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hecateslore · 12 days

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supervisor!Simon

You and Simon sit in his office, anxious through the roof waiting for your guy’s manager to come in. You could hear the shuffling noises coming from under Simon's desk from his knee bouncing. “This is so fucking stupid.” Simon mumbled. You were fighting back tears from anxiety, the thought of losing your job, having nowhere to go if you do. You let out a very big sigh, trying to ease your nerves.

Your Manager Garrett (had to look up random names lmfaooo) walks in, Smiling politely at both of you, “Simon,” He says, giving him a handshake, “hi,” He looks over to you, reaching a hand out, you both introduce yourselves. “I have lovely news this morning,” He chuckles, pulling his laptop out from his bag. Your stomach starts to turn watching him type his password in. You look at Simon and he’s looking at his manager, his hand covering his mouth.

“One second,” Garrett clears his throat while he types away. After what feels like hours he finishes, you shift in your seat not knowing if it's the morning sickness or if it's unknowing of how this “meeting” will go. “Okay,” He breathes, “So the lovely news!” He looks between you two, “An anonymous complaint came in,” He clears his throat again, the action making you want to flip over a desk. “To paraphrase, you two are in a relationship and have been for months and now you’re pregnant.” He looks over to you, “I find it hard to believe personally,” He moves his gaze to Simon and Simon nods in agreement. “But I have to address these things before it’s in Hr’s hands, fair?”

Simon nods again and makes eye contact with you, “So anything? Anyone?” Garrett puts his hands up, “Well she’s pregnant,” Simon says. You look at him with wide eyes hoping Garrett wouldn’t see. Places his hand on the table making a small calm down gesture while Garrett looks back at his screen. You and Simon make eye contact, you take a deep breath calming yourself for what feels like the hundredth time this morning. “Congratulations.” He says quickly, you say a small thank you, “We talked about it a few weeks ago, just about absences and other things.”

“Other things,like?” He urges, “Maternity leave, telecommuting,her schedule going forward .” He lies with ease. You felt sick, having to play pretend while you carry his child, acting as if you two never knew each other in that way. . Garrett nods, “She also did quit before,” He adds.“It’s ridiculous,” Simon shrugs,” I hear you,” Garrett chuckles,“You know what protocol is, and I don’t want to lose my job.” He jokes, Simon lets out a small laugh, making small conversation to make up for the lack of yours.

After signing some paperwork, you went back to your desk, that icky feeling still in your chest. You look over your shoulder and see Simon sitting at the back of the office. You pull your phone out thinking about texting him, you then set it back down.

You wanted to believe it was Linda who snitched you off but that wouldn’t match because no one other than You, Simon and Johnny know. You were getting bigger, the bump a lot more noticeable if you wore fitted blouses. You started typing on your computer, still bothered, but it felt different like there was dread now mixed in.

Johnny walked around, maybe on his lunch break, while you sat there listening to your music. Catching yourself staring at him you turn the volume up, and try your best to do your work. The thoughts from weeks ago came up, what if you do lose your job. Having to play a stranger wasn’t helping either, You know Johnny’s clinging onto your confession and to his hatred for simon.

But was it really hatred? The more you think you notice his pattern of obsession, like there was some kind of “get back” he’s hinting at. Maybe there wasn’t one, maybe you are too in your mind about the situation. Sometimes Simon would get handsy, rubbing your shoulders, lunch, leaving at the same time, joking around, going to his office every other day for no reason at all. The signs were definitely there.

The next few days are quiet, you spend some of them alone in your apartment while Simon does his “sorting out”. The more you spend, you like it. You also get a break from him you’re together almost everyday, sometimes you go home together. And as glorious as it sounds to work with someone you’re growing to love, it’s overwhelming and you're starting to have a weird taste in your mouth about it.

“Hi there.” Johnny smiles as he walks up to your desk. “You’re glowing.” He compliments you, “Thanks.” You mumble crossing out names on the printed spreadsheet. “How many times have you heard that one?” He chuckles, “One too many.” You answer. “You do look beautiful though.” He says sincerely. “Didn’t look beautiful before?” You joke, some truth behind it. That would’ve been something nice to hear when you went on the “date” with him, but like he said before it was just dinner.. And It was just good.

Johnny’s quiet, “I was joking, Johnny.” You clarify. He awkwardly laughs and scratches his scruff, “So how far are you?” he asks, leaning over your desk, “Three months,” You nod, “woah.”

“Woah indeed.” You chuckle, grabbing the bright yellow folder on your desk. “So maternity leave, that’s happening?” he cocks a brow. “Telecommuting and then I'm off.” You confirm, “It’s gonna be sad to see you gone.” He smiles, “I bet.” You say sarcastically. If it was anyone else, it would be genuine, but it’s coming from Johnny’s mouth. “I have to get back to this.” You lift the folder, and he nods and goes back on his way.

You weren’t busy, you actually were dragging your work out. Trying to avoid conversation from those around you. Trying to avoid Simon, trying to avoid Linda, Victor, yourself, your thoughts. Trying to avoid it all, not wanting to hear anything, not wanting to be anywhere.

Thursday you come in with a massive headache, still adjusting to the growing human and its father (exactly, exactly..).

“Look at that bump.” Linda gushes, “That’s a big baby,” She places her hand on your stomach. You take it off swiftly, “Thanks,” You dismiss her and her hands. “Have you seen Simon?” You ask, hands filled with paperwork from the doctor for your new schedule. “He’s in the break room.” She smiles oblivious. You nod and walk over to the lounge room, noticing Simon and Johnny. Johnny who buzzes past you, avoiding eye contact. You look at Simon who’s very pissed, his nostrils flared a bit and his brows furrowed deeply. “I have paperwork.” You raise the stack, he nods walking past you to his office.

When you get settled you both go over the paperwork, “what’s wrong?” You ask, looking him over, He’s slouching in his seat while typing away, a disgusted look on his face. “‘M fine.” He mutters. “Give me the paper,” He sighs, reaching out with an open hand. “Is it Johnny?” You press, “It’s nothing.” He flips through the paperwork. “It doesn’t look like nothing.” You cross your arms adjusting in your seat.

“I’m not arguing.” He mumbles into his hand, “I’m not trying to argue, I’m asking what’s wrong.” you correct him, his attitude rubbing off on you. “Is that what It sounds like? I’m arguing?” You press the matter even further. “I didn’t say that you were,” Simon sighs again, “I said I’m not arguing.”

“So what does that mean?” You say annoyed, confused. “It means whatever you want it to mean.” He shrugs. You blow a raspberry, “Simon I’m really not in the mood to play detective.” You blink, “what do you want me to say?” Simon finally looks up from his screen, “I don’t know tell me how you feel?”

“I’m annoyed.” Simon smiled sarcastically and it made you roll your eyes. Simon kissed his teeth, “I told you how I feel now you don’t like it.” Simon looks back down at the screen, You both sit there in silence for a bit, giving him bits and pieces of information you forgot to put on paper.

“We’re done.” Simon announces, snapping you out of your daydream. “You can have this back.” He hands you the paperwork, “You look pretty.” He states, You give him a sarcastic smile. He gets up from his chair, stretching and takes a couple steps towards you, wrapping his large arms around your shoulders. You inhale his cologne, and close your eyes for a little bit. “Sorry I’m being an ass.” He rocks you side to side. “No you’re not.” you mumble into his chest. He lets out a laugh, his chest vibrating, “I’ll let you go do whatever it is that you have to do.” He pulls away his hands on your shoulder.

It was the last week of working at the office before you start telecommuting. Your stomach was getting larger and larger with each week that passed. That Friday, your coworkers decided to throw you a going away baby shower. Of course you didn’t want it but they just kept persisting. So there you were sitting with a ribbon wrapped around your belly, holding a cup of mineral water.

“How long do you think the belly is?” Lina walked beside you shoving you in everyone’s face (not literally lmfao). “How big is she johnny?” She howled in laughter, “not too big,” He winked, making you cringe internally.

On the other side of the office, Simon sat on the empty desk watching you be passed around, wishing the party was already over so he could take you home. Simon hadn’t spoken to Johnny since the little break room incident, and didn’t plan on speaking to him ever again. That’s until he saw him participating in the game, placing his hand on your stomach while showering you in cheap compliments. Simon hopped off the desk and walked towards the two of you.

“You want to play?” Linda holds the roll of string in front of his face, “What do I do?” He looks at you, “yeesh.” Johnny chuckles, Simon's eyes snap over to johnny. “You guess the size of my belly with the ribbon.” You say, “Want to?” Linda shakes it. He shrugs and takes the ribbon, staring at your stomach extra hard with so much focus. “I’m gonna win,” Johnny announces to you, and you fake a laugh. Simon lets out a grunt, and then snips the ribbon.

“Everyone’s got their piece?” Linda yells, and everyone says yes in unison. “Who’s first?” She asks, and some of the ladies in the front go, then victor, then the security guard whose name you never caught. Then it was Johnny, he reached around you wrapping the ribbon around your waist, it was too big. “Overestimating is better than under, right?” Linda laughs. Johnny does a fake frown at his estimation and you do another fake laugh. It was Simon's turn, “I might be off.” He chuckles, doing the same action, “You better not be.” You mumble so only he can hear. Only for him to surprise himself when he gets it, along with one of the ladies from the front.

Once the “party” is over with, you help cleanup and get told to sit down many times. You sit in Victor's spinny chair and rub your belly watching Linda and Simon pick up loose trash, wrapping paper and baby bottles. “Are you tired?” Johnny appears at your side, “A little,” You say, “I don’t sleep that much already.” You chuckle, looking down at your stomach.

You keep your eyes on Simon who’s holding the trash bag for Linda, because apparently he doesn’t pick up quick enough. You can hear him saying you missed one, over and over again while Linda picks up each piece. His laugh draws hers out when she realizes there’s nothing left on the floor. His smile is bright, causing one to form one of your own (GET UP).

You didn’t even notice Johnny was still next to you, “You okay?” He asks, “Mhm.” You hum. “I wanted to tell you congratulations earlier.” He sits on the desk, blocking your view, exactly how simons does when it’s just you two in his office. “Thank you,” You nod, plucking the glitter out of your sweatshirt. Simon walks up to the two of you glitter all over his hair and on his shoulders some in his eyebrows stuck to his cheeks, “what happened to you?” You laugh, your eyes glowing with love the second he appears. Johnny watches you two interact quietly, “Me and Linda had an accident,” He closes one eye trying not to catch the glitter in his eye.

“You look like a fairy,” You tease, Linda comes around the corner, “I’m gonna head out, Congratulations.” She smiles at you, bending to give you a hug, and then wipes off Simon’s shoulder throwing more glitter on the floor. “Thank you, Linda,” he jokes, making her giggle, “See you monday.” She intones, “bye bye Johnny.” She places a hand on his shoulder then walks out.

You and Simon look at each other and grin, Trying to speak to each other with your eyes. Johnny is still there, “Picked any names?” Johnny interrupts whatever weird gazes are going on between you two. “No, Not yet.” You sigh, over the conversation that barely started. “I always wanted to name a daughter of mine, Eloise..” Johnny mentions. “Shame it’s not your kid.” Simon wipes his nose.

“Shame it’s yours.” Johnny quick with the comeback. “It’s a shame you shot me,” Simon drops it so casually, “I didn’t shoot you,” Johnny defends himself, “well it was just us in there and I think I would know.” SImon squints his eyes. “Of course you would think that, because everyone’s after Simon.” He mocks him, “Exactly like you are.” Simon nods.

“You shouldn’t have been in that room,” Johnny over enunciated, “I told you it wasn’t clear,” He gets louder, “You knew I would’ve let that bullet go right through me if it was you who was standing there.” he bellowed. Johnny stayed quiet for a moment not looking at the man yelling before him, “When I woke up you were gone.” Simon pauses, “and then you didn’t return any of my calls.”

You sit there between them, watching Simon's demeanor change completely, like a little boy begging for his only friend to stay, “Who was I supposed to call Johnny?” He looks at the blue eyed man, who’s eyes were glued to the desk across from you all. “ I don’t have a family, So who was it?” He pushes, Johnny still says nothing, Simon nods, disgust rushing over his face.

“You know what’s sick,” Simon points out, “I still think we’re like before.” He admits his tone harsh, like he’s repulsed with himself, “You won’t ever have to speak to me again, Johnny.” He spits.

“I want you out of this office, away from me and away from her” he points to you.

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masqueradereveler21 · 14 days

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Hogwarts Legacy Character Sheet - Gwendolen Hedera

General Information

Full Name: Gwendolen Hedera

Nicknames: Gwen, Wendy, The Hero of Hogwarts, The New Fifth Year

Gender: Female

Date of Birth: April 26th, 1875

Zodiac Sign: Taurus

Personality Type (MBTI): INTJ - The Architect

Species: Human

Blood Status: Unregistered

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Nationality: British

House: Slytherin

Wand: Fir wood with a phoenix feather core, 11 3/4”, rigid flexibility

Patronus: Stoat

Boggart: The mutilated corpse of Professor Fig

Amortentia: Bread pudding, wax candles, old books, fresh linen

Physical Appearance

Hair Colour & Style: Black; occasionally wears down but is most often seen sporting it braided or in a ponytail.

Eye Colour: Grey

Skin Tone: Olive with neutral undertones

Height: 167cm (5’6”)

Weight: 55kg (121 lbs)

Clothing Style: Neat and presentable; favors skirts, ruffled blouses, vests, and heeled boots. Almost never wears her robes.

Accessories: Black painted finger nails. A necklace gifted to her from Natty.

Personality

Positive Traits: Adaptable, determined, loyal, resilient, compassionate, curious, diligent

Neutral Traits: Independent, reserved, ambitious, rational, observant, competitive

Negative Traits: Arrogant, cunning, stubborn, sarcastic, defiant

Strengths: Capable of thinking outside the box and extremely quick-witted

Weaknesses: Thinks she knows what’s best and struggles to let people in

Likes: Cats, Summoner’s Court, Quidditch, organization, leadership, exploring the highlands, reading

Dislikes: Spiders, Gobstone’s, dugbogs, failure, meat, laziness, clutter

Background and Family

Gwendolen Hedera was born on April 26th, 1875, in East London to parents of unknown wizarding heritage. At the age of five, Gwendolen was in a carriage incident which tragically took her parents lives and left her with amnesia. She was ultimately raised at Mission of Love, a Muggle orphanage where she was subjected to mental, verbal, and occasionally physical abuse. Once she grew older, she was shuffled from household to household and learned that in order to get what she wanted she had to manipulate the people around her. She earned a fair education living amongst some of the wealthier families in London but never had the one thing she truly wanted - familial love. When she was fifteen, Gwendolen found herself whisked away from the orphanage by Professor Eleazar Fig, never to be seen again.

After Professor Fig’s death, she found herself under the guardianship of Matilda Weasley, Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration professor. It took some convincing from Ominis for her to accept the offer, and she kept herself at arms length around Professor Weasley, secretly fearing that she would abandon her when things became too difficult. During the summer between her fifth and sixth year, she met the rest of the Weasley clan and grew closer to Garreth Weasley, who she begrudgingly helped with his experiments. With time, she came to view Professor Weasley in a maternal light (the feeling was mutual on Matilda’s part).

Biological Father: Unknown (Deceased)

Biological Mother: Unknown (Deceased)

Guardian/Adoptive Parent: Matilda Weasley

Adoptive Uncles: Graham Weasley, Phillip Weasley

Adoptive Aunts: Dorothy Weasley (née Button), Lydia Weasley (née Hawthorne)

Adoptive Cousins: Theodore Weasley, Oscar Weasley, Garreth Weasley, Florence Weasley, Millicent Weasley, Francis Weasley, Edmund Weasley

Relationships

Love Interest: Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow…ehhh it’s complicated…

Best Friends: Natsai Onai, Poppy Sweeting, Garreth Weasley, Imelda Reyes, Amit Thakkar

Acquaintances: Nerida Roberts, Grace Pinch-Smedley, Lucan Brattleby, Isaac Cooper, Adelaide Oakes

Rivals: Leander Prewett, Charlotte Morrison, Samantha Dale

Enemies: Ranrok, Victor Rookwood, Theophilus Harlow, Ashwinders, Cassius Caine (OC), Elspeth Iris (OC)

Pets: Vivarium beasts, eleven cats, a barn owl named Minerva

• Artwork done by the incredible @millyillus •

#gwendolen hedera #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #natsai onai #poppy sweeting #garreth weasley #amit thakkar #imelda reyes #matilda weasley #hogwarts legacy mc #slytherin #slytherin mc #hphl mc #hogwarts legacy oc #the girl with the resting bitch face #character sheet

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zepskies · 12 hours

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Calculated Risks

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: You and Ben argue about your commitment to being a working mom. When a rogue supe gets loose at Supe Affairs, mayhem ensues, putting not only your life at risk, but your daughter’s as well.

AN: Welcome back to the BMD-verse, friends! Did you miss these two as much as I did? Plus, get ready for a heavy dose of fan-favorite Frank. (And Lila, of course!)

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: Familiar bickering, a mission gone awry, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Catch up on the BMD-verse. ⤵️

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

In four years of marriage, one thing that had never changed between you and Ben was this.

“All right, you’re being a little too much right now,” you said in irritation. “Of course I’m not sitting this one out. I’m the one who found us the damn lead in the first place.”

The man was following you from the adjoining bathroom and back into your shared bedroom, where you began getting dressed for work in the blouse and pencil skirt you’d laid out for yourself.

Your husband had already donned his supe suit, sans helmet. He stood just behind you with his arms crossed, a familiar surly frown on his face. When you turned around, he hadn’t moved an inch.

“I’m being too much? You’re the one who’s not being fucking reasonable,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and moved past him to find your shoes. For this skirt, you really needed heels. Your most comfortable black pumps would do. You grabbed the closet doorknob for balance as you slipped them on, giving him a look of exasperation.

Ben held firm on his stance, but inside, he had a feeling you’d chosen this outfit on purpose. You knew he liked this whole sexcretary look on you, with your hair let down around your shoulders. The skirt and heels just brought his eyes to the delectable curve of your ass.

But again, he was holding firm.

He’d been called in on this case partly because Annie was on maternity leave. She was due in just a few weeks. Which meant “Soldier Boy” was definitely needed to help out Butcher and his merry band of assholes. By now, Ben had gotten used to them.

“Look,” you said, “Slingshot has been causing a lot of havoc, and the police haven’t been able to catch him. You heard Grace. This is an ‘all hands on deck’ situation.”

“She always says that shit. Doesn’t make it true,” Ben retorted.

“This time it is,” you said. “I’ve already put in tons of man hours on surveillance for this guy. I want to get him off the street.”

Ben held you by your arms. “That’s exactly my point. You’ve been putting in way too many hours.”

You shook your head. He just didn’t get it.

“If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have this opening now,” you said. You gave him a smile to try and lighten him. “Now he’s all teed up for you and the guys. This should be in and out. Practically a milk run for you.”

“Yeah, but not for you,” he pointed out. “And not for Lila. You’re stretching yourself too damn thin. It’s not like we need the money.”

Ahh, now we get to it, you thought. Yet again, he was bringing this up. In his mind, you should’ve cut your hours at Supe Affairs after Lila was born.

You did take an extended maternity leave of an entire year and a half, which was much more than women usually got from their jobs. However, because of your relationship with Grace and the entire team, you’d been allowed to come back whenever you felt ready.

Ben had often felt it necessary to point out that with his money, you didn’t have to work at all.

He knew very well that for you, this work was more than a job.

“I’m not the first working mom in existence, Ben,” you said, pushing out of his hold. “And I’ll remind you that Supe Affairs has a great daycare program. Lila’s very happy there.”

Plus, she was almost three and a half years old. In less than a year, Lila would be off to preschool.

“And look, it’s not about the money,” you added. “I told you before Lila was born. I am a mother, and I’m your wife. But I’m still me.”

Ben processed that for a moment, meeting your gaze.

“The situation’s changed,” he replied. He grasped your hips this time. His thumb gently brushed over your belly, which had a small bump under your high-waisted skirt.

You were finally pregnant again. Three months, in fact, and you were having a boy. You knew that Ben had several reasons to be more protective than usual…but still. You thought you were already taking every precaution to keep you and your children safe, even with the occasionally extensive hours of your job.

“These cases can be long and difficult, not to mention dangerous,” said Ben. His green eyes met yours as he looked down at you through furrowed brows. “You’re putting yourself at risk.”

You blew out a breath and tried to placate him, soothing a hand over his chest.

“I’ve stopped doing field missions,” you pointed out. “And Supe Affairs is the most secure building in the city. Do you think I would bring Lila there if it wasn’t?”

The security team at the S.A. was bar none, not only because Loco was a part of that team. Frank was also your personal bodyguard; Ben hired him back when you found out you were pregnant with Lila.

In fact, Frank was coming to the house in a few minutes to pick you all up.

Ben frowned. “I think you’re being stubborn just to be fucking stubborn.”

That sparked at your temper. Again, you withdrew from his arms and crossed yours.

“I think you need to face the fact that I’m protected as well as I can be,” you said. “I also think that you’re trying to use this as a way to shoehorn me into some antiquated idea of what you still think a wife should be. I’m gonna tell you right now. That’s not me! It’s never been me. And you know that.”

He opened his mouth to give an angry retort, but you beat him to it.

“It’s like you don’t even care about what I want,” you snapped. “Just what you think is right—for me to be here waiting for you to come home, quite literally barefoot and pregnant, ready to rub your balls!”

