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souliebird · 8 months ago

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[[and then I met you || ch. 21]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4k

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“Ahhhh.”

You open your mouth wide so Doctor Minnie can shine her flashlight down your throat. She hums and haws as she peers in, looking for who knows what, and when she concludes her search, she scribbles on your chart. Your chart is a piece of notebook paper with a wonderfully drawn crayon portrait in the corner, your name carefully written out across the top, and timestamps with detailed notes of each check up you have received today. These notes include squiggles that could be interpreted as cursive and the letters a, m, and q repeated over and over.

“You needs to drink more water and puts the towel on your ear,” your daughter tells you seriously. It is the same treatment you have gotten all morning, so you are well prepared for it.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Minnie gives you a big smile, then whirls around to bark orders, “Nurse! We needs more water! Please, thank you!”

Matt is on the other side of the coffee table, sitting cross legged as he manipulates pipe cleaners around popsicle sticks. He and Minnie have been working on an art project for the better part of the morning - between your hourly check ups. He got his own checkup this morning and earned a band-aid on his cheek, but your daughter has been obsessed with making sure you are okay.

You are in no way complaining over her dotting - you more than understand this is how she is coping with what happened and you are more than happy to receive fake shots and orders to stay sitting on the couch. Whatever makes her feel safe and happy.

You know her father feels the same way.

He raises himself into standing, the smallest smile forming on his lips as he falls into his role, “Yes, Doctor. How many ccs?”

Minnie rubs her chin in thought, and you have to bite your lip so you won’t start laughing. She’s been so intense playing doctor, and you don’t want to discourage her. You are worried any teasing might upset her and that is the last thing you want to do at the moment, especially given the circumstances.

She finally decides on a number and declares, “Six!”

“Six ccs of water coming right up,” Matt tells her. He plucks your still half-full water bottle from the coffee table and starts towards the kitchen. Mouse watches him go, squinting her little eyes like she’s either judging him or trying to remember something.

Apparently, it is the latter, as she gasps, then calls after him, “And appy juice!”

Matt gives a dramatic gasp and turns to face the both of you, “And appy juice? Are you sure, Doctor?”

Minnie giggles, clearly amused by her Daddy’s antics. There’s a difference between teasing and playing along, and Matt is king at being Mouse’s partner in crime. You’ve seen a different side of your daughter come out when she’s around him - a little bolder and more sure of herself - and you want nothing more than to encourage that.

“It’s for me!” Your little one says between her laughs and that makes Matt smile brighter.

“Ah, a drink after a hard day's work. Six ccs of water for Mommy and one appy juice for the Doctor.”

“What do you say, Mouse?”

“Thank you, Nurse!”

As Matt gets your drinks together, you help Minnie out of her Doctor’s coat and you fuss with folding it as she starts to put her check-up toys back into their bag. She must be getting tired if she is asking for her juice, but she looks completely alert and like she could keep playing for another hour or so before slowing down. She woke up at her normal time this morning, but at some point in the night she wound up in your bed. You don’t blame her at all for that.

You’ve been on your own roller coaster of emotions this morning.

You woke up in a cold sweat - memories of being strangled flying through your mind - and the only thing that had been able to calm you was Matt’s arm around you. It helped to keep you grounded - remind you that you weren’t alone and that you were safe.

(“I love you.”)

No one can touch you or your baby if he is there and it isn’t some hindbrain ‘man protect woman’ nonsense.

Matt is a superhero in the most literal sense.

He has powers and an armored suit and fights bad guys.

It is hard to wrap your mind around and you have so many questions, but you both agreed to wait until Minnie took her nap to talk. This isn’t a conversation you can have over her head.

Minnie finishes picking up her toys just as Matt returns from his task. He lets her climb up onto the couch and settle against your side before handing over her juice. Your water gets placed on the table and you thank him before turning your eyes to your daughter.

“What do you want to watch, sweetie?”

“Penguins,” she answers, right before starting to nurse her juice. You found a video about the life of penguins that is toddler friendly a few days prior and it is quickly becoming a favorite. The documentary is a nice change from the cartoons that usually make up your television time and you are fine to watch it for the upteenth time.

Matt takes his place on Minnie’s other side, practically squishing her between you, and the three of you begin to quietly learn about the flightless tuxedo wearing birds. The video is a little less than thirty minutes long and by the time it is wrapping up, Mouse’s chin is on her chest, and she is snoring. In a silent agreement, you let Matt take care of putting her into bed for her nap. Though he has done it a few times now, he still cherishes the moment in a way you no longer do.

Your heart beats a little harder when Matt and Minnie disappear down the hallway. Your stomach swirls with anxiety over the talk you know is coming - though in a strange way you are not scared. You trust Matt to tell you the truth, but you are not sure you want to learn those truths. Doors you never even knew existed are opening to you and part of you wants to stay naive to the ongoings around you, but you know you can’t do that.

This is part of Matt’s world, and if he wants to be in Minnie’s, you need to know everything about it.

As you wait for Matt to return, you close your eyes and try to take a few deep breaths. It does nothing to calm your heart or mind, but it gives you something to focus on. You do not want to work yourself up by overthinking - that would just make things worse for everyone. So you count to five between inhales and exhales until you hear the door to the bedroom close.

(“I love you.”)

It feels like you stop breathing until the cushion beside you dips.

Your anxiety is flaring - your throat feels so tight and there is so much pressure on your chest. You know there isn’t a reason for your body to be reacting like this, but you don’t know how to stop it. You feel like you are trapped under your own worries, and you can’t escape.

“You’re terrified,” Matt says in a dull voice from beside you and you have to pry your eyes open to look at him. He looks so resigned and neutral, and your heart manages to pang for him between being crushed.

You don’t know what he could possibly be going through - you are finally alone with him, and your mind has decided you need to have an anxiety attack. Does he think you think he’ll hurt you or something just as ridiculous?

You may have only known Matt for a short time, but you trust him. He hasn’t done anything to break that trust and he has shown you he cares. He sat with you in the hospital and stayed with you after until he knew you were okay to be on your own.

He’s gone out of his way for you on so many occasions.

He’s made you feel safe.

Wanted.

Loved.

(“I love you.”)

Your mind is spinning and panicking and everything is so intense, but your mouth, as always, decides to work without permission.

“Will you hold me?”

The words shock you. You’ve never asked anyone to hold you - you generally don’t like to be touched - but when Matt’s arms are around you, the world seems a little more stable.

Matt seems just as taken aback as you are over the request. It takes him a moment to act, but then he chokes out, “Of course,” and opens his arms to you.

You turn towards each other, you bringing one leg up to tuck under yourself, and slot together. Your arms go around his middle and you press your face into his neck, while one of his hands goes to your hair to hold you in place and the other starts rubbing up and down your spine.

The relief is almost instant.

You release a long shaky breath and nuzzle yourself closer to him. He smells like your body wash and coffee, and he feels so solid against you. You feel like a shield has wrapped around you and nothing can get to you - not the all the day to day things you worry about like bills and messages you need to respond to nor all the evil things that lurk in the shadows.

For once in your life, you feel like you're not alone.

“I’ve got you,” Matt breathes into your ear and you believe him.

“You’ve got me,” you repeat into his shoulder. You can hear how watery your voice sounds and you tell yourself you won’t cry.

(“I love you.”)

You fall into a brief silence - you need a moment to recenter yourself and Matt seems to realize that. You feel him press a kiss to the side of your head as he continues to pet you and you have no idea why that helps to soothe your nerves. You let your eyes fall shut and focus on only him.

Once you don’t feel like you’ll get choked up if you start talking, you ask, “Is it okay if we talk like this?”

“Perfectly fine with me,” he whispers against you and you decide to just dive into it.

“You’re Daredevil.”

“I am,” he confirms.

“Will you tell me about it? From the start?”

You feel Matt take a deep breath and to offer him some sort of comfort, you curl your fingers into his shirt, holding onto him a little bit tighter.

“After I lost my dad and went to St. Agnes, they didn’t know how to deal with me. I didn’t have control over my senses, and I was angry at everything. I still don’t know how, but they found a man, Stick, to come help me - to teach me how to be Blind. He taught me more than that. He focused my senses, showed me I had control over them and how I could use them. And he taught me how to fight.” Matt’s words are steady and firm, but you can feel his heart pounding against you.

You absorb the words, a frown forming on your lips, “he taught you to fight? As a child?”

He sighs against you, then nods, “Yes. Stick believed there was a war coming between the Hand and the Chaste and they needed soldiers for the Chaste. I’ll…I can tell you more about that later.”

“Okay.” You want to know more about whatever the Hand and the Chaste are, but you can tell that is an entirely different conversation. One you aren’t quite ready for, yet.

“Stick taught me how to fight and how to use my senses to my advantage. He taught me how to channel my anger. My…my grandmother used to tell me the Devil was in the Murdock boys. And it’s true. I have the Devil in me - all my anger and rage. Stick taught me control. Then he left and I was angry he left, but I kept up my training. I didn’t need to enroll in martial arts classes to be able to learn - I could do it from blocks away. The boxing ring my Dad used to train at let me come in and use the mats and bags and I just kept at it.”

“Were you able to practice with people?” You ask. You know learning things in theory is way different than learning for practicality and fighting doesn’t seem like something you can just know in theory if you are a superhero.

Matt chuckles into your hair, “I got into a lot of fights in the schoolyard. I didn’t put up with bullies and no one wanted to admit I kicked their ass, so I never really got in trouble.”

With what you know of Matt and his personality and sense of justice, that makes perfect sense to you, and you say as much. He kisses your hair again before continuing on.

“When I reached college, I could…understand all the things I was hearing. All of the crime. I did everything I could - legally. I called the cops, I made reports, but more often than not, nothing ever happened. It made me angry - so angry - but my dad never wanted me to fight with my fists. He wanted me to use my head, do things the right way - so I tried. I really tried. For years. Then Foggy and I decided to start our own firm, to help the people in Hell’s Kitchen, really help them, and I couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t listen to the cries of kids being abused by their parents and people getting mugged and my city, the city I love, being poisoned. So, I let the Devil out.”

“And became Daredevil?”

“I did not choose that name,” Matt huffs, “But yes.”

You don’t remember much from when Daredevil first started appearing on the news - you were pregnant the first time you saw him, but you couldn’t pinpoint it. You have no idea what he was doing then.

So, you ask.

“How? How did you let the Devil out?”

Matt doesn’t answer you right away. He noses at your hair and traces his fingers up and down your spine and you have the feeling he’s thinking over his answer.

“I went after all the people poisoning my city. Not just the muggers and abusers. The drug and weapons dealers. The corrupt. There was a man named Fisk who was trying to take over the city, turn it into something it isn’t.”

“I know that name,” you say against him, “I read about it. There were…two cases? Legal ones.”

“Yeah. It was…complicated. It is complicated. We went against him as Nelson and Murdock and I went against him as Daredevil. He’s in prison now and he’ll be staying there,” Matt tells you and you have the feeling you will have to have a whole different discussion about Fisk in the future.

“But what about now? You are still out there fighting.”

“The city still needs protecting.”

It does, you know it does. Your attack is proof of that. You don’t want to think about it and the hands around your throat, so you press your face more into Matt’s neck and force yourself to fast-forward through the memory to something relevant to your current talk.

“You work with other…superheroes?” You ask. “Like Frank?”

“Frank isn’t a superhero and neither am I,” Matt scoffs, “But yes..I’m…learning to work with others. It’s not something I’m used to yet.”

“Tell me about them.”

He hums against you, then starts slowly, “You met Frank. He’s…we don’t get along. We have very different philosophies about how things should work, but he’s a good man. I’d rather be with him than against him and…I trust him to protect the people I care about. He’d fight tooth and nail for Karen - he has, and if I had to choose someone, besides myself, to protect you and Minnie, it would be him.”

Again, you believe Matt. From what you have seen of Frank, and not the Punisher, you think that trust is well earned. If Matt trusts him, you think you should too.

“And there’s Jessica. She is a private investigator and….very strong. Luke is also strong and..uh..bulletproof. He’s dating Claire, who you also met, she’s a nurse who got wrapped up in everything and helps when we get injured. And then Danny and Colleen. They are…” he trails off, like he’s unsure how to describe them and you do not push. You can’t imagine having to describe superheroes.

“What about Foggy and Karen?”

Matt shakes his head, “I try to not involve them in Daredevil things, but it ends up overlapping. They want to help, but I want them to be safe.” He pauses and you can feel him swallow, like he’s nervous. “I tell them everything, though. I used to think I had to keep my lives separate - one as Matt Murdock and one as Daredevil. I’ve tried to live as only Matt and I’ve tried to live as only Daredevil, but neither worked. I’m still finding the balance of living as both, and they help me. They give me rules to follow, make sure the plans I come up with are sound and that all options are considered. That is what I want with you. I want to be open. I want to be able to tell you everything and not keep secrets. I have seen what that does to people in my life and I don’t want that with you.”

You take in his words and let them mull over in your mind.

You can’t ask Matt to stop being Daredevil - you know you can’t. You heard what he said about why he needed to be Daredevil, and you understand that. He can’t sit by and do nothing, and by what he is telling you, he’s trying to be smart about it. He works with people to protect the city - to protect you. Yes, it scares you about all the risks he is taking and how they will translate into your life, but ultimately, the decision is his. If he wanted to keep you in the dark about everything, it would be a different story, but he doesn’t seem to want that. That makes it easier to accept and process - having as many pieces of the puzzle as you can helps you see the whole picture.

You shift slightly in his arms, tucking yourself even closer to him, and ask, “What are you working on now? With Frank?”

Again, he doesn’t answer right away. You let him think over his words as you process. Your anxiety has definitely decreased - you feel like you can breathe and that things are going to be manageable. You can speak with Foggy and Karen and get their perspective on things and it can help you come up with a game plan.

Having a plan is step one in everything being okay.

(“I love you.”)

“Jess, Frank, and I are…,” Matt starts slowly, “trying to help some street kids. They live in the sewers and don't trust the System or cops, but a few of them have gone missing and one has been killed, and they are scared. There's been guys in suits lurking near one of their hang outs and they don't appear in any government database, so we've been trying to track them down.”

Horror runs through you at his words. Someone has been hurting kids? Minnie’s face flashes through your mind and you press yourself closer to Matt.

“Street kids?”

“Mostly teens,” Matt amends. “I gave them information about St. Agnes but I more than get why they don't trust it. The System is horrible. The sewers are the only place they feel safe.” You feel him lick his lips again, then to your surprise, his voice changes from serious to almost fond. “They have a tent city. They let us come down there and bring supplies last week. Blankets and food and stuff. Frank got them a cellphone, so they'll be able to contact us if anything happens.”

Your mind spins at the idea of a bunch of kids living in the sewers. You knew it happened - New York is full of homeless people - but you never thought about it before. Guilt plagues you and you can't help but ask, “Can we help in other ways?”

Matt shakes his head, “Not in the ways you are thinking. We're going to find these guys and put a stop to whatever they are doing and right now that's the best we can do for them. They don't want to come up to the surface and if we try to force them, they'll move and still be in danger. After they know they can trust us and we put a stop to what is happening, we can start the next steps.”

“You'll protect them?” You ask, wanting to hear him say it.

“The kids may be under the streets of Hell's Kitchen, but they are still mine to protect.” His arms tighten around you, and you feel yourself melt against his chest, “And you are mine to protect.”

(“I love you.”)

“How do we protect you?” You ask, wanting to help in some way.

“Like this,” he hums, his fingers tangling into your hair a bit. “By reminding me what I am fighting for. Giving me a reason to live. I’ve been in the depths of Hell, just wanting to give up - give my life over to the Devil and go until my body stopped. I’ve been bloody and broken and alone. I don’t want that again. I want to be here with you. With Minnie. You’re my reason to get back up.”

(“I love you.”)

You press your face flush against his neck, your cheeks heating up at words. “Should I get a better first aid kit? Take CPR classes?”

He chuckles against you, and you feel it vibrate down into his chest, “That wouldn’t be a bad idea.” He pauses then tells you quietly, “Minnie has seen me in my armor, but I’m going to be doing my best to avoid getting injured in a way she can see. I have been working more on my defense - something I never really practiced.”

At the mention of your daughter, you pull back so you can look Matt in the face. Talking where you don’t need to look at his face has been helpful in calming your anxiety, but when it comes to Minnie, you need to look him in his sightless eyes.

