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stupidfuckingwindow · 5 months

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Bark like you want it // Ken

Content/warnings: Somnophilia, dub-con (consent not explicitly given but implied), dry humping. Three is my lucky number when it comes to writing men cum. I meant to incorporate knotting but had no idea how to. Afab reader, handjob given by said reader.

Notes: He's more dogboy than werewolf here but that's okay it's still horny. This one took me a WHILE. Thank you again goosecord for giving me the inspo for this.

Word count: 2.3k

You'd found him during a quiet hike, a little ways into the forest and close to a nearby lake. He had seemed normal enough to you, and you'd simply assumed he was just someone's dog who'd escaped their owner's fence. His fur was an off, dirtied white, all matted and leaves sticking to him. Blue eyes that you could've sworn glinted yellow in the light of your fireplace. His foot had been caught in an old bear trap, and the horrible whines of pain that he'd made had brought you to him.

He'd cried in the bath, clung desperately to your arm while you attempted to wash off all the dirt from him. The sound of the faucet had startled him terribly, and he'd buried his face into your neck while you rinsed him over with soap, whimpering at every little new thing or inconvenience. You'd had to hold him through it. He wouldn't quiet until you did, seemingly comforted greatly. And, once you had toweled him off, all he'd do was follow you around, walking closely behind your feet and tail constantly wagging.

It'd become so absurd that he had begun demanding (in the best way a dog could, anyway,) to sleep in your bed. He'd whine and drag you around by the sleeve until you let him stay, or lick your face until you had no choice. In a way, he'd made a damn convincing pet.

All the more surprising when, one night, he'd gone from man's best friend to man himself, with even less of the boundaries to boot. Ken loved having hands, to hold you by the hips with and press you to him. And, while he'd liked being babied, it wasn't this. Demanding constant affection and getting it isn't the same as getting to hold someone back, as getting demands for affection and giving it. But why won't you kiss him, anymore? That's an offense, not kissing his nose and face anymore. If he's lucky, you'll press your lips to his forehead goodnight.

And, on top of that, you don't even let him sleep in the same bed anymore! Ken could excuse kisses, but this is just too far. How dare you lock him out of your room at night to sleep on your cold leather couch. The couch can't hold him like you and it doesn't smell as nice as you, and it's just not fair. Every night, he whines at your door like a puppy in an attempt to be let in, and every night it doesn't work.

Frankly, Ken has had enough of this. He'll get his kisses and comfortable bed with you if it's the last thing he does. He doesn't go straight to your door to beg to be let in, this time. Ken waits a little while, intently listening for any noises. There's a distinct lack of that soft clicking sound close to the doorknob. Did you already lock it? Did you forget to lock the door? Ken doesn't know, but he'll find out. He waits it out, hearing you slide into bed via the rustling of the covers. He forces himself to wait until all he can hear is your breathing. He constantly checks the clock on the counter, impatience running through his veins just under his skin.

Ken's nerves are frayed and all over the place as his fingers slowly wrap around the cold metal of the doorknob. The fan is on blast in your room, sending a chill up his arms, and goosebumps form. His hair rises against the back of his neck, and his fingers slightly shake. But not from the cold. It's been put into his brain that he's supposed to ask, but he already has! Ken swears he's still a good boy. He has to be, right? It's your fault you wouldn't cuddle with him anymore.

A faint whine leaves his throat at the sight of you, all curled up in a comfy bed. He can't stop the quick movements of his tail, excited and nervous all at once. His ears flatten against his head, in worry he'll be kicked out of your room at a moment's notice. But Ken's not going to chicken out after all this time. It may not ever happen again. What if he loses his chance? He's not gonna find out, not tonight.

He draws closer, climbing into bed behind you. The bed sinks beneath his weight, and he holds his breath just for you to not even stir. With slow, steady movements, he scoots closer, wrapping his arms around your torso and burying his face against your shoulder. You're so warm, in the way that Ken remembered and thinks about often. He pulls you flush against his body, craving the delicious heat of your skin. His shirt barrs him from feeling you closer, so he rushes to tug it off and hold you to him. Deeply, Ken inhales. You smell good, vaguely like the rain from earlier, after you'd gotten caught in it. A little like dirt, after he'd surprise tackled you.

His tail thumps against the bed, moving the sheets beneath him with soft thudding sounds. Already feeling you this close has him whimpering at the back of his throat, shorts feeling a little tighter and need rushing through him. His fingers squeeze around you slightly, and Ken feels you shift around. His heart pounds at the back of his throat as you roll around and wrap your arms around his neck, burying your nose in his hair. The second he accidentally grinds his growing erection against your ass is the same second he's a goner, letting out a sharp gasp that jolts you awake.

A low moan leaves Ken, directly in your ear and he curls his body further around you. His hips roll into yours, and Ken's hands grip your waist, digits digging into your sides. His lips meet the back of your neck, sucking at the tender skin there to muffle his whimpers (although, to no avail).

You panic, for a minute, hands feeling around mindlessly until they find his face. You tangle your fingers in his hair, lightly tugging at it. You know it's Ken, by the noise that leaves his throat. That voice that's so familiar and hard to forget. He sobs into your shoulder at the feeling of your hand lost in his curls, massaging his scalp as he ruts his clothed cock against your lower back. "Hurts," he whispers, to you, under his breath.

You comfort him through it, feeling the way Ken's hands paw at your clothes in an attempt to tug them off, but he's too impatient and misses the mark. All he manages to do is ball up the material tightly, lightly pulling. All the while his hips buck into you, desperate sounds leaving him. You have to help Ken, tossing your shirt somewhere with little hazard or care put into it. His hands cup your chest, squeezing and massaging at the soft flesh of your tit. He rubs circles into your nipple with his thumb, and his tongue slides a long stripe up your neck, seemingly desperate to taste you. You feel his teeth brush your shoulder, but he doesn't sink them into you.

A gasp, loud and as if needing air, is heard, and his hips stutter. More whines leave him, and his entire body shivers as he cums, hard. You let him ride out his orgasm, feeling the way his breathing quickens and the tightening of his grasp around you. A broken sob leaves Ken, and he nestles his face between your shoulder blades as he cries from overstimulation.

He's out like a light not too long after.

When you've awoken again, his hands are just as tight around your waist, softly snoring and drool at the corner of his lip. You roll over to face him, brushing the hair out of his face. The quiet beating of a wolf's (or, dog's, really. Ken acts enough like one,) tail is heard thudding against the bed- A subconscious reaction, probably. Your fingertips trace his jaw and brush over his lips, pulling a smile out of Ken. The sound of that gentle thudding against your mattress becomes louder, faster, and overall more excited.

His eyes open a couple moments later, still clearly drooping tiredly. They flutter shut, and you hear his slow, quiet breaths. A severe contrast to the frantic panting from him last night. But, thinking over the things you're about to do to Ken, you figure that's not something you'll be missing very long.

You pry yourself out of his grasp, feeling the chill of the air on your skin from the fan you'd left on overnight. You reach out, turning it off. The cold doesn't completely leave you, and the sound of confusion that leaves Ken is one to be noted.

As you slowly begin to undress both yourself and Ken, you notice it. Sparkling, glittery pink cum that's stained the material of his boxers. It's got an almost tack-y feel. Runny and thin, sticking to your fingertips as you spread your fingers and inspect the fluid. Temporarily distracted, you gather some more of it and spread it over your lips, like lip gloss. It's then you pull Ken into a proper kiss- One that's already got him needily whining and his cock standing to attention. You pull what little the two of you are wearing off, maintaining that kiss that Ken is all too willing to never let up.

You curl a hand around the base of his dick, feeling Ken whimper against your mouth and his hips jump. You pull away, once your lungs start burning for air, and the two of you pant. A faint line of your spit, mixed with his, still connects the two of you.

His face is all flushed. Perfect, flawless skin taking a more pinkish tone in his cheeks. Platinum blond hair falling around his head and framing it like a pretty halo against the bed. Pupils blown out and eyelids still a little puffy- slightly red from last night. Ken wets his lips, nervously. His swallows harshly, under your intensive focus on him and the way you study him. Ken slightly shutters in a shaking exhale, shivering a little at both the colder morning air and under your attention.

But Ken loves it. Loves the way you slowly crawl on top of him. The way your thighs trap either side of his body to the bed and your warmth. The weight of your body that he finds perfect comfort in. He likes your hand wrapped around his cock, gently stroking but oh, so good. He can't help the way his body moves to meet your hand, or the way everything in him jolts when you give him a little squeeze. Nor can Ken help the whines that leave him, or the desperate quickening of his hips bucking upwards while he fucks your hand. The tears that leave him after this orgasm, too, are something that just comes naturally. It's not something Ken knows how to stop, and he's not sure he wants to, considering all the attention you give him afterwards.

His hands shoot out to cup your face, pulling you closer in another messy kiss. Ken's thumbs stroke gently at each of your cheeks, as if it's you the one who's crying and not him. There's some more glitter now covering your hand and stomach, his cum still just as unnaturally pink colored. Ken needily moans against your lips when his tongue meets yours, and he's wildly out of experience and practice. His teeth clack softly against yours, and his sharp canines knick your bottom lip, which makes it sting and burn, a little from the pain. And when you start tasting something metallic, Ken laps the blood from the corner of your mouth.

Any excuse to taste you is one Ken is going to start making. He can't get enough. He's not going to have to, if he has any say in it. He'll always have his hands on you or your hands will be on him whenever it's possible. He'll ask you to tangle your hands in his hair whenever you kiss. Already, his cock is starting to harden in your loose grip at just the thought of all of that.

He whines when you pull away to breathe, head already following yours to feel your warmth against him again. You press a hand to his chest and push him back down against the mattress, and any sounds of complaint from him stop. Still, he's incredibly impatient. Ken's favorite new thing just got taken away and he feels as though he's going to throw a fit if he doesn't get it back. But his worries are halted when your full attention is back on him. When your body lifts a little and you guide his cock close to your entrance, slipping the head just past your folds.

He yelps, at the new feeling. He gasps when his hips subconsciously jolt upwards, and Ken's hands grab at your thighs, clumsily feeling around until he properly gets a hold on your body. The moan you make spurs him on further, and a choked noise leaves Ken when he thrusts into you again. He digs his nails and fingertips into your hips, movements already sloppy. And, once he does finally bottom out, he's already cumming again, whining even more while his body just. Won't. Stop. Moving. His back arches against the bed, broken gasps following every breath and frantic jump of his hips. His head falls back, eyes squeezing shut and sweat forming on his brow.

"Please," He hoarsely mutters, throat sounding scratchy and rough. Like something were caught in his throat. A low whine leaves his throat. "Please-" He tries again, hips rolling to meet yours. Ken reaches a shaky hand up, brushing his thumb over your lips. His breathing slows, and Ken slowly swallows. He wets his lips before he whispers, "You're so pretty."

#ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #n.sfw.#ken #ken x reader #ken x reader smut #barbie (2023)#barbie 2023 #ken barbie

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yandere-writer-momo · 6 months

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Yandere Baki Short Stories: Childhood Sweethearts

Yandere Katsumi Orochi x Childhood Rival Afab Reader

Tomboy reader consumed me so enjoy this small little taste

Yellow Lenten Roses to symbolize a childhood sweetheart

“I can’t stand you!” A young Katsumi exclaimed loudly to a young child with (hair color) hair. Their faces were both covered in bruises and dirt.

“Taekwondo is better than karate!” The small child pointed at Katsumi. “When I come back to Japan, I’ll defeat you! I swear! It’ll be on sight!”

“Karate is better than Taekwondo! Your lousy kicks don’t stand a chance against my martial art!” Katsumi was met with another kick in the face from the other ten year old. The two kids brawling on the floor once more.

“Take that back!” (Your name) and Katsumi exchange punches. The two kids rolled around on the ground until (your name) was on top. The smaller child won against Katsumi once again. “See? Taekwondo is better. Do you concede?”

“You cheated!” Katsumi shouted as he tried to escape (your name)’s pin.

“Did not! You just suck!”

“Did too!”

“I hate you, you ugly child!” Katsumi shouted as he flailed from under (your name).

“You’re the one with the caterpillar eyebrows!”

The two children bickered and spat at each other some more until their parents pulled them apart.

(Your name) and Katsumi always fought like cats and dogs… but Katsumi had no clue how much that would change when they reunited.

Fifteen years later and Katsumi waits at his dojo for the challenger that sent him a letter. To think that ornery child from his past wanted to challenge him to a fight as an adult. How laughable.

Katsumi swung his shoulders back as he stretched. This should be cake. They were always so tiny… he bet they were still small. Katsumi scoffed at the memory of that snotty nosed kid he fought on a day to day basis. (Your name) was always such a brat. He doubt the little boy changed into a man.

Katsumi glanced out the window and pulled his arm over to stretch it. He couldn’t wait to wipe the cocky smirk off their face.

“Orochi Katsumi?” Katsumi froze at a feminine voice that entered the room. His whole body went rigid in shock.

Katsumi spun around and saw a pretty, young woman. Their hair was longer and their face was more feminine. And they had such a curvaceous body that there was no denying they were a woman. All this time… his childhood rival was a woman?!

“Y-yes?” Katsumi gulped, his eyebrows raised past his hairline in shock. His throat went dry when she sauntered over to him. No way… this had to be a prank. A dream.

“I’ve come to challenge you.” Katsumi began to sweat from how nervous he was. Her dobok fit her like a glove… no way. He couldn’t do this. “I told you that I’d fight you once I return to Japan.”

(Your name) got into an offensive stance. A cocky smirk crawls on her lips. “Unless you’re scared to fight me?”

Katsumi gets into a defensive stance. He’s prepared to block her kicks but he’s terrified to hit her. It wounds his heart as a martial artist but he doesn’t want to be a man who hits a girl.

And when her side kick lands, Katsumi is surprised to be pushed back a few feet. She has a surprising amount of strength despite her size.

(Your name) keeps attacking, she notices Katsumi’s hesitance and it frustrates her. Katsumi can’t even dodge most of her attacks but he tries to block.

Katsumi decides to attempt a takedown but she easily flipped him onto his back and pinned him to the mat. Their childhood now being re-enacted once more. Katsumi’s mouth is agape as (your name) sits on top of him but this time it’s different.