Cliché as it might’ve been to say, if the shoe fit, then you were certainly not going to be the one to wear it.

“You know what, you can accuse me of being stuck in the fucking past all you want,” Ben said, raising a finger, as well as his voice. “But the problem here isn’t me. It’s that what you want is goddamn idiotic!”

Your mouth fell agape. “Excuse me?! I can’t even believe you right now!”

Ben fairly loomed above you when he shouted back.

“Well, that makes fucking two of us!”

His voice was loud enough to reverberate on the walls. You even flinched, but you held your ground with a glare…

Until you heard a whimper.

You and Ben paused, and turned to find Lila. The three-year-old was cowering a bit in the doorway to your bedroom. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she began to cry.

Your heart broke.

“Oh, honey,” you breathed. You were both apologetic and mortified as you quickly went to her.

Ben was close behind you, but while Lila was quick to melt into your arms when you picked her up, she shied away from his attempt to reach out to her. What would’ve been a placating hand on her head, turned into him pausing in surprise when she ducked.

“Lila?” he prodded.

He tried to mask how put out he was by his daughter hiding her face from him, burrowing into your neck instead. She was usually a daddy’s girl, through and through.

You shot him a knowing frown, while rubbing her back in comfort.

“It’s okay, baby,” you told her. “Your dad and I were just…talking. He didn’t mean to shout.”

When Lila only whimpered in response, Ben’s gaze dimmed in understanding. His lips pursed.

You saw that look on his face, and you wanted to sigh. Part of you felt bad for him, at the way Lila had flinched away from her father. In a way though, maybe it was a lesson he needed to learn.

Frank arrived a few minutes later in a black SUV, like he did every weekday morning to bring you all to work. Ben was quiet and taciturn climbing into the backseat on one side, and you clipped Lila into her car seat from the other side. He still made sure that she was strapped in correctly, and even tried to earn his daughter’s gaze.

She snuck a glance at him a couple of times, but quickly lowered it to play with one of her favorite stuffed animal toys (a little German shepherd that he had gotten for her).

Ben let out a long breath through his nose. He gave Frank a nod through the rearview mirror, and the other man peeled away from the house.

The four of you rode in silence away from your house in Scarsdale, towards New York City.

Ben’s mood remained grim, even when you all got to Supe Affairs. Frank held back while you and Ben stopped in the hallway with Lila. You were carrying her, and she was holding onto you and her stuffed animal like a lifeline instead of looking anywhere else—namely at Ben.

You sighed and tried to pull her back enough to see her face.

“Daddy’s gotta go to work now. Want to say goodbye?” you encouraged.

All Lila could manage was a shy look in his direction. Ben laid a gentle hand on her head, over her dark hair.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he said.

Lila didn’t answer him. She just bit her lip and stayed withdrawn.

You and Ben shared a glance. He was hiding it well behind his usual stoicism, but this was hurting him. There wasn’t much either of you could do about it now, however. You both had work to do, and the mission would have to come first.

“I’ll be online in a bit,” you told him.

First, you needed to take Lila up to daycare before Frank accompanied you to your office. There you’d be able to join the mission from your computer and put your headset on. Aside from surveillance, you were their virtual eyes on missions.

So Ben tacitly agreed, and the two of you parted ways.

You went up to the second floor to drop Lila off at daycare, where you set her onto her feet. You could see that she was quiet and almost sad, not as bright and talkative as usual. And she was clinging to your hand. You bent down the best you could in your skirt, so you could meet her eyes.

“Are you still upset with your dad?” you asked.

After a moment, Lila replied, “Daddy’s loud.”

You couldn’t help a rueful smile.

“Yeah, he can be,” you nodded. “But he’s gonna work on that, okay? He loves you very much.”

She finally smiled a little when you pressed a few sweet kisses to her cheeks. You felt a little better about leaving her with Sarah, the woman who ran the daycare center. She was kind, but well-organized, and good at her job of wrangling fifteen or so toddlers on a daily basis.

And she was hovering off to the side with a smile, waiting to shepherd Lila over to where the rest of the group were starting at the arts and crafts table.

“Okay, baby. I love you. I’m just downstairs if you need me,” you said, caressing Lila’s cheeks, brushing her hair away from her face.

She nodded and waved goodbye. Sarah then stepped in and guided the girl over to the crafts table. The other kids were already drawing and coloring with crayons and markers.

With a sigh, you knew you had to get to work. You joined Frank out in the hall.

“Did something happen this morning?” he asked. You gave him a weary look.

“Something always happens. I’ll fill you in when we hit the elevator,” you said.

“Kids are resilient. She’ll bounce back,” said Frank, when you two got off the elevator down to the basement, under the first floor. This was where the “heavy stuff” happened at the S.A.

“That’s not the point, Frank. He hasn’t snapped at me like that in a long time, and he really scared her. That’s not fucking okay,” you said. “He needs to learn to control his goddamn temper.”

He sent you a knowing glance. You rolled your eyes.

“Okay, I know I don’t always help. But in this case, I was justified,” you said. “Ben was being an ass.”

“Right,” Frank nodded. “It’s not at all that he’s worried about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whose side are you on?”

The man remained silent, but his stoic face wasn’t fooling you. He’d been your friend for much too long, and he knew Ben just as well…which was why you found yourself reconsidering what happened this morning.

“You really think he has a point?” you asked. “Am I working too much?”

Frank shook his head and opened the door for you into the Surveillance Department. The two of you ventured to your office, where your quadruple monitor setup was waiting for you. He also had a desk for himself, since he often spent the long hours of your day with you.

“When you were pregnant with Lila, you were on maternity leave by now,” he pointed out.

“Because we had no idea what was going to happen,” you countered. You went to your desk and started up your computer. “I had to meet with Tonya once a week, ultrasounds and blood tests all the time, making sure Lila was healthy, that I was healthy. This time around, we have a better idea of what to expect.”

For example, you were experiencing bouts of super strength once again, but it was still intermittent. Although, you pretty much never needed coffee. Maybe the supe genes coursing through your system, thanks to your unborn son, was part of the reason why you’d been able to go such long hours for these cases.

He's already brightening up my life, you thought with a little smile, holding a hand over your lower belly.

“It’s your choice,” Frank said at last. “But it is possible that Ben cares about more than just making you a suburban housewife.”

At that, you sighed. There was nothing wrong with being a housewife, you knew. It just wasn’t…you.

Once your computer and monitors were booted up, you connected to the right channels and put on your headset.

Already you could hear M.M. bitching about keeping the weapons trunk organized, not just tossing things in haphazardly.

“It’s a simple fucking system, Frenchie. You can at least abide by it,” M.M. said. “We don’t have time to be scratching our asses while you try to find a—”

“Hey, Bert and Ernie. Would you shut the fuck up already?” Ben groused.

Your mouth twitched at his grumpiness.

“A little testy this morning, ey guv?” Butcher remarked.

“Gargle my ball sack,” Ben replied, with an even grouchier deadpan than usual.

“Do you kiss your child with that mouth?” Frenchie teased.

“Nah, just your mother’s French hole,” Ben slung back. You rolled your eyes.

“All right, all right. Put the measuring tapes away,” you interrupted. “I’m online, locked on your GPS.”

“Well, if it ain’t Mrs. America herself,” Butcher drawled. “Got a lock on Slingshot’s location for us?”

“You know it,” you replied. “Sending to the group chat now. Slingshot’s been spotted entering a strip club in Chinatown.”

“Jeez. A little early for tits and booze. It’s 10:00 a.m. on a Tuesday,” said Hughie.

You heard Ben huff in amusement. “It’s never too early.”

You snorted at that.

“Right. I’ll remember that next time you fall asleep watching Family Feud,” you clipped back.

You heard the other guys trying not to laugh as they got into Butcher’s van. Part of you felt bad for teasing Ben, knowing he was already in a bad mood, but you were feeling a bit petty about what happened this morning.

You had to bite your lip against a smile, as you could picture the ill-tempered face your man was likely sporting.

And we’re off.

Lila wasn’t having a good day.

She didn’t feel like coloring, and the toys just weren’t fun today.

She just didn’t want to be here. The other kids smelled like old Cheetos and feet (especially the boys).

She missed you. And though she hadn’t wanted to admit it to you, she missed Daddy too.

Lila wanted to go home…she wanted her mom.

“I’m just downstairs if you need me,” you’d said.

Lila had a kind of plan percolating in her mind, all through the morning, and even through lunch time. She didn’t want to get in trouble, but when she’d asked Miss Sarah if she could go see you, she’d said you were at work and couldn’t come get Lila until later.

But that’s not what Mommy said, Lila thought.

After lunch, she laid on the napping mat with her pillow and blanket, even though she was wide awake. She didn’t want to nap with the other kids, even though Miss Sarah told her it was time to sleep.

Again, Lila didn’t want to be bad. She didn’t want to get in trouble either, but she really, really just wanted to see you.

And you’d said it was okay to go downstairs if she needed you, right?

Lila closed her eyes while Miss Sarah was looking, but she waited until the teacher went into her office to answer a call. Then, Lila carefully put Charlie, her stuffed dog, against her pillow, tucking the blanket up to his neck.

She crawled off her mat and snuck over to the door while Miss Sarah was distracted on her phone. Lila reached up and was just tall enough to twist the doorknob. It led her out of the room, and out into the empty hall. She then looked both ways for a clue on where to go.

She heard a ding, and looked over at a nearby pair of elevators.

The mission went more or less according to plan. Slingshot’s abilities allowed him to stretch every part of his body like elastic. It not only made him hard to catch, but even harder to maim without collateral damage.

A whole block in Chinatown was wrecked in the takedown, but your idea of ripping the cables from a nearby utility pole to electrocute him let Ben finally subdue the elastic supe. Kimiko knocked him out, and Butcher slapped some tight-ass cuffs on him and dragged him into the van. They returned with the rogue supe in custody.

You were mentally exhausted from helping them track down routes to pin down Slingshot, but you were relieved to be done. You were also satisfied that another danger to society was neutralized, for now.

You took pride in your work, and you didn’t think Ben saw that, or thought it was important. You supposed that was what upset you the most about that fight with him.

Sometimes, you wondered if he would ever truly change.

You grabbed your purse and made sure to slip in your gun and taser. You left your office and greeted Frank, who had just finished making his rounds in the building with Loco’s team. Frank joined you on the way to the elevator.

“I meant to ask you, how’s Alana doing?” you asked. Alana was his daughter, who was now in college.

“She’s changed her major yet again,” he said wryly. “This time to philosophy.”

“Philosophy? That’s interesting. What does she want to do with that?” you asked.

“No fucking clue,” he replied, hitting the button for the first floor. “I just hope she gets bored and picks something practical. Like…teaching, or dentistry.”

You shot him a bemused look. “Dentistry?”

“As much money as I put into that girl’s braces, it’d be good for her to pay it forward,” Frank said, in a surly tone that reminded you of Ben. You had to laugh.

You and Frank exited the elevator and started down the hall.

You planned to touch base with Grace Mallory on the safety measures of Slingshot’s containment before he was put into custody. The idea was to house him in a prison cell that could actually hold him until he went through the legal process.

But you’d only gotten halfway down the hall before the supe in question literally stretched past you on unnaturally long legs—in a blur of his white and blue supe suit. Your eyes widened on a gasp as you watched him head toward the elevator you’d just come off of.

“Fuckin’ hell, we’ve got a runner!” Butcher shouted from down the hall. He along with Ben, M.M., Frenchie, Hughie, and Kimiko were rushing your way.

It all happened so fast.

You registered Frank shooting out a protective arm in front of you. You turned back to see the elevator doors had opened back up, and Slingshot rushed inside. He made eye contact with you.

Then his arms shot out like rubber bands. One of them knocked Frank into the far wall. You gasped and froze on reflex.

Ben shouted your name; he was running towards you, getting closer. You were able to meet his wide eyes for a brief moment. He reached out for you, but those stretching arms closed around you first. You gasped when they slung you backwards.

You cried out in shock when your back met a surprisingly solid chest.

Meanwhile, Ben barreled the rest of the way down the hall as the elevators closed just short of his angrily furrowed face.

The stretched arms holding you were tight around your torso, making your grit your teeth as you tried to pull away. They twisted you around so you could face your captor. Or so he could see you.

His natural height was around Butcher’s—dark hair, blue eyes, angular features. He gave you what was probably meant to be a suave smile as those baby blues dragged down your body.

“Hey, baby. Nice heels,” he said. You rolled your eyes.

“So that’s why they call you Slingshot,” you said, still a bit breathless. The elevator started to move. He’d chosen the top floor. “Where do you think you’re gonna go?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he snarked. “Anywhere but here. And you’re gonna help me.”

“How? Being a human shield?”

“For a start,” he smirked down at you. He backed up a step just to take another proper look at you, and he whistled lowly. He took your chin between his sweaty fingers, making you grimace when he stroked your cheek.

“Down boy,” you said warily. “Trust me, you really don’t want to do this.”

This jackass hadn’t even realized you had a small, but noticeable baby bump.

“Why not, babe?” he grinned. “You’ve got the whole sexy librarian thing going on.”

You heard a loud creaking sound outside the elevator doors. The compartment itself came to an abrupt stop, making the lights flicker.

“What the fuck?” Slingshot muttered. His hold around you loosened.

You had an idea of what just happened, with grim satisfaction. You also took advantage of his distraction and managed to slip a hand into your purse.

You pulled out your taser. Slingshot noticed and tried to grab you again, but the elevator somehow started to move in reverse, about a foot a time. It made both of you lose your balance and utter sounds of surprise.

As soon as you regained your footing, you aimed the taser at the most sensitive place you could think of—the supe’s dick and balls.

His howls of pain were loud enough to reach Ben, Frank, and the rest of the team on the third floor. Ben’s face became edged with a smirk.

He kept pulling the elevator cables down until the compartment’s doors were in reach. There he grabbed the doors and pulled them open with his bare hands, crunching metal under his fingers. The moment he saw you, the relief in your eyes, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out, into his arms.

Slingshot was angry, though he managed to recover, rip off the taser’s metal prongs and wires, and evade Kimiko, M.M., and even Butcher when he slithered his way out of the elevator and around their guns. The bullets ricocheted off the walls, and off his body as they followed him down the hall.

Ben focused on you. He brushed his half-gloved hands over your shoulders and sides while he quickly looked you over. There was worry in his eyes, disguised as anger. You caught your breath and held a protective hand over your lower belly out of reflex.

“You okay?” he said, but you were already nodding before he asked.

“I’m fine,” you replied. “Just get him. I’ll get Lila.”

Ben nodded. He shot one last firm look at Frank, who was back at your side. Frank laid a hand on your shoulder as Ben took off down the hall to find Slingshot.

“The stairs are safer at this point,” Frank said.

“I would have to agree,” you said, steeling yourself with a breath.

While you and Frank went downstairs to the second floor, you didn’t see the second elevator ding, its doors opening to your daughter, who ambled out alone. She looked one way down the hall, but hearing her father’s voice carrying down the opposite way, she started venturing in that direction.

If she couldn’t find you, then she’d find her dad.

“What the hell do you mean you lost her?” you shouted at Sarah, the woman who was supposed to be looking after your daughter. “How do you lose a three-year-old at nap time? What kind of incompetent fuck are you?”

Yes, Ben had unfortunately rubbed off on you.

Sarah was in tears by the time you were not even halfway done, but Frank calmed you down with another touch to your shoulder. You had tears of panic stinging in your eyes when you met his gaze, your mouth trembling.

“I just radioed in and put Loco and the rest of the security team on looking for Lila. She can’t have gotten far,” he said.

“Come on! Keep up with me, old man,” Slingshot taunted at Ben. His super flexibility allowed him to keep several steps ahead, dodging any attempts to grab him and any weapons fired with easy dips and playful deflection.

“When I get my hands on you, you flaccid fuck, you won’t know your ass from your ball sack,” Ben growled.

But he crashed into the wall when he took a corner too hard trying to tackle the other supe. He picked himself up from the debris of crumbled wall and plaster, ignoring Kimiko’s offer of a helping hand.

“Big fucking talk from the walking AARP commercial,” Slingshot snorted. He turned around and once again prepared to run. “Try not to shatter a hip, asshole!”

He took off down another bend in the hallway. Meanwhile, Ben shook himself off and joined the others in running after this cocksucker. Ben looked over at Butcher.

“What’s your fucking plan?” he grated out.

Butcher seemed to have an idea growing in his mind. “What’d she do to him in that elevator?”

“Tased his dick, by the sound of it,” Ben replied. He knew what weapons you kept in your purse, and that you'd know better than to fire a gun in an enclosed elevator. Butcher snapped his fingers.

“Electricity. Bloody brilliant,” he said. He pointed at Hughie and grabbed Frenchie by the collar. “You, with me. I’ve got an idea. The rest of ya, get him pinned down.”

“Easier said than done, motherfucker,” M.M. grumbled. But he followed Ben and Kimiko to find their errant supe.

Slingshot played a cocky game, but inside, there was fear.

They’d caught him once, and now, this building was crawling with security, let alone the assholes chasing him.

He was panting for breath when he nearly ran straight into…a kid?

She was wandering around, trying to open a locked door. He skidded to a stop in front of her, and she looked up at him wide-eyed. He tilted his head. She was a cute little thing with brown hair and green eyes. She wore a blouse with cartoon ducks on it over her jeans and sunshine-yellow shoes.

“Hey, cutie. Where you going?” asked Slingshot. “Are you lost?”

“Looking for my mom,” she answered, a bit timidly. The supe gave her an easy smile; inside, he knew he’d just found his collateral, and his ticket out of here.

“Okay. What’s your name?” he asked.

“L…Lila,” she said.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said, with all due charm. He struck a pose, with his fists held up to his waist. “I can help you, Lila. I’m a superhero.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Like Daddy?”

“Oh, yeah. Your dad and I are friends.” Never mind that he had no fucking clue who her daddy was. He offered her his hand.

Now, Lila knew not to talk to strangers, but if he knew her dad…

After a moment of reluctant indecision, she took his hand. Slingshot tapered a smirk into a more friendly smile.

“Let’s go find him.”

Ben was ahead of the pack, but he soon came to an abrupt stop with wider eyes. He finally found Slingshot, except he had Ben’s daughter by the hand. Slingshot wore a cocky grin as he took the child up into his arms.

“Hey, guys. Who’s this little peanut belong to?” he asked. “Said she was looking for her daddy.”

Ben’s breath turned to lead in his lungs. Lila’s eyes lit up with recognition when she saw him.

“Daddy!”

Ben’s softer gaze shifted from her, hardening once it reached the other supe.

“Let her go,” he growled lowly.

Slingshot’s grin deepened incredulously as he laughed.

“Oh shit, she’s yours?” he exclaimed. “This’s just too fucking perfect.”

“Lila!” your shout came from behind Ben, and you stepped around M.M. and Kimiko.

Ben held out a hand to keep you at bay. He kept his eyes on Slingshot, but Ben heard your gasp. His stomach dipped, knowing your worry had to be reaching new heights as you took in the situation.

“Ben,” you uttered.

“I’ve got this,” he said to you.

“You don’t got shit, old man,” Slingshot snapped. He shot you a smirk next. “She’s your bitch? Figures.”

“Just let her go,” you implored. You had tears brimming in your eyes. “We can negotiate your release if you promise to be more responsible.”

Ben shot you a glance then. He didn’t intend for this fucker to live, let alone walk the streets of New York again. But he supposed any bluff was worth it at this point.

Meanwhile, seeing the distress on her parents’ faces made Lila begin to break down into tears. She whined, pushing against the supe holding her, wanting to be let go.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Slingshot cooed. “You’re just gonna take a little trip with me.”

“No!” a ragged shout tore from your throat when he took a few backward steps down the hall.

Ben held you back from following him, all while he tensed with rage. M.M. and Kimiko were also poised to try and stop the supe. But Slingshot tightened his hold on Lila in warning.

“Back the fuck off,” he demanded. “Once I get to JFK and get my ass on a plane, maybe, maybe you see your daughter aga—”

He had to stop short, as he sensed something just outside of his peripheral vision.

It was Butcher, coming at him to swing a baseball bat at the supe’s head.

You screamed in protest, but Butcher was relying on the supe’s reflexes to dodge the bat. He wasn’t disappointed. Slingshot dodged. Though in his distraction, it gave Ben the opening he needed to step into his orbit and land a solid punch across Slingshot’s face.

It not only cracked his jaw, but also caught him off guard enough for his grip on the child to loosen. Ben grabbed his daughter and turned her away in a protective embrace.

Then Frenchie brought Slingshot down with the prongs of a massive taser clipping onto his nipples. He jolted and screamed—and went down hard on the tile floor.

While Hughie and M.M. ushered in the rest of the security team to swarm in and take the supe into custody, you raced forward to Ben and Lila in tears.

Lila was also crying and clinging to Ben’s neck, shaking like a leaf.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he said quietly, so only she could hear. Lila whimpered and burrowed tighter against his neck.

Tears streamed down your face, but you tried to breathe through it. You rubbed her back and checked her over, making sure she wasn’t hurt.

For Ben, the force of his relief was pounding in his ears. He briefly closed his eyes as he held his daughter closer.

When he opened them again, he met your gaze. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was grab onto his wrist for support. He gave that to you, wrapping his free arm around your waist and pulling you into his side.

“Frank,” he said. His voice was a sharp command. The other man was ready to carry out whatever Ben asked. He also looked relieved to see that Lila was all right.

