunar Hashira maintained her Total Concentration Breathing so that her body could continue to heal itself after the trauma of her delivery. “I was…concerned based on some observations I had made earlier in the pregnancy, and I only meant to ensure your safety.”
Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “Concerns?” she questioned.
Shinobu shifted her weight to her other leg, the only sign of her discomfort. “Both I and Aoi had observed some…marks on your body during your checkups, early on.” Light pink dusted the Insect Pillar’s cheeks. “I was concerned you had been harmed.”
Y/N paused for a moment, trying to imagine what it was Shinobu could have possibly seen during her first few appointments that would have indicated she had been in any kind of trouble.
The only marks Y/N ever had on her skin that did not come from her battles with demons had been those left behind after she and Sanemi-.
Oh.
Oh.
Y/N flushed deeply, ducking her head back down to look at her daughter, a curtain of hair concealing her face and her embarrassment. Behind her, Sanemi snorted as he too realized what Shinobu had implied.
Shinobu cleared her throat. “But I understand now that those were just marks…incidental to your everyday life.”
Y/N briefly wondered why the blood loss hadn’t killed her, why it hadn’t at least knocked her out, so she did not have to witness the details of hers and Sanemi’s intimate life be on display in front of not one, but three of their comrades.
Meanwhile, Sanemi remained behind her, content and at peace to be with his girl and their child, if not a little smug at the revelation.
Y/N’s embarrassment was saved by a sudden piercing cry.
“I think she might be hungry, Y/N.” Shinobu said, crossing the room to peer down at  the small bundle wrapped in Y/N’s arms.
“Of course she is, she’s a growing girl!” Y/N glowed, returning her gaze to her daughter, brushing her fingertip ever so lightly over her tiny nose.
Sanemi looked up, for the first time, at the Flame and Sound Hashira who were still gaping down at him and Y/N, his eyes half-lidded in bliss, a wide grin on his face.
“Fuck off.” was all he said, turning his attention back to his girls.
The other Hashira took their cue, and filed out of the birthing room, giving the new family some well-deserved privacy.
When he was sure they were alone, Sanemi brushed Y/N’s hair over one of her shoulders, helping her loosen her kimono to bare her full breasts.
Once their daughter had latched, Y//N rested her head back against her lover’s chest, content to just bask in the utter bliss she felt at having her child in her arms and her heart pressed against her.
Sanemi slid a hand across Y/N’s throat to to her jaw, tilting her head towards him so that he could press a long kiss to her forehead, thumb stroking her face. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, reveling in the comfort and warmth of the moment.
Sanemi pulled his lips away from Y/N’s head. “Hey,” he murmured, keeping his hands beneath her jaw to tilt her face up so she could meet his eyes, unfathomable tenderness and something else she couldn’t name reflected in the lavender pools she loved.
“Don’t ever fuckin’ scare me like that again.” He whispered, the grip on her jaw tightening ever so slightly.
Y/N looked at him, incredulously. “You’ve helped me hold my organs inside my body after a fight, but that’s what scared you?” She asked, teasingly.
Sanemi grimaced. “That’s different. This time, I couldn’t do anything to help — either of you.”
Y/N reached a hand up over her to gently cup Sanemi’s face. The Wind Hashira closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, his hands holding her tighter to him.
“I love you.” He murmured as he nuzzled her palm. “So fucking much.”
Y/N had known, of course, for a long time that he loved her. Sanemi was always a man of action rather than words, and he had shown her, on plenty of occasions, how he felt about her.
But hearing him say it still brought tears to her eyes. Y/N moved her hand from Sanemi’s face to grab around the back of his neck, pulling him down to her so that she could kiss him, soft and sweet.
When their lips finally broke apart, Sanemi huffed, slightly annoyed.
“So are you going to marry me now, or not?”
Y/N smiled against his skin. “Yes, you impatient man. I will marry you.”
--------------------------------------------------------
“I still don’t get it.” Uzui loudly complained. “How does that happen?”
The other Hashira watched from afar as Shinazugawa and Y/L/N walked up the steps into the Master’s mansion, the Wind Pillar’s arm securely wrapped around the Lunar Hashira’s waist as she carried a small bundle bearing the small, wiggly, and loud infant that she had given birth to a few weeks prior.
“I thought the diagram Y/L/N drew for you was pretty instructive, Uzui.” Iguro said, teasing malice lighting his eyes.
“I would have thought that three wives would have made you more knowledgeable, Uzui!” Rengoku said, half seriously. “But to think, you did not know how babies were made!”
“That’s not what I meant.” Uzui sputtered, a vein throbbing in his forehead.
“I can’t believe none of you noticed that he practically tripped over himself to demand that he take the night shifts watching over her.” Kanroji giggled. “I thought he was going to tear Tomioka’s head off for even trying to volunteer!”
“I thought he was just some weird night-owl!” Uzui indignantly. “Or that he liked watching people sleep!”
Rengoku chortled. “I do not think there was a whole lot of sleeping going on between them, Uzui!”
Uzui groaned, and the other Hashira laughed. Only Kocho remained quiet, her eyes fixed on the backs of her comrades as they awaited entry into the Master’s mansion.
A few weeks ago, Kocho would never have used the word “gentle” to describe Sanemi Shinazugawa. She would have preferred to use “abrasive,” or even at times, “hostile.”
But all that changed the moment she had witnessed the Wind Pillar tend to his beloved Lunar Hashira and their small daughter, and Kocho had realized that Shinazugawa, deep down, was not as brash as his exterior.
None of the Hashira were whole; all of them were a little broken by their trauma. But Shinazugawa was also gentle and kind, and perhaps that was what had drawn him to Y/N in the first place. Perhaps that was all it took; someone to bring out that softness in him, to chip away at the tough facade.
But Kocho kept these musings to herself, and smiled, as the little family disappeared inside the Master’s mansion.
🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸
Mostly fluff, I know, but I hope it was worth it. Soft Sanemi is everything to me.
Thank you for reading!
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slytherizz · 4 months
Text
Everything, with you - Sebastian Sallow x F!MC/Reader
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Tags/Warnings: 18+ | Breeding Kink | Size Kink | explicit sexual content | Dad!Seb
All tags can be found on Ao3
Summary:
"Watching you carry my children is one of life's greatest pleasures. If it's possible - you're more beautiful now than you've ever been.”
“Do you ever think about…”
“Having another one?”
A/N This works as a stand-alone but if you happened to have read either of my long fics this would sit either after the epilogue of 'Whatever it Takes' or in between the final chapter and the epilogue of 'In the Shadow of Us' (but I omitted the Azkaban references so it works for both). I have literally nothing to say for myself for this one other than...
For the thicc Seb girlies 💕
Dark curly hair tickled the underside of Sebastian's chin as he adjusted his son nestled in his lap. Book resting against his knee which was bent at an awkward and rather uncomfortable angle where he'd managed to cram himself onto Sam's little bed. Sebastian’s neck ached and his left leg was almost completely dead. Not that he minded. He knew his youngest would outgrow this one day, and would no longer need his father to read him fairytales. So Sebastian succumbed easily to Sam’s pleading and let himself be the dutiful mountain against which his son could rest. 
"Now, this word’s a little tricky, so take your time with it,” Sebastian tapped his finger on the page. "What does this say?"
"I'm not sure." Sam frowned. He traced his pudgy finger over the unfamiliar word and along the bright plume of fiery feathers printed in rich shades of red and gold on the page. The enchanted bird ruffled its wings as it clicked its beak attempting to nip at Sam's fingers. Each time the bird squawked soundlessly as he stroked its plumage Sam giggled with delight.
"Sound it out. You see right here? The 'Ph' makes an ‘f’ sound.”
"Like ‘t’ and ‘h’ make a 'the' sound?" 
“Exactly right. Two letters. One sound,” Sebastian said, ruffling his boy's hair proudly. 
Alice, his eldest had always had an uncanny ability to memorise words. Could recall the contents of practically every book he'd ever given her once she’d devoured it. She'd taken great pride in unnerving her primary school teacher by listing every ingredient in ‘A draft of living death’. Which may have seemed like a feat within itself…until she’d insisted on doing it backwards.
His unique form of parenting had been called into question more than once by her teachers but who was he to tell his daughter that ‘most potent potions’ was not appropriate bedtime reading? Restricting her inquisitive mind would be a far greater sin. 
Sam's little mind on the other hand worked like a tinker. Slower it may seem than his sister as he pieced together meaning. But that wasn’t nearly the case. Simply because he liked to fiddle with things more than his sister. Take a word apart and rearrange it before dismantling it again entirely. He picked apart the rules as he learnt them. All whilst, humming sagely from time to time like he was some great philosopher and he wasn't in fact, a boy of four who had spent the morning sulking when there was no honey left in the pantry for his toast.
“Try sounding it out," he encouraged. 
"Fee-nix?" Sam’s brows furrowed slightly the new word unfamiliar and clunky on his tongue. "Pheonix?"
"That’s it. You’re doing well. Now I know you know the rest of it. Reckon you can read the full sentence?” 
"The p-phoenix went up in…smoke?"
"Clever boy!"
Sam turned to look up at Sebastian, puffing out his chest with pride. Sebastian kissed the crown of his head affectionately. Sam burrowed his head into his shirt trying and failing to disguise a yawn against his father's chest. 
Snapping the book closed and placing it on his bedside table. Sebastian scooped him up as he shifted off the small bed placing his son snuggly under the quilt constellations in golden thread adorned its edges. 
“Right, I think that's enough for tonight. Bedtime for you mister.”
“But I'm not tired,” Sam protested. Rubbing his drooping eyelids which did little to rally his father to his plight. Eyes so like his mother's framed under furrowed dark brows. Stubbornness was an inherited trait and with how pigheaded he and his wife could be Sebastian should have known his children would be no different.
“I'm sure you're not,” Sebastian chuckled. Tucking the blankets tighter around his squirming limbs. “But it's already way past your bedtime. If you settle down I’ll put the stars up - How does that sound?”
Sam grinned, nodding his head eagerly as he buried his head deeper into his pillow. Sebastian pulled out his wand. Sam’s eyes lighting up. Glittering as they always get in his eyes when either of her parents performed even the simplest of charms. With an unnecessarily large flourish, Sebastian extinguished the bedside lantern plunging them into darkness. He whispered his modified charm.
Stars small but dazzling began to twinkle into life one by one across the steepled ceiling painting the cosmos across the wooden beams. 
It wasn’t nearly as elaborate as the charm in the Hogwarts great hall that had given Sebastian the inspiration. Not quite a replication of the overcast sky outside, but to Sam’s childlike wonder; his father could conjure the heavens in his bedroom. Pluck the stars from the sky so he could sleep bathed in starlight. 
For all his folly into the persuits into the darker sides of magic - there was no spell more powerful than the ones that made his children’s life a little more magical. 
“Night, Dad.”
***
Undoing the buttons of his shirt Sebastian shucking the material from his shoulders. Wincing as he kneaded at the tight knot that had formed in his neck from too long spent hunched over in his son's small bed. Stretching like a bear ripe from hibernation joints cracking audibly. 
His dark brows lifted in alarm as he caught his reflection in the ornate oblong mirror tucked into the corner of their bedroom. 
Sebastian had always looked like his father. Same bow to their lips, unruly chestnut hair and soft brown eyes like sodden earth after rain. He could practically divine how his features would change using the brushstrokes of the portrait of his parents that hung proudly on the stairs. 
But it was the things that went beyond the superficial that made his parents' old friends stumble on his name and acquaintances double-take in the street as if the dead still walked among them. The determined set of his jaw, the curious glint in his eye. There truly had never been any mistaking exactly who Sebastian’s father was. 
But he didn’t just look like his Dad ; he looked like a Dad.
Not that he'd ever been particularly lean . A stockiness to his frame as all Sallow men carried. Violence practically carved into his marrow. Built more for quidditch or boxing, than for scholarly pursuits he'd always been drawn to; but this was getting out of hand. 
Sebastian frowned at his reflection. Still strong in the trunk in a way that he never minded, especially not with how it elicited such sinful looks from his wife but he had become notably softer around the middle. What had once been a sparse tuft of hair on his chest he’d taken great pride as a lad, was now thick dark hair trailing down his stomach. 
It seemed as unprepared Sebastian had been, stumbling bowlegged and awkwardly into fatherhood, not having nearly enough time with his own to have much to go off; his body had settled far quicker into his new role than he had.
Scratching at the short beard he kept neatly trimmed. Well, for what could pass as neat considering his hair was unruly no matter where it grew. Sebastian twisted and turned, appraising himself from different angles.
When was the last time he'd duelled? Worked up any kind of sweat? 
Perhaps he should consider himself lucky he was in the shape he was. Carrying his children upstairs to bed and lugging stacks of heavy stacks of old manuscripts and attifacts charmed against magical interference around the Department of Mysteries hardly counted as exercise. The closest thing anyone would consider vigorous was fucking his wife. But then again holding her small frame against a wall hardly felt like work. 
He rotated his joints, and the tendons of muscle in his heavy shoulders flexed under freckled skin. An old puckered scar long faded to white across his shoulder now a mere remnant from his past life. Underneath the soft exterior of the doting father he’d become still lurked the shadow of the hellion youth he’d once been. 
Delicate hands slithered around his middle running along the breadth of him stroking at the hair on his chest. Her warm cheek came to rest, nestled between his shoulder blades. Sighing affectionately, her breath tickling his skin. Sebastian leaned into her touch, even after all these years he still felt sparks.
"If you keep scowling your face will get stuck like that,” she chided. Sebastian snorted twisting in her hold to face her. She’d loosened the soft braids she usually wore at her temples so her hair hung loose around her shoulders. She smiled up at him, crooked and his heart stuttered in an unsteady rhythm. 
“Alice, go down without any fuss?”
“Has she ever?” She quirked an eyebrow at him far more amused by their daughters' antics than cross. “Caught her trying to get into your study after I put her to bed - again. Luckily she isn’t half as stealthy as she is mischievous.”
Sebastian grinned at her, arching his eyebrows. “She gets that from you.”