“Are you going to train Minnie -”

“No.” Matt cuts you off before you can get the question out. “I’ll teach her how to cartwheel and other fun things, but I will never teach her to fight. I think everyone should take a defensive course to learn to get away, but I don’t want her to punch. I don’t want this anger inside of her. Minnie doesn’t have the Devil in her, and I won’t be the one to put him in her.”

You search his face and know he is telling the truth. You want your daughter to grow up to be a good person, to have as much passion as Matt does about helping the world, but the idea of her suiting up and fighting crime terrifies you. You are glad Matt feels the same way.

“Will you teach me?” You ask after a hesitant moment. “I was pretty abysmal at defending myself.”

He raises his eyebrows at the question, “You want to learn how to defend yourself?”

You shake your head, then lick your lips before dropping your voice just a touch, “I want to protect the people I care about, too.”

Matt tugs you forward gently until your foreheads are touching. You close your eyes again and let yourself start to smile.

“I’ll teach you whatever you want to learn.”

(“I love you.”)

a/n: we're over 100k words :')

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #and then i met you

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alwaysmicado · 11 months ago

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Sunshine

6.7k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 7

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, alcohol & painkillers, a little kiss, lots of sarcasm, angst, jealousy (reader would never!) Summary: A spontaneous meeting in a bar lays bare some uncomfortable truths. A/N: Why be sad when you can just turn off your feelings and not be sad anymore? It’s so easy. /s I can't tell you how much your messages about this series mean to me!! I love talking to you about it and I appreciate your enthusiasm and support soooo much!! Enjoy this part and let me know your thoughts! 🤍

→ previous part || series masterlist || main masterlist

The Birds Don’t Sing, They Screech in Pain

– Werner Herzog

– – –

You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a heart. The world is a joke and nothing you do matters.

And you got a great ass.

So fuck it.

You close the mirror cabinet and look at your reflection. The steam from your recent shower lingers in the air, creating a hazy atmosphere around you. With a determined gaze, you meet your own eyes, trying to convince yourself of what you so desperately want to believe.

You. Don’t. Have. Feelings.

Sighing exasperatedly, you leave the bathroom to go get dressed. You eye the empty space on the wall where the mirror used to hang in passing and can’t help but smile sardonically at the clean floor below. Who knew you had such a talent for cleaning blood?

If your current job doesn’t work out in the long run, crime scene cleaner could be a viable alternative.

You rummage through your drawer for a fresh pair of panties, a soft bralette without any bothersome hooks, and a flowy dress you can easily pull over your head. Comfort is key today. Your morning shower proved tricky enough, but you managed somehow, maneuvering very ungracefully to keep your injured hand dry.

Thankfully, you were smart enough to go to bed early last night and get up in time this morning, allowing you ample time to change the bandages and dress yourself with just one functional hand.

Exhaustion still lingers in every single one of your bones, but you’re determined to not let it get you down. Not again. So, you pour yourself a cup of strong coffee, sit outside on your balcony, pop the painkillers you got at the emergency clinic on Sunday, and browse the internet for a new mirror.

The sun kissing your skin feels nice, and the fresh air invigorates your senses. There’s even a flock of birds doing their choreographed dance in the sky. Just for you. You’re living in a goddamn dream, aren’t you?

You scoff, down the rest of your coffee, cough when it goes down the wrong pipe, and go back inside once you don’t feel like you’re choking to death anymore. It’s time for work.

Your boss graciously let you work from home on Monday and Tuesday, but since there’s an important meeting scheduled this morning, she’s asked you to come to the office today. The meds should get you through the day, you’ll just have to figure out how to do your job effectively without the ability to type with your right hand.

You could try to push some of your workload onto the new intern who’s been unsuccessfully trying to flirt with you for the past month, but he strikes you as the type to show up with flowers and a teddy bear after you compliment his sneakers once — it’s probably not the best idea to entertain him.

An office romance sounds hot on paper, but your job is the only halfway stable thing in your life, so you don’t want to mess it up for some guy. Especially if said guy looks young enough to get carded in bars.

Why can’t you just not need money and not have to go to work at all? Is that really too much to ask?

“Get your shit together,” you murmur to yourself as you grab your bag, your keys, and quickly check your appearance in the bathroom mirror. Eh, you look fine considering the messed-up past few days you had. The black wrist brace is kind of derpy—you can already see Kristen giggling at it and very much not believing any excuse you invent for it—but the smile you force onto your face looks virtually natural.

What a little sunshine you are.

Sandals on your feet, sunglasses sitting on your nose, wireless earbuds in your ears, your top three songs of the week on a blissful loop, you start your walk to the office. Nothing bad can touch you when the rhythm of your favorite beats courses through your veins, encapsulating you in an invincible cocoon.

For the first few minutes at least.

Your pulse quickens and your chest tightens as the gas station, where Joel could barely wait to pull out of you before gushing about his date, comes into view. And of course, Chris, the clerk, steps outside right as you pass it to inexplicably water the two withered plants next to the entrance.

You attempt to speed walk, hoping to avoid an embarrassing encounter, but where’s the fun in that, right? Sure enough, you hear him calling after you.

You roll your eyes behind your glasses and reluctantly stop, pulling out one of your earbuds as you turn to face him. His eyes fixate on the black brace around your wrist.

“What happened to your hand? Too much fun on the weekend?” he asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

You sigh, not in the mood for a detailed conversation, and also very much aware of what he’s probably insinuating. “Just a little accident at home,” you reply, keeping it vague. “Don’t do yoga if you’re drunk.”

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, he’s nice enough to not keep you any longer. “Well, I hope it heals soon. And let me know if you, uh, need anything. You know where to find me.”

You nod, offering a polite smile, and continue on your way, reinserting the earbud to drown out the world. You turn up the volume, lip-sync, and ignore Joel’s call without missing a beat.

– – –

“Please, tell me. Please, please, please. Come on…you know you’re gonna tell me eventually, so let’s just save us some time and get it over with. You know I can keep a secret.”

As expected, Kristen is very intrigued by your wrist brace. In fact, she has been switching between begging for you to tell her what happened and coming up with some outlandish theories since you sat down at your desk four hours ago. To nobody’s surprise, they all involve some sort of sex accident.

It’s kind of funny, though, that none of the elaborate stories she imagines come close to capturing the absurdity of your reality. Oh well, you’re used to it by now. And yet, there’s no way in hell you’re going to divulge one of your most vulnerable and embarrassing moments to her. Not a chance.

“I already told you,” you say without stopping your one-handed typing. “I got drunk watching The Bachelor and then my genius brain decided that was the perfect moment to try out some new yoga positions. It’s a miracle I only sprained my wrist and didn’t break my neck.” You put on your most convincing smile and look at her. “It’s embarrassing as shit, okay? I mean, look at this thing,” you point at your injured hand. “I look like a kid who fell off a swing on the playground.”

Kristen giggles and is about to say something, but right at that moment, she receives a phone call from a client. She sighs, narrows her eyes, and mouths, “This is not over.” You wink at her and go back to typing with your left hand, occasionally swearing under your breath when you hit the wrong keys. This is all so much fun.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of emails, phone calls, bad coffee, painkillers, Kristen putting a heart sticker on your wrist brace, another meeting, and your phone lighting up with new messages from Joel.

By 5:30 p.m. your brain is about to explode, so you decide to call it a day and leave. There’s a frozen pizza waiting for you at home and you can hear your pajamas and sofa calling your name. Sweet, sweet solitude; it’s so close you can feel it. You just have to walk out fast eno–

“Drinks.”

“Did you seriously just hide behind that plant and jump out?” you chuckle, and Kristen’s grin tells you that is absolutely, one hundred percent what just happened.

“Drinks,” she repeats. And when you open your mouth, she says it again, but this time she gives you her most adorable pout.

“Okay, okay,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. “You can stop the puppy routine.”

“I love how easy you are,” she beams at you and plants a kiss on your cheek. “Let’s go!”

The warmth of the summer evening envelops you both as you step outside. The sun, still casting its golden hues across the city, paints the urban landscape with a vibrant palette. Kristen, with a fancy sun hat perched on her head that perfectly complements her black hair, looks for bars near you on her phone.

As you try to decide on a bar, the balmy air carries the distant sounds of the city’s summer symphony. The occasional laughter from a nearby cafe mingles with the hum of traffic, creating a lively backdrop to your anticipation.

Amidst the ambient noise, your phone buzzes with Tommy’s name flashing on the screen. You answer, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hi Tommy.”

“Hi honey,” Tommy’s voice comes through, the background noise indicating he’s at a lively place. “Just calling to ask how you’re doing today.”

“You know you don’t need to call me every day to ask me that, right?” you chuckle, still unable to understand why he even cares. You don’t deserve him.

“Come on, it’s the highlight of my day,” he says in mock offense, and you can perfectly picture the grin on his face.

“Well, if it’s that important to you…” you say, a smile on your lips. “I’m good. My friend and I are going for drinks. Just need to decide on a bar first.”

“What a perfect coincidence! I’m at this new place right now. They got great burgers and drinks, even non-alcoholic stuff,” he tells you excitedly. “Oh and Joel’s here, too.”

Your heart skips a beat at Tommy’s words. Joel is there, at the same place. The thought of seeing him again stirs a concoction of emotions within you — longing, uncertainty, and a subtle yearning for things to be okay. There’s an undeniable pull. You miss him.

As you take a moment to think of your answer, Kristen mouths, “Who’s that?”

“It’s my friend, and he’s inviting us to join him at a bar,” you explain to her.

Tommy’s voice perks up on the phone, “Come on, it’ll be a blast. The more, the merrier!”

You look at Kristen questioningly, and she gives you two thumbs up and a big smile.

You sigh and look up at the sky. There’s a big bird chasing a smaller one. “Okay, we’re in,” you say to Tommy, and his excited shouts in your ear make you giggle. He sends you the location and you immediately order an Uber for you and Kristen. You don’t have to wait for long.

Sitting in the car, your initial, albeit reluctant, excitement has turned into annoyance as the hands of the clock seem to move at an agonizingly slow pace. What was supposed to be a ten-minute journey has stretched into an interminable thirty minutes, courtesy of the unrelenting rush hour traffic.

The air inside the car feels stifling, even with the AC humming, and the incessant chatter about football between the driver and Kristen becomes an indistinct drone. Your lack of interest in the sport combines with the whirlwind in your head, making their conversation an incomprehensible blur.

As your stomach churns, a sense of queasiness settles over you, intensifying the already uncomfortable ride.

By the time you make it to the bar, you’re tired, cranky, and wish you had just gone home after work. You could be lying on your sofa right now, stuffing your face with pizza, watching Netflix, and testing your new vibrator before falling asleep in your soft bed. But no, you just had to be social, hm?

As you enter the crowded and lively bar, the buzz of upbeat chatter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic thump of music surrounds you. Everyone’s loud and happy, and you’re just not in the right mood for it. Slowly making your way through the sea of faces with Kristen trailing behind, you spot Tommy seated in a cozy booth.

The mere sight of him puts you at ease — for about a second, that is.

Your eyes fall onto Joel and the woman who’s casually touching his shoulder, comfortably nestled against the plush cushioned seats. You’ve never seen her before, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist or even a sober brain to figure out who she is. What is she whispering into his ear now? He’s laughing. You can see his eye crinkles from where you’re standing.

The sight is like a punch to your gut.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, and the urge to turn around and run away grips you. Unwelcome emotions and memories surge back, catching you off guard and leaving you breathless. Just as you contemplate an escape route, Tommy spots you from across the room, his face lighting up.

“Sweetheart,” he shouts, rising from his seat and waving enthusiastically. His excited shout draws the attention of everyone around him, including Joel. Your eyes lock, and for a brief moment, the world around you fades. The corners of his lips instinctively turn upwards as he looks at you, but after spotting your wrist brace and the pained look on your face, he furrows his brow.

What the hell happened to you?

In the blink of an eye, you flip a switch in your brain, put on the most radiant smile you can muster, straighten your shoulders and cross the room. Joel’s concerned eyes don’t leave you for a second.

“There she is,” Tommy says, genuine warmth in his voice as he leans in to plant a kiss on your cheek, followed by a tight, comforting hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too, Tommy,” you murmur, a sense of momentary relief washing over you in the wake of his presence.

He pulls away from the hug, extending his greeting to Kristen, before introducing you both to the beautiful brunette sitting next to his brother. Draping his arm around your shoulders, he tells you with a smile that, “This is Jan, an old school friend of mine. We actually didn’t plan this whole meeting with everyone, somehow we just all ended up here. Funny coincidence,” he chuckles and you strain the muscles around your mouth so hard it hurts.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jan,” you say, reaching out to shake her hand. She reciprocates your greeting and gives you a charming smile.

“And I don’t need to introduce you to this guy, huh?” Tommy grins, squeezing your shoulder.

Your gaze shifts to Joel, who’s caught in the limbo of whether to remain seated or stand up, so he ends up awkwardly half-standing, caged in the narrow space between the bench and table.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, your eyes lacking their usual vivacity—a detail not lost on him.

He settles back into his seat, audibly clearing his throat. “Hi, darlin’.”

He studies your face as you settle down beside Tommy. You look as beautiful and glowing as always, but the longer he looks, the more cracks in the carefully put up facade he can see. Your smile isn’t genuine, your eyes look a bit swollen—like you’ve been crying or not sleeping well—and your body language screams unease.

The others may not notice, but he does. Because he knows you.

Kristen takes a seat beside Jan, seamlessly weaving herself into the ongoing conversation with Joel. Her ability to navigate social dynamics with such ease leaves you marveling – how is she so good at this? Her charm extends, connecting the trio in animated small talk.

Your body eases into a semblance of relaxation as Tommy pulls you closer and presses a kiss on the crown of your head. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers into your hair, a tender reassurance that brings a sense of solace.

Sitting up straight, you return his smile, gratitude evident in your eyes. “Thanks to you.”

Tommy beams at you, momentarily lost in the exchange, before redirecting his attention to the group. “Are you guys ready for a first round of drinks?” he asks, the unison response from everyone echoing with enthusiasm, a collective “yes” that adds a burst of energy to the already vibrant atmosphere.

– – –

After three rounds of drinks (you very responsibly decided to change to coke after one mojito), burgers, nachos, sharing the epic tale of how you managed to hurt your hand doing yoga, Jan gossiping about the guy her adult daughter brought home last week, Tommy sharing hilarious stories from his and Joel’s workplace, and everyone seemingly having loads of fun, you let yourself relax a bit.

It’s nice witnessing Joel’s laughter and enjoyment. A warmth spreads through your heart at the sight, a flicker of happiness for him. Yet, the subtle discomfort lingers as Jan’s touch becomes a constant presence on his arm. Rationalizing it as a casual gesture during conversation and under the influence of drinks doesn’t fully erase the twinge of unease settling within you.

But you can handle it, you convince yourself.

Until you can’t.

You can’t handle it when Jan’s hand finds its way to Joel’s thigh and her lips brush the shell of his ear.

You glance at Joel, searching for a reaction, a flicker of discomfort perhaps, but his response is subtle. A shift in his seat, a movement so slight it could be mistaken for a casual adjustment, yet there’s a discernible change in his demeanor. It’s a momentary pause, a beat in the rhythm of the evening.

The weight of the scene bears down on you, and you feel a pang of vulnerability, a subtle ache in your chest. In that split second, a mix of emotions surges within you – a tinge of hurt, a brush of jealousy, and a sting of betrayal.

Emotions you haven’t felt in years. Emotions you have sworn to yourself you’d never feel again.

Why does it bother you so much? Is it because it reminds you of how you touched him, how you ran your hand further and further up his thigh when he was taking you home for the first time, teasing him until he couldn’t take it anymore, pulled his car over and fucked you in the driver’s seat? Has she done that with him? Is she as addictive as you are?

This close to a full-blown panic attack, you jump up from your seat to the surprise of everyone at your table. You make brief eye contact with Kristen, who shoots you a sympathetic look.

Excusing yourself, you navigate through the bustling crowd towards the restrooms, located downstairs and accessible via a staircase. There are three separate spacious restrooms, and you choose the first one. Inside, you immediately head to the sink, running your left hand under cold water. The sensation helps to calm you down.

Closing your eyes, you take deep breaths, reassuring yourself that it’s not a big deal, and that it’s exactly what it was always meant to be—probably even for the best.

Then, as you try to find composure, a knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.

“Occupied!” you yell in response to the knock, and then you hear Joel’s deep voice saying, “It’s me.”

Of course it is.

You sigh exasperatedly and shuffle to the door to let him in. Joel enters, swiftly locking the door behind him.

