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munson-blurbs · 9 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

Summary: Your weekend getaway to Indianapolis comes with a boyfriend who's trying to quit smoking, a five-year-old who has difficulty acclimating to new routines, and your own insecurities about your mothering abilities. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: angst, insecurities about motherhood, lost child, Eddie gets mad at us, discussion of menstrual period/PMS

WC: 7.7k A/N: There is a moment where someone refers to us as Harris's mom; however, she doesn't see us. There is no indication that we resemble Harris in any way.

Chapter 16/20

Divider credit to @saradika Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsonsmum

The morning dew still kisses the grass when you arrive at the Munson apartment, hauling your duffel bag up to their half-packed car. Eddie’s leaning into the backseat, only his jean-clad legs visible from your vantage point. Harris stands behind him, watching his dad’s every move earnestly and intently. If you had a camera on you, you’d take a photo of this Kodak moment.

“Hi, boys!” you chirp as enthusiastically, tucking your lips into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing when Eddie bangs his head on the roof of the car. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, ‘m good,” he mutters, rubbing at his scalp with one hand, expression somewhere between a grimace and a smile.”Morning, Sweetheart. You sleep well?”

You nod, opening your arms as Harris races towards you for a hug. “What about you guys? Or were you too excited about our super-fun weekend?”

“Daddy snored!” Harris reports with a grin, overjoyed to share what he perceives to be a juicy morsel of gossip.

Eddie gasps in mock-offense, reaching out to take your bag and arranging it amongst his and Harris’s in the trunk. “I did not!”

“Did too!” Harris retorts, turning back to you and adding, “like, so loud!”

You crouch down, and hold a pinky out in front of him. “We’re gonna have to stick together this weekend if we’re going to survive,” returning his smile when he wraps his little finger around yours in a promise.

“Can’t believe my girlfriend is conspiring against me with my own flesh and blood,” Eddie grumbles, eyes widening when he realizes what he’s said; rather, in front of whom he’s said it. His panicked gaze meets yours, and you both anticipate some reaction from Harris, but he’s fortunately unfazed and too fixated on the utter silliness of his dad’s snoring. Eddie clears his throat, determined to change the subject before his son catches on. “I think we’re ready to ship out,” he offers, slamming the trunk shut and pressing down to double-check that it’s closed.

“Snacks?” you ask, running through a mental checklist of necessities.

Eddie holds up a family-size bag of pretzels. “Got ‘em.”

“Water?”

“Backseat,” he points to the floor to the left of Harris’s booster seat–a recent upgrade from his carseat. “Harris will be in charge of that, right, Har?”

“Right!” Harris confirms with a thumbs-up.

“Sounds good. Put him to work,” you tease. Eddie’s heart skips a beat at the playful relationship that you and his son have, swapping smiles and making each other laugh. “Music?”

Eddie juts his chin towards the center console, filled to the brim with cassettes. “Always.”

You cock your eyebrow knowingly before posing your next question, preparing yourself for some visceral response. “Nicotine gum?”

Eddie groans, patting the pack of Nicorette in his pocket. “Unfortunately, yes.” About a week and a half ago, Harris had come home from school crying after the school had put on an assembly about the dangers of smoking. Eddie had been meaning to quit for a long time, but his son worrying over real problems, using words like cancer and heart attack, was what finally pushed him to chuck every pack of cigarettes he owned into the trash.

“Okay,” you smile and clap your hands together, “I think we’re good to go!” You help Harris buckle his seatbelt before climbing into the passenger seat.

The sedan rumbles to life, catching on the second key turn and disrupting the otherwise still morning. “Gentlemen, start your engines!” Eddie roars in an exaggeratedly deep voice, and Harris giggles from the backseat. With Eddie’s hand on the gearshift, you seize the opportunity to squeeze it, light pink tickling his cheeks at your touch.

It’s only thirty minutes into the drive before it starts.

“Daddy, I gotta pee!”

You can practically feel the patience leaving Eddie’s body, fingers tightly gripping the wheel until his knuckles flush white.

“Har Bear, we just hit the road,” he tries, knowing his efforts are fruitless. “Can you hold it?”

“No, it’s a ‘mergency!”

“Fuck,” Eddie swears under his breath. The likelihood of it actually being an emergency is slim to none, but he’s in no mood to risk it. “All right, I’ll pull over at the next rest stop, ‘kay?”

Eddie takes the next exit, parking at a truck stop and nearly falling out of the car in his scramble to get Harris to the bathroom. “C’mon, c’mon,” he mutters, walking so quickly that Harris nearly trips over his own feet. You quicken your own pace just to keep up with them.

The scent of coffee grabs your attention as soon as you walk in the door, and you make a beeline for the tiny Dunkin Donuts tucked in the corner. The cashier looks as though they could use a shot or two of espresso, eyelids closing under their visor as you give your order. When the boys get back from the bathroom, you present Eddie with a large coffee with far more milk and sugar than your own, and hand a chocolate donut to Harris.

Eddie's eyes shift back and forth from the donut to you before he speaks. “It’s, like, 9 am,” he points out. “He’s gonna be bouncing off the walls if he eats that now.”

Oh. Obviously. What were you thinking, giving an already-hyperactive child pure sugar in the morning? All of the times you’d cringed when parents had sent their kids into school with Cocoa Puffs or some equally sugary cereal, and you’d given his son a chocolate donut for breakfast. “I’m sorry,” you sputter, shaking your head in frustration. “I should’ve asked you first, or saved it for later.”

“‘S fine,” he mutters, heaving an exasperated sigh as Harris takes a giant bite of donut. “At least there’s two of us to chase after him,” he adds with a weak smile.

Harris has devoured nearly the entire donut by the time Eddie’s buckling him back in, chocolate crumbs tucked into the crevices of his mouth. He’s oblivious to your faux pas, and you’d like to keep it that way.

“I really am sorry,” you say again, guilt gnawing in your stomach. “I should’ve known better; I guess I just got excited about our little vacation together.”

Eddie’s grin is more genuine this time. “Me, too, baby.” He sneaks a quick kiss to your cheek when Harris is focused on what remains of his snack. “The whole no-smoking thing has me extra bitter, y’know?”

You know. You definitely know, but you’re not about to point out all of the ways he’s been short-tempered lately. Instead, you relax into your seat and try to brush off your mistake as Eddie turns on the radio and guitar riffs replace the silence.

Eddie rolls down the window as the springtime sun warms the air, and you stretch as the rush of wind cools your body. His curls whip around the base of his neck, dancing in the breeze, and you can’t help but push them out of his face haphazardly.

Your stomach growls, and you’re grateful for the blaring music masking the embarrassingly loud noise. You’d forgotten to grab something for breakfast in your rush to leave your apartment, and coffee is a poor substitute for the most important meal of the day.

You reach down to the bag of pretzels nestled against your feet. “Y’want?” you ask Eddie, who nods and opens his mouth for you to feed it to him while he concentrates on the road. Laughter bubbles up from within you as he takes one from your hand by pinching it between his teeth.

Harris giggles, too. “Daddy, you look like a goat from the zoo!”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie slides the snack into his mouth and bites down with a crunch, “and what sounds do goats make?”

“Hmm,” Harris ponders this for a moment before bleating a resounding, “maaaah!”

You swivel in your seat to give him a high-five. There’s donut residue on your hand when you pull back. “Smarty pants! I bet you know every animal sound there is.”

You and Eddie rattle off different species as you feed him more pretzels. Harris manages perfect impressions of each, until you call out, “sloth!” and effectively stump him.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” he cackles maniacally, partially because of his sugar rush, you’re sure, “that is so silly!”

“Y’just gotta do everything suuuuper slooooow.” You drag out the last two words to emphasize your point. “Like this: Haaaaarrisssss…caaaaan…youuuuu…haaaaand…meeeeee…aaaaa…waaaaterrrr?” This brings on a fresh round of giggles from the backseat; even extra-bitter Eddie manages a hint of a smile.

Harris grabs a bottle at a snail’s–no, a sloth’s–pace. “Heeere…youuuuu…goooooo!” His pace is far from hurried, and you feel the gentle tap of the plastic cap against your shoulder blade a full thirty seconds later.

“Thaaaaank…youuuuu!” You crack open the bottle of water and take a swig, quenching a thirst only made worse by the salty snack. “Wanna play again? See how many other animal sounds you can do?” you ask, grateful to have found a way to keep him occupied. Before you can close the bottle, Eddie reaches over and snags it, lifting it to his lips.

“Daddy, no!” Harris screeches from the backseat, little hand shooting out in protest, causing Eddie to slam on the brake. Water sloshes over the top of the bottle and onto his pants.

“Shit—what, Har?” he snaps, shoving the now half-empty bottle into the cupholder. He swipes haphazardly at the wet patch on his thigh, darkening the denim as it spreads along the fabric. He gives up with a mumbled, “whatever,” when he realizes he’s only rubbing it in more.

“You’re gonna get her germs,” Harris points out matter-of-factly.

Eddie huffs out a terse chuckle, slightly amused but still irritated. “Yeah, yeah, right,” he mutters, and you take that as a sign to reach back and get him his own bottle.

The remainder of the drive is uneventful, though Eddie has to dip into his Nicorette stash when a maroon Toyota Corolla weaves in and out of lanes at lightning speed and cuts him off. He instinctively reaches for the pack of cigarettes he’d always kept in the console, groaning when he remembers that it’s long gone.

“Good job, baby,” you murmur softly, giving his knee a quick squeeze in approval as he pops a piece of gum into his mouth. “‘M proud of you.”

You pull up to the hotel just after 10 AM, the morning chill has dissipated as the sun’s rays warm the air. The fair weather made the trip smoother, a small miracle if you’d ever seen one. Truthfully, you don’t think Eddie’s frayed nerves can handle a rainy day.

Eddie takes Harris’s hand as you all walk through the parking lot and up to the front desk. A middle-aged concierge greets you, the customer service smile plastered across his face faltering when he clocks Eddie’s ripped jeans and disheveled wind-blown hair.

“Reservation’s under ‘Munson,’” Eddie says to him, not making eye contact; your heart is a sinking stone when you realize that he also noticed the man’s shifting expression. “I called ahead and they said we could check in early.”

The concierge nods. You catch a glimpse of his shiny silver name tag, proudly proclaiming “STU, ASSISTANT MANAGER” gleaming in the overhead fluorescent lighting. “Room 325,” he grunts, handing you and Eddie keys dangling from matching logo-branded chains. Elation is a sunflower blooming in your chest; your first vacation has officially begun. Maybe it’s a little getaway only ninety minutes from home, but it’s a new adventure that you’re taking together.

Eddie flings his and Harris’s shared bag, then yours, onto one of the queen beds with a groan. “We made it!” he announces, flinging an arm over your shoulder. The pads of his fingers brush your upper arm, a tissue-paper light touch that has you soaring.

“Daddy? I gotta pee again,” Harris’s urgency breaks the moment. He’s hopping from one foot to the other, a potty dance if you’ve ever seen one.