They were no longer children… they were a man and a woman. And Katsumi now had a beautiful woman above him. Something he never imagined would ever happen.

katsumi has dedicated his entire life this far to karate. He’s never dated. He’s never had any romantic ventures and here she was. The rival from his childhood as the perfect partner for him.

“Do you concede?” (Your name) smirked down at him. A bit of sweat on her face and her hair slightly messy. Katsumi did his best not to get too riled up even though this situation was entirely too much for him.

“Y-yes.” Katsumi turned his red face away which made (your name) furrow her brow. She sighed and rolled off him.

“That was incredibly anticlimactic. Where was the energy? You barely gave me a fight.” (Your name) grumbled. She moved a few stray strands out finger face. “Where is my childhood rival?”

“I… I didn’t know you were a girl.” Katsumi bashfully admitted with a nervous smile. His heart hammered in his chest so loudly that he could hear it in his head. Katsumi knew he was just struck with Cupid’s arrow and he had no intention of letting these new feelings slip through his fingers. “You always wore boy clothes and your hair was short…”

“I was a tomboy!” (Your name) hissed, a vicious glare on her face. “My name isn’t even a boy’s name. Have you always been this stupid?”

“Hey! I’m not stupid!” Katsumi blushed when she jammed her finger in his chest. He has never been this close to a woman before and now he’s all riled up. He shifted a bit to try to hide his attraction.

“All these years and you still haven’t touched those caterpillar brows.” Katsumi’s mouth was agape at her insult. To this day, she still thought his eyebrows looked like a bug? How rude.

“H-hey! And you’re…” Katsumi paused. He couldn’t call her ugly because that would be a lie. In all honesty, she was probably one of the prettiest women he’s ever laid eyes on.

“And I’m what?” (Your name) clicked her tongue at Katsumi. What happened to the snobby kid she used to know? “Cat for your tongue? Your insult game must’ve diminished over the years since you’ve been hit in the head so many times.”

Katsumi’s face only flushed a darker red. Perhaps if she was man, this entire situation would be different. His heart wouldn’t flutter and his palms wouldn’t sweat. Katsumi couldn’t utter a word to her because he was so enthralled by her. Maybe… he should let her join his dojo?

(Your name) waved her hand in front of Katsumi’s face since he was making such a dopey expression. Was he okay?

“Um… hello?” (Your name) jumped when he took her hand in his. His eyes lit up and a soft expression on his face.

“How about you train karate and you can teach me some taekwondo techniques?” Katsumi asked, a twinkle in his obsidian eyes. “What do you say?”

(Your name) furrowed her brow at him in confusion. Perhaps the years apart have made him soft?

“I thought you said karate is superior?”

“I want to make my karate even better so I’m willing to learn whatever you’d like to teach me.” Katsumi smiled warmly at her.

“You’ve matured.” (Your name) gave Katsumi a smile so warm, he swore it was a ray of sunshine. His eyes tried to memorize her smile the best he could. He wanted to burn this expression of hers into his brain so he’d never forget it. “I kind of like this new you.”

Katsumi’s stomach did a little flip. Did she like him? That thought alone thrilled him and filled him with butterflies. He was so happy…

“Then can I see you again tomorrow?”

“Sure. If you promise me a true spar-“

“Of course, if that’s what you want!” (Your name) was surprised by how quick Katsumi agreed. Her hand was still held in his much larger one. His fingers were basically sausages from how muscular they were. His palms were a bit rough and calloused from his years of practicing his craft but she didn’t mind. Katsumi was a man now rather than a young boy she had known so many years ago. He’s grown into himself.

“You’re so eager, are you excited for me to beat you up again?” A loud laugh escaped (your name) but then her face changed when she realized Katsumi still hasn’t released her hands. “You can let me go now. Your palms are gross and sweaty.”

Katsumi quickly retracted himself like he’s been bitten. His cheeks flushed a bright cherry red once again. “Sorry… I never realized how dainty a girl’s hands are.”

(Your name) blinked at him, confusion on her pretty face. “You say that like you’ve never touched a girl… wait. You’ve never touched a girl?!”

Katsumi held his hands in front of him as embarrassment swallowed him whole. He’s never really thought about being with women since he was so busy with karate. There was no time nor thoughts of dating or of anything more.

“I’ve been busy with karate and I’ve taken over the dojo. I don’t… I’ve never… I just haven’t had time for women!” Katsumi admitted with embarrassment. Did this make him a loser in her eyes since he had no experience? He certainly hope it didn’t.

(Your name) immediately halted her teasing when she noticed how embarrassed Katsumi was. She quickly dropped the subject entirely. Sure she was a cat with claws, but unlike a cat, she knew when to stop playing with her food.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to make fun of you… to completely embarrass you.” (Your name) apologized to Katsumi to try to make him feel better. She didn’t want to destroy his self esteem all in one meeting. (Your name) wanted to do that over time. What can one say, she had standards. “But you took over the dojo? That’s amazing.”

Katsumi gave her a shy smile, which (your name) found slightly endearing. Goodness that was cute.

“Yes… I’ve been running it for a few years now. We’ve grown to over a million members nationwide.” Katsumi proudly boasted. (Your name) swore he looked like one of those colorful tropical birds in this moment. What a goofy guy. “I’ve made quite the name for myself here in Japan.”

“But still no girlfriend.” (Your name) teased which made Katsumi glare a bit at her with his rosy cheeks.

“Again, I haven’t had time to meet anyone. Plus, I want someone who could understand me and my interests.” Katsumi held his finger up while he explained himself. (Your name) crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a smirk.

“Mhmm. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” (Your name) then gathered up her belongings and gave Katsumi a small wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow I guess. Somewhere around noon.”

(Your name) paused at the doorway and gave Katsumi a wink. “And you’ve grown into an attractive young man, eyebrows.”

Katsumi combusted into flames while (your name) left with a giggle. Katsumi stood there for a few moments while her words sunk in. The thought finally processed and now Katsumi wanted to know more.

“W-wait! You think I’m handsome?!” Katsumi tried to trail after her but she was gone.

Katsumi sighed in frustration and sank to the floor in a crouching position. What on earth did she mean by that?! Did she… did she like him?

Katsumi certainly hoped so. He now had the biggest crush on her, despite her mouth.

After all, their reunion had to mean something… it’s like they were made for each other. (Your name) was a martial artist and so was Katsumi. They would be perfect together. It was a no brainer to him.

The reason why he never found a girlfriend was because he was always meant to meet (your name) again. She was his soul mate.

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dearly-somber · 4 months

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Twister | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, eventual romance, fluff, humor, f2l (friends-to-lovers), pining, found family, high school!au, eventual smut

-> w/c. 1180

-> rating. 13+

-> a/n. Devil All The Time is an actual book I read, and, to this day, it’s still one of my all-time favorites. The excerpt at the beginning is also real!

-> warnings. None!!

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Aug. 16th, 2022 @ 15:00

-> fin. Sat., Sept. 16th, 2023 @ 16:59

-> edited. Mon., Oct. 30th, 2023 @ 23:03

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

Unless he had whiskey running through his veins, Willard came to the clearing every morning and evening to talk to God. Arvin didn't know which was worse, the drinking or the praying. As far back as he could remember, it seemed that his father had fought the Devil all the time—

Someone knocks on Jungkook’s door. You look up from your book (The Devil All The Time by Donald Ray Pollock) and smile smugly at Yoongi as he stands in the doorway, a grumpy pout on his face. “Can I help you?” you ask saccharinely.

He grumbles something you don’t catch before saying, “We’re playing Twisters downstairs.”

You gasp dramatically. “Am I dreaming or are you actually being nice to me for once?”

He growls low in his throat. “Don’t push your luck, human.”

You set your book face-down and skip past him, bounding downstairs with a smug grin. “I’m not leaving anytime soon, Boongles, so you better get used to it!”

“What did you just—“

“Y/N!” Jungkook’s face breaks out into a blinding smile as you enter the living room a few paces in front of Yoongi, his metaphorical tail wagging excitedly.

“Hey, Kook. I heard you’re thinking about me,” you tease, gently patting his back when he rolls his eyes and pulls you in for a hug. As you pull away, you ask, “So! How are we doing this?”

“I was thinking teams, since it’s only four of us playing,” Hoseok says, looking up from where he’s slung an arm around a still-grumpy Yoongi’s shoulders. “We can have two players move during one spin, and the other two the next, that way we can take turns so it’s not too chaotic.”

“The others aren’t playing?” you ask, kind of disappointed. Oh, the amount of chaos there would’ve been if more of them had joined you.

Jungkook shakes his head no. “They’re not feeling it. We convinced Jisoo noona to spin for us, though.”

Jisoo walks in from the kitchen with a glass of red wine in hand. She smiles amicably at you as she takes a seat. “Hey, Y/N. How’s the book so far?”

“Good, thanks.” You turn back to the others. “I assume JK and I are gonna be in a team, then?”

Hoseok grins mischievously as he shares a strange look with Jungkook, saying, “Told you. It’s me and you, hyung.” Hoseok smiles down at Yoongi, who sighs his acceptance.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbles.

You turn to look at Jungkook, who quickly tries to hide a dopey smile. “Why? What did Hobi oppa tell you?”

“Shh.” He turns you back to the mat with his hands on your shoulders. “Focus on winning.”

“Alright!” Jisoo sets her glass down and picks up the wheel. “First spin!” She flicks the plastic arrow, waiting a few seconds for the outcome before calling out, “Right foot, yellow!”

“You go,” you tell Jungkook. He nods, dropping his hands from your shoulders and taking a confident step forward as Yoongi does the same.

“Next… Right leg, blue!”

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

In hindsight, Jungkook should’ve seen this coming. He should’ve known Hoseok was trying to set him up from the second he asked if “angel” would be joining them for Twister, even though Jungkook had been more than content to let her stay in his room a little longer. (His complacency with her absence had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that her scent was getting on his sheets.)

Now, with Y/N bending in front of him in a makeshift downward-dog and only one viable option for his next callout (right foot, blue), Jungkook wants to smack his head against a wall. He’d have to move his leg halfway across the mat, so he wouldn’t have any balance.

Unless, of course, he held onto Y/N’s hips.

Twister was a cursed game and he’d never play again.

“Jungkook, you gotta make your move in the next five seconds or else you’re out,” Jisoo warns.

He panics and shifts his foot farther out than he meant to, holding onto Y/N’s hips as his balance gives out and thanking whatever god is out there that Y/N can’t see the disgustingly bright pink hue dusting his cheeks with her ass so close to his crotch.

“You’re gonna make me fall!” Y/N complains, teetering forward. He tightens his grip on her hips and pulls her back ever so slightly. Hopefully he won’t get a boner. Gods, that would be embarrassing.

“Just—focus on your next move!” he half-yells, mouthing a curse at Hoseok, who was knocked out almost five minutes ago and is now standing smugly off to the side trying to contain his laughter. Asshole.

“Stupid game,” Y/N grumbles under her breath, her arms shaking.

“Left hand, red,” Jisoo announces.

Y/N grunts as she moves her hand closer to her body, unintentionally pressing into Jungkook. He bites down on his tongue and focuses on his breathing as blood rushes to his cheeks.

Yoongi huffs as he crouches and sets his hand on the red circle closest to him, grinning up at them with a dark look. “It’s over for you,” he taunts.

“Alright, Kook. Left hand, green,” Jisoo says.

Jungkook crouches down and sets his hand behind him, making eye contact with Y/N for the first time in almost ten minutes straight. “Next time—“

Y/N gets cut off with a yelp as, on their next turn, Yoongi bumps into her and sends her falling back into Jungkook’s lap. He groans, his hands shaking with the effort to keep himself up.

“Asshole! You pushed me!” Y/N yells, her ears turning red with rage as she pushes herself off Jungkook, about to angrily rush Yoongi when Hoseok picks her up around the waist and holds her off to the side with an arm around her shoulders.

“Now-now, kids, no fighting,” he teases.

“Beat his ass, Kook!” Y/N says in response, glaring at Yoongi.

Yoongi rolls his eyes as the game continues. The longer Jungkook has to play, the more tired he becomes—holding weird positions for long periods of time is surprisingly taxing. Just when he thinks he’s going to give out, Yoongi’s sweaty hands slide to the side and he ends up falling over, ass in the air.

Y/N squeals with excitement and rushes Jungkook as he stands up to his full height, massaging his lower back with a grimace. He oofs as she slams into him, her arms around his neck. He blushes and hides his face in her shoulder, trying to subtly breathe in her scent as she drops down before excitedly smacking him on his arm.

He smiles down at her and avoids looking at Hoseok (who he’s sure is having his own little mini-celebration) as Yoongi sighs as he stands up. “Well played,” he grumbles.

Y/N grins triumphantly, but holds her hand out for him to shake. “Good game.” Yoongi hesitates, but takes her hand. Y/N grins. “How does it feel losing to a human?”

