#NOT A SINGLE THOUGHT BEHIND THAT ONE RUBBER BOY'S EYES.

[isa-musa-sen-bizi-kutsa]

IM GONNA COMBUST

punk idiot, rubbery idiot, emo idiot and their first mates

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Summary: A baby shower has you reuniting with Eddie (and Harris). Unbeknownst to Eddie, it's right when he'll need you most--but is he ready to forgive?

Warnings: mention of pregnancy, small allusion to sex, mentions of Grandma Sweetheart's death, mentions of learning disability

WC: 7.4k

Chapter 11/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Mid-January in Hawkins is cold, with temperatures in the mid-30s, but a bundled-up Harris Munson is unfazed. Eddie happily watches as his son practically flies across the empty playground and heads straight for the swingset. In the warmer weather, it’s a coveted spot amongst the kids and usually ends in a battle, but the chill in the air means that Harris doesn’t have to fight for a turn. 

“Daddy! Uncle Jeff!” he calls out, voice muffled by the blue scarf securely wrapped around the lower half of his face, “come push me!”

Jeff laughs with a shake of his head as he and Eddie trudge across the frost-covered grass. “You heard the man.”

“Ready to have a little gremlin of your own?” Eddie teases, hoisting Harris onto the swing, making sure his bottom is squared on the rubber surface. He catches a glimpse of the baby swing to his right, and his heart pangs at the memory of Harris being tiny enough to fit in there. “Lemme tell ya, it goes by quick. The days are long but the years are short.”

Jeff just gives a little nod, and Eddie can tell that he doesn’t quite believe him. “I’m serious, man. And all that stuff they say about not knowing what love is until you have kids? Man, I thought that was the biggest crock of shit. Like, of course I know what love is! I love my music, my uncle, even you guys,” he adds with a gleam in his eyes, referring to his former bandmates. “And then Harris was born, and I was like, ‘holy shit, this is what it means to love someone.’” He positions himself behind the swing, giving Harris another big push before stepping aside to let Jeff have a turn. 

Jeff looks at him incredulously. Eddie Munson is no stranger to a good rant, but never one this vulnerable. He’s speechless for a moment before clearing his throat. “Th-Thanks, Ed,” he manages, offering the white paper bag he’d picked up on the way to the playground. “Y’still like peanut butter creme donuts, right?”

“Hell yes!” Eddie cheers, pumping his fist in excitement. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the chocolate frosted confection, taking a huge bite triumphantly. “‘M tellin’ ya: Em and Abi’s Gourmet Donuts is the best thing about this town,” he exclaims with a mouthful of peanutty filling. 

“Really?” Jeff chuckles, taking a honeycomb donut from the bag. “Better than a certain preschool teacher you may or may not be infatuated with?”

A blush creeps into Eddie’s cheeks, and he hopes he can pass it off as a reaction to the winter winds. “Not in front of…” he trails off, jerking his head in the direction of his son. 

“Got it, got it,” Jeff smoothly agrees, but he still presses the topic in a roundabout way. “But, uh, any luck with that?”

“Nope,” Eddie cuts him off. “I’ve just been giving her space like you said, but she hasn’t reached out or asked about tutoring again.” He shrugs as though it doesn’t bother him, but both he and Jeff know that that can’t be further from the truth. 

Jeff gives Harris a big push, smiling when he hears the boy’s giggle. “You haven’t called or anything?” he asks. 

“Once, after I saw her during drop-off.” Eddie admits, twisting the ring on his pinky finger. “Left a message but she never called back.”

He plays it back in his head, a constant loop that he’d practically memorized before relaying it to your answering machine. As much as he wanted to resolve everything sooner rather than later, he was embarrassingly relieved when he’d heard your outgoing message. Still, the sweetness of your recorded voice was honeyed tea on a dreary day, and he didn’t anticipate his breath to hitch when it played. 

“H-Hey, Sweetheart. Shit, can I call you that? Um, anyway, give me a call when you can. I think we should talk.”

The two men take turns pushing Harris and chasing him around the playground. At one point, Harris makes his way to the pole, painted school bus yellow. He reaches out with two chubby hands, but his feet stay grounded on the platform. “‘M scared,” he whimpers, still clinging to the pole. 

“You got this, Mini Munson!” Jeff cheers, frowning when Harris remains in place. “Tell ya what: if you slide down the pole, I’ll make your dad do it, too.” He grins mischievously, and Eddie would discreetly flip him the bird if he didn’t have a better alternative. 

“Yeah, bud, and then Uncle Jeff will go after me.” He mouths a silent ha at his friend, but neither seem to mind. 

And after a few seconds of deliberation, Harris flings his body forward and slowly makes his way down, hands squeaking along the metal.

“I did it!” he announces triumphantly, turning to Eddie. “Your turn, Daddy!”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, but a smile dances on his lips. He darts up the jungle gym steps and hangs onto the pole. He could simply put his feet down and touch the ground, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, he lets out a high-pitched, “wheeeee!” as Harris cackles loudly. 

He claps Jeff on the back once his shoes touch the rubber turf. “You’re up, big boy.”

Jeff follows suit, mimicking Eddie and making Harris laugh even harder. 

“Uncle Jeff, you’re so silly!” he exclaims, using hands and feet to clamber back up to the top and slide down the pole; this time, there’s no hesitation. 

Harris repeats the routine again and again until Eddie catches a glimpse of the digital watch around his wrist. “We gotta leave in five minutes, Har Bear,” he reports matter-of-factly, hoping his lack of emotion will ward off any impending tantrums. 

Harris’s lower lip juts out as his pupils dart back and forth between Eddie and Jeff. “Aw, why?”

Eddie crouches down to match his son’s height, pressing palms to his knees for stability. “We’re gonna help Uncle Jeff pack up the presents from the baby shower, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He pauses, pursing his lips in concentration. “How did the baby get in Auntie Viv’s tummy?”

Jeff’s eyes widen at the question, and he glances at Eddie, silently willing him to say something. Eddie clears his throat, wracking his brain for a response that will placate his son’s curiosity without giving away too much information. “Um, well,” he begins, biting the inside of his cheek to buy himself more time before settling on: “when a man and a woman love each other, that love can make a baby.”

Fortunately, Harris seems satisfied with that answer, and Jeff hands him a chocolate donut to distract him from asking anything else. The boy plunks down in the grass a few paces ahead of them and takes a big bite.

“How is it?” Jeff calls to him, chuckling when Harris responds with a chocolate crumb-covered thumbs up and turns his attention back to the dessert. “Nice save,” he says to Eddie, clapping a hand on his shoulder and giving him a little shake. “But what are you gonna say when he asks about his mom?”

“Jesus H; he’s gonna have to give me a few years to come up with an answer for that one.”

Despite every cell in your body urging you to stay away, you’re back in Hawkins. More specifically, you’re in Viv and Jess’s parents’ house, cleaning up after an overall successful baby shower. You’re spooning the leftover food into Tupperware while Jess washes dishes and her girlfriend, Robin, dries and puts them in their respective cabinets.

You’d returned to Grandma’s apartment last night after Jess begged you to come to the shower, lamenting that the party was going to be all of her sister’s lame friends and she needed someone actually fun to hang out with her and Robin. Her insistence, coupled with your desire to finish out the remainder of the school year, is why you’d tossed your suitcases into your sedan and made the trek. Yup, those were the only reasons; certainly nothing to do with–

“Have you talked to Eddie since you got back?”

His name alone brings a surge of emotions, none of which you have the energy to identify. “No,” you mumble, a heat blooming in your cheeks, “he left a message a week ago saying ‘we should talk,’ but I didn’t return it.”

Jess snaps off the faucet, hands still dripping with soapy water as she places them on her hips with an exasperated sigh. “What? Why not?”

“Because.” You try to leave it at that, but her defiant glare obligates you to elaborate. “Because I’m embarrassed!” you admit to Jess and Robin–and to yourself. “The guy practically chased me down the night we met, and now that he got to know me, he doesn’t want to sleep with me? Is my personality that much of a turn-off?” You snap the lid on a plastic container, desperate to end the conversation with your rhetorical question, but your friend keeps going.

“Look, I don’t know him that well–only what I’ve heard from you and Jeff–but he seems to really care about you. Jeff says he hasn’t seen Eddie down this bad, like, ever.” She lowers her voice. “Apparently, some old hookup was coming onto him, and he turned her down because he's, quote, involved with someone.” She raises her eyebrows inquisitively, though you both know that the someone in question is you.

“Wait, hold on–Eddie Munson?” Robin breaks in, nearly dropping the serving spoon in her hand when she makes the connection. “Metalhead, senior year three-peat, alleged Satan-worshiper Eddie Munson?”

“Well, the jury’s out on whether I worship Satan or I actually am Satan, but, yep, that’s me.” The familiar voice from the kitchen doorway startles the three of you; this time, Robin does let the oversized utensil fall to the floor with a clang. 

Nerves send your heartbeat into a frenzy, and you have to rest your open palm on the countertop to steady yourself. Eddie stands before you, tip of his nose tinged red from the cold, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Wh-What are you doing here?” You whisper the words, but you might as well be shouting with the level of anxiety steadily rising in your chest.

Eddie rocks back and forth from the soles of his feet to his toes. “Jeff asked us to help him load the gifts into the car.”

“Us?”

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris flings himself into your embrace, and as soon as you stoop down to reciprocate his hug, he’s wrapping his arms and legs around your torso. “I miss you! When are we gonna do the alphabet and eat pizza again?”

Eddie looks over at Jeff; you hadn’t even noticed the other man behind him until Eddie’s gaze drifted over. You watch as the two men exchange a knowing glance, and Jeff quickly speaks up. “Hey, Har,” he motions the boy over to him, “why don’t you use your super strong arms to bring stuff out to the car? I bet you have bigger muscles than me.”

Harris begrudgingly lets go of you, sliding to the floor and dragging his feet to Jeff. He heaves a dramatic sigh and grumbles, “fiiiiiine,” and you and Eddie have to hold back your laughter at his theatrics.

“He is definitely my kid,” Eddie says once Harris has left the room and is out of earshot. He walks closer to you as you turn back to packing up the food. “You, um, never called me back,” he murmurs, placing one hand on either side of you, his chest almost touching your back. Robin and Jess creep out of the kitchen as quietly as possible, leaving you and Eddie alone.

You clear your throat and swallow your fear. “I didn’t have anything to say.” That’s a lie; there was so much you wanted to confide in him, but the thought of him rejecting you again, or getting another glimpse of the hurt you caused reflected in his deep brown eyes, kept you from returning his call.

“Well, I did.” His tone is calm but firm. “I just need to know one thing, and then I swear I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.” He pauses, gathering up his own courage before speaking again. “That day…why did you ask me to sleep with you?” 

“I told you,” you say, desperately trying to keep your voice from wobbling, “because I needed to feel something.”

Eddie shakes his head, stepping back and crossing his leather jacket-clad arms over his chest. “No, but why did you ask me? Why didn’t you go to the Hideout and pick up some random dude?” His volume starts to rise, and he clenches his fist and drags it back down as if reminding himself to be quieter. “Was it, like, a convenience thing, or did you really think I’d be okay having sex with you while you were so upset?”

Your heart pangs at his question. It had never even occurred to you that he’d perceive it that way. Were you being selfish? Taking what you felt you needed? Admittedly, yes. But were you asking Eddie specifically because he happened to be there? Absolutely not. “No, Eddie,” you say, forcing yourself to face him, “it’s because…because I knew you’d take care of me. If I wanted to stop or slow down, I knew you’d listen. I trust you.” Speaking the truth aloud is like letting the air out of an overfilled balloon on the cusp of popping. Both you and Eddie visibly relax, easing a tension you hadn’t realized he was also holding. 

The room is quiet for a moment. Eddie’s knee softly bumps against your thigh as he wills himself to close the gap he’d created. “You said something in your message about it never being meaningless. Not even the night we…we met.”

The reminder of your confession floods you with humiliation. You—unsuccessfully—threw yourself at him for sex and then left a message saying that you’ve been clinging to the hope of a relationship since your alcohol-laden first hook-up. How humiliating. 

“I’m sorry if that was weird, but I told Jess that I’ve never been good at one-night stands. I always get too attached.” And it doesn’t help when I have to see the guy and his adorable son twice a day, you think wryly, but you store that anecdote inside. 

Eddie shakes his head, lacing his ringed fingers with your bare ones. The pad of his thumb brushes against the knuckle of yours, both comforting you and zapping electricity through your body. “No, ‘s not weird,” he reassures you, giving your hands a squeeze. “I felt the same way, even if I didn’t realize it. I think that’s why I asked you to stay, why I held you…I’ve never done that before.” He’s sheepish but not ashamed; if he’s being honest, he’s pretty damn proud of himself for admitting it aloud. 

You tilt your chin up knowingly. “Yeah, I heard you shut down a sure thing because of your involvement with someone.”

Your emphasis of that one word has Eddie dropping his head, letting go of one of your hands and covering his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Damn, word spreads around here like it’s the five o’clock news. But, uh, yeah, I did. Turn her down.” His tongue darts out to coat his dry lips. “Not that it’s any of my business, but did you, um, see anyone over the holidays?” 

“Nope.” You shake your head, bracing yourself for what you’re about to tell him. Even though he’s the one holding you, allowing your bodies to intertwine, it’s nerve-wracking to be so vulnerable. You forge ahead, allowing the words to tumble out of your mouth. “I…I only want you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s breath gets caught in his throat. Want want want. Present tense, not past. “Want, like, present tense? Like you still feel that way?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t reek of desperation for a millisecond before realizing that he doesn’t care, as long as you still want him.

“Is that okay?” Your voice is small, an almost comic contrast from the bravado you used during your last in-person encounter. 

“It’s more than okay, Sweetheart.” Eddie’s whisper matches yours. His thumb ghosts over the plush of your lips as his hand slips to your cheek, bringing his remaining four fingers behind your ears and to the nape of your neck. He leans in, drawing you closer with his tantalizing smoky scent and raw desire. One step in, noses nudging together–

“Daddy, look at me!”

Eddie whips his head around at the sound of Harris’s voice, nearly crashing against yours, and you stumble backwards into the counter, wincing as you make contact with the linoleum. You bite back the string of swear words on your tongue, both at the pain and the missed kiss.

Jeff is panting as he chases after him, bending forward at the waist and resting his palms on his thighs. “I tried to keep him entertained, but I was not prepared for this level of energy,” he huffs, chest rising and falling with each heaving breath. His eyes dart between you and Eddie, easily picking up on the guilty looks on your faces. He mouths “sorry” and shrugs, but the moment is already over.

Harris, oblivious to the burgeoning tension in the room, tugs on his dad’s sleeve in a demand for attention. “Daddy, wanna see me lift stuff?” He jumps up and down as he asks, making his words vibrate. “Uncle Jeff says I’m the strongest kid in the world!” He opens his arms the entire length of his wingspan to emphasize his point.

“Uh, y-yeah; sure, bud.” Eddie stammers. He looks over at you and you follow his lead, watching as Harris lifts a box of diapers with a dramatic grunt. When Eddie is sure that his son has fully turned around, he grabs your hand once more and gives it a little squeeze. “We’ll pick up where we left off later,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, and it sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Ms. Sweetheart, you watch, too!” Harris insists; so you do, trailing after him all the way to Jeff’s car. Unable to see over the box, he walks it right into the back bumper, and Eddie has to step in and help him.

Once the diapers have been tetris'd into the trunk, Jeff closes the door and slaps it for good measure. “Well, I think that’s everything. Thanks again, Munson…Mini Munson.” He ruffles Harris’s mop of curls with a grin.

Eddie holds out his hand, pulling Jeff in for a hug when he takes it. “Congratulations again, man. I’m really happy for you guys.” And he genuinely is. He can’t wait to see one of his oldest and closest friends experience fatherhood.

He turns to you as Jeff heads back into the house to help Viv to the car. “Did you have anything to eat?” he asks. “I mean, we can go to Benny’s if you want. I was gonna take Harris.” The kid hasn’t had anything since breakfast except the donut, and he’s bound to get cranky sooner rather than later. 

You shake your head. “No, I wasn’t really hungry. But I’m down to split a stack of pancakes with you, if you want?”

“Like you used to do with Grandma?” He remembers you mentioning the tradition during her eulogy. The corners of his lips turn up slightly, though his smile quickly falters when he notices the misty film glazing your eyes. “Sorry, I—”

“I’m good,” you reassure him, dabbing at your lash line with the heel of your hand. “Someone really special once told me that it’s okay to be sad, so I’m kind of giving that a shot.”

This time, Eddie’s grin remains. “Is that a ‘yes’ to the pancakes?”

“Yeah. It’s a yes.” You giggle when Eddie makes a fist and pumps it in celebration. “We usually got blueberry, but I’m down for chocolate chip,” you say, remembering his food preference from your first date.

“Nah, I can get behind blueberry,” he says. What he doesn’t say is that he would eat anchovy pancakes if it meant making you happy. 

“But I want chicken fingers!” Harris scrunches up his nose, and both you and Eddie know that a hungry four-year-old is not to be challenged. 

Eddie scoops Harris up into his arms, smacking a wet kiss to his chubby cheek. One day, his son will wipe them off, but Eddie’s glad that today is not that day. “Then the boy shall have the finest chicken fingers in all of Hawkins!” He declares in a deep voice before winking at you. “More pancakes for me and the pretty lady.”

Harris’s eyes widen. “So you do think she’s pretty–”

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road!” Eddie cuts him off. You duck your head as though that will ward off further questioning from Harris, but not before catching a glimpse of Eddie mouthing, “like a princess.”

You can smell the aroma of the deep fryer as soon as you pull into Benny’s parking lot. Since you drove yourself to the shower, you and Eddie take separate cars and meet there. The small diner isn’t overly crowded, and the three of you squeeze into a booth in the back corner. Eddie sits on one side and you on the other; you assume Harris will slide in next to his dad, but he chooses you instead. 

Your waiter introduces himself as Ryan and places three sets of silverware on the table. He starts to hand you the menus, but Eddie politely shakes his head and tells him, “‘S all good, man. We know what we want.” He orders a plate of chicken fingers and fries for Harris and a short stack of blueberry pancakes for you and him. “Y’want anything to drink?” he asks you, and you contemplate for a moment before ordering a hot coffee, and Eddie gets the same.

“I want a coffee, too,” Harris pipes up, flashing his million-watt grin at Ryan, who holds back a laugh and promises that the food will be right out.

 “So, Harris,” you start, taking a small sip from the glass of ice water in front of you, “how was your Christmas? Get anything good?”

“Mhm!” he chirps, swiveling his body to face yours. “I got a bunch of new Hot Wheels and some cool markers for drawing. They smell like fruits!”

“Very different from when I used to sniff markers back in my day,” Eddie jokes, and you kick his foot lightly in an attempt to silently tell him to behave. His eyes twinkle mischievously when you playfully roll yours.

“That sounds awesome!” you exclaim, bringing your attention back to Harris and adding, “I bet Mr. Will would want to see your new markers if you want to swing by my classroom on Monday.”

Harris’s face lights up, and he claps his hands together in jubilance. “Maybe I can draw something for him!”

“He’d love that,” you tell him, and the little boy squeezes his hands into tiny fists and lets out an excited squeal.

Ryan returns a few moments later balancing a plate of chicken fingers in one hand and the pancakes in the other. Your stomach rumbles; you didn’t realize how hungry you were until you were presented with food. Eddie peels back the film of one of the small plastic syrup containers, positioning it over the pancakes and cocking his eyebrow to get your approval. You nod, and he tilts and swirls it as you watch it drip down the sugary stack. 

“How was your visit with your family?” He doesn’t refer to it as your visit home, because he hopes that you consider Hawkins your home now. He unfurls his napkin and pulls out the fork and knife, cutting into the stack, and you mirror his actions.

Harris stretches his arm out across you, and you realize he’s reaching for the glass ketchup bottle, so you twist off the cap and plop some onto his plate. He dips a fry into it happily. “About as good as it could be,” you answer Eddie. “Everyone kind of tried to act normal, but it was like they were trying too hard, y’know?”

“Was Grandma there?” Harris asks through a mouthful of fried potato.

You bite your lip, not quite sure what he knows and what Eddie wants him to know. Death is a tricky subject to broach with young kids, and you don’t want to say anything that will confuse or scare him. Luckily, Eddie jumps in and comes to your rescue. “Har Bear, remember I told you that Grandma went to Heaven?” He gently reminds his son. “That’s why you made that nice card for Ms. Sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harris’s expression morphs from inquisitive to concern, even as he chows down on a chicken finger. “Are you still sad?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, more to yourself than to him, “but it gets a little better every day. And being around my favorite guys helps put me in a good mood.”

Eddie presses a syrupy hand to his chest in mock astonishment. “Who, us?” He smiles and spears another cut of pancake with his fork. “How did you know flattery works with me?”

Before you can formulate a response–something teasing but not overly flirtatious–Harris poses a new question: “Ms. Sweetheart, do you have any babies?”

“Harris!” His son’s name comes out sharper than he intends, but Eddie’s too flustered to think twice. He looks at you apologetically, practically crimson from his cheeks to his ears. “Sorry, he hasn’t stopped talking about babies since I told him about the baby shower.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, giving his hand a small squeeze to show that you truly don’t mind Harris’s curiosity. You look at the boy and tell him, “I don’t have any babies, but I consider all of my students to be my babies.”

“Me, too?”

You chuckle and take a sip of coffee. “Of course, you, too!”