“Go for it,” Eddie says, pointing towards the bathroom. He shakes his head when his son sprints the short distance.

Once the door closes, Eddie’s hands are on your hips, tugging you so close that your stomachs touch, your breasts pressed to his chest. His mouth immediately swoops down to your neck, nipping gently at the flesh along your collarbone.

“Hello there,” you manage to speak through a laugh. You’re unable to say more, as he’s pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss so fervently that your teeth nearly click together.

“Hi,” he breathes once he’s pulled back, brushing the tip of his nose against your own. “Sorry, y’just look really pretty.”

You wrinkle your nose in confusion. “I’m wearing sweatpants. I don’t even have makeup on.” Truthfully, you’d meant to at least swipe on some mascara, but you were preoccupied making sure that you’d packed everything you needed for the weekend.

“Don’t care,” Eddie mumbles, leaning in for another kiss, “still s’fuckin’ pretty. Don’t know how I’m gonna keep my hands off of you.”

The solution to that problem comes in the form of a flushing toilet and Harris calling out, “I’m done! Gonna wash my hands!”

Eddie throws his head back in frustration before burying his pink-tinged face in his hands. “This, uh, was not exactly how I imagined our first time in a hotel together,” he admits.

“At least he’s washing his hands,” you joke, trying to ward off the throbbing need building in your core. It fails miserably. You want him, need him, to relieve the ache in the way that only he can. You yearn for the way his fingertips dance across your skin, eagerly reaching under your shirt or dipping below your waistband, desperate to make his girl feel good.

The two of you break apart as the bathroom door swings open. You fly across the room and pretend like you’re rifling through your duffel bag while Eddie flops onto the bed. His shirt rides up slightly as he lays down, and you have to fight the urge to bite the exposed sliver of tummy.

“When are we going to the market?” Harris asks, catapulting himself onto the bed and landing next to his dad.

Eddie rolls over and checks the digital alarm clock between the two queen beds. “Doesn’t start for another few hours,” he says. “I was gonna try and take a quick nap before we—”

“I’m not tired!” Harris whines, and you can see in Eddie’s deflated, tense physicality that his already thin patience is wearing down further. “I wanna go now!”

“Hey, Har Bear,” you try, hoping you’re not inserting yourself into the dynamic too forcefully, “why don’t we go on an adventure while Daddy sleeps? We can wake him up when we get back.”

Harris hops down onto the floor and readily slips his hand into yours. “Bye, Daddy!” he calls out, dragging you towards the door. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart are having a ‘venture!”

Eddie gives you a weary but grateful smile as he scoots upwards to rest his head on the overstuffed pillow. “Godspeed,” he mumbles into the sheets, already beginning to doze off as he speaks.

The elevator dings and you shuffle into the small space, reaching for the “L” button to bring you down to the lobby.

“I wanna push the button!” Harris laments, and his sudden shriek has you instinctively pulling your hand back before regaining your composure.

Do you correct him? Let him press the button despite raising his voice? Deciding a consequence comes naturally to you in the classroom, but the anxiety of making the wrong choice serves as a massive roadblock. “You have to ask nicely if you want to push the button,” you offer, sending up a silent prayer that this staves off an impending tantrum.

He pouts for a moment before relenting. “Can I push the button?” It’s more grumble than request, but you accept it anyway.

His hand remains tucked safely into yours when you leave the hotel, basking in warm weather. You breathe in for three, breathe out for three. Okay. You can do this. Your job revolves around children; you can survive an afternoon taking care of just one.

Except that one happens to be your boyfriend’s son, and if you mess this up, it could ruin both Munsons’ perceptions of you.

“Where’re we going?” Harris asks, and you realize that you have no earthly idea; to be honest, you’re surprised that he so readily agreed.

”We can go for a walk?” you suggest, pasting on a smile in feigned confidence. “Maybe we can find a playground or something?”

“Okay!” he chirps. He’s fast for someone with little legs, and you have to remind him multiple times to use his walking feet. Yeah, this kid needs to burn off some energy, stat.

To your relief, there’s a playground just a few blocks away, fully equipped with a swing set and a jungle gym. Harris races across the grassy field onto the wood chip-covered area, assessing the space to figure out what he wants to conquer first.

You sit on the bench next to a woman who simultaneously reads a James Patterson novel and keeps an eye on the jungle gym, where a little girl is dangling from the monkey bars, putting one hand in front of the other.

She looks over with a sympathetic smile when you breathe out a long sigh, sinking into the wooden back like a weight has been removed from your shoulders.

“I hear that,” she says with a kind chuckle. “Mine will be tired for about…hmm, five minutes? Just long enough to get her home, and then she’ll be hopping around like the Energizer Bunny.” She shakes her head. “Is yours the same way?”

Yours. The term is peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth, and it takes a beat too long for you to respond. “Y-Yeah, I’m pretty sure he would sleep run if he could.” The stranger laughs at your joke, and you relax a bit. “Sorry, he’s really my boyfriend’s son, and it’s kind of…new to think of him as being mine, too.”

You expect her to pick up and move to a different bench, away from the weird woman who’s baring her soul on the playground, but she just closes her book and turns to you. “Carly is technically my stepdaughter,” she explains in a hushed tone, “but her mom’s not in the picture so, for all intents and purposes, she’s my daughter. No ‘step’ necessary.”

“Is…is it hard?” you ask, the question spilling from your lips in a desperate plea for answers. “Being a stepmom?”

She nods. “Oh, absolutely.” She brushes a strand of hair from her eyes, and you can see a sparkle behind them. “But, trust me, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Her words, spoken freely of judgment and purely with empathy, alleviate the nervousness burning through you. “Thank you,” you murmur, gratitude forming a lump in your throat that you struggle to swallow.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris shouts from the top of the jungle gym. “Look what I can do!” He hesitates for a moment before reaching out his arms and grabbing onto the metal pole. You stand up to call out a preemptive warning, to get to him before he can fall, but before you can, his chubby hands grip the pole. He hooks his legs around it and slides down expertly, not letting go until his sneakers are firmly planted on the wood chips scattered across the ground.

Pride warms your heart when his eyes lock with yours, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he awaits your approval. Anticipation reverberates within his little body, and before you can get in a word edgewise, he’s jumping up and down with an excited, “didja see me?”

“You’re amazing!” Your praise floats through the air and envelops him like a long-awaited embrace. “Super brave, too. I don’t think I could do that.”

He furrows his brows before a knowing smile forms on his lips. “Yes, you can! I’ll show you.”

Kind of walked right into that one, you lightly chastise yourself, but you dutifully shuffle towards where he’s already darting up the steps on all fours, hands splayed out for balance.

“C’mon, Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris cheers, waving his fists in the air in earnest, and you simply cannot let the boy down. He easily glides down once more, big brown eyes looking up at you from the ground. “Just like that, see?”

“Right, got it.” You give him a thumbs-up and emulate his movements, holding on tightly to the metal pole and sliding down. You grimace as it squeaks under your grasp, nails on a chalkboard, but your feet reach the ground soon enough.

Harris flings his arms around you, chin digging into your thigh as he gazes up in adoration. “I told you you could do it! Y’just had to try!” His admiration is fleeting; he soon spots another child leap from the swingset to play elsewhere. “Can you push me on the swings?” he pleads, already leading you to the equipment. “I just need a little help getting started, but then ‘m good.”

You hold the chain links dangling from the top of the structure, allowing Harris to maneuver himself onto the rubber seat. He scoots back so his bottom is fully supported and announces, “‘m ready!”

“Hold on tight,” you remind him, more out of routine than necessity, as you pull back the rust-covered chains. You move as far back as you can, double-checking that he hasn’t let go, and release the swing. His squealing giggles are music to your ears, and you push him a few more times before he’s able to take over independently.

His mop of curls defies gravity as he sails back and forth, pumping his legs to gain height. “Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Do you love my daddy?”

You ponder the thought for a moment. You know exactly how you feel about Eddie; he simultaneously kicks up the butterflies in your stomach and calms every buzzing nerve in your body with just a smile, but you’re unsure how much he wants to tell Harris. You settle on the truth, direct and simple: “yeah, I do love him.”

Harris wastes no time asking a follow-up question. “A lot or a little?”

“A lot,” you answer quickly, realizing the magnitude of your enamoration as you say it aloud. The way Eddie’s kisses wrap you in an armor of safety; you hope your kisses have the same effect on him. “Definitely a lot.”

He hums his acknowledgement. “Grampa Wayne says Daddy loves you a lot, too, but I can’t ask you to be my mommy yet.”

You freeze in place so suddenly that the swing’s momentum nearly knocks you down; you step out of the way just before his sneaker-clad feet can make contact with your torso. “You want me to be your mommy?” you repeat dumbly, still half-convinced that you heard him incorrectly.

“Mhm,” Harris confirms, “but Grampa says that being a mommy is a big ‘sponsibility, and I gotta be patient. That means I gotta wait until Daddy says it’s okay to ask you,” he elaborates matter-of-factly.

This is clearly something they’ve talked about, extensively enough that Harris knows that he shouldn’t say anything about it. You’re temporarily rendered speechless, words failing you as you search for an appropriate response. Do you thank him? Act like you hadn’t heard him? Hope that a sinkhole opens up in the middle of the playground and swallows you whole?

“Th-That’s great, Har,” you manage, shoulders suddenly heavy with the weight of his statement. He goes back to focusing on pumping his legs, leaving you to tend to the anxiety gnawing at your insides.

Motherhood–the term stepmother seems arbitrary, given that Harris’s biological mother has all but dropped off of the face of the Earth–is a terrifying prospect. Any time you try to explain your fears, people just shrug them off, claiming that you’d be a ‘natural,’ that your years of teaching would ultimately ‘pay off’ when you had children of your own. As if teaching and parenting were remotely the same.

To you, the differences are as clear as day. When you’re a parent, there’s no ‘clocking out.’ Your obligations don’t begin at 9 AM and end at 2 PM; they’re twenty-four hours, seven days a week. It’s not the same thing. Not even close.

Before you became a teacher, you had to go to school and take education courses. Read your textbooks cover to cover. Had to do an internship for a semester. You’d had ample opportunities to determine whether or not it was the right job for you. Motherhood doesn’t offer that luxury: you don’t know if you’ll be a good mom until you’ve already chosen to become one.

“Ms. Sweetheart?” You jump out of your skin when you realize that Harris is slowing himself down, scuffed Reeboks scraping against the ground as he comes to a stop. “Can I get ice cream?”

You bite back a laugh. “You just had a donut, silly boy,” you remind him with a gentle ruffle to his curls, trying to keep your tone breezy, “but we can grab some sandwiches. Maybe even get one for Daddy, too?”

His lower lip quivers, making your heart lurch. “B-But–”

“And,” you interject, “we can go out for ice cream after the market. With Daddy.” You hope it’s a promise you can keep.

It was too good to be true. Deep down, you knew it, despite the fleeting victory of getting Harris to eat an actual lunch. His hands were sticky with peanut butter and jelly–you were making a mental note to reassure Eddie that, yes, some had gotten in his mouth–when you’d done the unthinkable. The unimaginable.