“There’s two other restrooms, you know,” you murmur as you walk back to the sink and divert your attention to your reflection in the mirror, concentrating on fixing your hair.

“Yeah, well, I specifically want the one with you in it,” he says with a little smirk, his eyes searching for yours in the mirror. As your gaze meets his, he’s taken aback by the lack of the usual sparkle that used to light up your eyes at the sight of him. The absence of that adoration he’s grown accustomed to leaves a void, and a tinge of concern creeps into his expression.

“Hey,” he says tentatively, his voice softer than before. “Are you okay, darlin’?”

You look at him, and the weariness in your eyes doesn’t escape his attention. There’s a distant quality to your gaze, and it sends a pang of worry through him. The connection he once felt in your eyes seems to have dimmed, and he can’t help but feel a sense of loss.

It’s the same expression you had when he last saw you. He hates it.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you respond, putting on your fake smile again, but the lack of conviction in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel’s concern deepens as he steps closer, the teasing smirk replaced by genuine worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but you haven’t responded to any of my texts or calls.” He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his brow furrowed. “I was worried something happened, and—he points at your injured hand—my feeling was right.” He tilts his head and studies your face. “What happened?”

You turn around and lean against the sink, holding your right arm with your left hand, your eyes revealing a complex mixture of emotions. “I told you already,” you say nonchalantly. “Getting drunk and trying to do elaborate yoga poses is a dumb idea if you’re as clumsy as me.”

Joel raises his eyebrows, not believing a word you’re saying. “That’s not all, is it?”

“What do you mean?” you say, feigning ignorance.

“You don’t seem like yourself and I’m…worried about you.” Joel’s concern etches lines on his forehead as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes, usually warm and comforting, narrow slightly as he studies your seemingly cheerful facade.

“But this is myself.” You point at your smiley face with your left hand and tilt your head. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head, a subtle sigh escaping him. “That’s not what I said. I just feel like something’s off.”

“Is it because I’m happy?”

“It’s because I don’t believe you’re happy. I know you too well, baby.”

You scoff, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m happy? Do you want me to be miserable?”

“No, sweetheart. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy. But you’re lying to my face right now and I don’t appreciate that.”

You turn your head to avoid his gaze, your silence speaking volumes, your hand tightly gripping the flesh of your arm as if to contain the emotional turmoil threatening to spill over.

Stop it.

“Darlin’,” Joel says gently, closing the physical gap between you two, and reaching out to place his warm palms on your shoulders. “Look at me.”

A shiver runs down your spine and tiny goosebumps instantly form on your skin. You’ve missed his touch more than you care to admit — to yourself or to him. His touch is tender, a plea for connection, but you hesitate. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, revealing the deep sadness you tried to conceal.

What happened to you? Whatever it was, it breaks his heart that he wasn’t there to protect you.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks softly.

“Not everything’s about you, Joel.”

“I know that. I just…wish you would let me know what’s going on.” His touch becomes a subconscious reassurance as he absentmindedly rubs your arms, as if trying to make sure you’re really there in front of him.

“Why do I owe you that? Why do I owe you every shitty detail of my life while I know virtually nothing about you?” you say a little sharper than intended.

Joel takes a deep breath. “You don’t owe me anything. I just thought–” he pauses, searching your eyes. “I miss seeing that spark in your eyes when you look at me,” he admits, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “I never fully realized how much it meant to me until now.”

You take a moment to process his words and his touch as frustration bubbles up inside you. Your heart aches.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? Caring about you?”

“Ruining the mood.” You shake your head, swallowing what you actually want to say, any traces of happiness erased from your face. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, it’s starting to work.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m trying to understand what’s happened since the last time I saw you.” He tilts his head and studies your face, genuine concern in his eyes.

All you can see, though, is disappointment. He’s disappointed in you, you can sense it. And how could he not be? You’re a liability, a mess. Looks like he’s finally seeing you for who you are, and that’s why he replaced you.

“And now’s the best time to do that?” you scoff, averting your gaze and looking around.

“What am I supposed to do when you don’t respond to me for days on end and this is my only chance of talking to you?”

You look back into his eyes. “How about leaving it alone?”

“I can’t do that. Not when it comes to you,” he says, shaking his head and moving closer, his cologne filling your senses like a familiar embrace. His hands trace the contours of your neck, a gentle and deliberate touch that ignites a cascade of sensations. His thumbs brush your cheekbones with a tenderness that speaks of longing, his gaze dropping to your lips before finding your eyes again.

In that charged moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken desires before you both succumb to the magnetic pull drawing you together. Your heartbeat quickens, matching the rhythm of anticipation. Without breaking eye contact, he closes the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a soft yet passionate kiss. The familiar sensation of his lips on yours is both electric and comforting, and you allow yourself to get lost in it for a bit.

As he eases away, his fingers trail lightly down your neck and arms, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. There’s a soft smile on his lips as he breaks the silence.

“I mean it when I say I care about you and want the best for you, darlin’,” he murmurs. “And you don’t have to tell me any details about what happened if you’re not ready yet, but I need to know what made you not want to call me. We’ve been there for each other in difficult situations before, so I just really don’t get it.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, frustration and anger intertwining with the lingering memory of his lips on yours.

“Why in the world would I ever call you while you’re on a date?” you say quietly, a steely edge in your voice, no trace of a smile to be found on your lips.

Oh. So it did bother you.

Joel’s expression shifts from concern to a momentary realization, the lines on his forehead deepening. “I would always drop everything to be there for you. No matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

You laugh wryly. “Joel. Seriously. Are you really trying to tell me you were oh so worried about me while you were fucking someone else? And that you’re worried now even though she’s currently upstairs, desperately waiting for you to take her home? Come on, don’t insult my intelligence.”

He stares at you in utter disbelief and takes a step back, as if physically recoiling from the weight of your words. “That’s not what–”

“Look, Joel,” you push yourself off the sink, straighten up, and walk past him towards the door. “It doesn’t matter. You can fuck or date whoever you like. Jan seems nice and like a good match, so I’m very happy for you.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not doing any of that. You misunders–”

You turn around sharply to look at him. “I misunderstood the woman who’s had her hands all over you the whole evening?”

“It’s not like that,” he insists, trying to get through to you. “She’s drunk as hell and probably doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. And I’m not interested anyway.”

“Sure. That’s why she’s here right now.”

“I had nothing to do with that. Tommy invited her without telling me,” he says, running his fingers through his hair as his stress is mounting. “Darlin’, please. This isn’t even about her; it’s about you and me. And maybe it’s time to stop pretending everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”

You turn your head, deliberately avoiding the intensity of his gaze as the weight of his words settles in. His plea sends palpable waves of discomfort through your already wounded emotions, causing your chest to tighten further. Why is he doing this? Is this fun for him?

“So you’d rather keep pretending everything’s fine?” he presses, his tone a mix of concern and urgency, the edges of his patience beginning to fray.

Okay, now you’ve had it.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Joel. What do you want from me?” you hiss at him, frustration dripping from your words.

Joel is momentarily taken aback, but his own agitation prevents him from fully grasping your distress. A deep sigh escapes him as he props one hand on his hip, rubbing his eyes wearily with the other.

“Since when does it matter what I want?” he murmurs.

Ouch.

That hurt.

Your face falls, and you feel like he just slapped you across the face. The sting of his words cuts deep, causing tears to well up in your eyes.

Joel’s eyes widen in shock when he sees the look on your face. “Shit, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers, realizing the impact of his words a moment too late. “I’m sorry, baby, I–” his voice trembles with regret, desperate to undo the damage he’s done.

“Is that how you really feel? That I don’t care about what you want?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“No, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so–”

“But that’s how you feel? Deep down?”

Why are you acting so surprised? Were you really naive enough to believe him when he said he was happy with you? God, you’re dumb.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he reaches out to wipe away the tears that are making their way down your cheeks, but you push his hand away.

“I came here for you, Joel,” you blurt out, your raised voice startling him. “And I–I spent the last three hours making conversation with everyone, including the woman you’re fucking, because I care about you and want you to be happy, even though my hand is killing me and I’m so drained I have to force my eyes to stay open.”

You express yourself with animated hand gestures as you talk through your tears, your voice breaking.

“I had a horrible weekend and needed some time to recover, but I was so fucking happy to see you tonight because I’ve missed you and I’ve–I’ve never hidden how much I like spending time with you. Why is that not enough? What more do you want from me?”

Your big, watery eyes pierce Joel’s, and the fact that he’s the reason for your tears pierces his heart.

“Darlin’, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t right what I said.”

He takes a step closer to you, the desperation in his eyes matching the pain in yours, intending to pull you into a comforting hug to calm you—and himself—down. However, you immediately take a step back, creating a physical distance between you two.

“Do you want me to cry ‘cause seeing you with another woman breaks my heart? Is that it?”

Joel stares at you incredulously, your accusing tone making him wince. “No, of course no–”

Your heart is racing, and you can feel the tightness in your chest growing with every second you’re looking into Joel’s eyes. Eyes that—until now—have always made you feel so calm, so safe, so…loved. Your hands tremble slightly, and a lump forms in your throat, making it difficult to speak.

“Do you want me to make a scene in front of everyone ‘cause it physically pains me to think you’re touching her the same way you touch me?”

Joel opens his mouth to say something, a fleeting impulse to express himself and try to console you, but he catches himself, realizing that uttering those words might inflict more damage than repair right now.

“Do you want me to beg you not to leave me ‘cause I can’t even imagine my life without you anymore? Is that what you want?”

“Sweetheart...” He takes a step towards you, his eyes pleading, but you cut him off.

“No, I’m fucking sick of this,” your words spill out between sobs as tears stream down your face. “It’s always the same. I’m good enough only as long as I act the way you want it, and the minute you get bored or realize I’m not as perfect as you imagined, you replace me with someone better. Everyone always fucking leaves and I’m so sick of it.”

“Darlin’, I swear that’s not what’s happening,” Joel implores, his whole body so tense and hot he’s sweating through his shirt. “I’m not leaving and I really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You sigh deeply, grab a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, blow your nose, and dry your tears.

“I knew this was gonna happen and I still let myself believe I could be enough for once,” you murmur more to yourself than him, your head pounding painfully.

Serves you right for having feelings.

Joel says your name gently, trying his best not to spook you. His words hang in the air like a lifeline, a desperate attempt to mend what is broken.

“You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I’m so sorry for making you feel otherwise.”

Your head is spinning, emotions tumultuous and unyielding. In dire need of fresh air and distance from Joel, you stagger towards the door. His voice follows you, pleading.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’m not going to leave you. And I’m so incredibly sorry for upsetting you, I just–” he exhales deeply and clears his throat. “I wanted you to be honest with me about your feelings, but this wasn’t the way to go about it. I’m sorry.”

The door swings open, and you turn around, the forced smile from before back on your lips.

“Well, congratulations, Joel,” you say, your tone laced with a mix of bitterness and anguish. “You got what you wanted. I hope you’re fucking happy.”

The door slams shut behind you, leaving Joel stunned, alone with the haunting echoes of shattered trust and unspoken pain, the distant thump of music mirroring the beating of his remorseful heart.

As you make your way back upstairs, the residual heat of the argument lingers on your skin. Taking a deep breath, you enter the lively space once more. Tommy, who’s standing at the bar, notices you, concern etched across his face.

“Hey, is everything okay, honey?” he asks, his voice soft with genuine worry.

You manage a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. My hand’s just hurting really bad now and the meds make me dizzy, so I’ll head home.”

He furrows his brow. “Joel’s my designated driver, but I can take a cab, so he can drive you home.” He looks around, searching the bar for his brother. “Where is he anyway?”

“There’s a huge line in front of the restrooms, he’s probably still waiting. And it’s okay, Tommy, really.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, seeking solace, and bury your face in the crook of his neck. He responds by pulling you into a warm and reassuring embrace, a gesture that speaks volumes without the need for words. Luckily, he’s drunk enough not to smell his brother on you.

“I missed you,” you murmur, your eyes closed.

Tommy strokes the back of your head and chuckles. “I missed you, too, sweetheart.”

He pulls away far enough to look into your eyes, giving you the brightest smile. “Tell you what. You come over for dinner on Friday — no ifs, ands, or buts. Maria’s been wanting to see you, and we just finished our patio, so it’s perfect.”

You pinch his cheek and shake your head at him. “It’s not fair that you’re this charming, you know? How could I ever say no?”

“Don’t say no, then,” he says playfully, a hint of worry still in his eyes.

You sigh exaggeratedly. “Okay, okay, I won’t.”

“Attagirl. And you’re sure you don’t want Joel to drive you?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I always find my way home somehow.” You plant a kiss on Tommy’s cheek, and he finally agrees to release you from his embrace after securing a pinky promise that you ‘a hundred percent won’t flake out’.

You walk over to Kristen and Jan, who are still sitting at your table, engrossed in an animated conversation. Observing them for a moment, you find yourself captivated by Jan’s effortless charisma. She’s a real sunshine — and unlike you, she doesn’t have to fake it. Had you met her under different circumstances, you might have liked her.

Kristen’s eyes meet yours, and her brow furrows slightly, registering the expression on your face for a fleeting moment. Swiftly, you put on a polite smile and step closer, masking the momentary vulnerability with practiced ease.

“Ladies,” you say, a touch of self-deprecating humor in your tone, “I know I’m lame, but I’m actually going home already. Just wanted to say goodbye.”

Jan answers first, surprising you with a warm smile. “Oh, that’s not lame at all! You’re just smarter than us.”

You hold up your injured hand and deadpan, “Yeah, I’m a real genius, aren’t I?”

Jan and Kristen giggle, and you join in, sharing a brief moment of camaraderie. You’re so good at this. Almost believable.

As you look for your bag on the bench, contemplating the logistics of your departure, Kristen catches your eye and winks at you.

“I’ll come with you,” she says, giving you a reassuring look. “Our boss is gonna have a fit if I fall asleep at my desk again, so…I guess this is what being a responsible adult is,” she sighs. She hands you your bag, downs the rest of her drink, and the two of you say goodbye to Jan, who’s now getting up to search for the Miller brothers.

Kristen takes you by the hand, gently leading you outside. The cool breeze brushes against your face as the sun starts its descent, offering a much-needed breath of fresh air. Settling down down on the curb together, you find a comfortable spot, trying your best not to inadvertently flash someone as you adjust your dress.

“I’ll call us an Uber,” Kristen says, her tone comforting. You appreciate the warmth of her presence as you wait for the ride, the fading sunlight casting a soft glow on both of you.

“Done.” She wraps her arm around you, providing a supportive shoulder for you to lean on. The two of you sit in silence, the ambient noise of traffic and distant chatter from the bar filling the air, serving as a backdrop to the racing thoughts in your mind. Eventually, Kristen succumbs to her curiosity.

“So…” she starts, her voice carefully navigating the sensitive terrain. “That’s him?”

You chuckle faintly. “Yup. That’s him.”

“Hmm, I get it now. He’s hot as fuck,” she says, happy that she can make you laugh. “Do you think he’d be up for a threesome?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d be up for it. I’m just not so sure about his heart being able to take it. Or his back. Or his knees.”

Kristen giggles and then looks at you for a moment, fascinated by this evening’s revelations. “It’s so interesting, I had no idea you were into older guys.”

“I, uh, didn’t know either before I met him.”

“I see,” she nods, a thoughtful expression on her face. Another minute of shared silence passes before she decides to just come out and ask you the one burning question on her mind.

“Do you love him?”

You don’t need a second to think about your answer.

– – –

Thank you for reading!! 🤍

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spicycinnabun · 11 months ago

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pt. 1 2 3 4 5 7 💐

Later that night, when Eddie showed Wayne the flowers for Kathleen, Wayne’s face cycled through a variety of expressions, none of which Eddie understood until he went over to a large gift bag that was sitting on the Lay-Z-Boy.

Wayne opened it, revealing a huge bouquet of about forty roses he had bought that morning. It was absolutely breathtaking, and that meant only one thing: he had gone to Harrington Floral.

“Awww, Uncle Wayne, you big ‘ol romantic!” Eddie grinned, clasping his hands over his heart. It made him happy to see his uncle—usually so cantankerous—head over heels.

“You be quiet now, boy,” Wayne said. His ears were turning the same color as the roses.

Eddie would do no such thing. “I will do no such thing.”

“Brat.”

Giving Kathleen two bouquets seemed silly, so Eddie put his in a tall glass of water and set it on the windowsill to admire.

He was secretly pleased that he got to keep the flowers. It was almost like they were meant for him instead.

He could pretend.