“Pull the car around,” said Ben. Frank nodded, and went to do just that.

Ben turned to watch in satisfaction when Frenchie and M.M. hauled up a still twitching Slingshot. Butcher slapped a pair of electroshock handcuffs on him that would keep him better contained this time—courtesy of the S.A. armory. He nodded over at Ben, and the latter returned the gesture.

You missed it all, as you were preoccupied with comforting your daughter.

“It’s okay, honey. We’re going home,” you gently whispered to Lila, who was still hiding her face in Ben’s neck. You shared a look with him, and he gave you a short nod. His hand moved to the small of your back, both protective and possessive as the three of you moved towards the garage exit.

There Frank waited with the car that would take your family home.

You watched Ben with the beginning of tears brimming in your eyes. You managed to hold them at bay while he set Lila down in her bed. You’d just finished giving her a bath and helping her get into her pajamas after a quiet, somewhat tense dinner.

Lila still seemed upset in her unusually quiet mood, which you knew was understandable. Ben sat at her bedside and soothed a hand over her head, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

“You’ve had a crazy friggin’ day, huh?” he asked. Lila didn’t want to look at him, but he encouraged it with gentle fingers brushing her chin, teasing the tip of her nose. She hinted at a smile and finally met his eyes. He smiled back at her, if more reserved. But his expression turned serious again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He could see it. She had been more or less fine throughout dinner, but now she’d turned quiet and withdrawn again. She only got like that when she was upset about something.

Lila toyed with the ear of her stuffed animal, Charlie. Frank had retrieved it for her from the daycare.

“Sorry I talked to strangers,” Lila mumbled.

You had to bite the inside of your lip so you wouldn’t cry. You came over to sit on the other side of her bed. You sniffed and shook your head, but Ben beat you to what you wanted to say.

“You’re not in trouble, all right? We’re not mad,” he said.

Lila’s lower lip wobbled. Ben sighed and picked her up, plopping her down in his lap. She hugged him as tight as she could and he held her back, warm and secure.

“You know I’m always gonna be there to keep you safe. You never have to worry or be afraid,” he said.

You carded your fingers through Lila’s hair so she knew you were there too. Usually, the roles were reversed, where you were doing the comforting and Ben was the solid support. Right now though, you just didn’t have the words. Not when guilt was eating you from the inside out.

Fortunately, your husband did have the words, after he heaved a sigh.

“I might raise my voice, sometimes, but uh…you never have to be afraid of me either. Okay?” he said.

"Mhmm," Lila agreed.

You laid hand on Ben's arm, gently squeezing. He met your gaze, and knew what you were prodding with just that look in your eyes.

Briefly, he hesitated before he looked back down at his daughter.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he said.

Lila nodded against his chest. “It's okay.”

“Good,” he said, laying a kiss on her forehead. “All right, you ready to go to bed?”

She clung to him and made a sound of refusal.

You were finally able to crack a smile. You leaned down by her ear.

“You want Daddy to read you a story first?” you asked.

Ben shot you a look at the way you volunteered him for that. He was tired and drained.

But one hopeful, shiny look from his daughter, and he folded like a deck of cards.

Later, when Lila was asleep, you tucked her in one last time and Ben turned out the light. He kept the door cracked open, just in case she called for either one of you tonight.

Then, somehow, you and Ben ended up in the kitchen instead of the bedroom. As exhausted as both of you were, you needed this moment to decompress, with one of your old favorite pastimes…

He broke out the whiskey while you found an appropriate midnight snack, and then a seat with him at the breakfast bar. The two of you shared a companionable silence, as well as a large bag of sea salt and vinegar chips.

That was sort of how you felt inside.

“Today can’t happen again,” Ben said, breaking the silence.

You looked over at him, but he was looking beyond you. Maybe so he didn’t have to show you how deeply he’d been rattled. You knew him far too well for that.

“Of course not,” you replied. And you released a sigh. “So here’s what I’m thinking. From now on I’ll work from home, so I can watch Lila until she goes to preschool.”

Ben got ready to argue, but you held up a hand. The other went to rest over your belly. You had scheduled an ultrasound with Dr. Tonya Baker tomorrow, just to make sure all was well after this ordeal.

“I already plan to take my maternity leave when this guy rolls into town,” you said with a smile. “Then, when I’m ready, and if it’s feasible, I can continue to work from home until all the kids are in school.”

Ben’s lips twitched humorlessly. He should’ve known you’d continue making this a negotiation. He set down his glass, and he reached out to slide a hand over yours, across your belly. He took in a deep breath. But when he let it go, you sensed you still hadn’t convinced him.

“Listen, I know you don’t want me to work—” you began.

“It’s not that,” he said. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said it. “It’s not.”

Despite yourself, you read the sincerity in his words. It had you pausing, waiting for him to continue.

“You know damn well…that just being around me is dangerous,” he said. “To you, and to Lila. But you being connected with Supe Affairs, working these missions, even from behind a desk, it’s a fucking risk. It’ll always be a risk.”

You considered that with new understanding. You took his hand with both of yours.

“Ben, this life, this work…it’s the same for me as it is for you. It’s all I know how to do. It’s what I’m wired for. So that’s why it’s hard for me to turn down that dial,” you explained. “But look, I understand what you’re saying. Believe me, I do. And today…today was…”

Your breath hitched as tears stung in your eyes. Ben shook his head and tugged you closer.

“Come ‘ere,” he said.

You left your chair to go to him. You stood between his long legs while he pulled you into a warm embrace. Logically, you knew that what happened today wasn’t your fault. However, part of you still felt like a failure of a mother for underestimating the risks of having your daughter at the S.A.

You should’ve known better, you berated yourself. And yet, it was Ben’s words that stopped your train of thought.

“Today wasn't on you,” he said. "Get that thought outta your head."

He knew you well too, and this was one of those times. You wept harder against him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. He held you, comforted you until you began to calm down.

“Take your maternity leave early,” he said. His deep voice was a rumble. “You’re going to have your hands full with Lila when I’m not here. Unless we hire someone to help you.”

It was an idea you could consider, but who could you trust? That was the question.

Maybe your mother? you thought. You knew she was thinking of retiring from her job in a couple of years anyway.

You sighed and slipped your fingers through Ben’s hair. Your hand came to rest on the back of his neck as you leaned against him.

When Lila came into your lives, you had been so excited to start a family that you hadn’t considered the non-physical side effects. Namely, the sacrifices you would have to make in order to keep your family safe.

Before you met Ben, your job was your life. But today reminded you that your daughter…and your unborn son, were more important to you than your job. No matter how important that job might be for the rest of the world.

“Let’s talk about this more tomorrow,” you said, shaking your head. “I can’t think anymore.”

After a beat of hesitation, he agreed with a nod. Like so many battles before, whatever compromise you and Ben finally reached would be hard won. His hand found your cheek and caressed your skin.

“You still try my fucking patience, you know that?” he muttered.

You smiled tiredly. “Did you really expect that to change?”

He scoffed. Even so, he guided you off his shoulder so that he could claim your lips. His kiss tasted like the burn of whiskey. You met his demanding lips in kind, though you were the first one to part from him slowly.

“I love you,” you whispered a reminder.

Ben nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He lingered there for a moment, as if he could pause the world for a while.

He eventually let out a breath through his nose and allowed himself to be honest.

“I love you too,” he said.

With that shared understanding, he stood from his seat. He drained the last of his glass before he bent to gather you up into his arms. You yelped in surprise, clinging to his shoulders.

“Time for some rest,” Ben said. There was a certain smile on his face, gentler than usual.

He forged a path towards the bedroom. You sighed and laid your head against his chest.

For once, you didn’t argue with him.

AN: I've been wanting to put this one out for a while now. 💚💚 I so hope you enjoyed this chapter of the BMD verse! Do you like how their little family is evolving? 😘

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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106 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 6 months

Note

for fluffy friday do u think u could write a fic where hobie takes u to an appointment while pregnant with the twins to find out the gender (obvi hobie is rooting hard for a girl) not knowing ur having twins and thennnn surprise!!!

Aahhhh I love this prompt sm 🫶 thank you!!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, reader is pregnant, Billie and Ramona au, dad! Hobie, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You lay on an elevated cot, back straight as you anxiously wait for the doctor to do the ultrasound. Hobie looks cool as ever, save for him tapping his boot relentlessly on the linoleum floor of the hospital.

You look at Hobie, he gestures for you to exhale deeply. You follow his instructions. He nods, squeezing your hands as they lay on top of your growing stomach. Anxiety bubbles in your gut, you don't know if it's just because you're pregnant or you're worried what the doctor will find on the ultrasound. It's your first time getting it since finding out you're having a baby, add it with the fact that you'll be finding out the sex of the baby, it's safe to say you're properly worried.

"What do you think the baby will be?" Hobie cuts the silence in an attempt to ease your anxiety. He secretly hopes for a girl that's a perfect mix of you both with a carbon copy smile from you.

"Don't know as long as the baby's not a spider hybrid having eight arms, I'm good" you gnaw at your bottom lip.

He rubs your lips to prevent you biting it till you bleed. "The baby won't have eight arms" he reassures, you smile appreciatively at him. "They'll have eight eyes and organic webs"

"Hobie!" You slap his arm weakly.

"I'll love them the same, lovey. I'm sure they'll look cute with eight eyes"

"Not funny" you pout, blaming your pregnancy hormones with how your leg bounces against the bed.

"It'll be fine, yeah?" He places his hip right next to the cot to get closer to you. Hand placed lovingly over your stomach, tracing the circular pattern on your maternity blouse. "Doctor won't find anything wrong with you or the baby" Hobie's last comment was more of a reassurance for him, he keeps telling himself that everytime he goes out on patrol, repeating it like a mantra in his head, keeping him afloat.

The doctor knocks, she peeks inside with a polite smile. "Hi Mum, are you and dad ready?" Hobie has never heard someone else call him that title except for you occasionally, his stomach somersaults.

"Hi, doc. Please start, I'm dying out here" you joke that has Hobie snickering in agreement.

The doctor prepares the device, putting on some kind of jelly on the ultrasound wand. She wheels it closer, prompting Hobie to leave your side for a brief second. You reach out to him instinctively, he circles around the machine to get to you as fast as he can.

Back to your side, Hobie clasps your hand again.

"Excuse me, Mr. Brown" the doctor moves closer to you. Hobie raises a brow, you stop a laugh from escaping with your palm. He sees the smile on your eyes, he makes a face that says: do I look like a Mr. Brown?

You let out a snort, already embarrassed at the sound you made. Hobie smiles widely at your reaction while the doctor lifts up your shirt with your permission.

"Inhale deeply for me momma" she instructs.

You follow, cold jelly hits your skin that makes you shiver. Squeezing Hobie's hand tighter. He blames your unusual pregnancy strength with how his knuckles are aching from your tight hold. He can't imagine how strong your grip will be when you actually give birth.

Faint heartbeat hits your ears, you already know whose heart it is. The doctor swivels the ultrasound closer so you could see the screen. Even though the picture is grainy and grey, your heart soars at the first picture of your baby.

"Look at her" Hobie says in amazement, the low quality picture shows the outline of your baby moving around in your belly.

You look in awe, sparing Hobie a glance, you're glad you did because of the rare expression on his face. It's awe and love mixed together, your eyes are glossy at the sight. You knead his palm with your finger nail affectionately since you probably can't form a coherent sentence right now.

"Dad's right." The doctor looks at you both with a smile, "you've got a little girl. Congratulations"

You chuckle breathlessly while Hobie kisses each of your knuckles. He asks for your sakes, judging by how you look like you're about to burst into tears, he concludes you won't even remember to ask the question.

"Is she okay? Healthy? Only have two eyes and a human nose?"

The doctor laughs at his joke, while tears stop spilling from your eyes for a second.

"Seems everything's fine– wait" the doctor stops in her tracks, squinting at the grainy picture, moving the wand all over your stomach.

"What do you mean wait?" Your heart leaps at your chest, Hobie stops you from sitting up with his hand, massaging the skin right under your collar bone. "Is she okay?" Your face snaps towards Hobie. "Hobie?" He sees desperation on your face, the last he ever wanted to see.

"Oh"

"Oh? Doc don't keep it a secret" Hobie sounds angrier with every word he utters.

"There's two babies" she answers quickly.

"What?!" You and Hobie yell simultaneously. Fear evaporates from your body, replaced with something you can't quite name.

Then he hears it, a second heartbeat.

"Yeah," the doctor nods with a smile. She moves the wand further down to show you. "And she's quite shy"

Your eyes are glued on the screen, sure enough, another figure moves right behind the first outline. You gasp in astonishment. She hides with her miniscule movement behind her sister, but you can clearly see her now with her knuckles closed tightly in a fist.

More tears flow out of your eyes, you're sobbing right in front of your doctor. She holds out a box of tissues, you thank her with a wet smile.

Hobie hasn't moved since he spotted and heard his second daughter. Like a statue, his eyes never left the screen. Flabbergasted, his heart feels like escaping his chest.

"Hobie" you call out to him through tears. "We're having twins" you can't believe it yourself, sliding your hand to his elbow to get his attention.

"Girls," he says in awe, "we're havin' girls" Hobie doesn't spare a second to press a chaste kiss over your forehead. You hum in happiness. His hand drops to the side of your stomach, imagining he's holding his girls' hands.

You can't wait to meet them.

388 notes · View notes

thecatalogueofroyalfashion · 1 year

Photo

Princess Stephanie || blouse by Georges Rech

#Princess Stephanie of Luxembourg #Georges Rech #blouse #top #maternity

5 notes · View notes

wmarximoff · 2 years

Note

Reader being Pietro’s bestfriend and Wanda having a crush on them but is too shy to say anything because she is popular and reader is apart of the unpopular dirtbags kind of group. The n reader confronts Wanda and it leads to Wanda’s first time. Pretty please with a cherry on top🥺🥺

freaks | w. maximoff

summary: high school isn't easy at all, especially for a kid as misfit as you. but just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a bomb is dropped in your lap; because Wanda Maximoff, the popular, perfect girl with the kindest heart of all, actually has a crush on you. and she just happens to be your best friend's twin sister.

warnings (18+): underage characters, smoking, secondary characters using illicit drugs (weed), cursing, first time, smut, oral sex (Wanda receiving), penetration (Wanda receiving).

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 12k

A/N: sorry for the delay anon but i'm lazy as heck kjsfkjfs

anyway, this was fun to write (and actually pretty cute too). it's practically a romcom, really. hope you enjoy it!

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

The cushions of the narrow couch you were sitting on felt cozy and comfortable under your thighs clad inside the material of a beat-up denim. But perhaps it wasn't for the furniture itself, which, although distinctly well maintained by a taste of carefully carved work, in no way appeared to be an expensive or even onerous piece in its cheap springs and foam.

It turns out that ever since your presence became something made frequent inside the Maximoff residence, you had found between those walls an air of coziness and reception that, like a warm maternal hug, dissipated the tense weight that was usual to fall on the muscles of your shoulders and your back.

The house of the family of four (just a mother and her three children, two teenagers and a child) was situated in one of the areas inhabited by the low-income citizens of the small town of Westview, beyond the gas station and the railroad tracks, a few blocks up from that trailer park that everyone knows from bad legends, but it's not like you need more than that to snuggle into the blandishments of that dark brown fabric sofa.

After all, it was enough to be accompanied by the presence of Pietro Maximoff, the eldest son (for twelve minutes, his sister occasionally reminded him of the fact in front of you), for you to know that the upheavals of the world would disappear inside your chest and, immersed in a bubble of comfort being with your best friend for about nine or ten months, there would be nothing that could hold you back for so long.

Pietro just had that effect on people; he was a good guy, a receptive young man of your age who used to be an esteemed figure by those who came in contact with the recurring good humor that guided him – but, like a typical misfit high school kid, there was nothing about him that pleased everyone at all. Not like his sister did so masterfully, at least.

The boy, dressed in khaki shorts and a long blue blouse as thin as a sapphire stone that showed off his similarly colored irises, was thus sitting half sprawled with his legs spread as if he had fallen there and not gotten up for a long time, parallel to you, in a small dark armchair that was only distanced from the sofa by a scrawny coffee table set there, of cheap pale wood that he used to prop his heels put into a pair of worn out running shoes.

To your right and to his left, perched in a chair pulled out from under the dining table, Darcy Lewis was the girl with long brown hair who had her upper back leaning against the back of her chair. Her clear, intent eyes so solemnly bound to the phone screen she kept blinking close to the tip of her nose, behind the thin glass lenses of a pair of dark plastic-framed prescription glasses.

Pietro and Darcy, then friends almost out of convenience because no one else was close to them (she being a weird amalgamation of a know-it-all geek and a half-inconvenient sarcastic little shit, he just an immigrant kid with a weird accent who slipped up at times and a sense of humor doubtful), they took you in because the others didn't seem all that interested in keeping you close – not when you were the only new kid around with a tattoo hidden somewhere on your body and a few more pairs of piercings than was acceptable for your neighbors dangling stylishly from your ears.

The boy dressed in the blue shirt, then seated opposite you, was expertly rolling a thin weed cigarette with his fingertips curled towards his athletic pecs in an intent gaze at the action exerted on his digits.

He then stuck his tongue out, sliding it down through the crack in his parted lips, using his saliva to glue the loose end of the rolling paper against the skinny little body of the cigarette which, when it was finally ready to be smoked, he tried to tuck it into the corner where his lips ended as if he wanted to perform a mobster from the height of the twentieth century.

But he was only sixteen-almost-seventeen, as young as he could be, and that was why Pietro only appeared to be what he was at that moment; a disheveled kid with poorly homemade bleached hair done with the help of his grumpy sister (the brown roots were showing in the crook of his head, giving him an air of sloppiness) with a long joint lying in the corner of his mouth.

He then leaned with his spine forward so his right hand went for the small pale blue plastic lighter set on the coffee table, before pouring his thumb across the stone so that the spark ignited the flame that lighted the end of the weed cigarette, from which he drew a long, lingering drag to spread the thick smoke through his nostrils in a state of mind imbued with a zealous tranquility, leaning his back against the armchair.

Behind your own red-filtered cigarette dangling between your lips, you raised an amused brow at your friend's slouched figure.

“Fucking stoner, man,” you mussed, albeit in airs of morose jocularity that inferred a little chuckle on Darcy's part, “That shit gonna fry all your brain cells someday, you know that? Make you dumber than you already are.”

He took another swig of the joint before fixing you with a pair of droopy blue eyes, since this was the second or third of the day he'd smoked – around his firm chin, the tiniest fuzz of an occasional dark beard was already threatening to arise with the emergence of age, each day closer to adulthood. One day, he would be a handsome man, because for now he was just a boy who promised to be a good-looking adult.

“And that shit gonna kill you someday,” with a little finger movement, waving his limp left hand, he pointed to the nicotine cigarette that was blistered between the index and middle fingers of yours, raised right at your face.

You smiled and so did he, half on his side, still lying on the armchair cushions like a misplaced decoration.

“At least I won't die stupid like you.”

“Just kiss him already man, for Christ's sake,” Darcy grumbled in a tone of shared humor, before reaching for the joint from Pietro's hand and bringing the small cylindrical body to her to draw a swig of weed for herself.

“Nah,” you expressed a small smile flanked by smoke, “As much as I know Piet wants it so much, he's not really my type, sorry.”

“What do you mean he's not your type, huh?” Darcy gave you a funny look from behind the glasses placed in front of her sharp blue eyes, as if she wanted to poke a small lump hidden inside you.

“I thought his last name was Maximoff. That sure is your type, sister.”

There was a second puff of smoke until the boy, then already in a somewhat lethargic action when clouded by the cognitive effect of the cannabis he was smoking, lifted the back of his head from the backrest and lowered his chin, squeezing with his eyelids that wandered from Darcy's smile to your brow furrowed in a bewildered slant, only to redo the act once again a little more confused, cinching a flash of fur from his forehead with the thick, dark-haired brows above the blue eyes sort of gleaming with a curious blaze.

“Y/n, what’s she talking about…?”

“Your mom, duh,” was your immediate response, a mock-masked deliverance dripping from your throat, a smirk taut in the unnaturally twitching muscles on your face, “Ms. Maximoff's got it going on, right? I mean, gosh, she really looks hot in her waitress uniform.”

“Dude, I always knew MILFs were your type, you totally look like you would do a MILF.”

Darcy looked back at you with an air of laughter as her chin tipped in your direction, the lack of sobriety evident in her airy actions, which in no way complied with the implications of the first comment bestowed on you.

“Well, and who doesn’t like MILFs?” you smiled burlesquely, to which Darcy readily acquiesced with a sharp nod.

“But yeah Pietro, your mom is like, hot. The hottest MILF among all MILFs. So hot.”

“So hot,” you repeated in a profuse drag of a cigarette, pointing to the girl sitting next to your right knee that showed a beam of skin through a long slit in the fabric of your pants.

“Very, very hot.”

“Like, super hot.”

The platinum-haired boy, meanwhile, only let out a loathsome grunt as his drunken face contorted in repulsive distaste for the idea you and Darcy offered him about his own mother, shaking his head firmly as if he wanted to shake off these thoughts as if they were really mosquitoes pestering him to sleep at night—something that brought on you, of a good-natured nature, and on Darcy, just too stoned for her own good, a long round of loud, juicy laughter that caused the muscles in you abdomen to ache in hot cramping.

“Dude, gross! That's disgusting, she's my mom! What the fuck!"