“Gods have mercy…”

#bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts a/b/o au #a/b/o au #bts a/b/o #shifter au #shifter jungkook #bts werewolf au #werewolf au #werewolf jungkook #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts angst #jungkook angst #ao3 #archive of our own

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kangals · 1 day

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what does the grooming process look like for stellina and kep?

my 'process" for grooming is very much what i would call 'poor man's dog training':

get a silicone lick-mat

apply peanut butter very generously

slap that bad boy onto the front of the fridge/kitchen appliances at dog eye-level

groom while they're distracted

i start this process day 1 as puppies and continue it through their whole lives. should i actually be putting in the effort to actually train them to stand still and quietly for grooming without the need for food distraction? yes. do i? no i'm lazy.

or if you're asking about like, what grooming i'm actually doing:

hair: i do an all-over brush at least once a week (should do twice but again, lazy and not needed). takes like 20-30 mins. my 'schedule' for brushing is basically this:

red areas (behind ears, arm/legpits) are high-friction and very prone to matting. these you have to brush out at least once a week, no exceptions, or you will get mats. this is also very sensitive skin so it's good to desensitize them to brushing as much as you can.

yellow areas should be brushed at least once weekly to comb out any tangles and debris, but are less prone to matting.

and then the rest of them i'll brush through but that's about it, that part pretty much never tangles.

i normally just use a pin brush and slicker brush, and a metal comb for the yellow/red areas. sometimes an undercoat rake if they're very sheddy.

collies are 'dry' dogs - they don't really drool, and they don't have the oily waterproof coat that breeds like a lab or hound does, so they're naturally low-odor without much of a 'doggy' smell. i'll bathe every 4-8 weeks depending on what the weather's like and if their skin seems like it's getting cruddy. 2-3 times a year i'll take them to a groomer to have them do a 'deshed' treatment where they really blow out the undercoat, because this makes a huge difference in keeping them comfortable in the heat, and in how much hair i have to vacuum.

for stellina i've also been getting an outline trim (shortening up the yellow areas on the pic with long feathering) in spring and fall, it just keeps things cleaner and it makes a huge difference in the amount of time i have to spend brushing.

feet: i dremel nails every week, same PB-mat method as with brushing. every week is probably overkill but i think it's good desensitization and also i hate long nails on dogs so i'm a bit anal about it. collies tend to get long hair on the feet/between the pads, some people like the 'grinch feet' look but personally i fucking hate it so every 4-6 weeks i just take round-tip scissors and clean them up.

other: the rest i do as needed, e.g. if i see any wax/debris in the ears i'll do a clean with OTC ear cleaner and a cotton ball. one of stellina's eyes tends to be teary, so about once a week i take a warm washcloth and wipe them down to prevent tear stains. and then i vacuum my house weekly, sometimes every 2 weeks if it's not too bad.

honestly i'm writing a lot but what i've listed here is way less than 1 hour a week on average, collies IMO are not particularly high-grooming needs dogs (compared to, say, a doodle or OES that needs daily brushing and regular professional grooming). i find the grooming and hair totally manageable. i honestly prefer dealing with long hair because it tends to clump together on the ground, rather than short hairs that fly and scatter into everything. people tend to see roughs and go 'oh no way too much hair' but like, it is super manageable as long as you've got half an hour at some point each week to brush your dog. i'm very obsessive about my pets being 'neat' and i do fine.

sorry for the incredibly overly-long answer to your very simple ask lmao

#long post

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genieofthebooks · 1 year

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Hi!! Hope you're doing good! I'm so glad to see that you're writing for Lockwood and co, I really love your writing style :)

Could I request for a scenario with a reader who like, scold george after what happened with Joplin? Like, in a "how could you believe something nonsensical such as us not needing you?! I need you!" type of way (in ep 8). I've been meaning to yell at him for at least 45 minutes when I heard him saying that Lockwood and Lucy didn't need him, lmao—

I Need You

Pairing: George Karim x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Kissing, Mentions of blood, tears, saddness.

You were sat in the back of a DEPRAC ambulance with a paramedic placing stitches onto your forhead and wiping off some of the blood that had attached itself to your face, your hair was slightly matted with blood and your ponytail had dropped, George was sat next to you, your hand in his lap, with Lucy and Lockwood standing and observing the paradmedic flit around you like an annoying fly that you desperately wanted to hit but you could not. Even though George was next to you and holding onto your hand to distract you from the pain Joplin put you through and to stop you from punching the paramedic, you still wondered what would have happened if Lucy had not shown up. Would George have died looking into that mirror? Would he have died thinking that he was not needed by anyone?

"What are you thinking about Y/n/n?" Lockwood spoke noticing how you were staring at the ground, zoned out as you had not realised that the paramedic had left and it was just you four left.

"Mmn" You lifted your head not fully hearing what Lockwood said because some blood was in your ear from the Impact of being thrown into a wall by a ghost and because you were too busy worried about George.

"What are you thinking about?" Lockwood asked you again patiently knowing how you often got caught up in your mind.

"Oh nothing" You answered kicking a stone with your feet making everyone raise their eyebrows at your blatant lie. "George can I talk to you for a minute. Alone"

The bespectacled boy nodded jumping off the horrendously bright yellow ambulance and you followed him to the side of the building where you would be out of sight. Unkown to the both of you a certain duo were watching you two from a far. "So what did you want to talk about" He smiled at you while placing his hands in his puffer jacket.

You raised your hands and pushed him back softly making him stumble back in shock. "You George Karim are an absolute idiot."

"What have I done!" The boy exclaimed his voice going higher as he had no idea why you were angry.

"How could someone be so smart yet stupid at the same time?"

"I'm afraid I don't follow" George tilted his head in confusion, for once he could not figure you out. Only he could read you and your emotions like a book but in this very moment he was puzzled at you.

"We need you George. I might have been blacking out from the pain when Joplin called her guard dog ghost to chuck me against the wall but I still heard everything you said" You started but stopped when you saw him wince of the memory of you getting thrown into a wall and when he expressed how he truly felt.

"Y/n-" He stepped forward taking your hand into his but soon frowned when you pulled it away as if it was a burning pan.

"No Let me talk. George you are the glue that holds us together. You try to stop Lockwood from doing something suicidal and stupid even though it never works sometimes and You helped Lucy when she wanted to try something and banded against Lockwood and as much as you hate to admit it you like Lucy and she is not a pain in your arse but a friend. Nothing you said is true. We need you George." Tears were threatening to fall down your still half bloodied face but you had managed to contain the tears with a Dam. You lightly hit his chest again where he caught your hand and held it to his chest so you could feel his heart beat as he knew that was not the only reason you were upset.

"Whe-when you talked of looking in that mirror I was so scared." your voice breaking when you started the sentance and your voice going quiet when you admitted to being scared. The dam broke. Tears started flowing freely down your cheeks but you never broke eye contact with George looking into his brown eyes calmed you for a second as it reminded you that he was still here and In front of you. "I was scared. Scared of losing you because I need you. I don't care that you are odd. I mean look at us, none of us are normal and I am pretty sure Lockwood is insane. I need you George. You might feel that none of us need you but we do and for the love of God I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove it-"

Your last sentance was muffled by George as he pulled your arm gently so your body was close to him with inches between you, before you could think his lips were on yours, shutting you up. The kiss was sweet yet passionate at the same time. You pulled away and raised your hand up to his cheek and laughed softly when you saw that his glasses were fogged up. "Your glasses are all fogged up"

"Oh, nevermind" He pulled you back into a kiss, placing his hand on the side of your face that was not covered in dried blood. He made a mental note to make sure that was cleaned of your face because that definitely could not have been comfortable for you. But at the current moment he did not care that they had all just escaped death again and that their body's were all fighting exhaustion. All he cared about was you.

In the background behind a Yellow DEPRAC van a certain teenager was celebrating that his bestfriends were together after they have been dancing around each other for a year, he looked towards Lucy who held a small smile for her two new friends.

Sorry that it is so short and If it is not the best.

#lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #x reader #lockwood and co x reader #George Karim x reader

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monstersandmaw · 9 months

Text

Female knight x lady - part one?

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I've had this knocking around for ages, and I don't know if I'll continue it, but I fell in love with all the characters anyway and figured someone might enjoy it. It was based on a prompt that I can't find now, but ran along the lines of: "Female knight looking for a Lady to serve. Experienced in monster slaying."

Wordcount: 4149 Contents: Buff, tough, butch knight seeks employment from a local lady, featuring the ugliest horse in all the land, a dog named Muffin, and a brother who just wants his sister to be happy and safe... Fleetingly suggestive moments, but nothing super nsfw.

“Here goes nothing,” she sighed as she drove the nail into the village noticeboard with the pommel of her dagger and stepped back to look at her chicken-scratch writing. “Fuck,” she added as she glowered at it and saw the way her hand had smudged the bottom of it.

“Female knight looking for a Lady to serve. Experienced in monster slaying. Find me at the Bleeding Goat until the day after the Spring Equinox.” At least, if she squinted it still looked like ‘Spring Equinox’. If she didn’t, it looked like ‘Stink Jurybox’ or even ‘String Fairyfox’.

“Fuck,” she said again, and turned away. It would have to do. She didn’t have any more paper anyway.

And with that, she led her enormous war horse down the road towards the Bleeding Goat inn. Maggot was a vile mare by anyone’s estimation, but Vika loved her dearly. Built like a brick shithouse, with a shaggy, yellow-ish white coat, pink eyes, and a propensity for biting anyone who came within a three yard radius of her, the mare wouldn’t have won an equine beauty contest if she was the last horse in the land, but she was loyal to Vika, and could keep up a steady trot for days without breaking a sweat. She made a great windbreak too, if the need called for it, and her hooves were the size of a large buckler shield. Once iron-shod, they were lethal when she reared up or lashed out.

The ostler at The Bleeding Goat almost didn’t take her.

“Size of that beast,” he muttered as Vika led her into the fresh stall. “Looks like it might eat one of my donkeys whole if I turn my back!”

“She won’t trouble the others if they don’t trouble her,” Vika growled down at him.

“If you say so,” he said, giving her the once-over too as he looked back over his shoulder at her.

At six foot three, with broad shoulders, thick, wild, dark brown hair that resisted almost every attempt at combing, a jaw like an anvil and a glare to make a dragon nervous, Vika was only distantly aware of the little man, the way a lion might briefly take note of a mouse in the grass.

“Like horse, like rider,” he muttered as he shut the door on Maggot’s stall. He reeled backwards and tripped over his own heels when Maggot lunged for him, teeth bared, red eyes rolled to show the whites and her lopsided, wolf-bitten ears pulled right back against her matted mane. “Fucking hell,” the ostler yelped as he scrabbled to his feet. “Look after it yourself!”

“Suits me,” she said with a shrug. “You never gave me the chance to offer.”

“Bitch,” he spat as he slunk out of the stable yard, nursing a bruised backside and a wet patch where he’d fallen on the muddy ground.

“That’s ‘Dame’ to you!” Vika yelled after him. When he stopped and lurched back around to goggle openly at her, she offered him a cold, feral grin and tapped the pattern of embroidered lilies and swords on her padded brigandine with her thumb. “Dame Vika of Sharkshoal Point.”

“Right. Sorry, m’lady. Ma’am. Dame…”

She snorted and turned away just as Maggot whickered in a way that meant she was thoroughly amused with her own antics. Vika poked her in the chest and she stepped back from the stable door to let her owner in, and with practised movements that felt almost meditative, she had untacked the horse and rubbed her down with a handful of straw. The bran mash and oats she’d paid for were brought to her by a trembling stable lad who had stared up at her from over the stable door with wide eyes until Maggot had neighed with soft, enquiring interest and he’d practically flung it over the door and bolted for the kitchen door of the inn. Anyone might have thought Maggot was a roaring dragon by the way he’d reacted, but it was a common enough occurrence that neither mare nor knight paid it any mind.

Vika spent three days at the inn.

She took the time to sharpen all her numerous blades, not just the greatsword she usually kept sheathed on Maggot’s tack, and she even managed to acquire a needle and thread to darn up a few slashes in her padded brigandine. Her needlework wouldn’t have passed muster in the house of a lady, but delicate embroidery wasn’t the goal. She could make two pieces of fabric meet and stay together well enough, and that would have to do. She could also sew up a person if push came to shove, and she bore the scars of her own neat stitching in a number of places about her body as proof.

On the fourth day, while the lively little town was setting up for the Spring Equinox celebrations, a man entered the tavern’s common room and looked around, asking for the ‘female knight’ who’d placed the advert on the board.

She tensed but let the scene play out, watching as the cute serving girl flushed and pointed across the room at her.

The man turned and cocked an eyebrow when he looked Vika up and down, but he thanked Ella and wove his way carefully between the tables. He was wearing the practical garments of a labourer, with a long tunic that covered his hips and a belt around the waist, but the fabric was far finer than any Vika had ever clapped eyes on, and his fur-trimmed cloak looked soft enough to swaddle a baby. His boots were worn to the point of comfort, but not falling apart, and at his hip he carried a slender sword with a silver pommel.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said with a polite incline of his head and an accent that betrayed him as nobility as surely as the gold stitching on his scabbard. “But are you the knight who placed the advertisement on the noticeboard? You’re looking to serve a lady?”

“I am,” she said, blunt and direct as ever. “Vika,” and she stuck out her hand to him.

He shook it without hesitation and revealed a strong, firm grip. “Lord Roland. Brother of the Lady Elayne Drummond,” he added with a friendly twist of his lips.

He was attractive, for a man, with big, brown, puppy-dog eyes and russet brown hair that fell in easy waves around his ears to brush the fur of his cloak. He had a short beard that was well-maintained, and his skin had the healthy glow of one who had never missed a meal a day in his life and spent much of his time out of doors.

“May I sit?” he asked, eyeing the chair opposite hers across the table.

She glanced down at the throwing knife she’d been in the process of sharpening, and at the black grime that coated her fingertips and around her nails from the oil and the whetstone, and felt a touch of shame beside his immaculate appearance, but she nodded all the same. “Sure. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?” she offered.

He smiled at that and nodded. “The ale here is the best in town,” he said, looking over his shoulder and beckoning over the serving girl with dark eyes and curly, black hair.

“M’lord?” Ella chirped and then shot Vika a smile. She’d flashed her the same smile on Vika’s first night, and again when Vika had made it clear in which room she was staying, should the young woman feel like joining her when she’d finished work. Ella had, and she’d fallen apart with the same glorious light in her eyes under Vika’s mouth and with her fingers buried deep inside her. They’d not met since, but they’d been easy in each other’s company ever since.

They ordered their drinks, and Roland turned back to Vika, resting his forearms on the table. “I suppose I should ask the reason you’re placing advertisements on public noticeboards instead of serving with the king, or even the knight who gave you your title to begin with.”

“A fair enough question,” she shrugged. “He died. Of old age, mind you. I served Gwilym of Sevenoaks from the time I was first raised to the order until two years ago. After his death, I decided to travel. Found myself here, and decided it was time to find myself a new place to roost.”

“Your advertisement said you’ve slain monsters…?” he asked just as their tankards arrived.

“Thanks,” Vika murmured to Ella as she slid it across the table to her, and then looked up at Roland and shrugged. “Yeah. But nothing that didn’t deserve it first, you know? There was some sick fuck who was kidnapping maidens to feed to a dragon, so I went to the dragon and found out what was really going on, challenged the fuck to a duel, he ran, I put an axe through his skull before he’d cleared the trees. Then there was a vampire that had gone feral back near Reaver’s Canyon, and she refused to let me chain her up til the bloodlust faded. Went into full shift, came at me, and went for my neck —” she bared the side of her throat to Roland where the skin was puckered. “Near tore me open with her fucking claws, but I staked her and that was that. Cauterised it with my own dagger. Nearly fucked up the temper on it too,” she added as an afterthought.

Roland cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, and she wasn’t sure if he was impressed or uncomfortable. Again, that wasn’t an uncommon reaction for folks to have to her.