You hadn’t let him press the elevator button.

He howls and sinks down to the floor, knees slamming into the linoleum tile and making him scream even louder.

“Buddy, you’ve got peanut–”

“I wanted to press…the…BUTTON!” he shrieks, every minor inconvenience he’s encountered today culminating in what you can only dub the Tantrum of the Decade. The crash from the sugar rush, not going to the market when he wanted to, the lack of ice cream are represented in every fat tear rolling down his reddening cheeks, in every flail of his legs as you try to scoop him up and bring him into the elevator, in every heaving breath. He’s overtired, overwhelmed, and out of his normal routine.

Your own eyes get misty as the metal door slides shut, enclosing you in a small space that seems to shrink with each wail. The kid has the lung capacity of an Olympic swimmer, while you’re drowning in your own pity.

He’s still sobbing when you reach the third floor, and Eddie’s flying out of the room as soon as he hears the sound of his son crying. Curls disheveled from his nap, crust still at the corners of his eyes. I woke him up, you realize. Another nail in the coffin.

“Wh-What happened?” His voice is raised, not in accusation, but just to be heard over Harris yelling. “Did he get hurt?” He takes Harris from your arms, clutching him to his chest in sheer panic. Reflexively, he inspects his boy’s head, arms, and legs for bruising and blood.

You shake your head, afraid that any attempt to speak will have your voice fracturing into pieces, no better than the little boy’s meltdown.

Fortunately, Harris has no problem filling his dad in. “I–wanted–to push–the button–and–she–said–NO!!!” Each word is punctuated with a hitched breath and is angrier than the last.

Eddie looks at you, more puzzled than worried now that he knows his son is unharmed, and a visit to the emergency room is unnecessary.

“His hands were sticky from his sandwich,” you mutter, unable to make eye contact with either Munson. “Oh, um, this is yours,” you add robotically, handing him the bag containing his hoagie, now a darker shade of brown from the grease it’s soaked up. You wince at how stilted you sound, simply going through the motions, not at all like the enthusiastic presentation you’d planned on the walk back to the hotel.

“Thanks.” Not unappreciative, but far from enthusiastic, and you can’t blame him. “Let’s just, uh, let’s just get him in the room.”

The sleepiness consumes Harris after a few more arduous minutes in his dad’s embrace. Eddie rubs circles on his back to calm him down, tiny shh sounds passing through his teeth. Harris begins to catch his breath; hiccups like aftershocks ricochet in his chest, gradually subsiding into soft snores.

“Jesus,” Eddie whispers as he gingerly places him onto the unmade bed, still warm from where he was lying just moments earlier, “that was one hell of a wake-up call.”

You speak at the same volume as him, though you don’t even have to try. Shame buries your voice deep in your diaphragm. “I’m so sorry.” Your right incisor digs into your lower lip as emotion ravishes you. The absence of Harris’s tantruming creates a loud silence that neither of you have the energy to fill.

“I could say the same to you,” Eddie says with a soft chuckle, taking your hand and squeezing it tight as he sits down on your bed. “His meltdowns are no joke.”

“I should’ve just let him press the damn button.” You’re only half-serious, but your stomach sinks when Eddie says nothing; instead, he carefully unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. A glob of mustard lands on the parchment paper with a soft plop.

He doesn’t disagree. You made a mistake—two mistakes, if you’re counting the donut fiasco—and Eddie saw it. Saw that you’d failed.

“Did you get enough rest?” It’s a feeble attempt to change the subject, and you both know it, but you go for it anyway.

He lets his knee knock into yours. “Never enough, Sweetheart,” he says with a smile, wiping his lips with the flimsy deli napkin. “But, yeah, I got some sleep.” He leans in and murmurs in your ear, “Would’ve been better with you next to me, though.”

You turn so that your nose brushes his. “If I was laying next to you, you wouldn’t be able to sleep,” you quip, stifling your laughter when he takes your cheeks in his hands and smacks a kiss to your lips.

“I would be a perfect gentleman.” He stretches and exposes the happy trail below his navel. “My eyes are up here,” he teases, catching you checking him out. “And you were worried about me.”

The dynamic shifts back to playful and lighthearted, his joke chipping away at the tension that’s been weighing you down.

“Shut up and eat your sandwich, Munson.”

“Yes, dear.”

You’ve showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes, jeans replacing the ratty sweatpants you’d donned earlier. You’d tried to wash the day’s stress down the drain along with the eucalyptus-scented soap suds, and though you don’t feel completely recharged, you’re ready enough to tackle the market.

Still, you can’t stop yourself from murmuring to Eddie, “d’you want me to stay here with Harris? Just in case it’s too much for him?”

He considers it for a moment before shaking his head, shrugging on his denim jacket. “Nah, he got his nap. Should be fine.”

The little boy in question slips one hand into yours and looks up at you with a grin. Eddie had talked to him earlier, reminded him about expressing himself in ways that didn’t hurt people–or their ears–and Harris apologized tearily. All is forgiven; at least between you and him. You still feel an uneasiness with Eddie, though it may be one-sided, as he’d quietly lamented that you two couldn’t shower together.

“We’re goin’ to the market! We’re goin’ to the market!” Harris chants, shuffling on the balls of his feet in a little dance. “Ms. Sweetheart, guess what?”

“What?”

“WE’RE GOIN’ TO THE MARKET!”

“Shocking,” Eddie mutters under his breath, a wry smile on his lips, and you use your free hand to swat at his stomach. “Okay,” he pats the wallet in the side pocket of his jeans, “got the company card, keys, handsome son, beautiful girlfriend…” He glances around the room; this time, he’s either unaware of his slip-up or is unbothered by Harris knowing your relationship status. “Looks like we’re good to go!”

The car ride isn’t too long; it’s only about a ten minute drive before you reach the market. And since you’d remembered to let Harris press the elevator button, it didn’t feel endless.

“Now, Harris,” Eddie says as his son climbs out of the car, hopping onto the parking lot pavement, “the market’s gonna be busy–”

“I know!”

“--so you have to hold my hand, or Ms. Sweetheart’s hand–”

“I know!”

“--the whole time. Got it?”

“Yes!” He’s far too exasperated for a five-year-old, and you have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing. “Can we go in now?”

Eddie obliges and takes Harris’s right hand; you take his left, the three of you walking towards the gigantic building together.

You’d figured it would be crowded, but you’re unprepared for just how overstimulated your senses become upon entering. Vendors shout advertisements for their booths, beckoning potential customers to check out their wares. Snippets of different conversations infiltrate your ears, and you swallow hard to clear your head, though the grainy muzak pumping through the overhead speakers doesn't help.

Immediately, you spot a booth selling secondhand books, and you look at Eddie with a hopeful gaze.

“Go,” he motions with a smile, laughing when you all but skip off to the stack of novels. You don’t want to take too long, as neither Munson has the patience to wait while you peruse your options. A weathered paperback copy of The Grapes of Wrath catches your eye, some pages dog-eared and smelling faintly of stale smoke, and you fish out two quarters from the bottom of your bag and place them in the vendor’s hand.

“Okay,” you breathe when you get back to Eddie and Harris, overwhelmed just by the short walk. You grip Harris’s hand even tighter, all-too protective of him in such a crowded space. “Let’s go get some records!”

Eddie finds a variety of vinyls that he knows will sell at Rock Records—from older classics like Louis Armstrong, Etta James, and Buddy Holly, to more recent gems from Van Halen, Queen, and Michael Jackson.

“Babe, check this out!” he announces gleefully, showing off a copy of Metallica’s Ride the Lightning. “I must’ve listened to this a hundred times when it was released in ‘84.” His enthusiasm is palpable, and you have to wonder if this purchase is for the store or for himself.

To his credit, Harris lasts a full twenty-five minutes before he starts asking for ice cream again. “You promised, renember?”

Eddie grins at him, then at you. “A promise, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “Can’t break that.”

“I think I saw a booth down there that’s sellIng some.” It’s a local shop, and you know one cone will probably cost more than a half-gallon at the grocery store, but you’ll risk the upcharge if it means avoiding a second meltdown today.

“I’ll be right there,” Eddie tells you, eyes flitting back towards a row of booths you’d passed by earlier. “Just get me something with chocolate?”

“What’s the magic word?” Harris interjects.

“Please.” He lays it on thick, throwing you a wink before turning around.

You grab a $5 bill from your back pocket, change from when you’d bought the sandwiches earlier, and approach the ice cream stand.

“Can I please get one cherry chip cone, one chocolate fudge cone, and…what do you want, Har?”

“That!” He points to a giant display of model cars displayed in front of a toy vendor’s booth. “I want the orange one!”

“We can look after,” you reassure him. “First, you have to pick the ice cream flavor you want.”

“Hmm,” he presses on tiptoes to peruse his options before pressing his forefinger to the glass, pointing to cookies ‘n cream, declaring, “that one!”

The vendor hands him his cone, then turns to you and confirms, “just the three cones?”

“Mhm.”

She punches some numbers into the register, expression far too serious for the gig. “That'll be $6.”

Exhaling, you hand her the bill in your palm. There’s no way the stodgy woman is going to cut you a break for the extra dollar. “Give me a sec; I should have a single in my wallet.” You let go of Harris’s hand, fumbling around in your bag until you pull out what you’ve been searching for.

The vendor takes your money and hands you the remaining two cones, already starting to melt with all of the body heat surrounding you.

“Thank you,” you say with a polite smile. “Okay, Har, let’s—” Your blood runs cold when you realize he’s nowhere to be found. “Harris!” you call out, voice shaking on the last syllable, unable to hide how frantic you feel. “Harris!”

Eddie, already on his way from his earlier errand, runs over to you. “Where’s—”

“He was just here!” You push your way through the crowd, accidentally brushing your scoop of cherry chip along someone’s jacket, but there’s no time to apologize.

You and Eddie take turns yelling out his name, bile rising in your throats with each unanswered shout, until you hear somebody ask, “is that your mommy and daddy calling for you?”

Both your and Eddie’s heads swivel towards the conversation, breathing identical sighs of relief when you see the familiar mop of curls in front of the toy car display.

“Oh, thank God.” It comes out in one breath, your chest deflating as you and Eddie rush towards him.

“Harris, what are you doing?” Eddie admonishes him, heart still racing as the surge of adrenaline tapers off. He picks him up, fingers digging into the shirt fabric as he holds him as close as possible, and presses a kiss to his scalp. There will be some sort of consequence later–revoking TV time and a lecture on stranger danger–but for now, there’s only the comfort of knowing he’s safe.

“I just wanted to see the cars,” Harris protests, trying and failing to wriggle from Eddie’s grip. “Can I get the orange one?”

Eddie huffs out an incredulous laugh, astounded that Harris doesn’t understand the seriousness of his actions. “No, you can’t!” he yells, attracting unwanted attention from other shoppers, “and you can’t wander off like that! I told you that you have to stay with one of us the whole time!” He flexes his palm before clenching it into a frustrated fist. “What were you thinking?”