There’s a brief silence as you all eat–Eddie steals a fry from Harris’s plate and shoves it in his mouth before he can get caught. While hilarious, his timing couldn’t be worse, because he has no way of stopping Harris’s next statement:

“You and my daddy could have a baby. Because you’re a woman and he’s a man.” It’s matter-of-fact, said while dunking his food in the ketchup pile, as though this is something everyone drops into normal conversation. “That’s how you get a baby in your tummy like Aunt Viv.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to stifle your laughter, not wanting to reinforce his inadvertently entertaining assertion.

Eddie is far less amused than you are, nearly choking on his swiped French fry. “Chrissakes…” he hisses, ducking and bringing his fist to his forehead, “Harris, eat your chicken fingers, quietly.” He breathes out with a puff of his cheeks as Harris obliges, completely oblivious to the meaning behind his suggestion. 

A beat of awkward silence ensues as you eat a hunk of pancake, warm blueberry juice seeping into your tongue. Grandma used to joke around and say that the blueberries made it a healthy food. “Practically a fruit salad,” she’d tease with a glint of happiness dancing in her eyes. 

Eddie, meanwhile, is desperate for a subject change. His palms are slick from what he’s like to think is merely embarrassment, but it’s multifaceted. The idea of the three of you sitting in Benny’s just as you are now, only you’re eating for two, has his stomach in knots. And if he even dares to dream about what getting you pregnant entails? He’s a goner.  

“Harris has a birthday coming up,” he blurts out a bit too loudly, unable to control his volume. “He’s turning the big, uh, five.” 

You can feel Harris eagerly kicking his legs next to you, so you match his enthusiasm. “Wow, Har! That’s a whole hand!” You hold up five fingers and Harris does the same, bringing his palm to yours.

“Are you gonna come to my birthday party?” He peers up at you with hopeful eyes, and you’re left scrambling for a response that doesn’t give away that you haven’t exactly been invited.

“Oh, I, um…”

“She’s going to check her calendar and see,” Eddie offers, and you exhale at his quick save. Turns his attention to you. “His birthday is February 6, but that’s a Thursday, so we’re gonna do his party that Saturday at the bowling alley. Just me, Wayne, and a couple of the kids from school. And you, if you can make it.” Shit, is he rambling? Was that too much information? You spend every day with kids; would you really want to spend a Saturday afternoon at a birthday party surrounded by them?

He’s not overanalyzing for long before you speak. “That sounds like a lot of fun. Do grown-ups get to bowl, too?” You perch your chin on your hand, blinking to emphasize your curiosity. Bowling has never been your forte, but you imagine you’ll fare quite well compared to a group of five-year-olds. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie laughs kindly, letting his arm cross the table so that the back of his fingers can graze your forearm, “that’s a given.”

The three of you head out to your cars—not before you and Eddie argue over who’s going to pay the bill, with you eventually winning the battle. He takes Harris’s right hand as you step off of the sidewalk and into the parking lot, and Harris instinctively slips his left into yours. He walks between you and his dad naturally, as though it’s always been this way. Like you all were a little family that made regular outings for pancakes and chicken fingers.

“Har, go get in your car seat, and I’ll be there in a sec to buckle you in,” Eddie says gently, opening the door for him. 

Harris climbs in clumsily, calling back, “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart!” His farewell ends with a yawn, suggesting that there will be a nap in the near future. 

Eddie closes the door, shoving his hands in his pockets bashfully. It’s one of his nervous quirks, you’ve noticed, and you’re immediately inclined to reassure him about whatever’s on his mind. “Hey, um, could I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I talked to the people at the school,” he starts, kicking at the gravel under his feet, “and Harris has that evaluation thing on Monday. Would you…”

You don’t even let him finish his request before confirming, “I’ll be there.”

Eddie’s body instantly relaxes, relief flooding through him at your words. “You’re amazing.” He looks around to make sure Harris can’t see before kissing you, lips quickly melding together. He has to pull back before he wants to, before either of you want to, to avoid getting caught. He tastes like coffee and syrup with a hint of berries, though the kiss is too brief to pick up on anything else. A stirring inside you informs you that he could kiss you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough. “See you, Sweetheart.”

Mondays are characteristically exhausting; kids are home for two days on the weekends and return behaving like they’ve never seen a classroom before. Today is no exception, but the coffee Eddie left on your desk this morning certainly helps. He’d tried to sneak in, but you’d caught him, and it took everything in your power not to plant a kiss on his cheek right then and there. Scrawled on the side of the to-go cup in his messy handwriting were three simple words that made your heart soar: For my Sweetheart. 

What you didn’t know was that Eddie had thought about what he’d wanted to write for the entire car ride. Nothing too clingy, but nothing too distant. Not sappy but not brusque. Even the word my between “for” and “Sweetheart” was daunting; how would you feel about being his? 

By the time the afternoon rolls around, neither of you are too concerned with romantic gestures. You and Eddie sit in the hard plastic chairs outside the school psychiatrist’s office. He’s already answered all of her questions, so now it’s simply a matter of waiting for the observation to end. 

You can hear Harris giggling from the other side of the door, and you look over to smile at Eddie, but he either didn’t hear it or his nerves have built up an impenetrable barrier. 

He exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks and leaning his head back against the brick wall. It’s a sigh of defeat, not relief, and you lean over and squeeze his hand without a second thought. The edges of his skull ring dig into your palm, but you couldn’t care less. Your only priority is keeping him calm. 

“Hey,” you murmur, crossing one leg over the other. He looks through you, not at you, and you  brush a stray lock of hair from his face to ground him. Once he’s settled, you continue talking. “Everything will be alright. Either he doesn’t have a disability, or we’ll be one step closer to getting him the accommodations he needs.”

Eddie nods. “I know. I just…” He pauses for a beat, struggling to find words that accurately convey his myriad emotions. Besides anxiety about the unknown path that lays before him and Harris, guilt gnaws at him for his past misgivings. The careless sex with Harris’s mom, the stupid fucking tour that he just had to go on while she was pregnant, the blissful ignorance that he could have his cake and eat it, too. “I hate that he can’t learn, like, normally. Like the other kids.”

Your instinct is to tell him that Harris doesn’t need to be like the other kids, that he’s perfectly and unequivocally himself, but that’s not what Eddie needs right now. 

“It’s tough,” you agree, “but Harris is a great kid with big dreams, and he’s not going to let anything stop him. All we have to do is support him along the way.”

Eddie ponders that for a moment, slightly amused at the accuracy of your statement, given what you don’t know. Beyond reading and math–both of which he’s shown improvements in since you’ve begun your tutoring sessions–Harris refuses to give up on his quest to get you and Eddie together. The hand-holding drawing was only the tip of the iceberg; Wayne’s since reported that the boy has asked multiple times about when “Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart will fall in love.” And, of course, he hasn’t stopped talking about your Saturday afternoon diner date, constantly badgering Eddie about whether or not you two were married yet.

Eddie rests his head on your shoulder, curly tendrils tickling your collarbones. All you want is to let him stay there as long as he needs, even if your legs fall asleep, but the nagging thoughts of passersby’s perceptions triumph over your desires. 

“Eddie, I…” you trail off, gently lifting your shoulder so he’ll get the hint without you having to say it aloud. Self-consciousness pinkens his cheeks as he sits up, adjusting his posture and mumbling a soft “sorry” under his breath.

“S’fine,” you rush to reassure him, praying that he doesn’t misconstrue your professionalism with shame of being seen with him. You would comfort any of your students’ parents in times of distress, but let’s face it–you would never snuggle up to Jason Carver or Carol Perkins. “Just don’t wanna be accused of canoodling on the job,” 

He lifts his eyebrows. “Canoodling?”

“It’s a word!”

“You’re the one with the fancy college degree, so I guess I gotta believe you.” 

You giggle softly, brushing his Reeboks with your flats. “Seriously, it’s gonna be okay. Whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. The words replay like an enchanting melody. You’ve got him. You’ve got him, and you’ll have him as long as he vows to hold on.

“Mr. Munson?” 

Eddie’s attention snaps to Ms. Cassie, the school psychologist. Harris darts from her office, a giant smile on his face as he leaps into his father’s arms. “Daddy, we played games! It was lotsa fun!”

“That’s great, Har Bear,” Eddie murmurs into Harris’s scalp. He looks up at Ms. Cassie expectantly. “How did everything go?” Is my son okay? Is there something wrong with him? Is it my fault? He doesn’t dare pose those questions.

The psychologist offers a smile, lacing her fingers together in front of her stomach. “Like Harris said, we had a great time. I’d like to speak with you briefly…” her gaze flits over to the hallway. “Is there someone who could keep an eye on Harris while we talk?”

Eddie’s heart sinks; privately, perhaps naively, he’d been wishing that there wouldn’t be anything else to discuss. Maybe a chipper, everything’s fine; he’ll catch up to the other kids on his own! But nothing so serious that it required an additional meeting.

“My TA can,” you pipe up, remembering that Will had stayed back to prepare an art project for tomorrow morning. Eddie puts Harris down, watching as you take his chubby hand in yours and make your way to your classroom. 

Ms. Cassie starts to wave Eddie into his office, but he shakes his head. “Wanna wait for her to get back,” he tells her, and she nods understandingly. As soon as you return, the two of you take a seat in front of her desk. Paperwork is stacked neatly in piles across the top of it, and framed diplomas line the walls. Board games sit on the shelves, and Eddie can’t help but wonder which ones Harris played this afternoon.

“I want to start off by saying that Harris is one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with,” Ms. Cassie says. Her tone is even and patient, which makes Eddie more anxious. He wants to jump up and demand that she spill the bad news already, but he bites his thumbnail to calm his nerves. You notice the gesture immediately and inconspicuously grab the hand closest to yours, hiding your display of affection below the desk. Eddie grips so tightly that you have to actively suppress a grimace.

“The evaluation indicates that Harris meets the requirements to be classified as a ‘preschooler with a disability,’” she continues, “and as a result, he qualifies for special education services–”

“What the hell does that mean?” You wince at the vitriol in Eddie’s voice, and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand. It brings him back down enough for him to clear his throat and apologize, but you can sense that he’s still on-edge.

“That’s alright, Mr. Munson. You’re not the first parent to react that way, and I’m positive you won’t be the last.” She taps a small pile of papers on her desk to even them out before handing them to him. “The classification means that he will get an Individualized Education Program–IEP for short–that will help us target goals for Harris to make progress alongside his peers.”

Ms. Cassie drones on about short-term and long-term objectives, but Eddie can’t focus on what she’s saying. Preschooler with a disability. My son has a disability because I left, because I wasn’t there, because I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. It’s all my fault. My fault my fault my fault–

“Eddie,” you whisper, but it’s no use. You watch as his ribcage expands and contracts faster with manic breaths, on the verge of hyperventilation. You shoot the psychologist an apologetic glance and pull Eddie from the office before he can launch into a full-blown panic attack. His body is like a ragdoll, and he trails behind you mechanically; if you let go of his hand, he’d probably stop dead in his tracks.

“Baby,” you say, bringing him to an empty classroom. The nickname rolls off your tongue easily despite technically being in your place of work. “Baby, it’s just you and me right now. You’re okay–”

“Harris–disability–my fault.” His words are low and gravelly, but you hear them without having to strain. They’re similar to the sentiments he’d uttered that day at parent-teacher conferences when he’d unexpectedly showed up at your door.

There’s no use trying to convince him otherwise, not when he’s like this, so you try a different approach. “I can talk to Ms. Cassie about rescheduling the meeting. We don’t have to figure everything out right away.” He nods, just a miniscule bob of his head, but it tells you that he’s cognizant enough to comprehend what you’re telling him. “In the meantime, why don’t you go see Harris? I bet he’s drawing something for you.”

That gets a smile out of him. “Y-Yeah, okay.” He doesn’t move; instead, he brings you closer to him and holds you to his chest so close that you can hear his heart beating. His body shakes, but it’s not until you feel a warm teardrop fall from his face onto the top of your head that you realize he’s crying. You wrap your arms around his lithe waist until you feel him begin to steady, staggered breaths becoming fuller. 

Wiping the tear trails from his cheeks carefully, you press a tiny kiss to his nose. “Wash your face and go to my classroom. I’ll meet you there.”

“‘Kay,” he manages, wishing he had the means to express his gratitude for your words, your presence, you. 

When he gets to your classroom, Harris is furiously scribbling on a piece of construction paper with his new markers. Eddie smiles, leaning against the door until Will spots him.

“Harris, your dad’s here!” he announces, and Harris looks up excitedly.

“Daddy!” he exclaims. “I’m almost done with my picture, hold on!” He grabs a blue marker and uncaps it, marking the paper with concentrated dots. He replaces the cover and slides the marker back into the yellow-and-green box. 

He’s always so diligent with his art supplies, Eddie notes.

“Ta-da!” Harris spins the drawing so his dad can see. There’s three people–you, Eddie, and Harris. You’re standing around a large purple rectangle with a line coming out of each corner, which Eddie recognizes as a table. There’s a circle representing the plate of chicken fingers in front of Drawing Harris, and a circle between Drawing You and Drawing Eddie with blueberry pancakes. Just like on Halloween, he’s drawn a smile on everyone’s faces.

“He’s really good,” Will says, and Eddie looks at him in amusement. “Seriously, he is. He’s got great spatial awareness when he draws, which most kids don’t develop until later. And he’s got an eye for detail,” he adds, pointing to the blue dots on the pancakes. “Looks like you’ve got a little artist.”

An artist. Not a failure, not incapable, but an artist. A boy who could grow up and inspire the world with his creativity.

“I love it,” Eddie says finally, reaching out to take the drawing. He frowns when Harris snatches it back.

“This one is for Ms. Sweetheart,” he explains exasperatedly, as though this is something he’s had to repeat multiple times. “We already have one at home, Daddy. Renember?” His pout quickly becomes a grin when he sees you enter the room. “Ms. Sweetheart, I drawed this for you!”

“I love it!” You inadvertently echo Eddie’s statement as you hold the paper to your heart. “This is gonna go on the kitchen wall so you can see it when you come over for tutoring.” You turn to Eddie, eyes warm with understanding. “How are you feeling?”

“I dunno,” he answers honestly. “Kinda sad, kinda mad, kinda relieved that there’s an answer.” He scratches at the stubble on his cheeks. “‘M just…really glad I don’t have to go through it alone.”

“I’m always here for you, Eds. You and Harris.”

Eddie’s curls bob up and down as he slowly nods. “Speaking of which, um, you said something about tutoring him? Are you feeling up to it? I can bring pizza—o-or not, if it makes you sad. We could do Chinese or something—”

“Eddie?”

“Ya?”

You look down at the drawing of your little chosen family at Benny’s. It’s certainly different from the times you went with Grandma, but you’re filled with the same feeling of belonging that you’d felt then.

“Extra olives for me, please.”

--

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[j23r23]

Getaway Heart

Tangerine x Reader - angst & fluff

Warnings: blood & vomit

You’ve been a getaway driver since you got your license at 18, maneuvering through the streets with audacity and precision that caught the eye of all the right, and wrong, people. For the past ten years, you worked alone in the shadows, carving out a reputation as the go-to driver for high-stake jobs.

On a rainy evening, the twins handler, a no-nonsense woman with a penchant for dark sunglasses and cryptic instructions, invited you to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Madrid. The place smelled of oil and rubber. There she introduced you to the two men known only by their code names: Tangerine and Lemon. They were looking for a reliable driver, and their handler thought you fit the bill. You knew the Fruits were renowned in the industry for being very good at what they do but were slightly unhinged.

Tangerine was the first to step forward. He was tall and lean, with a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes that seemed to dissect you with a single glance. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that contrasted starkly with the grime of the warehouse, he exuded an air of sophistication and control. His voice was smooth, almost velvety, “So, you’re the driver everyone’s talking about,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

Lemon, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Shorter and more muscular, he had a rugged look about him, with bleached hair and an unpredictable glare. His attire was casual— black jeans and a denim jacket—giving off a more approachable vibe. In his hand, he toyed with a small sticker book, flicking it absentmindedly as he watched you.

The initial meeting didn’t go smoothly. Tangerine’s aloof demeanor and Lemon’s staring put you on edge. Tangerine scrutinized your every word and movement, as if searching for a weakness, while Lemon tested your patience with his relentless talk about trains.

“Look, love” Tangerine finally said, crossing his arms, “we don’t have time for screw-ups. We need someone who can handle the heat and think on their feet. Can you do that?”

You met his gaze, your jaw set in determination. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know that hesitation can get you killed. I can handle the heat. Question is, can you keep up? Oh, and the names Orange, love.”

There was a moment of silence before Lemon burst into laughter. “I like this one,” he said, clapping Tangerine on the shoulder. “Got some fire in her.”

Tangerine’s lips curled into a faint smile, the first sign of approval. “Alright Orange,” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The memory made you grin.

Right after meeting the twins you had your first job together and it was utter chaos—shit hit the fan, sirens blaring, guns a blazing and the scent of burnt rubber hanging heavy in the air. You were behind the wheel, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you navigated the streets of Madrid with precision.

"Tangerine, we've got company!" Lemon's tone was annoyed.

Tangerine, cool and collected, leaned out of the window, firing off shots with deadly accuracy. "I can see that, Lemon! Im not blind!"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, as the banter between the twins was getting on your nerves. "Would you two save the chatter for later? I'm trying to concentrate here!"

Lemon laughed. "Relax, Orange, we've got this under control."

You just sighed in annoyance and literally put your foot down, pushing the pedal to the metal.

Tangerine, sitting in the seat behind you, clung to the door handle, as hes being pushed back by the force of the speeding car. "Bloody hell, Orange? " he shouted, his voice a mix of panic and irritation.

Lemon, in the backseat, looked even worse. His face was pale, and he was gripping the headrest in front of him for dear life. "For the love of all that's holy, slow down!”

You smirked, your eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror. "Relax, boys. Let me do my job and i let you do yours" you said, narrowly missing a pedestrian who decided now was the perfect time to jaywalk.

"Relax? Relax?!" Tangerine's voice went up an octave. "We’ve got the entire Mafia of Madrid after us, how in hell am i supposed to work when you’re driving like a maniac!"

You took a sharp turn, the tires screeching in protest. The car tilted dangerously, but you managed to keep it from flipping. Lemon made a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a growl. "If we die, I’m haunting your ass!"

"Hold on to something!" you yelled, spotting a narrow alleyway ahead. Without hesitation, you swerved into it, the car barely fitting between the buildings. The side mirrors scraped against the brick walls, sending sparks flying.

Tangerine’s knuckles were white from gripping the door handle. "Jesus Christ, woman!"

You chuckled, adrenaline pumping through your veins. "I got hired for my driving skills, remember?"

Lemon let out a strangled laugh. "Skills? More like suicidal tendencies!"

As you burst out of the alley and back onto a busy street, a car tried to cut you off. With a quick flick of the wheel, you sideswiped it, sending it crashing into a parked truck. "One down, a few dozen to go," you quipped, glancing at your handiwork in the mirror.

"Just keep us in one piece!" Tangerine barked, looking both impressed and terrified.

You sped towards an upcoming construction site, an idea forming in your mind. "Hold tight," you warned, accelerating even more.

"Oh hell no!" Lemon groaned, clearly dreading your next move.

You aimed for a ramp leading up to a half-built overpass. As the car launched into the air, all three of you screamed—though in your case, it was more of a whoop of excitement. The car soared over the gap, landing with a bone-jarring thud on the other side. The cars that are chasing you weren’t so lucky; the first few smashed into the gap, creating a massive pileup.

Tangerine looked at you with wide eyes, his breath coming in short gasps. "You’re absolutely mad, you know that?"

Lemon, still clutching the headrest, nodded fervently. "Completely off your rocker."

You gave them a cheeky grin. "But i got rid of them, no?"

As the car sped away from the chaos behind, Tangerines eyes still held a hint of disbelief. "You’re a bloody lunatic!"

Lemon slumped back in his seat, finally letting go of the headrest. "Next time, I’m driving."

You laughed, the thrill of the chase still coursing through you. "Sure."

After a few more sharp turns you finally pull into a secluded garage. You killed the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening after the chaos.

"You two okay back there?" you had asked, trying to suppress a smirk.

Lemon had groaned, his face pale as a sheet. "I think I'm gonna be sick, now that we stopped," he had mumbled, clutching his stomach.

Tangerine had shot him a glare before leaning out of the window, retching onto the pavement. "Yeah, and somehow we made it out alive!” he had grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You turn in your seat looking at the boys smiling. Tangerine shook his head, laughing despite himself. “But remind me never to question your driving skills again.”

“Deal” you replied with a grin.

After that night, the three of you went through countless jobs together, facing danger with unwavering trust in one another. As time passed, your feelings toward Tangerine began to change. Working alongside him, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the way your heart fluttered whenever he flashed a rare smile or the way your pulse quickened at his touch.

The more jobs you pulled, the deeper your affection for him grew, and the harder it became to suppress your emotions.

And now, something feels off. As you sit in the driver's seat of your idling car, the engine's purr does little to calm your anxious nerves. The night is heavy with tension, the rearview mirror becoming your only solace. You glance back repeatedly, your mind racing through every possible outcome of tonight's job.

Tonight's mission was supposed to be a straightforward smash and grab. The target: a high-end jewelry store fronting as a money laundering operation for one of the city's major crime syndicates in London. Intelligence indicated minimal security—just a couple of guards, easily neutralized. Tangerine and Lemon were tasked with infiltrating, grabbing the goods, and getting out before anyone noticed. Simple, clean, efficient.