“Right. Well, you clearly know what you’re doing…” he said in his clipped, aristocratic tone. “I do have one more question.”

“Ask away,” she said and drained a third of her tankard in one go. “Ah, fuck me, you’re right. That is good.”

“Right,” he chirped again, shuffling slightly in his seat. “My sister is… Well… She’s… She’s a lady… you understand…”

“Sisters of Lords usually are,” Vika growled. “What’s your point?”

“Quite, but… while your… um… your deeds are certainly impressive — and if you say you served with Sir Gwilym, I can’t argue that he knew good character when he saw it — I must say that your language is… uh…”

“Unbecoming of the knightly order?” she said. “Don’t worry. I can hold my tongue when I have to. I’m just tired and a bit run down. I apologise. I can watch my mouth, if it offends the lady.”

Roland blushed. “You know, it probably wouldn’t offend ‘the lady’, if I’m honest,” he sighed. “It’s just… Well, you understand. Decorum and all that.”

“Yeah, I get it. So is there an opening at the castle or not?”

He nodded. “I think you’ll fit in just fine, but as a formality, I’d like to extend a trial period to you.”

“Oh, Roland,” she grinned over the rim of her tankard. “Never give a knight the challenge of a trial.”

His answering smile went all the way to his big brown eyes, and he raised his own tankard to her. “I look forward to meeting you in the lists, Dame Vika.”

She snorted and drained her ale. “Ready when you are. Just need to grab my horse and my gear.” Roland slid two coppers onto the table and she frowned. “Thought I said I’d pay?”

“I’m the one interviewing,” he shrugged as he stood and made his way past Ella to the door. “You can leave a tip if you like.”

“Oh, I already tipped her,” Vika purred, sliding a silver coin into Ella’s palm while the young woman blushed prettily and tried to hide a smirk behind a dip of her head. “Bring my saddlebags down to the stables, love? They’re all packed up in my room,” she asked before following him towards the stables.

A magnificent black palfrey, still wearing his gleaming tack, stood in the stable next to Maggot’s, staring wide-eyed and stock-still at the mare with a look of abject horror on his face so comical that Vika guffawed when she saw him.

“That’s…your horse?” Roland asked as he saw Vika hang her arms over her mare’s stable door and dangle her hands in a ‘come here’ gesture at the mare.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I know. Before you say it, we’ve heard it all before. But she’s everything to me, alright? Wouldn’t trade her for a high-stepping prancer like that for the world.”

Roland’s horse snorted, offended.

“Fair enough,” he said, and swallowed thickly. “Come on, Lancer.”

Vika rolled her eyes and hefted her own saddle off the rack near the door and slung it over the stable door. She tacked her mare up in silence and led her out into the yard to mount up after Ella brought out her saddlebags and Vika winked at her just to watch her blush again. “Thank you, love,” she said. Damn, but the girl was pretty.

Ella rested her hand boldly on Vika’s thigh as she looked coyly up at her and said, “It’s been a pleasure, m’lady.”

The ride to the castle took twenty minutes, and passed through some of the loveliest countryside Vika had ever seen. Deer scattered from a nearby field into the oak and beech trees on their right, and as they urged their horses into a canter, Maggot threw in a little buck of happiness and Vika laughed, patting her neck as she sat it with familiar ease.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Roland said as they continued to canter, his palfrey slightly in the lead and looking wary about the lumbering beast a pace or two behind him, “But how did you come by a horse like… that?”

Vika looked down at her mare’s boulder neck and shoulders and sallow, flaxen mane, listening to her dragon snorts as she heaved up the hill. It sounded like a hell of a lot of effort, but she could outlast any fancy racer once the quarter mile marker had been passed. She wasn’t fast, but hell, she had endurance.

“Saved her from a slaughterhouse,” Vika called above the wind in their ears. Her own long hair streamed behind her, probably tangling into an even worse bird’s nest, but she couldn't have cared less after days cooped up in the tavern. She’d expected to have her advertisement ignored, and simply to move on while the town celebrated equinox, but this was infinitely more attractive.

Roland’s horse put on a sudden spurt of speed, nudging from canter to a ground-chewing gallop, but Maggot just ploughed on at the same stubborn canter, pounding her great hooves into the soil until Roland sat back in the saddle and his fancy prancer slowed with a frustrated toss of his head. “A slaughterhouse?” he asked.

“Yeah. They thought she was far too ugly to make a destrier, and too mean to make a carthorse. I took one look at her and bought her. She was a year old at the time, and already built like a siege engine. She could teach mules about being stubborn too.”

“Something I sense you two have in common?” he said, and because he said it not unkindly, Vika laughed.

“You got me there,” she said with another laugh. “So what’s your sister like? And why is she looking for a female knight, specifically?”

He slowed Lancer to a brisk trot, and Vika nudged Maggot up beside him, instinctively tugging the reins to one side when Maggot went to bite the destrier’s glossy, black rump on the way past.

“Ah, none of that,” she barked at the horse, and for once, the mare listened, plodding along like an aged plough horse.

“Elayne is…” Roland began, and then faltered, scrubbing his hand over his face. “She’s beautiful, educated, beloved…” he said, and Vika frowned. When he looked askance at her, he sighed and the weight of it dragged his shoulders down with it. “She’s miserable. Our father… well, he loved her more than anything, but he kept her penned in… like a bird in a cage. She can insult you in about fifteen different languages, but she’s got no experience of any of the places where they speak them. Not even of our own country, really.”

“Sounds lonely,” Vika offered, and not without some sympathy. She’d travelled, and she’d met her fair share of courtly folk before. It wasn’t all it was made out to be.

Roland nodded. “Yes. I think… now that father’s dead, she’d like to see something of the world.”

Vika raised her eyebrows. “And you want someone to go with her?”

“Precisely. We have contacts all across the land,” he said. “She’d never want for a place to stay, but it’s the in-between that worries me. There’s no disguising we’re a wealthy family, and if someone figured out who she is, she could be taken for ransom, or harmed, or… It doesn’t bear thinking about. I can’t go with her because someone would have to run our estates in her absence.”

“She manages that now then?” Vika asked and he nodded.

“Yes. Father taught her everything, and, to my shame, I never had much of a head for it; not the way she does. She’s a natural. I can manage though,” he added, cheeks heating. “It’s not like it’d fall apart completely without her, but… yes. She’s the one who manages the day to day of the castle and the estate finances.”

“I’m surprised she’s not got suitors lining up from the castle gates to Southport,” she snorted.

“Oh, she has,” he laughed.

“None of them good enough?”

Again, Roland barked a laugh. “Seemingly not. Look —” he said, and pointed with his gloved right hand as they rounded a bend in the road and the trees drew back a little way. “That’s Crow’s Nest.”

Vika followed his gesture and spotted the dark castle on the hill easily enough. “Impressive,” she murmured.

“Think your ugly mare can beat my Lancer to the courtyard from here?” he asked.

Maggot was already lurching forwards into a determined canter before Vika had processed the question. “What did I tell you about knights and challenges?” she yelled over her shoulder at him as they took off with an ungainly jolt.

Lancer, of course, was off like a hound after a hare a second later, his silky tail held high as an officer’s plume, but after a mile, he began to slow while Maggot just thundered on like a boulder down a mountain. Vika just sat forward a little in the saddle and gave the mare her head to set her own pace. They overtook Lancer on a corner by an oak on the last stretch and Vika yelled, “I hope they let us in without you, Prancer!”

“You’d just batter down the gates anyway!” he roared back, laughing.

Maggot won by a country mile, though mostly through grim determination and grit than anything else. Her sides heaved by the time she got to the barbican gate, and Vika was forced to sit back and ease her into a trot before the archers on the gate started to shoot at her.

Lancer appeared a few minutes later, his deep, black chest rimed with foam and his nostrils flared wide while Vika was still walking Maggot in a lazy circle just out of bow shot, and Roland shook his head. “Damn,” he laughed. “I’d love to see Maggot race Crocus.”

“Crocus?”

“My sister’s gelding. Don’t ask about the name — something to do with saffron and the fact that he’s probably the most orange horse you’ll ever lay eyes on. Open the gate!” he added in the same breath, and the portcullis rumbled up.

“Bit extreme, isn't it? We’re not exactly at war…” Vika muttered as the ironwood frame ground upwards into the bastion above and Lancer ambled in like he was the lord of the castle, not Roland. Maggot eyed the murder-holes with deep suspicion, and then followed the palfrey inside.

Roland shrugged. “There’s already been one attempt on both my sister’s life and my own since our father’s death,” he said, and all the jollity of the race evaporated from his handsome, boyish features. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Shit,” she hissed. “I can see why you’re not celebrating the Equinox here,” she commented, looking around and finding the castle bailey empty of all the accoutrements of celebration like a mummers’ platform and festive stalls.

“Not this year. We’re funding the festivities in the town though,” he said, “To make up for it. But we’re not hosting anything here. Elayne is devastated,” he added as he sprang lightly down from Lancer’s saddle and loosened the girth while a stable hand strode over to greet them. “And very angry with me.”

“Careful,” Vika advised as a second stable hand approached her. “She’s… not the friendliest.”

“Right…” the young man chirped, faltering. “Uh… you want to lead her in then?”

Vika saw her mare settled and rubbed down, and when the stable hand promised to feed her in an hour’s time, after the strain of the race had faded from her body, Vika relaxed a little. He did know what he was doing after all. “Don’t shut yourself in there with her though,” she advised him while the mare rolled her red eyes at them, and the young man nodded.

She hooked her saddle bags over one arm and strode after Roland to meet him at the castle entrance.

The next few hours passed in a blur, but after she’d bathed and been given a new set of clothes, which not only fitted her but actually suited her, by a tailor who seemed to have magicked them out of thin fucking air, Vika meandered down towards the great hall.

A massive wolfhound lay sprawled across the doorway ahead of her, and just as the sole of her boot touched the marble entrance hall floor at the base of the stairs, a young woman emerged from a doorway on the other side, and the wolfhound looked up. His shaggy, bull whip tail began to wag and he whined and wriggled on the floor like a puppy as the woman approached, unaware of Vika’s presence behind her on the stairs.

“Oh, Muffin!” she giggled, kneeling beside him and playing with his ears and his bearded chin.

Her dress — a silvery, iridescent blue that shifted as Vika stared at it — pooled around her like a cloud on a summer day, and Vika watched as the dog floundered into a sitting position and tried to lick the woman’s face. She leaned back, laughing, and then caught sight of Vika as she turned her face away.

Vika, a woman who rarely found herself without retort or reposte, stood speechless as the young lady looked up at her and parted her lips in a soft ‘oh’ of surprise.

Vika was no stranger to beauty. From milk maids to marquesses, she’d seen it all, but this woman, with her smooth skin and warm, honey-coloured hair coiled up in pearl-studded waves, her flowing silk dress and bright, blue-grey eyes, gave new meaning to the concept of beauty. “Fuck,” she breathed, too quite for the lady to hear.

“Hello,” the lady smiled. The dog had gone still and was staring at Vika as though he was still deciding whether to launch himself at her or let her approach. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” And with that, she rose like a dancer and crossed to her.

Standing in front of her, she was a foot shorter than Vika, but as she looked up into Vika’s face, the urge to kneel, to bow her head and give every shred of her soul to the woman surged so strongly in her chest she almost wept. Swallowing thickly, she managed, “Dame Vika. Of Sharkshoal Point.”

Something cleared in the woman’s face and she smiled so delightedly that Vika felt lightheaded. “You’re the knight my brother found!” she beamed.

Unable to do aught else, Vika bowed her head. “I am, Lady. If you’ll have me.”

“That remains to be seen,” she grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I hear you beat my brother in a race today,” she added and turned towards the great hall behind her. “Perhaps you’d care to spar with him tomorrow?”

“Will you be there to judge us?” Vika asked before she could stop herself.

“I suppose I should be, shouldn’t I?” Elayne said, pausing and looking back over her bare shoulder. “If you’re to be my knight,” she added, and as her dark eyes raked the length of Vika’s body from boot to crown of head, Vika shivered.

“I’ll be your knight, Lady,” she promised.

Elayne smiled brilliantly, and Vika bit her lip.

___

I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please consider reblogging to show your support as well as leaving a like and/or a comment.

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roosterforme · 1 year

Text

The Deployment Diaries Part 14 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Flying with Bradley is better than you could have ever imagined. And when he receives exciting news, you’re ready to help him celebrate.

Warnings: Smut, swearing, fuff

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots! Check my masterlist for the reading order!

After another weekend spent together, talking, watching movies and doing chores, Bradley noticed you seemed more and more yourself. He tried to let you talk about things when you saw fit, and he was always there to offer his gentle opinion and hold you. He wasn't planning on telling you that he'd broken Josh's nose and several of his ribs, but he would if you ever voiced any concerns about running into him again. Jake was probably right. Josh wouldn't be back. But if he was, he'd have to contend with Bradley and the entire Dagger squadron. Coyote used to be an amateur boxer, and Nat had some seriously sharp fingernails. The guy wouldn't last a minute.