Though a little unsteadily, his left fingers hooked against the fabric of a red pillow that was brought up and then hurled toward him with just a flick of the tendons of the young man's strong shoulder, which depended on minor physical labor to add a little more on the household income.

It was a quick if somewhat lingering half second, when your gaze only caught a glittering blur pouring air to shatter against your face.

The fluffy object then collided with a soft thud against the top of your left cheekbone, pushing the muscle of your neck back against the back of the sofa, as your senseless fingers detached from the still-lit half-smoked cigarette, whose butt fell against the pillow that soon had its fabric sprinkled in a small hole with burnt and blackened edges.

“Shit, Pietro–!”

Darcy, with cheeks as rosy as a pair of ripe tomatoes against her usually pale, lifeless alabaster countenance, seemed a second away from writhing into a convulsive laugh that would soon take the form of a fit of choking vomit, and you soon treated catching the remains of the cigarette between your right index finger and thumb, before pressing the tip against the pale porcelain pot that was the makeshift ashtray to then stand on your knees, scrutinizing the damage done to the mobile.

“Shit,” you repeated, albeit in a slightly lowered tone, the palms of your hands resting on your bent and exposed knees, “Shit, see what you did, dickhead? You ripped a goddamn hole in the pillow, you jerk!”

“What–?!” the boy then scrambled to his feet in exasperation, suddenly slipping into a layer of momentary sobriety, rounding the coffee table to walk over to your side in rather worried steps, “What the– oh my God, oh my God, my mom’s going to kill me—”

The sound of the front door being opened so close and then being closed as it was before, was what spread throughout the house of close rooms, succinct and with a small and short square footage composition.

The walls of your stomach collapsed in on you as Pietro shot you an alarmed look that flickered a troubled blue, turning pale as if the blood was suddenly draining from his cheeks. For a second he looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car on the road.

“We're fucked.”

“I know.”

But desperation didn't rage among the three of you for as long as it would have; like a bucket of water dispersed in a still-igniting spark, putting out a coming fire, who came into the living room was not the figure of Ms. Maximoff dressed in her signature red and white ketchup-stained waitress uniform, but only a young Wanda Maximoff, Pietro's younger twin sister, who had a pair of headphones screwed into both her ears, under the profuse bundles of her dark-brown hair.

“Pietro…?” the low voice came from far away, as footsteps approached the room with heavy combat boots high-laced on her ankles, “What are you…?”

Wanda's irises wandered from Pietro to then you and Darcy, as her index and middle fingers, with extensions adorned in a series of silver rings, hooked onto the long wires of her headphones to pull them down from inside her ears.

“Wanda!” you muttered under your breath, because your unconscious was taken over by the image of her standing there, and there was nothing else to say but call her to you, “Wanda. H-hey, Wanda. Hi.”

“…Hi, Y/n.”

You gasped for a bit as you opened and closed with your lips, saliva hardening in the back of your throat at the pretty figure of the girl dressed in dark clothes and chains dangling from the belt that threaded around the waistband of her black skirt and around her milk-white neck, with pointy pendants that alluded to the mysticism she held dear.

And she just brought out something inside you. After all, Wanda Maximoff was affable, soft, beautiful and gentle as a bouquet of red roses, the prettiest of them all.

At Westview High, everyone knew who she was when she walked through the halls, the only girl who could walk shoulder to shoulder with the cool kids clique even if she hadn't gotten out of her Evanescence listening phase – even if her wealth was not as capital as theirs. Everyone wanted a little bit of her, from the kind, generous, gorgeous girl, essential member of the academic decathlon team and debate group.

A keen library goer, consumer of thick, hard-to-read books, who kept high grades as well as the good will of the people like it was second nature to her. A school prodigy. A popular necessity.

And Wanda went out of her way to be extremely considerate of her requirements. It just so happens that she was never quite able to share that said kindheartedness with you, something that has always given you doses of discontent inside your chest – after all, even after almost a whole year of seasons all past since your permanent installation in the small-town blandices, Wanda never bothered to look you straight in the eye for more than three or so seconds.

“This–this isn’t what it looks like, Wanda,” cried Pietro, who raised a hand to his sister across the room.

“We’re just,” you tried, “Well, we were—”

“Of course we sure as hell weren't smoking pot in your living room,” Darcy muttered to the ceiling, still sitting in her chair, “I mean minus Y/n, because she's such a boring bitch,” there was a snort on the part of the bespectacled girl.

“Darcy, shut up!”

“C’mon, what a fucking surprise Piet, everybody knows you smoke pot!”

And then when Wanda's gaze woven in a curious green latched onto yours, an air-tied knot whose ends met between you and her, you pressed your lips together in a single line, because a thin layer of blush turned pink on her high cheeks, which flushed like a little porcelain doll.

You straightened your posture, but the girl with the long, silky dark hair only looked away, aiming for the dirty porcelain bowl set on the cheap wooden table.

“I,” she whispered, like a shy little mouse with rosy cheeks, “I won't… I won’t say anything to mom, don't worry about it. Just… just clean this mess up before she gets home.”

There was a flash of green gaze that flashed into your eyes like a beacon on the horizon, but then it faded in less than a second because Wanda seemed to relinquish eye contact with you, again lowering her gaze away from your face, hiding her pretty pale eyes behind a thick curtain of dark hair.

She suppressed her lips in a thin, rosy line, seeming to shrink into her blackish-brown, long-sleeved blouse. Wanda opened her mouth as if to say something, but then clasped her lips together again in a sign of resignation.

“I–I'm going to my room.”

And the girl barely waited for an answer from any of the three parties before she left for the house, leaving like a deserting spirit. You blinked once, and then turned your nose towards Darcy.

“Dude, did I do something wrong…?”

“She’s probably just scared of you,” teased the girl with the glasses, “You know, she dresses all edgy and stuff but she's just so sweet and kind like this little black bunny and you... well, man, you spilled cigarette ash all over her mother's couch, what the heck.”

When she laughed at her own joke, something in you faltered for half a second.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you mussed awkwardly, screwing the palm of your right hand against the skin of the back of your neck, “I… I guess.”

“Whatever, Wanda’s a weirdo,” Pietro's voice came from your side, even if half muttering to himself, “Just–just please help me clean this up, dammit. My mom’s going to kill me, I swear...”

ᗢ

A gust of annoyed air had left the gap between your lips open for what was perhaps the tenth time in a row allotted to that meager period of time that spanned a lengthy fifteen minutes of a rather dull morning – at least that's what you was, when your weary gaze sagged across the raised square screen of your phone, towards the upper right corner, and there you were faced with the digital clock marking the scorching hour of nine thirty-seven on a hot morning in Wednesday.

You sighed slowly, warm air draining from your lungs and your chest deflating into your unbuttoned flannel shirt, through the straps of your thin tank top, because there was nothing to do other than that.

You might as well proclaim your notes in your notebook as Miss Harkness, who was standing right in front of long rows of other bustling teenagers who, like you, huffed bored air out of their mouths into their faces, dictated to her history class to all the school kids in their seats.

However, as much as you were interested in the class (as, in fact, you were), it turns out that Miss Harkness just had a habit of getting quite carried away in her classical prose, and even though the middle-aged woman in the lilac waistcoat was one of your favorite teachers, nothing there was enough to capture your diverted attention.

Because you, moreover, barely had any thoughts floating around in your head that weren't entirely focused on Wanda Maximoff and the esoteric wonder that came along with her, as if it were her own shadow.

And, given the situation similar to yours in which Wanda found herself in that same class, it was she who was sitting there next to you, taking note of everything the teacher said about that historical event that honed the details of the modern country founding; Wanda was just a pretty smart type of student, it's true. The girl urged you on in a superhuman way.

Yet, at that morning and like every other morning before, the two of you hadn't even exchanged enough sentences for you to actually engage in a conversation with the other girl. In fact, you hadn't even spoken to her at all.

You knew she was deep enough in her notes to having someone to piss her off. With the chin supported by the hand supplanted by the left elbow raised to the face of your table, your gaze headed towards Wanda, who was seated to your right and attracted you like a damn lodestone, in an inevitable magnetic dazzle; in the same room in the company of several people, Wanda was always the one who caught your attention under her fingertips to keep.

Just the appeal, the idea, the unknown, they were enough to find you rambling about your classmate – Wanda interspersing her diligent attention between Agatha and her own dark-covered notebook where the digits of her fingers, lined with rings, wrote so cunningly in a black ink pen, one opalescent knee crossed by the other under the table, the miniskirt exposing her pale, firm thighs that were suddenly engulfed by high dark stockings that rose above the confines of her knees.

And it admired you, how her brown hair seemed to modulate accentuated shades of honey color when laid out by the rays of sunlight that entered the room through the thick glass windows that adorned the walls adjacent to the tables you occupied respectively. How her irises looked like two sparkling emerald stones when highlighted by a profuse smoky dark eyeliner liner around her waterline – her naturally thick, long lashes adorning her stylish, heavy makeup.

There was the leaf-shaped pendant in dark silver dangling from a thin chain that flowed across her attractive bosom, between the sharp collarbones that poked out of her thin black blouse, adorned with strands of long, silky light brown hair; the necklace between her breasts, the exposed skin there looking so soft, a tiny mole situated high on her right breast that you just wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss and feel through your tongue.

“Miss Y/l/n.”

The teacher's voice called out of your thoughts between the heads of young people, which caused a sea of eyes to all turn to you, like creatures from another world, a pack of animals in the forest looking to a flashlight.

Even Wanda's gaze got caught, which for half a broken second turned to you only for when, upon catching your face already turned towards her, she only turned to the filled pages of the notebook placed between her forearms, like if you really were just an eminent pest. She doesn't know who I am and yet she doesn't give a damn about me, huh.

“Can you answer the question, Miss Y/l/n?”

Miss Harkness's tight, dark curls swayed in your direction when you look at her, standing there on the other side of the classroom and in front of the blackboard cluttered with notes made all in powdered white chalk.

“Eh,” you mussed, somewhat unimpressed by the teasing smirks that were beginning to form on unfriendly faces, containing in your grunt a sudden roll of disinterested eyes.

“What's the question again, please?”

“Pff, sucker.”

A voice pierced the veil of silence that had fallen over the other youngsters, the voice of that smug boy Tony Stark, which soon erupted into group giggles that spilled back and forth into the classroom like a flock of flustered parrots.

“Alright, alright, cut it off for Christ's sake!” Miss Agatha Harkness cried out somewhat aggravated, waving both her hands in front of her body in a rather weary way.

“None of you here is in position to laugh and you all know it very well! Would any of you like to answer the question for Miss Y/l/n instead, huh? Somebody? Nobody? Well, that’s what I thought.”

The teacher's simple, elaborate tone sounded an octave higher than usual, drawing your attention towards the woman in question. You looked at her, but Wanda's gaze burned to the flesh of your right cheek, before glancing at Miss Harkness another time.

And then, a hand with nails tinted in dark polish rose above the others' heads, not at all hesitant in her actions as she did so. Wanda, of course, was willing to speak up when no one else did. You looked at her with an air of interest, straightening your posture against your hard, clear plastic chair.

“Yes, Miss Maximoff?” Agatha nodded, to which the young girl immediately lowered her right arm.

“The Church created the Court of the Holy Office in the thirteenth century, and it was supposed to prevent people who had deviated from Christianity from leaving. They used various mechanisms of persecution and punishment for that,” narrated Wanda with exquisite mastery.

“That's what led to the Inquisition and, after some time, the Salem witch hunt, which actually started in France in the fifteenth century.”

You focused your eyes on her for a couple of seconds longer than what would be considered healthy for the habit to do. It was because of looking at her so intently, however, that you found the other girl giving you a single, chaste glance out of the corner of her eye, which then retreated away, as if in an internal game with both parts of her brain; one wanted to look at you, and the other didn't.

“Finally, great,” Agatha brandished.

“At least someone here is paying attention in class. You are correct indeed, Miss Maximoff. See, Miss Y/l/n, this is what happens when you actually listen to your teacher and not just daydream looking at your classmates all morning.”

"I– what?! I didn't—!” A heat spread from the tips of your ears, all the way down to your cheekbones, your neck, and your shoulders inside your unbuttoned shirt.

Someone stifled a laugh on a cough from behind your seat. Fuck.

Wanda remained silent, and you wouldn't even dare look to the side, at her, who so relentlessly strayed her curious gaze in your direction, her chin slightly tilted at a broken angle to the side of her left shoulder. Mortification in bright crimson still burned the flushed skin of your cheeks at the pretty girl's gaze.

“That's what you heard, heartbreaker,” the teacher waved her witch-like hand, “Now, please, everyone pay attention here for another fifteen minutes until class is over, will you? I swear I want to be here as much as you kids do.”

And then there was another bout of chatter from Miss Harkness in a waistcoat buttoned over a white shirt printed with corny light blue flowers. Perhaps, if you hadn't covered your eyes with the open palms of both your hands, you would have caught the tiny fond smile that tugged at the corner of Wanda's peachy lips.

ᗢ

It didn't take long, with some minutes passed right after lunch time, for you to sneak into the four closed walls of a second-floor women's bathroom stall so that, in such a way, you could give yourself the courtesy of blowing smoke from your cigarette, scorching in peace. With your back resting peacefully against the laminated plastic of the scrawny cabin wall, you leaned your back, staring sluggishly at the pale plaster ceiling. It’s not like the time and space around your miserable existence matters all that much.

The cigarette that appeared between your parted lips had a flickering tip like a firefly in the night flickering in the dark night, and the smoke that just sailed up to the ceiling was thin and wavering, fading from reality like a utopian idea.

Near the flush valve, painted onto the white tile, an elaborate graffiti in black marker pen penned two names joined by a mathematical plus sign – something like “KATE + YELENA” etched near your right elbow, a promise perpetuated in the inerasable act of a young heart lacerated by a still budding idea of what warm love would be pulsing inside someone’s chest.

Behind an opaque veil of cigarette smoke, you considered doing the same with your own name and Wanda Maximoff's, until you suddenly gave up on the idea as it was supposed to be an impulsive lapse in need.

So you just sighed, shaking your head from side to side, getting rid of those silly thoughts as if you had quaked them out of your brain. The only sound that erupted through the silence encrusted in the cabins was that of the avid drip of a poorly closed sink. Dripping. And dripping. And stopping. Until a trio of female voices burst through the front door.

“Shit–!”

In an act of open desperation, you just dropped your still lit, half-smoked cigarette down into the open toilet, into the still water.

“I swear, that's what she said,” the evident tone of voice that reached your ear was distinctly that of Pepper Potts, the girl a year older than you who was the head of the cheerleading squad.

“Rogers dumped her because he's dating Barnes!”

“That's weird, I thought it was Wilson this time.”

Just behind her, the second voice couldn't be anyone other than Monica, the only child of principal Rambeau and that, like her friend, everyone knew who she was; a genuinely nice girl from the lacrosse team who turned out to be Pietro's crush for as long as you knew him.

“No, Wilson used to date Barnes who now dates Rogers. It’s hard to keep up, I know.”

Pepper clarified it to her friend, and for a second it sounded like she was planning to start a new sentence about the ups and downs of her peers' social-love life when, after a broken half lapse of silence within those with walls, the strawberry-blonde girl’s voice was then charged with a queasy tone, which indicated a nose twisted in repugnance that you couldn’t see behind the cabin’s closed red door.

“Ugh, what is that smell…?”

“Cigarette smoke, I guess.”

Your heart slammed and disarmed inside the middle of your chest, because the answer was based on Wanda Maximoff's delightfully low voice. She was there, in the company of her friends who reapplied makeup to their faces. Well, fuck. You gulped like a criminal in trial.

You scarcely dared to breathe accurately between your nostrils, but it's not like your lungs, at the sound of her melodic voice, know how to do anything but just inflate and deflate sparingly like a pair of flat tires.

“That’s disgusting,” Pepper clicked with her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

“It must have been Y/l/n, everyone knows she comes here to smoke after lunch,” said Monica, who seemed to have a crooked joyful smile in her voice.

“I swear, Wanda, she was practically drooling on you earlier today. Heart eyes and all, totally head over heels. It was actually kinda cute to watch.”

“She… she was?” it was small, almost inaudible from your listening hiding position, away from the eyes of those who spoke.

There was something shy that could be pointed out in Wanda's voice, but there was something also glistening with the tiniest glimmer of hope that you couldn't help but notice. Something that lulled your senses and made you ponder about the direction of this conversation so intimate that, for a second, you felt like you were crossing an invisible line of common sense. Maybe it was wrong. A mistake. Or perhaps it was just a weird type of unconventional luck, even.

It was like you couldn’t be there at all. Because you, in the wrong place at the wrong time, were just invading Wanda’s privacy; that’s how it felt, at least. It was as if the walls of the cabin were going to swallow you and squash you to death like the stomach of a dark creature.

“I really don't understand what you see in that girl, Wands,” it's Pepper's turn to say, “You should just give Jarvis a chance. He asked you out to eat Indian food, didn't he? You love Indian food.”

“I hate Indian food,” Wanda reiterated to the other girl, “And he doesn’t give a damn about me, anyways. He just likes hanging out with people who have high grades. And you just want me to date him because he's Tony's brother, and if I do date him you'll have someone to go on a stupid double date with.”

“It's not that, geez,” was the head cheerleader's reply, “It's just that he's on the decathlon team like you and he's graduating this year, so you can date a college boy in your senior year. Damn, I'd like to date a college boy my senior year."

“You're already in your senior year,” Monica reminds her, “And you’re dating Tony.”

“Yes, for that very reason.”

Something about that suggestion didn't appeal to your taste at all, still tucked inside the cabin as you were. Just the thought of Wanda dangling from Jarvis Stark's arm, a known prick among the students other than those who made up his intimate circle of handpicked relationships, was enough to ignite an acrimonious revulsion in you, which even seemed to want to devour your muscle cells from the inside out.

That bitter feeling running down the side of your tongue, pouring out between your teeth, was nothing to do with your half-smoked cigarette which then floated down the toilet like a sunken ship. And you just didn’t want to think so hard about why the slightest mention of the idea of Wanda dating Jarvis fueled such a revolting feeling within your ribcage.

“Besides,” the Potts girl continues her own line, oblivious to your deep displeasure.

“Unlike that Y/l/n girl, Jarvis has a guaranteed future in his father's company for when he finishes his graduation. And look, don't get me wrong, but that girl is either going to end up in jail or dead or both, and that's probably before she even turns thirty. Ugh, c’mon Wanda, she's just another freak. You can do way better than that. I mean, you even have a shot to be prom queen this year if you start dating Jarvis.”

“I don't wanna be prom queen, Pepper. Everyone already knows it's going to be you and Tony, anyways,” said Wanda, in a tone that emulated lapses of discomfort towards the other young woman, “And don't say that about Y/n, that's not true.”

And it surprised you, in fact, because you had never heard Wanda be so incisive with her words before. Or even someone using such a tone of voice when addressing Pepper Potts.

“She's not… a freak, she’s funny. And smart. And she’s actually pretty sweet when you really get to know her. I... I never talk to her much when she comes over to my house because she's always hanging with Pietro and Darcy, but... she just... she just seems nice to have around, you know? Something about her is… soft. She once made me laugh until juice almost came out of my nose.”

Your heart skipped a beat as your memory traveled back to that day, at a dinner night guided by the traditional house stroganoff, were Ms. Maximoff made sure that your presence was there, at the dinning table with her and her children. The tips of your ears and the skin of your shoulder burned to embers that carried the ashes of that night, but it was as if that heat itself soothed the anxious twinges in your bristling veins.

It was the first time your eyes were ever pleased to witness a sincere laugh burst from within Wanda’s lungs.

And no one had ever looked as stunning in front of you as she did back in that day so many weeks ago, with her head thrown back and her eyes squinted, cheeks flushed in such a lovely rosy layer of flesh, shoulders swaying inside an ancient rock band shirt, peach mouth open only to reveal the two front teeth partially larger than the rest, like a scrunched nose bunny.

So genuine and so pure that your heart turned on itself – and if you dared to do so, you would say it was that day she usurped the rights of your feelings.

“And, uh...” Wanda's voice was small this time, in a timid, measured edge, “She's... she... she's pretty. Like, really… really pretty.”

It was like an electric current that ran from your ribs to the flesh of your cheek, heating the tops of your cheekbones. The saliva in your mouth, still vicious like a full-bodied drink, only evaporated and disappeared, making the wetness pooling in the palms of both of your sweaty hands even more evident. It was as if fireworks erupted in a hot red roar inside the walls of your stomach.

“She’s hot! I once heard that she had a hidden tattoo somewhere,” it was Monica's turn to cry out in an air of laughter.

“She’s a freak,” growled the Potts girl again, in an eye roll, “And you two are just too squeamish for your own good. She’s not the only person with earrings out there, Jesus.”

“Seriously, Pep, look at Wanda, her type is obviously not those preppy boys like that Stark douche. Girl, her type is delinquents. Bad girls. You know, just girls as a whole. Someone to listen to, I don’t know, Iron Maiden with her or whatever emo shit she listens to.”

“Yeah, got it, geez,” muttered the older girl in a bad way, “It's just what I think.”

“Well, you thought wrong then.”

“Really, Monica, just shut up–”

A few more frivolous conversations drifted over the trio of girls, who took off out of the bathroom minutes later, striding farther and farther away when the subject in question strayed into something that was of no interest to you at all. You blinked once, and then twice. It was like being at the bottom of the ocean and coming back to the surface abruptly.