You were parked in the back alley of the building, engine running, ready for the signal. The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an hour. Something gnawed at your gut, a premonition that things weren't going according to plan. You'd run through every escape route, every contingency, but no amount of planning could shake the unease that had settled over you.

The longer you waited, the more your thoughts drifted back to Tangerine. His smile, his confidence, the way he always seemed to know what to say to calm you down. You remember the first time he took a bullet for you. He had laughed it off, calling you a softie for worrying. That was Tangerine—fearless, almost reckless, but with a heart that beat fiercely for those he cared about.

You trusted them both with your life, but tonight, that trust felt more like a lifeline, taut and fraying with each passing second.

The rearview mirror offers no new insights, just the darkened street and the distant sounds of the city. You grip the steering wheel tighter. You can almost hear Tangerine’s voice, telling you to stay calm, to trust the plan. But the plan is starting to feel like a distant memory, overshadowed by a growing fear that this time, things won’t go as smoothly as they always have.

And then, like a thunderclap, the back door of the building bursts open.

Suddenly, Lemon charges through the back door of the building, supporting a hunched over Tangerine. It's clear that this simple job has gone terribly wrong. As they stagger closer, you see the blood—Tangerine is losing a lot of it. You reverse the car and drive towards them. Lemon yanks open the back door, practically shoving Tangerine inside before he climbs in himself.

"Go, go, go!" Lemon shouts, urgency in his voice.

You change immediately into first and slam the gas pedal to the floor, the tires screeching as the car lurches forward. The doors are barely closed, but you don’t have time to worry about that. In the rearview mirror, you see Lemon struggling to put pressure on one of Tangerines wounds, while the latter squirms in pain.

"What the fuck happened?" you demand, weaving through traffic with precision.

"Tangerine underestimated the Job, didn't wear his west and got shot," Lemon replies, his voice strained. Tangerine just groans, clearly in too much pain to speak.

"You didn't wear your fucking west?" you scoff, your hands gripping the wheel tightly. "You always chastise us when we're not wearing one, what the fuck were you thinking!"

"Yeah, well," Tangerine mutters in pain, "we all make mistakes."

You maneuver through the city's maze-like streets, dodging late-night traffic and running red lights. The city's neon lights cast eerie reflections inside the car, illuminating the tense scene. The smell of blood fills the air, and you can hear Tangerine's labored breathing from the back seat.

"You better not die on me, Tangerine," you say, your voice tight with a mixture of fear and anger. "I’m not dealing with your expensive funeral."

Tangerine tries to laugh, but it turns into a pained groan. "Always… so considerate," he manages to say between gasps.

"Save your strength, mate," Lemon says, pressing another wad of cloth against Tangerine's bleeding abdomen. "We need you to stay awake."

The car roars down a narrow alleyway, the tires barely gripping the slick pavement as you take a sharp turn. You can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. Every second counts, and the safehouse feels a million miles away.

"I swear, if we make it out of this alive, you're going to owe me one pristine car cleaning," you assert firmly, your voice tinged with worry.

"Deal," Tangerine replies, his eyes closing. Lemon looks at you through the rearview mirror "Just get us there in one piece."

You weave through the final stretch of city streets, your knuckles white on the steering wheel. The safehouse looms ahead, a nondescript building that has become your haven in times of crisis. You screech to a halt after driving into the garage, the car barely stopping before you pull the handbrake.

"Help me get him inside," Lemon says, rushing out and opening the back door. Together, you and Lemon half-carry, half-drag Tangerine towards the entrance, his blood leaving a grim trail behind you.

"Hang on, Tan," you whisper, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. "We're almost there."

Inside the safehouse, the familiar surroundings offer little comfort. You clear the kitchen table with a sweep of your arm, sending everything crashing to the floor.

"Lay him down here," you instruct. "I need to see how bad it is."

Tangerine's eyes flutter open, and he looks up at you with a weak smile. "You always did know how to make things dramatic, love" he jokes, his voice barely a whisper.

"Shut up," you say, your throat tight. "Just let me fix you up."

As you rip open his shirt, revealing the extent of his injuries, the reality of the situation hits you like a punch to the gut. Four bullet wounds, two in his left shoulder one in his right arm and the worst is stuck in the right side of his abdomen.

This isn't just another job gone wrong. This is a fight for survival. And in this moment, all you can think about is keeping Tangerine alive.

"You ruined my Burberry suit," Tangerine complains weakly, attempting a half-hearted smirk.

"I said, shut up," you snap, your voice tight with worry. Your hands move quickly, working to stop the bleeding. Tears blur your vision, but you force yourself to focus, ignoring the emotional storm brewing inside you.

Lemon stands by, trying to keep pressure on the wounds. He looks at you, concern etched on his face. "You alright?" he asks, noticing your tears.

You nod, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on your shoulders. Each bullet you extract from Tangerine's flesh elicits an excruciating scream from him that reverberates through the room and it slices through you like a knife. But you steel yourself against the anguish, focusing solely on the task at hand. With each bullet removed, Tangerine's body relaxes a fraction, but his agony remains palpable.

Exhaustion settles over him like a heavy shroud, and he slumps back, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. You work quickly, stitching him up as best you can with trembling hands, the urgency of the situation lending you a sense of clarity.

Once Tangerine is bandaged and relatively stable, you turn your attention to the smaller cuts and abrasions littering his body. With gentle care, you clean away the blood, your movements deliberate and precise as you tend to his wounds.

When you finally finish, you look to Lemon, concern etched into your features. "You got any injuries?" you ask, your voice laced with worry.

He shakes his head, his gaze unwavering as he grabs a blanket and pillow, arranging them to make Tangerine's makeshift bed on the kitchen table a little more comfortable.

You look at your blood covered hands and your mind starts to race,

The reality of the situation sinking in. Despite your years of experience you can't shake the feeling of helplessness that washes over you. You've faced danger countless times before, but this time feels different.

As you turn to wash the blood away in the sink, Lemon appears at your side. His eyes hold a depth of understanding that cuts through the turmoil in your soul.

"Not exactly the night we planned, huh?" Lemon tries to joke, but his voice wavers.

"Yeah…" you reply, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"You love him, don't you?" Lemon's voice breaks the silence, gentle but insistent.

You pause, the question hanging in the air. Tears spill over, and you nod, holding in a sob. "Yes," you whisper, your voice cracking. "I do."

Wordlessly, he reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. His touch is grounding.

With a steadying breath, you push aside the tumult of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

You look back at your shaking hands seeing the sink run red as you rinse the rest of Tans blood away, the water swirling slowly like the tension in your chest. The room feels both too small and too vast, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Lemon's eyes soften with understanding. "Does he know?" he asks gently.

You shake your head, tears now flowing freely. "No," you manage to choke out.

Lemon gives you a sad smile and pats your back. "It's gonna be okay. He's tough. He'll pull through. He's Tangerine, after all."

You look over at Tangerine, his face pale and his breathing shallow. The sight of him like this, so vulnerable, breaks something inside you. You sink to your knees beside the table, clutching his hand in yours, your tears falling onto his bloodstained shirt.

"I should have told him, “ You whisper, your voice breaking. "I should have told him every day."

Lemon kneels beside you, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He knows," he says softly. "Somehow, he knows. And he’s fighting.”

The room is silent except for the faint, labored breathing of Tangerine. You press your forehead to Tangerine's hand, your sobs shaking your entire body.

"Please, don't leave me," you whisper, your voice raw with pain. "I can't do this without you."

"He's going to make it," Lemon murmurs, more to himself than to you. "He has to."

You cling to those words, praying that they're true. Because the thought of a world without Tangerine is too much to bear.

When the morning sun shines through the kitchen window, you stir, the warm light nudging you awake. You jolt up, immediately checking on Tangerine and finding him still breathing, albeit slowly. His chest rises and falls steadily, and a wave of relief washes over you.

Your body aches from the uncomfortable sleeping position, but you ignore it, stretching briefly before moving around the kitchen to make some coffee, the familiar routine grounding you.

Suddenly, you hear a faint sound. Turning around, you see Tangerine, though barely conscious, calling out for you, reaching out weakly.

"Hey, " he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed but a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You rush to his side, your heart heavy yet light with relief. “don't go too far" he whispers, his hand finding yours.

"Lemon!" you call out, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions. "Lemon, get in here!"

Lemon appears in the doorway, eyes widening as he takes in the scene. "What's going on? Is he—?"

"He's awake," you say, unable to contain the sob that escapes your lips. "He's going to be okay."

Lemon's face softens with a mixture of relief and joy. He steps forward, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I told you he's tough," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "Tan doesn't go down that easily."

You nod, unable to speak, the relief washing over you in waves. You stay by Tangerines side, his hand still clasped in yours, feeling the weight of the nights fear and uncertainty lift just a little.

Lemon places a gentle hand on your back, his voice soft but firm. "You need to rest. Take a shower, change into some fresh clothes. I'll keep an eye on him."

You hesitate, glancing back at Tangerine "Are you sure?" you ask, your voice wavering with concern.

"I'm sure," Lemon reassures you, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Lem." you shake your head at his compliment and make your way to the bathroom. The hot water cascading over you feels like a much-needed cleanse, washing away the grime and the fear of the night. You change into fresh clothes, feeling a bit more human, and take a moment to steady yourself before heading back to the kitchen.

When you return, you see Lemon leaning close to Tangerine, their voices low as Tangerine attempts to sit up, wincing with every movement. Lemon supports him, and you quickly move to their side, slipping an arm around Tangerine to help. Together, you guide him into one of the bedrooms, easing him onto the bed so he can rest more comfortably.

"Thanks," Tangerine murmurs, his face still pale but his eyes more focused.

"You need to rest," you say, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "We'll be right outside." As you and Lemon turn to leave, Tangerine's voice stops you.

"Wait." His hand reaches out, grabbing yours weakly. You look at Lemon, who gives you a knowing nod.

"I'll give you two some privacy," he says softly. "Call if you need anything." You nod at Lemon before turning back to Tangerine.

"You scared the living daylight out of me last night," you admit, your voice trembling slightly as you sit on the edge of the bed, Tangerine's hand still clasped in yours.

"I didn't mean to," he replies, a weak smile playing on his lips. "But I guess I did give that Burberry suit a run for its money."

You manage a small laugh, tears of relief filling your eyes. "I guess I owe you a new shirt," you say, your voice breaking with emotion as you remember ripping it off him to stop the bleeding.

"And i owe you a pristine car cleaning," he replies, squeezing your hand tightly, his smile widening.

Your laughter fades and you sit in silence for a moment, gathering your courage. You know that now is the time to speak your heart. “Tan I—” you begin, but Tangerine interrupts, his expression soft.

"Thank you." He looks down for a second, watching his hand play with yours. “Sorry, you were saying,” he looks back up into your eyes.

You blink in confusion, feeling your cheeks flush. "Oh, erm… you don’t have to thank me. It’s... it’s part of the job." you mumble.

Tangerine’s grip on your hand tightens, his eyes never leaving yours. "It’s more than just a job to you, isn’t it?"

You swallow hard, the truth pressing against your lips. "Yes," you whisper, barely able to hold back the tears. "It’s more. So much more."

He nods, a bittersweet smile on his face. "Lemon might have hinted at it before, but I’ve suspected for a while."

A mixture of relief and embaressement washes over you. "Lemon and his big mouth," you mutter, a weak laugh escaping your lips.

Tangerine chuckles, but winces in pain. You scold him lightly. "Don’t laugh, you idiot. You need to rest."

He grins despite the pain, bringing his hand to your cheek. "Will you stay?"

You lean into his hand, feeling his touch. "I'll stay." you whisper, tears falling freely now.

Tangerine’s eyes soften, and he reaches out to brush a tear from your cheek. "I’ve been feeling the same way you know. For a while actually."

Your heart races, and you struggle to find your voice. "What?" Tangerine’s eyes flick between your eyes and your lips before he closes the gap, kissing you softly. The kiss is tender, filled with all the unspoken emotions you’ve both been holding back.

Its a clusterfuck, but someone might like it...

[heich0e]

[warning: while f!reader is not described with any specific physical characteristics, the child in this fic is described as having inherited all of Megumi’s attributes and none from reader! please read with that in mind, or pass over this fic if not <3]

"So, can you help me?"

Megumi blinks down at the little boy, still yet to say a single word since he arrived at the veterinary clinic's doorstep. His lips part, and he tries to say something, but speech fails him. Like he's forgotten how to will his lips and teeth and tongue to do anything at all.

The little boy—the one who looks just like him, who has his hair, and his father's eyes, and the nose he's always been told he got from his mother—waits raptly for his response.

Megumi nods, waving the child in from the rain.

That should have been the first thing he did, he realizes belatedly, especially when he sees the way the boy's teeth are chattering when he steps in from the cold. He's sopping wet—with water dripping from his little blue raincoat and his yellow rubber boots onto the lobby floor.

"Can I see it?" Megumi finally speaks, looking down at the little baby bunny the boy is holding to his chest.

The boy looks reluctant for a moment, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, before nodding. He allows Megumi to scoop the animal from his little hand into his own, much larger one. The rabbit looks even tinier when he holds it in his hand, but it is mercifully still alive. It's weak, and possibly not going to make it, but for now there's still hope—and that's all Megumi needs.

He looks at the boy again, who waits with bated breath for his prognosis.

"Is this your pet?" Megumi asks the boy, though there are about a thousand other questions he has that beg to be posed.

The little boy shakes his head no.

"Where did you find it?"

"In the field behind Mama's work," the little boy says. "Is he gonna be okay?"

Mama.

"What's your mama's name?" Megumi asks before he can stop himself.

The little boy looks at him curiously. "Mama's name?"

Megumi nods.

"Mama."

The adult sighs pressing a hand to his eyes, unsure of why he expected anything else.

Two little hands clutch at the hem of his sweater.

"Please Mister," the little boy says, and Megumi spreads his fingers apart to look down at where the boy stands below him. The tears have welled fiercely now, sparkling in his green eyes. "Please make sure the bunny is okay."

Megumi freezes for a moment, an ache in his chest that he can't name—a heart attack maybe?

"Fushiguroooooooooooo—!"

A familiar figure appears in the doorway to the clinic, the door sliding open again.

"The weather out there is nast—"

Yuuji, still in his station uniform and with a case of beer tucked under one arm, freezes when he steps inside and spots the little boy holding on to the bottom of Megumi's jumper.

The darker haired man watches just about every thought play out across his long-time friend's face. Yuuji's eyes snap up to meet his, and Megumi can practically see the words flashing in his eyes—

WHAT THE FUCK?

"Yuuji, can you please look after him while I take his bunny to an exam room?" Megumi's voice is surprisingly even as he addresses his friend. "He came here alone."

It takes Yuuji a moment to process things, but when he does, Megumi watches the switch happen—the softening of his expression, the easygoing smile appearing on his face. This is not Yuuji who Megumi once watched streak naked across their high school sportsfield when he lost a bet to Nobara, not Yuuji who once cried for three hours after watching a tragic romance movie that didn't have a happy ending, not Yuuji who he's dragged home drunk more times than he can count—this is Itadori-san, Fire Lieutenant, who is here to help a little boy who's all alone late at night.

"Hi there," Yuuji says to the boy, crouching down to the boy's level. He sets the case of beer aside on one of the waiting room chairs. "I'm Itadori Yuuji, what's your name?"

Megumi almost laughs, but doesn't, and he steps through the doorway towards the exam rooms before he can hear the little boy's answer.

It doesn't take Megumi long to surmise the the baby bunny is not in any imminent peril—suffering more than anything from exposure, having likely been separated from it's mother too soon, and met with weather too inclement to survive. If the little boy hadn't found him, and hadn't known to bring him here, it's unlikely it would have lasted the night.

Megumi gets the rabbit set up in a small makeshift cage for the time being, setting down clean bits of hay and something soft for it to sleep atop. He puts water and some food inside as well, but just being in from the cold seems to have done the animal a world of good, and it quickly hides beneath the little blanket Megumi put down for it, and curls up to go to sleep.

He breathes a little easier, but only for a moment.

He makes his way back out to the lobby.

Yuuji is crouching on the floor, towelling the little boy's hair dry as he sits on one of the waiting room chairs. When Yuuji stops the vigorous movement of his hands, and the child peeks out from underneath the towel, his hair is sticking up in every which way. Both of the adults in the room stare at him in shock.

He looks just like Megumi.

"Kota-chan, I don't know if you got a proper introduction when you arrived," Yuuji says with a bright smile towards the little boy, jutting a thumb over his shoulder in Megumi's direction, "this is Doctor Fushiguro, he takes care of all of the animals here."

The little boy blinks in Megumi's direction, the towel still looped around his shoulders.

"Hello," Megumi greets him, though it's a little stiff.

"Is he okay?" the little boy, Kota as Yuuji has just introduced him, asks him earnestly. "Is the bunny okay?"

Megumi nods. "He'll be fine."

Kota smiles brightly, his cheeks lifting high on his face. It's the purest, sincerest expression that Megumi's ever seen on anyone.

"Kota-chan was just telling me that his mother works at a restaurant not far from here," Yuuji says, standing from his stoop on one side of the room. He shares a look with his friend that's more serious than the expression on his face or the tone of his voice betrays. "Do you know her?"

Megumi looks down at his feet, his fists clenched at his side.

He shakes his head no.

He hears Yuuji make a choked little noise of confusion, which he covers with a cough. "Hey, Kota-chan, are you hungry?"

Megumi looks up in time to see the little boy nod, his hands resting over his stomach. His blue raincoat is hanging on the coat rack by the entrance along with Yuuji's and now Megumi can see the sweater he's wearing—with a little cartoon racoon printed on the front.

"I know where Dr. Fushiguro keeps all the good snacks, should we go get one?" Yuuji asks the boy with a bright smile, and Kota nods again with an excited sparkle in his eyes. Yuuji takes his hand and helps him off his chair, leading him towards the staff kitchen. The blush-haired man pauses as he passes his friend.

"You should come too," he says, but his tone is quieter when he speaks to his friend, their eyes meeting. "We've got some stuff to talk about."

[wroteclassicaly]

can you do fireworks with...well I was going to way Gator but Steve also works if Gator is off the board.

Warnings: Language, friends to lovers, mentions of injury, Gator speaks a little rough towards reader, fluff, mentions masturbation, use of fireworks, alcohol, Gator being a dumb turtle boy, smut, and NSFW.

A/N: I had waaaaay too much fun with this one, so it’s obviously more than two paragraphs!

~*~

His headlights gave a too bright spotlight, causing him to trip over his own big ass feet, his zippo flying somewhere on the grass nearby. You snort at his antics, already flicking your bic to life and setting your sparkler ablaze. There’s an amber bottle of whiskey nearly gone, along with food wrappers and a blanket close by — courtesy of you, having stolen it off the end of Gator’s bed. You wave your stick around, dizzy off Jack Daniel’s and the buzz that being near your best-friend brings. Sharing one brain cell, the only person that can be around Gator Tillman full time (not without occasional headaches) — the town cannot separate you two. He drops to the ground, clearly irritated you got yours lit first.

“Hey,” you can’t help but to break in as he’s huffing between puffs on his vape, rifling through the grass with the other hand. He doesn’t look at you, but you continue. “Remember that time that you lit that fire rocket and accidentally sat on it? I swear I thought you broke your ass, man.”

Gator huffs in annoyance, clearly remembering what occurred just last year. You keep going. “I don’t know how you own a flame thrower and haven’t caught your junk or yourself on fire yet.”

“I am my junk, bitch!” He snaps, exasperated as you glares holes at you through the darkness.

The effects of heat coasting across the night breeze, crickets in the distance, and how the trees catch the rustling winds — it’s actually a nice ending to your day. You put your hands up, a snort leaving your mouth, especially right as you spot his lighter, reflected off his headlights. You motion to it with your sparkler, and he immediately grabs it, rolling his eyes. He paces a slight distance, he’s kneeling, his khaki camp tight across his legs, black shirt stretched over his biceps, tattoo on display. Your mouth waters, every imaginable scenario coming into play.

It’s not unusual to think about him this way. Hell, whenever you with someone else, it’s not their face that you see. Your best-friend has been at the end of every single orgasm you’ve had since meeting the shithead. You’re broken from your Gator-lusting reverie when his hand cracks the zippo to life, igniting the fireworks, crackling noises exploding and a fountain of colors explode into the air. Gator struts in front of them towards you in that way, hair strands blown into a disarray, hues of bright blues, golds, reds, pinks, and deep crimson lighting up the night sky behind him.

It’s a sight straight from a movie, and you don’t realize your sparkler has gone out. But it doesn’t matter, not as Gator clings to your energy and finds you chest to chest, tossing the stick from your hand. Your back is colliding with his truck in a vertigo-washed movement. He cradles your face, his breath soaked in jack, chew, and vape juice. It’s a big deal, but it’s also just two people meeting in ways that were always going to happen.

His nose bridge drags along your own as he pants the words across your mouth. “I’ve got rubbers in my glove box, babydoll. You gonna let me fuck you tonight? Teasing my cock so much, n’ you know it, too.”

“On the blanket…” you’re pawing at his shirt collar and he just shakes his head.

“Turn around and put your hands on my hood. You want me, you’re gonna take it the way that I give it to you.”

You’re immediately obeying, sky above faded out with streams of vibrant colors, smoke cloud wafting in this direction. He’s back after retrieving the items. It doesn’t take long…

~*~

He’d watched you touch yourself from behind, your jeans and thong on the ground below, as he slowly jerked himself off, enough until he’d achingly slid into the condom and spun you around. As much as he craved you in this position, he needed to see your face this first time, more than anything. He laid you upon the blanket, lifting your legs around his hips, and slid into you in one deep thrust, one you’d be feeling for days. You held tightly, groaning, whimpering pathetically into one another’s mouths. Your hands held a new, possessive purchase by digging into the plush of his bare ass, pushing him deeper.