Sunday afternoon consisted of you trying to show Bradley some yoga poses in the living room. "Okay, now stand on your left foot and tuck your right arm behind your back like this," you instructed him. He tried to mimic what you were doing, but he was a lost cause. "Like this, Baby Girl?" You were laughing. "No, let me help you." He let you pose him and move him around on his yoga mat, which was really just your extra one. Your small hands on his muscles felt so good. "Jesus, Roo, you are terrible at this," you said, more laughter bubbling out of you as you tried to get his body into the correct position. "It's like you're too muscular or something." "I'm going to take that as a compliment." "I give up. Just try downward dog. It's impossible to mess that one up," you told him, and Bradley was soon treated to the sight of your ass up in the air. "I have a better idea," he muttered, pulling his tee shirt off. "What's that?" you asked, and then you gasped when he ran his fingers across your lower back. "How about we have sex on the yoga mat instead?" You looked up at him from your awkward position and nodded your head. Bradley yanked your yoga pants down, exposing your ass, before kissing you there and gently flipping you onto your back. You squealed and giggled as he settled on top of you, kissing you and rubbing his mustache along your neck. Bradley pulled your yoga pants completely off before removing your sports bra as well. He settled some of his weight on top of you, loving how sweet you looked on top of your sunshine yellow mat. You smiled up at him and ran your fingers gently through his hair. "You're so handsome, Roo," you whispered. Bradley kissed your nose and your cheeks and trailed his lips all over your body. You gripped his biceps as he held himself above you, running his prickly mustache across your nipples before kissing them gently. You moaned softly as he nipped at the undersides of your breasts and slowly kissed the soft skin of your belly. His fingers trailed up and down your sides as he mumbled, "Perfection." When he focused his attention on your calves and ankles, you moaned, "What are you doing?" He hummed and said, "Worshipping you." You covered your face with your palms and made delicious, encouraging noises as he worked his mouth along every inch of your skin. Your pussy was dripping wet by the time he put his mouth there to taste you. And when he finally slipped himself inside you, you worshipped him with your body too. ------------------------------------- By Sunday night, you and Bradley were snuggling in your bed while Tramp had a puppy dream in his bed in the corner. "You excited about tomorrow?" he asked you, running his fingers through your hair. "Roo, I am so nervous." "Why are you nervous, Baby Girl?" Bradley asked. He had thought you were excited to fly with him. "Would it be easier for you to go with someone else? I'm sure Phoenix would be happy to take you up." "No! Don't be ridiculous! I'm not going with anything other than you, Roo. It's just crazy that I've been working with aviators and aviation software for so long, but I've never flown in a Super Hornet before," you told him as you curled up on his chest. "It just feels like stage fright or something." "I think you'll be fine. In fact, I think once we're in the air, you're going to love it. Assuming you don't throw up." You jerked up from his chest. "You think I'm going to throw up?" you asked, eyes wide. Oh shit, maybe he shouldn't have said that to you. "Uh, it's always a possibility," he cautioned. You looked concerned. "How many G's will we be hitting?!" "Um, no more than three." "Three! That's a lot!" You were gaping at him now. "What if I black out or something?" "Sweetheart, I will take care of everything. I'm good at flying and being with you. In fact, that's pretty much all I'm good at." You laughed. "Don't sell yourself short. You're good at cleaning the kitchen, Roo. And mini golf! You're pretty fucking good at mini golf," you told him with a smile. Bradley started laughing. "You're sweet, but would you let me finish? I'm good at those two things, and if I get to do them at the same time, that's a big deal for me. So I'll make sure you love flying with me." The following morning, Bradley went through all of the safety checks even more rigorously than he normally would. Not only was he flying with you, he was flying Nat's jet. If she found one single thing out of place, he was sure to hear about it. But everything looked perfect, and he was so excited for this. When you met him on the tarmac in your brand new flight suit, you were all smiles. "How do I look? Like a real aviator?" you asked, turning in a circle before him, pausing with your hands on your hips and smirking. He knew that you knew what he was thinking about. Bradley was silently hoping you'd get to keep the flight suit so you could take it home. It would be a shame if that didn't make it into the bedroom at some point. He could put his dog tags and aviators on you along with the flight suit, and maybe get you to yell at him to do some pushups. Maybe you would even dole out a more stringent punishment if he was insubordinate. He really wanted to find out. He took a calming breath. "You look like a real aviator," he told you with a nod, and you both headed toward the hangar. He wanted to push you up against the side of the mechanics workbench and unzip your flight suit, but he wasn't allowed to touch you right now. It was going to be a long afternoon. "What's in your helmet bag anyway?" you asked him as you grabbed a plain black helmet for yourself. "Snacks." You gave him a funny look. "You fly around with a bunch of snacks?" "Yep." "You seriously fly a seventy million dollar aircraft with a bag full of snacks?" you asked, on the verge of laughing at him. "While protecting our collective freedom? How did I not know that?" Bradley tipped the bag open in your direction to show you. "Sometimes I even pack a sandwich. And there's a picture of you in there too, Baby Girl." You were still laughing as you started loading into the aircraft. "I can't believe I made it into the snack bag," you told him as you climbed the ladder. "Well, you are a snack, so...." You were giggling as Bradley started loading in, and he smiled because you didn't seem nervous at all now. Even when he started to taxi the jet, you still seemed calm. "How do you like it back there in Bob's seat?" "This is horribly uncomfortable," you said through your mask, so Bradley could hear you over the engine. "How do you fly for upwards of twelve hours at a time?" "Why do you think I work out so much? Better posture and core strength makes this thing a lot more bearable. Plus I would die from the lactic acid pain settling into my legs if I didn't run every day that I fly. You wanna ask the tower for permission?" "Yes!" you exclaimed, promptly checking in with the tower on behalf of Bradley, and soon you were picking up speed on the runway. --------------------------------------------- Taking off in an F/A-18 Super Hornet had to be the craziest feeling in the world. The breath was literally taken from your lungs by the combination of excitement and exhilaration. You were craning yourself in the seat to catch a glimpse of the San Diego skyline before the city quickly faded into the distance only to be replaced by desert. After Bradley checked in with the tower again and did a few test maneuvers, he asked, "How are you doing back there, Lieutenant? Feeling okay?" "Oh my god, I love this! Why didn't I go to flight school?" you asked Bradley as he tore through the sky above the hot California desert. The scenery was more beautiful from the air, and Bradley was flying so fast, every breath you took felt charged with energy. He chuckled into his mask, and the slightly distorted sound of his raspy voice in your helmet gave you goosebumps. "You would have been a great pilot. Pretty sure you would fail the eye exam though." "Ugh, you're so right! I'll just be a WSO then. Bob wears those cute glasses, and he's really good at it. Oh! Here's one of the things Fanboy told me to say! Are you ready for it?" you asked, checking out the changing terrain below as Bradley banked to the left. "Affirmative, Lieutenant. Go ahead," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "Bang it off the stops and bust a number, Rooster!" Bradley burst out laughing. "Do you have any idea what you just said to me?" You pursed your lips, and said "No, actually. Was it mean, or something?" Maybe you should have asked Fanboy what it actually meant, but it had sounded so cool when he said it. "You just told me to very violently roll us upside down and then hit high supersonic speeds," Bradley replied, howling with laughter. "What?! Please do not do that! I'm going to strangle Fanboy!" "And what was Bob's great advice for you?" Bradley asked, still chuckling as he pulled a maneuver that made you squeak and grab onto the seat. "He told me to tell you not to fuck up Phoenix's jet, but he said it while she was standing there with a threatening look." "Either way, it's pretty solid advice. Hey aren't you supposed to be taking notes back there?" Bradley asked. "I am! I'm literally writing in my notebook as we speak, Lieutenant Bradshaw! Bob's in dire need of a software update in this thing. I can't wait to roll out our beta version. I also need to check the individual mainframes to confirm the specs on the last updates, because I didn't do them. And you're definitely getting new monitors, because it's laughable how much lag time I'm dealing with at the moment!" "Hmmm... I have no idea what that means, but I'll take your word for it. Are you ready to hit some G's?" Bradley asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice again. "Bring it on!" -------------------------------------------- "Fuck, this is so hot," Bradley grunted next to your ear as he fucked you from behind at the kitchen sink. You had in fact worn the flight suit home at his suggestion. And as soon as you started unzipping it next to the coffee table, you told him, "Maybe I'll sew a patch onto it that says Baby Girl." And then Bradley kind of lost his mind. He was beginning to understand why you liked it so much when he wore his flight suit home from work. So he ate you out from behind at the kitchen sink, nose bumping your ass cheeks, before caging you in place and fucking your sweet pussy. Now his eyes kept dropping to where his flight suit and yours were crumpled up on the floor at your feet, not quite removed all the way because you were both still wearing your combat boots. "I'm gonna get you a patch for your new flight suit that says Property of Lieutenant Bradshaw," he told you as he kissed the back of your neck and buried his nose into your bun which was starting to come loose as he fucked you. Your moaning was so obscene, he had to slow down before he finished too early. "Maybe I'll just get a tattoo of that," you managed to say, and he involuntarily picked up his pace again. Groaning, he said, "No, Baby Girl, don't do that. You'll have to keep getting it updated with my rank." And then when you giggled and moaned at the same time, he grabbed your waist and tipped you forward a bit more. "You make the hottest sounds. I swear I think about them when I'm alone at night." "Roo," you whined, bucking back against him. "I'm so close." "Thank God," Bradley grunted, because so was he. He let his fingers play with your clit, while he pushed into you with all his weight, and he could feel himself moving inside your pussy against his hand. "Oh fuck!" He needed you to get there, so he used his other hand to knead and gently spank your ass. He was already coming when you started to clench around him, and he grabbed your ass with both hands, panting your name while you cried out. "Flying today made me really horny," you whispered when your breathing calmed, and Bradley started laughing as he slipped out of you. "Yeah, I can see that, Sweetheart. It's the magic of the flight suit." --------------------------------- Flying with Rooster hadn't been scary at all. It was the most fun you'd had in forever. You even got someone to take a picture of the two of you in the Super Hornet after you were back on the tarmac. The image of Bradley and you sitting in the spots labeled for Lt. Natasha Trace 'Phoenix' and Lt. Robert Floyd 'Bob' respectively made you laugh every time you looked at it. When you sent it to Nat and Bob, Nat wrote back asking if she had always looked so ugly, and Bob wrote back asking if he had always looked so pretty. The rest of the week flew by in a pleasant enough haze as you made updates to your software modules based on your flight with Bradley. By the time Friday morning came, you had already started a software upload to the fleet of F/A-18s housed on North Island. It would take the entire weekend until you could check to make sure it was successful, so you headed out a bit early. But when you got home over an hour early on Friday, looking forward to spending the weekend with Bradley and Tramp, you were surprised to find the Bronco was already in the driveway. Bradley almost never got home before you, especially not on a day when he was flying. He usually liked to hit the locker room and wash the smell of jet fuel away before coming home. So he must have either worn his flight suit home for you, or something was wrong. You grabbed your laptop bag and ran up the porch steps. The front door was already unlocked, and you threw the door open to see Bradley on the couch, already dressed in jeans and a tee. Your eyes met his and he stared back at you. "What's wrong?" you asked cautiously, but he was simply holding Tramp with a vaguely pleased expression on his face. Bradley set Tramp down on the floor and stood facing you. "I'm up for promotion." You just stared at him for a minute, processing his words. "Lieutenant commander?" you whispered. "Yes," he said, nodding his head. "Bradley!" you screamed, tossing your bag aside and rushing toward him. He caught you in his arms, buried his face in your neck and laughed while you chanted Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw over and over. "It sounds even better when you say it," he told you, burying his fingers in your bun and kissing your lips. "Congratulations! I am so proud of you, Roo! You found out today?" "Yeah, I got called in to meet with Cyclone, Warlock and Mav. Thought maybe I was getting pulled to do a test flight on your new software or something. I can't believe this, Y/N," he said, and he was just beaming at you. "And you're the first person I told. Do you have any idea how happy that makes me?" You squeezed him so tight as he rocked you back and forth in his arms. You loved being the first person on his list, and you needed to make sure he knew that. "I love you, Bradley. And I love that you told me first. You make me feel special." "You are special, Baby Girl," he whispered. "I have an idea," you said, as Bradley let you slide down his body until your boots hit the floor. "Do you think Bob would watch Tramp for the weekend?" Bradley's brow scrunched up. "Probably. If you paid him in homemade food, then definitely. Why?" You grinned and ran your hands up and down his arms. "Let's get a swanky hotel room and a bunch of bottles of pink champagne and go out dancing and celebrate! You're being promoted! And your birthday is coming up soon!" Bradley's face lit up as he dipped you back in a serious kiss. "Let's do it, Baby Girl," he murmured against your lips.

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

Thanks for reading! Check out Part 15

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imreadydollparts · 2 months

Text

The hardest question

The most difficult question I get is "How do you make them look so nice?" because that's kind of broad and it's a whole process that differs depending on what each pony needs.

I've been trying to think of the best way to answer, and at first thought I'd need to make a flow chart.

I think maybe talking through the process as though I had a pony that needed EVERYTHING, would work, too.

So I'll try.

Let's assume I've bought a pony on eBay to clean and resell. This pony is filthy, has rust and/or mildew inside the body, has smooze, has matted hair, is missing some plugs from her mane, and is missing some paint.

When I get the pony, I take it downstairs to my photo taking spot and photograph the left side, right side, and any other areas that I think are worthy of taking pics.

Then they go for a bath immediately. Because ew.

A bath consists of:

scrubbing all over the body with a damp melamine sponge - this releases dirt from the vinyl and quickly exposes which marks are removable and which are stains, be gentle where there is paint

assessing the pony's needs

[dish] soap and water wash for body and hair

I do not ever throw ponies in a sink full of water and it stresses me out when I see people do that.

Ponies then get laid out to dry and after that go into holding bins depending on what they need.

At this point I usually take the phone upstairs, transfer the before photos to the computer, ID the ponies, label and date individual folders for their photos. I'm usually working on lots of ponies all at once and this forces me to sit down and take a break.

So, in order, they would go through these stations, which I do give silly names:

interior rust and/or mildew removal (derustbutting), which does require derusting the tails and is when I replace metal washers with nylon ties

depending on how matted and tangled the tail is, I may detangle it a bit during bath time with a metal dog comb so that it's smaller and better fits through the tail hole, this also helps with removing rust from the tail hair

smooze remooze which consists of soaking a pony in hot oxy-clean water (do not do this with princess ponies it ruins the metal plating on their 3D cutie marks), and aggressively scraping dirt from the vinyl's airbubbles

let dry completely inside and out

stain or yellowing treatment using 40Vol hydrogen peroxide cream and UV exposure (SunBox) which can take overnight to weeks and often needs reapplication of the cream

rewashing to remove 40Vol cream

waiting to dry fully inside before the tail is reinstalled (3 to 4 days)

temporary tail and head reinstallation

the hair is rewetted and slathered in a heavy smoosh of hair conditioner, then laid on a towel so that the hair is away from the body because conditioner can discolor vinyl if left touching in big globs

the conditioner is left to sit a while (I tend to leave it overnight but that's not necessary, it just forces me to take a break)

after the conditioner has set and softened the hair, they get a good rinse

thoroughly comb the hair with the dog comb, and then again with a flea comb to get all of the tangles out

flat iron

at this point I can wait for the hair to dry and then take off the head and tail again, re"open" the tail, and take some hairs for their mane

plug in those hairs, apply Fabric Fusion (I like it because it's a thick gel), and let that dry

final reinstallation of the head and tail are done when the glue is all dry

assess the hair: does it need conditioned and flat ironed again?

we'll assume yes, so repeat the wetting

repeat the conditioning

repeat the rinsing

repeat the flat ironing

let it dry again because we're going to do hot-setting and I prefer to do that dry

do a "wrap and set" which is where I will wrap the pony's hair around their neck and back leg, wrap a strip of paper towel over that, and a bit of tape, or put in straw curlers

put them in a plastic baggie so they don't get wet, put the baggie in a big bowl with the open end hanging over the side, heat up a kettle of water, pour that into the bowl, and cover it all with a bar towel

wait at least until the water has cooled on it's own (this is another time I tend to leave it overnight)

take them out of the baggie (set it aside, you can reuse it until it leaks)

take them over to the painting station and do my best to match both the color and placement of the missing paint

let that sit overnight

seal the paint

let that sit overnight, too

take off the curlers/wraps (the longer you wait, the better the shape will hold) and make sure their hair is photo ready

take pics of the left side, the right side, and the bottoms of the feet because buyers like to know exactly what they're getting

edit pics, make collages, queue to here, etc. etc. list on eBay and hope for the best

That last part isn't really related to making them look nice, it's just part of the process for the hypothetical pony.