“I think Scribner would have disagreed.” She said rolling her eyes. “But something tells me it's not Alice's nocturnal antics causing that face. Tell me what's wrong my love?" 
Placing a warm hand against his cheek fingers combing through the hair on his chin. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze. Failing to suppress the heat he could feel rising in his cheeks most likely staining the tops of his ears. 
"Nothing, Pet. I’m uh-” he hesitated, wincing slightly. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed. And is she hadn't, he was reluctant to point it out. Lest it change the way she looked at him. She was still as radiant the first time he'd laid eyes on her but Sebastian was a far cry from the roguish boy who'd made her heart race. 
He leaned heavily into her hand resting against his chin. Letting the tenderness of her touch and softness of her gaze quell the unease. “Just carrying a bit more timber than I'm used to. I hadn’t noticed how much the years had caught up to me. After two kids and all."
"You’ll always be the same stubborn and reckless boy to me," she wrapped her arms around him tighter. It was only a chaste peck but an inexplicable blush darkened her cheeks as she nibbled on the inside of her cheek contemplatively. Her hands grazed along Sebastian’s freckled shoulders, through the sparse hair on his chest nails scratching softly. "But I must admit…I rather like you like this. Broad. Manly.”
" Oh - Do you now?" he smirked. Admiring the flush that had stained her cheeks at her admission.
Seeming to take an unnatural amount of interest in the pattern of their curtains she averted her eyes blushing deeply. "Yes. I do. And don't let it go to your big head.”
Far too late for that. After all these years she should really have known better. His chest already swelling with pride a smug smile pulling at the corner of his freckled cheeks.
Tugging at the sleeve of her pale blue dress. The cotton slipped away to expose more of her skin. Sebastian snaked his hand around her waist to settle on the small of her back. Ducking his head to pepper kisses along the dip of her shoulder. 
The faint smell of mallowsweet that always clung to her hair far sweeter than any perfume; a herb balm that had soothed and tamed his stubborn heart. Heat rose where he'd exposed her as Sebastian's mouth worked its way down her neck towards her clavicle. Her fingers pressed a little harder into his flesh feeling the tight coils of muscle that still lurked underneath. 
Despite Sebastian's intention of letting his wife thoroughly enjoy the body, she found so desirable. She seemed distracted. Her breathing hitched a little as he grazed his teeth over her delicate throat. Sucking in just a way that would usually drive all the thoughts from her pretty head - that was not the case tonight.
“Besides - it's not like I look the same as I did before Alice and Sam.”
"Mmm, but watching you carry my children is one of life's greatest pleasures. If it's possible - you're more beautiful now than you've ever been.”
“Do you ever think about…”
She trailed off. Mouth opened and closed lamely as she searched for the words her eyebrows furrowed. 
“Having another one?”
The high-pitched and uncharacteristically nervous noise of agreement she emitted made Sebastian pause his efforts to adorn her shoulder with dark love bites which were now blooming like wild grapes. 
It was rare to see his wife nervous. Even rarer still for her mind to be elsewhere when it came to their marital relations. But he could understand her trepidation; it wasn’t as if either of their children had exactly been planned. 
Before either of them were born he often wondered if they should have been parents. Not a single guardian between them to cobble together any semblance of what a parent should be. A trail of lost souls he'd not been able to protect. 
Hazy memories of love weren't exactly a blueprint for success. 
So Sebastian packed those feelings away even before he'd let them fully bubble to the surface. Resigned perhaps to the fact that although she may have fallen in love with the rough-edged boy he’d been; she'd still bore witness to the worst of him. A dark unsightly stain on his soul he kept cloistered away but they both knew would never leave him. Or her.
And why would either of them want to burden a child with him as their father; or her with his last name? It did not do to dwell on something Sebastian never thought he’d be able to have.
Then one day their world shifted and as willfully unprepared as they’d been for it; so did they. 
Alice bloomed in the cracks of space in their lives they hadn’t known something had been missing. But perhaps had always left vacant and wanting for her. 
Sam, followed so shortly after. Alice - barely a year old when they’d realised three would quickly become four. 
By then, Sebastian had put to rest that gnawing anxiety that told him perhaps they should have never been parents. Fatherhood suited him. Soothed an old ache that had been throbbing since the passing of his own and now he wore it like a familiar coat. 
He allowed himself to bask in the elation of their growing family; in a way, he’d not been able to with Alice. Not only taking pride in his wife, who practically glowed more beautiful than he’d ever seen her; but pleasure in watching her stomach swell once again with his child. 
So much in fact, he lamented over the missed opportunity for what it would be like to take her with the sole intention of filling her with life. Could practically taste it every time he felt her unravelling on his cock. Dragged his feet at the apothecary when she asked him to purchase extra dandelion root for her monthly brew in the years that followed.
Already Sebastian could feel his blood rushing south at the thought. Inhaling sharply, calming his heart which was now thumping hard against his sternum as that familiar desire pooled. 
“I love our family. Alice and Sam, are plenty troublesome and we have our hands full as it is,” he began carefully.
Sebastian cupped her chin, shifting her soft gaze to his. The smile he wore, genuine if a little weak. What he said was true. Sebastian did not wish to burden her with making such a decision simply to satisfy his elicit fantasies. He would not begrudge her if she didn’t want another child after she’d given him so much - more than he’d ever let himself hope for. 
But she visibly deflated with his words. “Oh…so you wouldn't want another one?”
“No! I mean- not ‘ no’ . Merlin, it’s quite the opposite. In fact, I think I’ll always want more ,” Sebastian spluttered. Tongue tied and feeling the opportunity slipping through his fingers Sebastian took a breath to right himself. “Neither of us has much in the way of family outside of the one we made for ourselves - each child you give me is the greatest blessing I never thought I’d have. I’d love nothing more than to grow the family that we created.”
“I just want to know you're sure. You don't have to just because I want one.”
“There is nothing within my power that I would not give you. But, trust me love there are other  reasons it appeals to me.” 
“Oh?”
Hands glided down her spine grabbing the soft curve of her backside. Her eyes widened as he pulled her flush against his body where she could feel the growing bulge press against her stomach. Tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, Sebastian ducked his head to nip gently at her earlobe before he whispered.
“Getting to fuck you purely with the intention of filling you with my seed. Watching you swell with another of my children. Breeding you. ” His voice, a low rumble reverberating from deep in his chest. Domineering. Predatory. Every point his body was pressed against hers felt like a fire that ignited a desire that lay dormant inside him. Desperate to claw its way out. Claim her as his - again . "Wearing the evidence under those pretty dresses of yours for everyone to see. So they know exactly what you let me do to you. Who you belong to.”
A visible shiver ran down her spine. Goosebumps prickling across her skin at the filth of his words. Feeling pressed hard against her stomach exactly how much the idea appealed to him. 
“Sebastian-”
“Tell me you want it and it’s yours,” he murmured huskily against her neck. Nipping at that spot below her jaw he knew made her knees buckle. 
His little witch had never been the obedient sort, as wild and stubborn as a poorly bottled lightning. But after all these years together - Sebastian knew exactly which buttons to push. How to make her laugh so hard her cheeks ached from smiling; a sound so perfect it washed his worries away like a tide. The ones that made rage; burn so fiercely he was reminded she was barely a witch at all but a dragon merely playing at domesticity. 
Most favourably to Sebastian were the ones that turned every rational coherent thought in her head into a blinding fog of lust.
He trailed kisses across her skin, her pulse quickening under the tender brush of his lips. An eager whine slipped from her throat. Hips pushing against his in search of friction to soothe the heat pooling in her abdomen.
“Yes- fuck. Please, I want that. Another baby. Your baby.”
The choked sound that clawed its way out of Sebastian’s throat sounded far from anything human. Somewhere between a groan and a growl. 
Wasting not a second longer he grasped her hips lifting her swiftly as if she weighed nothing at all. Thighs wrapped tightly around his hips as she moulded into him. Heat radiated from her core barely concealed behind the thin fabric of her undergarment. 
Fingers tangling in his hair, she pulled his lips forcefully to hers. Kissing him greedily. Tongue delved between his parted lips as if he were the air she breathed. 
From the way she ground her hips insistently, his wife cared little if it drove him to distraction; she knew there was no way Sebastian would let her fall. 
Carrying her over to the bed to practically launch her down onto the mattress. Hooded eyes, devoured every inch of her husband standing above her. Her dress dishevelled had ridden up to expose the tops of her thighs which squeezed together in anticipation. Sebastian palmed his hard length through biting hard on his lip to stifle a moan.
Her nimble fingers came quickly to fumble with the buttons of her dress. Sebastian batted her hand away with a grunt to tear into them himself. His mouth trailed kisses further down her body with every inch he exposed.
Stopping as in his journey towards her core to pay particular attention to the soft curve of her belly. She whined under every press of his lips against her stomach squirming impatiently under Sebastian with the need for him to fill the womb he worshipped so reverently. 
Sebastian pulled her hips sharply towards the edge of their bed dropping to his knees between her spread legs. Folds already glistening with unrestrained desire. Sebastian ran the tip of his nose through the sparse hairs. The heat of his breath teased against her growing slick. Shivering with anticipation her hips bucked craving - no, needing Sebastian to provide relief to the ache between her legs. 
“Sebastian - please,” she whined. 
“Impatient,” he scolded. Despite his own clothed erection strained against his trousers twitching desperate to be buried inside his wife’s impossibly tight core. But to Sebastian there no more perfect sight than her laid out before him. Bare, flushed and eyes darkened with desire. A nymph from some Greek tragedy he hadn’t tamed; rather merely a disciple come to worship at her altar. “Such a good girl. Already so wet for me.”
Her fingers tangled harshly in his hair hips bucking as Sebastian at last ended her torment. Licking a broad stripe with the flat of his tongue across her weeping entrance. Her head fell back in a broken whine finally relieving her from her torture. Sebastian released a  groan of his own against her folds, lapping more needly at the growing slick. Savouring every drop she offered him. A man lost in a desert and her his bountiful oasis.
He knew her body better than he knew his own. Chasing her keening mewls a wordless plea for more, pleasure only he could offer her as he flicked and curled his tongue against the hooded bundle of nerves. Releasing his grip on her hip to slide his fingers into her tight heat. Savouring how her fluttering walls gripped him as he worked her open with every pump and curl of his fingers.
Her back arched, legs shaking the cool satin sheets scrunched in her fists as she writhed in ecstasy. Clinging desperately to them a last bastion of as she teetered on the edge of oblivion.
He chanced a glance up at her, mouth still servicing her fervently. Their eyes locked her voice caught on a silent plea for release. Sebastian sucked. Devouring her quivering clit and she broke. 
Screaming curses and praise to forgotten deities her body jerking to grind frantically against his tongue. Sebastian’s hips rutted forward into nothingness as her body clenching around his fingers as he brought her to climax. His own need growing almost unbearable as he felt her dissolved into pleasure needing to feel that pulsing release around his cock not just his fingers. 
His patience was now paper thin, he needed to be inside of her and from the way her fingers tugged at his chestnut hair impatiently as her orgasm ebbed - she seemed to agree. 
Bed springs creaked as he crawled onto the bed beside her. He slid his hands along the dip of her waist gripping her soft flesh to flip her onto her stomach. 
She peering back at him from over her shoulder. Her lips were swollen, her hair in a wild tangle but her eyes burning into him as if she could set him alight - daring him to take her as she arched her hips up and back towards Sebastian. 
Gripping her side he bared down on her. Large body resting heavily against her back she curled up into him sighing contentedly at the feeling of his weight resting against her.
How many wizards had coveted her affection since their school days? Cursed the very ground Sebastian walked on because since the day she’d become his. His cock achingly hard grinding against her arse at the mere thought of her wearing the reminder to them all exactly who she belonged to under her dress. 
He scrambled with the buttons on his breeches before pulling them off entirely cock springing free arching proudly and achingly hard. Slit glistening in anticipation that coil inside of him already tightly wound at the mere thought of filling her.
"Going to fuck even more of my kids into you," he purred low in her ear as he settled himself between her legs dragging the head of his cock through her spit-slicked folds. Their nerves practically vibrating with carnal anticipation. 
She cried out, broken and rasping as Sebastian finally pressed into her with a strong deliberate thrust. Stretching her open inch by inch groaning low, his head falling against her back when he buried himself inside her to the hilt. The sheen of sweat coating her back salty on his tongue as he mouthed brainlessly at her bare flesh. 
“Fuck,” she hissed as Sebastian began to cant his hips in deep maddening strokes. He hadn't expected such a lustful fog to overcome him. Like some primitive part of his brain had overcome him and now he was entirely consumed with the thought of her. Filling her with seed.
His eyes flicked up catching their reflection in the mirror. Sebastian groaned her name as he watched himself pounding into her relentlessly. Tiny body nestled under his own her spine curved in pleasure but her face was buried in the sheets. Stifling the delicious sounds of ecstasy she only made for him into the mattress. 
Sebastian grunted in annoyance. Snapping his hips harder she only seemed to bit down harder on the sheets.
He didn’t just want her to feel him filling her with life; he wanted her to bear witness to it.
Tucking his arm around her waist he hauled her up flush against his body. Her yelp of surprise dissolving into a moan as the new angle had her sinking deeper onto his cock. Her back pressed against his chest she rolled her hips, eyelashes fluttering as his crown teased against her sweet spot. Sebastian curled a possessive hand around her throat to keep her upright. The other kneaded her breast, rolling the pert peak between his fingertips. 
Despite the utterly filthy position in which he took her. Sebastian’s hands were gentle, large arms cradling her body. He whispered sweet reverent praise and encouragement into her ear with every roll of her as she sought her pleasure.
“Look at you,” he whispered. Pressing a kiss to her temple coaxing her to look and witness how fucking perfect she was. Her eyes cracked open, gaze settling on the mirror in the corner of the room. Sebastian's reflection grinned at her. She blushed deeply at the sight but she made no move to cover herself. Eyes devouring the sight of her bare, legs spread wide and impaled on Sebastian's cock. 
“Fucking look at you.” He punctuated the statement with a sharp buck of his hips into her cunt.  