He didn’t go home that night, and he didn’t take you home. But he did attempt to light another firework and you had driven him to the hospital to get his hand wrapped. Dumbass.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

I wonder how would lucky story go if she met the strawhats crew when there were younger instead meeting them when there 17? Instant big sis or instant mother figure🤔

Honestly, Lucky already is going to have a big sister-esque relationship with most of the straw hats, so I went with her being a mother figure. No yandere stuff here because they're all kids.

Careful What You Wish For

Child Straw Hats x Reader

2.2k words

“Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up!”

Thankfully, the stars aligned, and against all odds, your mother actually answered, “(Y/N)? You never call, what’s going on?”

“Oh thank God, I need help!” You were practically weeping from relief.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Oh I knew this would happen with all that exploring you do!” Your mother flipped from concerned to scolding in record time.

“No, it’s not that! I don’t know how,” you take a deep breath, “but I just became a single mother of seven and I don’t know what to do.” You elect to keep the information that one of these kids is, in fact, an anthropomorphic deer to yourself. You gotta ease her into this.

The line is silent for a minute before your mother speaks up again, but not without an exasperated sigh, “This isn’t funny (y/n), I thought something was actually wrong. Don’t offer to babysit that many children if you can’t handle it.”

“No! You don’t understand! I didn’t-” you’re cut off by the sound of the line going dead. This bitch. You don’t know if you want to scream or cry. Maybe both. Of course she didn’t help, you honestly don’t know what you expected.

Loud sniffling from above your head called for your attention. Chopper, the previously aforementioned deer, has been perched on your shoulders and clinging onto your head for dear life practically since he got here because Luffy bit him. You blindly reach up to pat his head, internally grateful for the fact that he’s stopped crying.

The patter of tiny feet coming right for you catches your attention and you look to the side to see Luffy charging at you with Usopp trailing behind him. Oh boy. This kid was a lot, but he also did really weird shit. His limbs stretched like he was made of rubber, something that nearly gave you a heart attack when he first revealed this.

His eyes locked onto your cell phone, “What’s that, let me see!” Without even giving you a chance to respond, his arm does the stretchy thing and snatches it out of your hand. He turns it over in his hands, visibly perplexed by it. “What’s this supposed to be?”

You try to get it back, but kids become masters of evasion when they have something they aren’t supposed to have, “Give that back Luffy, you’re going to break it!”

“Nuh-uh! I’ll be careful with it!” He disagrees as he immediately drops it. Luckily for you, Usopp catches it before it can hit the floor.

“I know what this is! It’s… um… it’s,” Usopp examined the phone closely with the same level of confusion that Luffy had despite his previous claims that he knows what it is. 

Fortunately, he was too focused on your phone to see your hand coming and you were able to grab it out of his hands. You hastily stuff it into your back pocket, “It’s just a phone, don’t worry about it.” You walk away from them, wanting to locate the rest of the kids that have since dispersed.

Luffy followed behind you like a duckling, reaching up to tug on Chopper, “Hey, come down and play with us!”

Chopper only clung onto your head tighter, “No! You’re gonna bite me again!” You winced at the feeling of hooves digging into your head.

“I won’t do it again! Don’t be such a scaredy cat! Er- Scaredy deer!” 

“I’m a reindeer!” Chopper snapped indignantly. You mentally made a note that he’s a reindeer, not a deer.

Luffy was not deterred by the protests and decided to take it a step further by slingshotting himself up your back. You yelped at the sudden action, completely being thrown off balance. Luffy only giggled at your distress.

Between Chopper flailing from Luffy invading his personal space, Luffy treating you like a human jungle gym, and Usopp latching onto one of your legs (presumably not wanting to be left out of the chaos), it’s hardly surprising when you topple over. 

Chopper was dislodged immediately, tumbling away from you with a scream. You groan from the impact and force yourself to take a deep breath so you don’t explode at a bunch of young children. It doesn’t help that much. You look over your shoulder to glare at the two kids still attached to you, but whatever scolding you had in mind died on your tongue upon seeing Luffy’s smiling face. Dammit. He has no idea how lucky he is that he’s adorable.

You pushed yourself up, shaking Usopp off your leg and reaching behind you to pluck Luffy off your back. He giggles at being held upside down in front of you, not a care in the world for what his mischief caused. You try your best to at least look stern, “It’s not very nice to knock people over, you know.”

“I didn’t think you would fall over just from that! You’re kinda clumsy,” he has the audacity to laugh in your face. 

“You little-” your eye twitches, and you have to remind yourself that it’s not a good idea to swear in front of children. You dropped him into your lap, which only made him laugh more and squirm around to get upright. The second he is, he latches onto you again.

“You should come play with us, too!” His smile almost breaks you, but you have other things you need to do. Despite your mother’s assumptions, this isn’t some babysitting job. This is some bizarre case of seven children spawning into your living room with no warning or explanation.

“Maybe later. I need to go check on everyone else, okay?” It takes a bit of effort to pry him off this time, his rubbery arms being surprisingly strong. He’s pouting when you do manage to pull him off, but quickly shifts his focus onto Chopper who is hiding behind a chair. Well, hiding is a strong word for what he was doing. Only like half of an antler was actually obscured from view.

The reindeer took off like the devil was chasing him, Luffy not far behind. You decide to let them work this out. Luffy probably won’t bite him again, maybe they’ll be able to settle their differences. You massaged your temples in a half hearted attempt to ward off your oncoming headache.

“Are you okay?” Robin put the book she was reading down enough to peer at you over it. She was the oldest one, looking to be either a preteen or very young teenager. The girl was very quiet, choosing to keep to herself and curl up on your couch with one of your books.

“I’ll be alright,” you say unconvincingly. In reality, you feel like you’re about to have a panic attack, but you’ll keep that to yourself for now. There’s no need to dump all of that on her. 

She regarded you with a high degree of uncertainty, clearly not buying it, but shrugged it off. Her eyes flitted back to the book, “Okay, but you might want to go check on Nami.”

“Why?” Panic spikes in your heart, wondering why she was saying this.

“She ran off with your purse a while ago,” Robin offers nonchalantly, nodding her head in the direction of your bedroom. 

“Oh come on!” You sprint towards the room, kicking yourself for not taking note of the suspiciously closed door sooner. Upon throwing open the door, you find the culprit kneeling on the ground next to the dumped out contents of your purse. She looked surprised to be caught, but distinctly not ashamed. “Get out of there! You shouldn’t go through other people’s belongings!”

Nami doesn’t even flinch, only smiling cheekily at your attempt to scold her, “Your money looks weird, and you don’t even have that much of it.” As she’s saying this, she pulls out the sorry contents of your wallet. Some crumpled up singles you got as tips at work along with some loose change.

“Hey! I don’t need that from you!” The last thing anyone needs is a small child calling them broke. You lunge for the wallet. While you do manage to grab it, it doesn’t mean much. Not when she’s already got tiny fistfulls of crumpled bills and coins. 

Nami bolts, but not before taking a second to stick her tongue out at you. You run a hand through your hair and hazard a glance down at the wallet. Completely empty. You just got robbed by what looks like a six year old. That’s a new low for you. You heave out a sigh and decide to let it go for the time being, you’re pretty sure all she really made off with was maybe $4.27.

This still leaves two kids unaccounted for, and you are almost afraid to find out what they’ve gotten up to since you’ve become distracted. Steeling yourself, you exit the room and begin your search. 

Robin is still reading on the couch, but now Chopper is curled up next to her, looking frazzled. Usopp is messing with the remote to your tv, and Nami is hiding (poorly) under your table while counting her (your) money. Luffy is nowhere to be seen, but you can hear him so you at least know he hasn’t run away.

On top of that, you can also hear bickering coming from your kitchen. Hurrying over there, you find the last two kids arguing with each other. Over knives. These kids are going to put you in an early grave, you’re sure of it. 

“No! You can’t have them, I just finished sharpening those!” Sanji kicked Zoro’s shins, trying to wrestle three knives away from him. One of which was in his mouth while the other two were in his hands. 

“I need them for practice, you can have them back later!” Zoro speaks shockingly clearly despite having a paring knife clenched between his teeth.

“Drop it!” You screeched, startling both of them. Zoro didn’t even get a chance to put the knives down before you swiped them away. He started to protest but shut his mouth after you glared at him, “I don’t want to hear it! No knives! Go play with sticks like every other kid!” Zoro crossed his arms and huffed, but ultimately settled for stomping out of the kitchen. 

Sanji, on the other hand, was proudly beaming at you, “I wanted to cut up some fruit for you, Nami, and Robin, but all of your knives were dull so I sharpened them for you!” 

The kid looked so proud of himself that you couldn’t find it in you to be as upset about him handling knives as you probably should be. “That was very nice of you, but you shouldn’t be handling knives at your age. Please just ask me to do it if they get dull again,” you do your best to keep your tone kind but firm.

Sanji cocks his head at this, “No I’m not, I work in a kitchen and do this all the time! Old man Zeff taught me how.”

What in the child labor? You shake your head, you’ll question that more later, “Well you’re not working right now, you’re in my home and I say no using the knives.”

Sanji pouts, looking like a kicked puppy. He grabbed onto your legs and looked up at you pleadingly, “But I know what I’m doing! Please! It’s not just a job to me, I love cooking!”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t cook, just no using knives,” you tried to assuage him, but he’s still looking at you like you just robbed him of his passion. “Okay, how about I let you, but only under supervision?”

The compromise causes him to perk right up and nod his head enthusiastically. He looks like he wants to say more, but is interrupted by someone else coming into the kitchen. You don’t even need to turn around, recognizing the sound of sandals slapping across the floor.

“I’m hungry! Do you have any food?” Luffy was staring up at you pleadingly, as if he would wither away any second. 

Oh yeah. Having a bunch of kids around does mean that you have to feed them. You internally cringe, you barely have enough food for yourself most weeks. Still, you can’t just let them go hungry, it’s not their fault they’re here. You did just do your weekly grocery shopping trip yesterday, so you do have enough to feed them right now. It definitely wouldn’t last you all the rest of the week, though. You’ll have to figure something out.

“Sure! Give me a few minutes and I’ll get lunch ready,” you force a smile on your face despite your worries. Sanji looks up at you expectantly, “Yes, you can help.”

He grins and hops up onto a stepping stool so he can get to work on slicing the apples he set out. While he does that, you rummage through your fridge, grabbing what you need to make sandwiches. You honestly don’t know what you’re going to do food-wise after today, but you’ll worry about that later. 

This is certainly an interesting change of pace for you.

[evalevaeva]

Who? | oh beomseok x reader

in which beomseok becomes someone you can't recognise.

[paragraphed weirdly because i wrote this on my notes in between study breaks]

-got this idea while chatting my new friend, @slytherinshua

The physics worksheet on your desk was covered with scribbles of different coloured pens and highlighters as you tilted your head, questioning the various questions to be answered on the worksheet. It felt as if a ghost ran past you as someone placed. a smalm carton of milk with bread on your desk, before attempting to dash away from you, not giving you even one look.

The person didn't get far as they halted in their tracks and turned to walk back to your table, nervously scratching their neck as they began, "I... saw that you didn't bring breakfast today, and you seemed to be having a tough time everyday, so I hope this will cheer you up!". The boy in front of you explained as he smiled nervously before walking away from your desk to his desk next to Yeon Sieun. The boy who had nervously come up to you was none other than the new transfer, Oh Beomseok. He had a rough time with Youngbin and his hooligans, but it seemed that he had found his group of people. Strangely enough, those people had to be Sooho and Sieun, two very perculiar individuals, but matched as if they had known each other in a previous life.

Beomseok continued to bring you milk and bread every single day without a fail, until you decided to question him. Not that you were complaining, but there must have been a motive behind his actions.

"Here's your milk and bread!" Beomseok said as he began walking away from your desk, but you caught his wrist just as he was about to leave.

"Beomseok, could I ask you something? It's nothing serious, I'm just curious about something," You asked as Beomseok looked up to see Sooho giving him a thumbs up, while Sieun remained expressionless with his signature look.

Beomseok dragged over a chair as the rubber dragged against the tiled floor, making a loud sound. The boy took a seat across from you as you cleared your throat, a little nervous being in front of him.

"The milk and bread, I'm not trying to sound ungrateful or upset, I'm just curious as to why you would suddenly give me milk and bread. I mean, we've never talked before and you aren't obligated to get me them and I feel a bit bad because you've spent a lot of money to get me food. I'm just curious, why do you get me milk and bread everyday?" You questioned as Beomseok seemed visibly nervous.

The poor boy's glasses had sweat beads on the bottom side and his fingernails tapped against each other as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes before muttering something which you couldn't catch.

"I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't understand you-"

"I've liked you for a while now and I didn't know how to confess my feelings so Sooho suggested I give you snacks because you like them!" Beomseok blurted out as his eyes widened, and his hand cupped over his mouth as if trying to keep anything else from spilling from him.

Your expression mirrored him as you coughed, trying to hide your cheeks that were turning red. You felt shy, and did not know what to say. You thought that you should just focus on your studies for the last mile of your journey in Eunjang High School, but it seemed that there were other things in store for you.

Over the course of a few months, Beomseok had become the best boyfriend you could ever ask for. Sometimes, it seemed like an understatement. Beomseok would wait outside the school gate patiently, waiting for you to arrive safely as the both of you would walk down the hallway leading to the class and talk non-stop about the future and your aspirations. Beomseok talked about how he wanted a future with you, and how he'd never had the chance to like anyone in his old school and nor were there anyone worth having feelings for there, but when he transferred to Eunjang High, he knew you were the one for him.

Beomseok being the hopeless romantic, would give you handmade paper flowers and would always ensure that you had your proper meals. Beomseok would make sure you arrived home safely, before leaving in his fancy family car.

You never knew more than what you were supposed to about his family, but you held onto the firm belief that you'd know one day.

That week was, strange to say the least. Beomseok seemed more distanced from not only Sooho and Sieun, but you. Beomseok had never acted this way before and it worried you, a lot.

The next day, walking up the hill to the school gate, you didn't see Beomseok, who would usually be waiting at the rusting iron gates that allowed students to enter the school. He wasn't there.

So you waited. Waited for minutes, worrying if he had gotten into trouble or maybe he felt ill and wouldn't be coming to school again. Before you knew it, you were dragging your feet to the classroom, disheartened that you wouldn't see him for the entire day.

"Thanks for paying for our drinks Beomseok!" Lee Jungchan yelled as Beomseok sat on the seat that once belonged to Youngbin. To say your heart dropped would be a drastic understatement. Beomseok was in school, but he seemed like a different person. His usual black rimmed glasses weren't on his pale face and the way he spoke, almost seemed foreign to you. It was almost like you were being tricked into thinking this stranger in front of you was your boyfriend.

"Hey Beomseok, your chick is here!" Han Taehoon said as the group of uncivilised teenagers split apart, revealing your 'boyfriend', Beomseok.

He looked at you as a wave of shock came across his dark eyes, he'd forgotten to meet you after school, especially with the banging hangover headache that was consuming his crown. You were shocked and absolutely refused to speak to him while he was in the company of Youngbin's dogs.

You turned away from the sight in front of you and made a beeline for your seat, that had been next to Beomseok, but it seemed that he had already moved seats. You turned to look over at Sieun, who was seated next to Beomseok's old seat. You wanted to ask him a million and one questions.

'What happened? Is he crazy? Did he lose it?' all types of questions ran through your head as you pulled the chair out from Beomseok's old seat and sat down, looking in Sieun's direction.

"Sieun, sieun! I need to ask you something," You whisper-shouted in Sieun's direction as he took of his airpods and turned to look at you, obviously bothered by your presence next to him.

"What's the matter with Beomseok? I mean, he's mental. It's as if, I don't even know him," You questioned as Sieun's eyes flickered to his desk before looking straight at you once again.

"I'll tell you later...at cram school," Sieun stated as he return to his work, giving Beomseok one last glance.

Cram School was never something you enjoyed since you sat next to Sieun and all he ever did was stare at the blackboard before scribbling in his notebook repeatedly for three hours. Today would be different, you took a seat next to Sieun as he began, telling you the truth.

"Sooho and Beomseok had a misunderstanding at the karaoke room and apparently some bullies from his school found him and he beat them, but Sooho held him back from causing too much harm. Beomseok was not happy with that and got angry with Sooho, which led to this point. He began joining Youngbin's old group of friends and he began vaping and paying for their alcohol. He's being used by them, I'm sure of it, but Sooho says Beomseok is using them," Sieun explained as it felt like someone had thrown the entire blackboard in your face.

You couldn't believe it and you wouldn't believe it.

He can't have changed that much, right?

Maybe he was just angry and would come around soon.

Cleaning time had never been your favourite and if you could turn back time, maybe you should've just rest at home.

"You slept with her? Yunhee! God she's so hot, and she's a senior!" One of the guys buzzed as another student kicked the mop that was being held by one of the students that were cleaning.

"Clean better, alright piggy?" The guy stated as the group broke into laughter.

"But you know who's hotter? Rina! I swear she has something for me, she looked into my eyes and- bzz! I felt the connection!" Jungchan stated as Beomseok smirked.

"I texted both of them! They both have a thing for me~" Beomseok happily stated as the rest of the guys huddled around the boy as he showed them a photo of him with them at a night club.

Your eyes widened as you stood at the door frame of the boy's toilet, having looked for Beomseok everywhere. You dropped your broom as it fell with a loud thud, grabbing the attention of the boys in the toilet.

Beomseok was pale, but his face at that current moment, was paler than even colour white. He dropped the electronic cigarette in his hand as he put his phone in his pocket and looked around nervously.

You were a patient person, everyone knew that, but never in your life have you ever encountered someone as vile and sickening as the boy who stopd before you.

Your feet seemed to take you forward as you raised your right arm and swung at his face, slapping him. His head faced the other way as he held the cheek that suffered the hit, watching the tears begin to well up in your clear eyes, causing them to turn red.

"We should break up. I have no idea who you are but, you're definitely not the Beomseok I loved. I wish you the best of luck," You stated tearfully as you turned to leave the bathroom, calmly walking to the hallway before you made a run for it. You could practically hear his footsteps as you ran out the school doors and out the school gate. He wasn't worth it anymore.

He was a foreign creature that had taken the form of your boyfriend and chose to spread pain to everyone around him.

"Wait!" That voice couldn't be mistaken for anyone else in the school, even if you tried to act as if you didn't know whose voice it was, you knew.

"No. You're sickening, absolutely sickening. First you get into fights and I get it, you want to defend your friends. This is totally different, you're smoking, drinking, sleeping with women, cheating and you've just completely changed! I have my dignity too Beomseok, and I won't let you step all over it. Maybe we were once lovers but now, I have no idea who you are or what type of being you are but please stay away from me. It's for my safety and wellbeing." You stated as you walked away, not wanting to face him again.

Beomseok ran his fingers through his hair as he shut his eyes aggresively, feeling a headache creeping up on him as he watched you leave. Leaving him physically and emotionally. If he felt lonely before, he might as we be alone in a coffin at that point. Nobody was there for him anymore. No one to text him good morning, no one to scribble smiley faces on his notes, no one to go bowling with him and no one to sit next to him and hug him while he cried out his feelings. No one to be his emotional support pillar and no one to say I love you to him.

end.

[gooch-cancer]

Steven Meeks x (GN!) Piano Player! Reader

In which: You're a pianist for the Welton church whose gentle melodies caught the attention of Steven Meeks

A/N: this has been in my drafts for forever i am so sorry it's been taking so long i appreciate you if ur still reading it means the most. i've tried to make y/n (but not use y/n cuz i think it's stupid) ambiguous throughout this story but in order for this to work i did give some lore which i hope doesn't bother you guys too much

Prev Chap here:

Chapter 8:

Steven warily entered the chapel, he wasn't allowed to be there but his desire to see you trumped that. He looked around the building, it was one that he'd seen hundreds of times throughout his years of Welton. He remembered when he arrived here for the first time during the opening ceremony. The stained glass windows shined from the August sun as he sat beside his mother and father. He'd only been around fourteen at the time so naturally he couldn't stand them both.

His mother kept on reassuring him ("Everything will be alright honey! This is a really good school and I'll be sure to write you!") His father however, Steven was unsure if the man even knew he existed. He always gave him gruff answers to his questions, never looked him in the eye. Steven felt that shame deep down due to how far he tried to push it away. Feelings of that nature are like a rubber band, you can pull it away from your mind but it'd just end up snapping back and hitting you.

As the light of knowledge was lit, Steven felt the hairs on his neck prickle up a bit. Something about this place scared him inexplicably. He looked around at the other boys they all had a dull expression on their face. One that made it obvious how ready they were for this ceremony to end. They all looked so smart and so...rich. Steven wondered about them. He thought about their lives, what their parents were like. It was probably the most idealistic childhood one could think of.

Summers at the country club, winters at ski resorts, he'd imagined it all.

There was a soft thud of shoes on the carpeted floor and Steven turned his neck in shock after being cut from his thoughts so suddenly. You stopped in front of him with a warm smile, "You came,"

He grinned up at you, his mouth all wide and toothy as his cheeks began to pink slightly at the sight of you, "Oh uh well I of course I did," He stumbled through his words. It's odd, it's like every single time he sees you after a while he'd forgotten how to act.