Hopefully you can see why it's difficult for me to answer "How do you make them look so nice?"

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dumbslxtclub · 1 year

Text

you’re on your own, kid | e.m - part ten

eddie munson x singlemom!reader

summary: set after the events of season four, Steve has disappeared and is presumed dead in the upside down. broken and now left to deal with your pregnancy alone, Eddie takes it upon himself to support you to the best of his abilities in Steve’s absence.

chapter summary: emotions reach a fever pitch, resulting in some unexpected revelations

content warnings: fem!reader, adult language, adult themes, unplanned pregnancy, angst, hurt/comfort, some canon divergence/au, mentions of death, reader is 19, anxiety, angst, fluff, no use of y/n, slow burn, mentions of a fight and wounds

word count: 8.4K+

a/n: here we go guys, gals and non-binary pals! shoutout to my zoom bestie @dickfics69 for beta reading. hope you enjoy, this chapter was a labor of love!

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↳ one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

Part Ten: Isn’t It Delicate?

It’s not until a streak of morning sunlight creeps across your delicate eyelids that you’re awoken from an unusually heavy sleep. Bright rays assault your corneas as you peel your eyes open, smooshing down into the feathery pillow to escape the call of a new day. God, your body feels so heavy but your mind is crystal clear, none of your typical morning grogginess present. Tossing over to your side, you catch a glimpse of the alarm clock perched on your bedside table, it’s steady ticking the only sound in the otherwise silent bedroom.

8:24am.

Surely that can’t be right.

Hoisting yourself up, you peer over to re-read the clock. Maybe one of the hands stopped moving during the night? But no, the seconds continue clicking away, making a sure revolution of the face as it has countless times before. It dawns on you.

You slept through the whole night.

Oh, god.

You slept through the whole night.

Panic surges through your body, jolting you out of bed and racing to the door on unsteady feet. How could this have happened? Even during the deepest of REM cycles, Audrey’s cries are enough to pull you out of your slumber and to her beckoning call. That familiar pang of dread hangs heavy in your stomach, is she okay? Did something happen to her during the night? She’s gone a whole night without a feed, a change, you push away the thought creeping in that something bad has happened…

Swinging open the door frenetically, the sound of it hitting the wall somewhat compensates for the fact that your eyes haven’t properly started working yet and helps you orientate yourself. Eyes darting to the crib, which is completely empty, only further exacerbates your stress.

“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty.”

The blinds have been pulled open, an abnormally sunny March morning casting a sheet of buttery yellow across the living room. Smack bang in the center of the ancient carpet, a play mat that was previously stuffed into the corner has been rolled out. A mobile hangs above it, brightly colored bunnies, foxes and barnyard animals dangling from the twine and twirling with the sudden influx of air caused by the door slamming. A small pillow props up Audrey, who is situated on her stomach with her hands greedily but aimlessly grabbing in front of her cheerful face. Across from her, mirroring her position, is Eddie, holding a rainbow sensory caterpillar toy, beads bouncing off the crinkly interior as he waves it in front of her. Like two dogs at an impasse as they stand their ground over a stick, both fighting for ownership of the plush insect. Eddie shoots you a wide grin, shadows cast into the deep dimples in his cheeks. Mentally, you should politely return the gesture, but you’re too desperate for an answer to worry about your expression.

“Oh my god, you should have woken me up during the night!”

“Didn’t need to.” Eddie retorts smugly, tightening his grip on the toy which emits a squeaking noise. “I had it all handled.”

“But- did you feed her?”

“Sure did.”

“Every-”

“-Two hours? Like clockwork.”

“But what about-” “Changing her diaper? Sorted that too. Can’t say it’s my favorite pastime but we survived.” He chuckles, edging the caterpillar closer to Audrey’s desperate fingers. “Would’ve put her back to bed for a while, but thought she could use some time out of her straight-jacket to play.”

“It’s not a straight jacket, it’s a swaddle.”

“Well, it’s not as cool as what she’s wearing now.”

Printed on the back of the faded gray t-shirt is a tiny motorcycle, something you don’t recall purchasing for her. Eddie loosens his grip on the toy to readjust the one-size too big shirt she’s wearing, bare legs kicking excitedly on the plush mat. Her clammy fingers clamp down on the poor creature's head, which is swiftly brought into her drooling mouth for chewing. Eddie simply giggles at her antics while you try to slow your heart rate down with a calming exhale. As he rolls over, the sight before you causes your hazy vision to clear. Propping himself up on his elbow, hip taking the brunt of his weight to move his body in your direction. His hair is somehow even more unkempt than usual, but pales in comparison to Audrey’s, which looks like a half-sucked mango seed. But it’s not his hair that your eyes fixate on.

The shirt he borrowed last night has been discarded.

Light reflects off his pale skin, casting shadows into every groove and curve of his taut chest. It’s much easier to make out now the fine ink etched into his torso in the light of day, and much harder to hide your gawking. It’s not like you mean to stare at his uncovered body, but the contrast of the dark ink on his skin is positively eye-catching. Like a marble statue in a museum from centuries ago, made to be studied and appreciated for its beauty. Eddie, suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious under your gaze, clears his throat.

“Sorry- she spit up on me about 20 minutes ago and I didn’t want to wake you up to grab another one. She’s clearly not a big Bowie fan, not that I blame her.” His cheerful demeanor and Cheshire-cat smile compensates for the clear tension between the pair of you, neither wanting to address last night’s almost-kiss. Heat rises to your cheeks, the image returns of his lips hovering mere millimeters from yours, the groan caught in your throat threatening to release- “I’m gonna make some coffee.” Excusing yourself to the kitchen, you busy yourself clunking around in the cupboard looking for two clean mugs. “How did you know to feed her every two hours anyway?”

“Robin. She’s like a walking, talking baby book. Spits random facts out all the time to me.” His voice calls back from the other room.

You prep the percolator, taking care to spill a good amount of coffee grinds all over the counter and floor. All the while, the pair of best buddies giggle over something in the living room. With two cups of fresh coffee poured, you take them in either hand and carefully dodge the mess of clean laundry and assorted baby toys scattered in the doorway. The laughter only escalates as you draw nearer, placing the coffee on the ground beside Eddie, who has assumed the same tummy-time position as your daughter. Studying the pair closely, you can see that Audrey has a fat hand firmly grasped around a lock of Eddie’s hair, laughing her head off at him.

“Ow, ouch! God, you’ve got muscles, miss.” He chuckles, wincing slightly as he attempts to free his long strands from her tight grip. But he never lets his smile falter, which only further eggs her on, pulling his face closer to hers as she squeals with delight. You chuckle, taking your thumb and forefinger and placing them on Audrey’s cheeks, smooshing her mouth together with a smile.

“Get ‘im, Audrey! Kick his ass.” If Eddie could move his head more than an inch in your direction, you’re sure you’d be on the receiving end of a dirty look. Proud of yourself, you take a sip of your beverage and allow the caffeine hit to clear the remaining brain fog, placing the cup down beside you. “Aha! You’re in trouble now, Squid.” Eddie manages to free his curl from Audrey’s paw, bringing his fists up in a fighting position. He throws a couple of soft swings towards her outstretched hands, barely making contact with her palms. Back and forth, causing the baby to emit the most gorgeous laughter you’ve ever heard, pure music to your ears. As he lands his final blow, her tiny palm locks around the top of his knuckle with a squeal. Eddie dramatically collapses to the ground, a mess of hair flying around him as his face lands on the plush play mat. “Oh no, she’s twisting my arm! Have mercy, please!”

His grinning face flies back up to eye level, her eyes completely transfixed on his every move. Grabbing her small wrists gently with his hands, her gummy smile somehow grows wider as he begins colliding her hands with his face. With each mimed blow, he falls to either side like a WWF wrestler putting on their best show, complete with an agonizing groan as he feigns pain. Left hook, right hook, uppercut. Each movement is complete with a mimicked ‘whoosh’ sound from the metalhead. Clearly, the bounty of fresh toys you’d been gifted are rendered useless when Eddie is around. Audrey remains transfixed, giggling and squealing so hard you wonder if a hiccup attack is due soon. Her gaze drifts to you, the sparkle never leaving her eyes while she continues her assault on Eddie. God, she was beautiful. You wish you could bottle everything about her. Her smell. Her laugh. Her chubby legs kicking frantically. Time is moving entirely too fast for your liking.

Eddie sees her watching you, and pauses his motions. He studies your face, then hers, a voyeur encroaching on a private world in which only mother and daughter exist. Trading mutual understanding he will never completely relate to, the safety and bond formed long ago. How you look at her, and see your whole world gazing back at you. It’s beautiful. Painful. The love simmering within his core begins bubbling too quickly for him to contain it, unless he can interject in some way.

Eddie is a soldier, and his weapon of choice is outlandish humor. The perfect deflection, in his mind, to quell any tension between himself and those around him.

A tell-tale cheeky smile spreads across his face, sending up alarm bells once you clock him.

“What?” Your tone is dripping with distrust, shooting him a warning look which does little to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face.

His eyes dart back to Audrey, who has been studying the interaction between the pair of you. As soon as their eyes lock, her gummy smile grows significantly, and you wonder if they have some psychic connection, the pair already cooking up trouble. He leans in close to her, holding his ear up to her babbling mouth as if she’s divulging some deep secret. Nodding knowingly, his expression drops and he turns his solemn attention to you.

“I’m sorry, my ladyship, but the queen has spoken. You are a traitor to the kingdom, and must be executed.” On his final word, he runs his forefinger along the length of his neck, spelling out your demise.

“Eddie, n-” Before you can finish, Eddie launches at your mid-section, spear tackling you to the soft carpet beneath you, barely avoiding the half-full coffee cup beside you. Lungs emptying with the impact, you are powerless in stopping the laughter already making itself known as a result of his antics. Eddie grin is back in full force, towering over you. You tuck your knees to your chest like a turtle stuck on its shell, arms outstretched and ready to fight. With one quick motion, he swiftly clasps his fingers around your wrist, pinning it to the floor and rendering it useless.

“Accept your fate! It is for the good of the people.” A squawk not dissimilar to Audrey’s exits your throat as Eddie’s free hand bears into your ribs, tickling you as hard as he possibly can. His hair hangs haphazardly around his face, doing little to conceal his elated expression at his physical victory.

“Eddie! S-st-” You words are cut off as he hits a particularly sensitive spot on the side of your abdomen, your whole body tensing as you fail to control your hysterics. Eddie relishes in your discomfort, keeping a firm grip on your wrist glued to the ground. You never doubted Eddie’s strength, but seeing it in action is a different story. The brunt of his weight bears down on your wrist, but not to an uncomfortable extent, just enough to keep you in place. Mentally, you know, on your word, he would not hesitate to release you, prioritizing your comfort over any momentary joke. But the rush of endorphins rendered you drunk off their addictiveness, steady giggles vibrating in your chest and demanding more.

But you were never one to give up that easily.

With your free hand, you snatch a clump of curls and grasp tightly, tugging slightly to bring his face nearer. His eyes light up, clearly tickled over this struggle for power and your willingness to indulge in his antics. Instead of resisting, he leans in closer to lessen the pull on his scalp.

“Pulling an illegal move on me, sweetheart?” His words are honey-sweet, juxtaposing his imposing demeanor. “Sorry, that one’s only reserved for the queen.”

“Yeah? What about this one?” Years of play fighting with distant cousins pays off in this moment, thinking quick before wrapping your legs around his small waist. The sudden contact about his midsection is enough to throw Eddie off his groove, giving you a window of opportunity to invest all of your energy into swinging your knees to one side. Thankfully, you’ve chosen the side opposite to where you’ve placed your coffee, leaving more than enough room for an Eddie-sized shape to land in the small expanse of your living room. With perfect momentum, Eddie topples over with your legs still firmly squeezing into his sides, forcing him onto his back as you take your winning position atop him. Straddling him like a schoolyard bully about to steal some poor child’s lunch money, you shoot him a smug smile to rival his own. Eager fingers find his ribs, poking and prodding and relishing in how he squirms helplessly beneath you.

“Okay! Okay! I concede, you win.” His words are punctuated by grunts and laughter, along with frantic swats to your unrelenting hands. His flair for the dramatics has apparently rubbed off on you, throwing your fists skyward in victory.

“Yes! In your face, Munson.” Encroaching on his space slightly, you raise your eyebrows as you relish in your triumph, drawing your face closer to his to ensure he doesn’t miss a moment of your pride. His cheeks are flushed, strands of hair littering his forehead and lips curled into a permanent smirk. Adrenaline courses through your veins, the way one would experience after a heated game of gym class dodgeball during childhood years. Giddy pride, pure indulgence over something so trivial. With a flourish, your pointer finger boops his nose condescendingly. “I own you.”

It’s hard to miss the way Eddie’s chest rises beneath you at your utterance, how his already racing heart somehow paces up a notch. He knows better than to wriggle, to give any unjust indications of discomfort beneath the soothing weight of your figure. Instead, his outlet for his energy manifests through the tips of his fingers, snaking their way around your hips. Through the thin cotton of your sweatpants, you feel the firmness of his touch. Calloused fingers mindlessly caressing circles over the fabric, setting the nerve endings hidden beneath alight.