You breathed. You just breathed. Soundlessly, your right hand slipped to the latch of the laminated plastic door, which opened out in a continuous squeak.

You gulped down the saliva sitting on the back of your tongue. Meeting your eyes in the quadrangular mirror placed in front of the cabin from which you exited, the air still reeking of the remnants of your cigarette mixed with Wanda's perfume, it did not surprise you at all that your cheeks reflected in the glass were like two reddish cherries burning over your boiling flesh.

“…Fuck.”

ᗢ

A few succinct days were passed one after another in front of your secret incident in the girl's bathroom stall (there was no more dignified labeling for such an occurrence than an incident as pleasant as it was also uncomfortable, it's true).

The entire seventy-two hours that followed were then grounded in several thoughtful cigarettes burning between your aching lips, the lighter's flame flickering in the ashes of broken reasonings, considerations and daydreams taking puffs of smoke, all which circled in your brain as if it were the moon that gravitates around the planet, as if space itself had usurped the oxygen from your bloodstream and changed it to Wanda’s name.

Wanda. Your cigarette smoke burned Wanda's name in your lungs. Your eyelids blinked Wanda's emerald gaze out of your sleepy eyes. Just Wanda. Only Wanda. Wanda Maximoff, red, green and black, a dream and a doom.

Your everyday contemplations then became the shelter of the other girl's tender jadish irises blooming in shades of a cordial green, like the green of spring pastures, and only the Maximoff girl could have been able to capture your attention even when you were within the walls of your own room, away from her piercing vision.

You couldn’t help but glance so assiduously at her when she was wearing nothing but partially buttoned black shirts on her chest and increasingly revealing miniskirts, whose fabric didn't even bother to cover the hollow of her soft, pale thighs worn down in tall, dark stockings.

Like a delightful reverie, she came in a spectral crimson form at night, only to disappear early in the morning sun. Four days were enough for you to bury your face in the middle of your pillow and let out a cavernous and frustrated yell vanish there, in vain trying to engage in a battle already lost since its beginnings against something that.

Like the addictive nicotine contained in the extensions of your countless smoked cigarettes, every cell in your body clamored for more of her. It was as if your lips would bleed if you lacked the taste of her kiss for even one more day.

If Wanda were a witch endowed with mystical gifts, you would sure be bewitched by her addictive charms with an intangible scarlet grip around the outline of your neck – for the length of the halls between class periods, the cafeteria packed with students heads at lunchtime (campaigns for prom royalty were starting to brew little by little) or even on the bleachers smeared out of the faculty buildings by the warm sun, you searched with intent eyes for the slightest trace of her stunning presence, like a hungry dog hunting something down to satisfy its starvation.

And you could barely be sure in your own limping functions of what it was that led you there when it was that your feet, in untied shoes, marched under a stifling blanket of the scorching spring sun, even if the excuse paramount was that you just wanted her brother's company by your side to smoke a cigarette – even if Pietro wasn't into smoking conventional cigarettes at all, just like you also weren’t into smoking what he had to offer either.

Stepping hard on the concrete of the sidewalk without a definite purpose at the heart of your rash actions, like a maze with only one exit, your feet instinctively led you up the two entry steps of the Maximoff residence – the newly painted one storey house that contained within its structures two bedrooms and only one bathroom.

That's where your right index finger, so accurate, searched for the bell to press with the tip of your digit and, after the miserable seconds that followed the act, who came to meet you was that same brunette girl who stole the gift of sleep during the nighttime.

Wanda looked a little different on that scorching Sunday afternoon of sunny skies and wispy clouds sprinkled around the cerulean sky dome, without any hint of dark makeup to adorn the moss-colored puddles that flanked her sharp pupils to be found in her natural beauty, albeit the long coffee-colored strands that were tucked behind the contours of her ears, in the usual casual way she liked to stylish them.

“Y/n?” it was a stunned tone at your offered smile as her chin tilted toward her left collarbone, one corner of a dark brow cocked in an expression nothing short of stupefied, her eyes enlarged in size.

“Hey, hi Wanda. How’re you doing?"

“I–I,” she huffed for a bit, “I'm fine... I'm fine, thank you. You?”

“Oh,” you smiled, “I’m great, thanks.”

Wanda's rosy mouth tightened into a line at your sight, and you couldn't help but notice the fact that the way she shifted her weight from one bare leg to the other beneath the dark material of her front-buttoned skirt, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do there at the door of her own home – surely you weren't a face she expected to find there.

Seconds passed in a slow swoop when a bird hummed in a nearby tree. Wanda just played fidget with the handfuls of rings that adorned the pale extensions of her right fingers, twisting, pulling and touching them with her left fingernails carpeted in dark nail polish chipped at the tips. There was a cigarette leaning behind your right ear.

“So,” you then began rather casually, and your voice drew her attention from her own clean shoes, as the other girl saw herself as being imbued with a somewhat restless silence, “Is Pietro at home? I sent him some texts, but he hasn't replied for a while.”

“No, he… he left a while ago,” she hissed a little too quickly, like a hamster's squeak, “He's grounded. You know, from burning a hole in the pillow that day.”

You cinched a flash of fur between your brows in a funny way, breaking a curious little smirk at the corner of your lips.

“He's grounded,” it was echoed slowly, as if to get your bearings, “But he left...?”

“Yeah,” Wanda shrugged into her plain blouse, “My mom took the afternoon shift at the diner and Lorna went out to play at her friend's house, and he's been bugging me for ages about setting up a date with Monica... and she agreed to go out with him today, so… he went out with her.”

“Huh,” you mumbled thoughtfully, “That's cool, I guess. I mean, he talks about her all the damn time… it’s kinda annoying actually. Even if it’s cute.”

“Yeah,” she half-chuckled, not moving her lips that much, “I know.”

There was a silence that bordered the two of you for a few more seconds as in an intangible fence made of mutual discomposure, a view a bit awkward to witness from afar, almost like a lighthearted conversation taken disinterestedly between two strangers inside a crowded bus or in a long bank line just to pass the time.

Wanda was still fidgeting with her own fingers, soundless in a dull quietness as if a lump stuck in her throat forbade her to speak words to you, and you just unpretentiously shoved the palms of both your hands into the back pockets of your baggy jeans, your side teeth nibbling the flesh on the inside of your cheeks as you did.

“I,” you muttered under your breath, nodding your head at an unasked question, filling the gap of silence between you and Wanda, “I think I'm gonna go home then—”

“You–you can wait for him here if you want!”

You blinked for a second, lifting your eyebrows to the middle of your forehead, almost touching your hairline. Wanda's pink lower lip was pressed between a wall of her upper teeth, and her cheeks flushed with a remarkable heat. Cute, you thought with yourself. So goddamn cute, oh my God... you wanted to hold her in your arms just to place a warm kiss in the middle of her forehead skin.

“Fine,” was a casual agreement, “I'd like to stay, then. If that doesn't bother you, of course.”

She then shrugged, “No, being alone at home is kinda boring sometimes. And, well,” her right fingertips swept behind her ear a strand of hair that had come loose from its previous spot there, “You… you're cool, Y/n.”

Your lips tightened when, even with her head aiming halfway down the floor, Wanda looked at you in a flash of moss green that flowered between her dark, thick, heavy doll-like lashes. Into the crop top you wore over your shoulders, your chest heaved and deflated severely against your ribs.

“Right. You're cool too, Wanda.”

She smiled in a singularly kind way because you did too, before closing the door behind you as you entered your newfound hostess's house together. As you passed close to her shoulder, there was the scent of strawberry shampoo and a cheap, lightly woody perfume like cinnamon that intoxicated your bloodstream as the scent wafted through your nostrils.

There was at you core the stimulating temptation of your perceptions to stick the tip of your nose through her long locks, only to further indulge your senses with her scent, but you held back your actions before skidding into a lapse of daring to definitely do it.

“You... You want something to eat?” Wanda spoke a little tenderly, half-cumbersomely even, not sneaking a glance at your face as you followed her into the walls of the small house, “I baked a cake.”

“Wait, wait, you cook?” you turned your gaze to the girl next to your left shoulder, who let a chaste smile crack between her lips.

“Well,” she muttered, “Sometimes, yeah. Not as often as I would like to, though. It's usually only when Lorna asks me to do it.”

“Cool,” you reciprocated her small grin, “I'd like a slice, if it's not too much trouble.”

When you went to sit on the springs of the dark sofa, out of the way of Wanda, who in turn headed for the nearby kitchen, your eyes proceeded to a small square television set in the corner of the room, above a somewhat rustic wooden furniture with silver handles, which on its monochromatic screen flashed a reprised episode of some old sitcom in shades of an artificially colored image like in one of those advertising flyers from sixty years ago.

Wanda came over to you a few minutes later all filled with a corny, fun-to-watch script between a blonde actress and a tall actor wearing a suit, in rather quick strides in her converse sneakers, carrying with her, in her right hand, a glass plate that contained a generous slice of white cake that looked like a feather-flavored pastry.

“Here,” she then handed you the utensil that was gladly accepted by your hands along with a grateful smile on your face, before sitting in the sofa to your right, with her bare knees joined together like a pair of magnets.

“Thanks, really. But hey, Bewitched, huh?” With a jerk of your chin, you pointed at the television in the corner of the room, under the open glass window that let aureate glimmers of a cozy sunlight take over the room.

Wanda acquiesced with a nod that shuddered her soft, dark locks, her lips twisted into a shy little smile. The rehearsed laughter of an unseen audience cluttered the four walls of the living room.

“Yeah, my mom always liked all that old American stuff when I was a kid, so I guess it got passed on to me somehow,” she finally looked at you, sounding even a little more undisturbed when engaged in narration about her most intimate tastes.

“I mean, Pietro doesn't like it very much… he says it's boring. And Lorna is just too small to pay attention to anything that lasts longer than five minutes, so… someone had to keep my mom company when she got home late from work. But it never bothered me, really. I... I like sitcoms.”

When a chuckle escaped between your parted lips at her own revelation, Wanda soon tried to justify herself in a quick, slurred speech, like a sinner validating her confessions in the eyes of the Lord.

“I–I mean, I, I know it's silly, but–”

“Hey, who said it's silly?” you offer her a succinct, complacent look that has her reaching for a sip of oxygen, “That's actually pretty sweet of you, Wanda.”

“You… You really think so…?” she looked at you, waiting for a hesitant answer.

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, “My mom used to watch these old sitcoms all the time too when I was younger. So I think it's cool. It's really nice of you, Wanda.”

“Right,” there was a blistering twinge that brushed her pale cheeks, as her lips echoed a “Cool,” rather pleased with herself.

The tines of the tip of the aluminum fork in your possession, then pressed between the face of your right index finger and thumb, made to dip and break the loose dough of the plump cake placed right on top of the small plate that was supported by your left hand, before taking a significant amount of the sweet dessert so that it could be taken all the way up to your half-open mouth.

You hummed fortunately against the softly sweet taste on the face of your tongue. It was delicious on the palate, in fact, still warm as if fresh from the oven, with a comforting touch of nostalgia for something you had never experienced before – it was as if Wanda was sharing a tiny fraction of her Sokovian childhood with you. It tasted of sunny country afternoons and homemade desserts dotted with a coat of maternal affability. Tasted like pure, simple happiness of old infantile days to the sharpest feeling of the sentence.

Realizing that you were indeed eating something she had so selflessly prepared just a few minutes earlier, an emerald spotlight with an expectant green gaze engaged your facial expressions, as in an analysis project by Wanda, whose subject matter of study was none other than yourself.

“Man, this is really, really good!” it was a cry bordered by a half-child affinity, before you went back to reaching for more of the cake with the tines of your fork.

“You liked it?” Wanda's face glowed with exultant euphoria, shimmering a veil of pale green on her pretty irises, “It’s ptichye moloko, my mom used to bake it all the time when Pietro and I were kids back in Novi Grad.”

“Right, don't tell her I said that but I'm sure yours is better.”

“What?!” Wanda smiled a little dumbfounded, as her left shoulder bumped against your right bicep in a light-hearted way, witty in her comfortable good-humor that was slowly unfolding in front of you, “You haven't even tasted hers, Y/n!”

“Yeah, sorry, but as much as I’d be willing to literally die for your mom's cooking, you baked it, so I'm automatically sure yours is better.”

The high flesh of her cheeks burned in deep shades of rosy-crimson at your utterly sincere statement.

After a few episodes of the old television series (no less than five, but certainly more than two and a half), with the walls of your stomach already satisfied in your abdomen with that generous piece of cake made with a strictly followed recipe in the traditional Sokovian style, Wanda's gaze, who was then chuckling softly at some harmless silly joke made by the main character, dropped to your right profile, burning the bone in your jaw in scheming thoughts.

“When did you start smoking?”

Sweeping your eyes away from the colorful figures on the television, you glanced at the girl sitting next to you, finding a pretty face brightening before your gaze, “Sorry, what?”

“Your cigarette,” her index finger pointed at the small cylindrical object blistered behind your ear, skimming against your silver earrings, “When did you start smoking? If... if you don't mind talking about it, of course. Sorry if I'm being invasive."

“Oh, that,” you recalled suddenly from the presence of your addiction, bringing your right fingers to pick it up between your digits.

“It’s okay, I don't mind talking about it. But... I think it's been a while, actually. When my mom left my dad started smoking again and, well... I wanted to sneak some from him to see what it was like. About two years ago or so, I guess. Something like that."

You shrugged it off, because the matter had been over for longer than you cared to remember, and there wasn't much you could do if your mom just didn't want to stay anymore. But a warm grip slid across your skin as Wanda's right hand settled over the bare skin of your forearm, and there the tip of her thumb gave a cordial caress in affectionate circular motions, when her eyelids flicker so courteously into your face.

She was just a sweet girl after all, albeit under dark, torn clothes and dangling chains. Such a virtuous soul in the face of the oppressions of such an overwhelming world. When your eyes locked in midair, one trying to understand the glimmering behind the other, even the rehearsed lines coming from the television in the corner weren't enough to loosen the knot that was tied between you and Wanda.

“I… I get it, Y/n,” she mussed, leaning a little closer to your body, “I mean… it was hard when my dad left as soon as we arrived in the country. Quite hard, actually. My mom, she... she bought wine, for a while. Lots of wine bottles. I mean, she's better now, but I think that's when Pietro started doing... those things he does.”

The girl nibbled on her lower lip, and you, up close, just followed her with your eyes as she did.

“I didn't mean to bring you bad memories, it's just that...” her voice trailed off, getting smaller and smaller, as the tips of her ears reddened like two ripe peppers, “You... you look pretty when... when you smoke.”

Your heart missed a beat, and the oxygen just became unpalatable there inside that scrawny room filled with some disembodied laughter chuckled by the television set long forgotten in its sunny corner.

Setting the unsmoked cigarette aside, your right hand then dared to reach up on your forearm to search for what you've been searching for in the last few months, just snuggling your open palm against Wanda's soft cheek where, like the caresses bestowed by her finger, your own thumb tried to stroke a tiny freckle high up on her sharp cheekbone.

“Hey, look at me,” you asked in a tone bathed in tenderness, which she matched in a trace of pale green in her flickering irises, “It's okay Wanda, you didn't do anything wrong, don't worry about it. And on top of that," you half-giggled, “I think you're pretty too, you know.”

The thick dark lashes flickered out of her eyes, a half-formed mantilla of limping anguish, setting the stage for a color imbued with traces of what would be dizzying hope, flushing bright red on the pale alabaster skin of her accentuated face.

“You think I'm pretty...?”

“Of course I think so,” you nodded, your pupils dilated in close juncture with hers.

“You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, Wanda. I wish I could make you laugh every day of my life just to see you smiling. Your... your smile is beautiful. And the way you sit and fiddle with your hair, or the way you care so much about everyone… everything about you is beautiful. Not a single day goes by that I don't notice how beautiful you are.”

She swallowed when you did too; an abyssal gaze that slanted magnetically down your face, to the outline of your lips as close to hers as they were.

“Can I…” she breathed beneath her ruffled voice, “Can I kiss you, Y/n? I really want to kiss you...”

What happened next, on the initiative of a Wanda who didn't even wait for half a second when you nodded in restraint, was a needy kiss that tasted like cake, cinnamon, cigarettes and, at the end, a hint of crystalline need not contained. Your upper teeth kind of clashed with each other at first, though that didn't stop you or Wanda, who just hooked her gentle fingers into the outline of the skin on your neck. Your brain needed oxygen, but your chest just needed her; her touch, her tongue, her red.

“Please,” Wanda mussed with her swollen lip against your, her eyes heavy, warm air caressing the pulp of the commission in your mouth, “Please tell me this is as important to you as it is to me.”

“It is,” you muttered, going back to more of the taste of her tongue, “God, Wanda, you don't know how long I've been wanting to do this…”

The girl kissed you again with excruciating need, as if she really wanted to keep your soul tied to hers between the flicks of your tongues, as you felt the commission of her lips against yours twitch in a goofy smile, both hands roaming in search of the strands of your hair to hold them between her fingers, as if she wanted to breathe in from them the scent of cigarettes that so soothed her heart.

Wanda ran her hands down the length of your back, the roll of frigid rings feeling icy against your warm, bristly skin, hugging you around the waist as you wrapped your arms around her waist, your noses touching, mirrored smiles on your lips broken by kisses that were increasingly equipped with a mutual meaning that pointed to a need pulsing in your veins.

“Can I...?” she understood the meaning behind your little question when your left palm brushed lightly against her enclosed breast, covered by the thin material of her dark blouse.

“Yes...” was a breathy sigh, “P–please, yes...”

There was consent in a tiny nod of the head, and a tiny groan breathed out from the back of her throat that reverberated through your bones as you pressed your palm lightly against her mound, one erect nipple protruding behind the fabric for, there, you've found her lacking the material of a bra to slip between your skin and hers, massaging the warm, soft flesh between the lengths of your cunning fingers.

“Fuck Wanda,” you groaned because she did too, “You're so beautiful…”

You just can't help but do it when your teeth came into contact with the pale sensitive skin of Wanda's throat, where you captured between your lips a pinkish lump of flesh glistening with a thin layer of sweat and buffed it with the tip of your tongue as if it were just a sweet dessert, feeling the burning saccharinity of the girl's naked skin as the caresses aimed at her breast became somewhat more continuous and erratic in the movements of your left forearm.

But you caught yourself surprised, when you felt a gentle grip on both your shoulders and saw that Wanda, with care as if handling the most fragile of flowers, was pulling you to fit over her, guiding you to the top.

She laid the length of her spine against the inconvenient length of the sofa, causing your wandering eyes to land on the piece of alabaster skin that had become exposed as the hem of her blouse rose, revealing, there, a band of abs marked by tiny dots sprinkled here and there, like a particular galaxy.

“You're so fucking beautiful, Wanda” was said between kisses and strokes of tongue over Wanda's abdomen, when you writhed inside the clothes that seemed too stuffy for her there, laying under your body.

“Y/n...” she moaned, but there was no word that could complement your own name whispered through her peachy lips.

Blood burned hot on the sharp red cheeks of Wanda's ivory face, her lids closed as if to hold back the tears of arousal that threatened to slip down her doll face. The rosebud mouth with the brief traces of your lustrous saliva was, every now and then, moaning in the form of a shy, smothered request.

Her lips were apparently forming delusional words, but your conscience no longer registered them, because you were too busy just watching her. Wanda was rosy, dusted with droplets of sweat, covered by the veil of ardor without realizing she was surrounded by a red haze of lust. Perfect, really. Your fingers hooked on the hem of her dark blouse, and in a slow flick of your wrist you pulled it over as you tucked the garment under Wanda's bared collarbones, revealing a pair of bare breasts there.

Watching with delight the flushed girl's unrestricted enjoyment of her satisfying freedom from the pieces of cloth that covered her silhouette, you propped yourself up on your elbows for a voluptuous view of full breasts partially covered by cascades of dark hair, blushing breasts in its perfect contours, of clear and erect nipples which you found yourself seized by a desire to squeeze between your lips and encircle it between your tongue.

However, as you threatened to resume the posture so that he could have those desirable breasts between your teeth, Wanda put a hand on your collarbone, preventing you before you even completed the act. You blinked at her face, lifting your head.

“Are you okay…?" you whispered, to which Wanda only looked away with her dark green gaze to the side, “Wanda, what is it…?”

“It's just that I've never,” she stifled, but at your encouraging gaze, something in her compelled to continue her speech, “I've never done… you know, that… with anyone… before.”

You bit your bottom lip. Well, fuck.

“It… It's all right. I've only done it once or twice, too, and I don't think one of them even counted properly,” and then, a hesitant half second passed, as you looked at her again, “You… do you want me to stop here? I don't mind stopping if you want me to. I want this to be pleasurable for you, not that you feel pressured to do it.”

“No, it's just that,” Wanda looked at you with two dark pools outlined in earnest green, pink eyelids and puffy lips, “Could this… not be a one time thing? I… I don't want to do it if it's just a one time thing.”

Your heart rose high in your chest as the idea dawned on you that Wanda wanted more than you did because you were willing to do what she wanted.

You just smiled small as you brought your face close to hers; you studied her carefully in a brief sunny moment (your crush, half-naked and fragile, had a lock of dark hair falling over her forehead and her brows furrowed, but her eyes were simple and sincere), drinking in her radiant red beauty like a drug addict – the feminine silhouette splashed with sun and, in a way, even with a synoptic veil of purity that accompanied your muse in the utopian world of dreams, like a poor helpless girl.