You gesture towards the piano with your arm, songbook in hand, "Shall we?" you asked in a fake regal tone.

Steven nodded hurriedly and stood up to adjust his blazer, "Yes,do you want me to carry that for you?"

You chuckled slightly, "No I think I'll manage,"

He nodded awkwardly as you began to walk toward the piano, him slowly following behind you. As you sat on the bench and adjusted your music he found himself simply standing, unsure. You turned your head, "You may sit, you know?" You shifted over and patted the seat of the bench beside you. He quickly took you up on the offer. You smiled softly as you began to crack your knuckles and stretch your wrists before sitting up straight. Steven copied your posture out of curiosity. You turned to a page in your book titled "Warmup" and he looked at it in interest.

You turned your head towards him, "It's basic really, just your typical arpeggios, scales, things like that"

This only confused him more as he replied hesitantly, "I have no idea what that is...I don't know how to read music,"

"Oh, well..." You bit your lip as you tried to come up with a solution, "My offer still stands about lessons, it'll be free of course,"

Steven hummed in thought, "I...I suppose so,"

Your eyes lit up at his, albeit hesitant, agreement, "Really? You'd like me to teach you?"

He nodded his head slowly, "Yeah it'd be interesting,"

You cleared your throat and pointed at a note on your page, "Do you know what a quarter note is?"

Steven furrowed his eyebrows as you pointed at the notes on the page, you might as well had been speaking an entire language to him. You noticed his expression and laid your arm back down to your side. A small huff came from your nose as you tried to conjure up a way to explain to him. Soon you began to speak again this time slightly slower, "You understand fractions well d you?"

Steven raised his eyebrows as he finally understood, "Yeah! Yeah I do,"

You smiled as you pointed to a piece on the page before the music notes began, "This is called a time signature, the four here means the notes in each measure equals to four. Like a fraction,"

His hand went up to rub his temple using his fore and middle finger before he responded, "So when you said quarter note that meant one quarter of the entire measure?"

Your smile widened as he finally understood what you were trying to teach him. You two continued on like that, excited chatter echoing through the chapel along with the occasional note as you demonstrated where the 'C' key was. Steven could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the steady beat rattling him to his ears. You were right there. You were literally right beside him. This wasn't new by any means but there was something different about it. He opened his mouth to speak when the sound of a door slamming open interrupted him. You two looked at each other anxiously when the unmistakable sound of Mr.Nolans coughing and throat clearing bounced off the old stone walls.

He had no idea what to do besides be grateful that Nolan took the back entrance rather the front. You leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Follow me,"

Steven smiled wildly as you grabbed his wrist and lead him through the chapel. Hushed giggles and whispers were heard between the two of you as you ran down the halls, avoiding the oncoming presence of Nolan. As you passed the mural, there came a sudden stop in front of door. You opened it to reveal a simple janitors closet. It was a tightly closed in space, with a couple of brooms hanging on the wall and a hanging shelf containing a myriad of supplies.

He looked at you with confusion and humor on his face, "You want us to hide here?"

Your expression remained neutral as you shrugged, "It's the safest bet we have currently,"

There was a slight chuckle that came out of his mouth as he slowly entered the closet. You followed in after him, closing the door and swallowing you two in a slight darkness. There was about an inch or two of space between you and Steven could feel his face grow hot from the proximity. You smiled and giggled softly, "You doing ok?"

He gave an awkward grin whilst he looked at you, a far away look still in his eye, "Yeah, yeah," he responded.

A hush fell between you two as you heard footsteps past by, the sharp click of heels against the linoleum making Steven's body shake more and more. Then suddenly he felt your hand in his, the warm embrace allowing him to exhale some of his anxieties after Nolan had passed. A gentle look was shared between you two as Steven mouthed a gentle 'Thank you'.

You shrugged and leaned against his shoulder, his body tensing then relaxing again, leaning his head on yours.

You started a conversation whispering in his ear, "So...what's your favorite subject?"

Steven hummed for a second in thought, "Probably science, I've always been really into engineering and building things, you?"

You raised your eyebrows, "English I'd say, are you going to study engineering?"

"Oh yeah definitely, my parents want me to as well,"

"Is that your choice?"

"Well..."

"Steven," You raised your head and studied his face while furrowing your eyebrows, "Come on,"

Steven sighed, "I have no choice,"

"What do you mean? Do we not all get one?" You asked him with a small smile on your face almost as if you just couldn't believe him.

"I don't think there's a single person at Welton that's chosen their own path,"

You nodded your head and looked down at your shoes, the depressing turn of the conversation making the air awkward. Steven knew he fumbled and did his best to try and change the subject, "So uh piano...how long have you been playing?"

"Oh since I was seven, my parents stuck me in lessons and I took a liking to it,"

"Is it...easy?"

"By no means, but muscle memory helps,"

"Ah," Steven nodded as he stepped back and leaned against the wall. He slid down now sitting and you followed suit. You two sat down beside each other, backs laid against the wall. Steven sat sprawling out his legs and leaned his head against the wall looking up at the ceiling, you pulled your knees up to your chest and looked over at him. He felt your eyes and slowly turned his head to look at you. With a chuckle he asked you a simple question, "What?"

This made you look away embarrassed, your face heating up, "Oh nothing...you just look nice,"

Steven looked down at himself, he was wearing a lumpy gray sweatshirt and his uniform slacks that desperately needed to be ironed. He reached his hand up to the beanie on his head and felt the embroidery. He ran his thumb over the design as he tried to think of a response.

"Hardly," He came up with, "You look quite lovely yourself,"

All of a sudden, the room felt tighter. The already claustrophobic janitors closet was closing in on him. Was this the right time to make a move? He still wasn't sure yet here you were pressed up against his shoulder and looking at him like he could do no wrong. That light in your eye. It sparks a flame of life inside him. Before he could lean forward you looked down, trying to hide your face.

You muttered out a small thank you. Steven huffed a bit of air out of his nose but before he opened his mouth to say anything there was a distant slam of a door. This perked you up and you looked over at him, "Is...Nolan gone?"

Steven got up and walked to the door, pressing his ear up against the cold wood, "Yes...yes I believe so,"

You got up and wiped some dust off your bottoms, "Well then...do you have the time?,"

Steven opened the door and let the light in before he rolled up his sleeve to reveal his watch. You grabbed his wrist to look closer, leaning forward in such a fashion that made him go red. You had a panicked expression on your face, "Oh God- It's six, my mother is going to be so upset with me. Goodbye Steven, I enjoyed this time with you," You dropped his wrist and quickly began making your way to the piano with him behind you.

Steven looked over at you with a disappointed expression, "Do you have to go so soon?"

You sighed as you put on your jacket, "Afraid so, dinner is on the table and that's when I was supposed to be back,"

With a nod Steven handed you your songbook and you thanked him. You began to make your way out leaving him there when suddenly you stopped at the door. You turned and blew him a kiss which just about made all the air leave his lungs. The door slammed behind you and Steven sat down onto the piano bench, utterly winded.

[radiowallet]

Promise

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno Summary: Dieter gets a gift while away on location. WC: 1.9K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Sexual content. Exclusive M/M dynamics. Written in third-person POV, male protagonists, allusions to smut, and dirty talk. Mentions of food and drug use. Small angsty moments. Yearning. So much yearning. AU Marcus Moreno (no wife, no Missy). A lot of purple prose and waxing poetic in this one, besties.

A/N: We're back with more of these boys. What can I say? I am obsessed with their dynamic and as long as my broken brain keeps sending me ideas for them, I intend to keep writing them down. Big thanks to @magpie-to-the-morning and @jazzelsaur who are patient as patient can be while I barge into their DM's to screech about these two soft, vulnerable boys. I love you both.

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The bouquet had been delivered to set, the candy cotton pink petals hard to miss amidst the cranes and cameras and all the rest of the hardware it took to put a film in the can. Everyone had fawned over the flowers from the moment they arrived, their delicate shape a marvel beneath the heat of the Moroccan sun. 

But when the courier called out Dieter’s name, the room almost erupted, everything from squeals of elation to nosy questions being tossed his way. Dieter couldn’t help himself, cheeks warming and chest puffing, as he accepted the vase, the increased attention not only from the crew but also his fellow actors, stroking his ego in a way he couldn’t help but relish in. 

Maybe some would be embarrassed at the sheer honesty in that one single thought but Dieter found peace in the sentiment. Hell, he was an actor. What else was there to say other than the truth in validation, hoping that enough of the attention could one day fix the broken pieces inside his heart. 

“One of your many admirers sending you flowers now, Bravo?” A well-meaning production assistant asks in passing. 

“Something like that,” he hums, taking care to tuck the card into his pocket for later. 

After that, the flowers find a place on the craft service table, and if an extra take or two is needed because Dieter’s eye line strays just a tad too far left no one makes mention of it.

The day is called just as the last of the light is lost, the sun setting far behind the rows and rows of beautiful blue houses. There’s an offer for drinks and dinner brandied about, a few cast and crew breaking away. Dieter quietly bows out, and again, if anyone notices the once infamous party boy choosing a quiet night in over a raucous night out, not a word is said. 

Once back in his hotel room, Dieter is instantly restless, the flowers moving from room to room, the vase twisted left, then right, then right again. Self-doubt starts to dig at the base of his spine, the very beginning of a panic attack creeping up his back, tight and hot and painful, a wicked whisper telling him he should have just gone out, damn all and any consequences. There is only a bouquet of pink peonies in this hotel room to keep the loneliness at bay tonight, and not for the first time, Dieter feels the icy cold fear that he’ll forget all he has waiting for him back home.  

He does his best to ignore it, breathing slowly around the rubber band across his chest, counting each second with the tick of his fingers. One, two, three, four, in. Five, six, seven, eight, out. Twice more is enough to chase the feeling away, giving Dieter the space he needs to finally breathe fully, his head clearing just enough to ground him back to the moment. The blossoms finally find a home right beside his bed, the low light of the bedroom illuminating the pretty pink petals, and only then does he actually start to settle down for good. He fishes the card from his back pocket, dragging his thumb across the seal.

It’s nothing remarkable; a white envelope, only his first initial scratched across the front. But it’s enough to have his cheeks warming all over again, the tip of his nail finally piercing through the thick paper. The card is equally unassuming, but when he opens it up, the words are anything but. 

Dieter reads it over once, then twice, then one more time for good measure, lips moving along with the lines, one promise after another infused to each and every one. It’s enough to have him scrambling for his phone, dialing with shaky hands and a breathless laugh. It only rings once before it clicks over. 

“Hey, baby.”

“The flowers…” Dieter starts, his mind racing faster than he can manage to speak, any sort of coherency lost at the sound of Marcus Moreno’s soft baritone on the other end of the line. 

“They were too much.”

“No! Fuck no!” Dieter is quick to cut the other man off, refusing to let him think that for even a second.  “No, sweet boy. I love them!”

Marcus would do this from time to time, doubt himself and his place by Dieter’s side. It always brings him back to the moment in that lavish hotel room, Marcus’s warm breath painted across his cheek, lips bruised and fingers grasping, when the heroic had admitted that most couldn’t handle it. To this day Dieter can’t help but wonder if he was maybe talking about more than just superpowers.

He thinks maybe Marcus doesn’t realize. That he doesn’t see what it means to possess a heart so big. Bigger than anyone deserved, the weight of it nearly dragging him down, away from the light and into the shadows. The very ones he tries so hard to protect the world from. And Dieter knew that when the man fell, he fell fast. Fully. All of him hanging out on a precarious line, waiting for the other inevitable shoe to drop. 

Dieter wishes he could figure out a way to convince him that both of his feet were firmly planted on the ground. 

There’s a beat of silence and he swears he can hear the words neither of them dare to say. Not yet. Not with things so new. But he can feel them. Always feel them. With each kiss Marcus pressed into his skin, every drag of his fingertips, each scrape of his teeth, there was the promise of an affection too great to imagine. It was there, on the tip of the other man’s tongue, quietly unspoken but still so very very present.

“I love them,” the actor says again, determined to make his point stick this time. 

Marcus hums, and Dieter can almost picture him then and there as if he was sitting beside him on the 1000 thread count duvet in Morocco instead of miles and miles away, in an empty apartment, his only plans for the night a crappy tv dinner. He could chide the heroic, remind him to have fun, take more chances, but that’s a sticky subject all its own. 

It had been a running theme of the last few months of their lives, the two of them stealing what little time together they could. Marcus would plan, meticulously, weekends away explained under the guise of training or intel or some other bullshit excuse. Dieter would make a stink to his manager on those days, stomping his feet and demanding a mental health break. Maybe it was the fact that he returned from those weekends brighter and lighter than ever before, but Marissa never fought him too hard. 

They would lose track of the hours as easily as they lost themselves in the other, tangled sheets and broken sleep bookending their pleasure. The give and take between them deepened with each weekend that rolled around. Dieter delighted in Marcus’s company, preening beneath the wonder of having him all to himself. The way his whole heart became the center of the universe, genuine affection and care feeling better than any late night or black out bender. 

Marcus would watch Dieter paint, only a sheet around his waist as his eyes traced the curves and colors inspired by his own tender touch. And Dieter would marvel at the bend of the other man’s form, following his steps to the gym, his own eyes wide as twin blades cut through open air. They stayed in. Always in. The pair of them forgoing even ordering in, digging through Dieter’s freezer in search of mini pizza bagels and knock-off taquitos rather than risk breaking the peace of their privacy. 

And if he showed up to the set of the big budget action movie with his belly still soft, it hardly mattered. His heart was full, his mind at peace, and even as the director rolled his eyes, all Dieter could see was Marcus dropping to his knees, nuzzling into the patch of coarse hair smattered across the swell of his stomach, before swallowing him down to the base. 

Those days gave them both something to cling to when life and work and reality would push them back to opposite sides of the country. Memories they could remember in the between, when it was only phone calls and FaceTimes the touch of their own hand to chase away the anxieties hiding around the corner.  

Dieter learned in great detail how to coax those little whines from the heroic, memorizing the ragged sound of his cries as he whispered all manner of filth into the crease of his skin. Marcus matched the energy in kind, splitting up inside the actor, lips on his throat and hands in his hair. Dieter called him sweet boy and Marcus declared him his whole sky, a promise of more following every goodbye. 

And Marcus always keeps his promises. 

When it came time to leave for Morocco, six months of loneliness looming in the distance and one awkward farewell party behind them, Dieter did his best to remind Marcus to not linger in his solitude. It would be too easy for him to fall back on old habits; long nights on rooftops chased by haggard days in the gym, but Dieter hoped the hero would make time to tend to his heart in ways he had forgone for so long. 

Marcus took care to meet Dieter where he stood, urging him to hold onto every word he ever said, his whole heart following Dieter, even when he physically could not. The actor clung to the sentiment, doing his best to remember every weekend spent wrapped around the other man. He held onto every ripple of pleasure and each drip of afterglow. 

Dieter shakes his head, refocusing on the present, even as he wishes for all the little things he so desperately wanted here and not there. Plush lips and dimpled cheeks, brown eyes wide as he nods and quietly accepts the truth in Dieter’s words. 

“I’m glad.”

The silence is back, but more of a comfort now, the blend of their breath lulling the last of the sun and sand and stress away from Dieter’s heart. His eyes are heavy in the best way, his fingers loose where they curl around the phone, still matched to the curve of his cheek. 

“You should shower, Dee. Then sleep,” Marcus prompts, his voice somehow even softer. 

“Mmm, jerk off with me first,” he half whines, free hand already pulling at the threadbare sweats he had worn from set. 

There’s a chuckle, low and sweet and steady, one that Dieter has learned means a promise is about to be made. 

“I’m at the office now, mi cielo, but call me when you wake up and we will.”

It’s enough for now, Marcus’s gentle voice in his ear and the catch of pink petals in the low light, giving Dieter the push he needs to let sleep find him. In a few hours' time he’ll wake up, his stomach empty and his neck sore, but the fresh scent of peonies and an aching promise have something else curling deep inside his belly. And when he dials, the answer comes on the first ring. 

After all, Marcus always keeps his promise. 

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[razorblade180]

Omen

It was dark, pitch black in fact. Well… not really. Orange light randomly tickled my eyes while fibers harassed my tongue every time I took a breath. Man was it stuffy in this. If only my hands weren’t tied behind my back.

“Hello? Can you please remove the sack? I’m already in the car.”

I waited for an answer but of course nobody wanted to speak! It’s not like I don’t feel their body heat or how the seat sinks in on both sides of me. I move my right leg forward and immediately tap something that moves away. Really? Another one.

“I know there’s at least three people who hear me. Speak now or endure beatboxing!”

……

Well, they asked for it.

“Pa pa tsss! Pa pa pa tss! Pa ta pa ta tss! Pa ta pa tss! Yo it’s-”

Before I knew it, my performance was cut short as someone yanked the bag off of my head. Honestly, they lasted longer than I thought. My eyes stung for a second thanks to the setting sun, but it wasn’t long before I saw a gruffy brute of a man in a black suit with a pretty nice brown beard. I don’t think he liked my performance.

I looked to my left and right to see more suits! Both pretty redheads in shades. The one on my left had short hair while the right had short hair and a softer jawline.

“Am I in the middle of a twin thing? That’s interesting.”

I stare back at the man who I just know has to be smiling somewhere on the inside. “Thank you for taking the bag off.”

“It goes back on if you keep yapping.”

“If you didn’t want a conversation then why didn’t you gag me? Who the ladies look down on you? What are you an uncle?”

He squinted at me in silence. Hell yeah; I definitely got it on the first try. Now that I look at him closely he does look older than them. Also…this car is nice. Not to mention long. This is the fanciest abduction ever.

“Is this a limo?”

“Wouldn’t you know? You’re an actress.”

“It’s called small talk.”

The man sat up straight and opened his suit jacket slightly so I noticed the gun. Clearly someone didn’t like small talk.

“Guns aren’t scary when they’re holstered. Most of the time anyway.” I look at the short haired woman. “You're very pretty by the way. How are you a thug instead of an actress?”

She didn’t even bother to look my way. Tragic. I turn the possible twin then hear a familiar click. The uncle decided to make the gun scarier.

“No more talking.”

It’s amazing how good suits don't equal experience. Frankly, it was concerning.

“Sir, if that’s actually loaded I recommend you remove the magazine. Second, you won’t shoot me because clearly someone paid you to steal me instead of murder.”

It got silent again. Both the ladies looked at their uncle and that seemed to smooth out his edges. He was nice enough to holster that bad boy of his.

“That definitely has rubber bullets, right?”

“Why would it?” Said the long-haired woman. “Do you really think nobody will notice you're gone or something?”

“Oh you can talk! Eh, they might notice eventually but I run off sometimes. It’s the afternoon, not the dead of night.”

The man grumbled, “Don’t entertain the target.”

Such a rude thing to say. “You know my name. It’s Serendipity Karuma. I know I’m an actress but this is overkill. Who hired you?”

“Why the hell would I tell you that?”

“Because I’m already caught? Speaking of which, the rope around my wrist burns. Would you humor me enough to untie them? I’m dainty.”

I bat my eyes for dramatic effect. Nobody resists floral pink eyes.

I’ve been keeping my cool so far but it’s become impossible to ignore the intoxicating smell coming from the brown bag near the man.

“You stole me before I got my late lunch. Is that a double in the bag?”

“Y-Yes…”

“Knew it! Look, if you give me a single bite I promise it won’t be huge and it will prove I’m trustworthy enough to untie me.”

“Those two things don’t add up.”

“They do when you suck at math.” I giggled at my own ridiculous joke, but I wasn’t alone. Pretty lady on my right snickered.

“Uh-Sorry.” She cleared her throat.

Fortune favored me for once and the uncle actually took out a fresh burger that rumbled my stomach like a dryer on max settings. He put it right in front of my face and I oh so gracious took a moderate bite.

“Mmmmm.”

Car food and kidnapping is such a good combo. Especially when the food is greasy the drive has the hymn of the tires on the road.

“Thank you kind sir. You all actually seem like decent people.”

“We are not untying you.”

Why are people so stubborn? It’s not like I’m tangibly a threat. Well…not physically. I could hear it again, the whispers that never truly leave me. The way my body tingles from head to toe while I felt a knot in my shoulder made me sigh as I put the pieces together. This part was never fun.

“May I ask one earnest and important question to you all? You don’t actually know who hired you to take me, do you? Was it a direct contact or through a third party?”

Maybe it was the sincerity of my voice but it got the girl to my left to speak.

“Third party.”

Good old uncle was about to yell at the girl but I nudged his foot.

“Hey, I don’t know why you three or thugs but I will match the price if you let me go right now.”

“Do you think we’re that dumb!?”

Okay, now I am getting annoyed. “No! I think your client doesn’t give a shit about you, or they would’ve told you not to have live ammo.”

“What?”

His eyes widened and I truly tell how little they mattered in this scheme. That’s when it hit me, maybe this was the scheme itself? The whispering grew dead silent to me while the sudden sound of horn blaring was heard by all. I didn’t bother to look for the source, nor could I afford to care. I’m not a nice enough person to let things simply happen as they’re supposed to. The moment the man turned his head to look out the window, I gritted my teeth and forced my right hand out of the rope; I didn’t waste a second stealing his gun before-

BOOM

The limo was struck from the left. The entire world began spinning as the car filled with screams. Not mind though. All I could do was clench my jaw, shut my eyes and hold the gun firmly. My finger never grazed the trigger and yet all the violent movements eventually led to a BANG!