“You sure do.” Words barely a decibel above mumbling, as if they had slipped out with no intention of being heard by anyone other than the thinker. And unluckily, they don’t go unnoticed by you.

Suddenly, you drop back into your body. The body currently situated above Eddie, knees either side of his waist caging him. Straddling him. Your breath catches, intellectualizing that you should probably dismount him and put much needed distance between the pair of you. But every square inch of Eddie’s framework refutes, screams and aches for this moment to last a beat longer. Begs for indulgence, fingers gripping at your waist a hint firmer, willing you to linger about his figure for an eternity. Shock waves seep through the pores of his fingertips, nullifying the internal debate you wage with yourself, leaving you needy. Possessed by comfort. Driven by the need for connection.

Every shaky rise and fall of his chest, every circle completed by talented fingers, every miniscule shift of his waist beneath you, left you desperate for more. Simultaneously, these actions were more than enough and not even close to being enough.

But, as with all good things, this comes to a short and sharp end as a firm knock rings out against your door. Your response isn’t immediate, no knee-jerk action to jump up and attend to your visitor, just an acknowledging head turn in the direction of the entrance. Instead, you linger, as if to mourn a moment cut short. Not knowing, but praying, there will be another like it soon.

“I’ll get it.” As if Eddie, pinned beneath you, could have any say in the matter. He relinquishes his grip on your waist, freeing you unwillingly. Climbing somewhat unsteadily to your feet, you turn your attention to the door, swinging it open to reveal a tired-looking Wayne.

“Mornin’, darlin’. Hope I didn’t wake you.” He apologizes, placing a hand on the door-frame.

“Not at all! Eddie and I were just-”

“What’re you doing here? You should be sleeping, old man.” Eddie’s voice cuts in behind you, you don’t need to turn around to hear the cheeky grin spread across his face.

“‘T’s what I was tryin’ to do, but I got a call from the shop. Somethin’ about one of the guys being sick, they want you to come in.”

“Ah, but of course. No place I’d rather be on a fine day like this.” His words are dripping with sarcasm. “Let me just grab my clothes, I’ll be out in a sec.”

Feet scuffle into the bedroom as you take a step back to invite Eddie’s uncle inside.

“Would you like a coffee, Wayne?” He takes a step into the living room, eyes landing on the playmat spread out.

Shit, Audrey.

For someone concerned over whether or not she was alive ten minutes earlier, your motherly instincts evaporated quickly. Lucky for you, you were blessed with a low maintenance baby, her greedy hands attempting to pick up the discarded caterpillar once again that has landed far too out of reach. Wayne’s weary eyes light up at the sight of her. “Oh, hang on, let me introduce you!”

A few short strides is all it takes to reach the mat, arms extending downwards to pick your daughter up and interrupt her important retrieval mission. Her knees scrunch up to her chest, a steady stream of drool leaving her parted lips. You settle her on your shoulder, tucking her face to your chin so you can leave a quick kiss on her forehead before turning back to your visitor.

“Wayne, this is Audrey.” It’s hard to hide your pride as you present her to him, like all mothers you’re sure you’ve got the cutest baby in the whole world. And her, a picture of big brown eyes, chubby cheeks and a gummy smile, does little to quell this notion. The older man’s weathered face transforms into a smile, extending a hand out to her.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Audrey.” He shakes her tiny palm in his, the formality of it causing you to giggle. He runs his hand across her mess of hair, which seldom tames it. “She’s as pretty as a picture, sweets. Glad to finally see her in the flesh, swear Eddie never shuts up about the two of you.”

“Is that right?” You don’t get an answer before Eddie comes strolling back into the room, clothes in hand and boots unlaced.

“Time to make some money! You two stay out of trouble, especially this one.” He wants a warning finger at Audrey, who shoots him her best puppy dog eyes. Grinning, he presses his lips to her chubby cheek, leaving numerous obscenely loud wet kisses behind. Audrey giggles, Eddie’s attention is her favorite kind. Once satisfied, he places his palm on the side of your head to give you a quick peck on your crown. Funny, you can’t help but feel jealous of your daughter at this moment. “See you later.”

And with that, Eddie heads out the door past his uncle, who shoots you a small wave.

“Come knocking if you need anything, darlin’.”

“I will, thanks Wayne.”

Closing the door behind you, you look down at Audrey before heading to the kitchen. The day is still young, you have plenty of time to indulge in a slow morning with your daughter in your arms.

“Looks like we’re having a girls day.”

“I’m sorry, you what?!” Robin’s shock is enough to cause Audrey to stir in her capsule, nestled on the desk in the back room. Being the good friend that you are, you elected to grab Robin a coffee for her lunch break, the pair of you now sitting opposite one another on unsteady metal chairs. Her tuna salad is now all but forgotten with your revelation, giving the side of the black capsule a comforting tap. “Sorry, Squid. You rest that gorgeous big head of yours. Didn’t mean to wake you since your mom just dropped the bombshell that she and Eddie nearly k-“

“Oh my god, I don’t know if that’s what it was!” Your fingers drum nervously on the cardboard cup, trying to avert Robin’s stern gaze, like a student being lectured by their principal.

“Sure, he was probably just leaning in to count your freckles.”

“Shit, I mean, maybe I gave him the wrong idea?” You contemplate the idea with furrowed brows. “Like, y’know, asking him to share my bed and all…”

“Oh no, Eddie’s not like that.” Enthralled in your story, Robin chimes in through a mouthful of pasta. “Douche-nuts like Andy? Totally. A girl in his bed is free game. But Eddie? He treads carefully when it comes to the ladies. He must have been getting some serious vibes from you.”

“Well-“

“Did you give him vibes? Oh, you so did.”

“No!” You think for a beat. “I mean, I don’t think so- I don’t know! It was just- it was nice.”

“Nice? Dude, the last time you kissed a guy for ‘nice’, you ended up with her.” She points her fork at Audrey, raising her eyebrows all the while.

“Well, yeah, it just felt, like- comfortable. He’s just a good guy, and it’s been a while since I was around someone like him. And Audrey loves him to death. But, I don’t know- maybe it was a stupid thing to do…”

Trailing off, you take another sip of your coffee, the much needed caffeine picking you up from your post tickle-attack adrenaline dump earlier. Robin picks around at pieces of flaky fish stuck to the sides of the Tupperware container, uncharacteristically quiet. It makes you nervous.

“What? I can smell your hair burning from how hard you’re thinking.” You chuckle somewhat shyly. Robin takes a deep inhale as her eyes meet yours with a small smile, eyes fixating on a small paint scuff on the wall.

“Do you think it’s maybe… too soon?”

Eyes widening slightly at her insinuation, you shuffle forward in your chair.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean- you’ve had a huge year. We all have. And Eddie’s wonderful, but I just can’t help but think-“

“What?”

“- that maybe you just need to give it a bit more time. Before, y’know, you get involved again.”

“Well, shouldn’t I be doing things like this? You know, the whole moving on thing?”

“Of course you should! It’s just-” Robin takes a sharp inhale, balling her hands into fists the way she does when she’s suppressing something. You can tell there’s more she wants to say. Words dancing on the tip of her tongue remaining caged, mind ceasing the unshared notion before it can spill out. You know better than to press, and so, you say nothing. “- you don’t know what the future holds. Things change, Audrey’s going to grow up so fast so I just want you to savor these moments with her. Give yourself some time, okay?”

It’s hard to avoid the Steve-sized elephant in the room right now, you understand what she’s implying. But the more time passes, the more you come to accept the fact that he’s not coming back, you find yourself looking at the future. After all, you have needs, not necessarily just physical, but emotional. Longing for comfort, safety, care to give and receive with someone outside of platonic friendships. You’ve spent months upon months trying to work out where to put your love for Steve now, shoving it into the quietest corners of your mind and doing your best to ignore it. But that care will always be there, it’s a monster you’re learning to become friends with. A beast with whom you can live side by side.

But you know Robin’s right. I mean, Audrey has been earthside for six weeks, and you’re just coming to terms with your new identity as a mother. Mentally, you understand that you need to prioritize yourself, begin standing your own ground for the sake of you and your daughter. Unfortunately, your heart is telling a different story.

With a defeated sigh, you shoot Robin an acknowledging smile.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I know, I’m always right.” She quips back, polishing off the rest of her tuna salad and placing it beside a snoozing Audrey. “Oh shit, before I forget-“

She rummages around in her coat pocket, pulling out a slim, black wallet.

“This is Eddie’s. Accidentally grabbed it on my way out last night thinking it was mine. Take a couple of bucks out and give it back to him later, would you?”

Smiling, you shove the wallet into your bag, knowing full well you’re not about to rob the metalhead after the amount of diapers he’s changed in the last 12 hours.

Just go home.

You don’t need to drive all the way out there.

You’ll see him later.

Thoughts on repeat like a broken record plague your drive to the auto repair shop, located on the outskirts of Hawkins. Close enough to drive to without it being an inconvenience, but far enough out of the way for it to not convincingly qualify as “oh, I was just passing by!”. By the time your car is rattling along the gravel driveway to the shop, you wish you’d taken the time to straighten out your story, hoping you won’t be bothering Eddie in the middle of his work day. Audrey, clearly tired from this morning’s antics, is dead asleep in her car seat. You take care not to stir her as you swap her back into her capsule, readjusting her beanie and tucking her duck-covered blanket in around her tiny frame. As you swing the car door closed, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the window. The sunny day has been a perfect excuse to put in a bit of extra effort, a long floral dress the perfect scapegoat to leave constricting jeans at home. A small gust of wind blows through your freshly washed hair, doing little to dull the warmth on your skin from the unobstructed sun. Black Converse scuff along the gray gravel, sending small stones flying before your free hand pushes open the office door, the bell above jingling to alert the building of your presence.

The hum of the aircon is the only noise heard above the distant tinkering in the adjacent workroom, the steady flow of air causing paper’s on the receptionists desk to flutter beneath a cat-shaped paperweight. A mess of graying curls shoots up from behind the desk, an older lady shooting you a smile as she takes her seat. “May I help you?” Readjusting the baby carrier in your hand, you make your way to the desk before placing Audrey down on the carpet. “Oh, hi! I’m just here to see Eddie. Is he around?”

Her eyebrows raise slightly, she must not be accustomed to customer’s coming in and willingly seeking out an acquitted murderer. “I think so, he should be in the workroom-”

“He is.” A gruffer, older voice interjects from the doorway to the break room, a half-eaten PB&J sandwich in hand. A man, likely in his late forties, wearing the same brand of work overalls Eddie does, enters the office space, meandering behind the desk. “He’s working on the silver minivan at the moment.”

“Oh, wonderful! I’ll go and grab him for you, doll. Won’t be a moment, take a seat.”

“Thank you.” Shooting her a grateful smile, you oblige, picking up the capsule and making your way to the worn sand-colored loveseat in the corner. Placing the capsule down beside you, you give a stirring Audrey a small tickle on her side.

“Good morning, miss.” Audrey’s eyes flutter open, taking in the unfamiliar building. The man behind the desk watches the pair of you, taking another bite of his mediocre lunch.

“She’s a cutie. I remember when my daughter’s were that small, long time ago now. Miss those days before they saw me as a walking credit card.” The older mechanic chuckles, taking a few cautious steps towards you. With maybe three regular faces to make conversation with, one being a baby, you welcomed the opportunity for a chat.

“Thank you! Don’t worry, she’s cute but still gives me plenty of grief. But with a face like that, she knows she can get away with it.” Your joke lands well with the older man, who shoots you a kind smile in return.

“What’s her name?”

“Audrey. Although she goes by Squid, most of the time.” The man’s expression further lightens, brows quirking as he studies you from head to toe.

“Oh, this is the famous Audrey!” Chuckling out a confused exhale, the man elaborates. “We’ve heard all about her, she’s a legend ‘round these parts. You, too.” Heat flushes your cheeks, that embarrassing yet flattering notion of gossip around you causes a million thoughts to rush through your head.

“Good things, I hope?”

“You bet. Eddie’s got a picture of you stuck in his locker and everything, came in looking proud as punch after she was born. Told us everything, how your friend passed out in the delivery room-”

“Yeah, my friend, Robin.” You can’t help but smile and shake your head at the memory, hilarious in hindsight.

“- What a classic! Not that I blame her, nearly did the same thing with my missus. But Eddie, y’know he’s not much of a talker, wouldn’t shut up about how well his girl did, how perfect the baby is-”

“Sorry, his-”

There’s no time for answers when the workroom door swings open, the receptionist returning with Eddie. Wiping oil residue off his fingers with an old rag, he’s a perfect picture of the modern working man. His hair is tied back in a ponytail, loose strands stuck to his temples from the day’s work. His overalls are unbuttoned to his navel, a stained wife-beater underneath clinging to his sweaty skin. Oh, god.

“Hey, you.” His expression is laced with concern. “Everything okay? Wasn’t expecting you to swing by.” “No, no! Everything’s cool, um. I just-” The rugged image of a man before you causes you to trip over your words, rendering you a giddy school girl talking to her crush.

“Squid missing me already, isn’t she?” He shoots a wide smile into the capsule, Audrey, now waking up and smiling at Eddie, sticks her tongue out slightly as her gummy smile grows. Reaching into the carrier, he gently untucks her blanket and pulls her out, admiring your outfit of choice for her today. Snuggled up in a sherpa-material pink onesie, he gives her a quick kiss on her forehead before propping her into the crook of his shoulder. “Thought I told you to stay out of trouble, hm? Wanna tell me what you did?”

With each sweet word Eddie mutters to Audrey, Robin’s sensible ideas are thrown right out of the metaphorical window. Hell, maybe a second baby wouldn’t be the worst idea.

“Oh, Bob! Gary needs you out back, can’t find his drillbits.” The receptionist calls out to the older man from behind the desk, busying herself flipping through the address book of clients.

“Right, I best get back to work then.” Bob gives the two of you a small nod. “Nice to meet you darl, hope to see you around.”

The mechanic leaves, but his words linger in the space like thick smog. His girl. Surely you didn’t hear that right. But, the words evoke a distant memory of being at your ultrasound appointment, how Eddie buttered up the receptionist and joked about not letting his girl go into the room by herself. He was joking. That must be what happened here, he’d just made a similar joke to his co-workers. No big deal…

“Did you, uh, need something?” Eddie’s question snaps you out of your thought spiral. “Or did you just want to give me a tiny apprentice for the day? Which I’m not opposed to, but I should warn you there’s quite a few sharp objects in there, plus I don’t think she’s strong enough to hold a wrench for me.”