Harris’s eyes fill with tears. “I j-just wanted to s-see them,” he tries again, taken aback by the anger in his dad’s voice. “An’ Ms. Sweetheart was right there!”

The mention of your nickname reminds Eddie of the other adult involved. “You were supposed to be watching him,” he spits, gritting his teeth to keep from raising his voice at you.

You wince at his tone, filled with venom for the first time since his comment about Grandma forgetting you all those months ago. The difference is that, now, you deserve it. Letting go of his hand was careless; at the very least, you should have reminded him to stay put. The early morning donut, the elevator button were menial indiscretions compared to this mistake. There’s no denying that you’d royally messed up.

“I’m so sorry.” Sorry for not keeping a closer eye on Harris. Sorry for waking him up from his nap via a screaming child. Sorry for waltzing into their lives and thinking you had a snowball’s chance in Hell of being a decent parent. The ice cream drips down the cones and onto your hands, pooling in the crevices between your fingers. You dump them in the nearest trash can, neither of you hungry anymore.

You can’t return to the hotel soon enough, and as soon as Eddie puts an episode of Rugrats on TV for Harris, you begin inconspicuously packing your collecting your toiletries from the bathroom to back in your luggage.

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asks from the doorway. He’s got his arms folded across his chest, perplexion wrinkling his brows.

“Going home.”

He presses his forefinger and thumb to his eyelids and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like–”

“No,” you interrupt him, choking down your frustration, “you were right. You trusted me to watch him, and I didn’t.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie steps forward and puts out a hand to stop you from grabbing your toothbrush, “it was an accident. Things happen in a split second, yeah?” He thinks back to the way Harris had tumbled off of the bed months ago. “We found him, and that’s what matters.”

He’s trying to comfort you, which somehow makes you feel worse. You lost his kid, but he’s focusing on making you feel better.

The next words out of your mouth shatter his heart into pieces: “I think it would be better for everyone if I leave.”

A small puff of air escapes his nostrils, unsurprised but hurt nonetheless. “‘S too much for you, isn’t it?” he mumbles, not even daring to glance in your direction as he says it.

He knows. He knows that you aren’t cut out for this, that you’ll never be the mom Harris needs or deserves. In his own words, he knows it’s too much for you.

You say nothing in return, and your silence is louder than the cartoon squabble just a few feet away.

“Fine, just…just go, then.” He slams one palm on the bathroom sink, the other raking through his hair so forcefully that a few strands come loose. “God, I need a fucking cigarette!” he mutters, jaw clenched.

“I’m so sorry.” It’s all you can think to say. You’ll repeat it over and over again if it rectifies the situation.

“Yeah, whatever.” He starts to leave the room, not even turning back around to say, “I’ll tell Harris you’re not feeling well.” He wants to ask you to call the hotel room when you get home but bites back the request. That’s something one partner asks of another, and you aren’t partners anymore, he realizes bitterly, and it’s his fault. He’d put the responsibility of parenthood on you far too quickly.

He could have insisted that Harris stay and nap with him rather than letting him go to the park. He could have kept Harris by his side while you got the ice cream, or the three of you could have gone together. Instead, he’d just assumed that this was a role you had no qualms about taking on. In his eagerness to build this little family, he’d squandered the foundation before it had even set.

Eddie watches as you walk away, the words wait and don’t go and we can figure this out lurking behind his molars, but he remains silent.

When the door slams behind you, he bites on his thumb. Go after her, some part of him—his conscience, maybe—nags, but he pushes the thought away. He can’t ask you to stick around and be a mom to his son if it isn't truly what you want to do.

He removes his finger from between his teeth and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, temporarily confused when he’s met with some resistance. The tiny brown paper bag crinkles as his fingers make contact with it, and he pulls it out dejectedly.

He’d spotted the necklace while scavenging for record vendors and made a mental note to return to it when you weren’t there to see. A tiny metal heart on a chain that he’d planned to give to you at the end of the trip. It was the reason he’d left you alone with Harris; he’d wanted it to be a surprise.

“Well, that was a fuckin’ waste,” Eddie says to no one in particular, shoving it back in the confines of his pocket. He sits next to Harris, hoping Tommy Pickles’ shenanigans will melt his brain for just a few moments.

The next bus to Hawkins pulled up thirty minutes after your cab arrived at the station. It was the only way to get home, and an embarrassingly large part of you hoped that Eddie and Harris would swing by, enveloping you in a tight hug and promising you that you’re doing a great job. That you’re enough.

That moment remains a daydream, one that replays over and over as you lean your head against the window. It’s all highway from here to your small town, close to three hours on the road because of the intermediate stops, but you’re in no hurry to return. If it hurts now, you can’t imagine the pain when the loneliness sets in.

Of course Eddie wasn’t coming to rescue you; you’d let him down right when he’d needed you. It was all so superficial on your end, thinking that you could be a mother just because you’d taught Harris how to read and have dinner with him and his dad once a week.

Wallowing in pity is too indulgent, too pathetic, but you can’t keep from berating yourself. You’re a preschool teacher; how hard is it to remember to hold a kid’s hand?

Tears slip down your cheeks involuntarily and you swipe at them before your seat partner can notice. The last thing you need is to strike up an emotional conversation with a complete stranger.

And what is it with you and crying today? Getting choked up when Eddie had pointed out the donut mistake, feeling like you were going to have a meltdown alongside Harris, and now this? It’s like you have an endless supply of tears.

The most likely culprit is your run-of-the-mill PMS; you can always count on being overly sensitive on those select few days. You open your bag and take out the pocket calendar where you keep track of important appointments and dates, including your periods.

Today’s April 26. You flip back to March, rifling through the pages until you see that the first day of your last period was the twentieth.

You’re almost a full week late.

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somerandomdudelmao · 11 months

Note

sitting on my hands, silently screaming because I can't stop thinking about the connection between Casey and Raph and about Casey discovering said connection and So, to temper my hype, I decided to try and find as many Casey-Raph parallels and possible Raph-sourced influences on Casey: (forgive my formatting I am not used to Tumblr) 1. Casey being able to easily mimic Raph's growls, despite having no memory of learning (note: more obvious b/c it happened so recent. though, based on the fact that the other turtles were surprised by Casey making the noise... did Raph teach him?)

2. Honestly, just Casey's protective nature in general? Casey works so hard to protect his family (learning how to carry his much-bigger-uncles, caring to their needs when their vulnerable without question (i.e. tot Leo and Donnie), literally any time he's concerned with the turtle's health))

3. (Slightly-iffy BUT:) Being very conscious of his strength/fragility of others - - which might be a tad silly to say when all his family is bigger and stronger than him, and there is already another connection in that to Leo, but I cannot get Raph ever admitting "I'm the strong one, the big brother, so I need to protect and take care of you guys!!" so I'm calling it a mix of both Raph and Leo

4. The way they hold/cradel the tinies is very similar (note: there might be more reflections of this category but I honestly can't tell b/c most characters are bigger then Casey)

5. Another different, fun pose where they mirror each other pt.3 (except its very obvious)

6. Krang-ified Casey looks a lot like Krang-ified Raph; from the right eye (our left) to the tentacle right arm (our left) to the clawed left arm (our right) to the spikes. too many similarities for me not to at least point it out.

7. Casey and Raph being attacked by (proportionally the same size to them) Tiny Donnies and getting absolutely bodied.

8. This specific expression - - a possible common trait in just adoring cute things? (note: need more data to find this out, cus I did find a similar expression on Donnie, and we can't really see sparkles in Robot!Raph's eyes, but there was one from the show that's rather close.)

... did I over look into some traits that can maybe be explained other ways? probably. did I miss some parallels? definitely, this series is littered with them. but this AU has me by the throat and we are getting backstory on MY favorite of the turtles, so I need to cope somehow. (This is also my first ask. Idk if I'm did it right. I hope it goes through, and at least someone sees it.) (Message to anyone who sees this: HYDRATE OR DIEDRATE, BECAUSE IF YOU DON'T HAVE A DONATELLO WHO WILL REVIVE YOU.)

What a wonderful research

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 3 months

Text

His Forever Valentine.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - happy valentines day you sexy people, mwah !!

word count - 4.3k

in which, you and harry have been each others valentines for what seems like forever, it all started back in 2014, and now, in 2024, your love story is still going strong, so when you look back on memories from over the years, the two of you realise just how far you’ve really come.

February 14th, 2024.

You let out a soft huff.

Last night, you and your husband had taken part in some secret little rendezvous and that had meant that clothes were discarded all over the floor, which you had left until this morning to be cleaned up.

So now, here you were.

As you tidy up the bedroom, picking up clothes strewn across the floor, your foot suddenly collides with something solid.

You glance down and notice a shoebox with "Valentine's Day" scrawled across the lid. Curiosity piqued, you bend down to pick it up, recognizing it as the container for your cherished Polaroid camera and the collection of snapshots you and your husband have taken on Valentine's Days past.

With a gentle tug, you open the lid, revealing a treasure trove of memories captured in instant film. Each photograph tells a story of love, laughter, and shared moments over the years.

You smile as you sift through the images, remembering the joy of each Valentine's Day celebration spent together.

The camera nestled among the Polaroids brings back memories of spontaneous snapshots, impromptu poses, and candid shots captured in the heat of the moment. It's a tangible reminder of the love that has grown and deepened between you and your husband since you first embarked on this journey together.

As you hold the camera in your hands, you're transported back to those special moments frozen in time. From romantic dinners to adventurous outings, each Polaroid is a testament to the bond you share and the memories you've created together.

You can't help but laugh softly as you descend the stairs, the shoebox cradled carefully in your arms. Entering the living room, you find your husband seated, still clad in his workout attire from his early morning gym session.

As you approach him, you place the box gently on his lap, causing him to look up at you with a puzzled expression, a crease forming in his eyebrows as he registers the unexpected gift.

"It was tucked away in the bedroom," you explain, intertwining your fingers with his. "I thought it would be nice to take a trip down memory lane together."

Feeling his warm lips pressing against the top of your head, you lean into his affectionate gesture, savoring the moment of closeness. As he opens up the box and pulls out the first Polaroid, a wave of nostalgia washes over you.

The image captures him back in 2013, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he holds a rose between his teeth.

You remember that day vividly, as if it were yesterday. It was your first Valentine's Day together, and he had surprised you with a romantic gesture that had left you speechless.

Seeing the Polaroid now, you can't help but smile at the memory of his playful antics and the joy it had brought you.

As he gazes at the photograph, a fond smile tugs at his lips.

"M’remember this," he murmurs, his voice laced with affection. "That was such a fun day."

The memory floods back, enveloping you in a cascade of emotions as you revisit that magical Valentine's Day four months into your relationship with Harry. You can still feel the nervous excitement fluttering in your chest as you try to persuade him to play along with your whimsical idea.

"Come on, H," you urge, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you hold out the single red rose. "It'll be hilarious! You'll look so macho with the rose between your teeth."