Was it all instant? Did I black out? All I knew was when I opened my eyes I saw a man writhing pain as he clenched his shoulder. The weight of one of the twins felt crushing while the other became the platform I laid on. If only I was a tad faster. The man could only watch helplessly as I unloaded the gun and put on the busted glass window.

My head was still ringing. That was a far fall. “Did we fall off a bridge?”

Truthfully I had no idea why I was still trying to talk to the man. He currently had more important problems than my questions. I rolled my body forward, hitting the new floor of this sideway limousine. Hadn’t noticed this before but it has a sunroof. Had a sunroof that is. My arms reached up and pulled me towards it while my legs got their act together. It pays to do your own stunts.

“Wa-Wait…” the man groaned.

“No time for that. If you’re worried about the girls, I could feel them flinching. Just…”

Man, my head hurts. I touch the top gently and don’t feel anything warm or wet. That’s good at least. Can’t say the same about whoever is the driver. Bullets rarely have one target in my experience.

“Find the strength to get them through the roof. Whatever happens next will probably be better than now.”

I let my body fall through the opening and land in crisp, cool water. Too bad it wasn’t deep enough to cushion anything. Actually…that would be awful. I prefer this creek. Definitely this creek. My body finally allows me to stand and before long, I’m walking. Sure it hurts and I have a slight limp in my step but I’ve been through worse. Won’t be long before an ambulance arrives. It is afternoon after all. Those amateurs were lucky. Late night crimes don’t go too well.

“Time to go. This isn’t my kind of limelight anyway.”

I got far enough away for it to matter. Siren’s played behind me sooner rather than later. Hopefully those three find a different career path. At the very least, let them never bump into me again.

“I should really invest in a bodyguard somehow. Heh, as if that’ll work. Oh well… back to my trailer I guess.”

Life will forever have its ups and downs and all things considered, this was a humbling middle ground. That was until I felt my leg vibrate. Scroll isn’t broken. Today is a good day. I take it out and answer the obvious questions from my Director.

“WHERE ARE YOU!?”

“On a walk.”

“I hear sirens!”

“They aren’t for me.”

“Are they because of you?”

Gotta admit, he was very good at asking questions.

“In my defense, I was kidnapped.”

“YOU WERE WHAT!? I THOUGHT THAT WAS DONE WITH!?”

“It could be a random coincidence? Nobody knew anything, which is concerning for other reasons. It’s pretty gross when I consider the worst scenario.”

“Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”

“No offense but I’m tired of cars. I need the exercise anyway. See you at my trailer?”

“…Fine.”

“Oh! Can there be burgers waiting for me? I can even go for a kids meal.”

“Fine! But your toy is a med kit!”

He hung up abruptly. Jokes on him. That’s the toy I wanted. Hopefully it doesn’t ruin our film schedule. After all, I’ve never been to Menagerie. Something fun is bound to happen there.

[vaguelyparker]

Movie Star

Starker

Rating: Explicit

Fair warning I haven’t written starker since pre no way home and I’ve never written anything even smut adjacent so I can’t vouch for the quality of this I just saw @monster-cock69 intern Peter prompt and basically forgot I was human until I finished 🤷‍♀️

Also Petey is still Spider-Man in this because overstimulation is fun 🫶 lmk if I should add any warnings again this is my smut debut so idk about any specific warnings that might be appreciated

—

Peter doesn’t flinch when the hand snakes around his waist. Warm and all encompassing and too low to be remotely professional. He’d recognize the gait anywhere. It’s almost pathetic- he’s only known the man for weeks and he can pick him from a crowd. But he’s Tony Stark. Peter has spent years thinking about the man. About his smell, his muscles, his everything. It’s hardly a surprise that in the few times they’ve interacted Peter can tell from the sound of creaking Italian leather and heavy rubber soles exactly who’s been trailing behind him for the last few corridors.

It’s just the two of them now. Peter can just barely hear the sounds of the bustling offices surrounding them over Stark industries sound proofing. But there hasn’t been a soul in at least the corridors and Peters sure Tony had a part in that if his tightening grip means anything. He lets the man take the lead- no longer walking aimlessly- aware but unable to act. Peter is slightly taller than the man, but hunched in on himself and leaning into the too low touch it’s barely noticeable.

Before long Peters being shepherded into a storage closet and shoved against the metal door. Tony’s lips are at Peters neck in an instant. Peter melts into the door a desperate pant leaving glistening lips as Tony’s beard scratches at the junction of neck and shoulder. Tony is a quick study- he’s learned the ins and outs of Peter in the few sessions they’ve spent together?

“There’s no cameras right?” Peter asks voice breaking mid sentence. Even though he’s sure he’s been splayed on a hundred different cameras already- the thought makes him squirm. Makes him think of Aunt Mays disappointment if, if, if.

Tony laughs into his neck, and ignores the question while he continues on- mapping every inch of Peters bared throat with teeth and lips and tongue and heat.

“Sweet heart this is Stark tower,” Tony whispers harshly into his ear in a perverse act of privacy they both know is unnecessary. As if he’s given a single shit about Peters modesty since the moment he saw chocolate eyes and indecent fucking lips chewing at the bottom of a pen. “There’s not an inch of this place where I don’t have eyes and ears.”

With that the man turns Peter- and fists at loose curls pulling his head up from where he’s been smushed against the cold metal door. He’s met with the sight of smooth wall- no tiny red lights, no obvious protrusions but Tony is a genius after all and Peter is left blinking away tears of mortification.

“So why don’t you smile for the camera?” Tony’s voice is louder and more demanding- punctuated with the sound of skin and fabric as his slacks and boxers are shoved down in a single move. Everything is too much. Every sound echoing in Peters ears right down to the beat of Tony’s pulse which picks up at the sight of him.

The man’s chuckles reverberate throughout the room. A shiver runs down Peters spine and wines into the door, now warm from the red of his cheeks.

The plug in his ass is pulled out and tossed aside in one fell swoop. Replaced with something- someone else in an instant as Tony drives into him like a starving man.

“Good boy, my good boy. God you look so good like this,” Filth keeps spewing from Tony’s lips as the man sets a punishing pace. One hand gripping bruisingly at his hip and Peters addled brain hates that the proof of this all will be gone come morning. The other still tangled around soft curls forcing Peter to stare directly at the camera even as he’s sobbing and coming undone. “Tell the camera how much you love it. How much you love being my perfect boy, my favorite fucking intern.”

“I love it Mr. Stark. I love being your good boy.” The words come out in barely discernible gasps. Peters sobbing openly at the point. Overstimulated and wanting no needing more.

Tony groans at the title shoving into Peters heat faster and harder.

“You gonna be my little movie star Petey? God cry just like that for the camera so I can watch this any time I think about this ass, these fucking lips,” The hand in his hair releases and shoves into Peters mouth. “So I can fall asleep listening to all these pretty little sounds.”

Tony pulls his fingers from Peters mouth rubbing them on the boys button up before gripping his unattended hip. Trusting without purchase. “You fucking tease. That’s what you want isn’t it baby? Can’t handle just being my favorite intern gotta be my favorite porn star too. Can’t handle me thinking about anything else. You’ve fucking ruined me.”

“Yes, yes, yes, please, please- just me, just me. I want,” Peter mumbles the same words, stumbling over them, coherency lost on him as his orgasm takes hold. “I want to be your favorite porn star.”

“Fuck.” Tony whispers leaning his head on the junction between Peters neck and shoulder blades. The combination of the fucked out admission and the way Peter was tightening around him as he orgasmed sending him over his release.

[thaidakar-is-hot]

Re-acquisition

A place of sand and blistering winds. Kale knew it well. He held onto that singular grain of sand, allowing it to pull him towards its birth place; towards a pock marked landscape dominated by a towering sword. There. He thought, the landscape erupting all around him in his minds eye, a land of dust and wind and stillness. He saw it all through a violet haze that blurred around the edges, and in the center of his vision, a single figure, huddled in a crouch, staring up at that sword. He watched it for a time, his mind whirring with memory. Hearing the boy speak against his father in the throne room. Listening to him plead to help him find the Harmonic Mallet. Hearing his father weep over his broken body. Listening to him at Garroshs trial. All these memories whirred in his mind, culminating with the smashing of fist against a beautiful face he held dear. That was one of the last times he had seriously spoken to Anduin Wrynn. He and the king had been estranged of late; Kale choosing the path of a dragon, and Anduin the path of a King. But that King lay before him, broken and crumbling, his once golden hair shorn and matted, his face covered in rashes, in scars, in dirt and grime. His eyes hollow. Kale watched for a moment longer, before letting that singular grain of sand free. He snapped back into place; a rubber strap slamming back after eons of tension. He blinked, listening to the sounds of Wrathion in the kitchen, and as he got his bearings, stumbled off the bed. “I’ve found him!” Kale announced, leaning against the door frame. Wrathion whirled, curled dark hair billowing behind him, beautiful face lit by a several candles and a hanging lantern. “Where is he?” He asked, approaching. Kale paused, mouth open, before replying. “Silithus. We have to act fast.” Kale swallowed. “I know of someone who has his exact location at all times.” He narrowed his eyes, cupping Wrathion’s cheek as the man approached him, looking up with concern. “Someone who has known his location for years and hasn’t told his loved ones.” Wrathion mirrored his expression. Distaste laced his features. “Who?” “Lord Admiral Proudmoore.” It took the acquisition of a wanted criminal to get Jaina to talk; though, Kale realized, that was only a plus. She was all too happy to see Zeke Firebrand brought to justice, and the showcase of Kale’s power was only a bonus. She never explained why she had chosen to not tell his family his wheareabouts, and Kale didn’t care. Only that his side of the bargain he had struck with Marcus Latrell was done. “I will not go back on my word, Kale.” Jaina called after him as he left the keep. “I promise you.” “Lord Admiral…” Kale spoke, voice soft, though resonating through the antechamber. “Thank you.”

[abexci]

The Last Drink

The wheels of that old sedan bite into the smooth pavement below, leaving a dark trail of roasted rubber on the road behind. Swerving into the shoulder of that highway, Richard Clemmons lazily swats at his forehead to brush away the sweat gathering upon it. In his rearview mirror, the harrowing shine of red and blue lights stab into his eyes even when he tries to look away. The engine of that aging vehicle was barely warm as it sits there, letting the shallow collection of other vehicles pass on by. The man can’t help but look on in envy - not a shred of consideration to how poorly he must have been driving to be singled out so quickly. His lungs release a grandiose sigh. His alcohol-addled mind spins an imaginary tale of how he might elude the impending judgment if he simply tries to charm a way out of this situation. The officer is exiting the vehicle and approaches the driver’s side window of that beaten civilian car.

Motioning for Richard to roll down the window, the officer uses a bright flashlight to peer into the glass as a routine inspection of the driver and the contents of that bruised car.

As Richard operates the hand-crank to lower the window at his side, he sees the fabric badge of the officer standing above him: MacCready.

Richard opens his mouth, releasing an odious air of alcohol into the officer’s nose. The drunk slurs slightly with his speech as his inflection is dulled by the poison in his brain. “Hey there Officer MacCready, is it? Oh, it’s a lovely night to see you out here. I was just on my way to visit my grandmother, what a gal, I’m sure she’d be so happy to know that our big, big boys and girls in blue are out here to keep us all safe - right?”

The officer’s brow drops. The face contorts into that of disdain. The officer’s words are laced with pity, disgust, and sorrow. “I thought you were behind all of this, Rich. Staying up late and drinking - this was behind you. I’ve kept you out of trouble for long enough, I’m done making excuses and pulling you out of the fire.”

Richard’s mind fumbles and tumbles around in his skull in similar fashion to how he might walk if extracted from that dismal automobile. His voice cracks as he speaks a fragment of confusion in his mind. “You know my name?” He looks down to ensure that he, himself, is not wearing a badge that might reveal his identity. “Well, officer, I don’t believe we’ve met before tonight, but it’s always good to make new friends!” His speech glides off into a mess of raspberries at the pronunciation of that last word.

The officer’s voice is stern, but wavering; there is clearly emotion lingering behind the authority of that projection. “Trying to use a dead relative as an excuse to get out of this is bad enough, but it’s even worse hearing it myself.”

Richard looked up at the officer’s face, he could see each detail plainly, but in the back of his mind there was no recollection of who this person might be or how they might know about him. He pushes his gambit in the hopes that it is all a bluff. “That’s a funny one, officer! I’ll be sure to tell Gram-Gram about that when I see her!”

The officer reaches for the police radio with a left hand.

Her wedding ring shimmers in the glow of passing headlights. Her lip is steady in spite of the tear rolling down her cheek.

“Dispatch, I need another unit to bring in this 10-39. It’s my brother.”

[k9wa]

Hi!! Hope ur having a good day, since requests are open can you consider doing this?

Valhalla! Kazutora secret dating one of his members sibling? The first time they met is in the arcade where his soon-to-be s/o was handing their siblings valhalla jacket cause they rushed outta the house and forgot it

Ignore if complicated tho

༉ 𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔! featuring hanemiya kazutora.

SYNOPSIS ︴kazutora can’t help but love having you as his little secret to keep.

◛

CONTENT ︴fluff, gn reader (they/them used,) wc 1.06k

◛

NOTE ︴for the sake of this timeline just imagine kazutora doesn't go to jail and baji is alive and well thx. also this is my first request so i hope u enjoy it!!

kazutora swore the thick layer of smoke hanging heavy in the air was clogging in his lungs more than the actual lit cigarette in his mouth. the old hunk of metal behind him, still containing a few small rubber balls and other prizes, was uncomfortable on his back as he leaned against it lazily, head thrown back to look at the ceiling.

nothing had happened within or around valhalla in days, he was bored. he had thought about going around and starting fights with some other wannabe gangs in the area, beating them to a bloody pulp just to scratch that itch in the back of his brain, but he knew it was only temporary entertainment. he pushed his palm into his eyes, a dull sigh mixed with the strong scent of tobacco crawling its way out of his lungs.

“oi!”

kazutora’s ears practically twitched towards the voice he didnt recognize, eyes snapping towards the arcades' muddied glass doors. he witnessed an interaction between one of his captains, chrome, and some person he’s never seen in his life. someone who to him, was rather eye-catching. he watched as they took a single step into the establishment, grabbing chrome’s arm to grab his attention further, and handed him their signature white jacket. the two exchanged a few words before this newly discovered individual walked out with a wave.

he isn’t sure why he chased after them, what possessed him to stomp out his smoke and make his way out the doors in pursuit, but his legs were moving before he got a chance to figure it all out.

“hey, hey!”

you turned around, the pitter patter of footsteps approaching you filling your ears, grabbing your attention. a bouncing head of black and blonde hair had followed you outside.

you’d seen him around once or twice, sometimes he’d swing by your house on his bike to pick up your brother for whatever meeting they had that day, but that was about all you knew.

“oh, hey.”

you stopped walking so you could speak to him, kazutora stopped as well. upon coming to a stand still, it dawned upon kazutora that he, for lack of a better term, had no fucking game, nor any idea what to say to you now that you were in front of him. oh god, he’s staring, what does he do—

“um, are you okay?”

the confusion coating your features, with a subtle furrow in your brow snapped the boy back into reality.

“yeah! yeah sorry—” he cleared his throat, “i just haven’t seen you around before.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, a clumsy smile tugging at his lips. why was he nervous?

“oh, yeah, i don’t come around very often.” you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your zip up. 

“my brother forgot his jacket and i knew he was gonna bitch about it later, so i just ran it over.” 

the chuckle you let out had kazutora’s palms sweating, the feeling was so foreign to him.

“ooh, you’re chome’s sibling?”

a tilt of his head made his earring jingle, his hair bouncing lightly alongside the sound. you nodded, rocking on your heels slightly as the awkward silence hung heavier and heavier.

“um— i really should be getting home now, chome doesn’t like when i stick around too long, so..”

you began to turn on your heel.

“yeah, yeah. sorry to keep you.”

and that was all that was exchanged before you began your journey back down the sidewalk, yet once again, kazutora isn't sure what possessed him to take another few steps after you.

“wait—”

you halted, turning back around.

“we should—you and i should hangout sometime. if you wanna.”

the way his earring jingled more as he looked down at his feet to hide the hues of pink creeping up to his cheeks was charming. you never had much interest in valhalla, or its members, but something about this one just…peaked your interest.

“you asking for my number?” you smiled and bent down to meet his gaze that did everything in its power to avoid you.

“depends, am i gonna get it if i am?”

—

it had been around 6 months since kazutora had chased you out of an old arcade, and 3 since you had started dating. you were still sitting comfortably in the honeymoon phase of your relationship, enjoying your time together as teenagers being teenagers, things were easy with you two, they were fun. 

there was only one, teeny tiny, minuscule, bump in the road. when kazutora had asked you out, you didn’t think twice about saying yes, you were ecstatic when he’d properly confessed! but you had him agree on one small condition.

chome could not know you were dating him.

the reason being he would either minorly lose his shit, or majorly lose his shit, and both were outcomes you wanted to avoid entirely, at least for a little while. luckily for you, kazutora was rather understanding, and agreed to keep things on the low until you decided it was a good time to tell him.

so there you were, with hanemiya’s head rested in his favourite spot atop your thighs, the only light source in your room coming from the screen of your laptop at the foot of your bed as it played some tv show the two of you had started together.

kazutora’s bike was parked around the corner, and he had gotten into your room through the window, a routine you had developed for when your brother and parents had long gone to sleep.

as much as part of kazutora wanted to show you off, and be with you more openly, the other part of him was almost glad that you had wanted to keep this under wraps, that you were his little secret to keep.

kazutora turned his head to look up at you, the familiar jingle of his earring you’d become so fond of grabbing your attention, your eyes fell into his. you always thought he had the prettiest eyes.

“what?” you smiled.

“nothin’, just like lookin’ at you.”

“you’re cheesy.”

kazutora reached a hand up to your cheek, pulling you down to place an innocent kiss to your lips. your smile only grew as you gladly returned the gesture.

he wished things could stay this way forever, just you and him, and no one else.

⠀ master. ꒱ send me an ask!

[outlustings]

Outlast 1 boys reacting to a pregnant reader? And maybe them as dads? your blog gives me life

(i am too lazy to do my uni essay. the next logical step is to write 5k words of horror video game characters being dads i guess.

includes miles, chris, the twins, rick, eddie, jeremy, frank and for some reason DENNIS!

includes graphic childbirth scenes - why????? idk???? just because????? and mentions of drug use because frank is frank.

also are they phantom pregnancies? is your greatest joy just a figment of your imagination, a continuation of your insanity bleeding into your reality? are you too, depressed, like the writer is? muahaha...

enjoy!)

×

MILES

"I'm - I'm gonna be a dad?" he gripped the steering wheel with such tightness that you thought he might break it. You nodded, smiling as tears prickled your eyes.

"Yup."

Miles let out a shaky sigh, then ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, smiling weakly before bursting into airy, light laughter.

"Babe, that's so -..." he swallowed, turning his head to you, nearly pouncing on you as he hurriedly leaned over to the passenger seat to embrace you, "That's awesome! When?"

"When what?" you giggled against his neck as he held you tight, rocking you clumsily. Maybe you should've told this after you got out of the car.

"When will - you -... holy shit! Like, give birth?"

He was stumbling over his words, his eyes wide and excited. Adorable, you thought, ruffling his hair as he buried his head into your chest.

"I don't know, maybe June," you shrugged, "We'll see."

Miles nodded, leaning back to take a good look at you, his face red and his hair messy, his eyes glistening.

"I'm gonna be a dad!" he blurted out, grinning so wide you thought his cheeks would split. A single tear rolled down to his sharp jawline.

                                       ×

The cold autumn air nipped at your nose as you sat on the park bench, your discarded mittens resting on the the bump of your belly as you held the small digital camera in your numb hands. The ground was covered in little piles of leaves underneath the stirring gray sky ablve Denver. You filmed the park, panning your camera to capture the old maple trees and the distant playground. Miles always liked these little clips you took, you thought. He stayed up for hours on end editing them into little movies that he would proudly present to the two, soon to be three, of you.

A small toddler girl ran from one edge of the frame to another, brown hair spilling in wisps from her beanie as she cackled, being chased by a hunched over Miles who was roaring theatrically.

"I got you!" he snatched your daughter to his chest, raising her up above his head and she squealed in delight as he spun her around in the air.

You laughed, ending the recording on a frame of Miles pressing a kiss to the child's cheek, holding her to his chest as she tried to squirm away.

"Mommy!" she yelled and you waved at her, shoving the camera into the pocket of your jacket.

"You wanna go to mommy?" Miles turned his head to you and grinned, "I'll race you."

He set your daughter to the ground and she started running, waving her limbs all about, stirring up flurries of red and gold leaves with her pink rubber boots.

Miles jogged behind her. You stretched your arms out and she bumped against your legs. You chuckled.

"Daddy's slow, isn't he?" you stroked her cheek as she turned her face to her father. Miles panted when he reached the bench.

"You won," he nodded to your toddler and swept strands of hair from his perspiring forehead, grinning at you, "Are you cold?"

"A little," you shrugged as your daughter climbed up on the bench, huffing with effort, clinging to your arm.

"Wanna grab a hot chocolate on the way home?" he gestured towards the other side of the nearby pond where the city's skyline collided with the heavy clouds, "I think it's gonna rain soon."

"Hmm," you hummed, stroking your belly with one hand while trying to keep your daughter from climbing over the back of the bench with your other hand, "My feet are tired, Miles."

"I'll rub them when we get home," he reached over to grab the girl from your grip and held her to his chest as she giggled, stirring in his arms.

"Fine," you smiled, "You better keep your promise."