Gently, you kissed the corner of her rosy mouth.

“It was never intended for this to be a one time thing, Wanda,” you kissed her again, and then again and again, “I… I really like you, you know? I... I care about you. Much more than you can imagine, I promise.”

“I like you too, Y/n,” she mussed in a low voice, her forehead pressed against yours, “Really like you.”

But then, your touch approached the hollow of her groin.

“Y/n...” Wanda's tone softened, as if she was slightly embarrassed, “Y/n, please...”

“You touched yourself before, Wanda?”

The middle of her legs fluttered as it was that, even if in a partially measured way, Wanda just nodded shyly, her warm forehead still touching yours.

“Damn, you're so hot… so hot, pretty girl…”

Mouth wide and swollen, you let out a knowing smile, and gently lowered your head in a languid, lingering action, a withdrawn ecstasy making you feel compelled to bring your full lips to Wanda's soft mouth, who returned you in a wavering and sloppy kiss.

Making yourself helpful, you dipped your fingers towards the legs not completely closed under the hem of the other girl's skirt, locating between them, shrouded by the thin silk of an underwear, the fragile and swollen aroused clit, inciting a delicious moan that popped out of the girl's mouth to crash into your parted lips.

Your mouth throbbed at the sight of her like this, the gloomy, empty pupils doubling in size at the work of art that was born out of Wanda's orgasmic experience – her dark hair swept back in a purely sensual gesture, the tight mouth swallowing desperately sucking in a hiss of air, the length of her pale neck completely exposed. Her round, perfect breasts with erect nipples of a strong rosy hue, her eyelids closed and her dark brows furrowed. So desirable. So intoxicating.

You wanted to have her right there, on that little couch that would be the witness of your willingness to give her everything you had in you. You increased the pressure on Wanda's little bundle of nerves through the rising damp garment, almost even torturing her at your whim, only to see her writhe beneath your own body and groan indecently and disconnected.

A yelp was raised as your mouth closed around her right nipple, which you pampered for a while, still lingering in your low caresses, until you migrated to the other to lick and suck it into the hollow of flesh inside your cheeks. But something in you wanted more; you wanted to taste her, feel her run down your throat. And she shivered in anticipation as your mouth sailed south of her body, fitting your nose beneath her dark skirt.

“Red, huh,” you thought aloud, at the tiny wet wedge of clothing that was the only barrier erected between you and Wanda's source of pleasure; a thin lacy panty of crimson fabric, whose middle gained wet tones that made it darker at that specific point, “It suits you.”

Fingers tightened in a firm grip on the ridge of your scalp as you placed a chaste kiss on Wanda's clit, albeit over the fabric of her panties, who choked on a sudden loud yelp.

“Y/n, fuck–!”

“I don't think I've ever heard you curse like this before,” you mussed, licking the skin of your own lips, “This is new. I'll take them off, okay? Wanna taste you.”

You threaded your fingers around the inside of Wanda's black skirt, and bringing the straps of the red underwear to you, you had the girl completely naked, exposed, desirable, as soon as you moved your elbows and made your way towards what you were looking for.

From that intimate region flowed a honey of pleasure, exhaling a bittersweet odor, pink as the inside of a strawberry, bringing water to your predatory mouth. Wanda's fidgety pale legs were spread apart, and her partially shaved pussy was on display. You took your index and middle fingers to the sensitive area, and dragging the tip against the entire pink and wet extension of the inside of Wanda's labias, you collected the viscous liquid with strong flavor, drawing a strangled moan from the other girl.

You brought your smeared middle finger to your lips, fervently sucking Wanda's nectar, tasting just as you supposed it would be on the tip of your tongue; as addictive as the nicotine in your cigarette. You took them out of your mouth with a violent pop, only to then unroll your tongue to slide it into the other girl's untouched hole, which pulsed and throbbed, rubbing against the purest nothingness.

Wanda moaned, dripping against your chin. Your pace was slow at first, but you searched for more of her, and Wanda gave you what you wanted. She squirmed and grunted and squeezed your hair between her fisted hands, tangling them in the circulation of her silver rings. And your tongue wasn't very experienced indeed, but you knew what to do. The tip of your right index finger pressed against the rosy entrance as your head came out from under her skirt.

“Can I put in…?”

You felt her cunt pulse against your digit.

“Y-yes,” she yelped, “Please–!”

You kissed the inside of her thigh before carefully dipping your finger into that warm grip. And there was some resistance at first, her furrowed brow glistening in a layer of sweat, and you kept your wrist steady when it was when you again got on top of Wanda, who buried her head in your chest as you did.

“It hurts?” you asked against her ear, and she just shook her head in a hesitant move.

“N–no, but it's... it's weird,” she sighed, “I never... when–when I did, I never...”

“It's okay, pretty girl” you kissed her hair, “Gonna move now, okay? Let me know if it hurts or if you want me to stop.”

A cunning finger reached across Wanda's intimate region, reaching for what you begged to be reached, making its way towards what it sought, and, as an inevitable consequence, penetrated her through her point of entry.

In the face of the action, Wanda arched her entire spine, splitting a visceral groan from her vocal cords – for she had barely become familiar with the finger when the movement began, giving her something new to feel.

You skimmed her, filled her and understood her as nothing more than a girl with needs (needs that only yours could supply). Then Wanda squeaked; the hungry hands for something to keep within themselves searched for your shoulder blades tucked inside your crop top, and there, over your back muscles, the nails dyed in black dug breaking into the skin. Your foreheads supported each other, because during the carnal act, each other was just what you both had and what you both were.

Your forearm pumped down Wanda's skirt towards a hot, dripping grip, and as you hooked your single finger inside her tight walls, there was a moan from the other girl as you kissed it back down the inside of her throat. You kissed her sweaty forehead, then the prominent cheekbone of her flushed cheek, and a sliver of skin down the tip of her jawbone.

“Here?” touching her on a specific spot that caused a dizzying reaction, that's what you asked.

“Y–yes, please don't stop Y/n, please don't stop, please... I–I, I'll–”

“Fuck, come for me, pretty girl.”

“Y/n!”

Her velvety walls squeezed your finger before Wanda came in a loud weeping moan against your ear, pressing you against her body as if this were the last day on Earth, and she would never see you again. Silently, you just held her back, inhaling her scent from the shirt balled up over her exposed chest. You just stayed there, drinking from the moment, because you belonged to her.

The serenity that came from the unspoken heartbeats coming from Wanda's breastplate was enough to establish, at your core, the most complete and genuine feeling of latent rest that you could bear.

With your eyes closed, the room immersed in a pool of accentuated silence, you were able to hear her breathing for much longer than you could count, as she brought you unparalleled peace and immeasurable calm as nothing else had done before. She was there, and she was yours.

With your head resting on the girl's chest, lying on top of Wanda was like basking in a ray of sunlight – tender and cordial like coming home after a long journey.

The unclothed skin superimposed over the open palms of both your hands was warm and sunny, as smooth as the finest silk, and your hips were hitched in a precise, if not perfect fit—the remnants of the apex ascended in a moment of pleasure smeared the inner sides of her thighs, like a ghost of what had once been the height of the carnal act in which you were so vividly engaged minutes before.

The austere digits of your fingers amused themselves with ruffling the ends of her dark hair, cradling them around your index and middle fingers, until finally Wanda descended from her apex, her chest heavy beneath your face.

“Y/n,” she called out to you, as the seconds ticked by and the minutes settled in, “I think I wanna date you.”

Because you couldn't help but smile at such a modest return, bordering the ethereal innocence of a legitimate child, you brought your mouths together so that you could press, to the pearly lips of Wanda, a long, tongueless kiss. You ended it only to laugh, the tip of your own nose brushing the other girl's.

“You think?”

“I-I’m sure of it,” she blushed.

“I wanna date you too, Wanda,” you confessed, even though it wasn't a secret, “Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah...” she smiled – weakly and languorously when in a wave of post-orgasm fatigue, but still a genuine and sincere smile, “Yeah, it is. You’re cute.”

“Nah, pretty girl,” you shrugged, “You’re cute. I’m… something else. I’m a freak.”

“No, no, don’t say that. You’re the most beautiful girl that I’ve ever seen, Y/n,” she whispered, “And I wanna kiss you again.”

“Well, then,” you smiled towards her jadish irises, “Let me do the honors, pretty girl.”

In such a way, you approached Wanda so that you could kiss her jaw, while your hands, clasped between the sofa and the shoulder blades of your beloved, held her in a soft and pleasant embrace. Then you kissed Wanda on the patch of skin that joined her neck to her shoulder, her collarbone and her throat. And on her lips, over and over again.

And neither of you, in that newly found little bubble of love in each other's arms, even heard the front door open.

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erosmutt · 23 days

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ⵌ ꜰᴀᴡɴ ⨾ 𝙎𝙘𝙤𝙩𝙩 𝘽𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧

bratty!sub!scott x dom!chubby!milf!teacher!reader, semi-public sex (in a classroom), reader is referred to as 'Miss', reader is kinda sorta manipulative if you squint, mentions of his bitchass stepmom. 1.3k words.

“God, why do you always have to make this so hard for me?!” Scott whines, pacing in front of your desk. You sit at your desk, hands folded with your chin resting on them, your eyes following him as he goes back and forth.

He was always a brat. Always, without fail. His father requested you to give him some tutoring after school so he could keep his grades up and, in turn, stay on the football team.

“You’re so stupid! Do you even know what you’re doing?! Why can’t I get another teacher? Why can’t Mr. Scarbrow tutor me?! At least he acts like he cares!” he continued, making you roll your eyes and let out a heavy sigh, your hands going to massage your temples. He was such an insufferable student. He was never not complaining about something. Without fail, Scott found something to complain about. The temp of the room, the other students being annoying, something.

“Scott,” you begin, and your tone makes Scott stop to look up at you, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Yeah?” you give him a warm, maternal smile, and the poor boy’s entire body racked with a shudder. “How about we move onto another problem, hm? Here,” you stand and walk to the board. He swallows, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes stay fixed on your ass in the ungodly tight pencil skirt you decided to wear as you move around, the sound of your heels clicking against the linoleum fading into the background of Scott’s little world. You pick up the marker and begin writing.

“So we have your preimage, and your image. Now, when you move it, you’re translating, like so…” and now your voice fades into the background. All Scott could focus on was your wide hips and thick legs, your white blouse letting him faintly see the band of your sapphire blue bra. He slides into the desk at the very front of the class, shifting around and bouncing his legs to distract him from the growing tent in his sweatpants.

With his hands gripping the front edge of the desk, he licks his lips once more and swallows, his tummy coiling. Maybe, just maybe, he could get away with it…

So he tries. As your back is turned, Scott trails his hand down, shoving it into his sweatpants. He rubs his shaft over his boxers, fingers fiddling with the opening. Once his hand makes contact with his shaft, he whimpers. “Oh…”

You turn to look at him. “Scott?” He freezes, and slowly looks up at you, his baby blues wide with shock. You set the marker down and walk up to him, a warm smile on your face. “And what do we have here, hm~?”

Scott was absolutely fucked. How would he explain this? ‘Sorry Miss, I got horny and was jacking off to your ass’?

“Uh, I uh, uh,” “Shh,” you respond, reaching down to gently caress his cheek. “Shhh, it’s alright Scotty.” You give him another warm smile, making him whimper. You reminded him so much of his stepmother, but better. He didn’t feel gross, he felt fulfilled.

“Can you stand up for me Scott?” He nods, removing his hand and standing up. You led him to your desk, then took a seat atop it, leaving Scott there, standing before you like a lost child. “Um, Miss?” He murmurs to you, all his brattiness gone. “Miss,” “ah-ah, this entire time you’ve been acting out, Scotty. You have to listen to me now, alright?”

He nods. “‘M listening.” He watches as you reach forward and brush your fingers through his curls. “Good boy, come here, come closer.” You coax him forward as if he was an animal you were attempting to befriend. He leans into your touch, stepping closer until he’s flush against you, standing between your legs. His hands come to rest on your thighs, kneading the flesh, making his cock twitch.

All of you - your whole body made Scott writhe with need. The stretch marks on your inner thighs, the pudge of your stomach, your plush breasts making a few buttons of your blouse look like they were holding on by a thread, literally. You lean back on your hands, allowing Scott’s hands to roam your body. “Miss, can I?”

You give him that same warm smile. “Of course.” Wasting no time, Scott pushes the front of your skirt up, and his knees nearly buckle at the sight of your lace panties that were the same sapphire color your bra was. Like the teenage boy he was, he quickly shoved his bottoms down in one go, tugged your panties to the side, and guided his cock into your hole (after missing a couple times).

As soon as his tip is engulfed by your gummy walls, he whines and plants his hands flat onto the desk. “Ohh god,” He whimpers out, hips stuttering. Poor thing couldn’t even handle it! You reach up and stroke his rosy cheek with the pad of your thumb. “Shh, good boy Scott.” He leans down and rests his forehead on your shoulder, his abs flexing as he tries to not look like too much of a little bitch.

You reach down and gently wrap your free hand around his shaft, guiding him into your pussy, your legs wrapped around his waist to aid in moving him towards you. “There you go sweetie, there you go.” Once Scott was finally bottomed out inside you, he bucks his hips subconsciously, needing some sort of stimulation. “Hnn,”

Letting out a soft laugh, you reach up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Keep going Scotty, you can do it,” you murmur into his ear. Your voice was so gentle and maternal, he couldn’t take it. He reaches up and fumbles with your buttons, tugging at the thin fabric of your blouse. You let him figure it out, watching as he tugs it apart, finally getting access. He lifts his head and when he sees the plush fat of your chest, he lets out a sob.

Scott was so incredibly overstimulated - his cock buried inside you, the sight of your matured body, raging hormones. He tugs at the cups of your bra eagerly, pulling them down. “Scotty,” you coo, your hand now resting on the back of his neck. “You can move for me, yeah? You can move for Miss?”

Hearing you refer to yourself in third person made Scott let out a half-groan half-whine. He nods eagerly. “C’mon, use your words, love.” He swallows and tries to catch his breath. “Nnh, yeah, uh-huh, gonna…”

You give him a fake pout. “Poor baby,” Scott nods. He wasn’t even really coherent anymore, he was just trying to keep from falling to his knees. Finally finding the strength, he begins to buck his hips forward, rutting instead of thrusting properly. He babbles incoherently, his brows furrowed and voice strained. He leans down and buries his face in your tits, his hands squeezing at them as well. “‘na, gonna, ha, ssss, oh,” Scott slurs.

He cries out, hands finding your biceps for support as he spills his load inside you without warning. You just run your hand through his hair, raking your nails along his scalp. “Good boy, Scotty.” He murmurs something incoherent in response. “Did so well sweetie.” He murmurs a repetition of your praise, drawing a soft giggle from you, and earning him a kiss on his warm forehead.

It was rare that Scott was able to earn praise from anyone. His father, his stepmother, not even his coach would make him feel this special. You knew full well you had no business doing this, but seeing him so pathetic and brought down off his imaginary high horse filled you with satisfaction. Knowing he had no one else to cry to (besides Mr. Scarbrow, but you would make sure Scott kept his mouth closed!) except you made you shiver with a perverted sense of power. In due time, Scott would act up again - you would just have to put him back in his place.

#₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ bnuuy's fics!#૮( ꩜ ㅅ ꩜)ა bnuuy loves scott barringer #higher ground #higher ground smut #scott barringer #sub! scott barringer #dom!reader #scott barringer smut #scott barringer x reader #scott barringer x reader smut #scott barringer x you #scott barringer x y/n #scott barringer fanfic #scott barringer imagine #hayden christensen #hayden christensen smut #higher ground scott barringer #scott barringer higher ground #scott barringer x chubby!reader

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eddiemunsonswhxre · 2 years

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little bean / eddie munson (you're the reason pt. 3)

masterlist

you're the reason mini series (part three)

part one , part two

cw: female reader, fluff, some angst, lots of cursing, pregnancy, mentions but not descriptions of birth, supportive best friends, so much cuteness, probably one of my fav things i've ever written, also over 10k words, not the last part

you and eddie handle your pregnancy

notes: this takes place in an alternate universe where the upside down doesn't exist, the byers never moved, el doesn't have powers, etc. i did a little research on how pregnancy/doctors appointments went in the 80s because it's much different than today but i also know some things are going to be wrong. but i do know for certain ultrasounds weren't a thing yet, and if they were it was extremely rare. i'm also fairly certain i messed up the timeline somewhere but it confused me too much to figure it out so...

12 weeks

eddie ran his hand through his hair as he left his fourth therapy appointment. it’d been a month since you had your talk, and as he said he would, the next day he scheduled appointments to see a therapist once a week. he actually felt as though they were benefitting and he was proud to tell you that. he’d also gotten a factory job to start making money for the baby. it wasn’t hard work, he had good hours, and it paid well. he felt like things were really going to work out.

you had just hit your twelve week mark and were starting to really feel some pregnancy symptoms. regardless, you picked up a part time job at the local pharmacy and did some knitting in your free time to sell. the only people who knew so far were the two of you, your employer, your grandma, and wayne. that was partially because you were scared of how your friends would react. you also had your first appointment today. you were more than ecstatic to hear your baby’s heartbeat for the first time. you and eddie hadn’t been together too much, only meeting up to talk about updates and otherwise talking on the phone.

but, you wouldn’t have him miss this appointment for the world. he was the father, and you loved him. you already knew based on his success so far that you would take him back, you just wanted to be extra sure. he was on his way to pick you up right now and you were struggling to find clothes to wear. everything wasn’t fitting anymore and you couldn’t rationalize spending money on maternity clothes until absolutely nothing fit. you huffed in annoyance and finally decided on a long black skirt that just managed to hide your bump. you paired it with a pink blouse and slipped on some flats. you looked less like yourself, but you didn’t want the doctor to think you were some dumb teenager who had no idea what she was doing (even though you were…).

you heard your grandma open the door and eddie greet her. after convincing your grandma he was genuine about changing, she welcomed him back into the family with open arms. eddie knocked on your open door, smiling as he watched you brush on some make up. “hey, mama,” he snickered, crossing his arms.

you rolled your eyes but smiled at him. “i am not calling you daddy,” you mumble, applying mascara to your lashes.

“oh, you wound me,” he playfully scoffs, pushing off the door and walking to you. “turn around, lemme see my little bean,” he says, making grabby hands. you chuckle, putting down the tube of mascara and turning. you smooth your skirt down to showcase your bump causing eddie to gasp and his smile to widen. “baby’s getting so big,” he coos, sinking to his knees and putting his hands on your stomach.

your lip quivers as you watch eddie place a kiss to your stomach. “hi, little one,” he says, caressing your stomach as he talks to the baby. “i hope you’re being good for mommy and stop making her all sick,” he murmurs, talking as if you’re not even there. “mommy and daddy are going to listen to your little heartbeat for the first time today, gonna get to hear how strong you are,” he continues, littering kisses over your stomach. you sniffle causing eddie to look up at you as you wipe away some tears. he stands up immediately and grabs ahold of your waist with one hand and your cheek with the other. “what? what’s wrong?” he asks, eyes searching yours frantically.

you let out a small laugh and wave him off before taking a deep breath and wrapping your arms around him. “that was just so cute,” you mumble, holding him tightly.

eddie relaxes at your words and a soft smile covers his face. he wraps his arms around you, holding you gently and placing his lips to the top of your head. “hormones really getting to ya, huh?” he asks, stroking your back. you nod, enjoying the feeling of being in his arms. “well, i got a couple parenting and pregnancy books from the thrift store and they say that talking to your baby before they’re born can help strengthen your bond with them. and i don’t know… i’m kind of scared that i won’t be a good dad so i figured i’d get a head start,” eddie admits and you let out another cry, causing him to pull you away from his chest and look at you in mild alarm.

“you bought pregnancy books?” you ask, your heart swelling. he wipes your tears off your cheeks to try and avoid ruining your makeup and nods. you pout. “that’s adorable,” you mumble, wanting to cry more. god damn you hormones. after another moment your eyebrows furrow. “wait, eddie, you’re gonna be a great dad. you’re already proving that,” you say, sniffling as your tears finally stop.

eddie shrugs and looks away from you. “just don’t wanna turn out like-”

“you’re not your father, don’t even go there,” you reassure softly, kissing his cheek. eddie closes his eyes as he tries to let it soak in. “come on, let’s go listen to our baby’s heart beat,” you say and eddie nods. you take his hand and squeeze it before leading him out of your room.

your appointment went well, and let’s just say the both of you had multiple tears when you heard the heartbeat for the first time. you also found out your due date was february 10th, and having that day made it seem so much more real.

15 weeks

it was currently 9:03pm and you were suffering. your stomach was killing you due to your muscles stretching to make room for the baby and you were having a killer headache. you grumbled, grabbing the phone off your wall and dialing eddie’s phone number. it rang five times before he picked up. “hello?” he spoke. you could hear some type of movie blaring in the background.

“hey, it’s me,” you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut. a particularly painful stab shots through your muscles that sends tears to your eyes.

you hear the tv turn down in the background. “what’s up? something wrong?” he asks, hiding his worry as to not cause you to further panic if you were having a problem.

a few tears fall from your eyes as you rub the side of your stomach. “are you busy?” you ask, swallowing down the lump that was forming in your throat.