She whined desperately with every deep maddening thrust. She leaned back further into his embrace, head tipped back in a wanton moan but she didn't tear her eyes away. As if wishing to burn this moment into her mind. Cunt fluttering greedily around his cock, coaxing more slick onto his shaft. 
“Fuck- you're taking me so well. Do you- fuck. Feel how deep I am inside you?” Sebastian groaned at the slight swell of her stomach. He released her breast hand ghosting down the planes of her stomach. “I can feel you clenching around me - fuck . Feel where I'm going to fill you. Where you'll grow our child.”
He barely recognised the cadence of his voice, low gravelly more akin to a growl than anything human. He pressed a little harder onto her stomach. Feeling the head of his cock against his palm, he groaned. Forehead fell against the crook of her neck pumping into his palm as he ground into her with deep thrusts. Gently teasing his thumb over the blunt head through her soft stomach. 
She whined readily, shivering with pleasure sinking deeper onto his cock with every needy roll of her hips. Blood pounding in his ears Sebastian could feel the pressure mounting. He released his hold on her throat, taking hold of her hips so hard he knew even if his seed did not take her skin would still wear the marks for days.
Leaning back so she could rest against him, his toes curling in the sheets as he found purchase to thrust into her frantic. Her arm wrapped around his neck keening and whimpering with every strong thrust. 
“Please Seb- fuck. I need,” she rasped. Too deliriously close to the edge to tell him what she needed. What they both craved so desperately. 
“Tell me what you want, darling,” he grunted. Peppering kisses behind her ear, along the curve of her jaw. “Do you want me to come deep inside you? Breed you? Make you mine again?”
“Yes. Gods. Yes!”
“Tell- tell me,” he grunted. Clutching her hips to pound up into her brutally. The coil inside of him tightened, feeling his release rushing in. Visions narrowing and cock twitching eagerly. “Tell me how much you want it.”
“I-I want your seed. Your baby. You. Please, Seb- fuck,” she cried out. 
Deft fingers found her clit. Still so sensitive from how he’d already made her quake. Sebastian circled the swollen nub and her head tipped back in a husky moan. Grinding her hips against him, Glistening with a thin sheen of sweat everywhere their bodies were intertwined. 
“You're going to look so perfect. So bloody beautiful carrying our child. My child.”
She gasped as that familiar feeling pooled in her core. “Fuck- Seb please. I'm close.” 
“Fuck I can feel you. So tight - around my cock. Let go for me, my love. And I will ah - for you,” Sebastian groaned into the shell of her ear. 
Despite his vision blurring as Sebastian teetered so close to the edge of nirvana, he couldn't tear his eyes from their reflection. He doubted there was a more mesmerising and all-consuming sight than watching her come completely undone. Head tipped back all words stolen by how expertly he fucked her so a tune to her body. Beads of sweat clung to every curve and dip on her. 
Shimmering. Beautiful. His .
Teasing faster circles over her still-swollen clit. Bucking into her hard and faster. Biting down on his lip so hard he tasted the metallic tang of blood on his tongue as he desperately held back his release. A final uneven snap of his hips burying his cock deep inside her climax broke. 
She cried out suddenly; a clap of thunder announcing a storm. Like the heavens split apart and she submitted to drown in the waves of her pleasure. Nails clawing against his shoulder. Cunt tightened and spasmed as she sucked him in impossibly deeper as Sebastian followed her. Pulling her hips down as her came hard. 
Her name and filthy praise erupted from his lips in a sound he could only liken to a primal whine. Spilling his seed hot and purposeful into the deepest part of her channel. Grinding against her arse, Sebastian milked every last drop from his pulsing cock. 
Willing it to take root. 
Her body slumped against him boneless but every nerve alight and still shivering from the last throws of pleasure as her orgasm ebbed. Rasping in broken pants as she tried to recapture her stolen breath.
He kissed her cheek, tender, lovingly and with as much gentleness as Sebastian could muster with how he practically rattled with how hard his heart was hammering against his ribs; he shifted strong arms guiding her onto her side. Cock still sheathed inside of her. Unwilling to remove himself from her his mind still overcome and entirely consumed with the need to fill her with life.
Sebastian pushed his release deeper inside her with shallow thrusts. She whimpered hips bucking away from the overstimulation of the motion. He peppered soft apologetic kisses across the small bruises beginning to bloom around her throat wrapping his arms around her and cradling her body to him tighter. But Sebastian held firm. Hand pressing against her stomach a silent prayer. Willing his seed to take. 
"I love you. You're going to look so beautiful. Full of my baby," he cooed, with a languid roll of his hips. Tucking her a sweaty lock of tangled hair behind her ear. She sighed, angling her face to meet his gaze. Dishevelled. Swollen lipped. Beautiful. Her soft crooked and familiar yet it still takes his breath away. 
He'd once thought the greatest thing he could do was burn the world for her. But now he knew - It was to build one. 
A life. A legacy. One that they forged and fought for together. Everything, as long as it was with her. 
Despite his efforts to keep her full of him, he could already feel it leaking out around his shaft, hot and slick, coating her thighs. The crown of his cock dragged over her sweet spot before pushing his further in. “In fact - why stop at one this time? Twins do run in my family.”
“I don't think that's how it works-” she stuttered. But her core clenched greedily around his cock. Still stiff and firmly inside of her, it twitched with approval. 
“Care to test the theory?”
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ghosttotheparty · 10 months
Text
part one also on ao3
Steve’s breaths land on Eddie’s chest as he sleeps.
Slow, and soft, and quiet, and Eddie relishes it. The feeling of his breath, the warmth of his face pressing to Eddie’s skin, and the weight of his hand that’s curled into a loose fist. He feels so small on top of Eddie, though his limbs are long, though he’s larger than life itself. He feels like… a boy.
He’s just a boy.
Eddie blinks his eyes open in the morning light, squinting the way he does every morning as the sun rises. It drives him a little crazy, never being able to sleep in, but it’s nice to be awake when Wayne comes home. To get his forehead kiss and fond, “Mornin’.”
Eddie shifts down a little, carefully moving Steve to look at him, and Steve nuzzles his face into the pillow, sighing in his sleep. His fingers open, spreading and then curling like he’s trying to grab at Eddie’s shirt, but his fingers just dig into his skin a little bit. Eddie smiles, reaching to take his hand carefully, and when Steve’s fingers curl around his, Eddie lifts it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles.
He gazes at him. In the morning light, his hair looks like it’s glowing, like threads of spun gold, like he’s some fairy tale character. His expression is light, and Eddie realizes that his resting face is almost smiling. His eyelashes fan under his eyes, and his cheeks are pink, and Eddie’s dark sweatshirt makes his skin looks even more golden. Eddie gazes some more.
He never thought he’d be here. Lying in bed on a Saturday morning with Steve Harrington across from him, sleeping, holding his hand like a child. Steve breathes. A bird chirps outside.
Something shifts in Eddie’s chest. It falls into place.
Steve wakes up slowly. Eddie thinks he wants to see him wake up every single morning. He inhales deeply, his fingers tightening on Eddie’s hand for a moment as he sighs, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he blinks them open. His gaze finds their hands first, and he blinks again, his finger shifting in Eddie’s, and then he looks up.
He half-smiles, and his voice is rough when he speaks.
“You’re watching me sleep?”
Eddie smiles, releasing his hand and reaching out to touch him as Steve settles his hand on Eddie’s arm that’s bent under his head. His fingers push his hair aside and press into Eddie’s bicep as Eddie caresses the side of his face.
“Sleeping beauty.”
Steve’s smile widens, and he closes his eyes again. Eddie brushes his hair back, and he moves forward to kiss his forehead before he gets up.
Wayne comes home as they’re sitting at the table, sipping coffee from mugs that were taken down from around the living room. Steve’s is blue.
“Mornin’.”
He stops as the door closes behind him, eyes finding Steve sitting there, his feet on the chair, one of his knees drawn up to his chest. Steve freezes, looking up at him, and Eddie leans back in his seat, smiling as Steve’s cheeks flush pink in embarrassment, like he thinks Wayne can just tell.
“...Who are you?” Wayne asks as he toes off his work boots, eyeing Steve.
“I’m, uhm, Steve Harrington. Sir.”
Eddie grins into his mug, watching Steve set his down awkwardly like he doesn’t know if Wayne is going to want to shake his hand or something. Wayne looks at him.
“Harrington,” he says.
Steve blinks, nodding after a moment, and Eddie remembers suddenly that Wayne’s been in this town his whole life. He knows the Harringtons. Everyone knows the Harringtons.
“And you’re here with Eddie?” Wayne says, looking down at Eddie, who meets his eyes and raises his eyebrows, tilting his head.
“Yes, sir?” Steve says hesitantly.
“You don’t know?”
“I— Yes, I’m with him.”
Steve’s face is red, and he glances at Eddie nervously.
“You’re hanging out with Eddie?” Wayne says, and Eddie rolls his eyes.
“…Yes.”
“Even though he’s weird?”
Eddie lets out an offended squawk, and Steve half-smiles.
“I like him,” he says, his voice softer.
“Why?”
Steve giggles, looking at Eddue. His cheeks are pink.
“Be nice, Wayne,” Eddie says, mumbling into his mug as he takes another sip.
“I am,” Wayne says defensively. “I sure hope you’re nothing like your daddy, boy,” he says to Steve, and Eddie clicks his tongue, swinging his arm around to hit his leg.
“Respectfully, sir, I’d rather kill myself than be anything like him.”
Wayne barks out a laugh, and Eddie chokes on his coffee, leaning forward to wipe his face. Steve looks at him with wide eyes, murmuring an apology, smiling.
“Alright then,” Wayne says, and Eddie can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m gonna take a shower and head to bed,” he says, ruffling Eddie’s hair and leaning down to smack a kiss to his temple. He pauses on his way down the hall.
“Steve?”
“Uh, yes?” Steve stutters, leaning to see him around Eddie, who turns to look at Wayne with a raised eyebrow.
“You need anything, you come on by, alright?”
Eddie looks back at Steve. Steve blinks, his expression softening, and he nods.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
Wayne disappears down the hall, and Steve dissolves, slumping. He lowers his head to the table, pushing his mug away as he hits his head lightly on the table a few times. Eddie laughs, reaching out to pat his head.
“Leave me to die,” Steve grumbles into the table.
“You’re so dramatic,” Eddie says fondly, tugging his hair. Steve just groans. “…Stevie.”
“Mm.”
Eddie tugs again and leans over the table, tilting his head at him as Steve looks up at him, his eyes cutting up at him like a sad puppy. Eddie’s chest aches a little.
“I like you too,” he says softly, smiling when Steve’s cheeks flush pink.
“Really?” he asks, his voice small. Eddie tilts his head the other way.
“We had sex last night, Steve.”
Steve shushes him, and Eddie grins.
“And?” Steve says quietly, taking his mug again and twisting it around, fidgeting. “We’ve both had meaningless sex with people.”
Eddie pauses, looking at how Steve is looking down at his mug, legs crossed on his chair, the sleeves of Eddie’s sweatshirt almost covering his hands. And he reaches across the table, tracing Steve’s knuckles lightly, tentatively. Steve looks at him again with those eyes. Shy. Nervous.
“Last night wasn’t meaningless,” he says softly. “To me.”
Steve blinks at him, his cheeks flushing again. (Eddie loves how much he blushes.)
“Me too,” he says, and then he pauses, blinking again. “Me either? You know what I mean.”
Eddie giggles, and he leans across the table, tilting his chin up. Steve smiles, softening as he leans to meet him in a light kiss that tastes like coffee. (Steve takes his black, the menace.)
They stay in the living room. Watch a movie on the small television. Steve sits next to him on the sofa for a while before he relaxes when Eddie puts his arm around him, pulling him close, and he gradually melts against him until he’s finally laying next to him, his head in his lap. Eddie plays with his hair, forgetting about the movie as he gazes down at him. Steve holds his other hand, tangling their fingers and squeezing.
— — — — —
“Oh my god, no, he was so sweet about it.”
“But he rejected you, I can’t believe that.”
Eddie sighs heavily, dropping his head onto the textbook in front of him. It was quiet just a few moments ago, and his brain was finally getting used to it enough for him to read without getting distracted. But the girls’ voices carry over through the bookshelves, through the air, and he really doesn’t care about their drama right now.
“He was so nice, Marie, seriously. Told me I was pretty and all, but…”
“Why didn’t he wanna go out with you?” the other girl asks, aghast. “You’re a total catch.”
Eddie almost groans out loud.
“He just said he wasn’t interested,” she says lightly. “It’s not a big deal, he was nice about it.”
“Steve Harrington has never once rejected a girl,” Marie says, and that catches Eddie’s attention. He lifts his head. “I don’t get why he’s starting with you.”
Eddie blinks, tilting his head as he listens.
“Maybe he has a secret girlfriend,” the girl says, and Marie giggles. Eddie pulls the collar of his shirt up over his face, suppressing a smile.
The next time he sees Steve it’s in the hallway, and their eyes meet. And then Eddie is the one blushing, because Steve smiles at him. (That’s all it takes. A smile. Eddie is pathetic.)
Eddie tilts his head, gesturing down the hall, and Steve nods subtly. He’s standing with Tommy Hagan and some others, but as Eddie steps backward down the hall, he says something to them that Eddie can’t hear. And then he’s following Eddie down the hall, calling something to his friends, and Eddie is suppressing a smug smile, heading down toward the bathroom, praying it’s empty.
Steve is right behind him as he’s headed inside, and Eddie is grinning now. It is empty, and Steve’s hand presses against the top of his back, pushing him inside and toward the stall that’s the farthest back. Eddie goes easily, dropping his bag as he turns and lets Steve push him into the wall as the stall door swings shut behind them.
“Hi,” Eddie breathes, grinning and reaching up to touch his face as Steve kisses him hard.
“Hi,” Steve whispers back when they part with a gasp. He’s holding his neck and leaning against him to press him into the wall.
“Heard you rejected some girl,” Eddie says softly, his eyes trained on Steve’s lips, which curve into a smile.
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Sound carries a lot in the library,” Eddie complains, tracing his jaw carefully. “‘Steve Harrington has never once rejected a girl,’” he murmurs, dragging his fingertip lightly across his jaw to touch his lips, pulling the bottom one down before he releases it, smiling as it pops back into place. Steve hums softly.