Miles nodded, adjusting your daughter to his hip and reaching an arm to help you get off the bench.

"Pissing off a pregnant lady? Not on my bucket list."

"Miles!" you hissed, "Language!"

He grinned.

"I'm sorry, babe."

CHRIS

"You're kidding," his mouth was a thin line, his eyes fixed on yours, "Is this a prank?"

"No, not at all!" you shook your head with a laugh, "I'm pregnant. I swear. Took the test this morning," you flashed him a grin and grabbed the test from the edge of the sink, showing him, "See?"

Chris bent down to look at the test, still looking suspicious. Then his eyes widened and he smiled, letting out a laugh.

"Woah! Wait," he grabbed your wrist and his other hand shot up to his cheek as his mouth hung open, "Wait, I'm gonna be a father?"

You nodded, laughing.

"You need to sit down?" you patted his shoulder as he looked absolutely gobsmacked, leaning against the sink, his eyes fixed on the bathmat as he tried to process the news.

"Actually, yeah," he mumbled and sat on the toilet, burying his head into his hands for a second before looking up at you with the widest smile imaginable.

"You're pregnant," he huffed out a shaky laugh, taking your hand, "You're really pregnant."

You sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his left temple as you stroked his back soothingly.

"You're so amazing," he breathed out, "A baby? What the hell...?"

You giggled.

"I know, this is crazy," you muttered against the collar of his uniform shirt, "But I think we'll be fine."

"Yeah," Chris sighed, placing his hand on your cheek and stroked it with his thumb, "I think so too."

                                        ×

You rocked your son in your lap, stroking his platinum hair between pats on his back, a towel slung over your shoulder.

"He ready?" Chris muttered, outstretching his arms.

"I got a few good ones out of him," you sighed, lifting the gurgling and cooing baby by his shoulders and placing it in his arms, "But I don't know, we'll see if he goes to sleep."

Chris nodded and left you to fold the dry towel back into the linen closet of your small bungalow's bathroom. You rubbed your temples, tiredness stinging every muscle in your body as you dragged your feet to follow Chris to the bedroom.

His large form was bent over the crib, the back of his t-shirt lifting up slightly as he placed the boy into his bed, his head brushing against the hanging stars of the mobile. You walked up behind him and tugged on his shirt.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"You're welcome," you yawned, "Is he going to sleep?"

"He's not putting up a fight," Chris straightened his back and looked down at you as you reached over his side to stroke the infant's cheek. His eyes were already close. You didn't know how Chris did it. He had a pacifying effect on your son whereas with you, he only seemed to be as rowdy as a three-month old can be.

You smiled tiredly. Your eyes skimmed over the little embroidered shooting stars of his blanky, the pastel yellow giraffe resting near his feet and the washed-out, dusky pink pig toy that he had wrapped his tiny hands around, squishing it against his chubby cheek.

"He loves your piggy," you leaned your head against Chris' shoulder.

He nodded.

"They're matching," he pointed one thick finger to his pink romper, smiling gently.

"Oh yeah," you laughed, pressing a kiss to your boyfriend's upper arm, "Unintentional on my part."

"My three little pigs," he squeezed your hand gently, "One," he patted the head of the stuffed pig, "two," he pinched his son's toe, "three," he kissed your temple, his lips soothing your headache as the two of you stood over the crib in the soft hue of the nighlight.

THE TWINS

"Congratulations."

The deadpan delivery made you a little nervous. You thought you could see slight smiles on both of their faces in the flickering light of the cell. You felt a little annoyed, you had expected a far greater reaction. Maybe you were hoping for too much. You adjusted yourself on the bunk.

"That's it?"

"We're happy," the taller man said, "But you seem to be avoiding something."

"Which one of us is it?" his brother completed the question, kicking a stray pebble. You stared at them. You couldn't believe it. Why did they have to overthink now, out of all the situations in the whole wide world?

You clicked your tongue.

"Does it matter?"

"Only if it matters to you," the shorter man reached up to scratch at his head, ruffling his dark, spiky hair. You watched his hand, wondering for a fleeting moment if the baby would have the same kind of hair. Rough and thick. But smooth in your hands.

"It really doesn't," you squared your jaw, "I don't care. As long as the both of you are here with me. Don't leave me."

Maybe they heard the crack in your voice. They both turned their gazes to you, their eyes soft as they watched you from the shadows. You slumped forward, resting your elbows on your thighs. Then you heard the soft sound of their feet hitting the floor and two masses plopping on the mattress on either side of you. A warm, large hand rested on your shoulder.

"You're ours, forever," you heard the taller man grunt in your ear, "We will protect you."

"Our lamb, our dearest," his brother whispered, placing his hand on the slight curve of your belly. You leaned into his touch, revelling in the squish of their bodies pressed against you, shoulder to shoulder. You closed your eyes, relief washing over you.

                                       ×

You pressed your sweaty forehead against his bicep, your throat raw from screaming as you felt a fantastic emptiness below your ribcage as the wails of your newborn filled your ears, its purplish skin glistening with mucus and blood as you wiggled your fingers at the hands that held the baby above your abdomen.

"Give it to me," you sobbed with intense relief as the balding, taller man, your other partner, placed the baby in your arms, where his brother settled his own hand underneath the child's head, bringing it closer to you, shushing the infant with a low, gentle voice.

Your vision was blurry.

"What is it?" you grunted.

"A boy," he muttered in your ear, placing the child on your heaving chest and you wrapped your arms around your son, as tears rolled down your cheeks and you panted, smiling at your baby, only choked sobs coming from you.

"A boy!" the other man called out over his shoulder to the crack of the door, wiping his bloody hands on your thighs. The congregation hooted and hollered behind the door and you distantly heard Father Martin singing praises to the Lord over the rushing of blood in your ears.

"Oh, bless!"

"It's like Christmas!"

"Everyone shut the fuck up!"

You laughed tiredly at the voices behind the door but your laugh turned into a screech as you felt a burning sensation in your loins. Something was wrong.

"What is it?" the taller twin furrowed his brows as you shoved your son to his brother's arms, gripping the sheets underneath you and spreading your legs again.

"I think there's another one coming, fuck!" you bellowed, propping your body up on your elbows. The taller man ducked between your legs and you felt his hands and you saw and felt white hot iron spill all over you as you screamed, his brother's fingers intertwined between yours and you growled as you heard another wail join the chorus of terrific noise rattling inside your head.

You felt your lungs swell and everything hurt but you saw, at the end of another umbilical chord, another baby. Twins. You should've known.

"A girl," her father muttered, grinning to you as she reached her tiny fists to pound at your chest and you stroked her back and the world behind the door ceased to exist as the brothers looked down on you with tender eyes, holding their fruit in your tired, sweaty arms as you rocked them senselessly and breathed deeply, smiling at everything in the room before you slumped back on the shorter man's chest and closed your eyes, feeling two pairs of arms wiping you down and heard low muttering.

"You did so well, you did so well."

Your head spun.

RICK

"No way," Rick held your shoulders at an arms length, his fingers digging into your flesh as he shook you gently, "No way you're pregnant."

It was almost frightening how wide his eyes were.

"Yes, I am," you gave him a slight smile, testing the waters. A silence fell between the two of you. Your heart beat like crazy. He was never this quiet. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, underneath those luscious greying curls.

Then, a wide grin flashed on his face. He huffed through his nose, straightening his back and he pulled you into a tight hug.

"Pregnant!" he exclaimed, letting out a breathy chuckle as he leaned his head back and fixed his eyes on you, his hands sliding from your shoulders to your cheeks, "We're having a baby!"

"Yeah," you nodded your head, laughing.

Rick leaned down to kiss you on the tip of your nose, squishing your cheeks gently as you pressed your hands on his chest, rubbing circles on his skin through the soft fabric of his pink dress shirt.

"Oh, you sweet thing," Rick sighed, pressing his forehead against yours, "You're too good to me."

                                       ×

You poured a handful of cereal to a shallow plastic bowl and set it in front of your daughter who was fiddling with her bib, tracing the stitches with her tiny fingers. You tickled her tummy and cooed at her before straightening your back and looking at Rick, who was making pancakes on the stove, flour and pieces of eggshell all over the counters.

He had insisted on making you breakfast since it was your birthday. Usually he took you to a restaurant on your birthday but after the birth of your daughter he wanted to stay home as much as possible.

You eyed his apron. A honeymoon gift from a colleague, or so he had claimed. "My meat is hand rubbed, well seasoned, aged to perfection and always hot". Rick always wore it when he was making you a little romantic breakfast. Never in the neighbourhood barbecues though.

"You're gonna have to get rid of that apron," you gestured towards his chest, holding back your laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, I will," Rick looked down and sighed, then straightened out the fabric of the front, "When she learns to read, I'll throw it out, okay? I'll part with my dear apron for your sake."

"No, you're good. If she's got your brains, it'll take ten more years," you smirked, pinching your daughter's cheek as she babbled in her chair, fingers dipped into the dry fruit loops in her cup.

"O-ho-ho!" Rick laughed dryly, turning his grinning face to you, eyebrows high, "You want to insult your personal chef now! I'll make sure I burn yours," he scoffed and waved the spatula at you like a medieval weapon.

You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind as he turned to the stove.

"You know I only say it because it's true," you grinned against his shoulder and reached up to kiss the nape of his neck. He shuddered.

"Ticklish!" he warned.

"Oh, are you now?" you giggled, skittering your fingers up to his armpits and he squirmed with laughter, your daughter squealing in her chair, clapping her hands together at the show.

"No, stop, honey, the stove is on," Rick laughed, "Please - have mercy!" he turned to you and grabbed your wrists, giving you a grin, wrenching your hands off of him.

"Can you behave?" Rick cocked his head towards your daughter who was still giggling. His laugh always made her hyper.

"No, and your pancakes are burning," you grinned and gave him a quick, sweet kiss on the lips. He kissed you back tenderly before registering your words and swearing under his breath, whipping his head around to face the stove. Your daughter giggled again and Rick's eyes flickered to her and his face softened.

"Daddy's a klutz, isn't he?" he cooed to her from across the kitchen, "Daddy should feed this to the neighbor's dog, right, princess?"

She laughed again in and jumped up and down in her chair. You saw Rick mouth an "awh" before turning back to the stove.

You licked your lips. How many kids did he say he wanted again?

EDDIE

"Yes, yes!" he bellowed, as he took you by your waist and lifted you several feet into the air, spinning you around while you pounded playfully on his chest with your fists, laughing as tears streamed down your face, "Finally! Oh, I love you, I love you!"

He pressed you to his chest which shook with emotion as he breathed in the scent of your hair. You stroked his broad shoulders, stifling your own sobs by biting your lip and pressing your head into his chest. A warm silence filled the air as Eddie pressed soft little kisses to the crown of your head, muttering softly. You felt him rock you gently to the tune of the old radio.

"My darling. The mother of my children. I can't believe it."

                                      ×

"She's beautiful, just like her mother," Eddie whispered to you as the both of you stood over the improvised cot, watching your newborn daughter wiggle inside the many layers of blankets you had managed to find in the vocational block.

Eddie bent down to his daughter, his eyes glistening with adoration and tenderness, stroking the curls of soft black hair on her little head. She whined, leaning into his hand.

"She's got your eyes," you sighed and massaged his shoulder, leaning down as well, your nose mere inched from the little bundle in the cot.

"Really?" Eddie murmured, rubbing the pinkness of her skin softly, "I thought they were yours, darling."

"They might change," you whispered, curling your finger under her chin, "Newborns often change a little bit. My hair wasn't this color for sure when I got out of the womb," you smiled at your groom as his massive frame covered the baby as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. Another little grunt spilled from her lips and she screwed her eyes shut, kicking at her covers tiredly.

"Well, I'll be here to see if something changes," Eddie nodded, straightening his back and placing his chin on the top of your head, "You should go rest, dearest."

You looked down at the dried streaks of blood running down your legs and chuckled.

"I should go get a bath."

"I'll come with you," Eddie said, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your waist with his hand, almost needily.

"What, and leave the baby here?" you looked up at him.

"Oh," Eddie blushed a little bit, "Yes, I -..."

"Almost forgot?" you giggled, bending down to pick up your daughter, cringing at the pain in your loins but being flooded with oxytocin almost immediately after your skin touched hers.

"No!" Eddie blurted out defensively.

You turned to him with your newborn daughter in your arms.

"Take her," you said softly, standing on the tips of your toes, placing her in his arms, "Mind the head. Just like that."

Eddie gasped softly when you placed the child onto his hands for the first time. He looked at the stirring bundle of rags and pink, wrinkly skin and smiled, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

"She's tiny," he sighed, "Our baby. My god," he sniffled a little bit, exhaling deeply. You leaned over to kiss his cheek, stroking his forearm. The legacy he had always wanted. Here. Finally.

JEREMY

"Wait, what?" he lifted up the rickety plastic test that you had placed in front of him with his morning espresso, fixing his steely blue eyes on you "What's this?"

You just smiled, sipping your tea.

"What is this?" he repeated, wiggling the pregnancy test at you. Then something clicked.

"Are you pregnant?" Jeremy's voice was shaky, still hoarse from sleep as his eyes flickered between you, your stomach, and the red lines on the stick of plastic.

You nodded into your mug.

He leaned back on his chair, his face blank for a moment. Then he threw his arms up, his eyes much brighter, all tiredness washed away.

"You're pregnant!" he yelled, exasperated, his face melting into a smile, "I fucking knew it!" he rushed over to you in less than a second, his coffee cup clattering loudly against the marble of the countertop as he slammed it down, freeing his hands. You laughed as he wrapped his arms around you, the scent of his aftershave filling your nose as he kissed you, bitter coffee lingering on his lips.

                                      ×

"I'm home!" you called out from the hall, pulling the door shut with a heavy thump, kicking off your boots. You could already smell the scent of some microwave meal from the kitchen mixed with the scent of Jeremy's cologne. The distant jingle of a kids' show. You shook off your coat and started walking towards the living room, leaving your shopping bags on the doormat, fancy tissue paper rustling against sturdy bags with even fancier logos printed on them.

"Hey," you peeked your head in through the open entryway of the living room, the lacquered surfaces of sleek black furniture reflecting pastel colors from the massive plasma TV on the opposite wall. You could hear light snoring coming from the designer couch. You smiled and walked over to your husband, leaning down on the outside back of the couch.

He was sleeping in an upright position with your son curled up in his lap, Jeremy's feet slung over the glass coffee table. A bad habit. Stray crayons and colouring books littered the expensive carpet. Your son let out a whistling huff from his nose and shifted on his father's lap.

"Jer," you whispered softly, brushing your fingers against his hair, leaning over from behind him to place hover your chin over is shoulder, "Jer, wake up."

Jeremy jolted awake, looking around him in a few milliseconds of tired panic, spotted you and smiled.

"Hey, honey," he sighed, "We were just watching..." he narrowed his eyes at the television, "Super-d-... Wait, Super-dog and friends? Yeah. That."

"I see," you kissed his cheek, resting your chin on his shoulder, looking down at your son, "Had fun colouring?"

"He stole my pen," Jeremy pointed to the floor where a crudely drawn stick figure with too many fingers smiled with empty eyes beside a sloppily coloured Winnie the Pooh page. Some scribbled text on the bottom. MY DAD WORKS ATT MERKOF.

You chuckled.

"You guys are too cute," you rubbed his shoulder, "Wanna take him to bed? I brought some wine."

Jeremy stretched before wrapping his arms around your son, lifting him up carefully against his chest.

"He's gotten big," he remarked with a strained voice.

"Four years go by pretty fast," you hummed, stroking your son's red cheek with the back of your hand.

"Feels like yesterday."

"It really does."

"You haven't aged a day," Jeremy's eyes flicked to you and he smiled tenderly, "Gorgeous," he added.

You winked.

"Get him to bed, I'll go open the wine."

FRANK

"Huh?"

He finished licking the edge of the joint, his mouth hanging open slightly as his eyes fixed on your face.

"I'm pregnant," you repeated, slightly louder, "So you better not light that," you gestured to his hands.

Frank blinked at you, his face blank.

"A baby? We're gonna have a baby?"

The corners of his lips dipped down. For a second you thought he might burst into tears. Then a strained roar came from him as he jumped up from the dingy couch and jumped up to you, gripping your hands and leading you around the living room while jumping up and down in a frenzied dance, laughing with tears in his eyes.

"We're gonna have a baby," you hugged him tight, joining his feverish movements as the two of you jumped up and down like idiots, the creaking of the floorboards below you making you laugh, "We're gonna have a baby!" he yelled.

Someone pounded on the wall from the next apartment over.

"You're sure?" he stilled, panting, lifting his hands to your cheeks, "You're definitely sure?"

You nodded.

He kissed you, his scraggly beard scraping against your skin, his bare chest pressing to you.

"Oh, angel, I -... I have to..." Frank breathed against you, his eyes widening again, "I have to call my mama!"

You threw your head back and laughed as he vaulted over the back of the couch, skidded on the floor with his hole-speckled socks and dove into the bedroom in less than two seconds. You down, taking his joint from the floor between your fingers and shoving it in between the couch cushions. For safe keeping. He would need it in a few months. But from now on he had to smoke outside.

                                       ×

"Mom, mom," you felt a little hand smack your shoulder and you buried your head deeper into your pillow. You woke up in a jolt.

"What is it?" you groaned, your eyes crusty with sleep, "What's the time?"

"It's six a.m," you heard your daughter's giddy voice. You could tell from her voice she was grinning ear to ear. No emergency. Probably. Then you realized that her voice sounded kind of muffled.

You moaned. You still had an hour before your alarm would go off. But it seemed like your alarm was here. With lots of effort, you rose up and rubbed your eyes.

Your daughter was standing by your bedside, a sheet draped over her like a veil and a latex skeleton mask on her face. It was way too big for her. A silence filled the room. Then you could hear her breathe in deeply.

"I'm Santa Muerte," she whispered dramatically.

You stared.

"You're what now?"

Her shoulders slumped.

"Da-ad!" she yelled over her shoulder at the open door of the bedroom, "Mom doesn't know who I am!"

"Mom what?" you heard Frank's voice from the kitchen. They were both so loud.

Your daughter inhaled, ready to scream louder but you shushed her.

"Of course you're -... What's with the costume, baby?"

She shrugged, peeling the mask off of her face, giving you a gap-toothed smile.

"It was my idea," you heard Frank say as he appeared in the doorway, and to your surprise, was carrying a tray of food, still clad in his sleep attire. Faded boxers and an old band shirt.

"Oh, angel," you smiled at him tiredly, "You shouldn't have."

"I wanted to," he grinned behind his beard, "Happy mother's day."

You had forgotten.

"Oh, yeah," you mumbled as he set the tray on your nightstand and leaned in to kiss your cheek as you propped yourself up on your pillows.

"I wanted to scare you," your daughter grumbled and reached for a slice of toast but Frank snatched her wrist.

"Mom first," he said sternly, then his face twisted into a quizzical expression, "Why'd you want to scare mom? I thought you just wanted to perform some metal or something. The mask was mine," he added to you as you giggled into your slice of bread, swiping crumbs off the sheets.

Your daughter shrugged again.

"Thought it would be fun."

Frank opened his mouth to protest his involvement but you just laughed, ruffling your daughter's long black hair.

"Weirdo," you took another bite of bread and offered the rest of it to her as she scooted up to sit on your legs. Frank sat on the edge as well, taking your hand, rubbing his thumb on the cheap ring he'd bought you ages ago, eyeing the way the gold glinted in the dim light of the bedroom.

"Don't even think about replacing it," you warned and shoved a piece of toast in front of his mouth and he smiled before taking a bite.

DENNIS

"W-well I'll be goddamned," he grinned, enclosing your hand in both of his, lifting the bundle to his lips and placing a tender kiss to your fingers, "Y'all hear that? Me, a-a daddy? Shit..."

You laughed, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek as he cradled your hand in his grip, so softly, like he was holding a baby bird.

"Don't get all soft on me, Dennie," you giggled, "You're going to make me cry."

He shook his head.

"D'you think th-they'll like him?"

"Who? The baby?"

He nodded, his grin twisting into a solemn look, his dark brown eyes fixed on yours, glimmering with intense happiness and even more intense worry.

"I'm sure they will," you whispered and stroked his cheek, "All that matters is me and you right now, okay?"

He nodded again.

                                      ×

"Hey, lil' guy," Dennis cooed, stroking your son's tiny, pink and wrinkled face with his index finger as he wailed and screeched in his arms, "He's sure g-got a pair o' lungs on him," he turned to you, chuckling as you held your arms open, as you tried to ignore the searing pain between legs. You were flooded with a need to hold your newborn. Hold them both. Your Dennie and his little boy.

"Give him to me," you sighed with a weak smile, "And get us a rag. We need to clean him."

Dennis placed the newborn onto your chest and he writhed against you as you rocked the child, shushing him gently.

"Careful, he's slippery," he cocked his head, flashing a wide toothy smile as he eyed the two of you, "They thought I didn't have enough man in me," he sighed.

"We shut them up," you winked at him and he nodded, reaching over to the side table, retrieving a torn piece of cloth and placing it in your outstretched hand.

"We showed 'em."