“no, why?” eddie answers, knowing you weren’t calling just to talk.

you let out a small whimper that has eddie’s heart rate picking up. “i’m sorry to even bother you, but do you think you could bring me some tylenol? i-i ran out yesterday and i’m in so much pain,” you ask, pushing on your stomach to get some type of relief.

eddie frowns as he can hear the pain in your voice. “yeah, no problem, babe. i’ll go pick some up, lay down okay? i’ll be fast,” he answers, leaning over to grab his wallet from the counter.

you nod, biting your lip as a piercing pain goes through your temple. “you don’t need to rush, thank you so much,” you say, not wanting to inconvenience him too much.

“oh hush, i’ll be there in a few. bye babe,” he says. you whisper a goodbye back and then he hangs up. you don’t comment on the fact he called you babe, to be honest you had missed it. you huff, walking back over to your bed and laying on your back. tears fall from your eyes as you close them and hold the sides of your stomach to try and relieve some pain.

it takes eddie approximately eleven minutes to run to the gas station and get to your house. he slips inside with the key you had given him, not wanting to make you get out of bed since your grandma was already in her room watching some crime show. he makes his way down the hall and to your room. he knocks before pushing it open slowly, peaking in to make sure you were okay with him coming in. the sight in front of him makes his heart hurt. “oh, y/n,” he mumbles, closing your door behind him and speed walking over to you. you give him a small smile and push yourself into a sitting position.

“thank you, eddie,” you murmur, hand resting on your growing stomach.

eddie sits next to you on the bed and begins grabbing things from the bag. “here’s your tylenol,” he starts, handing you the box. “then i got you some strawberry milk since you like it so much, oh and some chocolate and a bag of chips,” he said, laying it all out between you.

you smile and lean over to give him a hug. “thanks,” you say quietly, resting your head on his shoulder.

he wraps one arm around you, rubbing your upper arm and placing a kiss to your temple. “no problem,” he whispers back, looking down at you with eyes full of love.

you pull away so you can take some tylenol and eddie watches. you look at the chocolate bars and chips he had brought you as you tried to decide. finally, you chose on the hershey bar. “my wallet is on my vanity, take however much this was,” you say, pointing to your vanity haphazardly.

eddie shakes his head, pursing his lips. “nah, i got it, don’t worry,” he says, rubbing his thighs with his palms. you frown but he just gives you a warning look. “do you wanna lay back down or what? what’s gonna help you feel the best?” he asks, turning to face you more.

you take another bite of chocolate as you think. “can i ask something that might cross a line?” you ask shyly. eddie furrows his brows but nods anyway. “can we cuddle?” you whisper, avoiding eye contact.

eddie chuckles and starts to kick his shoes off. “yeah, y/n, we can cuddle,” he laughs at you, pulling his leather jacket off as well before crawling up towards your headboard. “how do you want me?” he asks, looking back at you.

“can i lay between your legs?” you mumble, cheeks hot. eddie laughs at you lightly and sits against the headboard.

he moves his legs apart and pats his chest. “come here,” he says with a smile. you comply, slowly making your way up to him. you groan in pain as you twist yourself to sit down. you lean your back against eddie’s chest, head resting just below his shoulder. your knees are propped up as eddie wraps his arms around to rest on your stomach. you break off a piece of chocolate and hold it behind you, looking up to watch him eye it. “you’re sure?” he asks with a smirk. you roll your eyes fondly before nodding and he eats it from your fingers.

“she’s killing me already,” you sigh, eating another piece of chocolate.

eddie raises his brows and looks down at you. “she? you think we’re having a girl?” he asks, lightly rubbing his hands over your stomach.

you shrug, realizing you hadn’t yet told him this theory. “i don’t know. i’ll be happy with either of course, but something is just telling me it’s a little girl,” you say, rubbing your stomach lovingly. “you think it’s gonna be a boy?” you ask, leaning your head back to look at him.

“uh, i don’t know. i think i want a girl though,” he says, looking into your eyes.

you smile, that was sweet. “why? if you don’t mind me asking,” you shrug once more. you throw the empty chocolate bar wrapper into the trash can next to your bed.

eddie, sighs as he thinks. “just want a little girl to spoil, i guess. a little princess,” he speaks dreamily. “of course i’d love a boy too,” he adds, looking back to you. “what do you want?” he asks.

you hum, looking down at your bump. “i don’t even care, just want them to be healthy,” you respond. eddie nods and gives you a smile.

“yeah, especially that,” he agrees.

the two of you sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes until you decide to just ask him. “eddie?” you question. he hums in response, telling you to continue. “do you think… we could get back together now?” you hesitate. eddie freezes for a moment in shock.

you feel him tense, and frown. maybe you should’ve waited a bit more. “well, i guess that’s really up to you. i’m gonna love you no matter how soon or how long you wait to take me back,” eddie finally answers and you feel your heart swell.

“i’ve really been thinking about it for the past week. i knew i wanted to wait until i felt like you’d gotten a good grasp of things and i didn’t know if it was just my hormones making me want to do it now or if it’s truly what i wanted. i’ve realized that it isn’t just my hormones, and if you can tell me you think you’ve gotten a handle on your anger and what not then yeah, i wanna be back together with you,” you explain, playing with his fingers.

eddie smiles, feeling his heart warm with joy. “i’m not gonna lie, sometimes i do get really mad still. my therapist says i always will. but i haven’t blown up on anyone and i feel like i do honestly know how to control it now or handle it in a healthy way,” eddie responds and you smile.

you look back to meet his eyes and twist slightly. “then i’m glad to have you back,” you say and waste no time pressing your lips against his.

16-19 weeks (spreading the news)

over the next couple weeks, you and eddie had decided to finally start telling others about your pregnancy. you’d been keeping to yourself mostly so it wasn’t hard to hide but they definitely knew something was up. they knew about your fight and that you were taking a break, but had no clue about the pregnancy.

right now, you were on your way to eddie’s practice with his band to tell them. he figured they should be one of the firsts, because him being a dad was going to affect them too. “you nervous?” eddie asked, pulling into gareth’s driveway. you nod, looking into the garage at the three guys setting up their instruments. eddie grabs your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips and pressing a kiss to them. “it’ll be fine, i’m sure they’ll be excited,” he comforts, trying to will away the nerves in your eyes.

you take a deep breath nodding and giving him a tight lipped smile before getting out. eddie decided to let you do this however you wanted to. and he would admit, your idea was pretty cute. you stretched your back as eddie grabbed his guitar from the back, waving to the guys as he came up to you. “showtime,” eddie muttered, kissing your head before grabbing your hand and leading you towards the guys.

“y/n, what’s up? long time no see,” gareth smiled, walking over and pulling you into a half hug.

you smile, hugging him back with one arm as jeff approaches you. “life’s been a little crazy lately. luckily, i think me and eddie got things under control,” you joke, giving eddie a genuine smile as jeff pulls you into his side as well. ricky waved from afar, never being the type for physical contact.

“mm, we can only hope,” eddie mumbles, squeezing your hand before walking over to set up his guitar.

gareth goes to get you a chair from the top of his garage as jeff walks with you towards ricky. “here to listen to us practice?” ricky asks, tuning his guitar as he gave you a small smile, his yellow teeth a bit too on display.

you looked to eddie for reassurance and he nodded, biting his lip to hide his excited smile. “yeah, eddie and i thought it would be best to get the little one started early,” you explain, stepping back and turning to the side. you smooth down your shirt, which was really one of eddie's (even though it was way too big to fit him normally), to reveal your bump.

there’s a loud noise as gareth drops the chair he was getting for you, it messily clattering to the ground. “woah, you’re pregnant?” jeff asks, stepping to the side to further inspect your bump. you laugh, pulling up eddie’s shirt to rest on top of your bump so they could get a better look.

“holy fuck. shit, wow, oh my god, munson you’re gonna be a dad?” gareth mumbles, rushing over and squatting down to look at your swollen stomach. he throws confused glances towards eddie who was chuckling while also looking at your bump in fascination.

eddie walks over, placing a hand on your back and smiling proudly. “yep, best daddy out there,” he said slyly, nodding at the guys.

ricky’s face scrunches up in disgust, “never call yourself daddy again.” all of you laugh as gareth asks if he can touch your stomach.

you let him of course and watching his face is like watching a small child on christmas. “there’s a little baby on the other side of my hands right now, woah,” he says with a smile. jeff shoves him out of the way to get his turn. you watch the guys fondly talk about the baby, agreeing that he or she would automatically be the biggest fan of their band and talking about everything they’d do together.

the next people you wanted to tell were steve and robin. you had made the guys promise not to tell anyone else about the pregnancy since you guys wanted to do it all yourselves. after leaving his rehearsal that day, you gushed to eddie about how excited you were to tell everyone else. so, you went right home and called robin and steve to set up a hang out the next day.

eddie and you were sitting in a booth at the diner, waiting for robin and steve to arrive and get lunch. eddie was nervously tapping his rings against the table while you scanned the menu, trying to decide which of the delicious foods you were going to actually get. “hun, why are you so nervous?” you ask, glancing up from the menu.

he bites his lip, looking over to you. he shrugs, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “i just feel like your friends don’t like me that much, i’m just scared of what they’ll think,” he explains, moving his hand down to rest on your thigh.

you shake your head and place a kiss to his cheek. “i promise you that you’re worrying too much. robin and steve do like you, steve’s just weird,” you say and pat his cheek, causing him to laugh. the bell rings, signaling someone had entered the diner and you both look up to see exactly who you were waiting for. you smiled as robin’s eyes met yours and you began to wave her over. she dragged steve along, them sliding into the booth across from you.

despite eddie’s worries, the four of you fell into easy conversation until it was time for you to order. steve ordered a double cheese burger, robin ordered chicken tenders (because of course she would), and eddie had gotten a bacon cheeseburger. normally, you were the type to get a salad or chicken tenders because you didn’t have the biggest appetite. so you could expect steve and robin’s reaction when you started listing off your order. “can i get a double cheeseburger with bacon, oh, can i do that? awesome. um and then can i actually get cheese fries instead of normal fries. and uh, eds do you think onion rings would be okay? yeah, i’ll take those too. oh! and can i please get a strawberry milkshake, thank you so much,” you rattle off, smiling as you hand the waitress your menu. she smiles, giving you a knowing look and walks away.

steve and robin eye you, robin being a lot more subtle as eddie tries to hold back his laugh. steve’s jaw is literally dropped as you sip on your sprite. “y/n, are you sure you can eat that much food? like… not trying to be mean but you never eat like that,” steve wonders. he groans in pain when robin slaps him upside the head and gives him a warning look.

eddie smiles, wrapping his arm around you as you two make eye contact. you nod, giving him the go ahead. “hey, she’s eating for two, cut her some slack,” he jokes with raised brows, watching robin and steve’s eyes widen.

they look at each other before their eyes flip between the both of you. “two?” robin stutters, looking at you in disbelief.

you let out a giggle and lean into eddie’s side. “wait, wait, wait, wait… you’re eating for… no…” steve gasps, his eyes falling to your hand as you place it on your stomach that he could now see was prominent.

robin squeals, throwing her hands up and then flinging them across the table to grab yours. “oh my gosh, you’re pregnant?” she gasps, tears filling her eyes. you pout, tears filling your own as you see her reaction.

steve smiles at you, his own eyes watering, before giving eddie a look. eddie purses his lips until steve holds out his hand, gesturing for eddie to shake it. he smiles, doing just that before looking back to you and robin. “we’re gonna have a baby in february,” you confirm, tears falling from your eyes as you look at eddie lovingly.

“steve, we need to start picking up more shifts so we can buy stuff,” robin says pointedly and steve rolls his eyes.

he looks at you with a smile on his face, one of the most genuine ones you’d ever seen him carry. “you guys ready for this? if you need any help we gotcha. i know i say i hate babysitting, but i will be all over this kid,” he laughs and you wipe tears from your eyes at his words.

“this kid is gonna have the best uncle robin and aunt steve,” eddie coos jokingly, causing steve’s eyebrows to furrow.

“i think you got that mix-”

“ah! i said what i said, harrington,” eddie says, pointing a finger at him. the three of you laugh as steve rolls his eyes, not finding it in him to actually be annoyed.

robin and steve had promised not to tell anyone until you gave them the go ahead. so, a week later eddie was trying to come up with what he thought would be the hardest one. dustin.

“i don’t see why you can’t just tell him straight out,” you say, huffing as you try to clasp your bra behind your back. eddie shakes his head, coming up behind you and taking the band from your hands.

you let your hands fall to your sides as you look in the mirror. you had a shift today at the pharmacy that you were getting ready for while eddie was entering the panic stage. you were standing in just your underwear and your bra, watching eddie’s concentrated face over your shoulder as he hooked the bra together. he wrapped his arms around you when he finally got it, resting his head on your shoulder while running his hands over your belly. “it’s dustin, it’s harder than that,” he hums, the feeling of you against him calming him down.

you sigh, resting your hands on top of eddie’s. “what about mike, lucas, and will? you’re not so nervous about telling them,” you wonder, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

eddie closes his eyes and then buries his face into the crook of your neck. “dustin is more… attached to me i guess, i don’t know,” he murmurs into your neck.

“yeah, well he’s also attached to steve, i think it’s his lack of father figur-” you start.

“he definitely likes me more than steve,” he interrupts and you roll your eyes.

you reach your hand back and place it on the back of his head, massaging his scalp. “you said you were going to go look at a couple different stores around for crib prices and other stuff. why don’t you take him with you? then you won’t have to think of a way to bring up the topic, he’ll ask,” you suggest. eddie lifts his head and looks at you in slight amazement.

he turns you around, grabbing your face and pressing your lips to his. “you’re brilliant,” he mutters, causing you to giggle.

you kiss him back before pushing him away. “go call him while i finish getting ready,” you say, eddie nodding.

and that’s how eddie found himself walking into kohls with dustin talking his ear off about his little girlfriend. dustin followed him blindly as eddie tried to navigate his way to the baby section. “found it,” eddie said with a smile as an assortment of cribs, highchairs, and changing tables came into view.

dustin stopped, looking after eddie with confusion covering his face as eddie began walking through the isle of cribs. he was scanning them with such consideration that had dustin feeling like he was in a different dimension. “eddie?” dustin questioned, jogging slightly to catch up with him. eddie raised his eyebrows in response, trying to hide his nerves. “why are you looking at baby stuff?” he asked, looking at the brown and white cribs that were set up next to them.

eddie sends dustin a small smile before picking up a price tag on one of the simpler cribs. his eyes widen slightly at the price and immediately drops it. absolutely not. “because henderson, i’m having a kid,” he says nonchalantly as if he didn’t just drop a total bombshell

dustin looks at him in shock, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips. “you’re kidding, right?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“nope, y/n’s due in february. so i kind of need to get a move on with looking for stuff,” eddie shrugs, moving over to the clothes section instead.

dustin is quiet, taking a few minutes to process. “you’re serious?” he asks, still unbelieving.

a scoff leaves eddie’s lips as he picks up a small onesie, a pout forming on his lips at how cute the little thing is. “dead serious, when y/n gets off you can see for yourself,” eddie informs him, nervously glancing while trying to gauge his reaction.

he’s silent for a few more minutes until he gasps. “oh my god, gross,” he gags, turning away from eddie.

eddie looks at him in confusion and picks up a small baby blanket. “what?” he asks, rubbing his thumb over the soft fabric.

“she’s pregnant! that means you had to, ugk, you had to have, oh god,” dustin holds his hand up to his mouth as he gags.

eddie bursts out laughing as he realizes what dustin was trying to say. “what? did you not think i had sex with my girlfriend?” he laughs, watching dustin squeeze his eyes shut.

“stop! literally stop it’s like seeing your parents- oh i’m gonna throw up,” dustin goes on, covering his face with his hands.

eddie chuckles and slings his arm over dustin. “it’s life, kid. now, do you think this blanket or this blanket is cuter?” he asks, holding one up before pointing to the other one.

dustin gathers himself before opening his eyes and looking between the two. “uh, this one,” dustin says, pointing to the one in his hand.

a smile covers eddie’s face as he nods. “yeah, i think so too. c’mon, i wanna get it,” he says and pats dustin on the back.

after dustin freaking out for a while, you and eddie decided to just tell the others all at once. will was definitely the most excited, max being a close second.

week 20

eddie was sat at your dining room, sipping a beer and going over a campaign he was trying to set up. he wanted to get in one last longer one before the baby came and he wanted it to be perfect. it was currently the first week of october and most of hellfire was spending their time in school, but they simply couldn’t go on without eddie as their leader. you were cooking some pasta because you’d been thinking about it for the past few days along with some greens your doctor told you you should be eating.

a random radio station was playing as your grandma walked out of the kitchen and back to her place in the living room. you hummed along, enjoying the peaceful evening when you felt a small nudge against the inside of your stomach.

you gasped, hand flying to your stomach as you waited to see if it would happen again. your doctor had also told you that you should feel kicking within the next couple weeks and you wanted to make sure you weren’t imagining it. but then, right where your hand was placed, another slightly stronger nudge caused your tummy to poke out a bit. “eddie,” you gasped, tears filling your eyes as you cradled your bump.

eddie’s eyes darted up to you as he put down his beer and scrambled out of his seat. “what? are you okay?” he asked as he quickly walked to you. you turned around, a tear falling down your cheek as eddie grabbed your face, his own full of fear.

you pouted before laughing through your tears and giving him a smile. “little bean is kicking,” you say quietly and eddie’s eyes widen in excitement.

“actually?” he asks as a smile covers his features. he drops down to the ground and places his hands on your stomach. you nod, grabbing his wrist to place it where you had felt the last kick. you waited in silence for a moment, eddie biting his lip. “hey, little bean, it’s daddy. can you kick for me please? just like you did for mommy?” he coos, stroking your stomach lovingly as he waits.

then, another kick, and eddie has tears falling. he kisses your stomach over and over again, murmuring to the baby as you stroke his hair. “i need to go show grandma,” you say and wipe your eyes. eddie smiles, wiping his own eyes as he stands and places a kiss to your head.

he stirs the pasta for you as he hears you and your grandma talk excitedly about it and thinks. you had reached the halfway point, and there was so much more you needed to figure out. the only things you had gotten for the baby were a couple blankets, a few onesies, and some toys they wouldn’t even need yet. eddie didn’t want to tell you it was stressing him out, but you didn’t even have a living situation figured out.

when you came back into the kitchen you noticed eddie’s expression. he was in deep thought over something, and it was definitely bothering him. you grabbed his bicep gently, leaning your head on his shoulder. “what’s up, love?” you ask quietly. eddie shakes his head, snapping out of it and giving you a fake smile.

“nothing, babe,” he mumbles, continuing to stir the pot.

you roll your eyes at him. “don’t lie, i know somethings up,” you say causing him to sigh. of course you would see through him.

he leans his head against yours as he tries to gather his thoughts together. “i think i’m just stressed out,” he admits and you nod.

“i know, love. i am too, but we’ll be fine. i know it,” you reassure him and he closes his eyes.

he lets out a breath before deciding to tell you what he was most worried about. “babe, i just wanna know what we’re gonna do for a living situation. we have less than five months and just, if we want to find a house to rent we’re gonna need to start now,” he says, the stress evident in his voice.

you pull away from him to have him turn and face you. “i was actually gonna ask you to move in, just didn’t know the right moment,” you say, holding his hand and swinging it.

his eyes narrow in confusion. “move in here? we wanna live here?” he asks, attempting to clarify.

you shrug, chewing the inside of your cheek as you look down shyly. “i dunno, i thought it would be easier. we wouldn’t have to buy new furniture, the office can be turned into a nursery, and lord knows my room needs updated so we could make it our room… but if you don’t want to-” you ramble and eddie cuts you off by placing his lips to yours.

“nah, i think that’s perfect,” he assures you when you pull away. you smile and lean into his chest. things were starting to fall into place.

week 24

“i look ridiculous,” you whine, stomping your foot like a kid. eddie walks over from where he was buttoning his shirt and looks you over. he smirks instead at your outfit, reaching out to flick one of your udders.

yes. udders.

you let eddie pick your guy’s halloween costume this year and instead of picking a vampire and a mummy (because come on, that would’ve been perfect), he dressed you as a cow and he a farmer. shocking, i know. “i think you look adorable,” he said, reaching up and adjusting the cow ear headband you were wearing.

you scanned yourself, harshly picking at everything you hated about yourself in this and your eyes began to water. “i look fat!” you exclaim, eddie looking back down to tuck his shirt into his blue jeans.

he snorts and tears fall from your eyes. he thought you were fat. “well, baby, cows aren’t exactly skinny so you just fit the costume extra well,” he tries to tease, not thinking about how it could come off.

you burst into tears and let out a sob. “i look like a cow,” you cry, pulling at the extra fat on your thighs.

eddie’s face drops at your cries. he twists your body to face him and pulls your arms from your thighs. “baby, baby no. hey, it’s okay. you’re beautiful, hunny,” he says, wiping tears from your cheeks and pulling you into his chest.

“you just said i look fat,” you cry into his chest and eddie frowns, replaying his words.

“oh, god, baby. i didn’t mean it like that i swear that. you’re not fat you just got a pregnancy belly. you’re making a baby and you’re healthy for it, you’re exactly where you should be. you’re not fat, shh,” he coos, holding your head.

you fist his flannel shirt, crying harder. “i’m gross,” you sob, and eddie feels panicked. he didn’t know what to do. he knew this was just your hormones making you overly emotional but he still felt like shit for making you feel this way.

he kisses your head and holds you tighter. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you feel bad. you’re not gross, baby. i promise you look beautiful. please don’t cry,” he begs. why the hell did he chose this for your costume? he was never taking ideas from a magazine again.