“Maybe I got my eye on someone right now,” he says softly, almost whispering, his eyes shining, half-shut as he looks at Eddie. His hands slide over Eddie’s waist
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm.”
“She pretty?” Eddie teases. Steve suppresses a smile, his tongue sliding across his lower lip.
“The prettiest,” he teases back.
Eddie scrunches his nose, tilting his head at him, and Steve kisses him. His hand presses into Eddie’s chest, pushing him into the wall, and Eddie tilts his head, wrapping his arms around his neck, letting his lips part as Steve slips his tongue across them.
He pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair, and he kind of wants to mess it up, to tangle it and make it stick up in ways Steve would never allow it to, and then he kind of wants to make Steve leave like this. To not let him fix it in the mirror. He kind of wants Steve to look like he’s been making out with someone. And he kind of wants people to talk. To ask Steve who the lucky girl is.
Eddie tightens his hand in Steve’s hair, pulling it at the roots, and Steve huffs, sliding a hand down to the small of his back and pulling him close. Eddie licks into his mouth, tugging his hair to make him tilt his head back, and Steve lets him, sighing softly.
They part when the door to the bathroom bursts open, and they freeze, holding each other tightly, staring at each other and holding their breaths as they listen to someone come in, muttering to himself.
Eddie’s chest aches. Because they have to hide. Because they both know it, they know it so well they aren’t even breathing. And Steve seems to think it at the same time. His eyes flick back and forth between Eddie’s, and his hands run across the small of his back. Eddie slides his hands to hold his face tenderly, looking at him intently.
They both flinch when the boy rips some paper towels from the dispenser loudly, the sound echoing in the room. And then the door opens and shuts again.
They exhale, and before Eddie can say anything, Steve is leaning in and kissing him hard. Eddie closes his eyes, his fingers sliding behind his ears to hold his head. He lets out a soft groan.
They’re both breathing hard when they part, and their foreheads press. Steve reaches to touch Eddie’s face, holding it gently in his hands, and Eddie feels like he deserves it, this tenderness he’s only found on the palms of Steve Harrington’s hands.
They look at each other. Steve looks like he’s going to start crying. Eddie brushes his thumbs over his cheeks as he whispers to him.
“We’re not doing anything wrong.”
Steve blinks at him. His expression softens. And he kisses him again, slow and soft and gentle.
“I know,” he murmurs.
Eddie pulls him into a hug. He buries his face in his neck, sighing as Steve hugs him back, and he closes his eyes.
“I have basketball practice today,” Steve says, his voice muffled. “It ends at, uhm. Five.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says softly.
“…You wanna come over tonight?”
Eddie grins.
“Yeah. Of course.”
“I’ll make you dinner.”
Eddie’s smile widens.
“You don’t have to convince me,” he says. “I already said I’d go.”
“No, I wanna,” Steve says softly. “Wanna treat you good.”
Eddie groans into his neck, grumbling a weak, “Baby,” as he kisses him. Steve’s hand makes its way to Eddie’s head, cradling the back of it as he exhales.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah, honey.”
“...Can you give me a hickey?”
Eddie pauses, nuzzling into Steve’s neck.
“Here?”
“Mhmm.”
“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, pressing a slow kiss to his skin. Steve’s breath hitches, and he tilts his head farther to the side, humming affirmatively.
“Want people to wonder.”
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, and he whines softly in the back of his throat. He’s never made a noise like this before, and his face flushes with heat, but Steve just breathes a soft, “Please,” and Eddie is putty in his hands.
Eddie opens his mouth and presses another kiss to his neck, slowly, carefully, intentionally, and Steve exhales, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s hair and scratching at his scalp lightly. He hisses in pain when Eddie bites down hard, sucking his skin between his teeth and licking at it, but his hand holds Eddie in place, his other hand gripping his waist as he breathes hard.
“Yeah,” he chokes after a moment, his voice weak and thin. “Fuck, like that.”
Eddie grins, digging his teeth into Steve’s skin, sucking harder, and Steve whimpers, pulling Eddie’s hair. He releases the skin after a moment, kissing it softly and dragging his tongue over it to soothe it, and then he bites down again, his body flushing with heat when Steve lets out a weak, “Oh, shit,” and whimpers again. Eddie shushes him softly, slipping his fingertips under the hem of his shirt to touch his soft skin. Steve squeaks, and Eddie grins again, listening to Steve’s breathing as he kisses his neck again.
When he pulls away, Steve’s skin is reddening.
“How was that?” he asks like he doesn’t know.
“Eddie,” Steve whines.
Eddie shushes him again, grinning and kissing his lips softly.
“Was that good?” he whispers.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. His eyes are closed, his head fallen back. Eddie brushes their noses together, stroking his neck softly, and Steve reaches up after a moment, tilting his head and pressing his fingertips into the bruise. He lets out a strained breath, biting his lip.
Eddie kisses him again, smiling as Steve kisses him back desperately, his hand jumping to hold Eddie’s neck, and Eddie pushes him back against the other side of the stall. Steve hums softly, moving to wrap his arms around Eddie's neck, and Eddie slips his hands under Steve’s shirt.
Steve chokes, his arms tightening, his tongue sliding between Eddie’s lips. Eddie kisses him some more, listening to his soft, breathy hums, listening carefully in case the door opens again.
“Gotta go,” he says after a little while, between kisses. Steve whines. “Come on.”
“I don’t wanna stop,” Steve complains, his head falling back to the wall as Eddie leans to pepper his neck with kisses. Eddie hesitates before kissing the hickey, scraping with his teeth, and his chest aches as Steve lets out a pained whimper. His fingers tug at Eddie's hair again, but he holds him in place when Eddie tries to lift his head, and Eddie grins, licking the spot gently.
“Stevie,” he whispers.
“Mm.”
“Don’t pout,” Eddie giggles, nudging their noses together.
“‘M not pouting,” Steve says, pouting. He’s almost smiling, looking at Eddie like a puppy again, and Eddie wishes he could freeze time. He touches the hickey, pressing against it lightly, watching Steve’s eyes flutter shut, watching him furrow his brows and bite his lip.
“I’ll give you another one tonight,” he murmurs. “After dinner.”
Steve’s eyes open.
“Wherever you want,” Eddie asks, whispering. Steve’s eyebrows jump, and he smiles.
“Okay,” he breathes. Eddie kisses him.
“I’ll see you later.”
Another kiss.
“Okay.”
Kiss.
“Have fun at practice.”
Kiss. Steve is smiling now.
“You’re stalling,” he says between kisses.
“I know.”
He kisses him again, and Steve giggles, finally pushing his shoulders.
“Get outta here,” he says, holding Eddie away. Eddie bites his lip, taking a breath as he stoops to grab his bag, and he pauses before opening the stall door. He’s almost past the stalls before he groans, turning back around, and Steve is lingering in the stall door, smiling like he knew Eddie would do this: come back to kiss him desperately, holding his face and grinning. It’s fast, three kisses in quick succession before he finally tears himself away.
“See you later, sweet thing,” Eddie says, and Steve blushes before he waves half-heartedly. Eddie catches himself before he can say love you without thinking, and he blows him a kiss.
The sun is going down when Eddie shows up at his house, and Steve greets him by jumping him in the doorway. Eddie catches him in his arms, yelling in protest, and they fall to the floor, Eddie on top of Steve.
“Oh my god,” Eddie says loudly, grinning as Steve cackles, his arms around Eddie. “Are you okay?”
“I’m great,” Steve says, looking up at Eddie and pushing his curls back, tucking them tenderly behind his ears. Steve’s hair is wet, and it smells like expensive products. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Eddie says softly, looking down at him. His eyes find the hickey on his neck, and it’s almost purple now, dark against Steve’s skin. Eddie exhales. “Oh, I fucked you up.”
“Yeah,” Steve says, grinning happily even though he’s on the floor.
“Did people talk?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“And?”
“They’re very curious.”
Eddie beams, caressing his face. Steve turns his face into his hand, his eyes shining, and Eddie can’t help but lean down to kiss him softly.
“What’d they say?”
“‘Steve’s got a secret girlfriend,’” Steve says, imitating the others, a smile teasing his lips.
“What did you say?”
“Oh, I just pretended to not know what they’re talking about,” Steve says nonchalantly, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. What hickey?”
Eddie laughs harder, and Steve pulls him down into a kiss, smiling and nipping at his lower lip. Eddie lets him, revelling in the kisses as he remembers they’re laying in the doorway of Steve’s house, the door open, halfway on the porch. Nobody’s around to see them, except the trees and the clouds and maybe some lightning bugs.
Eddie pulls away when Steve starts to lick into his mouth intently, and Steve groans.
“Dinner,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve leans up to catch his lips again. “And then we can make out.”
“You’re the worst.”
Eddie presses a finger into the hickey, and Steve lets out a hiss and an Ow!
“Fucker.”
Eddie snickers and kisses him again before he pushes himself up.
Steve makes pasta. Eddie sits on the counter and watches as he fills a pot and turns on the stove, as he gets out the pasta from a cabinet and sets out vegetables on the counter. He tells Eddie about how basketball practice went, and Eddie is barely following along. He doesn’t know any of the terminology, and Steve doesn’t seem to realize that Eddie doesn’t know anything about basketball, but Eddie doesn’t mind. Because Steve is ranting, his voice soft and smooth and content as he spins a knife in his fingers without even noticing himself do it (and that’s so much hotter than it should be) before he starts chopping the vegetables. He knows what he’s doing, and even though he’s talking the whole time, he finishes with the vegetables faster than Eddie could ever chop them. (Also Eddie would definitely at least nick his finger a few times, but Steve does it all effortlessly, smoothly. And Eddie grips the edge of the counter to control himself.)
Steve sits on the counter when he finishes, sliding the plates across the surface so they’re in front of Eddie, joining the cans of 7-Up, and hopping up. That’s effortless too; he seems weightless as he moves up onto the counter that Eddie had to use one of the chairs to get on. Eddie presses his lips together and pops open his soda.
“Cannot believe my boyfriend’s a normie,” he says quietly, and Steve snorts.
Eddie looks at him as he’s sipping his soda, and his heart swells when he sees the way Steve’s eyes are shining, almost sparkling.
“Problem?” Steve says playfully.
“You got a problem with your boyfriend bein’ a freak?” Eddie asks, tilting his head, and Steve tilts his head back before he reaches out and hooks his fingers on the silver chain around Eddie’s neck. He pulls him in so they’re both leaning over the plates between them and kisses him softly.
Steve hums thoughtfully when they part, eyes lingering on Eddie’s lips before he says, “No. I like it.”
Eddie giggles.
They go to the living room after eating, and Eddie comes up behind him as he leads him down the hall, stooping down and wrapping his arms around his legs to pick him up, holding him over his shoulder. Steve shrieks and clutches at him, laughing loudly as Eddie carries him into the living room and dumps him on the sofa before pouncing on top of him. Steve is laughing carelessly, happily, and Eddie’s whole body aches as he looks at him, at the way his eyes squint under his smile, at the way his hair is messy, now dry and a little frizzy.
“Are you gonna give me another?” Steve asks between kisses, his fingers in Eddie’s hair as they lick the taste of pasta out of each other’s mouths.
“You want more?” he asks breathlessly.
“Yes, please.”
Eddie shifts so he’s straddling Steve’s hips, and he sits up, tying his hair up in a ponytail with the hair tie around his wrist. Steve giggles, watching, his hands on Eddie’s thighs.
“Where do you want it?” Eddie asks, running his hands across Steve’s chest. Steve’s cheeks are pink, and he looks up at Eddie like he’s fucking reverent before he tilts his head, exposing the side of his neck, the side that’s bare. Eddie grins.
He leans down, brushing Steve’s hair out of the way, and Steve sighs as Eddie brushes his lips over his skin.
“You want it like the other one?” Eddie murmurs.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes.
Eddie kisses his neck softly at first, smiling when Steve’s hands squeeze his thighs. He takes his time, pressing soft, lingering kisses across his skin for a while before he starts licking him, short kitten licks that make Steve exhale slowly, melting into the sofa, his hands loosening on Eddie’s legs before they slide around to his ass and squeeze. Eddie giggles, lifting his head to look at his neck. He can see his veins beneath his skin in some places, and part of him feels like a vampire here, gazing at them.
He presses a kiss to his neck and slides his mouth across his skin until he feels his pulse against his lips. He hums softly, pausing there, feeling the rhythm of Steve’s heartbeat against his lips, lingering. It’s a little fast, and Eddie smiles.
“Eddie,” Steve whines. “Bite me.”
Eddie snorts.
“Rude.”
“You know what the fuck I mean.” Eddie can hear the smile in his voice.
“I know what the fuck you mean.”
He kisses his pulse. And then bites.
Steve lets out a shaky exhale, his hands tightening. Eddie closes his eyes, enjoying himself as he sucks on Steve’s skin, as he bites him and scrapes his teeth over it, as he soothes the spot between bites with gentle swipes of his tongue, as Steve squeezes his ass absentmindedly, almost kneading it. They’re both humming softly, and Steve is letting out strained groans as Eddie bites him, murmuring curses and Eddie’s name under his breath.
When he finally sits up, he looks at the spot on Steve’s neck, and it’s already bruising.
“Might actually be worse than the first one, actually,” Eddie says thoughtfully, brushing over it with his thumb. Steve exhales without opening his eyes.
“Thank fuck,” he says, smiling when Eddie snorts. “Want ‘em to see it.”
“You are an attention whore,” Eddie says, smiling as he leans down to kiss Steve’s lips, and then he kisses across his face as Steve laughs softly.
“‘S fun,” he says as Eddie kisses his jawline, nipping at his skin with his teeth.
“You want one more?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
Eddie gives him one more. This time it’s just under his ear, and Eddie can smell his shampoo as he bites and licks and kisses him, smiling the whole time as Steve whines and groans and swears.
“Eddie,” he says when Eddie finally pulls away.
“Yeah,” Eddie says breathlessly.
“I wanna come.”
“Go ahead.”