~🌹~

Kathleen was a wonderful woman, and Eddie really liked her.

She was the complete opposite of his uncle, but their differences complimented each other, and Wayne hadn’t stopped smiling the entire night. Eddie had never seen him so animated.

The roses made Kathleen cry, horrifying them, but she assured them they were happy tears. She said nobody had ever gotten her flowers before.

“Expect many more, Kathy,” Wayne said, looking a little heartbroken by the admission.

Eddie looked down at his feet because, hell, this was too much for his little black heart to handle.

Then Wayne got down on one knee and pulled out a ring, just like Steve had predicted, and Eddie couldn’t stop the waterworks when Kathleen said yes.

Wayne actually picked her up and spun her around like they were in a ‘50s romance film.

“Congratulations,” Eddie said, laughing through tears. He tried to hide them, overcome and unused to the emotional onslaught of a good thing.

Wayne hugged him and ruffled his hair like he used to do when Eddie was a kid.

“I’m going to take very good care of your uncle,” Kathleen reassured him.

It was unnecessary, but Eddie appreciated the gesture.

They talked late into the night, swapping stories. Wayne told Kathleen all of Eddie’s embarrassing childhood moments, like when he’d accidentally shaved one of his eyebrows off and glued on a pipe cleaner to replace it.

Eddie retaliated by telling Kathleen about the time they had gone to a department store when he was seven, and Wayne had thought one of the mannequins was a real person and had asked it for directions to the little boys' clothing section.

Kathleen cried again—that time, from laughing so hard.

~🌹~

Eddie ended up calling the number from the ad the next day.

He waited with the phone caught between his cheek and shoulder, twirling his spoon in his bowl of Franken Berry.

Someone picked up on the fifth ring. “Hello?”

It was a man. He had a friendly and almost… nasally voice.

“Uh, hi. I’m calling about the ad you placed outside Starcourt Mall. Are you still looking for a roommate, by chance?” Eddie let go of his spoon to cross his fingers. It clinked against the side of his bowl.

There was silence, then a sneeze on the other end of the line and a heartfelt curse.

Eddie glanced suspiciously at the bouquet on the windowsill above the dull green sink. The sun was reflecting against the glass and making it sparkle, the flowers looking bright and cheerful.

He could have been wrong, but that sneeze sounded nearly identical to the ones he’d heard yesterday.

“…Steve?”

🌷🪻🌻🌹

co-writing this with @batty4steddie 💕

#fic #wybmb #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie au #steddie fic #florist au #florist!steve harrington #i’ve eddited this about a hundred times #it’s time to just release it to the wild #enjoy the sap #💐

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daydreamgoddess14 · 1 year ago

Text

Hot Water

MASTERLIST

Roy Kent xF!Reader

5 Times Roy Kent ends up on your doorstep even though you know it can't keep happening.

~~~

I feel like this was dragged from me kicking and screaming. It started out just a little smutty one shot and now it's a slightly longer one. I do hope you like it, I'm not sure I do but hey ho, there's always the next one! 🙃

~~~

Well. This was really fucking inconvenient.

You’re literally laying on the bathroom floor. Underneath the fucking bath. Something, somewhere, somehow has sprung a leak and you’re resolved to fix it. You’ve even got your dad’s old toolkit out in the hope that wielding a tool might help. It hasn’t so far. It doesn’t help that you know approximately zero about plumbing. This is all just capping off a pretty fantastically awful couple of months to be honest. And although it’s a work day, and therefore your biggest problem is at the forefront of your mind, you’re going to have to forget the main reason behind your shitty time recently. Because this leak ain’t going to fix itself. You’re doing a masterful job so far - real professional. You’ve remembered to turn the stopcock off which is a big bonus. You nearly broke your hand doing it, but it’s done. You give your spanner an experimental jiggle over what looks like a loose nut, but as you do so, a spider runs over your hand. That little fucker is the catalyst for everything else. You squeal and pull your hand back, whacking first the pipe and then dropping the spanner onto your forehead. Whacking the pipe leads to the spider's little spider buddies coming out to find him, and you soon have one on its way up your arm and one in your hair. All limbs and spanner and spiders, you’re dragging yourself out from under the bath and shaking the little bastards off. Crying, of course, because what else are you meant to do when there are 3 spiders on you and you’ve just hit yourself in the face with a metal tool?

It’s already 7am, you need to be getting ready for work so there’s nothing else for it, you can shower at work. Luckily, luckily , if you head out now you should be early enough that you’d be alone there. The lads won’t be there til 9am anyway, so it’s only the staff and possibly coaches who might be there any earlier. The showers should be free. You try and give yourself a spider once over, throw on a pair of joggers and a jumper over your PJ shorts set and shove half your life in a bag. You’re only a 10 minute walk from Nelson Road so you don’t bother driving. You head straight in through the side door and shout hello to the cleaner who’s at the top of the stairs to Rebecca’s office. Passed the locker room, and into the depths between the gym and the training pitch are the showers. You put your bag on the bench and pull out a towel and some Richmond kit to wear afterwards. As one of two sports massage therapists for the team, you live in joggers and Richmond vests. Boring but functional. You’ve seen no one, heard no one, but you’re still not keen on the idea of stripping off in a men's shower room so you’re absolutely keeping the knickers on. One less area to have to cover up. You hang up the stuff you need, put away the under bath grimy stuff you’ve just taken off, and switch the shower on. Colin was not wrong about that water pressure. You’re OK. It's OK. This was the right thing to do. A scalding shower with pressure hard enough to feel like you’re being clapped on the back by The Rock sounds like bliss. While the shower heats up, you strip off (except the knickers, of course) and grab your shampoo. That little bastard spider is not leaving babies in your hair. No fucking way. As a second thought just before you get under the water spray, you switch Spotify on your phone so you can drown to the angry sounds of Olivia Rodrigo. You’re getting pretty good at the speed on Good 4 U, though sometimes scream singing it does leave you feeling like you’ve run a marathon. You’re better at the unhinged wail you can really give to ‘bloodsucker, famefucker’ on Vampire, it just hits different at the moment. The hot water hits your body and you finally relax.

~~~~~~

You wish you weren’t so outwardly affected. It was always going to go this way, you could have done more to protect your heart though - it would have saved you looking so foolish, and it would have saved a ruined friendship. That was the hardest part to deal with. You’d joined the staff under Ted Lasso and had built a great rapport with the players and the coaching staff. You considered them friends - all of them. Sure, you harboured a pretty big crush on Roy Kent, but it didn’t affect your work. You ignored those feelings, trampled over them and focused on getting on with your job. Notoriously slow to win over, he eventually became as good a friend as everyone else. The night of the West Ham game was insane. Ted was leaving, everyone was bouncing between elation over finishing second in the league and the prospects that would bring, and losing Ted. There were tears of joy and laughter one minute and tears of devastation the next. Ola’s could barely contain the emotion everyone was feeling. You’d decided to hit the road, everything was winding down anyway and the players were going on to an exclusive club which they’d invited you to as well - and you knew full well you wouldn’t have to buy a drink all night, they’d never let you do that when it was £25 for a double gin, but you didn’t want to carry the party on. You’d kissed whoever you could reach, hugged as many as you could see and air high-fived Sam from across the way. You stepped out into the late May night, it was still warm so you lingered outside with your drink while you waited for the taxi.

“Oi, how come I didn’t fucking get one?” Roy asked, stepping out to join you by the window.

“Hey, you going to the club? Get what?”

“A hug.” He nudged your shoulder.

“That’s my taxi. You always get a hug.” You slipped your arm across his back and leaned up a little to reach him better. “See you Monday.”

“You can’t go back in a taxi on your own?”

“Course I can, I always do.” You laughed, pulling open the door. He held it open while you sat in the backseat and slipped in after you.

“C��mon, I’ll make sure it gets you back ok.” You haven’t moved quite far enough along the seat so as the taxi driver rounds each corner, you're pushed further into Roy. “So everyone else gets hugs and kisses eh?”

“Only the people I could reach. Also, you just had a hug, stop complaining.” Another corner taken at a higher speed than necessary smushed you into his side. “Jesus, is this guy ready to finish or something.” He put a hand on your thigh,

“You ok?”

“Yeah fine.” The heat of his hand lit up your skin, the addition of far too many drinks made you feel flushed. You both looked at his hand on your leg and then back to each other, the streetlights illuminating you both and then sending you into darkness again. You didn’t know if it was an unconscious move or deliberate, but his thumb brushed gently in small circles on your bare skin. You’re sure he must be able to see your heart pounding through your dress. As he leans forward into you, his hand moves up just another inch and as you gasp at the sensation, he lightly kisses you.

“Here we are. That's a tenner please, love.” Roy goes for his wallet but you push his hand out of the way and hand the driver a note from your bag. He has to open the door to let you out, “you coming back in, fella?” the driver asks. He looks down at the hand which he held out to help you from the taxi to find he’s still holding it.

“No thanks, mate.” You’ve barely got the front door closed behind you before he’s pushed you up against it and kissing you with a fierceness you hadn't realised you were so desperate for. Your hands worked fast, pushing his jacket down his arms and onto the floor with a thud, and pulling him back to you by his t-shirt. The dress Keeley suggested for you is flattering, but a little more revealing than you’d usually wear. Shorter than you’d normally go for and with a low neckline too. He’s got one hand up in your hair and the other is back on your leg, halfway up the skirt while he kisses your jawline. His body presses against you and you can feel him, hard through his jeans. You bring up the leg he’s got a hand on and he hooks it over his hip, it tilts your lower body further into his and he is so close to where you need him it sends you dizzy. It's impossible to disguise the neediness of your moans and the hand that's up your skirt is moving further up to grip the fleshy soft spot between your hip and thigh.

"God, Roy -," you whine, you rock your hips towards his,

"Sure you want this?" You nod against his shoulder, "Talk to me, babe," he asks.

"Yes, yeah I'm sure," you're pulling at his t-shirt, dragging it over his head.

When he mutters "good girl," against your collarbone, you're certain you could come there and then. He traces the line of your knickers with his fingers, feeling just how ready you are for him, "fucking hell," he says, wrecked. He slips his fingers inside you and presses his thumb to your clit. He seems to know exactly what you need and just when you're at the brink, grasping for the release that's just out of reach, he kisses you. It's hot and rough and sends you right over the edge. He gives you a minute, a slightly softer kiss, but you don't need it, you only want him. Your shaking hands fumble with the button of his jeans until he takes over and does it himself, he's dug out a condom from his wallet. You're still fully clothed, still wearing the high heels that, with his help, have you at exactly the right height for him to push into you. It's everything. Everything you've fantasised about since the day you were introduced, he's the only thing that stands out from your first day at the club. In a room full of high-profile, well-paid, gorgeous footballers, he's the only one you see. He thrusts into you using your hips as leverage, the spike of your heel grazing the back of his thigh. Your hands hold fast to the back of his neck and his shoulder,

"Roy, fuck, you feel so good." Your name is reverent on his lips as he comes and on hearing, you're there too. His pace slows as his hips stutter, and your head rests in the crook of his neck while you catch your breath. All at once, he's gentle again, carefully bringing your leg back down and making sure you're steady on your feet. He looks a little sheepish as he steps back away from you, taking you hands to help you stand up away from the back of the door,

"You ok?" He asks, while you straighten your dress and pull it back down into place.

"Yep, all good. You?"

"Yeah, yeah fine." He looked like he couldn't get out of there fast enough, his hesitation and unease rubbing off on you. "I should go though,"

"Yeah, no I figured as much."

"It's just been a fucking long day, y'know?"

"I know. Lots of crazy emotions." He must have seen the look of hurt cross your face,

"Not that it was a mistake… but maybe, probably shouldn't have happened? Fuck, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a fucking dick-,"

"I get it Roy. It was fun but it didn't mean anything." It didn't mean anything . Probably the biggest lie you've ever told and it's out of your mouth like you knew it had to be said all along.

~~~~~~~~

On Monday morning, you were all notified that Roy would be named as the new head coach for Richmond. He obviously knew beforehand, so within 36 hours you'd gone from sleeping with a colleague to sleeping with your boss, and the sudden distance and desperation to get out of your flat became clear. Along with the knowledge that it definitely could not happen again. Not that he gave the impression that he wanted it to. The following week, you took yourself on holiday for a week with some of the team and friends, just a big villa and a private beach in southern Spain. You'd relaxed, eaten your weight in fresh seafood, and consumed more sangria than you should have. All week, Instagram was full of you and your sunkissed friends having a whale of a time. You returned feeling better about yourself and ready for a few easy admin weeks before the start of the season. And then Roy had shown up at your door.

"Nice holiday?"

"Not bad… can I help you?" You're on your guard, holding the door closed against you.

"Right. Thought I should check in, see how you are?"

"As my boss, or?"

"Can I fucking come in or not?" You hold the door open but keep your arm in the way, childishly making him duck to get through. "Did the lads behave?" He asked from your kitchen.

"Oh yeah. I slept with Jan in the pool, Richard on the beach and shared a bed with Moe and Tommy all week."

"Fucking funny," he didn't look amused.

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" He did a momentary double take. "Course I'm joking. Bad enough that I've fucked the boss, isn't it? Jesus if word got around I might as well quit."

"Don't say that." He growled.

"True though isn't it? You knew, and that's why you left in such a hurry. Quick and dirty. What was it? You'd wondered what it would be like, so thought you might as well give it a go before you started the top job?" He didn't say anything. "And now you're worried that I've been off having too much fun with one of the lads? Like you have any say whatsoever?"

"No. Fuck no. You can do whatever you want."

"I know."

"See whoever you want."

"I know."

"Will you stop arguing with me on this?"

"I'm agreeing with you. Boss." Somehow, you'd managed to square up to each other like you were about to hit him. It was still a reasonably high possibility until he closed the gap and kissed you. Horny traitor that it is, your body gives in immediately. "We shouldn't do this again," you hiss as he bites your shoulder.

"So tell me to fucking stop." He grabs at your loose sleep vest and pulls it off, surprised to find you don't wear anything underneath. "And if you really do want me to stop, then you'd better tell me right fucking now." Instead, you walk him back a step to the sofa and push him to sit down. As soon as he does, you straddle him.

"Do not fucking stop." You warn him, pulling off his t-shirt. It's the same needy, desperate and hot sex that you'd both craved last time, at least this time you already know that it shouldn't be happening. The difference is that it makes it even more intense. He does the same disappearing act as last time, leaving you doubting your life choices and questioning your sanity.

~~~~~~~~

It happens again the next week. With so many people on holiday, Keeley organises a karaoke night for those who are around. It's lairy and a lot of fun, you sing a few songs including a duet with Nate. Soon, the challenge becomes choosing songs for other people. You can't even place the song Keeley has picked for you until the music kicks in, it's not until you're singing it and reading the lyrics that you realise how apt they are.

"I'm yours to keep

And I'm yours to lose

You know I'm not a bad girl

But I do bad things with you

So it goes

Come here, dressed in black now

So, so, so it goes

Scratches down your back now

So, so, so it goes"

You catch his eye as you're singing without meaning to, and it's like lighting a fire in your belly. You know it's going to happen again. You still don't make it to a bedroom. Instead, you get to your knees for him just inside your flat and this time he's the one sounding needy and desperate. You've never heard Roy Kent of all people sound so wrecked and affected. Ever giving, he's utterly confused when you reject him afterwards and send him home without letting him touch you at all.

It's this which brought him back to your door the last time, just over a month ago. You've been in a bit of a downward spiral ever since. It had been over a week since the karaoke night. Pre season training was due to start and you knew you'd be busy with rusty footballers who tried to rush their first decent stretch in weeks. You were exhausted after the first day back, your hands ached and you'd half forgotten what it was like to be on your feet all day. You're yawning your way through a takeout menu when the door goes. Once again, Roy is on your doorstep, but this time he has a bag of food with him. He brushes straight past you and into the kitchen where he manages to plate up two meals despite not knowing where anything is kept and you becoming mute.

"Why are you here?" You mumble.

"I saw the appointment list for today. Thought you'd be fucking knackered." Once you’ve finished eating, he leads you to your own bedroom where he sits you on the bed. "This ok," he asks.

You nod first, then follow up with a hushed, "Yes." He undresses you slowly, taking his time in a way he hasn't any of the other times before. He lays you back on the bed and settles between your thighs, you're in pieces even before you feel the wet slide of his tongue against your clit. He holds you down with one hand as you cant your hips towards him with a whispered "fuckkk," he gives your thigh a bite,

"Hold fucking still," you can feel him smirk against you. It doesn't take much for him to have your legs shaking, your hands are in his hair, dragging through the curls that have grown out over the summer break. You practically wail his name as you come, and if you've learned anything from the hurried, rough trysts you've had so far with Roy, it's that you definitely weren't prepared for the time he actually gets to take his time with you. He's watching you come down, boneless from your first orgasm, letting you think he's done with you before he goes back for more. By the time he's crawling back up the bed to you, the need to have his skin against yours is sinful. You can barely form full sentences, speaking only in single word requests, "clothes, more, now". He laughs, a low rumble that you feel against your ribs. He's equally as eloquent, but out to take an agonisingly long time with you. He pushes into you in long, slow strokes, his whole body weighted against yours. The closeness is both intense and intimate, and when he kisses you it feels so much like a promise your heart could break. Unlike the previous times, you don't part immediately while you both catch your breath. He shifts off you slightly but stays with his nose against your jaw and his hands coveting your body. He's the first one to say it.

"This can't keep happening."

"We both keep saying that and yet here we are again." You sit up against the headboard, mindful to cover yourself up.

"I know."

"But, you're right, we can't." You decide you need to be firmer, "I can't keep doing this." He nods and gets up to dress.

"I'm sorry." He mutters as he leaves.