“i don’t wanna go to the party. they’ll all think im fat,” you say into his chest, sniffling.

he frowns harder, knowing you were super excited for this. “hunny, no they won’t. come on you’ve been talking about this party all week,” he says, pulling you away from his chest to look at your eyes.

you shake your head no, wiping away your tears and makeup. “m’too ugly,” you cry and eddie’s heart fills with pain.

he gives you a stern look and grabs your face with one hand to get your attention. “you are not ugly. don’t you ever say that again. you’re beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, and everything else. never say you’re ugly, i never want to hear that come out of your mouth again,” he says, trying to reassure you.

but his words were very harsh and scolding which caused you to whine and cry harder. you clamped your eyes shut and sobbed as eddie’s stomach dropped. “i'm sorry, eddie,” you cry, feeling like you’d disappointed him.

“fucking shit,” he groans to himself, getting pissed off at himself for not thinking before talking. “no, baby, no. don’t be sorry. i'm not mad at you, i swear it. i just want you to know you’re stunning,” he tries, pushing some of your hair back. “baby, please calm down,” he whispered, biting on his lip.

you fell back into his chest and he stroked your hair until you finally stopped crying. “im sorry,” you muttered, throat sore.

eddie shook his head, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. “stop, you don’t need to be,” he whispers, holding you tight. god damn you hated pregnancy hormones.

week 27

eddie bit his lip as he nervously tapped his fingers against the counter, waiting for a worker to show up. the store wasn’t even that big, where the hell could they be? just then he saw joyce byers coming up from the back. “oh no, how long have you been waiting?” she asks, feeling bad for taking yet another smoke break.

“not long, um, i called about the pregnancy pillow?” he said quietly, looking down at the counter.

joyce beamed, grabbing the box behind the counter. “oh it’s for y/n? how is she?” joyce asked excitedly, punching the price into the till.

eddie smiles, relaxing a bit. “pretty good, the pains are really starting to hit her though,” he explains, motioning towards the pillow.

“i hope they ease up, when i was pregnant with will it was like i was almost always in pain,” she says thoughtfully.

eddie nods, handing her the money for the pillow. “i hope so too,” he says.

joyce behind counting his change before speaking back up. “do you guys have anything for the baby yet? i’ve still got some stuff from when jonathan and will were babies if you wanna come look through it?” she offered, handing his change back.

“that’d be awesome, actually. i’ll have y/n call you,” he says, grabbing the box. he brings it home, walking straight to your now shared bedroom. you’d taken out your old floral pink wallpaper and opted for a darker grey instead. most of the other stuff was the same except for new sheets and another dresser. it’s not like you could focus your money on redoing your room at the moment.

you were sat reading a pregnancy book while eating chips on your bed when you felt eddie drop something heavy by your feet. “what’s that?” you ask, lowering your book.

eddie smiles and leans down to give you a kiss before pulling out his pocket knife. “it’s one of those pregnancy pillows, supposed to make things more comfortable so you can sleep,” he explains, cutting open the box.

you sit up, watching him pull the very squished large pillow from the box and set it on the floor so it could expand. “you didn’t need to do that,” you pout, pushing yourself to stand.

eddie shrugs and wraps his arms around you. “want you to be comfy,” he says, resting his head against yours.

you feel the tears well up in your eyes again, and it makes you roll your eyes. “thank you, babe. i love it,” you say and kiss his lips.

“oh! and joyce told me we can go through some of her old baby stuff and have whatever,” he adds once you pull away. you smile again, loving how excited he was over things.

week 28

“okay but what are you naming the baby?” steve asks, sitting on your couch with his feet propped up. robin points at you with raised eyebrows, also wanting to know.

you place your hands on your stomach and look down. “we haven't really talked about it,” you shrugged as eddie walked into the room. he handed you your juice and you thanked him quietly.

he sits in the chair across from you and throws his feet on the coffee table as well. “what haven’t we talked about?” he asks, popping the cap off his beer.

max jumps in the conversation from the floor. “we wanna know what you’re naming your baby, but y/n said you haven’t talked about it,” she says, looking at him expectantly.

eddie looks around at everyone’s eyes on him before looking to you. “we haven’t, i mean i assumed it was something we’d think about once they were born,” he says cautiously, hoping not to upset you.

“they’re just kidding, obviously they’re naming the kid after me,” dustin says, holding his hands up.

you look at him in disbelief along with the rest. “dustin, i love you like family, but i am not calling my child dusty. i am not doing to my baby what claudia did to you,” you say seriously, causing everyone to crack up.

“well do you guys have any ideas?” mike asks, finally showing interest in your pregnancy. you look to eddie, also wanting to know if he’d been thinking about it.

eddie snorts, taking another drink of his beer. “obviously, but they’re staying private. you guys can find out when she’s born,” eddie says, enjoying making everyone mad.

“she? how do you know?” will asks, seemingly the only one who picked up on it.

everyone gasps, falling into excited little side comments. eddie rolls his eyes at their antics. “we don’t know, y/n just has a strong feeling it’s a girl,” he explains.

everyone lets out ‘ohs’ of realization. “wait, y/n, do you have name ideas?” lucas asks, realizing you hadn’t answered.

“of course i do, but like eddie i’m not spilling,” you tease causing everyone to groan in annoyance.

“we are talking about them once everyone leaves, right?” eddie asks, pointing to you.

you laugh slightly at him and nod. “yes, you don’t count dingus,” you reply, causing him to playfully flip you off with a smile.

week 31

you huffed, frustrated tears falling from your eyes as you fell back against the wall. you were trying to put together the changing table you and eddie found at a thrift store and now that you wanted to get up you couldn’t. you looked around at the practically empty nursery and it made you cry harder. you felt like a failure and you hated it.

you sat, crying continuously on the floor for thirty minutes until eddie got home from work. he heard your cries, sending him into a panic as he rushed from the kitchen towards your cries. “babe?” he called frantically, bursting in the doorway. “are you hurt? what’s wrong?” he asked, crouching in front of you and pulling your hands from your face.

“not hurt,” you cry, wiping your tears and shaking your head. “i can’t get up, i’m too big and i can’t get my fat ass off the floor. please help me,” you cry, holding your hands out to him.

eddie frowns, grabbing ahold of your forearms. “oh, sweetheart,” he says softly, shuffling back to help you stand. you finally get up with his help and a huff. “what were you doing on the floor?” eddie asks, holding each side of your face.

you gesture to the mostly built changing table (which was quite well done to be honest) and sigh. “i just wanted to get this changing table made,” you mumble.

“babe, you know you’re not supposed to be doing stuff like that. you’re not supposed to put yourself in strenuous or stressful situations, that’s what i’m for,” he says, serious but adding a joke.

your lip quivers as you feel anger and sadness flood your body. “i’m not stupid, i’m not gonna kill our baby,” you say flatly, grasping your bump.

eddie lets go of your face to instead grab your arms. “hey, i never said that. i don’t think that,” he reassures you, trying to get your attention. “but really, y/n, you gotta let me do this type of stuff,” he pleads.

“but you were at work,” you mutter.

eddie nods, scanning your face as his brows furrow. “yeah, i gotta be at work, baby. i could’ve done it when i got home,” he tries explaining.

you shake him off, crossing your arms. “you’re always working,” you grumble, referencing the multitude of doubles, over time, and long hours he’d been picking up.

eddie glares softly at you. “yeah, i’m trying to make money for us, so our baby can have nice things,” he states, the slightest bit of venom entering his tone.

“but you’re never home, and-and it’s hard-” you start and eddie scoffs.

he crosses his own arms, looking at you in slight disbelief. “what? you want me to drop hours so i can lay around with you and wait on you constantly? you wanna be poor and not be able to afford our baby?” he asks with raised brows.

your hormones make you angry faster and his words punched a whole lot deeper. “i just want you around more, is that a damn crime?” you sneer.

“when i’m around all you do is complain and make me do shit. i’m tired too, you know,” he spits.

“you’re not pregnant! i am, which is your fault by the way!” you say, poking him in the chest.

he glares at your finger, his jaw clenching. “it takes two,” he says in a deadly low voice.

your eyes flash with the tiniest bit of fear but eddie catches it. he was losing his cool. “i wish it didn’t,” you say with venom. eddie’s eyes show a flash of hurt and then rage.

“you’re really gonna say that shit just because i work too much? that’s low as fuck y/n. like shit, what the hell is wrong with you? why are you being such a cunt? damn, is the baby even mine-” he starts, his voice raising with his words.

your face drops at his words. no way he was bringing up the idea of you cheating, again. eddie notices your change in expression and his therapist’s words start flooding his mind. he closes his eyes as yours spill more tears and he takes a deep breath. “i didn’t mean that,” he whispers. you shove him with a sob, causing him to stumble and his eyes to fly open. he wants to yell at you, his fists are shaking, but he makes himself realize it’s you. it’s you and you’re scared. “y/n, i’m going to leave. i need to go cool down,” he says as calmly as he can.

a sob leaves your lips. “you’re leaving?” you ask in fear, afraid your stupid hormones drove him away.

eddie pushes past you in order to get out of the house. “just-just for a bit, i’ll be back when i’m calm,” he says, ignoring eye contact and leaving quickly.

the whole hour he’s gone you spend worrying. you called every member of hellfire, sputtering about him leaving angry but none of them knew where he was. dustin offered to go out looking for him, but the idea of dustin riding around in the dark by himself made you cry harder so you didn’t let him. you had hyperventilated at one point, and now you were just sitting on your shared bed, hugging his pillow as you cried.

your door creaked open slowly and your head shot up. “eddie,” you cried, pushing yourself up quickly and launching at him. he took in your state and felt his stomach drop. you collapsed into him and held him tighter than you ever have. “i’m sorry, eddie. i love you, i-i know you work so much for us and i appreciate it. i di-didn’t mean what i said, i wouldn’t want anyone else to be this baby’s dad. please, forgive me,” you sob into his chest.

eddie grasps you tightly, burying his face in your hair. “no, don’t apologize baby, please,” he began. “i know your hormones make everything out of whack and i should’ve thought about that. i know you want me around more and i’m sorry that i’m not. you’re not a cunt, there’s nothing wrong with you, and i know damn well this baby is mine. i was just mad and saying things i don’t mean. i love you so so so much, baby. i’m sorry,” he says, gripping a fist full of your hair as he prayed you wouldn’t hold this against him. the two of you stood in each others arm for a while, trying to get ahold of your emotions

you pull away, shaking your head once you calmed down. “we both said things we don’t mean, but it’s okay. i think… i think you handled it,” you say, trying to show you recognized his efforts. he gave you a heartbroken smile with tears in his eyes. “but,” you say and his face falls again. “for the love of god, next time, tell me where you’re going,” you say, letting out a breath.

“sorry, i will,” eddie says, pulling you back to him.

you laugh, snuggling into his chest. “had me calling everybody trying to find you,” you sigh into his chest.

eddie frowns, kissing your head. “i’m sorry,” he whispers and you just shake your head, enjoying his hug.

week 34

“merry christmas, sweetie,” you heard eddie say before a kiss was placed to your stomach. you smiled, opening your eyes to see eddie talking to your tummy. he looks up to you, smiling and climbing up to hover over you. “and merry christmas to you too,” he smiles cheesily, placing a kiss to your lips.

“merry christmas, handsome,” you say as he pulls back.

he chuckles and sits next to you. “you know, you can’t try flattering me on christmas morning for better gifts. they’re already bought,” he jokes and you roll your eyes.

you huff, snuggling back into your pregnancy pillow. “my goal with the flattery is actually to get you to help grandma start cooking so i can shower first,” you say pointedly and eddie groans.

“fine,” he says dramatically before getting up to put on a shirt. you guys had a lot of preparing to do before the whole crew showed up for christmas around six o’clock tonight. by the crew, you meant eddie’s bandmates, robin, nancy, jonathan, steve, and the kids. was your house big enough for that? definitely not. but you were very persistent on hosting.

you were hunched over the counter, adding the final touches to your casserole when a sharp pain shot through your back. “oh, shit, ow,” you curse, putting you hands on your lower back and pushing.

eddie comes over to you and rests his hand on your shoulder. “what is it?” he asks, mildly concerned.

you pout, looking at him before rubbing one hand over your now huge stomach. “your kid is trying to snap my back with how heavy they are,” you say and eddie frowns.

“let me help then,” he says, turning you back to your casserole.

you furrow your brows and look back at him. “what are you-” you start, but eddie’s hands grab the bottom of your stomach and lift it upwards, holding the weight for you. “ohhh, my god,” you moan, head falling on his shoulder. eddie snorts at your reaction and kisses your cheek.

“keep making your damn casserole,” he jokes, and you stick your tongue out at him before doing just that.

that night was one of the happiest you’ve ever had. everyone was sat around, eating tons of food and sweets and swapping gifts and you couldn’t help but start crying. “you alright?” gareth asks, sipping some hot chocolate next to you.

you wipe your tears and nod, looking at lucas and will fighting over who got the better comics. “i’m just so happy that this baby will have such a big, loving family. like, i know you’re all not blood but… family isn’t just blood,” you say, watching eddie mess up dustin’s hair.

“that is the cheesiest shit i have ever heard,” gareth laughs but wraps his arm around your shoulder anyway. “but yeah, this kid has an army,” he observes and you feel your heart soar.

week 36

you sat in the rocking chair in the middle of the community room at the library surrounded by tons of gifts. “guys, this is all too much,” you say, pressing your hands to your cheeks as jonathan takes pictures for you.

eddie shrugs from behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. “i think it’s pretty cool,” he comments, making some of the guests laugh.

“okay, okay shut up. y/n open my present first!” dustin calls over everyone. you roll your eyes fondly but agree. he claps and runs up, grabbing a big bag and bringing it up to you. “you’re gonna love it,” he says with a big smile.

eddie flicks his hat causing him to glare. “let her open it, henderson,” he laughs about his eagerness. you pulled the tissue paper out and grabbed the first box out, gasping at the picture.

“a sling!” you cooed, showing it off.

“the fuck is that for?” eddie asked, leaning down to look closer at it.

you swat him and put the box on the floor next to you. “you can strap the baby to your chest so you don’t have to hold them as you walk or do the dishes or something,” you explain, reaching back in the bag. next you pulled out a box of little essentials such as tweezers, a baby thermometer and so on, dustin explaining his mom picked that out. the last thing you pulled out was a very shit-ily, homemade book of coupons for babysitting. “awe, dustin,” you coo, tears coming to your eyes.

you hold out your arms and dustin gives you a hug, smiling and feeling proud of himself. “yeah, i’m not letting dustin watch the baby,” eddie comments, flipping through the coupons of dustin’s bad handwriting.

“oh yes we will, once the baby’s a bit older though,” you say, giving dustin a reassuring smile.

el walks up to the two of you next, shyly picking out her gift. as usual, she was quiet, and she was the one out of them all that you were the least close to. her gift consisted of a few packs of bibs, some binkies, and burping cloths. “thank you, sweetie,” you said, putting them back in the bag and giving her a hug.

gareth, jeff, and ricky put their money together to buy a really nice baby bouncer and a couple outfits. mike and nancy got you a play mat and some more clothes, and karen bought lots of diapers and that made you cry. lucas got a nightlight, some baby books, and a winnie the pooh onesie.

“alright, unwrap mine,” steve says, shoving the box towards you. you laugh at him and begin tearing off the paper and feel tears leak from your eyes immediately.

eddie helps your tear the rest of the wrapping paper off and places his hand on your thigh. “steve,” you say with a pout, crying at how sweet it was.

steve chuckles and pulls you into a hug. “please, why do you think i was pressuring you into waiting until after the birth to buy the stroller? i picked the best one, duh,” he says and you sniffle.

eddie stands up, pulling him into a bro hug and holding it for a bit longer than normal. “thanks, man,” he says, giving him a genuine smile. robin practically throws steve out of the way and places a bag in your lap.

you laugh at her eagerness but start opening the gift anyway. she had gotten the two of you some toys to connect to the stroller, along with a couple knitted hats and booties and a pack of bottles. “these are the cutest, robin, thank you so much,” you say, admiring the bottles with little elephants on them.

max stands, bringing her gift to you. you smiled at the cute bath set she had gotten and eddie gives her a big hug, rubbing his knuckles into the top of her head until she starts cussing him.

wayne wasn't able to make it sadly, but he had already gotten you guys a lot. most importantly he paid for the crib and got you the rocking chair you were currently sitting on.

you didn’t even know where to start with the byers. joyce specifically gave you a nice diaper bag, new crib sheets, and diapers. from will and jonathan, you got a multitude of outfits, some toys, and a some swaddles. your heart was full of love once again because of this group, and you couldn’t wait for them to meet your little one.

week 37

you pulled the frozen pizza from the oven and sighed, ready to eat your lunch and take a nap. you’d just finished your last day of work and your feet hurt. you put the oven mit down and grabbed the pizza cutter from your drawer and began cutting the pizza.

all of a sudden, a gush of liquid seeps out of you. you gasp, looking down to see the clear puddle on the ground. at first you thought you just peed yourself, but this was not pee. “grandma!” you yelled, shaking as you look at the puddle. your grandma walks in, seeing it and gasping.

“your baby’s coming,” she says happily, coming over and taking the pizza cutter from you. “go put on some clean clothes, i’ll call eddie at work, okay?” your grandma says, rubbing your arms.

tears fill your eyes as you shake your head no. “it’s too early, i still have three weeks!” you panic and your grandma shushes you.

“hey, hey, don’t panic okay? it’s not too early your baby will be just fine, you know you were three weeks early too right? so was your momma,” she comforts you and you try taking deep breaths. “go change, make sure your bag is ready,” she says and you nod, turning and waddling away as she goes to call eddie’s work.

eddie is flying in the house fifteen minutes later, eyes blown wide in panic. “the baby’s coming?” he asks, stumbling into your shared room.

“my water broke,” you confirm, sniffling since you were still panicking.

eddie looks at you for another moment before walking over to see what you were shoving in your bag. “but its-”

“three weeks too early, i know,” you say, wiping your eyes.

eddie runs his hands down his face. “fuck, okay, woah, shit, this is happening. okay, you got everything, what do i need to do?” eddie rambles. he feels like he’s shaking with nerves and he can tell by your body language that you’re freaking out on the inside.

“um, i think we can go, i haven’t had a contraction yet so we don’t need to speed. please. don't speed,” you say, grabbing your bag.

eddie gulps, grabbing the bag from you and kissing your forehead. “let’s go have a baby,” he tries to smile at you and you nod, giving him a shaky smile and grabbing his hand.

after being in labor for twenty-five hours you were finally able to push. you hated that eddie couldn’t be there with you while you brought your baby into the world, but that was just how it worked in the 80s. thanking every god in the sky, your baby cried immediately. “it’s a girl, momma,” the doctor said with a smile, causing you to cry tears of joy instead of pain. “get her cleaned up and bring daddy in,” the doctor says to her team around her and they nod.

eddie rushes in the room and to your side, gripping your hand tightly. “you did it, holy fuck, baby, you did it,” he says, tears leaking from his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours. you were laying back flat, still in pain but you didn’t care. you heard the sounds of your baby crying getting louder and eddie’s eyes snapped up as a nurse leaned down to place the little bundle in your arms.

“here’s your daughter,” the nurse says sweetly, and eddie gasps.

you sob, holding the tiny pink swaddle in your arm. “hi, baby,” you coo, bringing your finger up to stroke her tiny nose as her cries immediately begin to cease while in your hold.

“we have a baby girl,” eddie croaks, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, hunching over to place his hand on the swaddle.

the doctor stops at the foot of your hospital bed to catch your attention. “she’s a little on the smaller side, but nothing that worries me. we’re gonna take her in a couple minutes for testing, just to be sure,” she smiles at you and the two of you nod.

you sniffle, watching her little mouth open in a small yawn. “oh my god, you’re so tiny,” you cry and eddie covers his mouth with his hand.

eddie reaches down, touching her soft cheek with the pad of his pointer finger. “so sweet,” he mutters, immediately in love with the small baby.

“here, babe, you hold her,” you choke out with a smile, raising your arms.

eddie bites his lip, terrified to hold her but reaches down anyways. you carefully transfer the baby to his arms and eddie lets out a sob at how light she is. it was all so real now. “oh my ozzy,” he mumbles, tucking your baby into the crook over his elbow.

they take your daughter for some testing a few moments later, leaving just you and eddie in the room. “so, do we know her name?” eddie asks after he stops crying. he’s holding your hand, stroking your knuckles as he laid next to you.

you smile up at him and nod. “i think we do,” you say and push yourself up to kiss him.

melody belle munson

born: january 18th, 1987

weight: 6lbs 10oz

height: 18.9 inches

okay, yep. i'm in love. as you may have noticed, this is no longer a multi-part one shot. it's now a mini series :) i'll start the next part soon and it'll be everyone meeting melody, if you have any ideas for that (or any interactions between any of them and the baby) please let me know.

oh, and just because they're all happy and sweet now... doesn't mean they always will be...

those who wanted tagged/requested this part:

@marvelously-flawed @ayyeitssarahh @llmae @faithsreades @eddie-swhore @its-nowheregirl @moony-03 @fujiihime @asimpwriter @littletittygothgirl @teenyvee @todoroki-slut @whore-for-eddie @andrewgarfieldsspidey @rainazinha @lupitabarber @ladymoxley @aphr0d1teh @kaitioo @eddiemunson-1971 @picklepenis @cherriebat @alexandraoonaghives

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