×

(screaming and crying and sobbing and shitting into my pillow rn because i can never be a baby mommy for fictional insane men)

[gretavansteph]

back to you | j.t.k

I’m loving sad shit lately and y’all seemed to enjoy the last one so hopefully you enjoy this too! 

p.s- the prompt for this came to me while listening to Crawling Back To You by Daughtry on my way home and I had to write it down asap anyway hope y’all approve 👍🏻

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

You know the effect of a rubber band? The way it stretches every which way but no matter what it snaps back into place? Even when it snaps in half it still springs back to where it first started, the only difference being it's split in half? That was the best way to describe your relationship with Jake. You had met him at a show through a mutual friend, and though in the beginning he was just the friend of a friend, it didn't take long for it to turn into more. 

Every Saturday night, you and your best friend would go out clubbing or bar hopping. The decision of which you would do would be decided on the night of, as you headed into town. This night in particular, was different than the others.

You watched as your friend Lia, drove past all the neon signs of the clubs you normally went to, passing your favorite bar not long after. Turning to face her with a look of confusion, she gave you a smile and simply said,

"Thought we could do something different tonight." 

Not long after you found yourself in the pit of a crowd, standing in front of the stage anxiously waiting to see who was going to come on stage. Lia was annoyingly good at keeping secrets, not letting a single thing slip besides her statement of knowing somebody. You weren't sure what that meant, but you just hoped it didn't end up being some shitty music you weren't in to. 

To your surprise, you found yourself actually enjoying the music the band played once they came on. They had an old school rock sound to them and you loved it, gushing to Lia that you did as you both danced and jumped around to the music. When the show was over, everyone made their way out the doors and as you were about to follow, you felt a hand pulling you back by your arm. 

"It's not time to go yet." Lia had said, leading you over to the bar in the far left of the venue. 

You hopped up onto a bar stool and before you could begin questioning, she was greeting someone behind you with a big smile.

"Sammy!"

Sammy? Who the fuck is that?

You turned on your stool to see the bassist of the band who had just been on stage no more than ten minutes ago, walking towards the bar, a few other boys trailing behind him. 

"Hey, lovely." Sammy spoke, wrapping Lia in a hug like they'd known each other for years. "How are you?"

They fell into conversation, seeming to ignore the existence of everyone around them. The other boys that had been following behind this Sammy guy took a seat at the bar a few stools down from you, ordering themselves a round of drinks.

"Y/N!" Lia called, and you looked up to find her standing next you hand in hand with the Sammy guy. "This is Sammy, Sammy this is Y/N, my best friend of all time."

You smiled and held out your hand to greet him, but he laughed and pulled you into a hug instead. "It's nice to meet you, Y/N." he said. "Oh before I forget, those are my brothers." he pointed behind you and you followed his finger to see him pointing at the other boys who were now looking over your way. "That's Danny, Josh, and Jake." they each raised their hand as they were introduced, giving a small wave.

You returned the wave and turned your attention back to Lia and Sammy as they took a seat next to you, roping you into their conversation. 

It felt like you all had been sitting there for hours, sharing drinks and taking shots, laughing at the jokes Sam would tell. After a while you were really feeling the urge to pee, so you excused yourself and went to go find a restroom. You went about doing your business, wiping away the small bit of smudged liner from under your eyes before you were reaching for the door to step out. Except the door was already being pushed open from the other side, and you felt the throb right in the center of your forehead.

"Ow! What the fuck!"

"Shit! Are you alright?"

You held the bridge of your nose as your eyes closed tightly in pain. "What do you think." you snapped. You didn't know who the hell had hit you but fuck your head was throbbing in pain. "Don't you knock before walking in on someone?"

Whoever was at fault for your pain, scoffed as they spoke up. "Look I said I was sorry, you don't have to be a bitch about it."

"No you did not say you were sorry-" your eyes flew open and as you were about to go off on a rant, you stopped, taking notice of who had hit you. Standing in front of you with a smug douchey look was the guitarist of the band, John. Wait no that's not it. What was his name again?

"What was your name again?" you asked him.

"Damn, did you hit your head that hard? The door barely touched you." he spoke.

You huffed, crossing your arms in front of your chest. "No, ass wipe. You're just that easy to forget I suppose."

He smirked, taking a step closer to you. You gave him a weird look and backed up into the restroom once again, and he followed until you were pinned between him and the sink. He leaned forward, your chests pressed against each other as he leaned his hands on the counter behind you. 

"5 minutes with me will have you thinking of me for the rest of your life." he said, his warm breath hitting your face as he spoke.

"Does that normally work for you?" you deadpanned.

He rolled his eyes, taking a step away from you and you took this as your chance to make your way out of the restroom. You were almost to the end of the hallway when you heard him speak again. 

"You'll see that it does."

  ---------------------------

The second time you encountered Jake was...honestly a blur. It was a mistake that you promised yourself would never happen again. 

Sammy had invited you and Lia to another one of their shows, and like the first time you stayed after hours and hung out, knocking back a few drinks. This time you mingled with the other guys, except for Jake. Sammy and Lia were off in their own little world so it left you having to make friends with the rest of the band. You didn't mind, they were nice and fun to hang around. It was all fine until Jake would come around, bringing his douche bag 'I'm a famous rock star attitude'. He was such a buzzkill. You tried ignoring him for the most part, seeing as he still hadn't even apologized for the almost concussion he gave you last time.

You spent most of the night hanging with Josh and Danny, laughing and playing a few drinking games to pass the time. You weren't drunk, you could handle your alcohol so you knew that wasn't the cause, and you had declined the joint that had been offered to you a couple times, so how the hell you ended up on top of the restroom counter with Jake standing between your legs, groping your ass in his hands as he sucked at your neck? It was a question you had no idea how to answer, but God did his lips feel good.

You made out in that restroom for what felt like ages, and by the time you came back out to meet the rest of the group you knew that by the looks everyone gave you they were well aware of what you had been doing. Though the both of you denied it and went back to ignoring each other, it was obvious as hell. It was the same thing every time after that. You would get an invite, over time coming from Danny or Josh and you would go and see their show, hangout and drink, and somehow end up in some bathroom or closet or where ever the hell you could find some sort of privacy, with Jake seconds away from sucking your face off.

Everyone knew you disliked each other, but they also knew you had a thing for each other. You were both too prideful to admit it, so you settled with angrily making out with each other after spending majority of the night tossing snarky comments at each other followed by a glare or a roll of the eyes.

"You get on my damn nerves." Jake spoke into your neck, pausing his attack briefly as he spoke before going back in.

"You do too now shut the hell up and kiss me." you responded, pulling on his hair to guide his lips back to your own.

That was the beginning of your relationship with Jake, making out in the after hours of their show, collecting yourselves then going back to everyone else and showing that you hated each other once more.

Your reasoning for disliking him was mainly from his attitude. He was way too cocky, smug as hell and he was an overall douchebag. You had never heard him say one nice thing to anyone since the first day you met him. The other three boys on the other hand were such sweethearts and you loved hanging out with them. But Jake you couldn't stand unless his words were cut off by your lips. His dislike for you came from the simple fact that he just thought you were a bitch. He barely knew anything about you, and you hadn't really given him a reason to think you were a bitch, he just got the idea the first time he met you and he stuck with it. Saying you had a mouth on you that needed to be controlled. You had a theory it was because he was used to getting whatever girl he wanted with no form of protest, but with you he got mouthed off before he got a chance to kiss you. Yet the both of you would still come back to each other.

Days turned in to weeks turned in to months and whatever thing you had going on with Jake went on, becoming more and more serious as time went on. What used to be just making out after a show turned to hanging out at either your apartment or his house, which still ended in a make out session. Then it turned to going out to dinner as a group, and slowly from a group it went to the two of you catching a movie on your own. At that point the physical aspect turned into something different. Making out led to groping, groping led to skin to skin fondling and then you were full on having sex. You had sex on your bed, on your bedroom floor, on your bathroom counter, in the shower, in the living room, in the kitchen. Hell, at one point even on your balcony. Not a single room in your apartment was left untouched, and when you ran out of new places there you moved on to his house and tainted it just the same.

You never labeled whatever 'it' was, you never felt the need to. It was almost an unspoken title though, as you did anything and everything regular couples did. You still teased each other and you were both constantly at each others throats but it was never in a malicious way, it was like in your own couple teasing way. You weren't seeing anyone else, you weren't interested in anyone else and it was the same for him. So really to an outsiders point of view you were together, especially when over time he obtained a drawer in your apartment as you did in his home. 

When he was away on tour, you would talk as much as you could. He would send you selfies and pictures of things he knew you would like. You'd do the same, sharing with him the things he was missing while he was away. When he would return, he'd spend his entire time with you. Majority of it you spent it in bed, exploring each others bodies like the first time all over again. But you did other things together. You would go to the movies, on hikes, you'd even go grocery shopping together. You would try out new recipes together, share new music you had found during your time apart, even go to the mall together. As time progressed you couldn't hide what you were feeling anymore, you were falling in love with him and there was no turning back. You found yourself wanting more, you wanted the title of his girlfriend. You wanted to be able to post about him as your boyfriend, and you wanted him to do the same. You wanted to eventually move in together, and share one space. You wanted to settle down with him, so you decided to tell him. 

Jake had returned from tour a few days ago, and tonight you guys had been hanging out, cooking dinner together at your place and then somehow he ended up taking you in the kitchen. You finished in the bedroom, which is where you were laying now, on his chest with his arms around you, bare bodies pressed against each other. 

"Can I ask you something?" you whispered into the darkness of your bedroom.

Jake hummed in response, letting you know he was listening. 

You thought about how to word what you were going to say next, not wanting to scare him off. But it had been a year and a half now, it was time to ask him.

You tilted your head up to face him. "What are we?"

He gave you a confused look, his hands wandering around your back as they traced random shapes into your skin. "What do you mean?" he asked.

You sat up a little, holding your head up with your hand. "I mean, what are we?" you repeated. "We've been doing this...whatever this is, for almost two years now. We pretty much live part time at each others place so...I'm just wondering what to call this." 

He sighed, moving to place his hands behind his head. "Why do we have to call it anything?"

You could feel yourself becoming slightly annoyed, but mainly you felt hurt. This wasn't exactly the reaction you had hoped for.

"So are we just, never going to put a label on it or-"

"For fucks sakes, Y/N! Who gives a fuck!" he snapped.

You flinched at his tone, never actually having heard him become angry with you. You suddenly felt naked around him, not just because you physically were but emotionally you felt it too. It made you really uncomfortable, so you tugged the sheets up and around your body, telling him you were getting in the shower as you made your escape towards the restroom. 

Your mind couldn't help but wander as you washed the shampoo out of your hair. All you wanted was to know where you stood with him. You knew what you wanted and what you wanted was him. He had to want you at least even a little bit right? He would always come knocking on your door as soon as he would get home and he would do all of these couple things with you so why was it such a big deal to put a label on it? Everyone around you already assumed you were dating, they knew that where ever you were he wasn't far behind and vice versa. So what was the issue?

You sighed as you began to wash your body, and you tensed up as you felt him climb into the shower with you. He pressed himself behind you, taking the loofah from your hands and washing your body for you. See this is what confused you, how the hell does he get angry one second then he's doing sweet shit like this?

You felt him trail kisses down your neck onto your shoulders, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. 

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," he spoke with a sigh. "I just, we, don't need to put a label on this. Just enjoy it for what it is, okay?"

You let out a sigh of your own but nodded your head. You would take what you could get and you'd rather have him in some sort of way than in no way at all.

Time went on and your thing with Jake continued, though the longing for more was always there and over time it grew stronger and stronger. You hadn't brought it up for a while after the first time, but you just wanted to know. So one night you made the mistake of asking him again, and it really made you wish you hadn't.

"This bullshit again? Seriously, Y/N do you not listen to me!" he snapped. 

You found this was the only time he became angry with you, when you brought this up. Any other time than that he would never dare to raise his voice at you.

You rolled your eyes as you crossed your arms in front of your chest. "Why is it so damn hard for you to answer? It's literally the simplest thing and-"

"Well maybe I don't want to answer it! Why the fuck are you so interested in labeling this shit?"

"This shit?" you repeated, standing up from the couch. "Is that all of this is to you? Shit?"

He groaned in annoyance running a hand through his hair. "You know that's not what I meant, I just mean that I don't see a reason to put a label on anything. You're not seeing anyone else and I'm not seeing anyone else so what the fuck more could you possibly need?"

He always knew just how to push your buttons, and you hated the person you became when you were angry. But you had to get it out somehow.

"I need you, asshole! All of you!" you yelled. "I don't want you to just fuck me and leave I want you to stick around all the time, not just after you've used me to get yourself off!"

He scoffed at your response, and you could see his breathing becoming heavier as he got more angry.

"You're not my girlfriend, Y/N I'm not obligated to do that shit with you."

You tried to hold back the tears, not wanting to let him see you like this. But no matter how hard you bit on your trembling lip they began to fall. You grabbed your purse and snatched your jacket off the couch, heading to the door to slip on your shoes. 

"Where are you going it's the middle of the night" he asked from behind you.

"What the fuck is it to you," you snapped, turning to face him. "You're not my boyfriend, remember?" 

He rolled his eyes, mumbling something under his breath that you could make out to be 'so dramatic'. You ignored him, reaching for the door handle and swinging the door open. You were halfway out the door when you heard him speak up.

"When you decide to come crawling back, you know where to find me."

You stopped in your tracks for a split second, before slamming the door shut behind you as you raced into your car and away from his house.

You cried on your way home, cried when you got there and cried all night until you couldn't hold your eyes open anymore. You cried some more when you woke up, cried in the shower as the memories of him surrounded you, and you cried when you slipped straight back in to bed. You loved him, you loved him so much and all you wanted was to settle down together and start building a life together. You weren't asking him for a ring or children, you just simply wanted the title of what you practically already were. Was that really too much to ask for?

You ignored the sounds of your phone going off throughout the day, never once moving from your bed unless it was to pee or force yourself to eat a few bites of food. You knew who was calling, it became more obvious as the night quickly approached and your phone only rang more and more. It stopped for a while, but continued on the next day and then the next and the next. 

Eventually after a few days you found the energy to get out of your funk, giving yourself a pep talk that it was his loss and that you couldn't let him have this much power over you. So you dragged yourself out of bed and in to the shower, throwing on the sexiest outfit you owned as you waited for Lia to come and pick you up for a much needed girls night out.

You met up with her outside once she arrived, hopping into her car and thanking her for the wolf whistles and compliments she threw your way.

"Where's Jake?" she asked. 

You shrugged, and you were grateful that she didn't press much further.  

"You mind if Sammy tags along?" she asked as you were nearing the club. "It's just him," she added.

You nodded your head with a smile. "I like him, he's one of the girls."

You shared a laugh as you parked and made your way to towards the door where you found Sam was already waiting for the both of you. You greeted him with a smile, giving him a hug and upon looking over his shoulder, the smile quickly fell from your lips. Standing a few feet behind him was Josh and Danny, which wasn't the issue. The issue was the smirking asshole that stood next to them. 

"Miss me, darling?" he whispered into your ear as he pulled you into a hug.

You pushed him away from you with a scoff and made your way inside, heading straight for the bar. Lia met up with you not long after, saying she wasn't aware that he would be there tonight. You shrugged it off, telling her it was fine as you knocked back a few shots.

But it wasn't fine, well it was at first, until you found yourself in a bathroom with Jake. Again. 

See this was the thing about your...thing with him. He would hurt you, throw some backhanded comment about how you'd be crawling back to him in no time, and you would swear you wouldn't fall back so easily but at the end of the night you found yourself in his bed, or he would be in yours. Your reasoning was always that you loved him. Which you did, and when you love someone it's hard to quit them, no matter how hard you try.

This cycle lasted for a while, and if it wasn't taking a toll on you then, it most definitely was now. The others had taken notice too, Lia and Sammy had even staged an intervention where they pretty much squeezed everything out of you. And when you were done, they were angry. They told you what you already knew, that this wasn't healthy and that you deserved better.

"But I love him," was your weak response.

They pitied you, you could tell. You didn't want their pity or anyone's pity, all you wanted was for Jake to love you the same way you loved him. But you knew that wasn't going to happen, and you needed to accept that he was never going to give you what you deserved. But you wanted to try, at least one more time.

Jake had brought you back to his place after the bar, and you had went about doing your normal business of giving in to your body's desires. You laid in his bed afterwards, having slipped some clothes on before you lied down to cuddle, soaking in as much as you could before shit hit the fan. Your heart was beating at an irregular rate, and you feared he might feel it or even hear it. 

"Can I ask you something?" you asked, and you felt him tense up underneath you.

"Y/N," he sighed, knowing what was coming. 

You sat up, turning to face him. "Just, let me ask you this, please?"

He let out another sigh, but nodded his head nonetheless.

"Do you ever see this turning into anything more?" you asked. "Do you want it to?”

He looked up at you, taking in your slumped shoulders and the sad look in your eyes. He sat up, turning to face you as he spoke. "I don't know," he answered. "But what I do know is that I don't see the need to label anything. We're fine the way we are now."

You sighed, you knew that was going to be his answer but you stupidly held on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd change his mind.

"Why does it matter so much to you?" he asked.

What was the point in hiding your feelings from him? It's not like anything would ever come of this.

"Because I love you," you mumbled, never once taking your eyes off of him. 

You took notice of the surprised look that took over his features, and you could tell that he was genuinely surprised. He quickly masked it with a serious look as he asked you why.

"Why?" you repeated, and he nodded his head. "Because of the way you make me feel. I've never felt this way with anyone else before, I've never shared this much of myself with anyone before. It’s almost like some sort of sick joke," you scoffed. "The one person I've come to love wants nothing to do with me in that sense."

He was silent, you weren't sure if he didn't know what to say or what, but you didn't want to be sitting there with him anymore. So you stood up, and went about gathering your things before heading to the door. You heard him following behind you, but your mind was already made up.

"I'll see you when you come back?" he said, but for the first time it came out like a question. 

You sighed, turning to face him one last time. 

"I don't think so."

---------

Jake didn't think you were serious, he always counted on you crawling back to him much like you did every other time in the past.

He didn't understand your obsession with labeling what you had, he wished you would just enjoy it for what it was instead of always asking for more. He didn't know why he was so against giving you more, he just felt more comfortable doing couple things and acting like a couple without actually calling yourselves a couple. He thought you'd be happy with at least having some part of him rather than nothing at all, especially since you claimed to love him. 

He left you alone for the rest of that night, figuring he'd just call you the next day. And he did, but he received no answer. This happened a few times, even when he texted you an error code would come up on his phone.

What the hell?

As the days went on, he kept trying to contact you but to no avail. He stopped by your apartment a few times, and he would stand outside your door for what felt like hours, knocking and knocking but you never answered the door. At one point he ran into Lia as she came up the stairs towards your apartment, and she told him off, telling him you wanted nothing to do with him and to stop bothering you. Jake was confused, you always came back no matter how many threats you made. They were always just that, threats, nothing more. Why was this time different? 

It wasn't until he was hanging out with his brothers that he got some sense knocked into him.

"You're a real dick head, you know that?" was the first thing Sam said to him as he walked through his door, heading into the living room where Josh and Danny were already sitting. 

"Hello to you too, little brother." Jake replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Why is he a dick head?" Josh asked, turning his attention to Sam.

"For what he did to Y/N." 

This peaked the other boys interest even more.

"What did he do to Y/N?”

And that's how Sam went on a rant about how horrible Jake was for treating you the way he did, for making you cry, and for just over all being an asshole towards you. 

"Okay, okay! Enough with the shit talking about me I'm standing right here." Jake snapped. 

"You know what, no!" 

Sammy was angry, he had become great friends with you through Lia and you had always been a great friend to him. He cherished your friendship and he hated the way his brother treated you when all you had ever done was love him. Sam stood up from where he was sitting and walked over to Jake.

"You don't get to just push all of this aside and ignore it! She loves you, dumbass! All she ever did was love you and what the fuck did you give her in return?!" he yelled at his brother.

"Please, Sam don't even try to act like you know what the hell even happened." Jake said in annoyance.

"I do know what happened!" Sam continued. "Because she told me, because I've been there countless of times to see and hear her break down over you! I've had to watch her doubt herself countless of times, wondering why she wasn't good enough for you! You broke her, you fucking broke her you destroyed her and you don't even see it! You don't even care!"

Sam was fuming at the end of his rant, even more so when Jake just stood there looking lost. But what the hell was he supposed to do? He didn't know of any of this, he didn't know that you were having these thoughts and these feelings, because he hadn't spoken to you. You wouldn't let him, no one would. 

The realization hit him as his brother continued on, telling the others about how badly he had hurt you. Jake knew that in a way Sam was doing it on purpose, to remind Jake of how much of an asshole he had been but Jake deserved it. He took you for granted, mistook your wants and desires for more as you being obsessed, wanting to just tie him down. But he practically already was, he just had to say the word. But instead, he pushed you away. He pushed you away and it was too late. You always came back to him, no matter how many times he fucked up and no matter how poorly he treated you.

That night once his brothers had left, he crawled into bed, subconsciously reaching next to him in the space where you used to lay. His hand touched nothing but cold emptiness, and it sent a shiver up his spine. He took a few shaky breaths as he reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found your name. A picture of your smiling face stared back at him, mocking him as the line only rang and rang and rang until it cut off, sending him to voicemail. He lost count of how many times he called you that night, each call going unanswered just like the last. He tried texting you, but it would never send.

He laid in bed for what felt like hours, at one point climbing out of bed to grab one of his t-shirts that you would wear to bed. He held it as he climbed onto your side of the bed, your scent overwhelming his senses as the tears began to fall. One by one they fell, until eventually he lost count. He realized then that he had lost you, for good, and there was no going back. You told him you wouldn't come back and he didn't believe you, but now he did.

He was alone, and you were no longer crawling back to him.

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