Steve whines again, his eyes squeezing shut, and Eddie shifts on his lap, grinding down on him and grinning when Steve gasps. Steve’s hands slide to Eddie’s hips, pulling him down harder.
“Shit, Eddie, I’m—”
“You got it,” Eddie says softly, reaching to his neck and curiously, carefully holding his throat so his fingers press into the bruises. Steve keens, his fingers so tight on Eddie they might bruise (and wouldn’t that be nice: the memory of Steve’s hand on him), and he lets out a loud moan, follows by a breathless Yes.
Eddie tightens his hand, grinding against him again and grinning when Steve lets out an open-mouthed moan, and he’s suddenly very grateful that Steve lives in the fucking woods, that nobody is around to hear him like this. Then he remembers that no one ever has heard him like this, and his grin widens, because he’s the first. Because he gets this, and no one else does.
And because—
“Never thought I’d get this,” he murmurs, leaning down to nudge their noses together, still moving against Steve. Steve’s eyes flutter open to look at him, and he reaches a hand up to touch Eddie’s face. His eyes are glassy. “Even in my wildest fuckin’ dreams. Never thought I’d get anything like you.”
Steve whimpers, his other hand sliding up Eddie’s back, pushing his shirt up.
“Me too,” he says breathlessly. He sits up, pushing his face into Eddie’s neck and kissing him desperately, panting as he pulls at the small of Eddie’s back. Eddie smiles, tilting his head for him and closing his eyes, hugging his neck and pushing his fingers into his hair.
“Eddie,” Steve chokes after another minute.
“Yeah, baby.”
“Fuck. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
“Me too.”
They hold each other as they come back down, arms tight around each other, faces buried in each other’s necks, and Eddie giggles quietly.
“That was fun,” Steve mumbles. Eddie kisses his neck softly and lifts his head, looking at him. His hair is messy, which Eddie loves, and his eyes are half-closed.
“Yeah, it was.”
He kisses him slowly, tenderly, holding his face. Steve doesn’t open his eyes when they part, his face relaxed, blissful.
“Will you spend the night with me?” he asks softly. “Please?”
Eddie just giggles and kisses him again.
He isn’t allowed to make fun of his wallpaper, which Steve tells him before he leads him upstairs, which just piques his interest. He hides his face in his shirt when they finally go into Steve’s room, trying not to laugh at the horrific plaid wallpaper, but he can’t hold back his giggles when he hears Steve snort.
They take a shower. Steve does his hair with some of his fancy products that smell nice, and Eddie tells him it’s never happening again. Steve sticks his tongue out at him in the mirror, his fingers dragging through his curls, but Eddie decides he’ll let Steve do this whenever he wants to when he sees the way his eyes are shining as he’s scrunching his curls and twisting them around his finger. He looks like he’s making art instead of doing Eddie’s hair.
Also, it feels nice. Which is a nice plus.
And every once in a while Steve’s bare chest presses to Eddie’s back as he reaches for another product. Which…
He’s so warm. Probably because of the shower and the lingering steam in the room, but Eddie thinks it might just be him. Like there’s sunlight in his veins.
In the morning, Eddie wakes up with his chest to Steve’s back, his arm draped across his waist, and he sits up slowly, squinting in the sunlight as he looks down at Steve, who shifts after Eddie’s movement. There are two bruises on the side of his neck that Eddie can see, and he smiles. He leans down and kisses one, and Steve inhales, one of his hands lifting sleepily and reaching for Eddie, who takes it and lifts it to his lips.
“Morning, gorgeous,” Eddie says roughly when Steve blinks his eyes open and rolls onto his back. Steve smiles and opens his arms, and Eddie lies on top of him, sighing as Steve’s arms wrap around him.
Eddie falls in love with mornings like this. Steve gets used to Eddie waking up early in the morning before his alarm clock goes off, and it becomes routine for him to just pull Eddie into a hug for a while. It also becomes routine for him to complain that they have to get up. Neither of them ever wants to, not when they know they have to go to school and they won’t be able to kiss each other or hold each other, when they’ll be separated until after school (unless Steve has basketball, or Eddie has Hellfire or band practice). But they still go.
Eddie hears the rumors and gossip swirling around school. About Steve’s secret girlfriend. About the hickeys that he refuses to hide. There are countless theories about whose mouth could have left them there. One of Steve’s friends asks if Steve refuses to tell them who it is because it’s a freshman, and Steve gags before glaring at him.
“No, I’m not a fucking creep.”
“Alright, we’re narrowing it down.”
Steve just rolls his eyes.
Theories span from other students, girls that Steve has and hasn’t hooked up with, to teachers, but when someone asks if it’s a teacher Steve just laughs.
Nobody even glances Eddie’s way.
— — — — —
Steve’s car is in front of the trailer when Eddie gets home from band practice. Eddie pauses when he parks the van, staring at it curiously for a moment before he gets out, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat of the van.
“Hello?” he says when he walks inside, looking at Steve and Wayne on the sofa. Steve’s legs are crossed, and he’s holding a mug in his hands, smiling contently. They’re watching a baseball game on the television.
“Hi, baby,” Steve says lightly.
“Are you coming over just to hang out with my uncle now?” Eddie asks as he kicks his sneakers off and sets his bag on the table. Steve’s head is tilted toward him, but his eyes are on the television, and Eddie smiles at how careless he looks, comfortable in Eddie’s living room. Eddie leans down to press a chaste kiss to his lips, and Steve smiles.
“I forgot you had practice today,” Steve says. “And there happened to be a game on.”
“Ah,” Eddie says, collapsing heavily onto the sofa between them. “So you guys aren’t becoming best friends.”
“Obviously Steve and I are best friends,” Wayne says dryly, turning to press a kiss to Eddie’s temple, eyes still on the game. Steve giggles, and Eddie grins.
He loves them.
He hasn’t told Steve yet (yet), but he thinks it all the time now. Every time he looks down at his sleeping face, every time he asks for a new hickey, every time he sees him laugh with Wayne.
They keep ganging up on Eddie together, teasing him about his hair, his music, his clothes. (Wayne teases him and calls him a vampire when he sees the way he’s marked up Steve’s neck. Steve burns red the first time, but Eddie just grins, shameless.)
Eddie fucking loves it. Loves seeing their eyes sparkle, loves the way Wayne ruffles his hair affectionately, which he starts to do to Steve too. Whenever Steve is home when Wayne comes back or goes off to work, Wayne reaches to muss his hair before he leaves, and even though he’s Steve the Hair Harrington, Steve just grins and hunches his shoulders like a little kid.
Wayne calls Steve son. Eddie can see the way Steve’s eyes shine every time he says it.
And he sees the way Steve’s eyes shine when Wayne comes home one morning to find them on the sofa and kisses both their foreheads almost mindlessly, murmuring a soft Good morning before he heads off to shower and go to bed.
Eddie’s heart feels warm as he watches Wayne kiss Steve’s forehead, and then Steve watches Wayne disappear down the hall before he looks at Eddie, his eyes shining.
And then they’re glistening, and his lip quivers, and Eddie frowns.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, turning toward him, and touching his face as a tear escapes.
“Just…”
He shrugs, closing his eyes and falling against Eddie, who takes him into his arms.
“What is it?” Eddie asks gently, holding him and swaying as he rubs his arm.
“He’s really nice,” Steve says finally, his voice weak. Eddie smiles into his hair.
“He is, isn’t he?”
Steve sighs shakily, reaching to hold Eddie’s forearm.
“Sorry,” he says after a moment. “I don’t know why that was… I don’t know. Overwhelming.”
“‘S alright, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, leaning to kiss his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry.”
And he aches to say it. That he loves him.
But he doesn’t. Not now. Not when Steve’s already crying because he’s gotten casual affection that he isn’t used to.
It gets progressively more difficult to hold it back as time passes. Every time they say goodbye when they leave for school, every time they make out in a bathroom or a janitor’s closet with their veins full of adrenaline, every time they murmur greetings into each other’s mouths, every time they kiss regardless of their morning breath, every time Steve smiles the way he smiles every single time Wayne ruffles his hair and kisses his forehead.
— — — — —
They’re watching a movie when Steve’s parents come home. Steve is laying on Eddie’s chest as they lay on the sofa in the living room, his fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, and Eddie feels a little sleepy, but the air stills when they hear a car pull into the driveway.
Eddie is about to ask who it could be when Steve sits up abruptly.
“What day is it?” he asks frantically, looking at Eddie with wide eyes.
“Uh, Saturday?” Eddie says, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie. Steve stands, clearly in a panic as he reaches for his hair.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
“Wait, wha— Babe, what’s…”
“‘S my parents,” Steve says, looking at Eddie desperately. “I forgot they were coming home today, I—”
Eddie reaches and gently pulls his hands out of his hair, squeezing them.
“It’s okay,” he says softly despite the panic in his own chest. “It’s alright. We’re friends, right?”
Steve exhales, lacing their fingers and squeezing as the front door opens.
“Okay,” he says softly.
Steve’s parents look how Eddie expected. His mother’s hair is stiff, frozen in place with an abundant amount of hairspray, and his father is wearing a suit that’s somehow not wrinkled despite the drive back to Hawkins from the airport.
Steve already seems mad at them. Eddie wonders if he is.
His mom kisses him on the cheek in greeting, but Steve looks stiff, smiling tightly as Eddie lingers in the doorway, hands rubbing his legs anxiously, trying to look normal.
“Who’s this?” Steve’s mom asks, eyeing Eddie when she releases Steve from their uncomfortable embrace. She’s looking him up and down. They both are.
“Uh, this is my— my friend,” Steve says, and Eddie waves, smiling. “Eddie.”
“Eddie,” his mom says lightly, but it’s a forced lightness. “What’s your last name, hun?”
It’s sickly sweet.
“Uh, Munson,” Eddie says, and Steve’s father finally speaks.
“Munson,” he repeats, looking at Eddie distastefully. His nose is almost wrinkled, like the rips in Eddie’s jeans have a stench.
“Yes, sir.”
“I thought your parents moved from Hawkins.”
Eddie blinks in surprise, and he remembers suddenly how small Hawkins really is. They probably went to school together.
“They did,” he says. “When I was sixteen. I live with my uncle now.”
“Your uncle.”
“Wayne Munson,” Eddie says confidently.
Steve’s father nods, looking at Eddie again, and then he turns to Steve with an air of disappointment around him. Steve seems to shrink into himself when their eyes meet, and Eddie wants to grab his hand and pull him away, to take him somewhere his father can’t look at him. To take him home.
“This is who you’re fraternizing with now?” he says as though Eddie isn’t even there. “A Munson? What happened to the Hagan boy?”
“I— I’m still friends with Tommy,” Steve says, and he even sounds like a kid now. “I can have more than one friend—”
“Stephen.”
Steve shrinks back even farther, looking down.
“I don’t want you fraternizing with people like this,” his father says, gesturing toward Eddie, who just watches, eyes wide, heart pounding, aching because Steve looks so scared. And a part of him wants to laugh at the use of fraternize. If he only knew that his son begs for Eddie to dig his teeth into his neck until bruises bloom on his skin, for Eddie to tug his pants down his legs and toss them aside, for Eddie to kiss him like the world is ending.
“You don’t even know them,” Steve says, looking up at his father anxiously. “Wayne is—”
“I knew Wayne in school,” his father snaps. “A pathetic underachiever, he isn’t the type we associate with, Stephen.”
Eddie’s hands are shaking. He glares at him, curling his fingers into fists to suppress the shaking, but it doesn’t work.
Steve is glaring at him too. Slowly, he raises his chin, squares his shoulders, and he’s shaking too.
“Don’t talk about Wayne like that.”
Eddie looks at him.
His father scoffs.
“You have no reason to associate with his type, he’ll rub off on you, Stephen,” he says matter-of-factly. “You need to stick the Hagans, not… trailer park trash.”
“Don’t talk about Wayne like that,” Steve says again, his voice louder, and his father looks taken aback, blinking in surprise.
“Stephen—”
“Wayne Munson is a good man,” Steve says firmly, his voice shaking a little. “He’s— He’s kind, and— and hardworking, and he—”
“I knew him in school, Stephen,” his father says again, his voice condescending and mean, and Steve snaps.
“That’s your problem,” he bursts loudly, and Eddie’s never seen him this angry. “You’re so stuck in your head, and— and focussed on stupid fucking juvenile things like popularity a— and— and social status, that can’t see past your own fucking nose.”
His father is staring at him, wide-eyed, scandalized.
“You’ve lived your life with your father’s fucking money, and you got everything handed to you,” Steve says angrily, jabbing his father’s chest with his fingers. “Your house was a wedding gift, and your job was waiting for you when you finished college, which you didn’t even pay for. You never had to fucking worry about affording food or water or a car.”
He’s breathing hard, and Eddie’s lips part in awe as he watches.
“Wayne fought for everything he has,” Steve says, his voice rough now. “You wouldn’t survive a day in his life, show him some fucking respect.”
Eddie’s eyes sting with tears, because Steve is defending Wayne. Standing up against his father even though he doesn’t have to, even though Wayne isn’t here to hear it. Even though he’s scared.
It’s quiet suddenly as Steve and his father stare at each other, and Steve is challenging him, chin raised as he looks into his eyes, hands in fists by his sides. Eddie can hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
And then his father is looking at Eddie, almost scoffing.
“What have you done to him?” he asks lightly, like it’s a joke, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do, what to say, but it doesn’t matter, because Steve speaks again.
“Don’t you fucking look at him.”
His father looks at him again, his eyebrows raised.
“If you have a problem with me, it’s with me,” Steve says evenly, firmly. “Not him.”
It’s quiet again. Eddie’s hands ball into fists, and adrenaline courses through his veins as he waits, just about ready to push his way between them, to do whatever he has to.
“How dare you speak to me like this? I’m your father—”
“I don’t care.”
“Stephen,” his mother says, speaking finally from where she’s backed into a corner, and Eddie looks at her, noticing how young she suddenly looks.