Harry's expression is a mixture of amusement and reluctance as he eyes the flower skeptically.

"I don't know, babe," he says, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "It feels a bit silly."

But you're determined to coax him into indulging your playful whim. Fluttering your eyelashes at him, you pout exaggeratedly, knowing full well the effect it has on him.

"Please, H," you plead, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes. "It'll be our little Valentine's Day joke."

Unable to resist your charms, Harry finally relents with a chuckle, a reluctant smile playing on his lips.

"Alright, fine," he concedes, taking the rose from your hand and tentatively placing it between his teeth. "But if anyone sees us, I'm blaming you."

You can't help but giggle at his mock seriousness, feeling a rush of affection for the man who's willing to go along with your whimsical antics just to see you smile.

/ /

Back in the present moment, Harry reaches for another Polaroid from the box, his fingers delicately tracing the edges of the photograph. As he pulls it out, you feel a surge of anticipation, eager to revisit another cherished memory captured on Valentine's Day.

This time, the image transports you back to 2015, seated in a cozy restaurant with Harry across the table, his hand clasping yours tenderly.

You remember that evening vividly, the soft glow of candlelight casting a warm ambiance as you savored each other's company over a romantic dinner. Harry's gaze, filled with love and adoration, never wavered from yours as you shared laughter, conversation, and stolen glances throughout the night.

As you study the Polaroid, the memory comes flooding back, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and affection. It's moments like these, captured in snapshots of time, that remind you of the depth of your connection and the beauty of your love story.

With a soft smile, Harry leans over and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, his touch a silent affirmation of the love that continues to blossom between you.

As you sit across from Harry in the cozy restaurant, the air thick with anticipation and love, you notice a hint of nervousness flickering in his eyes.

Suddenly, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, causing your heart to skip a beat.

Your eyes widen in surprise as Harry's words hang in the air, his hesitant demeanor only adding to the gravity of the moment.

"I have something for you," he says softly, his voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

With trembling hands, he opens the box, revealing a delicate piece of jewelry with what appears to have a key nestled within. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize the significance of his gesture, your heart pounding with anticipation.

But before you can fully process the contents of the box, Harry clears his throat nervously, his gaze locking with yours.

"I... I have something else to ask you," he begins, his voice slightly shaky. "Would you... would you like to move in with me?"

Tears shimmer in your eyes as you reach for Harry's hand across the table, squeezing it tightly in a silent affirmation of your love and devotion.

"Yes," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "Yes, Harry, I would love to move in with you."

/ /

Harry's laughter fills the room once more as he reminisces about that special evening. With a fond smile, he looks up at you, his eyes sparkling with affection.

"That was one of the nicest evenings we've shared together," he muses, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

You nod in agreement, feeling a rush of warmth flood your heart as you recall the joy and love that had enveloped you both on that unforgettable Valentine's Day.

It was a moment of pure bliss, a testament to the strength of your bond and the depth of your connection.

As you gaze at Harry, his laughter echoing in the room, you can't help but marvel at the journey you've embarked on together. Through the ups and downs, the laughter and tears, you've remained by each other's side, growing stronger with each passing day.

Harry reaches for another Polaroid from the box, his fingers brushing against the edges of the photograph with a tender reverence. As he pulls it out, you feel a rush of excitement, knowing that this snapshot holds yet another cherished memory from your shared Valentine's Day celebrations.

This time, the image transports you back to 2017, a year filled with love, laughter, and a furry addition to your family.

You remember the joyous moment vividly, the surprise etched on Harry's face as he laid eyes on the adorable puppy you had carefully chosen for him. It was a breed he had always admired, and seeing his eyes light up with delight was a gift in itself.

In the Polaroid, Harry's face is aglow with happiness as he lets the puppy kiss his cheek, his smile radiant and infectious. The bond between them is palpable, a testament to the love and companionship that would come to define their relationship over the years.

As Harry sat on the couch, oblivious to the surprise in store, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you walked into the room, a mischievous grin playing on your lips as you held the squirming puppy in your arms.

"Hey, babe," you greeted Harry with a smile, trying to mask your excitement. "I have something for you."

Harry looked up from his book, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he watched you approach.

"What's that?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

With a dramatic flourish, you revealed the wriggling bundle of fur in your arms, watching as Harry's eyes widened in surprise.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement any longer.

Harry's expression shifted from confusion to sheer delight as he took in the sight of the puppy, its tail wagging furiously as it sniffed the air in excitement.

"No way!" he exclaimed, his face breaking into a wide grin. "S’this for me?"

You nodded eagerly, your heart swelling with happiness at his reaction.

"Yes, it's for you," you confirmed, gently placing the puppy in his arms. "I know how much you've always wanted a dog, so I thought it was time we added a furry friend to our family."

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he held the puppy close, his heart overflowing with gratitude and love.

"I can't believe you did this," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "This is the best Valentine's Day gift ever."

As you watched the scene unfold before you, the room filled with laughter and the sound of happy barks, you knew that this moment would be etched in your memory forever. It was a testament to the power of love and the joy of sharing life's precious moments with the ones you hold dear.

/ /

Harry's fingers gently stroke the fur of the large, but still beloved, dog nestled next to him. Pancake, now fully grown but forever a puppy at heart, looks up at Harry with adoring eyes, a silent reminder of the bond they share.

With a nostalgic smile, Harry recalls the early days when Pancake was just a tiny ball of fur, bounding around the house with endless energy and mischief.

"Remember when he was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand?" Harry muses, his voice tinged with fondness.

You nod, your own heart swelling with affection as you watch the pair interact.

"Those were some unforgettable times," you agree, your voice soft with reminiscence. "He's grown so much since then, but he'll always be our little Pancake."

With a sense of anticipation, Harry reaches for another Polaroid from the box, his movements deliberate as he carefully selects the next snapshot to relive. As he pulls it out, your breath catches in your throat, anticipation building as you recognize the significance of the photograph.

This time, the image transports you back to a breathtaking sunset in Italy, a moment forever etched in your memory as the day Harry asked you to be his forever.

In the Polaroid, the radiant glow of the Italian sunset provides the perfect backdrop to the centerpiece of the image: your sparkling engagement ring, glimmering in the fading light. Memories flood back as you recall the magic of that evening, the air thick with anticipation as Harry led you to the terrace of your shared villa.

The setting sun cast a golden hue over the landscape, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink as you stood hand in hand with Harry, the world seemingly frozen in time. With trembling hands and a heart full of love, Harry dropped to one knee, his eyes shining with emotion as he poured his heart out to you in a heartfelt proposal.

The air is alive with the scent of Mediterranean flowers and the soft murmur of the evening breeze. Harry's hand clasps yours tightly, his gaze fixed on yours with unwavering intensity as he leads you to the edge of the terrace, where the sun dips below the horizon in a fiery display of color.

"Close your eyes," Harry whispers, his voice tinged with excitement as he guides you to a spot overlooking the rolling hills and the sparkling sea below. You comply, a smile playing on your lips as you anticipate the surprise Harry has in store.

A moment later, you feel his warm breath against your ear as he murmurs softly, "Okay, now open them."

As you open your eyes, the breathtaking sight before you takes your breath away. The sky is ablaze with hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the landscape as the sun sets in a magnificent display of natural beauty. Candlelit lanterns twinkle along the terrace, creating a romantic ambiance that sets your heart aflutter.

"It's beautiful," you breathe, turning to Harry with a look of wonder on your face.

Harry smiles, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he takes your hand in his leading you further onto the terrace until you're bathed in the soft, golden light of the setting sun.

And then, with a suddenness that catches you off guard, Harry drops to one knee, his hand reaching into his pocket as he pulls out a small velvet box. Your heart leaps into your throat as you realize what's happening, your breath catching as Harry's eyes meet yours, filled with love and determination.

"From the moment I met you, I knew you were the one," Harry begins, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "You've brought so much joy and love into my life, and I can't imagine spending another day without you by my side."

As he speaks, Harry opens the box to reveal the dazzling engagement ring nestled within, its sparkle reflecting the light of the setting sun.

"Will you marry me?" he asks, his voice soft but resolute, his eyes never leaving yours as he waits for your answer.

/ /

Harry's voice breaks through your reverie, his words a tender reminder of the significance of that day.

"I still can't believe you said yes," he murmurs, his eyes reflecting the love and wonder he felt in that moment.

You reach for Harry's hand, squeezing it gently as you relive the joy and excitement of your engagement.

"It was the easiest 'yes' I've ever said," you reply, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

Harry reaches for another Polaroid from the box, his fingers tracing the edges of the photograph with a gentle reverence. As he pulls it out, his breath catches in his throat, a small gasp escaping his lips as he realizes the significance of the snapshot.

In the Polaroid, you and Harry stand side by side, radiant in your wedding attire, surrounded by the lush greenery of the church garden. The joy and love that radiate from the photograph are palpable, a testament to the happiness you both felt in that momentous occasion.

Harry's eyes linger on the image, a soft smile playing on his lips as he recalls the whirlwind of emotions that swept over him on your wedding day. It was a day filled with love, laughter, and promises of forever, a day you had both chosen to celebrate your love on Valentine's Day, the most romantic day of the year.

Little did you know at the time that Harry's best friend, Niall, had snapped the photograph, capturing the tender moment without either of you realizing it.

"M’can't believe it," Harry murmured, his voice filled with wonder as he gazed into your eyes, his own sparkling with love and adoration. "We're finally husband and wife."

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a rush of happiness wash over you as you took in the sight of your new husband, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun.

"I know," you replied, your voice tinged with excitement. "It still feels like a dream."

As you walked hand in hand through the garden, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a cocoon of love and happiness. Each step felt like a dance, a celebration of your newfound union and the beginning of your shared journey as husband and wife.

"I love you," Harry whispered, his words a tender declaration of his devotion as he pulled you closer into his embrace. "I've never been happier than I am in this moment, with you by my side."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you leaned into Harry's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours.

"I love you too," you whispered back, your voice filled with emotion. "More than words can say."

/ /

With a tender smile, Harry reaches for another Polaroid from the box, his fingers tracing the edges of the photograph with a sense of reverence. As he pulls it out, he holds it close to his chest, his eyes shining with emotion as he gazes at the image. This, he declares, is one of his favorites so far.

In the Polaroid, Harry is fast asleep, his features softened in slumber as he lies peacefully in bed, unaware of the momentous news about to unfold. In the foreground, a pregnancy test rests on the bedside table, its result displayed prominently for the camera to capture.

You remember the moment vividly, the mix of nerves and excitement coursing through your veins as you prepared to share the life-changing news with Harry. With a trembling hand, you had set up the camera, carefully framing the shot to include both Harry and the pregnancy test, capturing the raw emotion of the moment for posterity.

You and Harry sat side by side under a blanket of stars, the soft glow of moonlight casting a romantic ambiance over the scene. With the night sky twinkling above you, you knew it was the perfect moment to share the life-changing news you had been keeping a secret.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you turned to Harry, your heart pounding in your chest as you mustered the courage to speak.