~~~~~~~~

Roy is always consistently early for work. A byproduct of being awake at stupid o’clock to train Jamie, yes, but before that, he’s just always been early. Now he’s head coach, he uses the time to get the coffee going or makes sure Will is on top of everything in the boot room. Has a wander around and checks the gym or the showers for lonely socks, earbud boxes, or hats. More recently, he's just sat at his desk and moped for an extra half hour before anyone arrives and calls him out on it. Today, though, he puts the coffee on and starts in the gym where he straight away finds Isaac’s favourite sweatbands, Moe’s sunglasses, and one of Dani’s socks. It’s like picking up after a bunch of fucking kids. He dumps the loot in the middle of the locker room and carries on. He can hear singing as he gets closer to the showers and assumes that Jamie must have chosen food over cleanliness and has decided to save time by coming straight to Nelson Road after breakfast.

“Well, good for you, you look happy and healthy

Not me, if you ever cared to ask

Good for you, you're doing great out there without me, baby

Like a damn sociopath!

I've lost my mind, I've spent the night crying on the floor of my bathroom

But you're so unaffected, I really don't get it

But I guess good for you”

Yeah. That's not Jamie. But it's already too late, he'd been rounding the corner as he'd heard the singing and now, well… thank fuck you've got your back to him. He tries to back out of the room, but manages to crash into the bench and sends your phone crashing to the tiles, the music stopping abruptly. The noise has you covering as much of your body with your hands as you can while you scream like a banshee, the sound echoes off the tiles, and what the hell is the lump on your head?!

"Roy! Fuck me, turn around!" His brain manages to click into gear enough to let him do that at least, but then it goes manic on what he's just seen. Or not seen really, his memory fills in the blanks though. "Fucksake what the hell are you doing?” You’re shaking, he can hear it in your voice. He truly scared the shit out of you. “I need to finish washing my hair, can you be trusted for 5 fucking minutes if I move my hands?" You ask, a little calmer.

"I heard singing, thought it was one of the lads."

"Oh so jumping them in the shower is also fine? Don't move. I'm nearly done. Ouch, cocking shitting fuck." Your voice catches and he thinks you might be crying.

"Jesus, are you alright? I've never heard you swear like that."

"I'm fine," you reply quietly. "Hit my head." He turned quickly, too quickly for you to cover back up, "Oi!" His eyes initially went exactly where you’d expect, then they flew up to yours and didn't move, but it didn’t stop you covering yourself up with your hands again.

"Sorry, sorry, I-" he crossed the room and brought a hand up to your temple which was sporting a painful looking purple bruise. “Was it me, did you hit your head when I came in?” You shake your head with a grimace,

“No, it’s been a fucking awful morning. I just-,” he’s close enough now that he’s going to be right under the shower head in a minute, and he can see that you are close to tears. “You’re gonna get soaked. Could you just go away please?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he goes back to the bench and retrieves your phone from the floor. He has the good grace to look ashamed that the screen is smashed to bits. “Fuck, sorry.” he kicks off his sneakers and turns back to you, “turn around.”

“No, I want to be left alone. Let’s not pretend you give a shit, Roy. Just go.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. This is getting stupid.

“Of course I fucking give a shit. Please. Turn. Around. You’ve hit your head, you’re freezing cold, you-”

“Fine.” You glare, “fine.” You turn to face the wall, no idea why. It becomes clear as he comes to stand right behind you, under the stream of water.

“Head back.” You lean your head back as he asks. His height over you means he has a direct line of sight down your body so you keep your hands in place as he washes the shampoo out of your hair. He avoids the lump in your hairline far better than you did, and now you’re back under the water, you’re warming up a bit. He takes his time, and as you close your eyes, his are drawn to the path the droplets of water follow over your skin, like memories of where his mouth had been. “Did you need to do anything else?” he asks softly. You shake your head, moving your hands and arms so you can still cover yourself but also bring a hand to cover your face, trying not to cry. He reaches past you to turn the shower off. He moves away but he’s only gone long enough to get your towel from the hook. He holds it out for you and turns his head so you can move your arms and step into it. Then he leads you to the bench and pushes your shoulders gently to sit you down. He disappears and comes back a couple of minutes later with a towel for himself and another smaller one which he passes you for your hair. You use it to blot the majority of the water out of your hair, breathing in the soothing lavender softeners Will uses. He’s busy watching you but you’re staring at the floor. With your hair a little dryer, he brushes his fingers through it to move it away from the bruise and take a better look. “That looks really fucking nasty. What did you do?”

“Spanner.” You mumble. He’s not speaking so you know he’s waiting for you to elaborate. “I have a leak under the bath I was trying to fix. A spider scared me so I hit the spanner off my head while I was trying to get out and then there were like three other spiders all over me and I fucking hate spiders and… I just feel like shit.” Saying it all out loud, you realise it all sounds a bit feeble, that you’ve overreacted.

“Get dressed before you get a cold. I’ll be back in a minute. I’ll shout this time before I come in.”

~~~~~~

You don’t rush. You sit for a minute and try to gather your thoughts. Of all the people in the entire club, he was the one you’d least want to see you half naked in the shower. He’d have probably been top of the list only a month ago. You’re not even sure by this point what he actually did see, but it’s also too late to care now. It’s done so there’s no undoing it. And it's not like he hasn’t seen it all before anyway. You dry off and pull on your sweats, you’re just reaching for your Richmond t-shirt when he calls out to let you know he’s on his way back. He’s been to get changed,

“I’m fine, you might as well get back to work. Everyone will be here in a minute.” He goes to challenge you again but you just don’t have the energy. You haven’t even had a coffee yet this morning, let alone breakfast. “Please, Roy. I’m fine.” You throw your wet towel in your bag and check you’ve got everything before squeezing past him and back up to the treatment room. You avoid everyone all morning, Katie offers to go outside for training so you can stay in. She goes out just before 10am, meeting Nate in the corridor. You have to pop to the main office to sign for a delivery and when you get back, there’s a mug of coffee and a paper bag with a pastry inside on your desk, along with some painkillers. The rest of the day seems to settle down. You work your way through the list of players who need some time with you. Jan Maas is last on the list with a niggle he picked up in training that morning. You’ve got your hands high up on the back of his thigh when Roy taps on the door,

“Hey coach.” Jan mumbles from face down on the treatment bench. You manage to get your thumb right where he needs it and he lets out a low groan. Roy raises an eyebrow,

“Alright Jan. You good?”

“Yes, she’s a genius” He hops up from the bench with a big smile. “You should let me buy you a drink, to say thank you.”

“I’m fine thanks, Jan. Take it easy on your leg.” When he leaves, Roy moves to sit on the bench. He takes your wrist as you walk by him, pulling you to stand in front of him where he can check your forehead again.

"How's it feel?"

"Like I hit myself in the head with a spanner."

"Are you done?"

"For the day or generally? Because the answer is yes to both. I'm going home. I need to… not be here." Not be around you . Is the follow up you'd like to add. I can't ignore it like you can, can't just pretend I don't feel the way I do. It’s getting harder every day.

"I think you have a concussion. I'm pretty fucking sure you didn't want to vocalise those thoughts?" You go to slap your hand to your head, but he stops you just in time. "Don't make it any fucking worse." He rolls his eyes when you glare at him. The off season was so much easier. The need for contact between you both has steadily increased over the last month with the team returning. Daily meetings and progress reports on injuries old and new, the only saving grace is that he's stopped coming to you for his own recovery sessions.

"I'm going home."

"Let me drive you."

"I'd really rather you didn't. Look, I'll be fine. I'll get over it, I just need to do it in my own time." You don't wait for a response. You take your bag and leave him sitting on the treatment bench alone.

The first thing you do is fix the leak. It would be much easier if you were in the right frame of mind, which you're not, but you manage. There are no more spiders, but you end up soaked from the water left in the pipe which bursts out when you loosen rather than tighten the nut. You really don't know whether to laugh or cry from the calamity of it all. You're about to go for cry, but the doorbell goes and you're surprisingly unsurprised to see Roy. Again.

"You know, it would be a lot easier for me to get over whatever this," you motion between the two of you, "is, if you could just fuck off and leave me to it?"

"Can I come in?" You turn to let him in, looking expectantly for him to continue. His hand rubs his beard and up through his hair, cut shorter since the last time he was in your flat - the curls gone. "Fucksake. You act like this is easy for me."

"Well you make it seem like it is."

"It's not. It never fucking has been. Why do you think I kept coming back even though I knew, I knew it was a bad fucking idea?"

"You tell me? You're the one who walks out of here without a care in the world once you've got what you want?" A look of hurt flashed across his face, you knew it was a low blow, you had no idea why you'd even said it.

"Is that really what you think?" He asked quietly. You shook your head. "All this coaching job has done so far is make me fucking miserable."

"It's only been a couple of months. You'll figure it out."

"It's making me miserable because I lost you in the process. You said earlier that I shouldn't pretend to care, but I don't need to pretend. I do care. Too much, that's the fucking problem." He sighed heavily.

" We can't keep happening, you're my boss now."

"Well, I've been feeling like this a lot longer than I've been your fucking boss, and I don't regret any of it."

"Feeling what, exactly? Because if you're about to fuck up your future-"

"I love you." You close your eyes. Your head is pounding again.

"Roy, think about what you're doing -"

"Tell me you don't feel the same, and I'll go." You shake your head,

"I can't," you whisper. "I can't. I'm in love with you too." He crosses the room and cups your cheek, checking the bruise on your forehead again before he kisses you. You sigh into him, "What are we going to do?"

"I'm the boss. As long as I'm not fucking you in the treatment room, I think it'll be OK."

"That's a shame. Not even after hours?"

"Don't tempt me. Any objections to me waking you up every couple of hours to check you really don't have a concussion?"

"Depends how you plan to wake me?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something." He smiles, letting you lead him to the bedroom.

~~~~~~

FIN

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fic #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fic #roy kent fluff #roy kent smut #roy kent x you #roy kent imagine

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catboymettaton · 17 days ago

Text

scintillating scotoma

light yagami gets a migraine. 2k words, rated G. slight lawlight

Light awoke with a stiff neck, stiff limbs, and pain in his back. Unfortunately par for the course when it came to sleeping alongside L. The detective’s presence made the queen bed feel extremely cramped. Light was lucky to sleep at all with how loud his typing and crunching were all night long.

He wondered how L survived crouching like that all the time. Maybe he didn’t have normal joints. Maybe he was made of pipe cleaners instead.

Light stretched his arms, left fist striking L’s hip. L said nothing.

“Good morning, Light-kun.”

“Morning, Ryuzaki.” If it was a good morning, he wouldn’t be wearing a handcuff.

He opened his eyes and immediately found something amiss. There was an odd hole in the center of his vision, ringed with multi-colored distortion. He moved his head, looking from floor to wall to hands. No matter how he moved his head, a tiny disk in the center was blurred badly.

His logical mind raced to conclusions. Probably, he was dying.

Or more likely, he wasn’t dying, but he was under the effects of some strange experiment L had performed in the night. He knew the man never slept - the sounds of the keyboard continued incessantly. It wouldn’t be out of the question if he was experimenting on the sleeping Light, trying to devise new ways to make him confess.

None of which would work, since Light wasn’t Kira.

They arose for their morning rituals. Two weeks in, they had learned how to dance around each other in the bathroom, how to navigate the awkwardness of changing shirts one hand at a time, and how to serve each other a perfect cup of coffee. They could walk down the halls to the elevator without tripping and falling.

Half an hour into the morning’s work, the hole had gotten larger. Light had to tilt his head to see his screen properly. He hoped L didn’t notice - if this was a result of his experimentation, he didn’t want to give him any satisfaction in knowing that it worked.

He sipped his coffee. Hopefully if he kept ignoring it, it would pass quickly.

Maybe he was going mad from the stress of being accused of murder. Maybe Ryuzaki’s eye bags were somehow penetrating his consciousness.

Another half hour, and his left temple began to throb. He winced as he opened a new window, the bright white light searing his retinas. He had to tilt his head quite far now to see around the hole.

L was staring off into space, idly spinning to and fro in his chair. If he noticed Light’s unusual posture, he said nothing about it. This was good. By now, it would be suspicious to say something after waiting this long. Light absolutely had to keep acting normal at all costs.

He reached for his coffee, but it was located deep within his blind spot. His hand dissolved into the smudge of his desk. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t show weakness. This wasn’t a problem. He should be able to locate his mug by feel.

And he succeeded, but only by tipping it over. The warm liquid soaked deep into his pants, adhering to his skin like a leech sinking in its teeth. At least it had cooled enough that it didn’t burn.

L noticed. “Is Light-kun having issues with gravity today?”

Light tried to glare, but he couldn’t make out L’s eyes in the white mess ahead of him. The smears of color danced and flickered, giving L a distorted halo. He winced as another spike of pain bore into his skull.

He stood. “Come on, let’s go back to the room so I can clean up.”

But as he took a step forward, the floor escaped him.

L caught him. “Light-kun, are you feeling alright?”

The room was warping - the parts of it which he could see clearly were at once very close and very far. He blinked and shook his head as if this would restore his perception. He gritted his teeth. His lurch had upset his stomach, and the caffeine could not be helping matters. One of these days he would succeed in reducing his intake, but in all likelihood that would have to wait until his name was cleared. It was hard to feel disciplined when any step he took cultivated suspicion.

“Don’t worry, Ryuzaki. I’m still not feeling murderous.”

Somehow, he made it to the elevator in one piece, at least partially due to the presence of L’s hand against his lower back. He tried not to think about how warm it was.

A disc of clarity began to bloom at the center of the blur. He aimed this pinpoint right at the elevator keypad. As the car lifted, he felt another bout of nausea. He shut his eyes and willed it to pass without issue.

The doors opened, letting the lights of the hallway come flooding in. They were so loud, screaming into his eyes that were learning to see again, searing straight up his optic nerves into his sensitive gray matter. He tensed up, not wanting to go on.

L’s hands had arrived at his shoulders. “Light-kun, what’s wrong?”

“There’s coffee all over my pants, that’s what’s wrong.” He stumbled down the hall, mostly blind, squinting to keep the brightness out. The left half of his head was pulsing with a fury, and his stomach was in danger of vacating his body entirely. At least he hadn’t eaten yet, so if he threw up it wouldn’t be too messy.

No. He wasn’t going to throw up in front of L. He was perfectly fine. He would make it to his room, and change his pants, and then he would be totally normal again.

He collapsed in the entryway.

“Light.” His circle of clarity had opened enough that he could clearly see L’s bulging eyes staring down at him. They looked almost concerned - a masterful act, he was sure. “Are you feeling ill?”

L lifted him to his feet and his head dangled limply, pathetically. He felt his eyes begin to water. No! He was stronger than this! He wouldn’t cry in front of L, he couldn’t!

He opened his mouth to speak and realized that he was really very desperately nauseous now. “Bathroom.”

L guided him there and was already holding back his hair when he began to retch. The morning’s coffee, now mixed with acid, burned his throat.

When he was done, he collapsed against the tile floor - he wasn’t out of it enough to besmirch himself by laying on the toilet seat. He swallowed bile. Throwing up was supposed to settle one’s stomach, wasn’t it?

He didn’t feel any better. In fact, when he opened his eyes to see L’s saucer stare framed by the fluorescents overhead, he felt as though a knife was being twisted through his left eye socket, lobotomizing him, rendering him useless.