“I don’t care!” Steve yells. He looks at her, and then back at his father. “I don’t care. I’m sick and fucking tired of listening to you talk about people like this, especially people I love,” he says, his voice rapid and angry, and holy shit—
“You come home after leaving for weeks,” Steve says, skimming right past it like he didn’t notice himself say it, and Eddie is crying now, because Steve loves Wayne, Steve loves Wayne, Steve loves Wayne— “And the first thing you do every goddamn time is start bitching about the dishes in the sink, or the dirt on my car, or what my hair looks like, or who I’m with, or the fact that I didn’t call or I called too much, and there’s nothing I can fucking do right, and I don’t care.”
Eddie wipes his cheek quickly, sniffing as he watches Steve’s father nod, running his tongue over his teeth as he stares at Steve.
“You think I’m only here because of my father’s money,” he says slowly, eerily calm, ignoring everything Steve’s said. “Then we’ll see where you end up without your father’s money, how does that sound?”
“Sounds great,” Steve says without a beat. “At least I won’t end up as big an asshole as you.”
And then he’s turning and grabbing Eddie’s hand, pulling him out of the living room and toward the door, where they slip their shoes on and head out the door, leaving their dirty dishes on the coffee table as if in spite.
Steve is breathing hard as they get into the Beemer and pull out of the driveway, as they drive down the road, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do. He’s the only one crying, which feels wrong, but he can’t stop.
But even though Steve isn’t crying, his hands are shaking, and he’s breathing too hard, too fast, and Eddie finally reaches out to touch his arm. The road is luckily empty, but anxiety builds in his chest as Steve’s chest rises and falls and rises and falls.
“Stevie, pull over for me.”
Steve doesn’t pull over, still breathing hard, and Eddie shifts in his seat to face him, squeezing his arm.
“Steve. Pull over.”
Steve finally does, pulling over on the side of the road and putting the car in park. His hands fall to his lap, trembling, and Eddie squeezes his arm again.
He lets go to wipe his own face quickly, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to face Steve completely, reaching to take one of his hands. Steve laces their fingers, still breathing too fast.
“Stevie, baby, look at me.”
Steve inhales sharply, and he turns to look at Eddie before he exhales slowly. Eddie nods, squeezing his hand.
“There you go,” he says softly. “Need you to breathe.”
Steve closes his eyes, nodding and taking a deep breath. Eddie runs his thumb across his knuckles, waiting as he exhales slowly, pauses, then inhales again.
When his breathing is slow again, he squeezes Eddie’s hand and turns toward him. They look at each other, and both of them are crying now, their eyes filled with tears. Eddie reaches out to wipe one away when it falls down Steve’s cheek, and Steve leans forward to press their foreheads together.
“Thank you,” Eddie murmurs softly.
“For what?” Steve whispers, twisting their fingers.
“...Standing up for Wayne like that,” Eddie says, his voice breaking. “I just…”
Steve lifts his head, looking at him, and his lip quivers, and he looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know what.
“I love you,” Eddie says, his voice thick as another tear falls down his cheek. Steve blinks, and tears fall from his eyes, and Eddie wipes them away.
“...Really?” Steve asks in a small voice. Eddie nods, smiling softly.
“Yeah. Really. I really, really love you.”
Steve blinks again, his lip quivering as his eyebrows raise like he’s shocked.
“I’ve wanted to tell you for a while,” Eddie says. “I just— You stood up for Wayne like that, and—” He sobs weakly, taking a stuttering breath.
“I love you too,” Steve says quickly, reaching to hold Eddie’s face. “And I love Wayne, and I love your trailer and all your fucking mugs and your posters and your music and—”
Eddie pulls him into a kiss, squeezing his eyes shut. Steve kisses him back desperately, hands holding Eddie’s face, fingers slipping into his curls. (Which have been so much softer and smoother since Steve’s been taking care of them.) When they part, they stay close, their foreheads pressing, taking slow, deep breaths as they hold each other.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Steve says after a while, his voice soft. Eddie sighs, caressing his cheek, and Steve turns his face into it, his eyes closed. There are tears caught in his eyelashes, and wet streaks down his cheeks, and his nose is rosy, and Eddie aches with how beautiful he is. He wonders how quickly he actually fell in love with him. If it was so fast he didn’t even notice until he almost blurted it out loud without thinking.
“Come home,” Eddie whispers, stroking his cheek. “You can borrow some clothes from me and Wayne, and we can go to yours to pack a bag if we need to.”
“...Okay,” Steve breathes.
He goes home.
Wayne is in the kitchen making himself coffee and a sandwich when they finally get to the trailer, and he notices right away that something is wrong. He leaves everything on the kitchen counter as he comes closer, looking at their tear-streaked faces.
“What happened?” he asks anxiously, wiping crumbs off his hands on his legs as Eddie and Steve kick their shoes off, and Steve wordlessly crosses the room toward him and pulls him into a tight hug. Wayne hugs him back tightly, looking up at Eddie worriedly. Eddie just smiles, watching.
Steve is crying again, shaking in Wayne’s arms, and Wayne runs his hands up and down his back firmly. Eddie leans against the table by the door, watching as Wayne closes his eyes, murmuring something too quiet for Eddie to hear. But Eddie hears Steve’s response, even though his voice is muffled by Wayne’s shoulder.
“I love you, Wayne.”
Wayne’s arms tighten around him, and they sway, and Wayne runs a hand over his back and he turns his face to kiss Steve’s head.
“I love you, too, Stevie, I got you.”
It’s like he knows.
Wayne carefully wipes Steve’s tears when they finally part, nodding and whispering to him. Eddie watches. He’s crying again. Wayne holds his hand out to him when he notices, and Eddie moves forward, taking it and leaning against Steve’s back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as Steve sighs.
Wayne gets them both glasses of water and has them sit on the sofa. Eddie tells him what happened. Wayne’s eyes get glassy as he listens, looking at Steve, who’s quietly sipping his water and looking at the floor, his cheeks red like he’s embarrassed. And then Wayne is pulling him into another hug and kissing his forehead.
And he tells Steve that he’s home now. That he’s safe here. And then Steve is crying again, falling against Wayne as Eddie takes his glass and carefully sets it aside, smiling despite the tears.
Eddie and Steve stay in the living room when Wayne heads off to work after ruffling their hair and kissing their foreheads. It’s quiet when he’s gone, when they hear his car drive away. They’re sitting side by side, and the room is darker than it was when they got home because the sun’s set and nobody turned on the lights.
Eddie reaches for Steve’s hand. Their fingers lace. Steve squeezes.
He falls against Eddie after a moment, his head on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie releases his hand to wrap his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.
“My school stuff is at my parents’,” Steve says quietly, mumbling a little bit. He’s tired. Eddie can hear it in his voice, can feel it in how heavy he feels against Eddie.
“We’ll pick it up tomorrow,” Eddie says softly, running his fingers through Steve’s hair to pull it out of his face. “And we’ll get your hair stuff and clothes and everything. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not,” Steve breathes. “Just thinking.”
“...You wanna go to bed?”
“...Yeah.”
They go slowly, sleepily. Eddie brushes his teeth while Steve changes, and Steve brushes his teeth while Eddie changes. (He already has a toothbrush here, set in a cup with Eddie’s.)
He’s wearing Eddie’s boxers and a sweatshirt. He looks beautiful.
They climb into bed in the dark, seeing through touches and the sliver of moonlight, and before Eddie is even laying down, Steve is pulling him into a messy, sleepy kiss. It tastes like their mint toothpaste.
Eddie sucks on his lip, guiding Steve onto his back gently, listening to him sigh, feeling his hands dance down his spine. Eddie smiles against his mouth.
“I love you,” he whispers softly when he pulls away for a breath, and Steve hums, fingertips digging into his back.
Eddie tilts his head and kisses down his cheek and jaw before he buries his face in Steve’s neck. Steve tilts his head to give him room, sighing again.
“You want one?” Eddie asks quietly.
“Mhmm.”
Eddie smiles again, kissing his neck, and their legs entwine under the blanket as he bites down on Steve’s pulse. Steve whines weakly, pushing a hand under Eddie’s shirt to touch his skin. His hands are warm. They always are.
Right now, Steve’s fingers press into his skin as Eddie’s teeth press into his, and Eddie revels in the way his breaths come out sharper, the way he hums and swears, and when Eddie finishes, he kisses the spot softly, tenderly, before licking it to soothe it. Steve hums, wrapping his arms around Eddie tightly.
Eddie can’t see the bruise in the dark.
He’ll see it in the morning when he wakes up before him and looks down to gaze at him in the morning light, before Steve stirs and opens his arms to hug him.
The thought makes Eddie kiss him one more time, his lips landing somewhere on his cheek as they roll onto their sides slowly, and Steve hums, sighing sleepily. In the morning, Eddie will hold him, and then Wayne will come home as they’re drinking coffee. He’ll ruffle their hair and kiss their foreheads, and Steve will feel beautiful and loved, and he’ll know that he’s home.
Eddie can’t wait for the sun to rise.
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anxietylord · 5 months
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Things I did not realize: how much I miss my nasty little friends who I used to sexualize a fake crusty old man terrorist with :’)
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kekaki-cupcakes · 3 months
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Hi could you please write one where reader gets assigned as Leo's tutor cuz he's failing math so they go to his house for her to teach him math but they just end up making out instead (like, HEATED making out, like, very intensely)
I'm sorry but the Bad Boy Supreme is not failing his maths classes. So I changed it to English :] enjoy the 2.6k of golden hour! <3
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Studying no longer means student dying---Leo Valdez x Tutor!reader [making out. a lot]
»»————- ★ ————-««
You sipped your apple juice and set the cup down, watching Leo continue to rest his forehead on the textbooks spread out in front of you on the cold concrete floor that you were sprawled across to fight the summer heat. “Are you just gonna go to sleep, or?”
“Why,” he said with a voice that was definitely smirking. It made your stomach feel funny. “You tryna get into my-”
“No, I’m trying to get into your mum’s wallet, actually,” you shot back, and finished your drink, the ice clinking around the bottom of the glass. You knew you’d won the argument and just waited for Leo to remember that he actually needed to pay attention if he wanted to not fail his class instead of bugging him. 
The flock of birds in the sky around your balcony both squawked and swooped at each other, acting a lot like you both this late afternoon as Leo tried to put off studying for as long as he could and you made a new playlist as he groaned and flopped about on the pillows you’d brought in from the couch. 
You were glad you weren’t the one having to concentrate because you didn’t think you’d be able to if Leo insisted on sitting there in the light of golden hour.
“All you have to do is read this one act, and then answer a few of the questions your teacher set. Then you’re done, okay?” You said a few minutes later when Leo hadn’t moved. “It’ll take twenty minutes at most. Besides, you’re a genius.”
Leo sat up with eyes squinted against the bright and then glared at the dog eared energy drink stained paperback sitting on the piles of worksheets and your laptops. 
You glanced at the streaks beneath his eyes and then down to his hands. He had very pretty hands, only his finger-nails had been bitten down til the skin around them was red and torn. You wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand, but you just tried for a comforting smile, “you really don’t want to do this, do you?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to, I just can’t…” Leo said, staring out at the powerlines and tops of trees in front of him. He grinned and waved a hand, “anyways, I’ve got a much better id-”
“If this is another sex joke I’m pushing you off the balcony,” you said bluntly, and then let your tone soften. “Don’t just change the subject, because you can’t change your subjects. You have to do this.”
“I know!” Leo burst, his voice breaking, and then pulled his knees to his chest and screwed up his eyes, arms around his legs. “I- I’m sorry. That was loud.”
You gave him a moment to slow down his breathing and rub his face tiredly before you spoke. “If you can tell me, why do you think you can’t read?”
“I can do it, like, I’m not dumb.” he said defensively, and turned away a little, his chin on knee. “But it’s so hard to just start reading when I know that it’ll take me ages and give me a headache and I won’t get what they’re saying anyway. It’s stupid-”
You reached out and grabbed his hand at that last part, watching him whip around with a red face. “You’re not dumb, or stupid. And, Leo, not everyone’s good at everything. You’re just so math-y that you need a weakness. And it’s not your fault your brain is doing that self preservation thing, it knows that you’ll hate what you’re about to do, so it’s trying to protect you.”
Leo sniffled and nodded quickly, his little grin hidden by his arm as he hunched over. You squeezed his hand. “Don’t be mean to your brain when it’s just trying to look after you.”
“Okay… okay.” he said, and sat up, face red while he grinned harder. The sun glowed behind him like a halo and made his dark curls light up. “...Thanks.”
“All good,” you said, pretending not to notice how he didn’t stop clutching your hand. It made your chest light so you smiled at him. “Now, how about I read one character and you read the other?” 
»»————- ★ ————-««
“I brought Starbucks!”
You looked up from your laptop and pulled your headphones out of your ears, the white cords tangling round your fingers as you stuffed them into your pocket. “Hey Valdez.”
“Hey yourself,” Leo said, doing that thing with his face where he tried not to smile. It was endearing, but his smile itself was just as cute. He put the drinks down on the ground next to you and collapsed onto the cushion he’d claimed, digging through his bulky backpack full of robotics club things and pulled out a few pieces of paper stapled together. He was waving it far too happily for you to read anything so you waited for him to burst. “I got a C!”
“No way,” you breathed, and then leapt up and grabbed the paper. It was his essay response you’d helped him study for last week. He got a C. “No way! Dude, that’s amazing!”
“Who knew I could be so good at English,” he smirked, hands in the pockets of his green army jacket. Then he let out a little yelp when you pulled him into a tight hug that smelt like machinery grease and incense and his laundry detergent. 
You sat back down and let him pull out his things a minute later, sipping the drink he’d brought over once your fridge had started to complain about its empty shelves. You couldn’t help that snacks were just great for studying. And the chocolate wafers seemed to motivate Leo greatly. 
“I thought your English teacher hated you,” you said, not really knowing how that situation had gone down. You didn’t know any of his teachers really, except the principal that had contacted you first, after you’d done tutoring for a few of her other students. 
You went to the school a few blocks from Leo’s, but you’d gone to primary school together and only lived a street apart. Teachers preferred tutors from other schools, because then they knew that their students weren’t just copying each-others work. It wasn’t a very full proof plan, but you hadn’t complained when Leo had shown up with a bag over his shoulder and equally as large ones under his eyes.
