It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.
Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.
I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi
RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3
the smell of you
warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.
wc: 2.2k+
come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3
“Eddie?”
The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall.
“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?”
Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold.
You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him.
Something unspoken. Something homely.
“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.”
When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion.
He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire.
“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”
“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?”
“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?”
You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room.
Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use.
The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him.
“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?”
“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.”
It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.”
He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him.
When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm.
“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.”
“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch.
“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently.
He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back.
One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home.
“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”
“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-”
“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.”
You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”
“Good.”
He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair.
“Eddie!”
If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient.
And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him.
Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’m your idiot.”
The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you.
“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.”
“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?”
Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”
“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?”
“The kind that gets off on annoying me.”
His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”
You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum.
You never grow tired of it. You never will.
“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always.
And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.”
“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-”
You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him.
He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.”
“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”
“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”
“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”
Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside.
He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.
You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly.
You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days.
Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso.
“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle.
He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.”
“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off.
You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep.
I love you.
I adore you.
I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me.
And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you.
The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?”
To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat.
“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”
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Bruce isn't the best parent, but a chunk of the issue is that he's an only child. Should he stop Jason and Dick from throwing Damian back and forth like a human ball? Is Tim threatening to bite Cass an issue? Are those death threats serious or not? The poor man is an only child trying to run herd on at least a half dozen feral siblings. He exists in a state of constant confusion.
I.
This isn’t to be mean, but that is simply not the case.
I keep getting bad parent bruce takes and it sucks because all of them aren’t even proper reasoning for his character.
I’m just using you as an example, but hear me out.
Bruce is an extremely smart person, Homie has watched movies and read books, he can learn from situations around him that things are sibling things. Sure, he was excluded as a kid, but that isn’t nearly the main issue why he isn’t the best parent.
homie has so much shit wrong with him, he’s emotionally just not there, he keeps himself stuck in a perpetual state of grief and mourning for his parents of a thing that happened when he was a child, he has been trained by assassins and has experienced loss and pain to an insane extent, he has such an insane extent of paranoia and trust issues that it affects his daily life, is definitely autistic, and has issues with social cues.
I’m trying to properly articulate just why that’s not the case but my brain isn’t working with me so I’m handing this over to my twin @bonebrokebuddy who is far more articulate than me.
———
Hi, it's Billy, Bones's twin writing because Bones had a hard time putting this into words and I'm more of a canon nitpick than her.
Uh- have you ever. And I mean even once, met an only child.
I promise, if you read even a singular comic, you could tell this take is incredibly out of character.
Bruce isn’t a good parent. He’s also not a bad parent. He loves his kids. He literally could not stop them from pulling dumb shit if they tried and putting themselves into danger.
Bruce is the worlds greatest detective. He knows how to spot and detect emotions and trouble in his kids. He’s The Worlds Greatest Detective.
His issue with being a parent likely comes from having Alfred as a father figure. Imagine having a dad that you can fire at any time, you pay so they can stay with you, and can just leave at any moment if they don’t approve of the person they work for. That will severely fuck up a kid.
His issue isn’t that he’s an only child, it’s that it’s every Robin’s god given right to go against and defy Batman’s orders whenever possible because kids are viscous little buggers who don’t like being told “you can’t do that” even if it’s for their own health, they’ll do it anyway.
After you’ve taught your kids how to exist in deadly situations, they think they’re invincible when it’s because Bruce is doing all he fucking can to make sure his kids don’t get hurt. If they feel like they can make the world a better place, they’ll do it, regardless of the risk because they’re inherently self sacrificing and good people.
Bruce’s issue with parenting is due to his relationship with his kids. Again, it isn’t that he’s an only child, it’s that the kids he adopted are their own people and they are even more stubborn and bad at communication as him.
Even more so, it’s due to the dang narrative.
Conflict between Bruce and his kids that cause them to separate has been the backstory for plenty of solo batkid runs to endure Batman isn’t as involved or the main focus of the run.
Narrative tension is literally the cause of all the bad parent decisions for Bruce, because conflict drives narrative or miscommunications cause the story to lengthen and complicate itself
it’s not as easy as “Bruce is bad dad” because he’s Not. Bruce is good with kids! He has a pouch in his utility belt specifically with suckers for kids!
But Bruce isn't a great world star dad either. He definitely inherited his ability to communicate with people outside crisis situations largely from trainers around the world and his arms-length-distance-at-all-times distance relationship with the butler who raised him.
Despite him being good with kids, his kids have lives of their own with morals and opinions of their own that conflict and clash constantly. It’s not a simple case of “Bruce is a bad dad.”
It’s a case of “everyone has slightly different opinions and approaches to situations so occasionally conflict happens when they clash or interfere with each other” because it’s a comic that tells a story!
Anyways, my recommendation? Pick up a comic. And preferably? Read it. Or watch BTAS if it’s more accessible to you. either works.
This opinion isn't your fault most likely, just the quality of the DC fan-content you've been consuming that are incredibly removed from the comics. If you want, DM me at @bonebrokebuddy and I can send you some good quality DC fics with in-character Bruce.