“Sorry, yeah. Didn’t mean to bother you at work. Uh, Robin accidentally took your wallet last night and wanted me to drop it off to you.” Pulling the sleek wallet out of your bag, you hand it back to its rightful owner. Eddie studies the object with confusion, flashing it your way.

“Thank you, but- you drove all the way out here to drop my wallet off?”

“Yeah, well, I was kind enough not to rob you, but given how ungrateful you are for me driving all the way here to return it, I’m rethinking my good nature.” Eddie’s smile grows at your sarcastic retort, he loves having someone around that he can spar with when it comes to banter.

“You gonna hold me hostage and drive me to the nearest ATM?”

“Actually, I’m just gonna let Audrey drool all over you until you sign the deed to your trailer over to me.”

Eddie’s expression turns deadpan.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, but I would.” You quip, equally as serious. “Actually, I’m just gonna watch you hold her for a while. But, you know, I think she’s due for a diaper change…”

“Fine! Take me for all I’m worth, god.” He hands your daughter back to you, nose scrunched up but doing little to hide his growing smirk. “Well, I’d repay your generosity with dinner tonight, but I’ve gotta stay back late. Shop’s closed tomorrow and need to get everything ready for the customer’s Monday morning. Can we take a raincheck?”

“Of course. I mean, I know where you live, so…”

Eddie shakes his head as he picks up the capsule, gesturing for the door.

The receptionist gives you a friendly wave as you exit, Eddie giving you a squeeze on the shoulder before retreating back inside.

“Get home safely, trouble.”

A new record plays on repeat as you drive home.

His girl.

The days roll on, another week passes without incident. With a quiet Friday night on the cards, Robin joins you for a movie night before the pair of you inevitably pass out on the sofa together.

Life is peaceful. Uneventful. Bliss.

Until you’re awoken by the flash of red and blue through the living room windows, breaking you out of your slumber. It’s well past midnight, and the commotion outside your door causes your blood to run cold. Leaping to your feet, you tear the sheer curtain ajar to see the doors of the police van slamming shut, a man in uniform escorting a familiar silhouette to the patio of the opposing trailer.

“Robin!” Rushing to your friend’s side, you give her a firm shake.

“What?” She grumbles, still fighting off the call of sleep.

“The police are outside.” Her eyes shoot open at your revelation, launching herself across the room to the window.

“Oh, shit.”

Before you can comprehend, she’s swinging the door open and running outside, shouting out to the pair in the dark trailer park. Audrey remains oblivious to the commotion, and you make the snap judgment that she’ll be okay if you leave her for just a moment to join Robin outside. Pulling on the nearest pair of shoes and grabbing your keys, you dart out the door and jog across the gravel road to the vehicle.

The cold night is illuminated by the flashing lights refracted off the walls of Eddie’s trailer, making shadows out of the two men at the doorstep. As you draw closer, you realize the red splotches marking Eddie’s face are not resulting from the lights. His nose is bloody, a small cut on his cheekbone prominent and angry, face contorted into a permanent scowl. He’s a mess.

“Hop! What the fuck happened?” Robin calls out to the older man, who shoots her a disapproving look.

“This one thought it would be a good idea to start a fight.” Hopper has a firm grip on Eddie’s collar, soldier-marching him to the front door. “Got there before he could break any bones.”

Eddie scoffs. “Would’ve if you let me get a few more punches in.”

“You got in a fight?” Shock and disbelief lace your warranted reaction, words small in the vast night. The underlying hurt in your voice hurt Eddie more than any blow landed that night.

“No! I mean- it wasn’t like that. You should have heard him, he started it-”

“I don’t care who started it! I’m gonna be getting a call from some trust-fund baby’s dad tomorrow wanting your ass in a cell.” Hopper roughly yanks Eddie towards him, getting right in his personal space. “Now, is that what you want after all the strings I pulled for you last year?”

“Shit, Hop. We’ll take Eddie from here, clean him up inside.” Robin pleads with the policeman before turning her attention to you. “Let me deal with this, okay?”

All you can do is nod. With a loud sigh, Hopper releases the metalhead from his grip, and you quickly rush to his side and grab a fistful of his jacket, leading him towards your patio.

You swing the door closed behind you so violently it causes Eddie to jump. Pure anger courses through your body like poison, unable to stop the venom spilling out.

“What the fuck? You got into a fight?!”

“Listen, I-” Eddie raises his hands in defense, but it’s hopeless to stop your lecture.

“Who was it?” He looks down sheepishly, avoiding your gaze. “Eddie, I said who was it?”

“Andy.” Mumbling his words, it does little to calm you down.

“Oh my god, you can’t be serious.” You run your hands down your face with exasperation as you begin to pace the room.

“Please, I can-”

“Do you understand how dangerous that was? You could have gotten hurt.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Your face is busted up, Eddie! Why would you do something like that?”

“Look, everyone is just making a big deal over nothing-“

“Nothing?! Eddie, you need to be keeping a low profile, if the town starts talking about you-“

“They already are, sweetheart.” Eddie spits back, much more harshly than he wanted to. He is quick to readjust his tone, scoffing his next words. “I could turn into fucking Mother Teresa and it wouldn’t do a damn thing to change what this town thinks of me.”

“Why did you do it?” For a moment, your fury subsides, genuine curiosity taking its place. Eddie sighs, pacing the room nervously.

“I, uh- ran into him when I went to grab some dinner for us. He was with a few of his meathead friends, probably out drinking. Started mouthing off to me, nothing I wasn’t used to, so I just tried to ignore it. Then he mentioned you-“ His fingers curl into his fist as he recalls the incident. “- I’m not gonna repeat what he said, but it fucking boiled my blood. I warned him to stop, but he didn’t, his friends were egging him on. So, that’s when I threw a punch, before I knew it Hopper showed up and pulled us apart- it was fucking stupid.“

“You got that right.” Expression stony, contrasting the erratically pumping heart within your chest. “I’m really disappointed in you, Eddie.”

“Join the five-mile queue, sweetheart.”

He looks completely pathetic right now. Dried blood clinging to his upper lip, the shiner beneath his left eye growing aggressive. Maternal instincts tell you to clean him up, ice his wounds and tell him he’s going to be okay. But anger permeates through your pores, causing your palms to grow clammy and making the room entirely too hot for your liking.

“I think you should go home.”

“Please-”

“Just go, Eddie! I can take care of myself, alright? I don’t need you out there defending me.” You’re hurt. You’re angry. You’re scared. And you know you’re not about to take it out on him.

His brows furrow, mouth warping into an exasperated smile, devoid of any happiness. Shaking his head, he makes a beeline for the door.

“Sure. It’s not like you’ll need me around anymore soon.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s cool, Audrey doesn’t need a fuck-up like me around.” His hand clenches around the door handle, tendons in his jawline flexing as he grinds his teeth. “Never signed up to be a dad, anyway. I don’t deserve this.”

Eddie slams the door before he sees the tears swelling in your eyes. He’s not sure if he could survive that heartbreak, knowing the words he just uttered hurt far worse than anything that left Andy’s lips that evening.

This is what drowning feels like.

Eddie shuts the front door to his trailer, palms pressed to the cool glass window. Breathing feels like a chore, an activity of conscious choosing in which he has no interest in partaking. Eyes screwed shut, he tunes into the sounds of Robin and Hopper hushedly discussing something, rarely is Eddie so close to his own gossip.

Emotions suppressed deep in his subconscious trickle out of his eyes, his nose, his mouth, wetting the matted stain of blood stuck to stubble. It aches, how his stomach knots itself with every heaving sob manifesting in hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He curses his wicked tongue, the drawbridge having dropped to let forth indelible confessions flow into the small confines of your living room. He’s lost you. A fuck-up, despite every effort to do right. Inevitable, Eddie supposes, knowing fully how the cycles of relationships end in his life. And still, the regret hangs heavy in his gut, like a corpse weighed down with rocks in some desolate lake, never to be found. He would consider himself lucky to meet such a fate.

It's unclear how long he remains there, forehead pressed to the white partition, exorcizing the hurt from his body. With every convulsing gasp, every unsteady shake of his hands, he wills the pain to evaporate from the trailer. It hangs heavy in the room, engulfing him in a blanket of man-made misery, suffocating him.

The muttering between the pair outside subsides, bookmarked by the sound of tyres on gravel and the shutting of an adjacent door. The room is no longer washed in flashes of primary colors, rendering the interior dim bar the streak of moonlight making its way in. Silence and desolation fill the small room, now simultaneously too small and too large for Eddie to comfortably exist in alone.

Alone.

With unsteady steps, Eddie makes his way to the kitchenette, flicking on the overhead stove light. The room is bathed in sterile fluorescents, illuminating the stack of unwashed dishes in the sink as his eyes search for a wet rag. Ringed hands grip the lip of the bench, craving any form of physical stability. The burnt cheese stuck to the cast-iron griddle mocks him, craving his attention. He can’t look at the neglected chores a moment longer.

Like a specter floating through the room, he crouches down before his cassette player, mindlessly flicking through options in hope of drowning out his sorrows. Landing on Aerosmith’s self-titled album, he clicks open the contraption and places the cassette inside. Clicking it closed, he allows Steven Tyler’s voice to fill the empty airspace around him, Dream On playing at a comfortable volume to keep him company.

The raspy vocals transport him back to his van, parked in the parking lot of some diner. And you, in the passenger seat, happily chowing down on a hearty burger like it was the best meal you’d ever had. How simple it was, such a small gesture on his behalf eliciting such a fulfilling happiness within you. That was the day that Squid first kicked. He could never forget the sensation, tiny feet against tender skin, his palm pressed down on your growing belly. The first hello.

The pot begins to boil over once again, fresh tears pricking the corners of his eyes and threatening to fall. The words rattle around the inside of his head like the beads confined to Audrey’s caterpillar toy. He wishes he could take them back, his careless tongue letting his facade drop for a brief moment and exposing his deepest fears.

Beyond the crescendoing music, he hears it.

A faint rap at the door, hands meeting glass.

Like a fawn finding its legs, Eddie stands, consciously placing one foot in front of the other. Unsure of his fate awaiting him on the other side of the partition.

He swings the door open, and should feel a wash of relief.

Instead, he is hit with a fresh pang of guilt at the devastatingly beautiful sight before him.

There you are, eyes wide and sparkling with unshed tears against bloodshot rims. Lip curled inwards, quivering slightly. So delicate. Your previously witnessed anger has dropped its deceitful mask to reveal its true identity; grief.

“Eddie.” He thought he would never tire of you uttering his voice, and yet, his name feels dirty being spoken by such fragile lips. Unworthy of a place within your mouth. He doesn’t reply. “I’m so sorry.”

Eddie shrinks in on himself, quickly facing away and retreating into the safety of the kitchenette. He won’t be accepting any apologies from you, knowing they’re completely unnecessary. Your comforting words twist the knife buried deep into his abdomen, further exacerbating the guilt he’s experiencing.

“Please-” Glancing over his shoulder at your quivering words, he watches you take a cautious step towards him. “I- I overreacted. It- I was just scared.”

Eddie’s face contorts into a grimace, the sudden muscle movement in his cheek causing a fresh wave of pain around the tender wound. As a steady stream of tears decorate your flushed cheeks, words begin spilling out uninhibited in their wake.

“I’m sorry I told you to go, I didn’t want you to. I just, I needed to process this. You fucking scared the shit out of me, Eddie. But I-” A hiccup contracts your diaphragm, dismantling any remaining composure. “- I really don’t want to lose you. I don’t know if I could survive that again. And what you said earlier, I know you didn’t sign up for any of this-”

Eddie wishes the ground would open him up and swallow him whole. Relieve him of the regret that is eating him alive from the inside out.

“- And I’m trying my best, but it’s so fucking hard. I know I can do this on my own. But I want you around, I want you in Audrey’s life but I know it’s a lot. And I don’t want you to feel like you need to stay if it’s not what you want, and I’m so sorry. You were right, you don’t deserve this. And-” A sob dictates your quivering words. “- I’ll let you go if that’s what you want. I don’t think I deserve you.”

For the first time since getting home, Eddie feels like he can breathe. Like you are the source of the world’s oxygen, allowing you to fill his lungs. Standing stock still, glued to the floor beneath you, he understands that you are expecting no particular response. Filled to the brim with such strength, such self-respect, it’s contagious.

There is no logic to his next moves, driven purely by the desire to comfort you. To be unabashedly close to you. To indulge, even for a fleeting moment, in you. His eyes locked onto yours, watching as he closes the gap between the pair of you. Clumsy feet met yours, sending shockwaves through Eddie’s system. Clasping your soft cheeks beneath his palms, running his thumb along your cheekbone, finding the firm ridges beneath supple skin. He wastes no time in pressing his wanting lips to yours, relishing in their plump sanctuary. It’s greedy, the way he laps you up, ringed fingers snaking along your jawline in a firm hold. The tip of his nose brushes against your cheek, growing damp from the residue of tears staining your face. You soften into his touch, hands finding the front of his shirt and balling it up into fists, desperately clinging onto him. As if to close off any remaining space between you, desiring to be fully consumed by one another. Boldly, his tongue meets your parted lips, relishing in their salty taste. A panting sign releases into his mouth, breaths intermingling under the sweetest of circumstances. The kiss is fumbling, entirely imperfect, teeth clashing as you greedily lap each other up. Neediness only somewhat satiated as Eddie feels the thrum of your pulse beneath his palm, the quickening of your heartbeat. A spiraling loss of control, motions dictated only by instincts. But restraint takes over, intellectualizing that you need verbal comfort in this moment too. Fighting off every screaming nerve ending in his body, Eddie’s lips pull away from yours minutely, catching much needed breath. Hot air fans across his sensitive lips as you do the same, opening your glossy eyes to gaze up at him. As your gaze bores into his, the regret within his belly is blanketed by an overwhelming sense of comfort. The bridge of his nose meets yours, bone on bone, shutting his eyes to relish in the sensation of his fingers laced around the crook of your jawline. The scent of your drugstore perfume lingering on your clothes, the track forgotten in the background drawing to a conclusion. For the first time in his sorrowful life, he is living for the moment.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

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