“You - you did this to me,” he spat. “You want - you want me to confess. But it’s not working. Because I’m not Kira.”

He kept his eyes open even though it ached. He needed, needed to watch L respond. He had already sacrificed so much dignity, he couldn’t go any further.

L stood and switched off the lights. Light hated that he felt grateful.

He returned with a wet washcloth and began to wipe off Light’s face. Light hadn’t been expecting this at all. He expected L to gloat, to rub it in his face, to retort about his Kira percentage or how obvious it was that he was still a murderer.

But instead, his bile was delicately removed from his skin, like a mother cat licking her kitten clean.

L tugged Light to his feet. “Let’s get you to bed, Light-kun.”

“My - my pants -”

“Are you able to remove them yourself, or would you like my assistance?”

Light could think of nothing more humiliating than L’s assistance. He fumbled with his belt and zipper till the stained khakis fell to his ankles. He let L guide him to their shared bed, tucking him in as softly as Sayu tucked in her favorite teddies.

“Why are - why are you doing this to me?”

“Light-kun, has it ever occurred to you that not everything I do is part of the investigation?”

It really hadn’t.

“Can you tell me about your symptoms? I may be able to help.”

Fine.

“Nausea.” Even after he threw up, it hadn’t stopped. “And my head hurts but only on one side, and earlier I couldn’t see properly.” Somehow, his vision had returned to normal, but that was hardly reassuring. “And photophobia.”

“I see. There’s a few things this could be. Light-kun, have you had unprotected sex in the past few weeks?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now.”

“Nausea is a common symptom of morning sickness, and -”

“Ryuzaki. Did you give me a uterus while I was unconscious?”

“Of course, that is not the most likely diagnosis.” L continued in a perfectly flat, even voice, with no trace of humor. “Probably, you have a migraine. Tell me, Light, when was the last time you ate?”

Light thought about it. He hadn’t eaten breakfast - he hadn’t been in the habit of doing so for some time. Had he eaten dinner last night? He couldn’t recall. “Um… probably yesterday afternoon.”

L sighed. “I’ll have Watari bring you some lunch.”

Light laid there in silence while L made the call. Migraines. He’d heard of them, of course, but he’d never had one before. Even when he was stressed, even when he skipped meals, his body continued without issue.

“Do you struggle with migraines often?”

“No, never.”

“Hmm.” L tapped away at his keyboard. “Common migraine triggers include skipping meals, stress, the weather -”

“I deal with that all the time -”

“- sleep deprivation.”

Light sat up, forcing his eyes open. Thankfully, L had his screen angled away. “So this is your fault! You did this to me!”

Light was barely getting four hours of sleep these days, when typically he aimed for eight. Even when he was studying his hardest, he never compromised on sleep.

L sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Perhaps I have not been attentive enough to your needs.”

Watari knocked on the door and entered with a platter laden with fish, nuts, and fruit, with tea on the side. He set it down at the foot of the bed.

Light sat up, then immediately regretted it when his head began to pulse again. “I shouldn’t eat this here. What if I make a mess?” Never mind all of L’s snacks. Light was better than this.

“Shhh… Open wide, Light-kun, the airplane is coming in for a landing.” L gripped a chunk of fish between his chopsticks and guided it gently into Light’s mouth.

Light had not allowed someone else to feed him since he was capable of holding chopsticks himself. Normally, he would protest at being treated as such, but instead, he found himself sitting there immobilized as L brought one bite at a time down to his waiting jaws, complete with little airplane sound effects. He sounded as though this was a habit of his.

When he had finished, L wiped his mouth with a napkin, just as gently as after he vomited. “Good boy, Light-kun.”

Light felt blood creeping into his cheeks. Hmph. It was because he was embarrassed at being treated like a child. Not for any other reason.

L lifted the platter off the bed. “How about we take a little nap now?”

Light was an eighteen year old man. He did not nap. But he didn’t protest as L drew the blankets over his shoulders.

L did not remain in his usual perch. Instead he slid down alongside Light, lying so their backs touched. His warmth radiated up Light’s spine and down to his toes.

His sleep was deep and dark and dreamless.

When Light awoke, rays of afternoon sun drifting in through the window, he found his pain relieved, his mind clear, and L beside him, snoring softly. L’s arms had wandered to his shoulders as they slept.

He didn’t mind it, actually. He didn’t mind at all.

#mine #my writing #light yagami #l lawliet #death note #death note fic #emeto #emetophobia

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maipronouncedmay · 1 month ago

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they've multiplied

from left to right: Proto, Beta, and Hurt Leg

I actually forgot how I made Proto, so Beta and Hurt Leg are entirely different. I have an entire bag of pipe cleaners, so they will keep coming.

#mai posts #headcrab #half life #I need name suggestions pls #Beta got taken to school with me for fun yesterday

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staarboyyy · 1 year ago

Text

Drowning

amanda young x reader | no pronouns

18+ scenarios / characters - minors dni

tags / warnings ; unhealthy dynamics, descriptions of violence, s/h mentions slight stockholm syndrome, menetions of kidnapping, fluff, no smut

summary ; strangely soft moments and recalling memories of being taken in by amanda and john

word count ; 871

a/n ; a shorter soft fic of one of my favorite characters of all time aka bowie being a useless lesbian

“Bad day?”

Amanda dropped the heavy duffle bag in her left hand with a hard thud to the ground. It was wordless how her eyes lulled towards you, cheeks pink and still streaked with smeared makeup; It didn’t need to be confirmed as she pulled her boots off, kicking them off by your door before treading towards the bed. You sat up, the chain shackles around your wrists gently clattering as you stretched your arms out slightly toward her. Amanda had taken to chaining you to the bed during the night while she was out, despite having been in the workshop for just under a year. You'd grown used to it, the bruises on your wrists fading as the shackles loosened over time, trust slowly trickling from Amanda to you in slow waves.

“Did something happen?”

Amanda stayed quiet as she crawled into the large bed, mumbling softly and shaking her head. She hated times like this, where she bared her vulnerability to those she didn’t deem deserving enough to see it, yet when your hands crept towards her, the tears stung her bottom lashes. Your fingers wove into hers, swimming through the cotton sheets, cold meeting warm as silence reached you both. You pursed your lips, eyebrows furrowing slightly as you moved to lean against the backboard, arm now stretching out to wrap over her shoulder, pulling her slightly closer. The bedroom wasn’t stuffy like the rest of the rooms in the workshop, it was quiet, cleaner than most of the others, and even had a small television that only took VHS. Of course, Amanda would have it no other way, but every now and again, she’d bring some old tapes home for them to watch - You hadn’t seen most of them in some time, Amanda was a classic Disney junkie, and despite the situation, it was - Nice? Atleast something close to it. She nestled her face in your chest, taking slow, trembling breaths as you peered down at her with a quirked brow.

“‘Manda,”

Only a quiet whimper came in response, her fingers curling around the fabric of your hoodie, hiding her face in her messy hair. She had given you the hoodie when you first arrived, back when she kept you under wraps day and night; It softened as time passed, being washed at Amanda’s house and brought back for you in the morning, smelling like fresh laundry and her subtle perfume. You rested his chin on her head, leaning a bit forward so you could take in slow breaths of the smell of her shampoo.

“I’ve been doing so good, and I just,”

Amanda’s voice was quiet, uncharacteristically meek, fingers tightening on the hoodie and pulling ever so slightly to bring you closer. You obliged naturally as if she hadn’t been the one to take you from your family, use you as a vessel for Jigsaw’s sick message. You held her in your chained arms as if it was the easiest thing in the world, listening to her quiet rambles, keeping her hitched breaths at bay. Your fingers strung through her hair, the smell becoming a strange comfort for you, familiar - Dare you say safe?

A few months ago, someone had tried to hunt you down; Amanda didn’t care for the details. Seeing you on the ground with a smear of a person on top of you had been enough for her to see red, her heartbeat thumping violently in her ears, propelling her forward to swing whatever weapon was closest. It was a metal pipe that slammed hard into the attacker's skull before it fell to the ground. She had never let go of a weapon so quickly, only to fall to her knees and cradle you gently on the floor - She took care of you while you recovered, bandaging your bruises and sterilizing your scratches. For days at a time, she forgot to chain you up, the pair of you falling asleep due to pure exhaustion with one arm around the other, an old movie’s credits rolling on the television. She’d protected you with a biting vengeance, a fierce amount of vindication, curling herself over you like a rabid animal if anyone dared approach you in a violent manner; And now she shaped herself to your frame amongst the sheets, trying to wrestle her jeans off with the intention of getting comfortable in some shape or form - You never commented on her scars, none of them. Once, she had fallen asleep beside you during Bambi, your cold fingertips tracing over the faded marks on her thighs as you watched the movie. When she stirred, you went to pull your wrist back quickly, but she caught your hand, returning it in place. Ever since, you always rested your hand on wherever she allowed it, touching her face, thumb caressing over her wrists - It started small, the rousing butterflies when her dark eyes flitted towards yours with a not-so-well-hidden smile, the way you could feel your cheeks heat up when she worked on her traps in a tank top and boyshorts. It came slowly, slowly, then all at once, in a heaping wave. Though you found solace in drowning if it meant you’d be shackled to Amanda.

#bowies fics #amanda young #Amanda young x reader #amanda young x you #amanda young x oc #amanda saw #saw amanda #saw franchise #saw x #oneshot #comfort fic #tw kidnapping #tw dubcon

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marhor9879 · 2 months ago

Text

Caramel Cookies

Ingredients

Caramel Cookies

1 cup unsalted butter

2 ¼ cups flour

¼ teaspoon salt

¾ cup sugar

2 Tablespoons dulce de leche

2 egg yolks, at room temperature

1 teaspoon caramel extract (see note)

Filling/Topping

⅓ cup dulce de leche

flaky sea salt (or vanilla salt), optional

Instructions

To Brown Butter

Place butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Once the butter is melted, swirl the pan occasionally to help promote even browning of the butter. Foam will form on top, this is normal!

As the butter browns, it will bubble and sputter and the foam will begin to dissipate a bit. Keep a close watch on the butter, as it's easy to burn! It's easy to know when the butter is done: it will be quiet! Just listen for the bubbling and sputtering to be nearly stopped, then it's perfectly browned! The browning process typically takes 10-15 minutes total.

After removing the browned butter from the heat, pour the browned butter into a heatproof bowl. Place the bowl in the refrigerator to help the butter solidify, stirring every 20 minutes or so. The stirring helps the butter to cool evenly and redistributes the browned milk solids throughout the butter. Your goal is to have a "softened butter" texture to use in the recipe. This took about an hour and a half for me.

For Cookies

Line baking sheets with parchment (see note) and set aside.

In a medium bowl, combine the flour and salt. Set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer, combine the butter and sugar. Beat until light and fluffy, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed.

Add egg yolks, caramel extract (see note), and 2 Tablespoons dulce de leche. Mix to combine.

Gradually add the flour/salt mixture and mix until you don't see any more flour. The mixture will be a crumbly and won't have formed a ball, and that's okay. Stopping the mixer when the ingredients are just combined will help keep the cookies tender.

If using cookie stamps: Gently press the dough into a disc. I used a bowl scraper (see note) to help with this, to press the dough together while keeping my hands cleaner and working the dough less. (If making traditional thumbprints, move onto the next step.)

If using cookie stamps: Roll the dough out to about ¼-inch thickness between two sheets of parchment paper. It may seem like a fool's errand in the beginning because the dough is crumbly, but I promise it will come together! If making traditional thumbprints: Portion the dough into 1-Tablespoon size balls (see note) and roll between your palms to make them round. Because the dough is a little crumbly, it may feel like it's not coming together right away. Just keep rolling and it will work! Roll the cookies in sugar, if desired.

If using cookie stamps: Cut out shapes and place on prepared baking sheet at least an inch apart. Chill the dough 30 minutes before baking to help ensure the cookies keep their shape.If making traditional thumbprints: Place the cookies on the prepared baking sheets at least an inch apart. Using a fingertip or thumb, make an indentation in the center of each cookie. Chill the dough 30 minutes before baking to help ensure the cookies keep their shape.

Once the cookies have chilled, preheat your oven to 375° F.Bake the cookies until just barely golden, 7-9 minutes for stamped cookies, or 5-7 minutes for traditional thumbprints. I got 36 stamped cookies/46 thumbprints with this recipe.

Immediately upon pulling from the oven, use a small measuring spoon to press down the centers of the cookies if they rose at all during baking. Cool the cookies on the pan for 10 minutes, then remove to a wire rack to cool completely.

Once cooled, fill each indentation with dulce de leche. I found that warming the dulce the leche made it easier to work with, and I used a small piping bag to pipe the caramel into the center of each cookie. Sprinkle each cookie with flaky sea salt, if desired. I used Vanilla Salt on mine (see note)!

The cookies will keep in an airtight container on your counter for up to a week. The cookies can't be stacked unless you put parchment or wax paper between the layers. If you'd like to freeze the cookies, bake, cool, and then freeze unfilled. Then just thaw and fill.

#cookies #caramel #delicious #food #foodie #foodpics #foodporn #yummy #recipes #recipe

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airandangels · 7 months ago

Text

This past weekend my sister and I needed to fill a beanbag chair, a challenging job neither of us had ever done before and will probably seldom need to do again, but we were learning and solving problems and refining our technique so much the whole time that we felt quite proud of ourselves and a little bit let down that we didn’t have another beanbag to fill expertly with what we now knew.

Since I don’t expect to need to use my new knowledge in the near future, I want to set it down while it’s fresh in my memory, in the hope that it helps someone else.

Read more behind the cut.

What You Will Need:

An empty beanbag chair. I hope you saved the package, which should tell you its approximate capacity. We fortunately hadn’t thrown it out but we didn’t think of this at first, until after we found the bag of beans we had eyeballed as enough didn’t even half fill the damned thing. So if you don’t want to make two trips to Hammerbarn, check the capacity before you go. If you don’t have the package, good luck to you and bear in mind the capacity is almost definitely more than you think.

Beans to fill the bag. These should be available at large hardware stores. You can get recycled polystyrene ones now, so I would recommend those. The ones we bought were called Green Beans. We needed 350 litres. That is correct.

A bath. This acts as a containment field.

Scissors.

A roll of packing tape.

Two safety pins. (You may not need them but read all the instructions to decide.)

Two large paper or plastic cups. Milkshake cups or those big red American party ones would be ideal. We had neither and used smaller paper cups left over from a child’s birthday party. This was our second mistake. Use large ones or it takes bloody ages.

An agile and willing helper. This is a two-person job. Don’t kid yourself.

A vacuum cleaner. For the aftermath.

What To Do:

Gather the above and take them into the bathroom.

Shut the bathroom door. Exclude all spectators, especially little kids and pets. You have got to keep this contained. Make sure the bath is dry and put the plug in.

Cut out the bottoms of both paper cups and discard them.

If it’s like ours, your beanbag will have an outer zipper in its cover, then an inner lining with a second zipper. To make them less scratchy, I suppose, the zippers on ours had been made with no pull tabs. If yours are like this, put a safety pin through each of the zip slider things to make something you can grip and pull. If yours has normal zippers with pull tabs you can put the safety pins away, as you won’t need them. Anyway, open both zippers.

(My sister got this next part from a video tutorial, but we had to work out a lot of refinements on the go.)

Take one cup and put it in the inner opening of the beanbag. The wider, top end of the cup should be sticking out. Zip up the opening to close it up to the cup, then tape it into place. You want a seal so nothing can escape from between cup and bag. The cup will act as a funnel and the tape means you don’t have to constantly hold it in place.

Plunk the beanbag into the bath with the cup sticking up.

Take your big bag of beans (hereafter “the bag,” as opposed to the beanbag) and do not open the top. Handle it carefully because you really don’t want it to spill. From now on you are responsible for this bag and your helper for the beanbag. Put it upside down in the bath, stand in there with it and operate on one of the bottom corners. (If you’re familiar with piping bags and their nozzles, this will make sense to you. If you’re not, trust me.)

Taking care not to let the beans escape, cut off enough of this corner to make a hole into which you can stick the other cup. Do this the other way around, so the cut-out bottom of the cup faces outward. Tape it into place, ensuring there are no gaps between the edge of the bag and the cup.

Do not turn the bag upside down (or back to right side up if you want to be really pedantic about it) now! Ask your helper to lift the beanbag and put that cup onto this one, so they’re stacked, nesting together. Tape the two cups together, again, so that there’s no gap between them. Really check the seaworthiness of your tape job at this point or this could be your last happy moment for a while.