————
Bones here again,
That basically sums up the exact stuff I couldn’t properly describe. I was using you more as an example because I have dozens of bad parent bruce takes in my inbox and I am 90% sure that the cause of them is that they simply haven’t read anything about the character.
Read a comic, read some strictly DC fanfiction, watch some of the many many TV shows and animated movies, there are even motion comics free online to watch that have voice acting and everything!
Being an only child doesn’t make you a bad father.
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SUMMER LOVE . . . suna rintarou
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intro : its the summer after graduation and you decide to confess your feelings to suna. you know you have to seperate, but will you fall in love anyway? you both promise to make it the summer of your lives.
rika 💬 : i'm craving angst fics so here i am providing one , this is gonna be a series ! :D
tw : right person, wrong time. hurt/slight comfort.
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you lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling. today was your graduation ceremony. the day you confess your feelings to the one and only, suna rintarou. you liked him ever since you started high school, a mere first year. you sit up, shaking a feeling of nervousness. 'the worst he could say is no, right?' you ask yourself. you sit up grogilly, making your way over to your closet to go and get changed.
your morning routine went by quicker, or at least it felt like it, maybe due to the underlying nerves. you finish getting ready, checking your appearance and sighing softly. today was gonna be a big day.
you arrive at school, your friends greeting you by your class door. "(name)! i can't believe we're graduating today," one of them says, nudging your shoulder. "it feels unreal." you reply, nodding. you hadn't expected your last year to go by fast, especially since it was filled with endless amounts of projects and schoolwork.
you're snapped out of your thoughts as the bell rings. signaling that you should probably start unpacking and getting ready for the classes ahead.
the rest of the day went by in a blur. classes, schoolwork, breaks with friends. the graduation ceremony wasn't until later that night, so you still had time to prepare. you sigh softly, picking up your bag and joining your friends who're walking out. you planned to join them to get ready for the ceremony, hitching a ride as well.
"we're glad you could join us! we're gonna doll you up real pretty. especially since you're confessing to you know who tonight." one of your friends says, smiling warmly and wiggling their eyebrows. you wave them off, blushing slightly. they were a bit over the top sometimes, but you always found it endearing how much they cared for you.
you arrive at their house, getting out, along with the others. as soon as you enter, you're greeted by their mother. "oh (name)! how have you been, sweetheart?" she asks, wrapping you in a warm embrace. you smile, replying, "i'm good, thank you." she nods, releasing you from her grasp. you make your way to their bedroom, dropping your bag.
"let's get you ready, yeah?" one of them says, while the rest of them chime excitedly. you nod, grinning. after they finish dolling you up, you look in the mirror, admiring your appearance. your hair was as silky as ever, light makeup on your gorgeous features, jewelry adorning your body. you smile softly, very thankful for their help. "oh my gosh (name), you look stunning!" one of them exclaims. "i know! they're absolutely gorgeous." another one chimes in, staring at you in awe. "oh guys stop it, i couldn't have done it without you guys." you say, shaking your head. they all wrap you in a group hug, squeezing you tightly.
fast forward to the start of the ceremony, when you arrive. you step out of the car, smoothing out your clothes. you make your way over to the chairs, taking a seat whilst your friends sit beside you.
as the ceremony went along, the overwhelming feeling in your stomach hadn't settled in. you take a deep breath to try and ease your mind, but the thoughts in your mind didn't stop, and the ideas forming in your brain only caused your queasiness to intensify and your palms to sweat.
after what seemed like an eternity, the ceremony ended. you stand up, stretching your aching limbs. you walk over to find your friends in a group, talking. you approach them, a nervous smile on your face. one of them gives you a knowing look. "are you gonna talk to him?" they ask, clearly excited. you nod, your insides churning with uncertainty. "i'll be back. wish me luck." you say, smiling at them and walking over to him.
"suna?" you ask, gently tapping his shoulder. he turns around, smiling. "(name)! what's up?" he asks, tilting his head. "can we talk? it's nothing bad, i promise." you reassure, a nervous smile on your face. he nods, face full of curiosity. you both walk away from the crowds of students, finding a small bench under a pretty magnolia tree. the street was beautifully lit, with street lamps adorning the scenery. you take a deep breath, pushing the feelings of uncertainty down.
"take your time." he says, noticing how serious you were about whatever you were about to tell him. you nod, gratefully, inhaling again. "i like you, suna. i've liked you ever since we met at the camp, when i was a manager. well a soon to be manager." you start, smiling sheepishly. "i was scared to tell you how i felt because i didn't know how you would react- and i understand if you don't-"
he cuts you off with a firm kiss to your lips, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. your eyes widen momentarily, before relaxing and melting into the kiss. he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. "you have your answer now?" he asks, caressing your cheek softly. you nod, your face a shade of pink.
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taglist ! @chloiyoomi , @kozuwhore , tba !
dedicated to my sweet sweet angel, mira, who was soso kind to let me use her plot and help me proofread and give me tips! thank you soso much lovey, ilysm! <3 having the honor of being mooties with you truly makes me so incredibly happy & lucky, I LUV YOU SOSO MUCH !!
(check out her blog! @mirailles )
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