"Harry, there's something I need to tell you," you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

Harry turned to you, his eyes shining with curiosity and affection.

"What is it, love?" he asked, his hand reaching out to gently caress yours.

With a nervous flutter in your stomach, you took a deep breath before blurting out the words you had been rehearsing in your mind.

"I'm pregnant," you confessed, your voice trembling with emotion.

At first, Harry's expression registered disbelief, his eyes widening in shock as he processed your words.

"Really?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips as you reached into your pocket to retrieve the pregnancy test. Holding it out to Harry, you watched as his eyes flickered from the test to your face and back again, the realization slowly sinking in.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he took the test from you, his hands trembling slightly as he examined the result. And then, as the truth of the moment washed over him, he broke into tears, his emotions overflowing as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

"M’going to be a daddy," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I can't believe it."

/ /

As Harry studies the photograph, a myriad of emotions flicker across his face, from surprise to joy to overwhelming love.

"I remember this," he murmurs, his voice soft with emotion. "I had no idea what was coming."

You reach out to grasp his hand, squeezing it gently as you relive the anticipation and excitement of that unforgettable moment.

"It was one of the happiest moments of my life," you confess, your heart swelling with love for the man beside you.

With a tender smile, Harry leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace.

"And it was the beginning of the greatest adventure of our lives," he whispers, his voice filled with love and gratitude.

And just like that your almost two year old made his presence known.

As Sebastian toddles into the room, his chubby cheeks flushed with excitement from his playtime adventures in the toy room, a delighted squeal escapes his lips at the sight of his father. With a burst of energy, he throws himself onto Harry's lap, his tiny arms wrapping around his father's neck as he snuggles in close.

Harry chuckles warmly at Sebastian's exuberance, his heart swelling with love as he wraps his arms around his son in a tight embrace.

"Hey there, little buddy," he greets, his voice filled with affection as he ruffles Sebastian's curly hair, the same curls that match his own.

Sebastian giggles gleefully, his eyes sparkling with joy as he gazes up at his father. His attention is quickly drawn to the cross necklace dangling around Harry's neck, the delicate chain catching the light as it sways gently with his movements.

"Dada," Sebastian babbles, reaching out to touch the necklace with chubby fingers, his curiosity piqued by the shiny object.

Harry smiles down at his son, his heart swelling with pride at the sight of Sebastian's innocent fascination.

Sebastian's eyes widen with wonder as he continues to examine the necklace, his tiny fingers tracing the outline of the cross with gentle fascination.

"Pretty," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe.

Harry nods, a fond smile playing on his lips as he gazes down at his son.

"Yes, it is," he agrees, his heart overflowing with love for the precious little boy nestled in his arms.

As Sebastian sits in Harry's lap, giggling and playing with his father's necklace, you feel a pang of bittersweet nostalgia wash over you. Your little boy is growing up before your eyes, each day bringing new discoveries and adventures. You can't help but marvel at how quickly time seems to be slipping through your fingers.

Determined to capture this precious moment, you reach for the Polaroid camera resting on the nearby table. With a sense of urgency, you snap a photo of Harry and Sebastian, their smiles bright and their bond palpable. The sound of the camera's shutter clicking fills the room, freezing the moment in time for eternity.

As the photo develops before your eyes, you can't help but feel a swell of gratitude wash over you. This, you realize, is what life is all about—cherishing the fleeting moments of joy and love that make it all worthwhile.

With a gentle smile playing on your lips, you reach for the pen that lays on the coffee table, its sleek design catching the light as you pick it up. Gripping it firmly in your hand, you carefully write a special little message on the underneath of the Polaroid, a message of love and gratitude that you know will warm Harry's heart when he discovers it.

Once the message is complete, you place the Polaroid neatly back in the box, its presence a tangible reminder of the love and memories you've shared together on Valentine's Day. With a sense of satisfaction, you close the lid, knowing that this small gesture will hold a special place in Harry's heart for years to come.

Turning to Harry, who sits beside you with Sebastian in his lap, you snuggle into his warm embrace, reveling in the comfort and love that surrounds you.

"I love you," you whisper, your voice filled with emotion as you press a kiss to his cheek.

Harry's arms tighten around you, pulling you close as he murmurs softly,

"I love you both so much." His words are a tender declaration of his love, a reminder of the bond that binds you together as a family.

With another Polaroid security added to the box, your reloaded just how much you can’t wait to add even more photos as the years progress.

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iwritefandomimagines · 2 months

Text

NOT A GAME — JESS MARIANO

based on a request

masterlist

pairing: jess mariano x reader

description: the playful banter was fun at first, but the line had blurred so long ago that you were starting to get sick of wondering how jess really felt. luckily for you, he’s been thinking the same thing.

warnings: angst into fluff, jess being annoying in a way that makes me love him more lol, swearing ofc,

author’s note: thank you so much for this request, i hope it does jess justice for you— i love writing him so much. i hope you enjoy — sorry it’s quite short i just wanted to keep it short n sweet

———

“Well that’s two hours of my life I’m never getting back, huh,” Jess took a final sip of the drink he’d been cradling for the whole film and threw it dramatically in the trash, his arm slung around your shoulder, “Think I aged like fifteen years in the time they took to wrap up that fuckin’ terrible plot.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling away from him and discarding your own empty cup as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and eyed you curiously, “What, don’t tell me you actually enjoyed that?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you shrugged, “You’re just being pretentious.”

His brows furrowed at that — he hated when you of all people called him pretentious, and he knew you only ever did it to wind him up.

“Okay, what have I done?” Jess huffed, “You so didn’t enjoy that film, you’re just trying to piss me off. What did I do?”

You looked down at your feet with a grunt, “Nothing.”

“Despite my sweet baby face, I wasn’t born yesterday Y/N. It’s not nothing.”

The truth was that he had done something.

In fact, he was always doing the exact thing that had just tipped you over the edge.

“Fine, Jess,” you drew in a sharp breath, “I just— I don’t want to play this game anymore.”

“Have I missed something or was that movie just so dull that it corroded your brain?” Jess kicked a stone as he watched the frown on your face, “‘Cause I don’t remember playing any games. Not even footsie. What are you talking about?”

You scoffed, “That, Jess. Exactly that!”

“Woah, woah, c’mon Y/N. You’re going to have to give me more than just snapping at me. What the hell have I done?” Jess was growing increasingly frustrated now, but so were you.

You pressed a palm to your forehead, “I’m— What was that in there?”

“I was asking the same question,” Jess’ perplexed expression made your own angered one soften a little.

“What is this? Me and you?” you looked down at the floor as you posed this question, not wanting to argue any longer and too afraid wanting to see his reaction, “Because I’m sick of playing games and not knowing. You put your arm around me at the cinema, you share your popcorn with me when you’d like—literally snarl at anyone else if they asked, we kind of flirt like all of the time but we’re just friends.”

“Just friends, huh?”

You almost felt silly when you looked up at him and saw a smug smile on his face — almost.

But you were trying to open up to him and he was being just as irritating about your relationship as he always was.

“Jess…”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, taking your hand and pulling you around the corner to a park bench where he tugged you to sit down beside him.

“Do you seriously think we’re just friends, Y/N?” he was so close to you that you were sure he could hear your heart palpitations and see the goosebumps springing up on your skin.

“Well we’re not enemies, we spent a fuck ton of time together, and we’re not dating. So yeah, I’d like to think we’re friends,” you huffed, still avoiding his gaze.

He shook his head, “Why the hell do you think I invited you to see a fuckin’ romcom I’d never want to watch? Why do you think I asked to share popcorn? I know I’m the intellectually superior one here,” he paused to nudge your side as if to ensure you understood he was teasing, “But I didn’t think you were dumb enough to miss that I was obviously trying to make this a date.”

You bit your lip, finally returning his eye contact as his soft eyes stared intently into yours.

You drew in another deep breath, “Sure. Jess Mariano, Mr. Always Speaks His Mind, failed to tell me it was apparently a date so I’m dumb for not reading his mind?”

Neither of you had noticed that he was still holding your hand until that moment, and so he pulled it to the corner of his mouth and gave the back of your hand a gentle kiss.

Despite the unfamiliarity of this small but romantic gesture, your heart swelled in your chest and it almost felt natural.

“Y/N, I’ve liked you for fuckin’ ages. Everyone knows that. We flirt and we act like there’s nothing going on when people ask, but I thought at the very least you knew how I really felt,” Jess shrugged, not releasing your hand and instead now rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

You didn’t retreat from his touch, but used your interlocked hands to shove his chest gently, “You’re an asshole, you know that right?”

The small smile tugging at your lips eased the anxiety that had begun to set in. He’d almost started to fear that you didn’t actually feel the same, but your unsteady breathing and the glint in your eye confirmed the opposite.

“I know, I know,” he rolled his eyes, “But that’s all just part of the elusive charm that made you fall madly in love with me, isn’t it?”

You shook your head, “Cocky, aren’t you?”

“Well in my defence, the prettiest girl in Stars Hollow has, like, totally got the hots for me,” your heart fluttered at the smirk still gracing his features, “Hard not to have an ego.”

You just chuckled softly in reply, your heartbeat still racing as he watched you carefully. His own gaze softened now, and he reached his free hand up to cup your cheek.

“Look, in all seriousness I’m sorry this has been so— well, just that I haven’t been more direct about this stuff. But you know me, you know I’m bad at—,”

You squeezed the hand that was still in yours, “I know, Jess. It’s alright. I really like you, and to be honest I’ve been happy enough with any excuse to be close to you.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning forward a little, “Can I kiss you, then? Make up for a shitty first date?”

You blushed crimson at the fact he’d asked, your cheek growing hot beneath his touch, “Of course.”

His lips met yours gently, as though testing the waters. You met his kiss with the same softness at first, but quickly the kiss grew more urgent — as though making up for lost time.

When you finally pulled away, your face was still bright red, and you felt almost embarrassed by how overcome with emotions you were.

“So, uh, about the film?”

He laughed, the loud affectionate laugh he reserved only for you, warming your heart as he sent you a teasing grin and licked his lips.

“And here I was thinking I’d be the one to ruin the moment, huh?”

———

thanks sooo much for reading — i hope this was okay! sorry for the radio silence for a while, i’ve had a lot going on and a LOT of unfinished drafts.

if you wanna read more of my stuff — here’s my masterlist!

#jess mariano #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano x you #jess mariano x y/n #gilmore girls #gilmore girls imagine #gilmore girls imagines

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cleake · 2 years

Text

HP Characters Reacting To You Drawing Them

Warning: I didn't read the books, these are my headcanons and personal ideas for the characters. It's just for fun. :)

Harry:

-"Oh! Brilliant! Yeah, sure." -He is a bit shy, but flattered, very flattered -He sits in front of you, with a nervous smile, sometimes adjusting his glasses or hair -You assure him that he looks great and he relaxes a bit, sitting more comfortably -While you work he asks from time to time some questions about your drawing journey and listens closely to your answers -He thinks about how you're going to draw his scar, are you going to make it a key thing, or represent him in another way? -When you finish and show him your work he's astonished by your talent -"Wow! This is really good! I can keep it? Oh! Thanks!"