It’d been a semester and they were still there, but when he grinned at you, it wasn’t fake. 
He waved his hand away, “nah, she got fired cause she started selling weed to the year twelves before their exams or something, I dunno. I got a new one, Mr Blofis, he’s kinda weird, but he’s nice. And he brings swords in sometimes.”
“Why didn’t we think of that before?” you scoffed sarcastically, moving your books away as Leo dumped a binder as thick as the dictionary in front of you both. “I should’ve brought weapons to help you concentrate.” 
“Shuddup,” Leo muttered, picking up his drink that he probably shouldn’t have considering how much caffeine was in there, but he started sculling it anyway, and handed over the new book his class was studying. 
»»————- ★ ————-««
Leo glared at you.
It wasn’t a look you were used to, so you lowered your laptop screen and raised your eyebrows. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He fumed in the doorway leading to the balcony you’d spent endless hours on together, his shoulders bunched up and his bulky backpack slipping from his grip. Then he stormed forwards and held out a sheet of paper in your face, “I found this, today.” 
“Huh?” You asked, sitting up and taking the form from him, assuming he’d failed an assignment, but then he’d be mad at himself, not you. You’d hug him and he’d complain about teachers for a little bit then you’d go inside and play Mario Kart and eat chocolate wafers that would get stuck in his teeth. 
Your eyes widened as you scanned the document. “...Right.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?!” Leo snapped, “I’ve been wasting your afternoons for ages when my tutoring was over months ago!”
You looked down at your socks and wrung your hands together while you tried to think of what to say. It was true, though. Leo’s mum had stopped paying and the school had stopped sending emails, but apparently no one had told Leo that. Including you. He stood above you, shaking with anger. 
Leo screwed his face up, “I’m not a charity case, I don’t need you to lie to me about-”
“You were never a charity case, Leo,” you interrupted before he went on a misplaced tangent as he tended to do. Then you rolled your eyes kindly. “And you never wasted my afternoons.” 
“But-”
“It was selfish,” you said bluntly, and tried for a smile. “I just really like you.”
Leo’s shoulders sank, and he blinked stupidly. “Huh?”
“I pretended you had to come over longer than you needed to so I could keep hanging out with you, but I get that I was just forcing you to do schoolwork, it was mean.” You understood that he was going to leave now, he had no fake reasons to stay and lay his legs over your lap and make stupid jokes until dinner time. 
At least he’d know he was never a charity case. “You’re getting C’s and B’s in all of you essays now, and you’ve got that grammar checker too, so the school ended the contract.”
He didn’t say anything. You sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“You really like me?”
 “That’s what you got from that?” You raised an eyebrow. Then you patted the cushion next to you and Leo plopped onto it immediately, eyes wide. Then you squinted at him. “What were you even upset about? At the end of the day, you were getting free tutoring anyway.”
Leo shrugged, “I’m sure there was a reason.”
“You’ve forgotten, haven't you.”
“But you like me?” 
“You get very fixated, don’t you?” You smiled, and turned to afternoon sun fading over the powerlines and birds flitting around. Then you opened your arm over his shoulder and hugged him. “Course I like you, Valdez. Even if you eat all my food.” 
“Not my fault you’ve got good food.”
He was incredibly close. It made you face heat up because his hair was tickling your shoulder and his fingers tapped randomly on the space between you. Maybe it’d been selfish to not tell him, but god, it was sort of worth getting to see him a few times during the week. 
Leo was just so pretty. 
He glanced at you, “what?”
“Nothing,” you answered quickly, looking away from the little spatter of freckles across his nose and the warmth of his eyes. 
Then he poked your side with a curious grin, “what?”
“Nothing!” you shot back, wiggling away from his nimble fingers that tried to tickle you as he laughed. You kicked at his legs gently to scramble back through the pillows, laughing as you did so. “Hey!”
Leo slipped and made an odd yelping sound, then he managed to crash into you. 
You rubbed your face, chuckling, at his clumsiness. You sat up. Leo stared up at you with a red face, his shaky arms holding himself up on either side of you. He gulped, eyes moving between yours quickly. 
It was at this point that you both should’ve pulled away and laughed, going back to finding snacks and laughing over nothing, but then that window passed and Leo was turner redder by the second. His eyes moved away from your eyes slowly, and you reached to slide your fingers next to his slowly.
Leo’s chest rose and fell quickly. “I, uh… I really like you too.”
“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s-”
“Yes!” 
You paused for a moment as his eyes crinkled and he grinned, ducking his head. Then you lifted his chin up a little bit and you watched his pupils visibly expand. 
“God, you’re so-” You cut yourself off, using his soft cracked lips to do so. The first thing you registered was Leo’s hands moving closer to you instantly and the way your eyes fluttered shut without warning. 
You pressed your lips to his harder and pulled back, breathless. He blinked up at you, eyes wide, and you reached out to pull him closer again, your fingers sliding along his jaw and holding his face. He scooted closer, kneeling between your legs and clutching the belt loops of your jeans while you pressed kiss after kiss to his lips.
He tilted his head and you gave him a second before you opened your mouth against his, realizing that you really were kissing the boy you’d been daydreaming about for months. Holy shit. It was better than you’d imagined, the way his breath fanned out over you when he kissed your open mouth back, tasting like strawberry gum and softness. 
When you took another breath, stealing a glance at Leo’s puffy lips and red face, but he pulled you back into the embrace, your shirt balled up in his fist. 
Teeth clashed together. You jerked back at the awful feeling and began to laugh, wiping at your mouth. “Oh my god.”
“Oh my god,” Leo choked, blinking rapidly. He looked around and a grin spread across his face. He was panting. “I’d be getting A’s if you kissed me instead of yelled, y’know.”
“I beg to differ,” you said, letting go of his jaw. Your fingernails had left little dints in his cheeks, but he didn’t look like he cared at all. You rested your hands on his waist and smirked. “I think you’d fail all your classes.”
“True,” he squeaked, breath catching.
You narrowed your eyes at him and slowly moved your hands up a little bit, fingers tracing his sides cautiously. 
You’d asked to kiss him, not pull weird sounds out of his throat and have him bury his head in your neck, but that’s what happened. As your fingers caught on the edge of his shirt, you whispered quietly to him. “Is this okay?” 
Leo just nodded frantically, his hot breath landing on the patch of skin where your neck and shoulder met. When your fingers touched his warm skin he grinned, his mouth brushing you. You felt the shiver that ran up him under the pads of your fingers, and you decided you liked it. 
He pressed his face tightly against you, hands curling around the back of your collar. 
Your chest tightened at the feeling of his lips and you dug your nails into the squishy part of Leo’s hips. It was a bad habit but it got you a firm kiss on your neck, even if it was accidental. 
Leo pulled back enough for him to look up at you, cheeks dusted with pink and lips puffy. He smiled the tiniest bit, but you could see a question in it and you answered by moving your hands to his back, rubbing circles. 
It was only at this point did you realize that he had sharp teeth, but as he chewed at your skin softly and licked it afterwards like an apology, you weren’t complaining. 
Neither was Leo, obviously. He left sore spots and his hair brushed your ear. His teeth picked you apart. You felt like rubber under his warm hands and wide grin, but then your hands traced his ribs because he’d begun sucking on a tender spot beneath your jaw. 
He insisted on leaving bruises you would have to cover up later. Maybe he’d take it as a challenge. Hopefully.
He pecked kisses along your kissed out skin until he reached your lips again. 
»»————- ★ ————-««
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hummingbird-hooligan · 11 months
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My beefy tief storm herald barbarian got challenged to a duel by another player, a gnome bladesinger wiz/fighter combo, and my boy absolutely WRECKED... Lil guy rocks up like "let's FIGHT" and my mans says "I mean... If you're sure??? I'm not gonna like... hold back... But...let's fucking go!" and did 36 damage in a turn and then a similar amount next turn... Yo rlly said "if you insist!"
he's so himbo I love him he accidentally stole a magic sword and absorbed it into his thigh and now it makes him really powerful but he then immediately passes out... and yet he's attracted a super powerful eladrin (another player character) and we're doing this slow flirt thing that's SO much fun... god I love dungeons and dragons and cool folks who aren't afraid to have fun with it
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themotherofhorses · 9 months
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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader
summary: “she’s a bastard—‘innit the truth, mother?”
warnings: explicit language. angst. much angst. nothing but angst. i cannot stress it enough.
notes: well this is rather unfortunate.
his handmaid's tales | main masterlist
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The raven arrives at nightfall, at an hour so late that only Aemond is awake to accept it. The princeling could not find sleep that night, instead rolling off the bed and crossing the chambers to his windows, before pulling back the heavy tapestries and throwing them open one by one.
The cool air is a welcoming feeling to his feverish skin, hot to the touch from hours of lovemaking under the sheets.
He stands facing the darkness, naked and at utter peace, in pure happiness. His precious girl sleeps soundly behind him, with the thick furs pulled up to her chin, hiding the most of her beneath the blankets. She is so utterly beautiful in the moonlight. It’s been three long months since his sons were born, and Aemond was beginning to hope his seed would again take. His loins ache at the thought, and he fights the sudden urge to slip in between her thighs. Perhaps she’d give him a daughter this time.
In his dreams, she wears her mother’s face, in a gown of Targaryen colors with a dragon hatchling sitting on her shoulder. She pokes him awake in the morning, and pleads for a quick ride atop Vhagar before grandmother arrives to begin her history lessons.
His daughter has his love’s eyes and smile, he thinks again, and her nose scrunches up in the same way hers does.  
I want it.
He shakes his head.
Let her rest, you fool.
When the black raven arrives at his windowpane, he is a bit confused. He waves the bird away before it could make another squawk, and stares down at the scroll taken from it, eying the blood-red ribbon tied into a pretty, tight knot around. In his head, he weighs the choices in taking it as his own. Should he…? Or should he not? His curiosity clashes with his righteousness.
Aemond decides to, in the end.
He takes the scroll to his desk, quietly lighting a small candle before taking a seat and unrolling it out to read. The writing is in pretty cursive yet smells of cheap ink, with a slight smudge staining the edge of the paper. It is addressed to his handmaid, he realizes, starting with her name that leads to a sweet congratulations on her newfound motherhood. Twins, your uncle had said. How marvelous to hear. I hope to meet them soon, my dear.
With all the love in this lifetime—your mother, Alys Rivers.
“With all the love in this lifetime,” he repeats aloud, shaking his head, refusing to believe. His fingers tighten around the letter, the tips turning a jarring white. “Your mother, Alys Rivers.”
Aemond then glares up at the woman lying in his bed, a bitter twist on his mouth. She shifts a little bit beneath his gaze, but remains relaxed and asleep and blissfully ignorant of the rising anger sparking deep inside him.
Who is she? For the first time since he met her, he asks himself that.
He should’ve suspected this.
“A bastard, Lord Beesbury, mothered by the daughter of a milk cow.”  
Aemond turns away from her, back to the darkness outside.
Her mother is a bastard rivers woman, it seems. At least that is how it reads. Alys Rivers. She carries no man’s last name in her letter. What is her daughter, if not the same as her? He picks at his mind, trying to remember if she ever mentioned her father. Aemond returns to staring up at the moon and the white stars blinking high above in the midnight sky.
He suddenly feels no desire to return to bed with her tonight.
But she is the mother of your children, his mind argues, and it leaves him irritated.
She’s given him two heirs, his first-born children, beautiful twin boys that are mirrors to their own father, himself. And the daughter he’s dreamt of…But…they’re bastards too, he then reminds himself. You love them the same way you love her, do not lie to yourself. It was not enough to ease his thoughts, and reason with him, and stop the ugly bitterness from rising in his throat.
Damn her.
Aemond stuffs the letter inside one of the desk drawers, not wishing to lay eyes on it again. Maybe he’ll burn it later in the day. He then shrugs on his robe, tying it around his waist, before leaving the room. She’ll wake up in the morning, and search for his hand buried within the sheets. When she realizes she is alone in the bed, he knows she will pout before readying to tend to her babies, like the mother he’s made her into.
Damn her.
Then she will move on to her responsibilities, like the silly, dumb handmaid she is.
Damn her.
That is all she should’ve remained, Aemond thinks, curiously calm as he strides down the hallway. He doesn’t know where he is going, but he knows he will not return this night. Bastards never amount to anything else.  
Aemond hasn’t spoken to her in three days, dismissing his handmaid from his bedchamber before he retires for the evening. She no longer fetches his hot baths or crawls beneath the blankets with him. He hasn’t allowed it. He avoids the nursey too, where he knows his twin sons sleep in their cots, too young to notice their father’s absence. Aemond walks the halls of the Red Keep, as he has walked a thousand times before, but disregards all the rooms where he knows her presence painfully lingers.
She does not fight nor question him. He knows she won’t.
“Aemond.”
He hears her voice in his slumber, always- sometimes in a breathless whisper, and most times in a scream, or a whimper, or an anguished howl. She always manages to find him, following him into his dreams and nightmares and antagonizing him into insanity. Her shadow stands over his bed. And around her neck dangles the sapphire necklace, while her pretty eyes weep both tears and blood.
“Aemond, please!” she cries, bawling up the sides of her dress in her fist. The plain cloth is stained in dried blood, splashed across her belly and thighs. “Aemond, please, I need you, husband!”
“AEMOND.”
This time tonight, it causes Aemond Targaryen to jerk upright, pulled from a horrible nightmare that still clouds his thoughts. The sheets are tangled between his fingers, and his heart is heaving heavily within his breast. He hears her voice echoing, begging for her husband. “Aemond.” His attention quickly darts to the door, where his mother stands, tall and regal and noticeably pissed. She calls his name again loudly. Although still groggy, he stumbles his way towards her.  
His mother does not greet him. Instead, her brown eyes remain on his empty bed, skimming across the sheets and the way the heavy fur blanket nearly hangs off the foot of his bed. He must’ve kicked it off him during his sleep.
She frowns at the sight, before looking back at him.
“So it is true, then.”
Aemond rubs at his eye, tilting his head in confusion. “What is true, mother?”