Throughout the next steps your helper needs to be on the lookout for any leaking beans, and if they spot any, stop operations immediately to find and patch the leak. You can’t fluff around with beans.

Lift the bag and turn it over so that it and the beanbag form something approximately sort of a bit like an hourglass. You have to keep holding it up while the beans pour through into the beanbag. You’ll need to jiggle it because static cling will make the beans reluctant to go. Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle, but not so vigorously that you pull the tape off.

You jiggle that bag, and your helper jiggles the beanbag to distribute the beans evenly inside it, until the beanbag is as full as you want it. Lower your bag and carefully cut and peel the tape off the beanbag, then remove the cup from it and zip it up without delay, inside and out.

If you have some beans left in the bag, close and tape up the top of it likewise without delay. If it’s almost empty (due to that static cling, you won’t get it completely empty), you should dispose of it as you think best. You might be able to recycle it where you live but I don’t know. Do not, however, do that right away.

Congratulate each other! That was a tricky job.

Take the zipped-up beanbag out of the bath and put it on the floor and do a test sit. You may choose to add some beans (if you have leftovers) or scoop some out to get it as firm or as soft as you like. Put it back in the bath before you try that!

When you’re satisfied with your beanbag, tidy up, using the vacuum cleaner to get any rogue beans out of the bath. Put everything away and bask in your sense of achievement, and spare a grateful thought for me.

#how to

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unholyhelbig · 2 years ago

Note

PART TWO OF SPIDER!PERSON SOULMATES

[a/n: Thank you all for the response to the first part of this! Here is part two, and depending on demand I may do a third part. Let me know!]

Title: Magnetic

Ship: Kate Bishop x gn!reader

Disclaimer: I did not proofread, if there are mistakes, I'm sorry!

Trigger warnings: mild injuries, horrible parenting, labs [?]

Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts

Read Part One | Join my Taglist!

Summary: Reader is a spider!person from earth-2099 and Kate Bishop is curious about why she's so drawn to them.

There was a trivial feeling to packing a duffel bag that you pilfered from the nearest thrift store. It was resting between a tapestry of crudely drawn frogs and an old vacuum cleaner that was still caked with dirt. It was small and the upholstery was falling apart, but it was enough for the little clothes that you allowed yourself.

If you had a few more weeks here, maybe you would have bought the frog tapestry and hung it up. The walls of your apartment were just as empty as they were two months ago when you painfully slid across the gravel rooftop of the very building you rented in.

You’d dislocated your shoulder and leaned up against the door to push it back into place, trying to swallow back the metallic taste in your mouth. The landlady opened the door and eyed you, her cigarette lit and angry in the dark. Old pink curlers were in her hair, and she blew a puff of smoke into your face.

They’d just had a room open up, and you used what little cash you had to pay the first half of rent for the month. That night you slept curled up on the wooden floor with your sweatshirt under your head. It was the most peaceful sleep that you’d had in months.

Kate and Peter lived across the hall in an equally shitty apartment that was somehow done up nicely and with a certain type of style that every Peter Parker you had met in the past couldn’t pull off. It was just your luck- to find Kate Bishop so soon after you had crash landed.

It infuriated you that there were so many rules along with the lack of rules that dimension hopping possessed.

Don’t interact with other versions of you- which, wasn’t a problem. There was only one you and it was difficult to keep track of that much.

It’s better not to mess with fate. Really- keep to yourself and don’t’ do anything superherolike because you carried a signature, and that was easily trackable. The last thing you wanted to be was trackable.

Don’t fall in love with a different version of your person. This is the one that you broke all the time, without fail.

It’s why you were shoving everything you owned into a bag and lifting up the floorboard in the back corner of your closet to retrieve the pocket watch. It used to be a pocket watch, anyway. Your father had enhanced it and tinkered until a portal tore into the universe and he stepped into it, hoping that it would work.

It did. From there he changed that pocket watch to something wearable, something that you could alter on your wrist. When you stole the original watch, you used to it jump to Earth 267, only for a moment, to disable the tracker before you hopped three more earths and found someplace to sleep, and cry, and think.

You squeezed the cold metal, breathing in. There wasn’t time to linger. You shoved the golden watch into your pocket, slung the duffel bag over your shoulder, and opened the door to the hallway. The green overhead lights tinted everything in a dingy blue, the carpet in the corridor smelled of mildew. You’d left the brass key and an apology note on the empty kitchen counter, which wasn’t your style, but also a hell of a lot nicer than the other tenants that occupied the space.

A small breath escaped you as you stared at Kate and Peter’s door. Part of you expected one of them to burst through it, but everything was silent, save for the methodic drip from the water pipe in the stairwell.

Two weeks ago, Kate had stolen you from the elevator the second the rickety doors screeched open. You were carrying a well-done steak that was left to congeal with mashed potatoes and gravy after a patron took a single bite. You’d wrapped it in tin foil, your body aching.

You were ready to crash on the single bed pushed against the back wall of your apartment, entirely content on scarfing down cold food and reading another chapter of a pulp horror book you’d thrifted along with a lamp without a shade.

“Y/n, you have to help me.” Fear and questioning must have flashed across your face, because Kate squeezed your arm and a warmth flooded your stomach. “There’s this massive spider in the shower, and Old Woman Harbor told me to shove it.”

“It can’t be that big.”

She deadpanned “It has its own zip code. Please, I’m begging you.”

“Where’s Peter?”

You asked the question even as you resigned to your fate and let her grasp your hand, tugging you towards her apartment. It was decorated much nicer than yours, seeing as it had furniture, and smelled thickly of cinnamon. There was a comfort that radiated from the space- it was lived in, it was personalized.

“Pete? Please, he’s more afraid of spiders than I am.” Kate turned to you, watched as your eyes flitted around the room, taking in the art, and the books, and the records. “Rescue me, fair warrior, for I am at the mercy of an eight-legged creature from darkness.”

You had scooped the spider onto a piece of paper, using a mug that was holding discarded pens and keys that led to nowhere. It was a big spider and you tried to ignore the way it blinked at you as you slid open the window and gently set it on the damp fire-escape.

The door that you stared at now didn’t open to that familiar comfort, or that deep cinnamon scent. You pulled your hood over your head and pushed into the stairwell. Instead of going down, towards the street, you went up to the place where it all started.

The pocket watch that weighed down your clothes packed a punch. There was an electromagnetic pull, everything would raise into the air and then come crashing down. Better some gravel than the shitty furniture you had acquired.

A light drizzle cool your cheeks, the lights from buildings around you were blinking on and off with activity. There wasn’t a moment in this city where it wasn’t raining. You couldn’t tell if it was the earth, or the season. Either way, you looked up for a few, long moments, letting the drops soak your collar.

Lightening flashed, shading the limestone of the building, your breath as it pushed through the air. There had been dozens of universes, each one different than the last. But the tugging, the importance of this one, lingered against your skin. No rain could wash it away. No amount of swallowing your pride could make any of this feel right.

You clenched your eyes shut and fought back emotions that clung to you. This was better for everyone. It was better to leave- because the one moment that you had let yourself be you was enough for your father to pick up on a signal. He’d rip through the city if you stayed. Rip through Gary, and Peter, and Benny, and Kate.

“You were just going to leave, then?”

Kate.

She was silhouetted by the dim light of the stairway, but only for a moment. The door fell closed behind her and suddenly, the two of you were alone on the rooftop. Even in the darkness of the night, you could see the anger written across her face. It wasn’t quite disgust. Not yet.

Her words rumbled over the rain. “You’re a coward.”

“I’m not going to fight with you. Not again.”

You set the duffel bag down and turned to her, took a few steps away from the edge of the building. There was a good distance between you. Water had matted her hair down and dripped from the point of her nose and slope of her chin. There was hurt in her eyes.

“You’ve never fought with me.”

“I’ve seen how this plays out.”

“With all the other Kate’s!” she raised her voice, gesturing angrily. “Dozens of them, from what I figure. You appear in their lives, and then leave and how do you think that makes them feel? How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I’d rather you be in pain than dead. Do you not understand? I’m fated to be with you, but you’re also fated to perish in every single universe where we cross paths. I’ve mapped them, I’ve… I’ve lived them and I may be a coward but better a coward than the cause of your demise.”

You had closed the gap between you. She was taller by a few inches; the furrow of her brow was prominent. Your bones itched to pull her close, to ignore the rain, and the cold, and feeling of defeat in favor of her body against yours, if only for a moment.

She whispered. “Eventually, you’re going to run out of worlds. Don’t you think it’s worth it to fight for the one you’re in right now? To fight for me?”

Pain ripped through you and you gave in to the cold of the rain that soaked into your clothes. You had resigned yourself not to cry in front of Kate Bishop. But water was dripping down your face and you could hardly muffle the sob that pushed through your throat.

“All I’ve ever wanted to do,” Your voice cracked, “was fight for you, Katie.”

The archer had softened, her head lilting to the side for only a moment before her angry exterior dissolved and her hands were on both of your cheeks, applying gentle pressure. Her eyes were red, strands of black hair adhered to her forehead.

She finally said, “Tell me. Tell me what happened.”

You ended up in her living room in front of one of the original fireplaces. The brick supported the building, and that was the only reason they hadn’t been repurposed into something cheaper. Old Woman Harbor didn’t’ pay for central heating, or air, but the brick hearths made up for it. You had lit your own once, reading by the warm glow.

Kate had supplied you with sweatpants and a T-shirt that smelled like lemon, like rosemary with a hint of detergent. She’d draped a blanket over your shoulders and handed you a cup of mint tea despite your protests. You both sat cross-legged, parallel to one another, knees barely touching.

Your duffel bag was by the door, dripping water onto the floor. You’d slid the watch from your sweatshirt and into the pocket of the pants you were provided with. Your nose was still red, cheeks pink from the steam of mug you held under your chin.

“I thought I answered all of your questions.”

“Don’t get defensive.” Kate pulled her knees to her chest, rested her chin against them. “I need you to tell me why your father is after you, why he’s so hellbent on making sure you don’t exist anymore.”

You took a scalding gulp of tea, mint filling your lungs. It burned, made your eyes pinch with water, but it was a better pain than remembering something you had tried so hard to forget. Your instinct was to run away from this Kate. But she was so, so much like yours- the one you had lost and yearned for.

She watched you quietly, taking in your movements and your procrastination. There was no pushing, not anything past the initial question. The warmth from the fire was beginning to settle into your bones.

“My father is a geneticist. He spent his entire life trying to splice the DNA of different things with humans, and his partner, Lyla- she specialized in interdimensional travel. They were funded by Alchemex, given free reign of the labs and unlimited funding.” You swallowed the artificial sweetener taste on your tongue. “Everyone thought they were capable of wonderful things.”

Kate’s voice was barely a whisper. “What changed?”

“My father became obsessed with creating the perfect creation. He started taking DNA from bats and splicing it with monkeys. Wolves and hamsters, fish and lizards- you name it and he tried to achieve it. He was getting to the point where he wanted to splice human DNA with something more. Lyla was the only one who could reign him in, not even my own mother could get through to him.

“Christmas Eve, Lyla was staying late at the lab, and her technology faltered. It was an interdimensional travel device that was stronger than a pocket watch they toyed around with in college. Either way, something went wrong, wires got crossed and suddenly, Lyla was gone.”

“Into a different dimension?”

Your eyes were damp, clouded with emotion. You shook your head and when you curled into the cup in front of you, a tear escaped, landing on the soft fabric of the blanket. You were quick to wipe it away, to steel yourself.

“My father can still talk to her. I don’t know how, I was never the science kid, you know? Music was my thing. I was a prodigy, even. Miguel, my brother, he was the one that followed in my father’s footsteps. The one who gained his respect.”

You hugged the blanket closer to you, shuddered into it. Kate flinched as if she wanted to move and comfort you, say something to ease your worries. But you both stayed where you were.

“A year after Lyla, I came home from college for the holidays. It was Christmas Eve, and though my mom begged my father to stay home for the day, he went into the office. I was sent to Alchemex to get him.” You laughed wetly, using the back of your hand to wipe away moisture “Which was stupid. He didn’t like me. He barely tolerated me.”

This time Kate did reach out, her fingers were like an electric current as they touched your knee. You flinched, then settled into the familiarity of her grip. You placed your hand on top of hers, constricted your fingers around hers. It was holding you in place.

“The man that I saw that night was not my father. I knew that we had our issues, our lack of connection, but there was this cold, detached look in his eyes. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even blink.” You whispered the next part, not finding the words. “One minute he was there, the lab was there, I was there and the next everything was black, there was this horrible pain in my temple.”

“He knocked you out?” Kate asked.

“Yeah, he did. A hell of a lot of force too. When I woke up, I couldn’t collect my thoughts, not all the way. The only thing that I could think about was my mother and how she had worked so hard on dinner and how it was getting cold. Which is so, so stupid, right? Worrying about the quality of mashed potatoes when my own father had me strapped to a lab table.”

You frowned, trying to remember. This part of your story was ebbed in pain. You were in and out of lucidity. There were lights that fuzzed at the edges and a surgical mask over your fathers face. He didn’t talk, but you pleaded. As much as you could, but knew it was worthless.

“He was ready to take his experiments to the next step. He wanted to try to morph DNA with a human and I was… I was there. I was convenient for him.”

Kate’s voice was soft, weak. “Jesus Christ,”

“When he wasn’t in his lab, he was traveling, searching the world for animals and insects that would aide him when he did finally perfect his craft. One of the spiders he brought back from his travels was the Evarcha Culcivora. The vampire spider.”

She blinked at you, clenching her jaw “The what?”

You laughed, some joy returning to your words. “Yeah, cute little thing, actually. It’s a jumping spider, and got it’s name because of it’s taste for blood. It doesn’t bite humans, though. Just mosquitos.”

“And that’s what he chose to…?”

“Mm, and it worked too. The pain was blinding, nearly unbearable. It felt like a million hornets had been shaken up in a glass and then pumped into my veins. Through all of it, I had broken free of the table, had enough strength to get away from him. I did the cowardly thing and I ran.”

“Coward? Y/n, he altered the DNA of his own child. There is a difference between being a coward and being alive.”

“I felt like a coward, and I suppose the habit stuck.” You shook your head, trying to clear the jumbled memory of pain and fear. “I… I couldn’t get my thoughts together. I blindly grabbed at his inventions. The only thing I could remember was you. The you in Nueva York. There was a ring on my finger, and when I looked at it, I knew where to go.”

Kate swallowed hard, closed her eyes for a long moment. When they opened, they were stormy, saturated in despair, and longing. You couldn’t read the other emotion, her thumb moving over your knuckles.

“It’s the biggest mistake of my life. Leading him there.”

“He killed her.”

“Shot her twice in the stomach.” Your throat tightened. The collar of the sweatshirt Kate leant you was damp with tears. “Whatever sanity he had left was gone the moment he pulled that trigger. So, I pulled the one on the pocket watch. I let it take me wherever it wanted to.”

The silence lingered between you both, wood cracking as fire ate its way to the core. You took another gulp of your tea, it was cold now, coating the back of your throat with a fresh flavor. Kate had pulled her hand back into her own lab, stared at them for a long moment.

“Running is the only thing I’m good at.” You broke the silence. “I carry this… signature. Each time I use the watch, or do anything that’s remotely spider-like it pings on my father’s radar. He’s torn whole universes apart looking for me. Looking for one of his only successful fusions.”

“So, the other night, when you swooped in and helped Peter and I?”

“He knows. So, logically, it would make sense for me to go back up to the rooftop and get to the next universe.”

“And illogically?” Kate asked, raising both of her eyebrows. “What’s that option?”

“Kate,” You warned “There is no other option. I’m not strong enough to fight him. What he did to me, it gave me increased speed, and agility, and strength. Fuck, it even gave me fangs. But he’s too powerful.”

She groaned dramatically “Do you always have to do everything by yourself? Y/n, you’re not alone here. You have me, and Peter.”

“While I appreciate that, Katie, I don’t think it’ll be enough.”

“Okay!” She sighed, lowering her voice “Okay. Then I’ll call Clint and he’ll call the rest of the Avengers.”

You frowned and took a long gulp of your lukewarm tea. The mint made your throat tingle, your fingers twitching around the mug. The Avengers. You’d met all of them individually, in between universes where they fought their own battles- aliens from different worlds, and creatures that rise from ash.

“Clint,” You whispered, eyes finding Kate’s soft grey ones “What is he to you here?”