Ron:

-"You want to draw me? I don't think I'm that special." -He's a bit hesitant at first, he feels like he doesn't deserve attention, since he is not "The Chosen One" -But you make him believe otherwise -When sat down Ron is stiff, looking away from you, smiling nervously -You tell him that he looks great and he smiles a bit more confident -He suggests ideas on how you can present him, and he comes up with some sick propositions -Once you're finished he's so happy that he has something made by someone only for him -"Bloody hell, it's fantastic! You need to show your skill more often."

Hermione:

-"Draw me? Well if it makes you happy." -She pretends that it's nothing, she may look annoyed, but inside she cares -She fixes her hair or clothes when you aren't looking -She sits properly, legs together, hands on her lap, head slightly tilted, and a soft smile on her lips -She is mostly silent but asks you questions about what you are doing at a certain moment, she's curious -She's patient, giving you time to make your art perfect, she knows how hard it can be -She's very supportive when she sees your finished work -"This is lovely!"

Fred:

-"Oh yeah? So my beauty captured you this much?" -He's so happy about it but can help not to tease you -"Are you interested in a more intimate portrait?" -He sits in a confident way, taking a lot of space -He gives you ideas for the drawing, like how he could look good on a broom, or fighting You-Know-Who -After he's done with his jokes he lets you work in silence, just sometimes giggling to himself because of your focused expression -When you sometimes look up at him, he sends you a quick wink -He's very happy when you finish the drawing, he'll show it to his friends -"Thank you, dear, we can repeat this if you want."

George:

-"You got the right twin? Because I am not sharing this position." -He's more mature about this than his twin, but he has it in his nature to make some not-in-place comments -He gives you control, you decide how he sits or holds his hands -He's intrigued by how you work, but stays silent, just looking at you -He hums quietly, gently moving his head, when you tell him to stop moving he winks at you with a smirk, but completes your order -He's moved when he sees your done work, he feels appreciated for him -"Thank you, it's beautiful."

Ginny:

-"That's nice of you." -She doesn't ask a lot of questions, just lets you do your work -She's happy to pose for you, it makes her feel seen -She smiles when you accidentally make a silly face but doesn't point it out -When you're finished she takes a while to admire your work -"It's amazing, thank you."

Luna:

-"I would love to, sitting can be fun too." -She's very calm, listens to your instructions, and is very patient -She asks you how you got to draw, or what inspires you to create, she's nice to have conversations with -She has her glasses on her nose, sitting with her knees to her chest -When you're finished she's very happy -"Oh, it's magnificent. I am so happy to keep it."

Neville:

-"Me? Are you sure?" -He's very self-conscious, and thinks you're doing it out of pity, but you assure him it's not like that -He's very nervous, he doesn't know what to do with his hands, you have to guide him a little bit -He thinks he looks bad at every angle, but you tell him that everything is perfect and that makes him feel a bit more confident -He is so grateful for this art piece, he keeps it close to him at all times -"Wow, that is so pretty, thank you Y/N."

Draco:

-"Why? For what?" -He doesn't feel comfortable with this and is suspicious you have bad intentions -But his pride wins over him and he lets you draw him -He sits proudly with a serious look on his face -He says nothing, just watches you, expecting your work will be not as high as his expectations -But he's shocked when he sees your done work -He keeps it in his room, away from others -"Well that's not as bad as I thought it will be."

Tom:

-"I can agree to that." -He sees this as an opportunity to capture his image for future -He wears his best suit, rings on his fingers, and in his hand a dark book -He sits with his head high, one leg on the other, leaning on the armchair -He doesn't talk but nods his head in approval when you stop drawing for a moment -He's very satisfied with the result and keeps the drawing well hidden -"That is good, thank you for your time."

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milksnake-tea · 1 year

Text

The Stellaron Hunters were a group renowned and hated across the galaxies, both feared and respected by the factions. But under those skillful manipulations and operations, was an organization as put together as a monkey circus. You should know this best, as a member of this menagerie.

stellaron hunter!reader (no specific pairings)

contains: cursing, possibly ooc, written before version 1.2, just a bunch of silly shenanigans, unedited, can be read as romantic and platonic !!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i had to rewrite this like... 4 times bc tumblr kept deleting it :// anyways night dancer got me through this piece so :D u can tell i have a blade preference but listen he's hot

Before we get on with the sillies, let's lay down some groundwork.

Every Stellaron Hunter has a specific role in mind. Blade is the feral dog that you throw at people, Kafka pisses people off (and shoots ig), and Silver Wolf gets past all defenses.

You're the expert on espionage and disguise. With the power of masks, voice changers, and makeup, you can become basically anyone if you put your mind to it. Even people with completely different builds than you, you could pull off - as long as the holographs don't start glitching out.

You're often paired with Silver Wolf in order to infiltrate various bases. Silver Wolf can transcend any physical barriers, while you sweet talk your way into the inner circles of any leaders. Sometimes, you implant ideas into people's heads in order to guide them towards a certain path, sometimes you just do it for the fun of it.

Your favorite victim so far has been the Express. Ever since the Trailblazer joined, you've entertained yourself by posing as them or other members of the Express (the only ones you can't figure out are Welt Yang and the conductor, Pom-Pom).

And it was surprising, how easily you could trick March 7th and Dan Heng. You had no idea where the original Trailblazer was (probably up some poor soul's dumpster), but frankly, you didn't care.

You somehow managed to trick the two for the better half of a day. It wasn't until you didn't jump at the sight of the first trashcan on the Xianzhou Luofu that the duo realized that something was off.

"Who- Who are you?!"

March stepped back, Dan Heng already drawing his spear. But you weren't going to give in so easily. No, you wanted to see just how far you could take this.

"Guys?" You feigned hurt and confusion as you faced the two. "What're you..."

"Don't play dumb," Dan Heng cut you off, thrusting his spear under your chin. "You're not them. The real Trailblazer would've started ransacking that trashcan by now."

What kind of freak-

"C'mon guys, I have taste," you sighed, crossing your arms. "The trashcans here don't compare to the ones at Belobog. They're not as shiny."

"Trailblazer said that appearance doesn't matter when it comes to trash!" March shot back, her bow appearing in her hands. "Enough games, who are you really?"

You paused for a moment, contemplating your options. You could try to bullshit your way out of this, but you sincerely doubted you would be able to. What kind of freak personality did Silver Wolf program into the vessel, anyways?

You sighed, making the two tense up. Your face, still that of the Trailblazer's, twisted into a condescending sneer, before you doubled over in laughter.

"Ah... Damnit, and here I thought I was doing well!" You stretched your arms, March backing away from you. "Well, that just goes to show, I still have much to improve."

With a snap of your fingers, your disguise melted away, revealing your true appearnce.

"You're-!" March gasped. "You're one of the Stellaron Hunters!"

"Am I really that famous?" you pondered, leaning back on the railing. "And here I thought Kafka or Silver Wolf were more popular."

"What're you trying to pull," Dan Heng growled, "pretending to be the Trailblazer? What did you do to them?"

"Oh, nothing," you replied simply, popping your bone. "I just sent them a coupon for that restaurant down the street. So don't worry yourselves, I'm just here to have a little bit of fun."

Before the two could comprehend the stupidity of their companion, you jumped onto the railing, balancing on your toes.

"Well, it's been fun, Nameless." You waved cheerfully, taking a step back into the open air. "Let's meet again sometime soon, yeah?"

"Wait!" They rushed to the railing, adamant on catching you - but you had already vanished.

The world might see you as a complete weirdo, but honestly, you aren't even the worst of the Stellaron Hunters. In your humble opinion, you're the lesser evil compared to your comrades.

If you're going to survive in this job, you have to get used to Kafka bullying you. Don't worry, she does it to everyone, it's not just you. But signing up to become a Stellaron Hunter also means you sign up to a life of relentless teasing.

You roll your eyes at the feeling of a familiar gun barrel against your head. Kafka holds it against your temple firmly, but you know her finger isn’t anywhere near the trigger. It’s not like you’re Blade, who somehow survived getting thrown off a four-story building.

“Now who do we have here?” Kafka muses lazily. “A potential spy from the IPC? Or perhaps, one of the Xianzhou Cloud Knights?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Kafka,” you turn around, unimpressed. With one move, you pulled off your mask, glaring at her pointedly as you grab a bottle of water. “I know that thing isn’t loaded.”

“Oh, it’s you, [Name],” Your senior gasps mockingly, removing the gun. “When did you come in? I could’ve sworn an intruder-”

You throw the bottle at her. She dodges because of course she does.

And Kafka isn't even the least of your worries. At least she has a sense of financial responsibility.

There's no doubt that Silver Wolf is integral to the workings of the Stellaron Hunters, especially with her hacking abilities. She's certainly skilled with her work, and she has saved your ass many times before.

But sometimes, you have to play babysitter to her, because homegirl may or may not have a gambling addiction, especially when it comes to whatever those gacha games of hers. Whenever she visits the city's nearby arcade or casino, either you or Kafka have to be around so that she doesn't end up gambling all of your funds away. You would get Blade to do it, except he couldn't care less about your financial problems.

“Let me go! I’ve almost got it, I know I do!”

Silver Wolf kicked at your shoulders wildly as you hoisted her up. You paid her no mind as you left the arcade, Blade walking in tow. You kept a firm grip on his sleeve, making sure he didn’t run off and start any trouble. You saw the look he gave the claw machine. If you hadn’t dragged Silver Wolf away, he would’ve likely broken the thing out of impatience.

“I was so close!” The girl on your shoulder whined, like a kid who didn’t get their favorite toy.

“You already spent 500k on it,” you replied bluntly. “It’s a scam, don’t you know?”

“So what?” Silver Wolf retorted. “I would’ve won!”

“Yeah,” you shifted her up, your shoulder getting sore. You weren’t really built for hard labor. “After you spent another hundred thousand credits, sure.”

“I wasn’t!” She’d stopped fighting you, now hanging limply so that her entire weight pressed down on you. “I could’ve hacked it-”

“Really? You’d put that much effort into a claw machine?” Before Silver Wolf could argue, your phone dinged, as did Blade’s and Silver Wolf’s - successfully interrupting your bickering. You glanced at Blade as he checked his phone for the three of you.

“It’s Kafka,” he reported, typing out a quick response. “She says it’s time to go back.”

“Tell her we’ll be there in 10 minutes, if Silver stops her tantrum,” you said, looking pointedly at Silver Wolf. The hacker kicked you in response.

“I am not throwing a tantrum,” she huffed. You rolled your eyes.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Speaking of which, Blade is like your guard dog. A very intimidating guard dog. With a sword. And attitude issues.

Come to think of it, he's more like a cat if anything.

When he's not being launched at the faces of various enemies, Blade often finds himself acting as your shadow. He just follows you around, doesn't say anything, and the second he smells a whiff of a threat, the sword comes out and you have to talk him down before someone calls the cops.