“That she hasn’t been seen in your room for the past three days; instead, she’s returned to her old room across the castle, where the other maids sleep. Three days, and three nights.” His mother spoke in anger, yet her face remained a mask that betrayed nothing. It is one thing he greatly admired about her, in the same way it terrified him the most. “And you haven’t visited your sons as well, I’m told.”
He flushes. “I’ve been busy,” he grumbles, shifting on his bare feet. “I’ll see them tomorrow, in the morning after we break fast together.”
“Tomorrow? You’ll see them tomorrow? AEMOND!” she shouts, incredulous. Her hair hangs loosely around her face, and she pushes a thick strand behind her right ear. “You wanted these babies so badly, and yet you are beginning to neglect them before their second nameday. Have you lost all fucking sense?!”
Aemond bites his tongue in an attempt to keep his own temper from flaring up in response to her yelling. He says nothing in return, which he knows only upsets his mother further.
“What has happened, Aemond?” she asks. “This is unlike you. You love those boys, and that girl too.”
“Nothing,” he says, a bit too quickly. “Nothing has happened. I’ve simply been too busy to play anymore games with her.”
“Games? Games?! That is all shit,” his mother blazes. “Utter shit. Do not begin to take me as a fucking fool, Aemond. I am not your father, and I am not your brother, and eldest sister either. Now you tell me, boy, what has happened.”
Aemond sighs. “She’s a bastard—‘innit the truth, mother?” He meets her eyes and feels his poor heart sinking at the silent shock that instantly falls across her features and the way she makes no move to deny it. “A bastard.” Saying it aloud, it makes him wish to return to his bed, and curl up in his sheets, completely hidden from this cruel world that damned him to fall in love with a stupid bastard girl. “A damn, no good, bastard girl from Harrehnal—”
But he is then cut off by a sharp backhand blow to the side of his face that quickly sends him stumbling two steps back, almost falling hard against the wall. Aemond holds his cheek, breath hitching as he brushes a tender finger against the already reddening skin that he knows will surely show a dark bruise on the morrow. It feels hot, and it stings. He looks up at his mother, who has never hit him before.
“How dare you speak of her in such a way,” she spits, purpled with rage. Her hand twitches at her side, as if she itches to slap him again. He deserves it, he thinks. “HOW DARE YOU. She is the mother of your children, and you dare behold her with such loathing venom?”
“AND YOU DID NOT THINK TO TELL ME BEFOREHAND?” he shouts back, half hurt from the realization that she watched him fall smitten with the bastard, and never thought to tell him the truth. “She is the cousin of those bastards that took my eye, their own blood!”
“And? It is the truth, yes, that she is a riverlands bastard, born to a woman at Harrenhal. Lord Larys is her true uncle, who brought her to us at my request. But damn you, Aemond, that girl is so fucking in love with you.”
All his words fall stuck in his throat, and he fails to push them out.
“Have you nothing more to say?”
His queen mother sniffs when he says nothing, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. Perhaps it is best she drinks the moon tea, lest she gives you another child that you won’t love nor appreciate because of its mother’s unfortunate bastardy.” Aemond remains silent, and her mouth drops into another scowl. “You lied to me when you promised that you would never be your father or Aegon.”
I am not, he wants to scream out. His knees buckle in weakness at her cruel words, and the sheer disappointment laced within them. It hurts worse than her slap.
I love her so much, I swear, and my boys too. I love anything she gives me, and I promise…I promise…I promise…
“You, Aemond, carry their eyes and hair and nose, everyone can see. But I know the truth now—you carry their pig attitude as well,” she remarks, pushing herself toward him. “I’ll send her back to her mother, I promise, and find another handmaid for you, one that is to your liking.”  
She says not another word, instead turning to the houseguard that had accompanied her to his hall. “I’m tired. Please help me back to my bedchamber,” she asks, pressing her fingertips against his temple. “I would appreciate such, my good knight.”
His mother leaves him silent and still, sad and scared and helpless and heartbroken, staring down at his toes as they grow damp from his tears.
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taglist for everything aemond: @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @moonteas @chompchompluke
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oneforthemunny · 6 months
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lazy mornings with mafia!eddie when he doesn't have to work or it's not as pressing and the two of you can be together <3 (also i know it's me lol, just using this as an example lol & bc i had the idea)
Eddie's arm was heavy over your back, the sun peeking through the heavy curtains, a sliver of light that made it's way through and right into your eyes.
The dogs lined the bed, ears down and resting, their chorus of snores rivaling their master's, who was currently drooling in your hair. Open mouth, loud snores pressed into your hair, tattooed hands wrapped around your torso.
"Ed," You groaned, voice groggy with sleep, fist rubbing at your bleared vision. The alarm clock on your side shone bright, red numbers- ten-eleven. It was early for you, late for Eddie, who was usually gone by now. Off to whatever horrifying things await him that he wouldn't tell you about. You didn't want to know anyways.
"Ed," Your voice cracked, feigning on the edge of a whine that had Hades and Lucifer perking up. The most protective of you out of the bunch, especially your baby, Lucy.
Eddie smacked his lips together, brows creasing at the disturbance, his eyes still closed. You hated to wake him up- he needed the sleep, you knew that. It was rare Eddie got a full eight hours- a full six, most of the time. But his arm was a steel gate over you, trapping you from moving.
You shimmied out of his touch, moving his arm as gently as you could, watching as he settled into the warmth your body left behind. Your heart swelled, his curls wilds and bed-messed, cheek smushed to his own silk pillow.
"C'mon," You whispered softly to the dogs, padding across the plush red carpet, walking into your slippers, and snaking Eddie's leather jacket off the bench in front of the bed. The four boys followed expertly, scrambling down the sun drenched marble stairs, bright with the light of the morning.
Eddie's jacket was warm, and you were thankful now the air cool now that the leaves were changing colors. The grass still wet when the dogs scampered out into it, doing their business in the newly renovated garden.
It was quiet, serene even with the looming skies. The chirping of song birds was replaced with crows squawking. "C'mon, boys." You cooed, stepping back to the back door. "Good boys." You hummed, your hand passing over their heads in a soft pat while they filed into the kitchen.
Dog food scooped into bowls, their water filled while they waited, sitting at attention, eyes trained on you expertly until you nodded at them to go. You started the coffee, some gourmet blend Eddie had imported from a Parisian cafe because you told him you liked it once. You insisted he didn't have to go to that trouble, that you'd be find with Folgers or whatever was at Melvald's, but he did it anyways for you.
Heavy steps fell down the marble, quicker than you expected for someone who just woke up. "Morning." You muttered, not bothering to turn around. You knew it was Eddie.
"Morning, baby." Eddie hummed, his voice still gravely with sleep, pillowy lips pressing a warm kiss to your cheek. "Wondered where you went."
"I let the boys out." You move in his arms, your arms settling around his waist, hands smoothing down the soft fabric of some band tee- one you usually stole when Eddie was working long nights. "Decided to make coffee. Was gonna bring it up to you." You frowned at him lightly.
Eddie grinned, lopsided and sleepy. "We can go back up. Just wanted to see where you went."
"Thought I was sneakin' out on ya, hm?" You grin teasingly, his hands tightening on your waist.
"Never." Eddie said firmly, eyes holding yours, curls bobbing when he shook his head. His lips brushed over yours, noses brushing, your arms making their way up his arms. "Just making sure you're alright. You know I can't sleep with out you."
You blushed, a heat burning from your chest, spilling up your neck and cheeks. "I know." You mutter, tilting your chin up to him. "S'you're staying home today?"
"Yeah." Eddie hummed, his breath ticking your lip. "Gare and Max are checking out the warehouse by the quarry, but I," His lips were on yours, a soft peck to the corner of your mouth that had your hear soaring. "Am all yours for today."
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lethalchiralium · 1 year
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Imagine It | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader
a/n: i have an itch i need to scratch and that is simon being happy. thanks
warnings: mentions of babies, mentions of simon’s kids winnie and mellie, mentions of simon’s past a little
summary: It was just a nice afternoon, your husband’s brothers in arms trying to name your imaginary baby for you.
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“Rhia?”
“Write it down.” You answered, wiping baby food off of your finger onto a paper towel. Mellie giggled in her high chair, watching you as you brought Simon the little glass jar of mashed bananas.
Soap scribbled the name down on the piece of paper, sitting next to Winnie at the dinner table. The little girl was drawing on Gaz’s arm with a Sharpie, you just didn’t have the heart to tell him that.
“I like Ava.” Gaz piped up, looking up from his crossword puzzle. Soap looked to his friend then to you, you shook your head.
“Had an Ava in middle school who stole my hair tie and cut it into pieces, and kept doing it until junior year of high school.” You moved back to the fridge, opening it and looking into it. “We don’t have that much food, boys.”
“Ye kept a grudge this long?”
You looked over the fridge door at Soap, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Sort of. My brother handled it by getting her expelled.” You closed the fridge, walking back towards your dinner table and pulling a chair from it. You settled yourself beside Simon as he fed Mellie her mushed bananas, her little head trying to get a peak at Price at the head of the table. But, of course, he was completely disguised by the newspaper he held up, just like a grandfather. “More suggestions?”
Soap looked down at the list of names he had printed and brought, shoving the paper past Winnie and to Gaz, the man put down his pencil and took the packet in his hand while giving the Scot a side-eye.
“Just going to roll them off.”
You looked to Simon, the unmasked man glanced at you with a nervous glare. You looked to your left and spoke gently, “Make sure they’re not stupid ones. We’ll say yes or no.”
“Lila.”
“No.”
“Penelope.”
“No.”
“We’re talkin’ to yer wife, buddy.” Soap commented, Ghost had rejected the names while you just smiled at your husband. His eyes were still on his daughter, the little baby’s gaze now on her father.
“We’re not even having a baby anytime soon.” The Lieutenant commented, you nodded.
Soap shrugged, Gaz scoffed. “We get to name the next one - this is a meeting, for your information.” The Brit looked down at Winnie, she was still focused on whatever she was drawing on his arm.
“Oh, so you lot get to name my baby?” You laughed a little. “Absolutely not.”
“Well, Mellie’s my godbaby!” Soap whined. “Gaz’s gotta have one too!”
“He’s right, I’ve got to have a godchild too.” Gaz declared, Winnie switched markers from black to blue, beginning to color in some of her drawings. “This one’s Price’s.”
“I’m not popping out kids for each of you to have if we both die.” Your voice was loud and declarative, Soap and Gaz shut their mouths. “What if these are the only two we have? You gonna go to court and get joint custody?”
“Leave the lady alone, muppets.” Price’s voice echoed through the kitchen, he flipped the page in his newspaper.
Soap turned to Gaz, a mischievous smile on his face. “We shuid git married sae we have joint custody.”
You burst out laughing, hand flying to your mouth as Gaz squawked like a bird. Simon glanced at you before staring at Soap, who was cackling and saying , “Wh-What?! ’m right!”
“They’ll be adults before I die anyway.” Your husband commented, before turning back to Mellie - her little hand was reaching for the spoonful of banana he had in his hand. He moved the spoon towards her hand, her fingers curled around the plastic as her father commented, “Last time I checked, my girls’ godfather is Price.”
“They’ll all raise ‘em together anyway,” You then looked back to Gaz and Soap. “Won’t you, boys?”
“Yes ma’am.” Both soldiers nodded, now looking away and interested in Winnie’s art.
Soap began to chuckle as he grabbed her black marker. “Ye'r gonnae hae her art oan yer arm forever, buddy.” He held up the Sharpie in Gaz’s face, whose face paled. He looked down at the marker she was coloring her drawings on his arm in, seeing that it was washable before staring at you.
“You gave her the marker!”
You shrugged, nudging your foot on Simon’s calf. He glanced at you before he took the spoon away from your baby, she made a noise of annoyance and tried to reach for it again. The eight month old let out a whine, tears bubbling up in her eyes but he was quick to hand her the spoonful of banana again. Mellie giggled, taking the spoon from his hand as he said, “Thank you.”
“You gotta name for ‘em, Price?” Soap asked, yanking his list of names from Gaz and grabbing the Sharpie.
Price hummed from behind his newspaper. “Yeah, my mum’s name. Used to be a volunteer at the women’s shelter, used to help troubled kids.” He flipped the page. “Her name was Lyra.”
Your eyes shot to Simon, who looked like a fish out of water for just a moment. His eyes narrowed just a little as he went to wipe away some food from Mellie’s cheek with a wipe. The baby babbled a little, trying to grab his hand and chew on it.
You saw Price’s eyes over the newspaper, the little crinkle of eyebrows told you all you needed.
Simon knew Price’s mom from when he was a kid, at the woman’s shelter Simon’s mom went to several times. He must have been one of those ‘troubled teens’. Your hand went to Simon’s knee, giving it a squeeze before looking back at Price, who had disappeared behind his newspaper again.
“Mumma,” Winnie spoke from beside Gaz, looking over to you.
“Yeah, honey?”
“Can I color on Uncle Soap?” Her hazel eyes were big, she looked as if she was going to pop her lip out to beg. You smirked and pointed to Soap, who had a big smile on his face.
“You need to ask Uncle Soap. Did you ask Uncle Gaz if he liked your art?” You nodded towards Gaz, who stared at the Sharpie in Soap’s hand until Winnie looked up at him.
She quietly asked him if he liked his new art, he smiled and said, “Love it. I’ll keep ‘em forever.”
The girl squealed in delight before looking back at Soap, blue marker in her hand. “Uncle Soap, can I pretty please draw on your arm?”
Soap jutted out his arm, letting the little girl grab it with one hand and immediately began to scribble. Soap’s smile got even bigger as he watched the little artist, you looked back at Simon. He settled the small glass jar on the table beside Soap’s packet, moving to wipe off Mellie’s face as she chewed on her spoon.
Your arms went around Simon’s bicep, moving to rest your cheek into his shoulder to gaze at your baby. You do want another one, but it’s up to your husband - another little girl that smiles just as wide as her sisters, or a boy that loves to play firefighter with his sisters.
You pressed a kiss to your husband’s shoulder before looking at the rest of your family at the dinner table, holding your husband just a little closer. He pressed a kiss to your head before trying to take back the spoon from his daughter, who almost started screaming bloody murder.
———
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