“My… my mentor. I wouldn’t say we’re best friends, but I mean, I think I’m wearing him down.”

You laughed; the sound filled the room like a crackling fire. Kate gave you a proud smile that reminded you of a parent watching their kid walk for the first time or accept an award on stage. It was endearing and made your heart hum with longing.

“Good, good. I’m glad.” Again, you looked down at the muted brown liquid in your cup. “Katie, while that is incredibly noble of you, I have a feeling that the Avengers have bigger threats then my world hopping.”

“You won’t know unless you ask. And don’t give me that bullshit about getting turned down in different universes because this is my universe and if you haven’t noticed, I’m extremely charming and persistent.”

“I’ve noticed,”

Kate swallowed hard and took her hand from your knee. You fought a complaint about the lack of warmth, of comfort, but her palm was quickly against your cheek. She smelled like rain, damp and silent. Kate’s thumb moved soothingly, tracing the contours of your face.

“I know what it’s like to want to run, y/n.” her voice was a choked whisper “But just this once, please, stay. We can figure this out.”

“Kate,”

“Seeing you up on the roof, with that pocket watch, knowing that you could vanish into another universe in the matter of seconds and I’d never… I’d never see you again, it scared me. I don’t scare easily.”

You sighed, closing your eyes, clenching them so hard that you could see stars. When you opened them, she stared right back, so resolute and solid and touching your face. You had tried so hard to keep away from every single Kate Bishop you came across, for her safety. You hadn’t felt her hand since a ring weighed it down.

Every part of you wanted to give in and let her hold you, let her comfort you and make everything okay. Her words made you believe they might be.

“Forty-eight hours.” Kate begged “Give me 48 hours to fix this, and take you out on a proper date.”

There was apprehension in your voice, and in your stare. Kate would move earths for you, that was clear by her expression, her contemplation. “Okay, Katie. 48 hours.”

Taglist 💜: @lovelyy-moonlight

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x you #Kate Bishop x y/n #Hawkeye #Hawkeye fanfiction #Marvel #Marvel Comics #marvel cinematic universe #kate Bishop fluff #request #soulmate au #spiderverse #earth 2099

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kingkatsuki · 7 months ago

Note

So how does jabber get the cleaners all riled up about you and your night time proclivities. I know he’d prefer to do it in person but I can’t get the idea of him sending a video of you bouncing on his cock, to enjin, and you having to deal with the fact that a man you see as a big brother and mentor has seen everything of you.

Tw: noncon, drugging.

I have such a vivid picture of him giggling and kicking his feet after personally sending an old VHS tape to the cleaners compound that’s stuffed into a brown paper bag and has absolutely no information on it a few weeks later.

And you’re back with them all but you haven’t mentioned a word of it to anyone, especially Enjin. Even when Riyou asks what the fresh marks are on your neck, or the way you have a slight limp when you walk from how hard Jabber fucked into your unconscious body. The poison flowing through your veins gifted him the opportunity to be a little meaner, and of course he indulged.

So Corvus holds up the tape and he’s certain that it’s important, so he tells Semiu to gather everyone in the main lounge area so you can all watch together and see if you can find out any information. The kids are all asleep, so he tells her not to bother waking them and it ends up with you squished onto the couch between Tamsy and Enjin as August presses play, and then suddenly you see it on the television. The video quality is horrible; definitely shot on one of those old school camcorders that were big in the 80s, and Jabber’s camera angles suck as it keeps panning to the garish wallpaper that was plastered over the dingy motel— but you recognise it instantly.

“Did someone send a porno?” Enjin laughs, spreading his thighs as he leans back into the couch, slinging an arm over the back of it just above your shoulders.

“Why would anyone do that?” Griss raises a brow as he leans forward slightly to try and decipher what’s going on.

And before you can tell Corvus to switch it off, to stop the tape you feel Enjin stiffen beside him when your face comes into view. It’s evident you’re passed out, barely able to make out the whites of your eyes as you slip out of consciousness as Jabber fucks into your pliant body. Talking all kinds of filth, despite the fact you couldn’t hear it that day, it’s definitely all for show— the theatrics of everything. He knows you would’ve refused if he’d tried to record you conscious, like you had many times before. Once catching him when he tried to sneak a photograph of you bent over in a dirty dive bar bathroom in town.

But this— this was calculated.

You expect Corvus to switch it off to save your dignity, but even he seems frozen in place as your friends continue to watch in horror as Jabber fucks you on screen.

Enjin is stiff beside you, and you can just about make out the way his jaw locks out of the corner of your eye as his tattooed hands ball into tight fists, blunt nails piecing his skin as he can’t take his eyes off you.

And he feels sick with the way his body reacts to it, his cock swells to half-mast beneath his baggy pants as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each rough thrust. Your head lolled to the side as he maps out the curve of your neck, trying to stop himself from rutting his hips when Jabber pans the video lower so he can see where your bodies are connected. Even on the grainy film he can make out the curve of your hips and how pretty your mound looks from this position.

He’s just as sick and depraved as Jabber, practically getting off on this as he feels bile rise in his throat.

But somehow you’re still worse— feeling your clit throb beneath your panties as you sit in a room full of people watching you get used by the enemy. The thought alone has your cunt gushing around nothing, but the fact that you now get to see what Jabber saw when he was using you like that has you feeling warm.

Semiu eventually stops the tape, the entire room silent as they try to process what the fuck happened. Tamsy, sweet Tamsy, pipes up that you must’ve been coerced or kidnapped because you weren’t conscious in that video— and perhaps you yourself don’t remember it at all.

It’s then Enjin catches everyone by surprise by bolting upright and fleeing the room, slamming the door on his way out as you try to decide whether to follow him or not.

“It’s probably harder on him than most,” Follo gives you a sympathetic look, “You’re like a little sister to him.”

But little do you know Enjin is trying to stop himself from fisting his cock in his room after seeing you like that. And he’s disgusted at how much he wishes that it was him on that video, and not Jabber.

#tw:noncon #trigger:noncon #Enjin thirst #Jabber thirst #Gachiakuta thirst #jo thirsts #thirst posts

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slaughtervoid · 2 years ago

Text

HOW TO MAKE MACARONS

you’ll start by preparing your equipment.

PART ONE: SETTING UP.

get out your metal bowl. get out your mixer, your whipping attachment, your spatula, all those little cute prep bowls you got for mise en place and never used. your kitchen scale, your baking sheets, your silicone mats, your piping bag and tip.

here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to make them forget. every fat that has ever touched them, you’ll wipe away. of course, they’re clean, but this is the trick- they can be cleaner. using white vinegar and a rag or paper towel, give the surface of all your implements a quick wipe. a common pitfall avoided, simple as that.

don’t you wish you knew how to do that for yourself? don’t you wish it was that simple? i wish it was that simple.

PART TWO: MEASURING.

your kitchen scale is your best friend! it’s so much easier to be precise with a friend like this. certainly, you can succeed with volume measurement, but don’t you want to be careful?

here is what you need-

one hundred five grams of almond flour. one hundred five grams of powdered sugar. one hundred grams egg white. one hundred grams granulated sugar. if you have difficulty with dependably whipping egg whites to stiff peaks, one fourth teaspoon cream of tartar.

for this recipe, i’ll be making lavender macarons. isn’t that nice? my mother is allergic. to follow along, measure out one tablespoon of culinary grade lavender.

now we turn to our secret helper, the food processor. for a macaron of the right texture, you’ll want the finest ground almond flour you can get, but it’s so hard to find the fineness you truly need. the easiest solution is to toss that almond flour into a food processor for a minute, and then it will be as fine as you need it to be.

add the powdered sugar to the food processor, too, why don’t you, and get them mixed together while you’re at it. if you’re using lavender, pulse that lavender to a fine dust in a spice grinder or separate in the food processor, then add that to the mix as well.

when i was younger, my best friend lived down the road. we loved each other so much. i’ve met him again now that i’m older. terribly allergic to nuts, now, developed suddenly. i missed him so much. i still miss him. i always will.

sift the almond flour, powdered sugar and lavender mixture through a fine mesh to remove any large fragments. discard the chaff. set aside.

PART THREE: PREPARING THE BATTER.

the technique used in this recipe is called a swiss meringue. it can be used in all kinds of applications, and it’s a handy technique to learn. my mother taught me to cook and to bake; not professionally, just at a basic level. she taught myself and my sister so well that we both had fractions mastered before beginning school! i wish she had taught me more. i wish she had never sent me to school. i wish i had never grown up. to start, add about an inch of water to a small saucepan and bring it to just a simmer on your stovetop.

put your egg whites and granulated sugar into a clean glass or metal bowl, one that rests nicely on the small saucepan without touching the water below. if it suits well and won’t touch the water, you can use the bowl from your stand mixer. as soon as you set it on the pan, start whisking, and don’t stop! your goal is simply for the sugar to dissolve. you can check this by touching the mixture with your fingertips and rubbing them together- do you still feel grains of sugar? i always hate this step. i hate the stickiness of the syrup and the perceived uncleanliness of the raw egg. it makes my skin crawl to touch it, and i keep a towel nearby to wipe my fingers on as soon as i can.

once your sugar is dissolved, you’ll pour the mixture into the bowl of your stand mixer and begin to whip the egg whites. start by mixing on low for half a minute or so; then, if desired, add your cream of tartar, and increase to medium for a minute or two. once it’s white and beginning to promise fluffiness, raise to medium-high or high and whisk until stiff peaks are formed. the best way to know is to watch. the whites will become glossy, the whisk will form streaks. some advise that the middle of the whisk will seem to start to fill. go slowly, at first- it hurts nothing to stop and check every so often. once you’ve done it a few times, you’ll just be able to tell, kind of, when you’re getting there.

i was never good at understanding that, the idea that “you’ll just know”. how could i know unless i knew the signs? how obvious should the change be? will it come to me easily, or will i be left behind?

the ideal stiff peak, when you lift your whisk from the whites, will shoot straight up, possibly with a slight bend to the tip.

remember those dry ingredients we sifted together earlier? now you’ll sift through that fine mesh again, this time directly into the whipped whites. you can do this in your mixer bowl or a different bowl, whichever works best for you. some people find it easiest to add their dry ingredients in two or three batches, mixing in between; i add mine all at once, and it seems to work fine.

to start, you’ll fold your dry ingredients into the egg whites. using a J-shaped gesture, bring your spatula slowly through the center and turn, then turn your bowl (as much as ninety degrees, as little as twenty- up to you!) and repeat. once everything is evenly incorporated, it’s time for the macaronage.

for me, this is the most effort that goes into making macarons. my arm aches by the time i’m done. don’t worry, it’s unlikely yours will! it’s also the step i love most, because it’s home to a display of unusual tenderness.

i work slowly. i work very slowly, in fact, intentionally, a sort of moving meditation that pains me somewhat to perform.

to macaronage, you will very gently and slowly press the batter up against the side of the bowl in deliberate strokes, turning the bowl as you work, so that once you’ve completed a rotation you’ve formed a flower pattern, each petal the width of your spatula. after each macaronage repetition, tenderly gather all of your batter back to the center of the bowl and start anew.

slowly, so slowly, your batter will become looser and looser, shinier and sleeker. it will fall from the spatula in flowing ribbons. when pulled up the side of the bowl, it will relax faster each time, easing back down more quickly. test often; don’t overmix! when your batter is ready, you’ll let the batter fall from your spatula in a smooth stream, leisurely and without interruption, effortless, forming several figure eights before it breaks.

it’s like a massage. i wish someone would macaronage me. i wish someone would treat me with tenderness and care.

pour your batter into a piping bag fitted with a half-inch round tip.

PART FOUR: PIPING.

you may use templates to pipe your macarons, or you may freehand them. i’ve tried both and i’m never happy. i’m never happy with anything. to pipe, place your piping bag ninety degrees half an inch or so over the center of the template and softly squeeze for about three to five seconds, then release and swiftly pull the bag up with a slight twist. it takes time to master this! your just-piped macaron shell should be well within the borders of the template if you intend for the finished product to be the size of the marked circle.

once you’ve piped as many as will be on the tray, set your piping bag aside and firmly bang the trays against the counter, a few times each. you’ll notice your macarons expand to fill the circles.

here is what i always forget: now you’ll walk away. by this time, typically i’ll be thinking i should preheat the oven, but it’s unnecessary. you have to wait. you have to be good. you have to be patient. set the trays aside. depending on the humidity, you’ll need to let them sit anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour.

i don’t know what to do with myself in this time. i should, by now. i should be able to fill time, i should remember how the recipe goes, but i’m always startled and dismayed to remember my distraction comes with a built-in lull. sometimes i work on other things, like a filling. sometimes i just sit. sometimes i just sit and think. sometimes i sit and think about things i shouldn’t. sometimes i think about things i shouldn’t.

when your macarons are ready, they’ll have a “skin” of sorts. when you gingerly touch the top of one, it should feel dry and not at all tacky. at this point, preheat your oven to 300º F.

PART FIVE: BAKING.

it may take slight trial and error to find the exact perfect cooking time for your oven. mine takes thirteen minutes; yours may take ten, or fifteen. if you try to move a macaron, it should feel neither jiggly nor crisp, merely stand firm, if delicate. a well-baked macaron will separate satisfyingly easily from silicone or parchment once cooled. i am not like a well-baked macaron as far as separation goes.

let your macaron shells cool fully before proceeding with any filling. they’ll keep for a few days in airtight containers at room temperature, longer in the fridge, and wonderfully for months in the freezer.

PART SIX: FILLING.

fillings are the difficult part for me.

you’d think, certainly, that the strenuously detailed work of the macaron shells would be the thing, but it’s not. i’m nearly always successful in the difficult work of preparing delicate, demanding shells, and then when i make ganache i have a breakdown.

maybe i’m just tired, by that point. i’m tired now. i’m tired all the time.

today, i’m making white chocolate and lavender ganache to go with my lavender shells.

you will need two hundred fifty grams of white chocolate (very nice white chocolate, not cheap stuff), two tablespoons of lavender, and ninety milliliters of heavy cream.

i have made this filling far more times than the lavender shells to accompany. it seems like every time i try, the chocolate curdles, or i add food coloring badly and it turns an unsightly brownish gray, or i oversteep the lavender and make it bitter. why is this the part where i stumble? why do i fail at the easiest parts? why am i better at something demanding and unforgiving than the part that should be simple?

add the heavy cream and lavender to a pot, and heat to just barely a simmer. let it sit for a minute, but not too long. pour the heavy cream through a strainer into the chocolate, and let sit for two to five minutes. with a whisk, gently stir the mixture until smooth. if the chocolate isn’t quite melted, microwave for ten seconds at a time, mixing in between, until the ganache is fully smooth.

set aside to cool. it should be ready in about an hour.

why do i make macarons? why is this the work i can do? why does it make me feel like i want to cry, but never actually make me cry? why can’t i cry?

pipe your ganache onto one shell, top with another, and you’re done! i like to use a fluted piping tip- it’s an easy way to make them look fancy. macarons are actually at their best in texture and flavor when they’ve sat in the fridge for a day or so. with age comes beauty!

the finished macarons are always beautiful, delicious, and technically impressive. i never feel like i’ve actually done something worthy of praise. there’s a hollowness in me that swallows up compliments and makes them disappear. i am lonely and looking for something in my kitchen. i don’t know what it is. i dream about being in the kitchen, barefoot, cracking eggs and letting yolks fall to the floor. our chickens have nearly stopped laying. what will i do when they die? when i fail them, and they die? i’ll have to buy my eggs at the store. i’ll have to go out to the store, with all the strangers around me, and grab my carton from the big cold hollow fridge in the big cold hollow store filled with people i don’t know. all looking at me. all knowing what is wrong with me. all knowing about the big cold hollow thing in me. they know that i’m not taking very good care of the chickens. they know that i’m too tired to clean as much as i should.

the best thing about macarons is that they freeze great and thaw quickly. my favorite way to store and serve macarons is to keep them in the freezer and put out what i’ll serve on the counter about a half an hour to an hour before they’ll be served.

i don’t like to go out and have those strangers look at me. i like to stay at home, in my kitchen, making macarons. i like to whip my egg whites to perfect, shiny peaks. i like to be barefoot on my kitchen floor, which is clean, mostly, or in my yard, on the grass, the plush grass, and i cannot be barefoot in the store.

i wish i could always stay at home. i wish i could just make macarons. i wish that was all i had to do, all day forever. i wish i was still learning to bake with my mother. i wish somebody would teach me to bake again. i wish i could stop.

#mine

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