It seems that you’re the only one unaffected by the suffocating tension clogging up the clothing store. There’s an obvious circle of space surrounding you and Blade as you browse through various suits, intent on finding one that would fit the man standing behind you. Elio’s next script required that Blade and Kafka go to a dinner party, and knowing Blade, the man didn’t have any clothes other than the ones you and the other Hunters got for him.

It wasn’t that Blade didn’t have an eye for fashion, rather, he simply didn’t care much for it. Shopping wasn’t exactly his cup of tea either. His hands itched for action, but he did have to admit that this was better than sulking around in his room all day.

You pulled out another suit that had caught your eye, a simple black one with a bronze lapel. It would fit the vest you’d already picked out for him. Holding it out in front of Blade, you squint as you try to picture what it’d look like on him.

Decent enough. You hummed in satisfaction, turning the suit around to show it to him. “What do you think?”

Blade shrugs, only giving the suit a brief glance. “It’s fine.”

You sigh, giving him a look. “Do you like it?”

“It isn’t the worst thing you’ve put me in,” he says nonchalantly. You huff, lightly hitting his chest. For a second, a glimmer of a smile flickers onto his face at your action.

“Watch your attitude,” you reprimand playfully. “Otherwise I’m giving you the shittiest suit I can find in here.”

“You wouldn’t,” Blade says easily as the two of you walk toward the cash registers. “Your heart couldn’t bear to do that to a face like mine.”

“Cheeky brat.”

You remember the day Blade was first brought to the base, picked up by Kafka and Elio like a stray cat. He had a strange resemblance to that of a drowned rat, being absolutely sopping wet.

Your seniors just kinda dropped him off into your room with the only instructions being "Make him look presentable", which didn't give you a lot to work with. You weren't sure how you were going to fix him, but after a lot of bathing, hair drying, and brushing, you soon discovered that the drowned rat had a pretty face.

So basically, you're the only reason why he looks remotely presentable.

And quite frankly, Blade does not make it easier on you. He doesn't care about how he looks, only how his enemies look - and that's dead and unmoving. Sir somehow manages to fuck up his fit every time he goes on mission, coming back with his very expensive clothes, mind you, covered in blood, and his hair messed up.

The audacity of him, to just walk into your room unannounced, clothes completely torn and hair a mess, and plop himself down on your perfectly clean chair and wait for you to fix him up. Granted, you'll do it (you wouldn't allow any of your comrades to leave without a decent haircut), but that doesn't mean you won't rattle his ear off with a scolding.

“Just what did you do to it this time?”

You grumbled as you cut away at Blade’s hair, the man in question sitting in your salon chair and scrolling through his phone. He had just come back from a mission, and this time he somehow managed to cut off the bottom half of his long locks, resulting in a horrendously uneven cut.

“You’re literally so photogenic and then you go and do this?” you huffed, blowing his hair into his face with a blowdryer.

“You can fix it, can’t you?” Blade didn’t even look up from his screen as he texted Silver Wolf, likely using this as an excuse to escape her pleas to game with her.

You scowl, venting your anger as you brushed his hair, cutting a few extra strands. “Just because I can, doesn’t mean I always have the time to do so! Now sit still.”

Oh, and another thing? There's no such thing as privacy when you're with the Stellaron Hunters.

You first learned this when you came back from a particularly grueling mission, early on in your career with the Hunters. You were covered in blood that wasn't (or was it?) yours, drenched from the rain and safe to say, not in the greatest of moods. All you wanted was to take a shower, and preferably, take an undisturbed nap on your warm bed.

Unfortunately, Kafka had other plans.

You opened the door to find her lounging on YOUR bed, IN THE DARK, ruffling through your makeup collection like it was normal. She didn't even seem bothered when you flicked on the light, didn't even acknowledge you until you threw a knife at her.

And what did she say when you made it abundantly clear that she shouldn't be in here? Nothing. She just scrunched up her nose and told you to take a shower.

And that is how you learned that having your own room is utterly useless because every single Hunter could pick a lock. You could try to use an electric one. Silver Wolf sure did. And to her credit, it worked, until a certain dog named Blade came around and just kicked the door down.

Out of all the Stellaron Hunters to creep around in your room, Sam was by far the worse. You could handle Kafka going through your makeup, or Blade judging your taste in books. You can deal with Elio having his fucking shoes on your bed because he's your boss and honestly what are you going to do against an actual seer? Exactly. Nothing. At least his shoes are usually clean.

But Sam? He doesn't visit so that he can go through your things, or just hang around. No. He comes around with the pure intention of scaring the shit out of you.

He just waits?? Outside your door?? In the dark?? Until you open it and he jumps you. It usually ends with someone getting punched, but honestly, it's nothing either of you couldn't handle.

Silver Wolf likes to pretend that she isn't as bad as the other because in her words, she "gives you a warning". Said warning is "You better be decent" before she barges in and starts rambling about the new game she bought.

One time you were not decent and someone had to pay the price. That someone was not you.

There is one good thing that comes out of all this invasion of privacy. Because whatever the others do to you, you get to do right back to them.

“What does this button do?”

“Don’t touch that.” Kafka playfully whined as Silver Wolf snatched away the console in her hands. The hacker was less than pleased, having returned to her room only to discover that she’d been chosen as the Hunters’ victim for today.

You lean against Kafka’s shoulder, pouting alongside her at your latest toy being confiscated. “C’mon Silver, let us have some fun at least.”

“After you two invaded my room? Not a chance,” she replied, tossing the console to somewhere you and Kafka couldn’t reach. Kafka merely hummed at the loss, leaning back onto Silver Wolf’s messy bed.

“You know, you should really clean up around here,” she commented. “They nearly killed themselves tripping over a stack of DVDs.”

“Agreed, although I wouldn’t mention that last part,” you said, picking up another one of Silver Wolf’s consoles. This one had a fighting game on it. Silver Wolf rolled her eyes as you quickly busied yourself with fighting the boss she had left off on.

“If you don’t want to get hurt, then don’t come in,” she said, plopping down on the bed next to you. Kafka smiled.

“Sure, but where’s the fun in that?” she asked, watching you tap away at the screen. “It was just a suggestion, no need to get all worked up.”

“I’m not, but okay.” Silver Wolf hissed as your character took damage. “If you get my character killed-”

“I won’t,” you retorted, swiftly defeating the boss. You tossed Silver Wolf the console. “See?”

“You’re half dead,” Silver Wolf deadpanned.

“Doesn't matter. I still won.”

Your group chat is an absolute mess, with no one understanding Silver Wolf's slang or dialect. Blade's outdated brain short-circuited the first time he touched a phone, while Kafka just silently accepted her fate. You often have to translate because Silver Wolf sure wasn't going to.

Gambling Addict: Ykw blade

Gambling Addict: This is why u pull no bitches

Gambling Addict: Bc if [name] didnt yassify u

Gambling Addict: U would have zero rizz

Gambling Addict: Negative rizz actually

You: I see no lie here

Gambling Addict: So stfu about my social life at least i can pull bitches

DONT PICK UP: [Name], translate

Gambling Addict: [Name] i have ur closet at gunpoint

You: She means Blade can't attract maidens bc he has as much charisma as a blobfish

You: Also stfu silver I know you can't shoot for shit

Gambling Addict: [NAME]

Gambling Addict: Actually no, ur right

DONT PICK UP: Oh, I see

You: I'm always right 💅✨

DONT PICK UP: That does sound like Bladie

Gambling Addict: Listen

Gambling Addict: All i know is that blades been real quiet since i said that

Blade: Silver Wolf.

Gambling Addict: And so he speaks!

Blade: Count your days.

You like to fuck with the others by pretending to be them. Blade nearly murdered you because one time you got bored, and decided that slandering his nonexistent image would be ample entertainment.

In minutes, you turned yourself into Blade's lookalike, and spent the afternoon prancing around in a maid dress because what else were you going to use it for? Unfortunately, that also put you as a target for Blade's wrath. Fortunately, you have a lot of experience escaping people you pissed off.

Silver Wolf still has the pictures. Kafka laughed her ass off until you did the exact same thing to her. And that's when she started shooting.

"I can't believe you did this," you sniffed dramatically, fake tears falling from your face. In your hands was what used to be your pride and joy, the beautiful maid dress that you'd spent millions on (lie).

What used to be a gorgeous garment with frills and lace, was now in tatters from Kafka's bullets and Blade's sword. The two aforementioned culprits weren't the slightest bit guilty as they watched you lament over your clothes.

"You should've thought of that before you started walking around like that," Kafka blew at her smoking gun. Blade nodded firmly in agreement, holding his sword close to his chest.

"It was cute!" you huffed, shaking your head. You weren't actually mad at them. You could always buy another dress to mess with them. Besides, you already got what you wanted.

Your gaze met with Silver Wolf's, who grinned back, holding her phone in between her fingers.

None of the Stellaron Hunters know basic first aid, and that includes you. Most of you just slap on a few bandages, some weird smelling ointment, and call it a day. Silver Wolf doesn't even do that, she just downs three bowls of rice and walks off the broken arm like a Sunday hangover.

But one day, just as your luck would have it, you came back to base with an injury that you couldn't just bandage away. No one knew what to do, and you were bleeding out fast. So what did this hardened group of criminals do?

They googled it. They fucking googled it.

Silver Wolf deadass just searched up how to fix you while you were bleeding out next to her. Kafka, to her credit, did hold your hand to try and comfort you (albeit mockingly), and Blade just stood back and watched. If Elio foresaw a way to help you, well, he didn't say anything.

But it all turned out all right in the end. Eventually, Silver Wolf gave up and simply shoved a bowl of her fried rice in front of you. You still don't know how or why, but it somehow worked. It shouldn't have, but it did.

The scene in front of you reminded you of a bunch of school children watching a chemistry experiment for the first time. The Stellaron Hunters crowded around you, eyes trained onto your closing wound with unnerving fascination. Even Blade, who rarely had any emotion at all, was watching you with the faintest glimmer of awe.

"What the hell did you put in that thing?" you turned in disbelief to Silver Wolf, the only unphased person in the room. The hacker was already somewhere else, her thumbs tapping rapidly as she played another one of her rhythm games.

"Trash."

"WHAT." You almost throttled her before she quickly teleported a safe distance away, clutching her phone to her chest.

"Kidding, kidding, no need to get all worked up!" She sighed, clearing a level without looking.

"Just some solid water and protein rice, that's all."

"You mean ice?" You swatted at Kafka, who was poking at where your wound used to be.

"No."

Safe to say, the Stellaron Hunters are an... interesting bunch, to put it lightly. They're all assholes, including you, and seem to thrive over inconveniencing each other. The only time you all can somewhat work together is when you're acting out one of Elio's scripts.

But you'd be lying if you said you hated working at this job. You live for the thrill of things, and being a Hunter was the most fun you've had in a long, long time, even if your coworkers occasionally annoyed you to death.

None of you would ever say it aloud, but you wouldn't trade each other for anything in the world.

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